I. LIFE.


I.

SUCCESS.

[Published in "A Masque of Poets"
at the request of "H.H.," the author's
fellow-townswoman and friend.]

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!





II.

Our share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,
Our blank in bliss to fill,
Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards -- day!





III.

ROUGE ET NOIR.

Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.

Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul.





IV.

ROUGE GAGNE.

'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw;
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
This side the victory!

Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat,
No drearier can prevail!

And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the steeples be,
At first repeat it slow!
For heaven is a different thing
Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
And might o'erwhelm me so!





V.

Glee! The great storm is over!
Four have recovered the land;
Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.

Ring, for the scant salvation!
Toll, for the bonnie souls, --
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the shoals!

How they will tell the shipwreck
When winter shakes the door,
Till the children ask, "But the forty?
Did they come back no more?"

Then a silence suffuses the story,
And a softness the teller's eye;
And the children no further question,
And only the waves reply.





VI.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.





VII.

ALMOST!

Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.





VIII.

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs;
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautions arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "You're hurt" exclaim!





IX.

The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.





X.

IN A LIBRARY.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.





XI.

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
'T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, -- you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.
XII.

I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.

Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?"





XIII.

EXCLUSION.

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.





XIV.

THE SECRET.

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.

Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.

There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!





XV.

THE LONELY HOUSE.

I know some lonely houses off the road
A robber 'd like the look of, --
Wooden barred,
And windows hanging low,
Inviting to
A portico,
Where two could creep:
One hand the tools,
The other peep
To make sure all's asleep.
Old-fashioned eyes,
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,
With just a clock, --
But they could gag the tick,
And mice won't bark;
And so the walls don't tell,
None will.

A pair of spectacles ajar just stir --
An almanac's aware.
Was it the mat winked,
Or a nervous star?
The moon slides down the stair
To see who's there.

There's plunder, -- where?
Tankard, or spoon,
Earring, or stone,
A watch, some ancient brooch
To match the grandmamma,
Staid sleeping there.

Day rattles, too,
Stealth's slow;
The sun has got as far
As the third sycamore.
Screams chanticleer,
"Who's there?"
And echoes, trains away,
Sneer -- "Where?"
While the old couple, just astir,
Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar!





XVI.

To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The cavalry of woe.

Who win, and nations do not see,
Who fall, and none observe,
Whose dying eyes no country
Regards with patriot love.

We trust, in plumed procession,
For such the angels go,
Rank after rank, with even feet
And uniforms of snow.





XVII.

DAWN.

When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair

And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
That frightened but an hour.





XVIII.

THE BOOK OF MARTYRS.

Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;
How many times they bore
The faithful witness,
Till we are helped,
As if a kingdom cared!

Read then of faith
That shone above the fagot;
Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown;
Brave names of men
And celestial women,
Passed out of record
Into renown!





XIX.

THE MYSTERY OF PAIN.

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.





XX.

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!





XXI.

A BOOK.

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!





XXII.

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.





XXIII.

UNRETURNING.

'T was such a little, little boat
That toddled down the bay!
'T was such a gallant, gallant sea
That beckoned it away!

'T was such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the coast;
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!





XXIV.

Whether my bark went down at sea,
Whether she met with gales,
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails;

By what mystic mooring
She is held to-day, --
This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the bay.





XXV.

Belshazzar had a letter, --
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondent
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.





XXVI.

The brain within its groove
Runs evenly and true;
But let a splinter swerve,
'T were easier for you
To put the water back
When floods have slit the hills,
And scooped a turnpike for themselves,
And blotted out the mills!






II. LOVE.


I.

MINE.

Mine by the right of the white election!
Mine by the royal seal!
Mine by the sign in the scarlet prison
Bars cannot conceal!

Mine, here in vision and in veto!
Mine, by the grave's repeal
Titled, confirmed, -- delirious charter!
Mine, while the ages steal!





II.

BEQUEST.

You left me, sweet, two legacies, --
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.





III.

Alter? When the hills do.
Falter? When the sun
Question if his glory
Be the perfect one.

Surfeit? When the daffodil
Doth of the dew:
Even as herself, O friend!
I will of you!





IV.

SUSPENSE.

Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room,
If in that room a friend await
Felicity or doom.

What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door!





V.

SURRENDER.

Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,
What more the woman can, --
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!

It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;
I ceded all of dust I knew, --
What opulence the more
Had I, a humble maiden,
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!





VI.

If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.





VII.

WITH A FLOWER.

I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.





VIII.

PROOF.

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.

That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.





IX.

Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.

Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!





X.

TRANSPLANTED.

As if some little Arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in --
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!





XI.

THE OUTLET.

My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!

I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks, --

Say, sea,
Take me!





XII.

IN VAIN.

I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sevres pleases,
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other's gaze down, --
You could not.

And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death's privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus',
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.

They'd judge us -- how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Or sought to;
I could not,

Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!





XIII.

RENUNCIATION.

There came a day at summer's full
Entirely for me;
I thought that such were for the saints,
Where revelations be.

The sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new.

The time was scarce profaned by speech;
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at sacrament
The wardrobe of our Lord.

Each was to each the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this time,
Lest we too awkward show
At supper of the Lamb.

The hours slid fast, as hours will,
Clutched tight by greedy hands;
So faces on two decks look back,
Bound to opposing lands.

And so, when all the time had failed,
Without external sound,
Each bound the other's crucifix,
We gave no other bond.

Sufficient troth that we shall rise --
Deposed, at length, the grave --
To that new marriage, justified
Through Calvaries of Love!





XIV.

LOVE'S BAPTISM.

I'm ceded, I've stopped being theirs;
The name they dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church,
Is finished using now,
And they can put it with my dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools
I've finished threading too.

Baptized before without the choice,
But this time consciously, of grace
Unto supremest name,
Called to my full, the crescent dropped,
Existence's whole arc filled up
With one small diadem.

My second rank, too small the first,
Crowned, crowing on my father's breast,
A half unconscious queen;
But this time, adequate, erect,
With will to choose or to reject.
And I choose -- just a throne.





XV.

RESURRECTION.

'T was a long parting, but the time
For interview had come;
Before the judgment-seat of God,
The last and second time

These fleshless lovers met,
A heaven in a gaze,
A heaven of heavens, the privilege
Of one another's eyes.

No lifetime set on them,
Apparelled as the new
Unborn, except they had beheld,
Born everlasting now.

Was bridal e'er like this?
A paradise, the host,
And cherubim and seraphim
The most familiar guest.





XVI.

APOCALYPSE.

I'm wife; I've finished that,
That other state;
I'm Czar, I'm woman now:
It's safer so.

How odd the girl's life looks
Behind this soft eclipse!
I think that earth seems so
To those in heaven now.

This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why compare?
I'm wife! stop there!





XVII.

THE WIFE.

She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.

If aught she missed in her new day
Of amplitude, or awe,
Or first prospective, or the gold
In using wore away,

It lay unmentioned, as the sea
Develops pearl and weed,
But only to himself is known
The fathoms they abide.





XVIII.

APOTHEOSIS.

Come slowly, Eden!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars -- enters,
And is lost in balms!











III. NATURE.

I.

New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!





II.

MAY-FLOWER.

Pink, small, and punctual,
Aromatic, low,
Covert in April,
Candid in May,

Dear to the moss,
Known by the knoll,
Next to the robin
In every human soul.

Bold little beauty,
Bedecked with thee,
Nature forswears
Antiquity.





III.

WHY?

The murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
'T were easier to die
Than tell.

The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
If anybody sneer,
Take care, for God is here,
That's all.

The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
If any ask me how,
Artist, who drew me so,
Must tell!





IV.

Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower?
But I could never sell.
If you would like to borrow
Until the daffodil

Unties her yellow bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the bees, from clover rows
Their hock and sherry draw,

Why, I will lend until just then,
But not an hour more!





V.

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.





VI.

A SERVICE OF SONG.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.

God preaches, -- a noted clergyman, --
And the sermon is never long;
So instead of getting to heaven at last,
I'm going all along!





VII.

The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.

The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?





VIII.

SUMMER'S ARMIES.

Some rainbow coming from the fair!
Some vision of the world Cashmere
I confidently see!
Or else a peacock's purple train,
Feather by feather, on the plain
Fritters itself away!

The dreamy butterflies bestir,
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year's sundered tune.
From some old fortress on the sun
Baronial bees march, one by one,
In murmuring platoon!

The robins stand as thick to-day
As flakes of snow stood yesterday,
On fence and roof and twig.
The orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover, Don the Sun,
Revisiting the bog!

Without commander, countless, still,
The regiment of wood and hill
In bright detachment stand.
Behold! Whose multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas,
Or what Circassian land?





IX.

THE GRASS.

The grass so little has to do, --
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine, --
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away, --
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!





X.

A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the eye,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.

If town it have, beyond itself,
'T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, -- no vehicle
Bears me along that way.





XI.

SUMMER SHOWER.

A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.





XII.

PSALM OF THE DAY.

A something in a summer's day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon, --
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;

Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.

The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;

Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,

Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;

Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;

Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, -- some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;

Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before

The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.





XIII.

THE SEA OF SUNSET.

This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!

Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.





XIV.

PURPLE CLOVER.

There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire.

And whatsoever insect pass,
A honey bears away
Proportioned to his several dearth
And her capacity.

Her face is rounder than the moon,
And ruddier than the gown
Of orchis in the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn.

She doth not wait for June;
Before the world is green
Her sturdy little countenance
Against the wind is seen,

Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.

And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
Doth not retract a single spice
For pang of jealousy.

Her public is the noon,
Her providence the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, swerveless tune.

The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.





XV.

THE BEE.

Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!





XVI.

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.





XVII.

As children bid the guest good-night,
And then reluctant turn,
My flowers raise their pretty lips,
Then put their nightgowns on.

As children caper when they wake,
Merry that it is morn,
My flowers from a hundred cribs
Will peep, and prance again.





XVIII.

Angels in the early morning
May be seen the dews among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the buds to them belong?

Angels when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying;
Parched the flowers they bear along.





XIX.

So bashful when I spied her,
So pretty, so ashamed!
So hidden in her leaflets,
Lest anybody find;

So breathless till I passed her,
So helpless when I turned
And bore her, struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond!

For whom I robbed the dingle,
For whom betrayed the dell,
Many will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!





XX.

TWO WORLDS.

It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fit the same,
The mornings blossom into noons,
And split their pods of flame.

Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
The brooks brag all the day;
No blackbird bates his jargoning
For passing Calvary.

Auto-da-fe and judgment
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.





XXI.

THE MOUNTAIN.

The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.

The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.





XXII.

A DAY.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, --
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"

        *  *  *

But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.





XXIII.

The butterfly's assumption-gown,
In chrysoprase apartments hung,
  This afternoon put on.

How condescending to descend,
And be of buttercups the friend
  In a New England town!





XXIV.

THE WIND.

Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There's not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody

The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me.

When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,

I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that fleshless chant
Rise solemn in the tree,

As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Had broken rank,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.





XXV.

DEATH AND LIFE.

Apparently with no surprise
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another day
For an approving God.





XXVI.

'T WAS later when the summer went
Than when the cricket came,
And yet we knew that gentle clock
Meant nought but going home.

'T was sooner when the cricket went
Than when the winter came,
Yet that pathetic pendulum
Keeps esoteric time.





XXVII.

INDIAN SUMMER.

These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!





XXVIII.

AUTUMN.

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.





XXIX.

BECLOUDED.

The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.

A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.





XXX.

THE HEMLOCK.

I think the hemlock likes to stand
Upon a marge of snow;
It suits his own austerity,
And satisfies an awe

That men must slake in wilderness,
Or in the desert cloy, --
An instinct for the hoar, the bald,
Lapland's necessity.

The hemlock's nature thrives on cold;
The gnash of northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment to him,
His best Norwegian wines.

To satin races he is nought;
But children on the Don
Beneath his tabernacles play,
And Dnieper wrestlers run.





XXXI.

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
'T is the seal, despair, --
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.






IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.

I.

One dignity delays for all,
One mitred afternoon.
None can avoid this purple,
None evade this crown.

Coach it insures, and footmen,
Chamber and state and throng;
Bells, also, in the village,
As we ride grand along.

What dignified attendants,
What service when we pause!
How loyally at parting
Their hundred hats they raise!

How pomp surpassing ermine,
When simple you and I
Present our meek escutcheon,
And claim the rank to die!





II.

TOO LATE.

Delayed till she had ceased to know,
Delayed till in its vest of snow
   Her loving bosom lay.
An hour behind the fleeting breath,
Later by just an hour than death, --
   Oh, lagging yesterday!

Could she have guessed that it would be;
Could but a crier of the glee
   Have climbed the distant hill;
Had not the bliss so slow a pace, --
Who knows but this surrendered face
   Were undefeated still?

Oh, if there may departing be
Any forgot by victory
   In her imperial round,
Show them this meek apparelled thing,
That could not stop to be a king,
   Doubtful if it be crowned!





III.

ASTRA CASTRA.

Departed to the judgment,
A mighty afternoon;
Great clouds like ushers leaning,
Creation looking on.

The flesh surrendered, cancelled,
The bodiless begun;
Two worlds, like audiences, disperse
And leave the soul alone.





IV.

Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.

Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;
Babbles the bee in a stolid ear;
Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadence, --
Ah, what sagacity perished here!

Grand go the years in the crescent above them;
Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,
Diadems drop and Doges surrender,
Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.





V.

On this long storm the rainbow rose,
On this late morn the sun;
The clouds, like listless elephants,
Horizons straggled down.

The birds rose smiling in their nests,
The gales indeed were done;
Alas! how heedless were the eyes
On whom the summer shone!

The quiet nonchalance of death
No daybreak can bestir;
The slow archangel's syllables
Must awaken her.





VI.

FROM THE CHRYSALIS.

My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I'm feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear.

A power of butterfly must be
The aptitude to fly,
Meadows of majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of sky.

So I must baffle at the hint
And cipher at the sign,
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.





VII.

SETTING SAIL.

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea, --
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Into deep eternity!

Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?





VIII.

Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature's west!





IX.

A train went through a burial gate,
A bird broke forth and sang,
And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat
Till all the churchyard rang;

And then adjusted his little notes,
And bowed and sang again.
Doubtless, he thought it meet of him
To say good-by to men.





X.

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, -- the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.





XI.

"TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS."

How many times these low feet staggered,
Only the soldered mouth can tell;
Try! can you stir the awful rivet?
Try! can you lift the hasps of steel?

Stroke the cool forehead, hot so often,
Lift, if you can, the listless hair;
Handle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble more shall wear.

Buzz the dull flies on the chamber window;
Brave shines the sun through the freckled pane;
Fearless the cobweb swings from the ceiling --
Indolent housewife, in daisies lain!





XII.

REAL.

I like a look of agony,
Because I know it 's true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.

The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung.





XIII.

THE FUNERAL.

That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
'T is almost consequence,

Is the eclat of death.
Oh, thou unknown renown
That not a beggar would accept,
Had he the power to spurn!





XIV.

I went to thank her,
But she slept;
Her bed a funnelled stone,
With nosegays at the head and foot,
That travellers had thrown,

Who went to thank her;
But she slept.
'T was short to cross the sea
To look upon her like, alive,
But turning back 't was slow.





XV.

I've seen a dying eye
Run round and round a room
In search of something, as it seemed,
Then cloudier become;
And then, obscure with fog,
And then be soldered down,
Without disclosing what it be,
'T were blessed to have seen.





XVI.

REFUGE.

The clouds their backs together laid,
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff --
How good to be safe in tombs,
Where nature's temper cannot reach,
Nor vengeance ever comes!





XVII.

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.





XVIII.

PLAYMATES.

God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway.

God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!





XIX.

To know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise.

To know if he was patient, part content,
Was dying as he thought, or different;
Was it a pleasant day to die,
And did the sunshine face his way?

What was his furthest mind, of home, or God,
Or what the distant say
At news that he ceased human nature
On such a day?

And wishes, had he any?
Just his sigh, accented,
Had been legible to me.
And was he confident until
Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?

And if he spoke, what name was best,
What first,
What one broke off with
At the drowsiest?

Was he afraid, or tranquil?
Might he know
How conscious consciousness could grow,
Till love that was, and love too blest to be,
Meet -- and the junction be Eternity?





XX.

The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.

We noticed smallest things, --
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as 't were.

That others could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
So nearly infinite.

We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the notice came.

She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.

And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.





XXI.

THE FIRST LESSON.

Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me.

And yet, my primer suits me so
I would not choose a book to know
Than that, be sweeter wise;
Might some one else so learned be,
And leave me just my A B C,
Himself could have the skies.





XXII.

The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --

The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.





XXIII.

I reason, earth is short,
And anguish absolute,
And many hurt;
But what of that?

I reason, we could die:
The best vitality
Cannot excel decay;
But what of that?

I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
But what of that?





XXIV.

Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.

Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
At Deity's decree.

Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!





XXV.

DYING.

The sun kept setting, setting still;
No hue of afternoon
Upon the village I perceived, --
From house to house 't was noon.

The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face.

My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?

How well I knew the light before!
I could not see it now.
'T is dying, I am doing; but
I'm not afraid to know.





XXVI.

Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one turned smiling to the land.
O God, the other one!

The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands beseeching thrown.





XXVII.

THE CHARIOT.

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.





XXVIII.

She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!





XXIX.

RESURGAM.

At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our feet and day!





XXX.

Except to heaven, she is nought;
Except for angels, lone;
Except to some wide-wandering bee,
A flower superfluous blown;

Except for winds, provincial;
Except by butterflies,
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the acre lies.

The smallest housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made existence home!





XXXI.

Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,
I have another trust."

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.





XXXII.

It was too late for man,
But early yet for God;
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.

How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!





XXXIII.

ALONG THE POTOMAC.

When I was small, a woman died.
To-day her only boy
Went up from the Potomac,
His face all victory,

To look at her; how slowly
The seasons must have turned
Till bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round!

If pride shall be in Paradise
I never can decide;
Of their imperial conduct,
No person testified.

But proud in apparition,
That woman and her boy
Pass back and forth before my brain,
As ever in the sky.





XXXIV.

The daisy follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
   Sits shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?"
   "Because, sir, love is sweet!"

We are the flower, Thou the sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline,
   We nearer steal to Thee, --
Enamoured of the parting west,
The peace, the flight, the amethyst,
   Night's possibility!





XXXV.

EMANCIPATION.

No rack can torture me,
My soul's at liberty
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one

You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.

The eagle of his nest
No easier divest
And gain the sky,
Than mayest thou,

Except thyself may be
Thine enemy;
Captivity is consciousness,
So's liberty.





XXXVI.

LOST.

I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You'll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.

A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!





XXXVII.

If I shouldn't be alive
When the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
A memorial crumb.

If I couldn't thank you,
Being just asleep,
You will know I'm trying
With my granite lip!





XXXVIII.

Sleep is supposed to be,
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the eye.

Sleep is the station grand
Down which on either hand
The hosts of witness stand!

Morn is supposed to be,
By people of degree,
The breaking of the day.

Morning has not occurred!
That shall aurora be
East of eternity;

One with the banner gay,
One in the red array, --
That is the break of day.





XXXIX.

I shall know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.

He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now.





XL.

I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod;
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!

Angels, twice descending,
Reimbursed my store.
Burglar, banker, father,
I am poor once more!






POEMS

by EMILY DICKINSON

Second Series




Edited by two of her friends

MABEL LOOMIS TODD and T.W. HIGGINSON




PREFACE

The eagerness with which the first volume of Emily Dickinson's
poems has been read shows very clearly that all our alleged modern
artificiality does not prevent a prompt appreciation of the
qualities of directness and simplicity in approaching the greatest
themes,--life and love and death. That "irresistible needle-touch,"
as one of her best critics has called it, piercing at once the very
core of a thought, has found a response as wide and sympathetic as
it has been unexpected even to those who knew best her compelling
power.  This second volume, while open to the same criticism as to
form with its predecessor, shows also the same shining beauties.

Although Emily Dickinson had been in the habit of sending
occasional poems to friends and correspondents, the full extent of
her writing was by no means imagined by them. Her friend "H.H."
must at least have suspected it, for in a letter dated 5th
September, 1884, she wrote:--


MY DEAR FRIEND,-- What portfolios full of verses
you must have! It is a cruel wrong to your "day and
generation" that you will not give them light.

If such a thing should happen as that I should outlive
you, I wish you would make me your literary legatee
and executor. Surely after you are what is called
"dead" you will be willing that the poor ghosts you
have left behind should be cheered and pleased by your
verses, will you not? You ought to be. I do not think
we have a right to withhold from the world a word or
a thought any more than a deed which might help a
single soul. . . .

                Truly yours,

                        HELEN JACKSON.


The "portfolios" were found, shortly after Emily Dickinson's death,
by her sister and only surviving housemate. Most of the poems had
been carefully copied on sheets of note-paper, and tied in little
fascicules, each of six or eight sheets. While many of them bear
evidence of having been thrown off at white heat, still more had
received thoughtful revision. There is the frequent addition of
rather perplexing foot-notes, affording large choice of words and
phrases. And in the copies which she sent to friends, sometimes one
form, sometimes another, is found to have been used. Without
important exception, her friends have generously placed at the
disposal of the Editors any poems they had received from her; and
these have given the obvious advantage of comparison among several
renderings of the same verse.

To what further rigorous pruning her verses would have been
subjected had she published them herself, we cannot know. They
should be regarded in many cases as merely the first strong and
suggestive sketches of an artist, intended to be embodied at some
time in the finished picture.

Emily Dickinson appears to have written her first poems in the
winter of 1862. In a letter to oone of the present Editors the
April following, she says, "I made no verse, but one or two, until
this winter."

The handwriting was at first somewhat like the delicate, running
Italian hand of our elder gentlewomen; but as she advanced in
breadth of thought, it grew bolder and more abrupt, until in her
latest years each letter stood distinct and separate from its
fellows. In most of her poems, particularly the later ones,
everything by way of punctuation was discarded, except numerous
dashes; and all important words began with capitals. The effect of
a page of her more recent manuscript is exceedingly quaint and
strong.  The fac-simile given in the present volume is from one of
the earlier transition periods. Although there is nowhere a date,
the handwriting makes it possible to arrange the poems with general
chronologic accuracy.

As a rule, the verses were without titles; but "A Country Burial,"
"A Thunder-Storm," "The Humming-Bird," and a few others were named
by their author, frequently at the end,--sometimes only in the
accompanying note, if sent to a friend.

The variation of readings, with the fact that she often wrote in
pencil and not always clearly, have at times thrown a good deal of
responsibility upon her Editors. But all interference not
absolutely inevitable has been avoided. The very roughness of her
rendering is part of herself, and not lightly to be touched; for it
seems in many cases that she intentionally avoided the smoother and
more usual rhymes.

Like impressionist pictures, or Wagner's rugged music, the very
absence of conventional form challenges attention. In Emily
Dickinson's exacting hands, the especial, intrinsic fitness of a
particular order of words might not be sacrificed to anything
virtually extrinsic; and her verses all show a strange cadence of
inner rhythmical music. Lines are always daringly constructed, and
the "thought-rhyme" appears frequently,--appealing, indeed, to an
unrecognized sense more elusive than hearing.

Emily Dickinson scrutinized everything with clear-eyed frankness.
Every subject was proper ground for legitimate study, even the
sombre facts of death and burial, and the unknown life beyond. She
touches these themes sometimes lightly, sometimes almost
humorously, more often with weird and peculiar power; but she is
never by any chance frivolous or trivial. And while, as one critic
has said, she may exhibit toward God "an Emersonian self-possession,"
it was because she looked upon all life with a candor as unprejudiced
as it is rare.

She had tried society and the world, and found them lacking.  She
was not an invalid, and she lived in seclusion from no
love-disappointment. Her life was the normal blossoming of a nature
introspective to a high degree, whose best thought could not exist
in pretence.

Storm, wind, the wild March sky, sunsets and dawns; the birds and
bees, butterflies and flowers of her garden, with a few trusted
human friends, were sufficient companionship. The coming of the
first robin was a jubilee beyond crowning of monarch or birthday of
pope; the first red leaf hurrying through "the altered air," an
epoch. Immortality was close about her; and while never morbid or
melancholy, she lived in its presence.

                                MABEL LOOMIS TODD.

        AMHERST, MASSACHUSETTS,
            August, I891.











    My nosegays are for captives;
       Dim, long-expectant eyes,
    Fingers denied the plucking,
       Patient till paradise,

    To such, if they should whisper
       Of morning and the moor,
    They bear no other errand,
       And I, no other prayer.




I. LIFE.


I.

I'm nobody!  Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there 's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They 'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!





II.

I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink.

Crackling with fever, they essay;
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.

The hands still hug the tardy glass;
The lips I would have cooled, alas!
Are so superfluous cold,

I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.

Some other thirsty there may be
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak.

And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake, --

If, haply, any say to me,
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.





III.

The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
      The heaven we chase
      Like the June bee
      Before the school-boy
      Invites the race;
      Stoops to an easy clover --
Dips -- evades -- teases -- deploys;
      Then to the royal clouds
      Lifts his light pinnace
      Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.

      Homesick for steadfast honey,
      Ah! the bee flies not
That brews that rare variety.





IV.

We play at paste,
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar,
And our new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practising sands.





V.

I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun

To races nurtured in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
Can blaze be done in cochineal,
Or noon in mazarin?





VI.

HOPE.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I 've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.





VII.

THE WHITE HEAT.

Dare you see a soul at the white heat?
   Then crouch within the door.
Red is the fire's common tint;
   But when the vivid ore

Has sated flame's conditions,
   Its quivering substance plays
Without a color but the light
   Of unanointed blaze.

Least village boasts its blacksmith,
   Whose anvil's even din
Stands symbol for the finer forge
   That soundless tugs within,

Refining these impatient ores
   With hammer and with blaze,
Until the designated light
   Repudiate the forge.





VIII.

TRIUMPHANT.

Who never lost, are unprepared
A coronet to find;
Who never thirsted, flagons
And cooling tamarind.

Who never climbed the weary league --
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro's shore?

How many legions overcome?
The emperor will say.
How many colors taken
On Revolution Day?

How many bullets bearest?
The royal scar hast thou?
Angels, write "Promoted"
On this soldier's brow!





IX.

THE TEST.

I can wade grief,
Whole pools of it, --
I 'm used to that.
But the least push of joy
Breaks up my feet,
And I tip -- drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
'T was the new liquor, --
That was all!

Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they 'll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh, --
They 'll carry him!





X.

ESCAPE.

I never hear the word "escape"
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.

I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars, --
Only to fail again!






XI.

COMPENSATION.

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.





XII.

THE MARTYRS.

Through the straight pass of suffering
The martyrs even trod,
Their feet upon temptation,
Their faces upon God.

A stately, shriven company;
Convulsion playing round,
Harmless as streaks of meteor
Upon a planet's bound.

Their faith the everlasting troth;
Their expectation fair;
The needle to the north degree
Wades so, through polar air.





XIII.

A PRAYER.

I meant to have but modest needs,
Such as content, and heaven;
Within my income these could lie,
And life and I keep even.

But since the last included both,
It would suffice my prayer
But just for one to stipulate,
And grace would grant the pair.

And so, upon this wise I prayed, --
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.

A smile suffused Jehovah's face;
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.

I left the place with all my might, --
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,

That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true
That "Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you."

But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
With a suspicious air, --
As children, swindled for the first,
All swindlers be, infer.





XIV.

The thought beneath so slight a film
Is more distinctly seen, --
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.





XV.

The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend, --
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.





XVI.

Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit, -- Life!





XVII.

THE RAILWAY TRAIN.

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop -- docile and omnipotent --
At its own stable door.





XVIII.

THE SHOW.

The show is not the show,
But they that go.
Menagerie to me
My neighbor be.
Fair play --
Both went to see.





XIX.

Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, --
More fair, because impossible
That any gain.

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little, --
And that 's the skies!





XX.

A thought went up my mind to-day
That I have had before,
But did not finish, -- some way back,
I could not fix the year,

Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I 've met the thing before;
It just reminded me -- 't was all --
And came my way no more.





XXI.

Is Heaven a physician?
They say that He can heal,
But medicine posthumous
   Is unavailable.

Is Heaven an exchequer?
   They speak of what we owe;
But that negotiation
   I 'm not a party to.





XXII.

THE RETURN.

Though I get home how late, how late!
So I get home, 't will compensate.
Better will be the ecstasy
That they have done expecting me,
When, night descending, dumb and dark,
They hear my unexpected knock.
Transporting must the moment be,
Brewed from decades of agony!

To think just how the fire will burn,
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself will say to me,
Beguiles the centuries of way!





XXIII.

A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,
That sat it down to rest,
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
Flowed silver to the west,
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor constellation burn,
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels, happening that way,
This dusty heart espied;
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God.
There, -- sandals for the barefoot;
There, -- gathered from the gales,
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering sails.





XXIV.

TOO MUCH.

I should have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
   Of life's penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
   The homelier time behind.

I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
   That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday, --
That scalding one, "Sabachthani,"
   Recited fluent here.

Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
   I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify, --
The palm without the Calvary;
   So, Saviour, crucify.

Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
   Endear the shore beyond.
'T is beggars banquets best define;
'T is thirsting vitalizes wine, --
   Faith faints to understand.





XXV.

SHIPWRECK.

It tossed and tossed, --
A little brig I knew, --
O'ertook by blast,
It spun and spun,
And groped delirious, for morn.

It slipped and slipped,
As one that drunken stepped;
Its white foot tripped,
Then dropped from sight.

Ah, brig, good-night
To crew and you;
The ocean's heart too smooth, too blue,
To break for you.





XXVI.

Victory comes late,
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To take it.
How sweet it would have tasted,
Just a drop!
Was God so economical?
His table 's spread too high for us
Unless we dine on tip-toe.
Crumbs fit such little mouths,
Cherries suit robins;
The eagle's golden breakfast
Strangles them.
God keeps his oath to sparrows,
Who of little love
Know how to starve!





XXVII.

ENOUGH.

God gave a loaf to every bird,
But just a crumb to me;
I dare not eat it, though I starve, --
My poignant luxury
To own it, touch it, prove the feat
That made the pellet mine, --
Too happy in my sparrow chance
For ampler coveting.

It might be famine all around,
I could not miss an ear,
Such plenty smiles upon my board,
My garner shows so fair.
I wonder how the rich may feel, --
An Indiaman -- an Earl?
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am sovereign of them all.





XXVIII.

Experiment to me
Is every one I meet.
If it contain a kernel?
The figure of a nut

Presents upon a tree,
Equally plausibly;
But meat within is requisite,
To squirrels and to me.





XXIX.

MY COUNTRY'S WARDROBE.

My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when 't was cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced "a fit."

Great Britain disapproves "the stars;"
Disparagement discreet, --
There 's something in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.





XXX.

Faith is a fine invention
For gentlemen who see;
But microscopes are prudent
In an emergency!





XXXI.

Except the heaven had come so near,
So seemed to choose my door,
The distance would not haunt me so;
I had not hoped before.

But just to hear the grace depart
I never thought to see,
Afflicts me with a double loss;
'T is lost, and lost to me.





XXXII.

Portraits are to daily faces
As an evening west
To a fine, pedantic sunshine
In a satin vest.





XXXIII.

THE DUEL.

I took my power in my hand.
And went against the world;
'T was not so much as David had,
But I was twice as bold.

I aimed my pebble, but myself
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small?





XXXIV.

A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.

The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise
So notelessly are made!





XXXV.

THE GOAL.

Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity
To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;
How high
Unto the saints' slow diligence
The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,
But then,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.





XXXVI.

SIGHT.

Before I got my eye put out,
I liked as well to see
As other creatures that have eyes,
And know no other way.

But were it told to me, to-day,
That I might have the sky
For mine, I tell you that my heart
Would split, for size of me.

The meadows mine, the mountains mine, --
All forests, stintless stars,
As much of noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes.

The motions of the dipping birds,
The lightning's jointed road,
For mine to look at when I liked, --
The news would strike me dead!

So safer, guess, with just my soul
Upon the window-pane
Where other creatures put their eyes,
Incautious of the sun.





XXXVII.

Talk with prudence to a beggar
Of 'Potosi' and the mines!
Reverently to the hungry
Of your viands and your wines!

Cautious, hint to any captive
You have passed enfranchised feet!
Anecdotes of air in dungeons
Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!





XXXVIII.

THE PREACHER.

He preached upon "breadth" till it argued him narrow, --
The broad are too broad to define;
And of "truth" until it proclaimed him a liar, --
The truth never flaunted a sign.

Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As gold the pyrites would shun.
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a man!





XXXIX.

Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.
   Ah! friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;
   Extinguished, now, for you!

It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,
   Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp
   To purer reveille!





XL.

When I hoped I feared,
Since I hoped I dared;
Everywhere alone
As a church remain;
Spectre cannot harm,
Serpent cannot charm;
He deposes doom,
Who hath suffered him.





XLI.

DEED.

A deed knocks first at thought,
And then it knocks at will.
That is the manufacturing spot,
And will at home and well.

It then goes out an act,
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its doom is audible.





XLII.

TIME'S LESSON.

Mine enemy is growing old, --
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge, --

Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
'T is starving makes it fat.





XLIII.

REMORSE.

Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir, --
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.

It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless, -- the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution, --
The complement of hell.





XLIV.

THE SHELTER.

The body grows outside, --
The more convenient way, --
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway

Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty.





XLV.

Undue significance a starving man attaches
To food
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
And therefore good.

Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us
That spices fly
In the receipt. It was the distance
Was savory.





XLVI.

Heart not so heavy as mine,
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune, --

A careless snatch, a ballad,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,

It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.

It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why.

To-morrow, night will come again,
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more!





XLVII.

I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,

And struggle slacker, but to prove,
As hopelessly as I,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie.





XLVIII.

Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.

As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.

It may be wilderness without,
Far feet of failing men,
But holiday excludes the night,
And it is bells within.

I thank these kinsmen of the shelf;
Their countenances bland
Enamour in prospective,
And satisfy, obtained.





XLIX.

This merit hath the worst, --
It cannot be again.
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown her furthest stone,

The maimed may pause and breathe,
And glance securely round.
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.





L.

HUNGER.

I had been hungry all the years;
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine.

'T was this on tables I had seen,
When turning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.

I did not know the ample bread,
'T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature's dining-room.

The plenty hurt me, 't was so new, --
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.

Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.





LI.

I gained it so,
      By climbing slow,
By catching at the twigs that grow
Between the bliss and me.
      It hung so high,
      As well the sky
      Attempt by strategy.


I said I gained it, --
      This was all.
Look, how I clutch it,
      Lest it fall,
And I a pauper go;
Unfitted by an instant's grace
For the contented beggar's face
I wore an hour ago.





LII.

To learn the transport by the pain,
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;

To stay the homesick, homesick feet
Upon a foreign shore
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air --

This is the sovereign anguish,
This, the signal woe!
These are the patient laureates
Whose voices, trained below,

Ascend in ceaseless carol,
Inaudible, indeed,
To us, the duller scholars
Of the mysterious bard!





LIII.

RETURNING.

I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before

Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business, -- just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?

I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.

I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.

I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.

I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.





LIV.

PRAYER.

Prayer is the little implement
Through which men reach
Where presence is denied them.
They fling their speech

By means of it in God's ear;
If then He hear,
This sums the apparatus
Comprised in prayer.





LV.

I know that he exists
Somewhere, in silence.
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.

'T is an instant's play,
'T is a fond ambush,
Just to make bliss
Earn her own surprise!

But should the play
Prove piercing earnest,
Should the glee glaze
In death's stiff stare,

Would not the fun
Look too expensive?
Would not the jest
Have crawled too far?





LVI.

MELODIES UNHEARD.

Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the crowded air,
  I hear the silver strife;
And -- waking long before the dawn --
Such transport breaks upon the town
  I think it that "new life!"

It is not bird, it has no nest;
Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,
  Nor tambourine, nor man;
It is not hymn from pulpit read, --
The morning stars the treble led
  On time's first afternoon!

Some say it is the spheres at play!
Some say that bright majority
  Of vanished dames and men!
Some think it service in the place
Where we, with late, celestial face,
  Please God, shall ascertain!





LVII.

CALLED BACK.

Just lost when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!

Therefore, as one returned, I feel,
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some sailor, skirting foreign shores,
Some pale reporter from the awful doors
Before the seal!

Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see
By ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by eye.

Next time, to tarry,
While the ages steal, --
Slow tramp the centuries,
And the cycles wheel.






II. LOVE.


I.

CHOICE.

Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one.
When sense from spirit files away,
And subterfuge is done;

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away, --
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!





II.

I have no life but this,
To lead it here;
Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;

Nor tie to earths to come,
Nor action new,
Except through this extent,
The realm of you.





III.

Your riches taught me poverty.
Myself a millionnaire
In little wealths, -- as girls could boast, --
Till broad as Buenos Ayre,

You drifted your dominions
A different Peru;
And I esteemed all poverty,
For life's estate with you.

Of mines I little know, myself,
But just the names of gems, --
The colors of the commonest;
And scarce of diadems

So much that, did I meet the queen,
Her glory I should know:
But this must be a different wealth,
To miss it beggars so.

I 'm sure 't is India all day
To those who look on you
Without a stint, without a blame, --
Might I but be the Jew!

I 'm sure it is Golconda,
Beyond my power to deem, --
To have a smile for mine each day,
How better than a gem!

At least, it solaces to know
That there exists a gold,
Although I prove it just in time
Its distance to behold!

It 's far, far treasure to surmise,
And estimate the pearl
That slipped my simple fingers through
While just a girl at school!





IV.

THE CONTRACT.

I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way.

The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love

Depreciate the vision;
But, till the merchant buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.

At least, 't is mutual risk, --
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life, -- each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.





V.

THE LETTER.

"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him --
Tell him the page I didn't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.
Tell him just how the fingers hurried,
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.

"Tell him it wasn't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him -- No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.

"Tell him night finished before we finished,
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended --
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow, -- happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"





VI.

The way I read a letter 's this:
'T is first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.

And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forth
And softly pick its lock.

Then, glancing narrow at the wall,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,

Peruse how infinite I am
To -- no one that you know!
And sigh for lack of heaven, -- but not
The heaven the creeds bestow.





VII.

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port, --
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!





VIII.

AT HOME.

The night was wide, and furnished scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.

The wind pursued the little bush,
And drove away the leaves
November left; then clambered up
And fretted in the eaves.

No squirrel went abroad;
A dog's belated feet
Like intermittent plush were heard
Adown the empty street.

To feel if blinds be fast,
And closer to the fire
Her little rocking-chair to draw,
And shiver for the poor,

The housewife's gentle task.
"How pleasanter," said she
Unto the sofa opposite,
"The sleet than May -- no thee!"





IX.

POSSESSION.

Did the harebell loose her girdle
To the lover bee,
Would the bee the harebell hallow
Much as formerly?

Did the paradise, persuaded,
Yield her moat of pearl,
Would the Eden be an Eden,
Or the earl an earl?





X.

A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld, --
The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies, --
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies.





XI.

THE LOVERS.

The rose did caper on her cheek,
Her bodice rose and fell,
Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
Did stagger pitiful.

Her fingers fumbled at her work, --
Her needle would not go;
What ailed so smart a little maid
It puzzled me to know,

Till opposite I spied a cheek
That bore another rose;
Just opposite, another speech
That like the drunkard goes;

A vest that, like the bodice, danced
To the immortal tune, --
Till those two troubled little clocks
Ticked softly into one.





XII.

In lands I never saw, they say,
Immortal Alps look down,
Whose bonnets touch the firmament,
Whose sandals touch the town, --

Meek at whose everlasting feet
A myriad daisies play.
Which, sir, are you, and which am I,
Upon an August day?





XIII.

The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.

He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.

Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea, --
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.





XIV.

He put the belt around my life, --
I heard the buckle snap,
And turned away, imperial,
My lifetime folding up
Deliberate, as a duke would do
A kingdom's title-deed, --
Henceforth a dedicated sort,
A member of the cloud.

Yet not too far to come at call,
And do the little toils
That make the circuit of the rest,
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that stoop to notice mine
And kindly ask it in, --
Whose invitation, knew you not
For whom I must decline?





XV.

THE LOST JEWEL.

I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep.
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;
I said: "'T will keep."

I woke and chid my honest fingers, --
The gem was gone;
And now an amethyst remembrance
Is all I own.





XVI.

What if I say I shall not wait?
What if I burst the fleshly gate
And pass, escaped, to thee?
What if I file this mortal off,
See where it hurt me, -- that 's enough, --
And wade in liberty?

They cannot take us any more, --
Dungeons may call, and guns implore;
Unmeaning now, to me,
As laughter was an hour ago,
Or laces, or a travelling show,
Or who died yesterday!









III. NATURE.


I.

MOTHER NATURE.

Nature, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest, --
Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon, --
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down

Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky

With infinite affection
And infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.





II.

OUT OF THE MORNING.

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!





III.

At half-past three a single bird
Unto a silent sky
Propounded but a single term
Of cautious melody.

At half-past four, experiment
Had subjugated test,
And lo! her silver principle
Supplanted all the rest.

At half-past seven, element
Nor implement was seen,
And place was where the presence was,
Circumference between.





IV.

DAY'S PARLOR.

The day came slow, till five o'clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like hindered rubies, or the light
A sudden musket spills.

The purple could not keep the east,
The sunrise shook from fold,
Like breadths of topaz, packed a night,
The lady just unrolled.

The happy winds their timbrels took;
The birds, in docile rows,
Arranged themselves around their prince
(The wind is prince of those).

The orchard sparkled like a Jew, --
How mighty 't was, to stay
A guest in this stupendous place,
The parlor of the day!





V.

THE SUN'S WOOING.

The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.

She felt herself supremer, --
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity, --
The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, --
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.






VI.

THE ROBIN.

The robin is the one
That interrupts the morn
With hurried, few, express reports
When March is scarcely on.

The robin is the one
That overflows the noon
With her cherubic quantity,
An April but begun.

The robin is the one
That speechless from her nest
Submits that home and certainty
And sanctity are best.





VII.

THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.

From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged -- a summer afternoon --
Repairing everywhere,

Without design, that I could trace,
Except to stray abroad
On miscellaneous enterprise
The clovers understood.

Her pretty parasol was seen
Contracting in a field
Where men made hay, then struggling hard
With an opposing cloud,

Where parties, phantom as herself,
To Nowhere seemed to go
In purposeless circumference,
As 't were a tropic show.

And notwithstanding bee that worked,
And flower that zealous blew,
This audience of idleness
Disdained them, from the sky,

Till sundown crept, a steady tide,
And men that made the hay,
And afternoon, and butterfly,
Extinguished in its sea.





VIII.

THE BLUEBIRD.

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!





IX.

APRIL.

An altered look about the hills;
A Tyrian light the village fills;
A wider sunrise in the dawn;
A deeper twilight on the lawn;
A print of a vermilion foot;
A purple finger on the slope;
A flippant fly upon the pane;
A spider at his trade again;
An added strut in chanticleer;
A flower expected everywhere;
An axe shrill singing in the woods;
Fern-odors on untravelled roads, --
All this, and more I cannot tell,
A furtive look you know as well,
And Nicodemus' mystery
Receives its annual reply.





X.

THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.

"Whose are the little beds," I asked,
"Which in the valleys lie?"
Some shook their heads, and others smiled,
And no one made reply.

"Perhaps they did not hear," I said;
"I wil<style>pre { line-height: 125%; }
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<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">title</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Mu - apps/tests.subx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">title</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
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<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">style</span> <span class="na">type</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;text/css&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="o">&lt;!</span><span class="nt">--</span>
<span class="nt">pre</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">font-family</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="kc">monospace</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#000000</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">background-color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#c6c6c6</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="nt">body</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">font-size</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="mi">12</span><span class="kt">pt</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">font-family</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="kc">monospace</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#000000</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">background-color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#c6c6c6</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="nt">a</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="kc">inherit</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="o">*</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">font-size</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="mi">12</span><span class="kt">pt</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">font-size</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mi">1</span><span class="kt">em</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="p">.</span><span class="nc">subxComment</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#005faf</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
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<span class="p">.</span><span class="nc">subxFunction</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#af5f00</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">text-decoration</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="kc">underline</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="p">.</span><span class="nc">LineNr</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="p">.</span><span class="nc">subxS1Comment</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#0000af</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="p">.</span><span class="nc">SpecialChar</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="k">color</span><span class="p">:</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="mh">#d70000</span><span class="p">;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">}</span>
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<span class="nt">--</span><span class="o">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">style</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>

<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">script</span> <span class="na">type</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;text/javascript&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="c">&lt;!--</span>

<span class="cm">/* function to open any folds containing a jumped-to line before jumping to it */</span>
<span class="kd">function</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nx">JumpToLine</span><span class="p">()</span>
<span class="p">{</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="kd">var</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="p">;</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">=</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nb">window</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">location</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">hash</span><span class="p">;</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">=</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">substr</span><span class="p">(</span><span class="mf">1</span><span class="p">);</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="cm">/* strip off &#39;#&#39; */</span>

<span class="w">  </span><span class="k">if</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">(</span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">indexOf</span><span class="p">(</span><span class="s1">&#39;L&#39;</span><span class="p">)</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">==</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">-</span><span class="mf">1</span><span class="p">)</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span>
<span class="w">    </span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">=</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="s1">&#39;L&#39;</span><span class="o">+</span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="p">;</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="kd">var</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nx">lineElem</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">=</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nb">document</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">getElementById</span><span class="p">(</span><span class="nx">lineNum</span><span class="p">);</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="cm">/* Always jump to new location even if the line was hidden inside a fold, or</span>
<span class="cm">   * we corrected the raw number to a line ID.</span>
<span class="cm">   */</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="k">if</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">(</span><span class="nx">lineElem</span><span class="p">)</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span>
<span class="w">    </span><span class="nx">lineElem</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">scrollIntoView</span><span class="p">(</span><span class="kc">true</span><span class="p">);</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="p">}</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="k">return</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="kc">true</span><span class="p">;</span>
<span class="p">}</span>
<span class="k">if</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">(</span><span class="s1">&#39;onhashchange&#39;</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="ow">in</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nb">window</span><span class="p">)</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="p">{</span>
<span class="w">  </span><span class="nb">window</span><span class="p">.</span><span class="nx">onhashchange</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="o">=</span><span class="w"> </span><span class="nx">JumpToLine</span><span class="p">;</span>
<span class="p">}</span>

<span class="o">--&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">script</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">head</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">body</span> <span class="na">onload</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;JumpToLine();&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;https://github.com/akkartik/mu/blob/master/apps/tests.subx&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>https://github.com/akkartik/mu/blob/master/apps/tests.subx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">pre</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;vimCodeElement&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L1&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  1 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># Generate code for a new function called &#39;run-tests&#39; which calls in sequence<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L2&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  2 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># all functions starting with &#39;test-&#39;.<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L3&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  3 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L4&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  4 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># To build:<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L5&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  5 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   $ ./bootstrap translate init.linux 0*.subx apps/subx-params.subx apps/tests.subx  -o apps/tests<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L6&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  6 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L7&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  7 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>== code
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L8&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  8 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   instruction                     effective address                                                   register    displacement    immediate<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L9&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>  9 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . op          subop               mod             rm32          base        index         scale       r32<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L10&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 10 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . 1-3 bytes   3 bits              2 bits          3 bits        3 bits      3 bits        2 bits      2 bits      0/1/2/4 bytes   0/1/2/4 bytes<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L11&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 11 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L12&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 12 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Entry<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># run tests if necessary, convert stdin if not<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L13&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 13 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . prologue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L14&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 14 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/r32/esp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy esp to ebp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L15&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 15 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L16&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 16 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># initialize heap<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L17&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 17 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . Heap = new-segment(Heap-size)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L18&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 18 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L19&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 19 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../120allocate.subx.html#L27&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Heap<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L20&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 20 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        0/mod/indirect  5/rm32/.disp32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../120allocate.subx.html#L34&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Heap-size<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32                  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *Heap-size<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L21&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 21 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L22&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 22 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../104new-segment.subx.html#L40&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>new-segment<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L23&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 23 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L24&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 24 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L25&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 25 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># initialize-trace-stream(256KB)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L26&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 26 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L27&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 27 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0x40000/imm32/256KB
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L28&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 28 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L29&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 29 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../107trace.subx.html#L48&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>initialize-trace-stream<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L30&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 30 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L31&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 31 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              4/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L32&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 32 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L33&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 33 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxH1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># - if argc <span class="ni">&amp;gt;</span> 1 and argv[1] == <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>, then return run_tests()<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L34&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 34 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if (argc <span class="ni">&amp;lt;</span>= 1) goto run-main<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L35&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 35 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          7/subop/compare     1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          0/disp8         1/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># compare *ebp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L36&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 36 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    7e/jump-if-<span class="ni">&amp;lt;</span>=  $subx-tests-main:interactive/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L37&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 37 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if (!kernel-string-equal?(argv[1], <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)) goto run-main<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L38&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 38 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . eax = kernel-string-equal?(argv[1], <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L39&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 39 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L40&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 40 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L41&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 41 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          8/disp8        <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(ebp+8)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L42&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 42 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L43&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 43 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../103kernel-string-equal.subx.html#L31&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>kernel-string-equal?<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L44&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 44 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L45&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 45 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L46&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 46 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . if (eax == false) goto run-main<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L47&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 47 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    3d/compare-eax-and  0/imm32/false
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L48&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 48 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    74/jump-if-=  $subx-tests-main:interactive/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L49&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 49 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># run-tests()<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L50&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 50 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  run-tests/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L51&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 51 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># syscall(exit, *Num-test-failures)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L52&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 52 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    8b/copy                         0/mod/indirect  5/rm32/.disp32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          3/r32/ebx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../102test.subx.html#L89&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Num-test-failures<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32          <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy *Num-test-failures to ebx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L53&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 53 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    eb/jump  $subx-tests-main:end/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L54&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 54 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-tests-main:interactive<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L55&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 55 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxH1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># - otherwise convert stdin<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L56&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 56 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># subx-gen-run-tests(Stdin, Stdout)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L57&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 57 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L58&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 58 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../115write-byte.subx.html#L10&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Stdout<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L59&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 59 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../112read-byte.subx.html#L14&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Stdin<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L60&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 60 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L61&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 61 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;tests.subx.html#L69&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>subx-gen-run-tests<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L62&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 62 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L63&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 63 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L64&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 64 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># syscall(exit, 0)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L65&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 65 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    bb/copy-to-ebx  0/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L66&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 66 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-tests-main:end<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L67&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 67 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  syscall_exit/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L68&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 68 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L69&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 69 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxFunction&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>subx-gen-run-tests<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># in: (addr buffered-file), out: (addr buffered-file)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L70&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 70 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># pseudocode<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L71&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 71 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   boolean tests-found = false<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L72&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 72 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   var line: (stream byte 512)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L73&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 73 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   var new-code-segment-handle: (handle stream byte)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L74&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 74 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   new-stream(Segment-size, 1, new-code-stream-handle)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L75&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 75 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   var new-code-segment: (addr stream byte) = lookup(new-code-stream-handle)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L76&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 76 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>\n== code\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L77&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 77 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>run-tests:\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L78&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 78 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   while true<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L79&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 79 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     clear-stream(line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L80&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 80 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     read-line-buffered(in, line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L81&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 81 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     if (line-<span class="ni">&amp;gt;</span>write == 0) break               # end of file<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L82&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 82 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     var word-slice = next-word(line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L83&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 83 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     if is-label?(word-slice)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L84&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 84 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#       if slice-starts-with?(word-slice, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test-<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L85&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 85 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#         tests-found = true<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L86&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 86 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#         write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  e8/call  <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L87&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 87 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#         write-slice(new-code-segment, word-slice)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L88&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 88 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#         write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>/disp32\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L89&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 89 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     rewind-stream(line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L90&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 90 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     write-stream-data(out, line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L91&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 91 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   if tests-found<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L92&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 92 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  c3/return\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L93&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 93 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#     write-stream-data(out, new-code-segment)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L94&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 94 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#   flush(out)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L95&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 95 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>#<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L96&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 96 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . prologue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L97&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 97 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    55/push-ebp
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L98&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 98 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/r32/esp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy esp to ebp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L99&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> 99 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . save registers<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L100&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>100 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    50/push-eax
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L101&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>101 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L102&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>102 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    52/push-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L103&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>103 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    53/push-ebx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L104&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>104 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    56/push-esi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L105&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>105 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L106&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>106 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># var line/ecx: (stream byte 512)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L107&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>107 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          5/subop/subtract    3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              0x200/imm32       <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># subtract from esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L108&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>108 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0x200/imm32/length
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L109&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>109 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32/read
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L110&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>110 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32/write
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L111&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>111 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    1/rm32/ecx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/r32/esp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy esp to ecx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L112&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>112 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># var word-slice/edx: slice<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L113&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>113 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32/end
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L114&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>114 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32/start
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L115&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>115 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    2/rm32/edx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/r32/esp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy esp to edx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L116&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>116 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># tests-found?/ebx = false<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L117&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>117 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    31/xor                          3/mod/direct    3/rm32/ebx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          3/r32/ebx  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># clear ebx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L118&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>118 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># var new-code-stream-handle/esi: (handle stream byte)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L119&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>119 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L120&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>120 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  0/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L121&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>121 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    6/rm32/esi   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/r32/esp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy esp to esi<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L122&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>122 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># new-stream(Heap, Segment-size, 1, new-code-stream-handle)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L123&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>123 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L124&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>124 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    56/push-esi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L125&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>125 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  1/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L126&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>126 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        0/mod/indirect  5/rm32/.disp32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Segment-size<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32               <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *Segment-size<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L127&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>127 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;SpecialChar&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../120allocate.subx.html#L27&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>Heap<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L128&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>128 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L129&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>129 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../121new-stream.subx.html#L8&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>new-stream<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L130&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>130 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L131&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>131 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              0x10/imm32        <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L132&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>132 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># var new-code-stream/edi: (addr stream byte) = lookup(*new-code-stream-handle)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L133&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>133 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . eax = lookup(*new-code-stream-handle)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L134&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>134 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L135&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>135 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   6/rm32/esi   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/disp8        <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(esi+4)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L136&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>136 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        0/mod/indirect  6/rm32/esi   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *esi<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L137&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>137 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L138&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>138 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../120allocate.subx.html#L256&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>lookup<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L139&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>139 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L140&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>140 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L141&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>141 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . new-code-stream = eax<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L142&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>142 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    7/rm32/edi   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          0/r32/eax  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy eax to edi<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L143&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>143 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>\n== code\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L144&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>144 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L145&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>145 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>\n== code\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L146&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>146 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L147&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>147 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L148&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>148 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../108write.subx.html#L24&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L149&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>149 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L150&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>150 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L151&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>151 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>run-tests:\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L152&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>152 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L153&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>153 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>run-tests:\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L154&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>154 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L155&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>155 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L156&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>156 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../108write.subx.html#L24&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L157&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>157 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L158&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>158 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L159&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>159 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:loop<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L160&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>160 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># clear-stream(line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L161&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>161 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L162&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>162 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L163&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>163 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L164&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>164 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../106stream.subx.html#L17&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>clear-stream<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L165&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>165 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L166&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>166 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              4/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L167&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>167 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># read-line-buffered(in, line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L168&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>168 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L169&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>169 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L170&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>170 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          8/disp8        <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(ebp+8)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L171&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>171 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L172&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>172 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../122read-line.subx.html#L9&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>read-line-buffered<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L173&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>173 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L174&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>174 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L175&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>175 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:check0<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L176&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>176 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if (line-<span class="ni">&amp;gt;</span>write == 0) break<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L177&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>177 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          7/subop/compare     0/mod/indirect  1/rm32/ecx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              0/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># compare *ecx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L178&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>178 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    0f 84/jump-if-=  $subx-gen-run-tests:<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>break<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L179&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>179 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># next-word(line, word-slice)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L180&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>180 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L181&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>181 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    52/push-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L182&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>182 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L183&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>183 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L184&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>184 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../127next-word.subx.html#L10&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>next-word<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L185&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>185 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L186&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>186 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L187&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>187 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:check-for-label<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L188&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>188 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if (!is-label?(word-slice)) continue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L189&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>189 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . eax = is-label?(word-slice)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L190&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>190 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L191&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>191 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    52/push-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L192&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>192 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L193&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>193 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../128subx-words.subx.html#L535&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>is-label?<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L194&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>194 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L195&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>195 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              4/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L196&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>196 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . if (eax == false) continue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L197&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>197 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    3d/compare-eax-and  0/imm32/false
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L198&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>198 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    74/jump-if-=  $subx-gen-run-tests:continue/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L199&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>199 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:check-label-prefix<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L200&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>200 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># strip trailing &#39;:&#39; from word-slice<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L201&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>201 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          1/subop/decrement   1/mod/*+disp8   2/rm32/edx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          4/disp8        <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># decrement *(edx+4)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L202&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>202 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if !slice-starts-with?(word-slice, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test-<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>) continue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L203&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>203 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L204&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>204 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>test-<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L205&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>205 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    52/push-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L206&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>206 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L207&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>207 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../123slice.subx.html#L487&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>slice-starts-with?<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L208&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>208 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L209&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>209 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L210&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>210 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . if (eax == false) break<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L211&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>211 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    3d/compare-eax-and  0/imm32/false
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L212&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>212 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    74/jump-if-=  $subx-gen-run-tests:continue/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L213&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>213 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:call-test-function<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L214&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>214 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># tests-found? = true<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L215&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>215 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    bb/copy-to-ebx  1/imm32/true
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L216&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>216 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  e8/call  <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L217&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>217 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L218&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>218 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  e8/call  <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L219&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>219 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L220&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>220 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L221&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>221 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../108write.subx.html#L24&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L222&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>222 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L223&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>223 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L224&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>224 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write-slice(new-code-segment, word-slice)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L225&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>225 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L226&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>226 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    52/push-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L227&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>227 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L228&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>228 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L229&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>229 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../123slice.subx.html#L793&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write-slice<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L230&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>230 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L231&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>231 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L232&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>232 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>/disp32\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L233&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>233 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L234&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>234 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>/disp32\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L235&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>235 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L236&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>236 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L237&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>237 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../108write.subx.html#L24&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L238&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>238 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L239&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>239 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L240&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>240 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:continue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L241&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>241 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># rewind-stream(line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L242&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>242 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L243&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>243 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L244&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>244 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L245&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>245 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../106stream.subx.html#L56&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>rewind-stream<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L246&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>246 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L247&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>247 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              4/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L248&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>248 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write-stream-data(out, line)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L249&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>249 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L250&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>250 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    51/push-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L251&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>251 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          0xc/disp8      <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(ebp+12)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L252&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>252 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L253&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>253 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../125write-stream-data.subx.html#L11&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write-stream-data<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L254&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>254 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L255&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>255 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L256&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>256 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># loop<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L257&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>257 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e9/jump  $subx-gen-run-tests:<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>loop<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L258&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>258 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:break<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L259&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>259 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># if (!tests-found?) goto end<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L260&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>260 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          7/subop/compare     3/mod/direct    3/rm32/ebx   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              0/imm32/false     <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># compare ebx<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L261&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>261 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    74/jump-if-=  $subx-gen-run-tests:end/disp8
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L262&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>262 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write(new-code-segment, <span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  c3/return\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L263&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>263 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L264&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>264 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    68/push  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span><span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span>  c3/return\n<span class="ni">&amp;quot;</span><span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/imm32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L265&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>265 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L266&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>266 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L267&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>267 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../108write.subx.html#L24&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L268&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>268 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L269&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>269 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L270&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>270 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># write-stream-data(out, new-code-segment)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L271&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>271 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L272&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>272 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    57/push-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L273&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>273 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          0xc/disp8      <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(ebp+12)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L274&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>274 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L275&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>275 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../125write-stream-data.subx.html#L11&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>write-stream-data<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L276&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>276 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L277&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>277 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              8/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L278&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>278 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Constant&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>$subx-gen-run-tests:end<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>:
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L279&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>279 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># flush(out)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L280&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>280 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . push args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L281&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>281 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    ff          6/subop/push        1/mod/*+disp8   5/rm32/ebp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          0xc/disp8      <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># push *(ebp+12)<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L282&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>282 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . call<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L283&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>283 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    e8/call  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">a</span> <span class="na">href</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&#39;../115write-byte.subx.html#L81&#39;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>flush<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">a</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>/disp32
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L284&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>284 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . discard args<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L285&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>285 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              4/imm32           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L286&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>286 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . reclaim locals<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L287&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>287 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    81          0/subop/add         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>              0x21c/imm32       <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># add to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L288&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>288 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . restore registers<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L289&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>289 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    5f/pop-to-edi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L290&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>290 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    5e/pop-to-esi
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L291&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>291 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    5b/pop-to-ebx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L292&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>292 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    5a/pop-to-edx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L293&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>293 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    59/pop-to-ecx
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L294&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>294 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    58/pop-to-eax
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L295&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>295 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS1Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . epilogue<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L296&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>296 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    89/copy                         3/mod/direct    4/rm32/esp   <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>         <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>           <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>          5/r32/ebp  <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>             <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;Normal&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span> . <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>                <span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxComment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># copy ebp to esp<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L297&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>297 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    5d/pop-to-ebp
<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L298&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>298 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>    c3/return
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<span class="p">&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">id</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;L300&quot;</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;LineNr&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>300 <span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;&lt;</span><span class="nt">span</span> <span class="na">class</span><span class="o">=</span><span class="s">&quot;subxS2Comment&quot;</span><span class="p">&gt;</span># . . vim<span class="ni">&amp;#0058;</span>nowrap:textwidth=0<span class="p">&lt;/</span><span class="nt">span</span><span class="p">&gt;</span>
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 painfully extorted from her, for
Willoughby’s service, by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness,
and of consistency, were most usually attributed to his want of
independence, and his better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars’s disposition
and designs. The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose
in leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same
inevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother. The old
well-established grievance of duty against will, parent against child,
was the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when these
difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,—when Mrs.
Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy. But
from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for comfort to the renewal
of her confidence in Edward’s affection, to the remembrance of every
mark of regard in look or word which fell from him while at Barton, and
above all to that flattering proof of it which he constantly wore round
his finger.

“I think, Edward,” said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at breakfast the
last morning, “you would be a happier man if you had any profession to
engage your time and give an interest to your plans and actions. Some
inconvenience to your friends, indeed, might result from it—you would
not be able to give them so much of your time. But (with a smile) you
would be materially benefited in one particular at least—you would know
where to go when you left them.”

“I do assure you,” he replied, “that I have long thought on this point,
as you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will always be a
heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage
me, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like
independence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my
friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being. We never
could agree in our choice of a profession. I always preferred the
church, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family.
They recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The
law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers
in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and
drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no inclination for the
law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family approved.
As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I was too old when the
subject was first started to enter it—and, at length, as there was no
necessity for my having any profession at all, as I might be as dashing
and expensive without a red coat on my back as with one, idleness was
pronounced on the whole to be most advantageous and honourable, and a
young man of eighteen is not in general so earnestly bent on being busy
as to resist the solicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was
therefore entered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since.”

“The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,” said Mrs. Dashwood,
“since leisure has not promoted your own happiness, that your sons will
be brought up to as many pursuits, employments, professions, and trades
as Columella’s.”

“They will be brought up,” said he, in a serious accent, “to be as
unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in
every thing.”

“Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits,
Edward. You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one unlike
yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of parting from
friends will be felt by every body at times, whatever be their
education or state. Know your own happiness. You want nothing but
patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope. Your mother
will secure to you, in time, that independence you are so anxious for;
it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long become her happiness to
prevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent. How much may
not a few months do?”

“I think,” replied Edward, “that I may defy many months to produce any
good to me.”

This desponding turn of mind, though it could not be communicated to
Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to them all in the parting, which
shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Elinor’s
feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue.
But as it was her determination to subdue it, and to prevent herself
from appearing to suffer more than what all her family suffered on his
going away, she did not adopt the method so judiciously employed by
Marianne, on a similar occasion, to augment and fix her sorrow, by
seeking silence, solitude and idleness. Their means were as different
as their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.

Elinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was out of the
house, busily employed herself the whole day, neither sought nor
avoided the mention of his name, appeared to interest herself almost as
much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this
conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented
from unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisters were spared much
solicitude on her account.

Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own, appeared no
more meritorious to Marianne, than her own had seemed faulty to her.
The business of self-command she settled very easily;—with strong
affections it was impossible, with calm ones it could have no merit.
That her sister’s affections _were_ calm, she dared not deny, though
she blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave
a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in
spite of this mortifying conviction.

Without shutting herself up from her family, or leaving the house in
determined solitude to avoid them, or lying awake the whole night to
indulge meditation, Elinor found every day afforded her leisure enough
to think of Edward, and of Edward’s behaviour, in every possible
variety which the different state of her spirits at different times
could produce,—with tenderness, pity, approbation, censure, and doubt.
There were moments in abundance, when, if not by the absence of her
mother and sisters, at least by the nature of their employments,
conversation was forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was
produced. Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be
chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so
interesting, must be before her, must force her attention, and engross
her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.

From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-table, she was
roused one morning, soon after Edward’s leaving them, by the arrival of
company. She happened to be quite alone. The closing of the little
gate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the house, drew
her eyes to the window, and she saw a large party walking up to the
door. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings,
but there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown
to her. She was sitting near the window, and as soon as Sir John
perceived her, he left the rest of the party to the ceremony of
knocking at the door, and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open
the casement to speak to him, though the space was so short between the
door and the window, as to make it hardly possible to speak at one
without being heard at the other.

“Well,” said he, “we have brought you some strangers. How do you like
them?”

“Hush! they will hear you.”

“Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte is very
pretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look this way.”

As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes, without
taking that liberty, she begged to be excused.

“Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I see her
instrument is open.”

“She is walking, I believe.”

They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience enough to
wait till the door was opened before she told _her_ story. She came
hallooing to the window, “How do you do, my dear? How does Mrs.
Dashwood do? And where are your sisters? What! all alone! you will be
glad of a little company to sit with you. I have brought my other son
and daughter to see you. Only think of their coming so suddenly! I
thought I heard a carriage last night, while we were drinking our tea,
but it never entered my head that it could be them. I thought of
nothing but whether it might not be Colonel Brandon come back again; so
I said to Sir John, I do think I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel
Brandon come back again—”

Elinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her story, to
receive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton introduced the two
strangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret came down stairs at the same
time, and they all sat down to look at one another, while Mrs. Jennings
continued her story as she walked through the passage into the parlour,
attended by Sir John.

Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton, and totally
unlike her in every respect. She was short and plump, had a very pretty
face, and the finest expression of good humour in it that could
possibly be. Her manners were by no means so elegant as her sister’s,
but they were much more prepossessing. She came in with a smile, smiled
all the time of her visit, except when she laughed, and smiled when she
went away. Her husband was a grave looking young man of five or six and
twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense than his wife, but of
less willingness to please or be pleased. He entered the room with a
look of self-consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without
speaking a word, and, after briefly surveying them and their
apartments, took up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read
it as long as he staid.

Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by nature with a
turn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly seated before her
admiration of the parlour and every thing in it burst forth.

“Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw anything so
charming! Only think, Mama, how it is improved since I was here last! I
always thought it such a sweet place, ma’am! (turning to Mrs. Dashwood)
but you have made it so charming! Only look, sister, how delightful
every thing is! How I should like such a house for myself! Should not
you, Mr. Palmer?”

Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his eyes from the
newspaper.

“Mr. Palmer does not hear me,” said she, laughing; “he never does
sometimes. It is so ridiculous!”

This was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never been used to
find wit in the inattention of any one, and could not help looking with
surprise at them both.

Mrs. Jennings, in the meantime, talked on as loud as she could, and
continued her account of their surprise, the evening before, on seeing
their friends, without ceasing till every thing was told. Mrs. Palmer
laughed heartily at the recollection of their astonishment, and every
body agreed, two or three times over, that it had been quite an
agreeable surprise.

“You may believe how glad we all were to see them,” added Mrs.
Jennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speaking in a low voice
as if she meant to be heard by no one else, though they were seated on
different sides of the room; “but, however, I can’t help wishing they
had not travelled quite so fast, nor made such a long journey of it,
for they came all round by London upon account of some business, for
you know (nodding significantly and pointing to her daughter) it was
wrong in her situation. I wanted her to stay at home and rest this
morning, but she would come with us; she longed so much to see you
all!”

Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm.

“She expects to be confined in February,” continued Mrs. Jennings.

Lady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation, and
therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any news in
the paper.

“No, none at all,” he replied, and read on.

“Here comes Marianne,” cried Sir John. “Now, Palmer, you shall see a
monstrous pretty girl.”

He immediately went into the passage, opened the front door, and
ushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as she
appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer laughed so
heartily at the question, as to show she understood it. Mr. Palmer
looked up on her entering the room, stared at her some minutes, and
then returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer’s eye was now caught by the
drawings which hung round the room. She got up to examine them.

“Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delightful! Do but look,
mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite charming; I could look at
them for ever.” And then sitting down again, she very soon forgot that
there were any such things in the room.

When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also, laid down
the newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all around.

“My love, have you been asleep?” said his wife, laughing.

He made her no answer; and only observed, after again examining the
room, that it was very low pitched, and that the ceiling was crooked.
He then made his bow, and departed with the rest.

Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at
the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener
than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account;
her daughters might do as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to
see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of
pleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, therefore,
likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not
likely to be good. But Sir John would not be satisfied—the carriage
should be sent for them and they must come. Lady Middleton too, though
she did not press their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs.
Palmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a
family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield.

“Why should they ask us?” said Marianne, as soon as they were gone.
“The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very
hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying
either with them, or with us.”

“They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,” said Elinor, “by
these frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a
few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their parties are
grown tedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere.”




CHAPTER XX.


As the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the park the next
day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as
good humoured and merry as before. She took them all most
affectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them
again.

“I am so glad to see you!” said she, seating herself between Elinor and
Marianne, “for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come,
which would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow. We must
go, for the Westons come to us next week you know. It was quite a
sudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the
carriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I
would go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells me any
thing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again
in town very soon, I hope.”

They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation.

“Not go to town!” cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, “I shall be quite
disappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest house in the world
for you, next door to ours, in Hanover-square. You must come, indeed. I
am sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am
confined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public.”

They thanked her; but were obliged to resist all her entreaties.

“Oh, my love,” cried Mrs. Palmer to her husband, who just then entered
the room—“you must help me to persuade the Miss Dashwoods to go to town
this winter.”

Her love made no answer; and after slightly bowing to the ladies, began
complaining of the weather.

“How horrid all this is!” said he. “Such weather makes every thing and
every body disgusting. Dullness is as much produced within doors as
without, by rain. It makes one detest all one’s acquaintance. What the
devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his house?
How few people know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as the
weather.”

The rest of the company soon dropt in.

“I am afraid, Miss Marianne,” said Sir John, “you have not been able to
take your usual walk to Allenham today.”

Marianne looked very grave and said nothing.

“Oh, don’t be so sly before us,” said Mrs. Palmer; “for we know all
about it, I assure you; and I admire your taste very much, for I think
he is extremely handsome. We do not live a great way from him in the
country, you know. Not above ten miles, I dare say.”

“Much nearer thirty,” said her husband.

“Ah, well! there is not much difference. I never was at his house; but
they say it is a sweet pretty place.”

“As vile a spot as I ever saw in my life,” said Mr. Palmer.

Marianne remained perfectly silent, though her countenance betrayed her
interest in what was said.

“Is it very ugly?” continued Mrs. Palmer—“then it must be some other
place that is so pretty I suppose.”

When they were seated in the dining room, Sir John observed with regret
that they were only eight all together.

“My dear,” said he to his lady, “it is very provoking that we should be
so few. Why did not you ask the Gilberts to come to us today?”

“Did not I tell you, Sir John, when you spoke to me about it before,
that it could not be done? They dined with us last.”

“You and I, Sir John,” said Mrs. Jennings, “should not stand upon such
ceremony.”

“Then you would be very ill-bred,” cried Mr. Palmer.

“My love you contradict every body,” said his wife with her usual
laugh. “Do you know that you are quite rude?”

“I did not know I contradicted any body in calling your mother
ill-bred.”

“Ay, you may abuse me as you please,” said the good-natured old lady,
“you have taken Charlotte off my hands, and cannot give her back again.
So there I have the whip hand of you.”

Charlotte laughed heartily to think that her husband could not get rid
of her; and exultingly said, she did not care how cross he was to her,
as they must live together. It was impossible for any one to be more
thoroughly good-natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs.
Palmer. The studied indifference, insolence, and discontent of her
husband gave her no pain; and when he scolded or abused her, she was
highly diverted.

“Mr. Palmer is so droll!” said she, in a whisper, to Elinor. “He is
always out of humour.”

Elinor was not inclined, after a little observation, to give him credit
for being so genuinely and unaffectedly ill-natured or ill-bred as he
wished to appear. His temper might perhaps be a little soured by
finding, like many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable
bias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman—but
she knew that this kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man
to be lastingly hurt by it. It was rather a wish of distinction, she
believed, which produced his contemptuous treatment of every body, and
his general abuse of every thing before him. It was the desire of
appearing superior to other people. The motive was too common to be
wondered at; but the means, however they might succeed by establishing
his superiority in ill-breeding, were not likely to attach any one to
him except his wife.

“Oh, my dear Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Palmer soon afterwards, “I have
got such a favour to ask of you and your sister. Will you come and
spend some time at Cleveland this Christmas? Now, pray do,—and come
while the Westons are with us. You cannot think how happy I shall be!
It will be quite delightful!—My love,” applying to her husband, “don’t
you long to have the Miss Dashwoods come to Cleveland?”

“Certainly,” he replied, with a sneer—“I came into Devonshire with no
other view.”

“There now,”—said his lady, “you see Mr. Palmer expects you; so you
cannot refuse to come.”

They both eagerly and resolutely declined her invitation.

“But indeed you must and shall come. I am sure you will like it of all
things. The Westons will be with us, and it will be quite delightful.
You cannot think what a sweet place Cleveland is; and we are so gay
now, for Mr. Palmer is always going about the country canvassing
against the election; and so many people came to dine with us that I
never saw before, it is quite charming! But, poor fellow! it is very
fatiguing to him! for he is forced to make every body like him.”

Elinor could hardly keep her countenance as she assented to the
hardship of such an obligation.

“How charming it will be,” said Charlotte, “when he is in
Parliament!—won’t it? How I shall laugh! It will be so ridiculous to
see all his letters directed to him with an M.P.—But do you know, he
says, he will never frank for me? He declares he won’t. Don’t you, Mr.
Palmer?”

Mr. Palmer took no notice of her.

“He cannot bear writing, you know,” she continued—“he says it is quite
shocking.”

“No,” said he, “I never said any thing so irrational. Don’t palm all
your abuses of language upon me.”

“There now; you see how droll he is. This is always the way with him!
Sometimes he won’t speak to me for half a day together, and then he
comes out with something so droll—all about any thing in the world.”

She surprised Elinor very much as they returned into the drawing-room,
by asking her whether she did not like Mr. Palmer excessively.

“Certainly,” said Elinor; “he seems very agreeable.”

“Well—I am so glad you do. I thought you would, he is so pleasant; and
Mr. Palmer is excessively pleased with you and your sisters I can tell
you, and you can’t think how disappointed he will be if you don’t come
to Cleveland.—I can’t imagine why you should object to it.”

Elinor was again obliged to decline her invitation; and by changing the
subject, put a stop to her entreaties. She thought it probable that as
they lived in the same county, Mrs. Palmer might be able to give some
more particular account of Willoughby’s general character, than could
be gathered from the Middletons’ partial acquaintance with him; and she
was eager to gain from any one, such a confirmation of his merits as
might remove the possibility of fear from Marianne. She began by
inquiring if they saw much of Mr. Willoughby at Cleveland, and whether
they were intimately acquainted with him.

“Oh dear, yes; I know him extremely well,” replied Mrs. Palmer;—“Not
that I ever spoke to him, indeed; but I have seen him for ever in town.
Somehow or other I never happened to be staying at Barton while he was
at Allenham. Mama saw him here once before;—but I was with my uncle at
Weymouth. However, I dare say we should have seen a great deal of him
in Somersetshire, if it had not happened very unluckily that we should
never have been in the country together. He is very little at Combe, I
believe; but if he were ever so much there, I do not think Mr. Palmer
would visit him, for he is in the opposition, you know, and besides it
is such a way off. I know why you inquire about him, very well; your
sister is to marry him. I am monstrous glad of it, for then I shall
have her for a neighbour you know.”

“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “you know much more of the matter than
I do, if you have any reason to expect such a match.”

“Don’t pretend to deny it, because you know it is what every body talks
of. I assure you I heard of it in my way through town.”

“My dear Mrs. Palmer!”

“Upon my honour I did.—I met Colonel Brandon Monday morning in
Bond-street, just before we left town, and he told me of it directly.”

“You surprise me very much. Colonel Brandon tell you of it! Surely you
must be mistaken. To give such intelligence to a person who could not
be interested in it, even if it were true, is not what I should expect
Colonel Brandon to do.”

“But I do assure you it was so, for all that, and I will tell you how
it happened. When we met him, he turned back and walked with us; and so
we began talking of my brother and sister, and one thing and another,
and I said to him, ‘So, Colonel, there is a new family come to Barton
cottage, I hear, and mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that
one of them is going to be married to Mr. Willoughby of Combe Magna. Is
it true, pray? for of course you must know, as you have been in
Devonshire so lately.’”

“And what did the Colonel say?”

“Oh—he did not say much; but he looked as if he knew it to be true, so
from that moment I set it down as certain. It will be quite delightful,
I declare! When is it to take place?”

“Mr. Brandon was very well I hope?”

“Oh! yes, quite well; and so full of your praises, he did nothing but
say fine things of you.”

“I am flattered by his commendation. He seems an excellent man; and I
think him uncommonly pleasing.”

“So do I. He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should
be so grave and so dull. Mama says _he_ was in love with your sister
too. I assure you it was a great compliment if he was, for he hardly
ever falls in love with any body.”

“Is Mr. Willoughby much known in your part of Somersetshire?” said
Elinor.

“Oh! yes, extremely well; that is, I do not believe many people are
acquainted with him, because Combe Magna is so far off; but they all
think him extremely agreeable I assure you. Nobody is more liked than
Mr. Willoughby wherever he goes, and so you may tell your sister. She
is a monstrous lucky girl to get him, upon my honour; not but that he
is much more lucky in getting her, because she is so very handsome and
agreeable, that nothing can be good enough for her. However, I don’t
think her hardly at all handsomer than you, I assure you; for I think
you both excessively pretty, and so does Mr. Palmer too I am sure,
though we could not get him to own it last night.”

Mrs. Palmer’s information respecting Willoughby was not very material;
but any testimony in his favour, however small, was pleasing to her.

“I am so glad we are got acquainted at last,” continued Charlotte.—“And
now I hope we shall always be great friends. You can’t think how much I
longed to see you! It is so delightful that you should live at the
cottage! Nothing can be like it, to be sure! And I am so glad your
sister is going to be well married! I hope you will be a great deal at
Combe Magna. It is a sweet place, by all accounts.”

“You have been long acquainted with Colonel Brandon, have not you?”

“Yes, a great while; ever since my sister married. He was a particular
friend of Sir John’s. I believe,” she added in a low voice, “he would
have been very glad to have had me, if he could. Sir John and Lady
Middleton wished it very much. But mama did not think the match good
enough for me, otherwise Sir John would have mentioned it to the
Colonel, and we should have been married immediately.”

“Did not Colonel Brandon know of Sir John’s proposal to your mother
before it was made? Had he never owned his affection to yourself?”

“Oh, no; but if mama had not objected to it, I dare say he would have
liked it of all things. He had not seen me then above twice, for it was
before I left school. However, I am much happier as I am. Mr. Palmer is
the kind of man I like.”




CHAPTER XXI.


The Palmers returned to Cleveland the next day, and the two families at
Barton were again left to entertain each other. But this did not last
long; Elinor had hardly got their last visitors out of her head, had
hardly done wondering at Charlotte’s being so happy without a cause, at
Mr. Palmer’s acting so simply, with good abilities, and at the strange
unsuitableness which often existed between husband and wife, before Sir
John’s and Mrs. Jennings’s active zeal in the cause of society,
procured her some other new acquaintance to see and observe.

In a morning’s excursion to Exeter, they had met with two young ladies,
whom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction of discovering to be her
relations, and this was enough for Sir John to invite them directly to
the park, as soon as their present engagements at Exeter were over.
Their engagements at Exeter instantly gave way before such an
invitation, and Lady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the
return of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive a
visit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, and of whose
elegance,—whose tolerable gentility even, she could have no proof; for
the assurances of her husband and mother on that subject went for
nothing at all. Their being her relations too made it so much the
worse; and Mrs. Jennings’s attempts at consolation were therefore
unfortunately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care about
their being so fashionable; because they were all cousins and must put
up with one another. As it was impossible, however, now to prevent
their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with
all the philosophy of a well-bred woman, contenting herself with merely
giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times
every day.

The young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or
unfashionable. Their dress was very smart, their manners very civil,
they were delighted with the house, and in raptures with the furniture,
and they happened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady
Middleton’s good opinion was engaged in their favour before they had
been an hour at the Park. She declared them to be very agreeable girls
indeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration. Sir John’s
confidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he
set off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss
Steeles’ arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls
in the world. From such commendation as this, however, there was not
much to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the
world were to be met with in every part of England, under every
possible variation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John
wanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his
guests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was painful to him even to
keep a third cousin to himself.

“Do come now,” said he—“pray come—you must come—I declare you shall
come—You can’t think how you will like them. Lucy is monstrous pretty,
and so good humoured and agreeable! The children are all hanging about
her already, as if she was an old acquaintance. And they both long to
see you of all things, for they have heard at Exeter that you are the
most beautiful creatures in the world; and I have told them it is all
very true, and a great deal more. You will be delighted with them I am
sure. They have brought the whole coach full of playthings for the
children. How can you be so cross as not to come? Why they are your
cousins, you know, after a fashion. _You_ are my cousins, and they are
my wife’s, so you must be related.”

But Sir John could not prevail. He could only obtain a promise of their
calling at the Park within a day or two, and then left them in
amazement at their indifference, to walk home and boast anew of their
attractions to the Miss Steeles, as he had been already boasting of the
Miss Steeles to them.

When their promised visit to the Park and consequent introduction to
these young ladies took place, they found in the appearance of the
eldest, who was nearly thirty, with a very plain and not a sensible
face, nothing to admire; but in the other, who was not more than two or
three and twenty, they acknowledged considerable beauty; her features
were pretty, and she had a sharp quick eye, and a smartness of air,
which though it did not give actual elegance or grace, gave distinction
to her person. Their manners were particularly civil, and Elinor soon
allowed them credit for some kind of sense, when she saw with what
constant and judicious attention they were making themselves agreeable
to Lady Middleton. With her children they were in continual raptures,
extolling their beauty, courting their notice, and humouring their
whims; and such of their time as could be spared from the importunate
demands which this politeness made on it, was spent in admiration of
whatever her ladyship was doing, if she happened to be doing any thing,
or in taking patterns of some elegant new dress, in which her
appearance the day before had thrown them into unceasing delight.
Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond
mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most
rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands
are exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing; and the excessive
affection and endurance of the Miss Steeles towards her offspring were
viewed therefore by Lady Middleton without the smallest surprise or
distrust. She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent
encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted.
She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their
work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt
no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other
surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by,
without claiming a share in what was passing.

“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s
pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window—“He is full of
monkey tricks.”

And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the
same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!”

“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing
a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last
two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet—Never was there
such a quiet little thing!”

But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s
head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this
pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone
by any creature professedly noisy. The mother’s consternation was
excessive; but it could not surpass the alarm of the Miss Steeles, and
every thing was done by all three, in so critical an emergency, which
affection could suggest as likely to assuage the agonies of the little
sufferer. She was seated in her mother’s lap, covered with kisses, her
wound bathed with lavender-water, by one of the Miss Steeles, who was
on her knees to attend her, and her mouth stuffed with sugar plums by
the other. With such a reward for her tears, the child was too wise to
cease crying. She still screamed and sobbed lustily, kicked her two
brothers for offering to touch her, and all their united soothings were
ineffectual till Lady Middleton luckily remembering that in a scene of
similar distress last week, some apricot marmalade had been
successfully applied for a bruised temple, the same remedy was eagerly
proposed for this unfortunate scratch, and a slight intermission of
screams in the young lady on hearing it, gave them reason to hope that
it would not be rejected. She was carried out of the room therefore in
her mother’s arms, in quest of this medicine, and as the two boys chose
to follow, though earnestly entreated by their mother to stay behind,
the four young ladies were left in a quietness which the room had not
known for many hours.

“Poor little creatures!” said Miss Steele, as soon as they were gone.
“It might have been a very sad accident.”

“Yet I hardly know how,” cried Marianne, “unless it had been under
totally different circumstances. But this is the usual way of
heightening alarm, where there is nothing to be alarmed at in reality.”

“What a sweet woman Lady Middleton is!” said Lucy Steele.

Marianne was silent; it was impossible for her to say what she did not
feel, however trivial the occasion; and upon Elinor therefore the whole
task of telling lies when politeness required it, always fell. She did
her best when thus called on, by speaking of Lady Middleton with more
warmth than she felt, though with far less than Miss Lucy.

“And Sir John too,” cried the elder sister, “what a charming man he
is!”

Here too, Miss Dashwood’s commendation, being only simple and just,
came in without any eclat. She merely observed that he was perfectly
good humoured and friendly.

“And what a charming little family they have! I never saw such fine
children in my life.—I declare I quite doat upon them already, and
indeed I am always distractedly fond of children.”

“I should guess so,” said Elinor, with a smile, “from what I have
witnessed this morning.”

“I have a notion,” said Lucy, “you think the little Middletons rather
too much indulged; perhaps they may be the outside of enough; but it is
so natural in Lady Middleton; and for my part, I love to see children
full of life and spirits; I cannot bear them if they are tame and
quiet.”

“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that while I am at Barton Park, I never
think of tame and quiet children with any abhorrence.”

A short pause succeeded this speech, which was first broken by Miss
Steele, who seemed very much disposed for conversation, and who now
said rather abruptly, “And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Dashwood? I
suppose you were very sorry to leave Sussex.”

In some surprise at the familiarity of this question, or at least of
the manner in which it was spoken, Elinor replied that she was.

“Norland is a prodigious beautiful place, is not it?” added Miss
Steele.

“We have heard Sir John admire it excessively,” said Lucy, who seemed
to think some apology necessary for the freedom of her sister.

“I think every one _must_ admire it,” replied Elinor, “who ever saw the
place; though it is not to be supposed that any one can estimate its
beauties as we do.”

“And had you a great many smart beaux there? I suppose you have not so
many in this part of the world; for my part, I think they are a vast
addition always.”

“But why should you think,” said Lucy, looking ashamed of her sister,
“that there are not as many genteel young men in Devonshire as Sussex?”

“Nay, my dear, I’m sure I don’t pretend to say that there an’t. I’m
sure there’s a vast many smart beaux in Exeter; but you know, how could
I tell what smart beaux there might be about Norland; and I was only
afraid the Miss Dashwoods might find it dull at Barton, if they had not
so many as they used to have. But perhaps you young ladies may not care
about the beaux, and had as lief be without them as with them. For my
part, I think they are vastly agreeable, provided they dress smart and
behave civil. But I can’t bear to see them dirty and nasty. Now there’s
Mr. Rose at Exeter, a prodigious smart young man, quite a beau, clerk
to Mr. Simpson, you know, and yet if you do but meet him of a morning,
he is not fit to be seen. I suppose your brother was quite a beau, Miss
Dashwood, before he married, as he was so rich?”

“Upon my word,” replied Elinor, “I cannot tell you, for I do not
perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say, that
if he ever was a beau before he married, he is one still for there is
not the smallest alteration in him.”

“Oh! dear! one never thinks of married men’s being beaux—they have
something else to do.”

“Lord! Anne,” cried her sister, “you can talk of nothing but beaux;—you
will make Miss Dashwood believe you think of nothing else.” And then to
turn the discourse, she began admiring the house and the furniture.

This specimen of the Miss Steeles was enough. The vulgar freedom and
folly of the eldest left her no recommendation, and as Elinor was not
blinded by the beauty, or the shrewd look of the youngest, to her want
of real elegance and artlessness, she left the house without any wish
of knowing them better.

Not so the Miss Steeles. They came from Exeter, well provided with
admiration for the use of Sir John Middleton, his family, and all his
relations, and no niggardly proportion was now dealt out to his fair
cousins, whom they declared to be the most beautiful, elegant,
accomplished, and agreeable girls they had ever beheld, and with whom
they were particularly anxious to be better acquainted. And to be
better acquainted therefore, Elinor soon found was their inevitable
lot, for as Sir John was entirely on the side of the Miss Steeles,
their party would be too strong for opposition, and that kind of
intimacy must be submitted to, which consists of sitting an hour or two
together in the same room almost every day. Sir John could do no more;
but he did not know that any more was required: to be together was, in
his opinion, to be intimate, and while his continual schemes for their
meeting were effectual, he had not a doubt of their being established
friends.

To do him justice, he did every thing in his power to promote their
unreserve, by making the Miss Steeles acquainted with whatever he knew
or supposed of his cousins’ situations in the most delicate
particulars; and Elinor had not seen them more than twice, before the
eldest of them wished her joy on her sister’s having been so lucky as
to make a conquest of a very smart beau since she came to Barton.

“’Twill be a fine thing to have her married so young to be sure,” said
she, “and I hear he is quite a beau, and prodigious handsome. And I
hope you may have as good luck yourself soon,—but perhaps you may have
a friend in the corner already.”

Elinor could not suppose that Sir John would be more nice in
proclaiming his suspicions of her regard for Edward, than he had been
with respect to Marianne; indeed it was rather his favourite joke of
the two, as being somewhat newer and more conjectural; and since
Edward’s visit, they had never dined together without his drinking to
her best affections with so much significancy and so many nods and
winks, as to excite general attention. The letter F—had been likewise
invariably brought forward, and found productive of such countless
jokes, that its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet had
been long established with Elinor.

The Miss Steeles, as she expected, had now all the benefit of these
jokes, and in the eldest of them they raised a curiosity to know the
name of the gentleman alluded to, which, though often impertinently
expressed, was perfectly of a piece with her general inquisitiveness
into the concerns of their family. But Sir John did not sport long with
the curiosity which he delighted to raise, for he had at least as much
pleasure in telling the name, as Miss Steele had in hearing it.

“His name is Ferrars,” said he, in a very audible whisper; “but pray do
not tell it, for it’s a great secret.”

“Ferrars!” repeated Miss Steele; “Mr. Ferrars is the happy man, is he?
What! your sister-in-law’s brother, Miss Dashwood? a very agreeable
young man to be sure; I know him very well.”

“How can you say so, Anne?” cried Lucy, who generally made an amendment
to all her sister’s assertions. “Though we have seen him once or twice
at my uncle’s, it is rather too much to pretend to know him very well.”

Elinor heard all this with attention and surprise. “And who was this
uncle? Where did he live? How came they acquainted?” She wished very
much to have the subject continued, though she did not chuse to join in
it herself; but nothing more of it was said, and for the first time in
her life, she thought Mrs. Jennings deficient either in curiosity after
petty information, or in a disposition to communicate it. The manner in
which Miss Steele had spoken of Edward, increased her curiosity; for it
struck her as being rather ill-natured, and suggested the suspicion of
that lady’s knowing, or fancying herself to know something to his
disadvantage.—But her curiosity was unavailing, for no farther notice
was taken of Mr. Ferrars’s name by Miss Steele when alluded to, or even
openly mentioned by Sir John.




CHAPTER XXII.


Marianne, who had never much toleration for any thing like
impertinence, vulgarity, inferiority of parts, or even difference of
taste from herself, was at this time particularly ill-disposed, from
the state of her spirits, to be pleased with the Miss Steeles, or to
encourage their advances; and to the invariable coldness of her
behaviour towards them, which checked every endeavour at intimacy on
their side, Elinor principally attributed that preference of herself
which soon became evident in the manners of both, but especially of
Lucy, who missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation, or of
striving to improve their acquaintance by an easy and frank
communication of her sentiments.

Lucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and
as a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable;
but her powers had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and
illiterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of
information in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from
Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to
advantage. Elinor saw, and pitied her for, the neglect of abilities
which education might have rendered so respectable; but she saw, with
less tenderness of feeling, the thorough want of delicacy, of
rectitude, and integrity of mind, which her attentions, her
assiduities, her flatteries at the Park betrayed; and she could have no
lasting satisfaction in the company of a person who joined insincerity
with ignorance; whose want of instruction prevented their meeting in
conversation on terms of equality, and whose conduct toward others made
every show of attention and deference towards herself perfectly
valueless.

“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Lucy to her
one day, as they were walking together from the park to the
cottage—“but pray, are you personally acquainted with your
sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. Ferrars?”

Elinor _did_ think the question a very odd one, and her countenance
expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars.

“Indeed!” replied Lucy; “I wonder at that, for I thought you must have
seen her at Norland sometimes. Then, perhaps, you cannot tell me what
sort of a woman she is?”

“No,” returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward’s
mother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent
curiosity; “I know nothing of her.”

“I am sure you think me very strange, for enquiring about her in such a
way,” said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she spoke; “but perhaps
there may be reasons—I wish I might venture; but however I hope you
will do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be
impertinent.”

Elinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on for a few minutes in
silence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by
saying, with some hesitation,

“I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious. I am sure I
would rather do any thing in the world than be thought so by a person
whose good opinion is so well worth having as yours. And I am sure I
should not have the smallest fear of trusting _you;_ indeed, I should
be very glad of your advice how to manage in such an uncomfortable
situation as I am; but, however, there is no occasion to trouble _you_.
I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. Ferrars.”

“I am sorry I do _not_,” said Elinor, in great astonishment, “if it
could be of any use to YOU to know my opinion of her. But really I
never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and
therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry
into her character.”

“I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But if
I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars
is certainly nothing to me at present—but the time _may_ come—how soon
it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately
connected.”

She looked down as she said this, amiably bashful, with only one side
glance at her companion to observe its effect on her.

“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “what do you mean? Are you acquainted
with Mr. Robert Ferrars? Can you be?” And she did not feel much
delighted with the idea of such a sister-in-law.

“No,” replied Lucy, “not to Mr. _Robert_ Ferrars—I never saw him in my
life; but,” fixing her eyes upon Elinor, “to his eldest brother.”

What felt Elinor at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as
painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the
assertion attended it. She turned towards Lucy in silent amazement,
unable to divine the reason or object of such a declaration; and though
her complexion varied, she stood firm in incredulity, and felt in no
danger of an hysterical fit, or a swoon.

“You may well be surprised,” continued Lucy; “for to be sure you could
have had no idea of it before; for I dare say he never dropped the
smallest hint of it to you or any of your family; because it was always
meant to be a great secret, and I am sure has been faithfully kept so
by me to this hour. Not a soul of all my relations know of it but Anne,
and I never should have mentioned it to you, if I had not felt the
greatest dependence in the world upon your secrecy; and I really
thought my behaviour in asking so many questions about Mrs. Ferrars
must seem so odd, that it ought to be explained. And I do not think Mr.
Ferrars can be displeased, when he knows I have trusted you, because I
know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and
looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own
sisters.”—She paused.

Elinor for a few moments remained silent. Her astonishment at what she
heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself
to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner,
which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude—“May I ask
if your engagement is of long standing?”

“We have been engaged these four years.”

“Four years!”

“Yes.”

Elinor, though greatly shocked, still felt unable to believe it.

“I did not know,” said she, “that you were even acquainted till the
other day.”

“Our acquaintance, however, is of many years date. He was under my
uncle’s care, you know, a considerable while.”

“Your uncle!”

“Yes; Mr. Pratt. Did you never hear him talk of Mr. Pratt?”

“I think I have,” replied Elinor, with an exertion of spirits, which
increased with her increase of emotion.

“He was four years with my uncle, who lives at Longstaple, near
Plymouth. It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was
often staying with my uncle, and it was there our engagement was
formed, though not till a year after he had quitted as a pupil; but he
was almost always with us afterwards. I was very unwilling to enter
into it, as you may imagine, without the knowledge and approbation of
his mother; but I was too young, and loved him too well, to be so
prudent as I ought to have been. Though you do not know him so well as
me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he
is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him.”

“Certainly,” answered Elinor, without knowing what she said; but after
a moment’s reflection, she added, with revived security of Edward’s
honour and love, and her companion’s falsehood—“Engaged to Mr. Edward
Ferrars!—I confess myself so totally surprised at what you tell me,
that really—I beg your pardon; but surely there must be some mistake of
person or name. We cannot mean the same Mr. Ferrars.”

“We can mean no other,” cried Lucy, smiling. “Mr. Edward Ferrars, the
eldest son of Mrs. Ferrars, of Park Street, and brother of your
sister-in-law, Mrs. John Dashwood, is the person I mean; you must allow
that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of the man on who
all my happiness depends.”

“It is strange,” replied Elinor, in a most painful perplexity, “that I
should never have heard him even mention your name.”

“No; considering our situation, it was not strange. Our first care has
been to keep the matter secret. You knew nothing of me, or my family,
and, therefore, there could be no _occasion_ for ever mentioning my
name to you; and, as he was always particularly afraid of his sister’s
suspecting any thing, _that_ was reason enough for his not mentioning
it.”

She was silent.—Elinor’s security sunk; but her self-command did not
sink with it.

“Four years you have been engaged,” said she with a firm voice.

“Yes; and heaven knows how much longer we may have to wait. Poor
Edward! It puts him quite out of heart.” Then taking a small miniature
from her pocket, she added, “To prevent the possibility of mistake, be
so good as to look at this face. It does not do him justice, to be
sure, but yet I think you cannot be deceived as to the person it was
drew for.—I have had it above these three years.”

She put it into her hands as she spoke; and when Elinor saw the
painting, whatever other doubts her fear of a too hasty decision, or
her wish of detecting falsehood might suffer to linger in her mind, she
could have none of its being Edward’s face. She returned it almost
instantly, acknowledging the likeness.

“I have never been able,” continued Lucy, “to give him my picture in
return, which I am very much vexed at, for he has been always so
anxious to get it! But I am determined to set for it the very first
opportunity.”

“You are quite in the right,” replied Elinor calmly. They then
proceeded a few paces in silence. Lucy spoke first.

“I am sure,” said she, “I have no doubt in the world of your faithfully
keeping this secret, because you must know of what importance it is to
us, not to have it reach his mother; for she would never approve of it,
I dare say. I shall have no fortune, and I fancy she is an exceeding
proud woman.”

“I certainly did not seek your confidence,” said Elinor; “but you do me
no more than justice in imagining that I may be depended on. Your
secret is safe with me; but pardon me if I express some surprise at so
unnecessary a communication. You must at least have felt that my being
acquainted with it could not add to its safety.”

As she said this, she looked earnestly at Lucy, hoping to discover
something in her countenance; perhaps the falsehood of the greatest
part of what she had been saying; but Lucy’s countenance suffered no
change.

“I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you,”
said she, “in telling you all this. I have not known you long to be
sure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by
description a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as
if you was an old acquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really
thought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular
inquiries about Edward’s mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have
not a creature whose advice I can ask. Anne is the only person that
knows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a
great deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her
betraying me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must
perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world
t’other day, when Edward’s name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she
should out with it all. You can’t think how much I go through in my
mind from it altogether. I only wonder that I am alive after what I
have suffered for Edward’s sake these last four years. Every thing in
such suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom—we can hardly
meet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite
broke.”

Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very
compassionate.

“Sometimes.” continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, “I think whether it
would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely.” As
she said this, she looked directly at her companion. “But then at other
times I have not resolution enough for it. I cannot bear the thoughts
of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a thing
would do. And on my own account too—so dear as he is to me—I don’t
think I could be equal to it. What would you advise me to do in such a
case, Miss Dashwood? What would you do yourself?”

“Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question; “but I can give
you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct
you.”

“To be sure,” continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both
sides, “his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor
Edward is so cast down by it! Did you not think him dreadful
low-spirited when he was at Barton? He was so miserable when he left us
at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him
quite ill.”

“Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited us?”

“Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he
came directly from town?”

“No,” replied Elinor, most feelingly sensible of every fresh
circumstance in favour of Lucy’s veracity; “I remember he told us, that
he had been staying a fortnight with some friends near Plymouth.” She
remembered too, her own surprise at the time, at his mentioning nothing
farther of those friends, at his total silence with respect even to
their names.

“Did not you think him sadly out of spirits?” repeated Lucy.

“We did, indeed, particularly so when he first arrived.”

“I begged him to exert himself for fear you should suspect what was the
matter; but it made him so melancholy, not being able to stay more than
a fortnight with us, and seeing me so much affected. Poor fellow! I am
afraid it is just the same with him now; for he writes in wretched
spirits. I heard from him just before I left Exeter;” taking a letter
from her pocket and carelessly showing the direction to Elinor. “You
know his hand, I dare say,—a charming one it is; but that is not
written so well as usual. He was tired, I dare say, for he had just
filled the sheet to me as full as possible.”

Elinor saw that it _was_ his hand, and she could doubt no longer. This
picture, she had allowed herself to believe, might have been
accidentally obtained; it might not have been Edward’s gift; but a
correspondence between them by letter, could subsist only under a
positive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else; for a few
moments, she was almost overcome—her heart sunk within her, and she
could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary; and she
struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that
her success was speedy, and for the time complete.

“Writing to each other,” said Lucy, returning the letter into her
pocket, “is the only comfort we have in such long separations. Yes, _I_
have one other comfort in his picture, but poor Edward has not even
_that_. If he had but my picture, he says he should be easy. I gave him
a lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and
that was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture.
Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?”

“I did,” said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was
concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt
before. She was mortified, shocked, confounded.

Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage, and the
conversation could be continued no farther. After sitting with them a
few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was then
at liberty to think and be wretched.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME




CHAPTER XXIII.


However small Elinor’s general dependence on Lucy’s veracity might be,
it was impossible for her on serious reflection to suspect it in the
present case, where no temptation could be answerable to the folly of
inventing a falsehood of such a description. What Lucy had asserted to
be true, therefore, Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt; supported
as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and
contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. Their opportunity of
acquaintance in the house of Mr. Pratt was a foundation for the rest,
at once indisputable and alarming; and Edward’s visit near Plymouth,
his melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects,
his uncertain behaviour towards herself, the intimate knowledge of the
Miss Steeles as to Norland and their family connections, which had
often surprised her, the picture, the letter, the ring, formed
altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of
condemning him unfairly, and established as a fact, which no partiality
could set aside, his ill-treatment of herself.—Her resentment of such
behaviour, her indignation at having been its dupe, for a short time
made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations,
soon arose. Had Edward been intentionally deceiving her? Had he feigned
a regard for her which he did not feel? Was his engagement to Lucy an
engagement of the heart? No; whatever it might once have been, she
could not believe it such at present. His affection was all her own.
She could not be deceived in that. Her mother, sisters, Fanny, all had
been conscious of his regard for her at Norland; it was not an illusion
of her own vanity. He certainly loved her. What a softener of the heart
was this persuasion! How much could it not tempt her to forgive! He had
been blamable, highly blamable, in remaining at Norland after he first
felt her influence over him to be more than it ought to be. In that, he
could not be defended; but if he had injured her, how much more had he
injured himself; if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His
imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have
deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in
time regain tranquillity; but _he_, what had he to look forward to?
Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele; could he, were his
affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his
delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like
her—illiterate, artful, and selfish?

The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to every
thing but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding
years—years, which if rationally spent, give such improvement to the
understanding, must have opened his eyes to her defects of education,
while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society
and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity
which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.

If in the supposition of his seeking to marry herself, his difficulties
from his mother had seemed great, how much greater were they now likely
to be, when the object of his engagement was undoubtedly inferior in
connections, and probably inferior in fortune to herself. These
difficulties, indeed, with a heart so alienated from Lucy, might not
press very hard upon his patience; but melancholy was the state of the
person by whom the expectation of family opposition and unkindness,
could be felt as a relief!

As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept
for him, more than for herself. Supported by the conviction of having
done nothing to merit her present unhappiness, and consoled by the
belief that Edward had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought
she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command
herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother
and sisters. And so well was she able to answer her own expectations,
that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first
suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have
supposed from the appearance of the sisters, that Elinor was mourning
in secret over obstacles which must divide her for ever from the object
of her love, and that Marianne was internally dwelling on the
perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly
possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove
near their house.

The necessity of concealing from her mother and Marianne, what had been
entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing
exertion, was no aggravation of Elinor’s distress. On the contrary it
was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give
such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that
condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of
their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt
equal to support.

From their counsel, or their conversation, she knew she could receive
no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress,
while her self-command would neither receive encouragement from their
example nor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own good
sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken, her
appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant
and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.

Much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Lucy on the
subject, she soon felt an earnest wish of renewing it; and this for
more reasons than one. She wanted to hear many particulars of their
engagement repeated again, she wanted more clearly to understand what
Lucy really felt for Edward, whether there were any sincerity in her
declaration of tender regard for him, and she particularly wanted to
convince Lucy, by her readiness to enter on the matter again, and her
calmness in conversing on it, that she was no otherwise interested in
it than as a friend, which she very much feared her involuntary
agitation, in their morning discourse, must have left at least
doubtful. That Lucy was disposed to be jealous of her appeared very
probable: it was plain that Edward had always spoken highly in her
praise, not merely from Lucy’s assertion, but from her venturing to
trust her on so short a personal acquaintance, with a secret so
confessedly and evidently important. And even Sir John’s joking
intelligence must have had some weight. But indeed, while Elinor
remained so well assured within herself of being really beloved by
Edward, it required no other consideration of probabilities to make it
natural that Lucy should be jealous; and that she was so, her very
confidence was a proof. What other reason for the disclosure of the
affair could there be, but that Elinor might be informed by it of
Lucy’s superior claims on Edward, and be taught to avoid him in future?
She had little difficulty in understanding thus much of her rival’s
intentions, and while she was firmly resolved to act by her as every
principle of honour and honesty directed, to combat her own affection
for Edward and to see him as little as possible; she could not deny
herself the comfort of endeavouring to convince Lucy that her heart was
unwounded. And as she could now have nothing more painful to hear on
the subject than had already been told, she did not mistrust her own
ability of going through a repetition of particulars with composure.

But it was not immediately that an opportunity of doing so could be
commanded, though Lucy was as well disposed as herself to take
advantage of any that occurred; for the weather was not often fine
enough to allow of their joining in a walk, where they might most
easily separate themselves from the others; and though they met at
least every other evening either at the park or cottage, and chiefly at
the former, they could not be supposed to meet for the sake of
conversation. Such a thought would never enter either Sir John or Lady
Middleton’s head; and therefore very little leisure was ever given for
a general chat, and none at all for particular discourse. They met for
the sake of eating, drinking, and laughing together, playing at cards,
or consequences, or any other game that was sufficiently noisy.

One or two meetings of this kind had taken place, without affording
Elinor any chance of engaging Lucy in private, when Sir John called at
the cottage one morning, to beg, in the name of charity, that they
would all dine with Lady Middleton that day, as he was obliged to
attend the club at Exeter, and she would otherwise be quite alone,
except her mother and the two Miss Steeles. Elinor, who foresaw a
fairer opening for the point she had in view, in such a party as this
was likely to be, more at liberty among themselves under the tranquil
and well-bred direction of Lady Middleton than when her husband united
them together in one noisy purpose, immediately accepted the
invitation; Margaret, with her mother’s permission, was equally
compliant, and Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their
parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her
seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise.

The young ladies went, and Lady Middleton was happily preserved from
the frightful solitude which had threatened her. The insipidity of the
meeting was exactly such as Elinor had expected; it produced not one
novelty of thought or expression, and nothing could be less interesting
than the whole of their discourse both in the dining parlour and
drawing room: to the latter, the children accompanied them, and while
they remained there, she was too well convinced of the impossibility of
engaging Lucy’s attention to attempt it. They quitted it only with the
removal of the tea-things. The card-table was then placed, and Elinor
began to wonder at herself for having ever entertained a hope of
finding time for conversation at the park. They all rose up in
preparation for a round game.

“I am glad,” said Lady Middleton to Lucy, “you are not going to finish
poor little Annamaria’s basket this evening; for I am sure it must hurt
your eyes to work filigree by candlelight. And we will make the dear
little love some amends for her disappointment to-morrow, and then I
hope she will not much mind it.”

This hint was enough, Lucy recollected herself instantly and replied,
“Indeed you are very much mistaken, Lady Middleton; I am only waiting
to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have
been at my filigree already. I would not disappoint the little angel
for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am
resolved to finish the basket after supper.”

“You are very good, I hope it won’t hurt your eyes—will you ring the
bell for some working candles? My poor little girl would be sadly
disappointed, I know, if the basket was not finished tomorrow, for
though I told her it certainly would not, I am sure she depends upon
having it done.”

Lucy directly drew her work table near her and reseated herself with an
alacrity and cheerfulness which seemed to infer that she could taste no
greater delight than in making a filigree basket for a spoilt child.

Lady Middleton proposed a rubber of Casino to the others. No one made
any objection but Marianne, who with her usual inattention to the forms
of general civility, exclaimed, “Your Ladyship will have the goodness
to excuse _me_—you know I detest cards. I shall go to the piano-forte;
I have not touched it since it was tuned.” And without farther
ceremony, she turned away and walked to the instrument.

Lady Middleton looked as if she thanked heaven that _she_ had never
made so rude a speech.

“Marianne can never keep long from that instrument you know, ma’am,”
said Elinor, endeavouring to smooth away the offence; “and I do not
much wonder at it; for it is the very best toned piano-forte I ever
heard.”

The remaining five were now to draw their cards.

“Perhaps,” continued Elinor, “if I should happen to cut out, I may be
of some use to Miss Lucy Steele, in rolling her papers for her; and
there is so much still to be done to the basket, that it must be
impossible I think for her labour singly, to finish it this evening. I
should like the work exceedingly, if she would allow me a share in it.”

“Indeed I shall be very much obliged to you for your help,” cried Lucy,
“for I find there is more to be done to it than I thought there was;
and it would be a shocking thing to disappoint dear Annamaria after
all.”

“Oh! that would be terrible, indeed,” said Miss Steele. “Dear little
soul, how I do love her!”

“You are very kind,” said Lady Middleton to Elinor; “and as you really
like the work, perhaps you will be as well pleased not to cut in till
another rubber, or will you take your chance now?”

Elinor joyfully profited by the first of these proposals, and thus by a
little of that address which Marianne could never condescend to
practise, gained her own end, and pleased Lady Middleton at the same
time. Lucy made room for her with ready attention, and the two fair
rivals were thus seated side by side at the same table, and, with the
utmost harmony, engaged in forwarding the same work. The pianoforte at
which Marianne, wrapped up in her own music and her own thoughts, had
by this time forgotten that any body was in the room besides herself,
was luckily so near them that Miss Dashwood now judged she might
safely, under the shelter of its noise, introduce the interesting
subject, without any risk of being heard at the card-table.




CHAPTER XXIV.


In a firm, though cautious tone, Elinor thus began.

“I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with,
if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its
subject. I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again.”

“Thank you,” cried Lucy warmly, “for breaking the ice; you have set my
heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended
you by what I told you that Monday.”

“Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,” and Elinor spoke
it with the truest sincerity, “nothing could be farther from my
intention than to give you such an idea. Could you have a motive for
the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?”

“And yet I do assure you,” replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of
meaning, “there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your
manner that made me quite uncomfortable. I felt sure that you was angry
with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having
took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I am very
glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not blame
me. If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my heart
speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of my
life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am
sure.”

“Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you,
to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall
never have reason to repent it. Your case is a very unfortunate one;
you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have
need of all your mutual affection to support you under them. Mr.
Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother.”

“He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to
marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect
of more without a sigh. I have been always used to a very small income,
and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too well to
be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother
might give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it may be for
many years. With almost every other man in the world, it would be an
alarming prospect; but Edward’s affection and constancy nothing can
deprive me of I know.”

“That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly
supported by the same trust in your’s. If the strength of your
reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under
many circumstances it naturally would during a four years’ engagement,
your situation would have been pitiable, indeed.”

Lucy here looked up; but Elinor was careful in guarding her countenance
from every expression that could give her words a suspicious tendency.

“Edward’s love for me,” said Lucy, “has been pretty well put to the
test, by our long, very long absence since we were first engaged, and
it has stood the trial so well, that I should be unpardonable to doubt
it now. I can safely say that he has never gave me one moment’s alarm
on that account from the first.”

Elinor hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion.

Lucy went on. “I am rather of a jealous temper too by nature, and from
our different situations in life, from his being so much more in the
world than me, and our continual separation, I was enough inclined for
suspicion, to have found out the truth in an instant, if there had been
the slightest alteration in his behaviour to me when we met, or any
lowness of spirits that I could not account for, or if he had talked
more of one lady than another, or seemed in any respect less happy at
Longstaple than he used to be. I do not mean to say that I am
particularly observant or quick-sighted in general, but in such a case
I am sure I could not be deceived.”

“All this,” thought Elinor, “is very pretty; but it can impose upon
neither of us.”

“But what,” said she after a short silence, “are your views? or have
you none but that of waiting for Mrs. Ferrars’s death, which is a
melancholy and shocking extremity?—Is her son determined to submit to
this, and to all the tediousness of the many years of suspense in which
it may involve you, rather than run the risk of her displeasure for a
while by owning the truth?”

“If we could be certain that it would be only for a while! But Mrs.
Ferrars is a very headstrong proud woman, and in her first fit of anger
upon hearing it, would very likely secure every thing to Robert, and
the idea of that, for Edward’s sake, frightens away all my inclination
for hasty measures.”

“And for your own sake too, or you are carrying your disinterestedness
beyond reason.”

Lucy looked at Elinor again, and was silent.

“Do you know Mr. Robert Ferrars?” asked Elinor.

“Not at all—I never saw him; but I fancy he is very unlike his
brother—silly and a great coxcomb.”

“A great coxcomb!” repeated Miss Steele, whose ear had caught those
words by a sudden pause in Marianne’s music. “Oh, they are talking of
their favourite beaux, I dare say.”

“No sister,” cried Lucy, “you are mistaken there, our favourite beaux
are _not_ great coxcombs.”

“I can answer for it that Miss Dashwood’s is not,” said Mrs. Jennings,
laughing heartily; “for he is one of the modestest, prettiest behaved
young men I ever saw; but as for Lucy, she is such a sly little
creature, there is no finding out who _she_ likes.”

“Oh,” cried Miss Steele, looking significantly round at them, “I dare
say Lucy’s beau is quite as modest and pretty behaved as Miss
Dashwood’s.”

Elinor blushed in spite of herself. Lucy bit her lip, and looked
angrily at her sister. A mutual silence took place for some time. Lucy
first put an end to it by saying in a lower tone, though Marianne was
then giving them the powerful protection of a very magnificent
concerto,—

“I will honestly tell you of one scheme which has lately come into my
head, for bringing matters to bear; indeed I am bound to let you into
the secret, for you are a party concerned. I dare say you have seen
enough of Edward to know that he would prefer the church to every other
profession; now my plan is that he should take orders as soon as he
can, and then through your interest, which I am sure you would be kind
enough to use out of friendship for him, and I hope out of some regard
to me, your brother might be persuaded to give him Norland living;
which I understand is a very good one, and the present incumbent not
likely to live a great while. That would be enough for us to marry
upon, and we might trust to time and chance for the rest.”

“I should always be happy,” replied Elinor, “to show any mark of my
esteem and friendship for Mr. Ferrars; but do you not perceive that my
interest on such an occasion would be perfectly unnecessary? He is
brother to Mrs. John Dashwood—_that_ must be recommendation enough to
her husband.”

“But Mrs. John Dashwood would not much approve of Edward’s going into
orders.”

“Then I rather suspect that my interest would do very little.”

They were again silent for many minutes. At length Lucy exclaimed with
a deep sigh,

“I believe it would be the wisest way to put an end to the business at
once by dissolving the engagement. We seem so beset with difficulties
on every side, that though it would make us miserable for a time, we
should be happier perhaps in the end. But you will not give me your
advice, Miss Dashwood?”

“No,” answered Elinor, with a smile, which concealed very agitated
feelings, “on such a subject I certainly will not. You know very well
that my opinion would have no weight with you, unless it were on the
side of your wishes.”

“Indeed you wrong me,” replied Lucy, with great solemnity; “I know
nobody of whose judgment I think so highly as I do of yours; and I do
really believe, that if you was to say to me, ‘I advise you by all
means to put an end to your engagement with Edward Ferrars, it will be
more for the happiness of both of you,’ I should resolve upon doing it
immediately.”

Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward’s future wife, and
replied, “This compliment would effectually frighten me from giving any
opinion on the subject had I formed one. It raises my influence much
too high; the power of dividing two people so tenderly attached is too
much for an indifferent person.”

“’Tis because you are an indifferent person,” said Lucy, with some
pique, and laying a particular stress on those words, “that your
judgment might justly have such weight with me. If you could be
supposed to be biased in any respect by your own feelings, your opinion
would not be worth having.”

Elinor thought it wisest to make no answer to this, lest they might
provoke each other to an unsuitable increase of ease and unreserve; and
was even partly determined never to mention the subject again. Another
pause therefore of many minutes’ duration, succeeded this speech, and
Lucy was still the first to end it.

“Shall you be in town this winter, Miss Dashwood?” said she with all
her accustomary complacency.

“Certainly not.”

“I am sorry for that,” returned the other, while her eyes brightened at
the information, “it would have gave me such pleasure to meet you
there! But I dare say you will go for all that. To be sure, your
brother and sister will ask you to come to them.”

“It will not be in my power to accept their invitation if they do.”

“How unlucky that is! I had quite depended upon meeting you there. Anne
and me are to go the latter end of January to some relations who have
been wanting us to visit them these several years! But I only go for
the sake of seeing Edward. He will be there in February, otherwise
London would have no charms for me; I have not spirits for it.”

Elinor was soon called to the card-table by the conclusion of the first
rubber, and the confidential discourse of the two ladies was therefore
at an end, to which both of them submitted without any reluctance, for
nothing had been said on either side to make them dislike each other
less than they had done before; and Elinor sat down to the card table
with the melancholy persuasion that Edward was not only without
affection for the person who was to be his wife; but that he had not
even the chance of being tolerably happy in marriage, which sincere
affection on _her_ side would have given, for self-interest alone could
induce a woman to keep a man to an engagement, of which she seemed so
thoroughly aware that he was weary.

From this time the subject was never revived by Elinor, and when
entered on by Lucy, who seldom missed an opportunity of introducing it,
and was particularly careful to inform her confidante, of her happiness
whenever she received a letter from Edward, it was treated by the
former with calmness and caution, and dismissed as soon as civility
would allow; for she felt such conversations to be an indulgence which
Lucy did not deserve, and which were dangerous to herself.

The visit of the Miss Steeles at Barton Park was lengthened far beyond
what the first invitation implied. Their favour increased; they could
not be spared; Sir John would not hear of their going; and in spite of
their numerous and long arranged engagements in Exeter, in spite of the
absolute necessity of returning to fulfill them immediately, which was
in full force at the end of every week, they were prevailed on to stay
nearly two months at the park, and to assist in the due celebration of
that festival which requires a more than ordinary share of private
balls and large dinners to proclaim its importance.




CHAPTER XXV.


Though Mrs. Jennings was in the habit of spending a large portion of
the year at the houses of her children and friends, she was not without
a settled habitation of her own. Since the death of her husband, who
had traded with success in a less elegant part of the town, she had
resided every winter in a house in one of the streets near Portman
Square. Towards this home, she began on the approach of January to turn
her thoughts, and thither she one day abruptly, and very unexpectedly
by them, asked the elder Misses Dashwood to accompany her. Elinor,
without observing the varying complexion of her sister, and the
animated look which spoke no indifference to the plan, immediately gave
a grateful but absolute denial for both, in which she believed herself
to be speaking their united inclinations. The reason alleged was their
determined resolution of not leaving their mother at that time of the
year. Mrs. Jennings received the refusal with some surprise, and
repeated her invitation immediately.

“Oh, Lord! I am sure your mother can spare you very well, and I _do_
beg you will favour me with your company, for I’ve quite set my heart
upon it. Don’t fancy that you will be any inconvenience to me, for I
shan’t put myself at all out of my way for you. It will only be sending
Betty by the coach, and I hope I can afford _that_. We three shall be
able to go very well in my chaise; and when we are in town, if you do
not like to go wherever I do, well and good, you may always go with one
of my daughters. I am sure your mother will not object to it; for I
have had such good luck in getting my own children off my hands that
she will think me a very fit person to have the charge of you; and if I
don’t get one of you at least well married before I have done with you,
it shall not be my fault. I shall speak a good word for you to all the
young men, you may depend upon it.”

“I have a notion,” said Sir John, “that Miss Marianne would not object
to such a scheme, if her elder sister would come into it. It is very
hard indeed that she should not have a little pleasure, because Miss
Dashwood does not wish it. So I would advise you two, to set off for
town, when you are tired of Barton, without saying a word to Miss
Dashwood about it.”

“Nay,” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure I shall be monstrous glad of
Miss Marianne’s company, whether Miss Dashwood will go or not, only the
more the merrier say I, and I thought it would be more comfortable for
them to be together; because, if they got tired of me, they might talk
to one another, and laugh at my odd ways behind my back. But one or the
other, if not both of them, I must have. Lord bless me! how do you
think I can live poking by myself, I who have been always used till
this winter to have Charlotte with me. Come, Miss Marianne, let us
strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Dashwood will change her
mind by and bye, why so much the better.”

“I thank you, ma’am, sincerely thank you,” said Marianne, with warmth:
“your invitation has insured my gratitude for ever, and it would give
me such happiness, yes, almost the greatest happiness I am capable of,
to be able to accept it. But my mother, my dearest, kindest mother,—I
feel the justice of what Elinor has urged, and if she were to be made
less happy, less comfortable by our absence—Oh! no, nothing should
tempt me to leave her. It should not, must not be a struggle.”

Mrs. Jennings repeated her assurance that Mrs. Dashwood could spare
them perfectly well; and Elinor, who now understood her sister, and saw
to what indifference to almost every thing else she was carried by her
eagerness to be with Willoughby again, made no farther direct
opposition to the plan, and merely referred it to her mother’s
decision, from whom however she scarcely expected to receive any
support in her endeavour to prevent a visit, which she could not
approve of for Marianne, and which on her own account she had
particular reasons to avoid. Whatever Marianne was desirous of, her
mother would be eager to promote—she could not expect to influence the
latter to cautiousness of conduct in an affair respecting which she had
never been able to inspire her with distrust; and she dared not explain
the motive of her own disinclination for going to London. That
Marianne, fastidious as she was, thoroughly acquainted with Mrs.
Jennings’ manners, and invariably disgusted by them, should overlook
every inconvenience of that kind, should disregard whatever must be
most wounding to her irritable feelings, in her pursuit of one object,
was such a proof, so strong, so full, of the importance of that object
to her, as Elinor, in spite of all that had passed, was not prepared to
witness.

On being informed of the invitation, Mrs. Dashwood, persuaded that such
an excursion would be productive of much amusement to both her
daughters, and perceiving through all her affectionate attention to
herself, how much the heart of Marianne was in it, would not hear of
their declining the offer upon _her_ account; insisted on their both
accepting it directly; and then began to foresee, with her usual
cheerfulness, a variety of advantages that would accrue to them all,
from this separation.

“I am delighted with the plan,” she cried, “it is exactly what I could
wish. Margaret and I shall be as much benefited by it as yourselves.
When you and the Middletons are gone, we shall go on so quietly and
happily together with our books and our music! You will find Margaret
so improved when you come back again! I have a little plan of
alteration for your bedrooms too, which may now be performed without
any inconvenience to any one. It is very right that you _should_ go to
town; I would have every young woman of your condition in life
acquainted with the manners and amusements of London. You will be under
the care of a motherly good sort of woman, of whose kindness to you I
can have no doubt. And in all probability you will see your brother,
and whatever may be his faults, or the faults of his wife, when I
consider whose son he is, I cannot bear to have you so wholly estranged
from each other.”

“Though with your usual anxiety for our happiness,” said Elinor, “you
have been obviating every impediment to the present scheme which
occurred to you, there is still one objection which, in my opinion,
cannot be so easily removed.”

Marianne’s countenance sunk.

“And what,” said Mrs. Dashwood, “is my dear prudent Elinor going to
suggest? What formidable obstacle is she now to bring forward? Do not
let me hear a word about the expense of it.”

“My objection is this; though I think very well of Mrs. Jennings’s
heart, she is not a woman whose society can afford us pleasure, or
whose protection will give us consequence.”

“That is very true,” replied her mother, “but of her society,
separately from that of other people, you will scarcely have any thing
at all, and you will almost always appear in public with Lady
Middleton.”

“If Elinor is frightened away by her dislike of Mrs. Jennings,” said
Marianne, “at least it need not prevent MY accepting her invitation. I
have no such scruples, and I am sure I could put up with every
unpleasantness of that kind with very little effort.”

Elinor could not help smiling at this display of indifference towards
the manners of a person, to whom she had often had difficulty in
persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness; and resolved
within herself, that if her sister persisted in going, she would go
likewise, as she did not think it proper that Marianne should be left
to the sole guidance of her own judgment, or that Mrs. Jennings should
be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for all the comfort of her
domestic hours. To this determination she was the more easily
reconciled, by recollecting that Edward Ferrars, by Lucy’s account, was
not to be in town before February; and that their visit, without any
unreasonable abridgement, might be previously finished.

“I will have you _both_ go,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “these objections are
nonsensical. You will have much pleasure in being in London, and
especially in being together; and if Elinor would ever condescend to
anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of
sources; she would, perhaps, expect some from improving her
acquaintance with her sister-in-law’s family.”

Elinor had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken her
mother’s dependence on the attachment of Edward and herself, that the
shock might be less when the whole truth were revealed, and now on this
attack, though almost hopeless of success, she forced herself to begin
her design by saying, as calmly as she could, “I like Edward Ferrars
very much, and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of
the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am
ever known to them or not.”

Mrs. Dashwood smiled, and said nothing. Marianne lifted up her eyes in
astonishment, and Elinor conjectured that she might as well have held
her tongue.

After very little farther discourse, it was finally settled that the
invitation should be fully accepted. Mrs. Jennings received the
information with a great deal of joy, and many assurances of kindness
and care; nor was it a matter of pleasure merely to her. Sir John was
delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of
being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in
London, was something. Even Lady Middleton took the trouble of being
delighted, which was putting herself rather out of her way; and as for
the Miss Steeles, especially Lucy, they had never been so happy in
their lives as this intelligence made them.

Elinor submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with
less reluctance than she had expected to feel. With regard to herself,
it was now a matter of unconcern whether she went to town or not, and
when she saw her mother so thoroughly pleased with the plan, and her
sister exhilarated by it in look, voice, and manner, restored to all
her usual animation, and elevated to more than her usual gaiety, she
could not be dissatisfied with the cause, and would hardly allow
herself to distrust the consequence.

Marianne’s joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so great was the
perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone. Her
unwillingness to quit her mother was her only restorative to calmness;
and at the moment of parting her grief on that score was excessive. Her
mother’s affliction was hardly less, and Elinor was the only one of the
three, who seemed to consider the separation as any thing short of
eternal.

Their departure took place in the first week in January. The Middletons
were to follow in about a week. The Miss Steeles kept their station at
the park, and were to quit it only with the rest of the family.




CHAPTER XXVI.


Elinor could not find herself in the carriage with Mrs. Jennings, and
beginning a journey to London under her protection, and as her guest,
without wondering at her own situation, so short had their acquaintance
with that lady been, so wholly unsuited were they in age and
disposition, and so many had been her objections against such a measure
only a few days before! But these objections had all, with that happy
ardour of youth which Marianne and her mother equally shared, been
overcome or overlooked; and Elinor, in spite of every occasional doubt
of Willoughby’s constancy, could not witness the rapture of delightful
expectation which filled the whole soul and beamed in the eyes of
Marianne, without feeling how blank was her own prospect, how cheerless
her own state of mind in the comparison, and how gladly she would
engage in the solicitude of Marianne’s situation to have the same
animating object in view, the same possibility of hope. A short, a very
short time however must now decide what Willoughby’s intentions were;
in all probability he was already in town. Marianne’s eagerness to be
gone declared her dependence on finding him there; and Elinor was
resolved not only upon gaining every new light as to his character
which her own observation or the intelligence of others could give her,
but likewise upon watching his behaviour to her sister with such
zealous attention, as to ascertain what he was and what he meant,
before many meetings had taken place. Should the result of her
observations be unfavourable, she was determined at all events to open
the eyes of her sister; should it be otherwise, her exertions would be
of a different nature—she must then learn to avoid every selfish
comparison, and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction
in the happiness of Marianne.

They were three days on their journey, and Marianne’s behaviour as they
travelled was a happy specimen of what future complaisance and
companionableness to Mrs. Jennings might be expected to be. She sat in
silence almost all the way, wrapt in her own meditations, and scarcely
ever voluntarily speaking, except when any object of picturesque beauty
within their view drew from her an exclamation of delight exclusively
addressed to her sister. To atone for this conduct therefore, Elinor
took immediate possession of the post of civility which she had
assigned herself, behaved with the greatest attention to Mrs. Jennings,
talked with her, laughed with her, and listened to her whenever she
could; and Mrs. Jennings on her side treated them both with all
possible kindness, was solicitous on every occasion for their ease and
enjoyment, and only disturbed that she could not make them choose their
own dinners at the inn, nor extort a confession of their preferring
salmon to cod, or boiled fowls to veal cutlets. They reached town by
three o’clock the third day, glad to be released, after such a journey,
from the confinement of a carriage, and ready to enjoy all the luxury
of a good fire.

The house was handsome, and handsomely fitted up, and the young ladies
were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. It
had formerly been Charlotte’s, and over the mantelpiece still hung a
landscape in coloured silks of her performance, in proof of her having
spent seven years at a great school in town to some effect.

As dinner was not to be ready in less than two hours from their
arrival, Elinor determined to employ the interval in writing to her
mother, and sat down for that purpose. In a few moments Marianne did
the same. “_I_ am writing home, Marianne,” said Elinor; “had not you
better defer your letter for a day or two?”

“I am _not_ going to write to my mother,” replied Marianne, hastily,
and as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Elinor said no more; it
immediately struck her that she must then be writing to Willoughby; and
the conclusion which as instantly followed was, that, however
mysteriously they might wish to conduct the affair, they must be
engaged. This conviction, though not entirely satisfactory, gave her
pleasure, and she continued her letter with greater alacrity.
Marianne’s was finished in a very few minutes; in length it could be no
more than a note; it was then folded up, sealed, and directed with
eager rapidity. Elinor thought she could distinguish a large W in the
direction; and no sooner was it complete than Marianne, ringing the
bell, requested the footman who answered it to get that letter conveyed
for her to the two-penny post. This decided the matter at once.

Her spirits still continued very high; but there was a flutter in them
which prevented their giving much pleasure to her sister, and this
agitation increased as the evening drew on. She could scarcely eat any
dinner, and when they afterwards returned to the drawing room, seemed
anxiously listening to the sound of every carriage.

It was a great satisfaction to Elinor that Mrs. Jennings, by being much
engaged in her own room, could see little of what was passing. The tea
things were brought in, and already had Marianne been disappointed more
than once by a rap at a neighbouring door, when a loud one was suddenly
heard which could not be mistaken for one at any other house, Elinor
felt secure of its announcing Willoughby’s approach, and Marianne,
starting up, moved towards the door. Every thing was silent; this could
not be borne many seconds; she opened the door, advanced a few steps
towards the stairs, and after listening half a minute, returned into
the room in all the agitation which a conviction of having heard him
would naturally produce; in the ecstasy of her feelings at that instant
she could not help exclaiming, “Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby, indeed it
is!” and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when
Colonel Brandon appeared.

It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately
left the room. Elinor was disappointed too; but at the same time her
regard for Colonel Brandon ensured his welcome with her; and she felt
particularly hurt that a man so partial to her sister should perceive
that she experienced nothing but grief and disappointment in seeing
him. She instantly saw that it was not unnoticed by him, that he even
observed Marianne as she quitted the room, with such astonishment and
concern, as hardly left him the recollection of what civility demanded
towards herself.

“Is your sister ill?” said he.

Elinor answered in some distress that she was, and then talked of
head-aches, low spirits, and over fatigues; and of every thing to which
she could decently attribute her sister’s behaviour.

He heard her with the most earnest attention, but seeming to recollect
himself, said no more on the subject, and began directly to speak of
his pleasure at seeing them in London, making the usual inquiries about
their journey, and the friends they had left behind.

In this calm kind of way, with very little interest on either side,
they continued to talk, both of them out of spirits, and the thoughts
of both engaged elsewhere. Elinor wished very much to ask whether
Willoughby were then in town, but she was afraid of giving him pain by
any enquiry after his rival; and at length, by way of saying something,
she asked if he had been in London ever since she had seen him last.
“Yes,” he replied, with some embarrassment, “almost ever since; I have
been once or twice at Delaford for a few days, but it has never been in
my power to return to Barton.”

This, and the manner in which it was said, immediately brought back to
her remembrance all the circumstances of his quitting that place, with
the uneasiness and suspicions they had caused to Mrs. Jennings, and she
was fearful that her question had implied much more curiosity on the
subject than she had ever felt.

Mrs. Jennings soon came in. “Oh! Colonel,” said she, with her usual
noisy cheerfulness, “I am monstrous glad to see you—sorry I could not
come before—beg your pardon, but I have been forced to look about me a
little, and settle my matters; for it is a long while since I have been
at home, and you know one has always a world of little odd things to do
after one has been away for any time; and then I have had Cartwright to
settle with. Lord, I have been as busy as a bee ever since dinner! But
pray, Colonel, how came you to conjure out that I should be in town
today?”

“I had the pleasure of hearing it at Mr. Palmer’s, where I have been
dining.”

“Oh, you did; well, and how do they all do at their house? How does
Charlotte do? I warrant you she is a fine size by this time.”

“Mrs. Palmer appeared quite well, and I am commissioned to tell you,
that you will certainly see her to-morrow.”

“Ay, to be sure, I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I have brought two
young ladies with me, you see—that is, you see but one of them now, but
there is another somewhere. Your friend, Miss Marianne, too—which you
will not be sorry to hear. I do not know what you and Mr. Willoughby
will do between you about her. Ay, it is a fine thing to be young and
handsome. Well! I was young once, but I never was very handsome—worse
luck for me. However, I got a very good husband, and I don’t know what
the greatest beauty can do more. Ah! poor man! he has been dead these
eight years and better. But Colonel, where have you been to since we
parted? And how does your business go on? Come, come, let’s have no
secrets among friends.”

He replied with his accustomary mildness to all her inquiries, but
without satisfying her in any. Elinor now began to make the tea, and
Marianne was obliged to appear again.

After her entrance, Colonel Brandon became more thoughtful and silent
than he had been before, and Mrs. Jennings could not prevail on him to
stay long. No other visitor appeared that evening, and the ladies were
unanimous in agreeing to go early to bed.

Marianne rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks.
The disappointment of the evening before seemed forgotten in the
expectation of what was to happen that day. They had not long finished
their breakfast before Mrs. Palmer’s barouche stopped at the door, and
in a few minutes she came laughing into the room: so delighted to see
them all, that it was hard to say whether she received most pleasure
from meeting her mother or the Miss Dashwoods again. So surprised at
their coming to town, though it was what she had rather expected all
along; so angry at their accepting her mother’s invitation after having
declined her own, though at the same time she would never have forgiven
them if they had not come!

“Mr. Palmer will be so happy to see you,” said she; “What do you think
he said when he heard of your coming with Mama? I forget what it was
now, but it was something so droll!”

After an hour or two spent in what her mother called comfortable chat,
or in other words, in every variety of inquiry concerning all their
acquaintance on Mrs. Jennings’s side, and in laughter without cause on
Mrs. Palmer’s, it was proposed by the latter that they should all
accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning, to
which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor readily consented, as having likewise
some purchases to make themselves; and Marianne, though declining it at
first was induced to go likewise.

Wherever they went, she was evidently always on the watch. In Bond
Street especially, where much of their business lay, her eyes were in
constant inquiry; and in whatever shop the party were engaged, her mind
was equally abstracted from every thing actually before them, from all
that interested and occupied the others. Restless and dissatisfied
every where, her sister could never obtain her opinion of any article
of purchase, however it might equally concern them both: she received
no pleasure from anything; was only impatient to be at home again, and
could with difficulty govern her vexation at the tediousness of Mrs.
Palmer, whose eye was caught by every thing pretty, expensive, or new;
who was wild to buy all, could determine on none, and dawdled away her
time in rapture and indecision.

It was late in the morning before they returned home; and no sooner had
they entered the house than Marianne flew eagerly up stairs, and when
Elinor followed, she found her turning from the table with a sorrowful
countenance, which declared that no Willoughby had been there.

“Has no letter been left here for me since we went out?” said she to
the footman who then entered with the parcels. She was answered in the
negative. “Are you quite sure of it?” she replied. “Are you certain
that no servant, no porter has left any letter or note?”

The man replied that none had.

“How very odd!” said she, in a low and disappointed voice, as she
turned away to the window.

“How odd, indeed!” repeated Elinor within herself, regarding her sister
with uneasiness. “If she had not known him to be in town she would not
have written to him, as she did; she would have written to Combe Magna;
and if he is in town, how odd that he should neither come nor write!
Oh! my dear mother, you must be wrong in permitting an engagement
between a daughter so young, a man so little known, to be carried on in
so doubtful, so mysterious a manner! _I_ long to inquire; and how will
_my_ interference be borne.”

She determined, after some consideration, that if appearances continued
many days longer as unpleasant as they now were, she would represent in
the strongest manner to her mother the necessity of some serious
enquiry into the affair.

Mrs. Palmer and two elderly ladies of Mrs. Jennings’s intimate
acquaintance, whom she had met and invited in the morning, dined with
them. The former left them soon after tea to fulfill her evening
engagements; and Elinor was obliged to assist in making a whist table
for the others. Marianne was of no use on these occasions, as she would
never learn the game; but though her time was therefore at her own
disposal, the evening was by no means more productive of pleasure to
her than to Elinor, for it was spent in all the anxiety of expectation
and the pain of disappointment. She sometimes endeavoured for a few
minutes to read; but the book was soon thrown aside, and she returned
to the more interesting employment of walking backwards and forwards
across the room, pausing for a moment whenever she came to the window,
in hopes of distinguishing the long-expected rap.




CHAPTER XXVII.


“If this open weather holds much longer,” said Mrs. Jennings, when they
met at breakfast the following morning, “Sir John will not like leaving
Barton next week; ’tis a sad thing for sportsmen to lose a day’s
pleasure. Poor souls! I always pity them when they do; they seem to
take it so much to heart.”

“That is true,” cried Marianne, in a cheerful voice, and walking to the
window as she spoke, to examine the day. “I had not thought of _that_.
This weather will keep many sportsmen in the country.”

It was a lucky recollection, all her good spirits were restored by it.
“It is charming weather for _them_ indeed,” she continued, as she sat
down to the breakfast table with a happy countenance. “How much they
must enjoy it! But” (with a little return of anxiety) “it cannot be
expected to last long. At this time of the year, and after such a
series of rain, we shall certainly have very little more of it. Frosts
will soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day
or two perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer—nay,
perhaps it may freeze tonight!”

“At any rate,” said Elinor, wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from
seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did, “I dare say we
shall have Sir John and Lady Middleton in town by the end of next
week.”

“Ay, my dear, I’ll warrant you we do. Mary always has her own way.”

“And now,” silently conjectured Elinor, “she will write to Combe by
this day’s post.”

But if she _did_, the letter was written and sent away with a privacy
which eluded all her watchfulness to ascertain the fact. Whatever the
truth of it might be, and far as Elinor was from feeling thorough
contentment about it, yet while she saw Marianne in spirits, she could
not be very uncomfortable herself. And Marianne was in spirits; happy
in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of
a frost.

The morning was chiefly spent in leaving cards at the houses of Mrs.
Jennings’s acquaintance to inform them of her being in town; and
Marianne was all the time busy in observing the direction of the wind,
watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the
air.

“Don’t you find it colder than it was in the morning, Elinor? There
seems to me a very decided difference. I can hardly keep my hands warm
even in my muff. It was not so yesterday, I think. The clouds seem
parting too, the sun will be out in a moment, and we shall have a clear
afternoon.”

Elinor was alternately diverted and pained; but Marianne persevered,
and saw every night in the brightness of the fire, and every morning in
the appearance of the atmosphere, the certain symptoms of approaching
frost.

The Miss Dashwoods had no greater reason to be dissatisfied with Mrs.
Jennings’s style of living, and set of acquaintance, than with her
behaviour to themselves, which was invariably kind. Every thing in her
household arrangements was conducted on the most liberal plan, and
excepting a few old city friends, whom, to Lady Middleton’s regret, she
had never dropped, she visited no one to whom an introduction could at
all discompose the feelings of her young companions. Pleased to find
herself more comfortably situated in that particular than she had
expected, Elinor was very willing to compound for the want of much real
enjoyment from any of their evening parties, which, whether at home or
abroad, formed only for cards, could have little to amuse her.

Colonel Brandon, who had a general invitation to the house, was with
them almost every day; he came to look at Marianne and talk to Elinor,
who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from
any other daily occurrence, but who saw at the same time with much
concern his continued regard for her sister. She feared it was a
strengthening regard. It grieved her to see the earnestness with which
he often watched Marianne, and his spirits were certainly worse than
when at Barton.

About a week after their arrival, it became certain that Willoughby was
also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the
morning’s drive.

“Good God!” cried Marianne, “he has been here while we were out.”
Elinor, rejoiced to be assured of his being in London, now ventured to
say, “Depend upon it, he will call again tomorrow.” But Marianne seemed
hardly to hear her, and on Mrs. Jennings’s entrance, escaped with the
precious card.

This event, while it raised the spirits of Elinor, restored to those of
her sister all, and more than all, their former agitation. From this
moment her mind was never quiet; the expectation of seeing him every
hour of the day, made her unfit for any thing. She insisted on being
left behind, the next morning, when the others went out.

Elinor’s thoughts were full of what might be passing in Berkeley Street
during their absence; but a moment’s glance at her sister when they
returned was enough to inform her, that Willoughby had paid no second
visit there. A note was just then brought in, and laid on the table.

“For me!” cried Marianne, stepping hastily forward.

“No, ma’am, for my mistress.”

But Marianne, not convinced, took it instantly up.

“It is indeed for Mrs. Jennings; how provoking!”

“You are expecting a letter, then?” said Elinor, unable to be longer
silent.

“Yes, a little—not much.”

After a short pause. “You have no confidence in me, Marianne.”

“Nay, Elinor, this reproach from _you_—you who have confidence in no
one!”

“Me!” returned Elinor in some confusion; “indeed, Marianne, I have
nothing to tell.”

“Nor I,” answered Marianne with energy, “our situations then are alike.
We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you do not
communicate, and I, because I conceal nothing.”

Elinor, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, which she was
not at liberty to do away, knew not how, under such circumstances, to
press for greater openness in Marianne.

Mrs. Jennings soon appeared, and the note being given her, she read it
aloud. It was from Lady Middleton, announcing their arrival in Conduit
Street the night before, and requesting the company of her mother and
cousins the following evening. Business on Sir John’s part, and a
violent cold on her own, prevented their calling in Berkeley Street.
The invitation was accepted; but when the hour of appointment drew
near, necessary as it was in common civility to Mrs. Jennings, that
they should both attend her on such a visit, Elinor had some difficulty
in persuading her sister to go, for still she had seen nothing of
Willoughby; and therefore was not more indisposed for amusement abroad,
than unwilling to run the risk of his calling again in her absence.

Elinor found, when the evening was over, that disposition is not
materially altered by a change of abode, for although scarcely settled
in town, Sir John had contrived to collect around him, nearly twenty
young people, and to amuse them with a ball. This was an affair,
however, of which Lady Middleton did not approve. In the country, an
unpremeditated dance was very allowable; but in London, where the
reputation of elegance was more important and less easily attained, it
was risking too much for the gratification of a few girls, to have it
known that Lady Middleton had given a small dance of eight or nine
couple, with two violins, and a mere side-board collation.

Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were of the party; from the former, whom they had
not seen before since their arrival in town, as he was careful to avoid
the appearance of any attention to his mother-in-law, and therefore
never came near her, they received no mark of recognition on their
entrance. He looked at them slightly, without seeming to know who they
were, and merely nodded to Mrs. Jennings from the other side of the
room. Marianne gave one glance round the apartment as she entered: it
was enough—_he_ was not there—and she sat down, equally ill-disposed to
receive or communicate pleasure. After they had been assembled about an
hour, Mr. Palmer sauntered towards the Miss Dashwoods to express his
surprise on seeing them in town, though Colonel Brandon had been first
informed of their arrival at his house, and he had himself said
something very droll on hearing that they were to come.

“I thought you were both in Devonshire,” said he.

“Did you?” replied Elinor.

“When do you go back again?”

“I do not know.” And thus ended their discourse.

Never had Marianne been so unwilling to dance in her life, as she was
that evening, and never so much fatigued by the exercise. She
complained of it as they returned to Berkeley Street.

“Aye, aye,” said Mrs. Jennings, “we know the reason of all that very
well; if a certain person who shall be nameless, had been there, you
would not have been a bit tired: and to say the truth it was not very
pretty of him not to give you the meeting when he was invited.”

“Invited!” cried Marianne.

“So my daughter Middleton told me, for it seems Sir John met him
somewhere in the street this morning.” Marianne said no more, but
looked exceedingly hurt. Impatient in this situation to be doing
something that might lead to her sister’s relief, Elinor resolved to
write the next morning to her mother, and hoped by awakening her fears
for the health of Marianne, to procure those inquiries which had been
so long delayed; and she was still more eagerly bent on this measure by
perceiving after breakfast on the morrow, that Marianne was again
writing to Willoughby, for she could not suppose it to be to any other
person.

About the middle of the day, Mrs. Jennings went out by herself on
business, and Elinor began her letter directly, while Marianne, too
restless for employment, too anxious for conversation, walked from one
window to the other, or sat down by the fire in melancholy meditation.
Elinor was very earnest in her application to her mother, relating all
that had passed, her suspicions of Willoughby’s inconstancy, urging her
by every plea of duty and affection to demand from Marianne an account
of her real situation with respect to him.

Her letter was scarcely finished, when a rap foretold a visitor, and
Colonel Brandon was announced. Marianne, who had seen him from the
window, and who hated company of any kind, left the room before he
entered it. He looked more than usually grave, and though expressing
satisfaction at finding Miss Dashwood alone, as if he had somewhat in
particular to tell her, sat for some time without saying a word.
Elinor, persuaded that he had some communication to make in which her
sister was concerned, impatiently expected its opening. It was not the
first time of her feeling the same kind of conviction; for, more than
once before, beginning with the observation of “your sister looks
unwell to-day,” or “your sister seems out of spirits,” he had appeared
on the point, either of disclosing, or of inquiring, something
particular about her. After a pause of several minutes, their silence
was broken, by his asking her in a voice of some agitation, when he was
to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Elinor was not
prepared for such a question, and having no answer ready, was obliged
to adopt the simple and common expedient, of asking what he meant? He
tried to smile as he replied, “your sister’s engagement to Mr.
Willoughby is very generally known.”

“It cannot be generally known,” returned Elinor, “for her own family do
not know it.”

He looked surprised and said, “I beg your pardon, I am afraid my
inquiry has been impertinent; but I had not supposed any secrecy
intended, as they openly correspond, and their marriage is universally
talked of.”

“How can that be? By whom can you have heard it mentioned?”

“By many—by some of whom you know nothing, by others with whom you are
most intimate, Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Palmer, and the Middletons. But
still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps
rather unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to
support its doubts, if I had not, when the servant let me in today,
accidentally seen a letter in his hand, directed to Mr. Willoughby in
your sister’s writing. I came to inquire, but I was convinced before I
could ask the question. Is every thing finally settled? Is it
impossible to—? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of
succeeding. Excuse me, Miss Dashwood. I believe I have been wrong in
saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence I
have the strongest dependence. Tell me that it is all absolutely
resolved on, that any attempt, that in short concealment, if
concealment be possible, is all that remains.”

These words, which conveyed to Elinor a direct avowal of his love for
her sister, affected her very much. She was not immediately able to say
anything, and even when her spirits were recovered, she debated for a
short time, on the answer it would be most proper to give. The real
state of things between Willoughby and her sister was so little known
to herself, that in endeavouring to explain it, she might be as liable
to say too much as too little. Yet as she was convinced that Marianne’s
affection for Willoughby, could leave no hope of Colonel Brandon’s
success, whatever the event of that affection might be, and at the same
time wished to shield her conduct from censure, she thought it most
prudent and kind, after some consideration, to say more than she really
knew or believed. She acknowledged, therefore, that though she had
never been informed by themselves of the terms on which they stood with
each other, of their mutual affection she had no doubt, and of their
correspondence she was not astonished to hear.

He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak,
rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion,
“to your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby that he
may endeavour to deserve her,”—took leave, and went away.

Elinor derived no comfortable feelings from this conversation, to
lessen the uneasiness of her mind on other points; she was left, on the
contrary, with a melancholy impression of Colonel Brandon’s
unhappiness, and was prevented even from wishing it removed, by her
anxiety for the very event that must confirm it.




CHAPTER XXVIII.


Nothing occurred during the next three or four days, to make Elinor
regret what she had done, in applying to her mother; for Willoughby
neither came nor wrote. They were engaged about the end of that time to
attend Lady Middleton to a party, from which Mrs. Jennings was kept
away by the indisposition of her youngest daughter; and for this party,
Marianne, wholly dispirited, careless of her appearance, and seeming
equally indifferent whether she went or staid, prepared, without one
look of hope or one expression of pleasure. She sat by the drawing-room
fire after tea, till the moment of Lady Middleton’s arrival, without
once stirring from her seat, or altering her attitude, lost in her own
thoughts, and insensible of her sister’s presence; and when at last
they were told that Lady Middleton waited for them at the door, she
started as if she had forgotten that any one was expected.

They arrived in due time at the place of destination, and as soon as
the string of carriages before them would allow, alighted, ascended the
stairs, heard their names announced from one landing-place to another
in an audible voice, and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full
of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid their tribute of
politeness by curtsying to the lady of the house, they were permitted
to mingle in the crowd, and take their share of the heat and
inconvenience, to which their arrival must necessarily add. After some
time spent in saying little or doing less, Lady Middleton sat down to
Cassino, and as Marianne was not in spirits for moving about, she and
Elinor luckily succeeding to chairs, placed themselves at no great
distance from the table.

They had not remained in this manner long, before Elinor perceived
Willoughby, standing within a few yards of them, in earnest
conversation with a very fashionable looking young woman. She soon
caught his eye, and he immediately bowed, but without attempting to
speak to her, or to approach Marianne, though he could not but see her;
and then continued his discourse with the same lady. Elinor turned
involuntarily to Marianne, to see whether it could be unobserved by
her. At that moment she first perceived him, and her whole countenance
glowing with sudden delight, she would have moved towards him
instantly, had not her sister caught hold of her.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “he is there—he is there—Oh! why does he
not look at me? why cannot I speak to him?”

“Pray, pray be composed,” cried Elinor, “and do not betray what you
feel to every body present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.”

This however was more than she could believe herself; and to be
composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it
was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience which affected
every feature.

At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up,
and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to
him. He approached, and addressing himself rather to Elinor than
Marianne, as if wishing to avoid her eye, and determined not to observe
her attitude, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and
asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence
of mind by such an address, and was unable to say a word. But the
feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. Her face was crimsoned
over, and she exclaimed, in a voice of the greatest emotion, “Good God!
Willoughby, what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my
letters? Will you not shake hands with me?”

He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he
held her hand only for a moment. During all this time he was evidently
struggling for composure. Elinor watched his countenance and saw its
expression becoming more tranquil. After a moment’s pause, he spoke
with calmness.

“I did myself the honour of calling in Berkeley Street last Tuesday,
and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find
yourselves and Mrs. Jennings at home. My card was not lost, I hope.”

“But have you not received my notes?” cried Marianne in the wildest
anxiety. “Here is some mistake I am sure—some dreadful mistake. What
can be the meaning of it? Tell me, Willoughby; for heaven’s sake tell
me, what is the matter?”

He made no reply; his complexion changed and all his embarrassment
returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he
had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion,
he recovered himself again, and after saying, “Yes, I had the pleasure
of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so
good as to send me,” turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined
his friend.

Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into
her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried
to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with
lavender water.

“Go to him, Elinor,” she cried, as soon as she could speak, “and force
him to come to me. Tell him I must see him again—must speak to him
instantly.—I cannot rest—I shall not have a moment’s peace till this is
explained—some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this
moment.”

“How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is
not the place for explanations. Wait only till tomorrow.”

With difficulty however could she prevent her from following him
herself; and to persuade her to check her agitation, to wait, at least,
with the appearance of composure, till she might speak to him with more
privacy and more effect, was impossible; for Marianne continued
incessantly to give way in a low voice to the misery of her feelings,
by exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby
quit the room by the door towards the staircase, and telling Marianne
that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that
evening, as a fresh argument for her to be calm. She instantly begged
her sister would entreat Lady Middleton to take them home, as she was
too miserable to stay a minute longer.

Lady Middleton, though in the middle of a rubber, on being informed
that Marianne was unwell, was too polite to object for a moment to her
wish of going away, and making over her cards to a friend, they
departed as soon as the carriage could be found. Scarcely a word was
spoken during their return to Berkeley Street. Marianne was in a silent
agony, too much oppressed even for tears; but as Mrs. Jennings was
luckily not come home, they could go directly to their own room, where
hartshorn restored her a little to herself. She was soon undressed and
in bed, and as she seemed desirous of being alone, her sister then left
her, and while she waited the return of Mrs. Jennings, had leisure
enough for thinking over the past.

That some kind of engagement had subsisted between Willoughby and
Marianne she could not doubt, and that Willoughby was weary of it,
seemed equally clear; for however Marianne might still feed her own
wishes, _she_ could not attribute such behaviour to mistake or
misapprehension of any kind. Nothing but a thorough change of sentiment
could account for it. Her indignation would have been still stronger
than it was, had she not witnessed that embarrassment which seemed to
speak a consciousness of his own misconduct, and prevented her from
believing him so unprincipled as to have been sporting with the
affections of her sister from the first, without any design that would
bear investigation. Absence might have weakened his regard, and
convenience might have determined him to overcome it, but that such a
regard had formerly existed she could not bring herself to doubt.

As for Marianne, on the pangs which so unhappy a meeting must already
have given her, and on those still more severe which might await her in
its probable consequence, she could not reflect without the deepest
concern. Her own situation gained in the comparison; for while she
could _esteem_ Edward as much as ever, however they might be divided in
future, her mind might be always supported. But every circumstance that
could embitter such an evil seemed uniting to heighten the misery of
Marianne in a final separation from Willoughby—in an immediate and
irreconcilable rupture with him.




CHAPTER XXIX.


Before the housemaid had lit their fire the next day, or the sun gained
any power over a cold, gloomy morning in January, Marianne, only half
dressed, was kneeling against one of the window-seats for the sake of
all the little light she could command from it, and writing as fast as
a continual flow of tears would permit her. In this situation, Elinor,
roused from sleep by her agitation and sobs, first perceived her; and
after observing her for a few moments with silent anxiety, said, in a
tone of the most considerate gentleness,

“Marianne, may I ask—?”

“No, Elinor,” she replied, “ask nothing; you will soon know all.”

The sort of desperate calmness with which this was said, lasted no
longer than while she spoke, and was immediately followed by a return
of the same excessive affliction. It was some minutes before she could
go on with her letter, and the frequent bursts of grief which still
obliged her, at intervals, to withhold her pen, were proofs enough of
her feeling how more than probable it was that she was writing for the
last time to Willoughby.

Elinor paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power; and
she would have tried to sooth and tranquilize her still more, had not
Marianne entreated her, with all the eagerness of the most nervous
irritability, not to speak to her for the world. In such circumstances,
it was better for both that they should not be long together; and the
restless state of Marianne’s mind not only prevented her from remaining
in the room a moment after she was dressed, but requiring at once
solitude and continual change of place, made her wander about the house
till breakfast time, avoiding the sight of every body.

At breakfast she neither ate, nor attempted to eat any thing; and
Elinor’s attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in
pitying her, nor in appearing to regard her, but in endeavouring to
engage Mrs. Jennings’s notice entirely to herself.

As this was a favourite meal with Mrs. Jennings, it lasted a
considerable time, and they were just setting themselves, after it,
round the common working table, when a letter was delivered to
Marianne, which she eagerly caught from the servant, and, turning of a
death-like paleness, instantly ran out of the room. Elinor, who saw as
plainly by this, as if she had seen the direction, that it must come
from Willoughby, felt immediately such a sickness at heart as made her
hardly able to hold up her head, and sat in such a general tremour as
made her fear it impossible to escape Mrs. Jennings’s notice. That good
lady, however, saw only that Marianne had received a letter from
Willoughby, which appeared to her a very good joke, and which she
treated accordingly, by hoping, with a laugh, that she would find it to
her liking. Of Elinor’s distress, she was too busily employed in
measuring lengths of worsted for her rug, to see any thing at all; and
calmly continuing her talk, as soon as Marianne disappeared, she said,

“Upon my word, I never saw a young woman so desperately in love in my
life! _My_ girls were nothing to her, and yet they used to be foolish
enough; but as for Miss Marianne, she is quite an altered creature. I
hope, from the bottom of my heart, he won’t keep her waiting much
longer, for it is quite grievous to see her look so ill and forlorn.
Pray, when are they to be married?”

Elinor, though never less disposed to speak than at that moment,
obliged herself to answer such an attack as this, and, therefore,
trying to smile, replied, “And have you really, Ma’am, talked yourself
into a persuasion of my sister’s being engaged to Mr. Willoughby? I
thought it had been only a joke, but so serious a question seems to
imply more; and I must beg, therefore, that you will not deceive
yourself any longer. I do assure you that nothing would surprise me
more than to hear of their being going to be married.”

“For shame, for shame, Miss Dashwood! how can you talk so? Don’t we all
know that it must be a match, that they were over head and ears in love
with each other from the first moment they met? Did not I see them
together in Devonshire every day, and all day long; and did not I know
that your sister came to town with me on purpose to buy wedding
clothes? Come, come, this won’t do. Because you are so sly about it
yourself, you think nobody else has any senses; but it is no such
thing, I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so
long. I tell every body of it and so does Charlotte.”

“Indeed, Ma’am,” said Elinor, very seriously, “you are mistaken.
Indeed, you are doing a very unkind thing in spreading the report, and
you will find that you have though you will not believe me now.”

Mrs. Jennings laughed again, but Elinor had not spirits to say more,
and eager at all events to know what Willoughby had written, hurried
away to their room, where, on opening the door, she saw Marianne
stretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand,
and two or three others lying by her. Elinor drew near, but without
saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed
her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of
tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne’s. The
latter, though unable to speak, seemed to feel all the tenderness of
this behaviour, and after some time thus spent in joint affliction, she
put all the letters into Elinor’s hands; and then covering her face
with her handkerchief, almost screamed with agony. Elinor, who knew
that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its
course, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent
itself, and then turning eagerly to Willoughby’s letter, read as
follows:

                                    “Bond Street, January.


        MY DEAR MADAM,
    “I have just had the honour of receiving your letter, for which I
    beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am much concerned to
    find there was anything in my behaviour last night that did not
    meet your approbation; and though I am quite at a loss to discover
    in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you, I entreat
    your forgiveness of what I can assure you to have been perfectly
    unintentional. I shall never reflect on my former acquaintance with
    your family in Devonshire without the most grateful pleasure, and
    flatter myself it will not be broken by any mistake or
    misapprehension of my actions. My esteem for your whole family is
    very sincere; but if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to
    a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express, I shall reproach
    myself for not having been more guarded in my professions of that
    esteem. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be
    impossible, when you understand that my affections have been long
    engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before
    this engagement is fulfilled. It is with great regret that I obey
    your commands in returning the letters with which I have been
    honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly
    bestowed on me.


“I am, dear Madam,
“Your most obedient
“humble servant,
“JOHN WILLOUGHBY.”


With what indignation such a letter as this must be read by Miss
Dashwood, may be imagined. Though aware, before she began it, that it
must bring a confession of his inconstancy, and confirm their
separation for ever, she was not aware that such language could be
suffered to announce it; nor could she have supposed Willoughby capable
of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and
delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to
send a letter so impudently cruel: a letter which, instead of bringing
with his desire of a release any professions of regret, acknowledged no
breach of faith, denied all peculiar affection whatever—a letter of
which every line was an insult, and which proclaimed its writer to be
deep in hardened villainy.

She paused over it for some time with indignant astonishment; then read
it again and again; but every perusal only served to increase her
abhorrence of the man, and so bitter were her feelings against him,
that she dared not trust herself to speak, lest she might wound
Marianne still deeper by treating their disengagement, not as a loss to
her of any possible good but as an escape from the worst and most
irremediable of all evils, a connection, for life, with an unprincipled
man, as a deliverance the most real, a blessing the most important.

In her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the
depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the
very different mind of a very different person, who had no other
connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with
every thing that passed, Elinor forgot the immediate distress of her
sister, forgot that she had three letters on her lap yet unread, and so
entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that when on hearing
a carriage drive up to the door, she went to the window to see who
could be coming so unreasonably early, she was all astonishment to
perceive Mrs. Jennings’s chariot, which she knew had not been ordered
till one. Determined not to quit Marianne, though hopeless of
contributing, at present, to her ease, she hurried away to excuse
herself from attending Mrs. Jennings, on account of her sister being
indisposed. Mrs. Jennings, with a thoroughly good-humoured concern for
its cause, admitted the excuse most readily, and Elinor, after seeing
her safe off, returned to Marianne, whom she found attempting to rise
from the bed, and whom she reached just in time to prevent her from
falling on the floor, faint and giddy from a long want of proper rest
and food; for it was many days since she had any appetite, and many
nights since she had really slept; and now, when her mind was no longer
supported by the fever of suspense, the consequence of all this was
felt in an aching head, a weakened stomach, and a general nervous
faintness. A glass of wine, which Elinor procured for her directly,
made her more comfortable, and she was at last able to express some
sense of her kindness, by saying,

“Poor Elinor! how unhappy I make you!”

“I only wish,” replied her sister, “there were any thing I _could_ do,
which might be of comfort to you.”

This, as every thing else would have been, was too much for Marianne,
who could only exclaim, in the anguish of her heart, “Oh! Elinor, I am
miserable, indeed,” before her voice was entirely lost in sobs.

Elinor could no longer witness this torrent of unresisted grief in
silence.

“Exert yourself, dear Marianne,” she cried, “if you would not kill
yourself and all who love you. Think of your mother; think of her
misery while _you_ suffer: for her sake you must exert yourself.”

“I cannot, I cannot,” cried Marianne; “leave me, leave me, if I
distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so.
Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of
exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, _you_ cannot have an idea of what I
suffer.”

“Do you call _me_ happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!—And can you believe
me to be so, while I see you so wretched!”

“Forgive me, forgive me,” throwing her arms round her sister’s neck; “I
know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are—you
must be happy; Edward loves you—what, oh what, can do away such
happiness as that?”

“Many, many circumstances,” said Elinor, solemnly.

“No, no, no,” cried Marianne wildly, “he loves you, and only you. You
_can_ have no grief.”

“I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state.”

“And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing
can do away.”

“You must not talk so, Marianne. Have you no comforts? no friends? Is
your loss such as leaves no opening for consolation? Much as you suffer
now, think of what you would have suffered if the discovery of his
character had been delayed to a later period—if your engagement had
been carried on for months and months, as it might have been, before he
chose to put an end to it. Every additional day of unhappy confidence,
on your side, would have made the blow more dreadful.”

“Engagement!” cried Marianne, “there has been no engagement.”

“No engagement!”

“No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith
with me.”

“But he told you that he loved you.”

“Yes—no—never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never
professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been, but it never
was.”

“Yet you wrote to him?”

“Yes: could that be wrong after all that had passed? But I cannot
talk.”

Elinor said no more, and turning again to the three letters which now
raised a much stronger curiosity than before, directly ran over the
contents of all. The first, which was what her sister had sent him on
their arrival in town, was to this effect.

Berkeley Street, January.


“How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think
you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in
town. An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a
temptation we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time to
come here to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any rate I shall
expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.


“M.D.”


Her second note, which had been written on the morning after the dance
at the Middletons’, was in these words:—

“I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before
yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a
note which I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting to hear
from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call
again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected
this in vain. You had better come earlier another time, because we are
generally out by one. We were last night at Lady Middleton’s, where
there was a dance. I have been told that you were asked to be of the
party. But could it be so? You must be very much altered indeed since
we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not
suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal
assurance of its being otherwise.


“M.D.”


The contents of her last note to him were these:—

“What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour last night? Again
I demand an explanation of it. I was prepared to meet you with the
pleasure which our separation naturally produced, with the familiarity
which our intimacy at Barton appeared to me to justify. I was repulsed
indeed! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a
conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though I
have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your
behaviour, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it. You
have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something
concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion. Tell me what
it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall be
satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It would grieve me indeed to
be obliged to think ill of you; but if I am to do it, if I am to learn
that you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that your regard
for us all was insincere, that your behaviour to me was intended only
to deceive, let it be told as soon as possible. My feelings are at
present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but
certainty on either side will be ease to what I now suffer. If your
sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and
the lock of my hair which is in your possession.


“M.D.”


That such letters, so full of affection and confidence, could have been
so answered, Elinor, for Willoughby’s sake, would have been unwilling
to believe. But her condemnation of him did not blind her to the
impropriety of their having been written at all; and she was silently
grieving over the imprudence which had hazarded such unsolicited proofs
of tenderness, not warranted by anything preceding, and most severely
condemned by the event, when Marianne, perceiving that she had finished
the letters, observed to her that they contained nothing but what any
one would have written in the same situation.

“I felt myself,” she added, “to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if
the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other.”

“I can believe it,” said Elinor; “but unfortunately he did not feel the
same.”

“He _did_ feel the same, Elinor—for weeks and weeks he felt it. I know
he did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the
blackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear
to him as my own soul could wish. This lock of hair, which now he can
so readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest
supplication. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his
voice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being
together at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When he told me
that it might be many weeks before we met again—his distress—can I ever
forget his distress?”

For a moment or two she could say no more; but when this emotion had
passed away, she added, in a firmer tone,

“Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby.”

“Dearest Marianne, who but himself? By whom can he have been
instigated?”

“By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather believe
every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his
opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This woman of
whom he writes—whoever she be—or any one, in short, but your own dear
self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me. Beyond
you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not rather
suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?”

Elinor would not contend, and only replied, “Whoever may have been so
detestably your enemy, let them be cheated of their malignant triumph,
my dear sister, by seeing how nobly the consciousness of your own
innocence and good intentions supports your spirits. It is a reasonable
and laudable pride which resists such malevolence.”

“No, no,” cried Marianne, “misery such as mine has no pride. I care not
who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open
to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud
and independent as they like—may resist insult, or return
mortification—but I cannot. I must feel—I must be wretched—and they are
welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.”

“But for my mother’s sake and mine—”

“I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so
miserable—Oh! who can require it?”

Again they were both silent. Elinor was employed in walking
thoughtfully from the fire to the window, from the window to the fire,
without knowing that she received warmth from one, or discerning
objects through the other; and Marianne, seated at the foot of the bed,
with her head leaning against one of its posts, again took up
Willoughby’s letter, and, after shuddering over every sentence,
exclaimed,—

“It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours!
Cruel, cruel—nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he
might have heard against me—ought he not to have suspended his belief?
ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of
clearing myself? ‘The lock of hair, (repeating it from the letter,)
which you so obligingly bestowed on me’—That is unpardonable.
Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words? Oh,
barbarously insolent!—Elinor, can he be justified?”

“No, Marianne, in no possible way.”

“And yet this woman—who knows what her art may have been?—how long it
may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her!—Who is
she?—Who can she be?—Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and
attractive among his female acquaintance?—Oh! no one, no one—he talked
to me only of myself.”

Another pause ensued; Marianne was greatly agitated, and it ended thus.

“Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be gone
to-morrow?”

“To-morrow, Marianne!”

“Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby’s sake—and now
who cares for me? Who regards me?”

“It would be impossible to go to-morrow. We owe Mrs. Jennings much more
than civility; and civility of the commonest kind must prevent such a
hasty removal as that.”

“Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I
cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people.
The Middletons and Palmers—how am I to bear their pity? The pity of
such a woman as Lady Middleton! Oh, what would _he_ say to that!”

Elinor advised her to lie down again, and for a moment she did so; but
no attitude could give her ease; and in restless pain of mind and body
she moved from one posture to another, till growing more and more
hysterical, her sister could with difficulty keep her on the bed at
all, and for some time was fearful of being constrained to call for
assistance. Some lavender drops, however, which she was at length
persuaded to take, were of use; and from that time till Mrs. Jennings
returned, she continued on the bed quiet and motionless.




CHAPTER XXX.


Mrs. Jennings came immediately to their room on her return, and without
waiting to have her request of admittance answered, opened the door and
walked in with a look of real concern.

“How do you do my dear?”—said she in a voice of great compassion to
Marianne, who turned away her face without attempting to answer.

“How is she, Miss Dashwood? Poor thing! she looks very bad. No wonder.
Ay, it is but too true. He is to be married very soon—a
good-for-nothing fellow! I have no patience with him. Mrs. Taylor told
me of it half an hour ago, and she was told it by a particular friend
of Miss Grey herself, else I am sure I should not have believed it; and
I was almost ready to sink as it was. Well, said I, all I can say is,
that if this be true, he has used a young lady of my acquaintance
abominably ill, and I wish with all my soul his wife may plague his
heart out. And so I shall always say, my dear, you may depend on it. I
have no notion of men’s going on in this way; and if ever I meet him
again, I will give him such a dressing as he has not had this many a
day. But there is one comfort, my dear Miss Marianne; he is not the
only young man in the world worth having; and with your pretty face you
will never want admirers. Well, poor thing! I won’t disturb her any
longer, for she had better have her cry out at once and have done with.
The Parrys and Sandersons luckily are coming tonight you know, and that
will amuse her.”

She then went away, walking on tiptoe out of the room, as if she
supposed her young friend’s affliction could be increased by noise.

Marianne, to the surprise of her sister, determined on dining with
them. Elinor even advised her against it. But “no, she would go down;
she could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less.”
Elinor, pleased to have her governed for a moment by such a motive,
though believing it hardly possible that she could sit out the dinner,
said no more; and adjusting her dress for her as well as she could,
while Marianne still remained on the bed, was ready to assist her into
the dining room as soon as they were summoned to it.

When there, though looking most wretchedly, she ate more and was calmer
than her sister had expected. Had she tried to speak, or had she been
conscious of half Mrs. Jennings’s well-meant but ill-judged attentions
to her, this calmness could not have been maintained; but not a
syllable escaped her lips; and the abstraction of her thoughts
preserved her in ignorance of every thing that was passing before her.

Elinor, who did justice to Mrs. Jennings’s kindness, though its
effusions were often distressing, and sometimes almost ridiculous, made
her those acknowledgments, and returned her those civilities, which her
sister could not make or return for herself. Their good friend saw that
Marianne was unhappy, and felt that every thing was due to her which
might make her at all less so. She treated her therefore, with all the
indulgent fondness of a parent towards a favourite child on the last
day of its holidays. Marianne was to have the best place by the fire,
was to be tempted to eat by every delicacy in the house, and to be
amused by the relation of all the news of the day. Had not Elinor, in
the sad countenance of her sister, seen a check to all mirth, she could
have been entertained by Mrs. Jennings’s endeavours to cure a
disappointment in love, by a variety of sweetmeats and olives, and a
good fire. As soon, however, as the consciousness of all this was
forced by continual repetition on Marianne, she could stay no longer.
With a hasty exclamation of Misery, and a sign to her sister not to
follow her, she directly got up and hurried out of the room.

“Poor soul!” cried Mrs. Jennings, as soon as she was gone, “how it
grieves me to see her! And I declare if she is not gone away without
finishing her wine! And the dried cherries too! Lord! nothing seems to
do her any good. I am sure if I knew of any thing she would like, I
would send all over the town for it. Well, it is the oddest thing to
me, that a man should use such a pretty girl so ill! But when there is
plenty of money on one side, and next to none on the other, Lord bless
you! they care no more about such things!—”

“The lady then—Miss Grey I think you called her—is very rich?”

“Fifty thousand pounds, my dear. Did you ever see her? a smart, stylish
girl they say, but not handsome. I remember her aunt very well, Biddy
Henshawe; she married a very wealthy man. But the family are all rich
together. Fifty thousand pounds! and by all accounts, it won’t come
before it’s wanted; for they say he is all to pieces. No wonder!
dashing about with his curricle and hunters! Well, it don’t signify
talking; but when a young man, be who he will, comes and makes love to
a pretty girl, and promises marriage, he has no business to fly off
from his word only because he grows poor, and a richer girl is ready to
have him. Why don’t he, in such a case, sell his horses, let his house,
turn off his servants, and make a thorough reform at once? I warrant
you, Miss Marianne would have been ready to wait till matters came
round. But that won’t do now-a-days; nothing in the way of pleasure can
ever be given up by the young men of this age.”

“Do you know what kind of a girl Miss Grey is? Is she said to be
amiable?”

“I never heard any harm of her; indeed I hardly ever heard her
mentioned; except that Mrs. Taylor did say this morning, that one day
Miss Walker hinted to her, that she believed Mr. and Mrs. Ellison would
not be sorry to have Miss Grey married, for she and Mrs. Ellison could
never agree.”

“And who are the Ellisons?”

“Her guardians, my dear. But now she is of age and may choose for
herself; and a pretty choice she has made!—What now,” after pausing a
moment—“your poor sister is gone to her own room, I suppose, to moan by
herself. Is there nothing one can get to comfort her? Poor dear, it
seems quite cruel to let her be alone. Well, by-and-by we shall have a
few friends, and that will amuse her a little. What shall we play at?
She hates whist I know; but is there no round game she cares for?”

“Dear ma’am, this kindness is quite unnecessary. Marianne, I dare say,
will not leave her room again this evening. I shall persuade her if I
can to go early to bed, for I am sure she wants rest.”

“Aye, I believe that will be best for her. Let her name her own supper,
and go to bed. Lord! no wonder she has been looking so bad and so cast
down this last week or two, for this matter I suppose has been hanging
over her head as long as that. And so the letter that came today
finished it! Poor soul! I am sure if I had had a notion of it, I would
not have joked her about it for all my money. But then you know, how
should I guess such a thing? I made sure of its being nothing but a
common love letter, and you know young people like to be laughed at
about them. Lord! how concerned Sir John and my daughters will be when
they hear it! If I had my senses about me I might have called in
Conduit Street in my way home, and told them of it. But I shall see
them tomorrow.”

“It would be unnecessary I am sure, for you to caution Mrs. Palmer and
Sir John against ever naming Mr. Willoughby, or making the slightest
allusion to what has passed, before my sister. Their own good-nature
must point out to them the real cruelty of appearing to know any thing
about it when she is present; and the less that may ever be said to
myself on the subject, the more my feelings will be spared, as you my
dear madam will easily believe.”

“Oh! Lord! yes, that I do indeed. It must be terrible for you to hear
it talked of; and as for your sister, I am sure I would not mention a
word about it to her for the world. You saw I did not all dinner time.
No more would Sir John, nor my daughters, for they are all very
thoughtful and considerate; especially if I give them a hint, as I
certainly will. For my part, I think the less that is said about such
things, the better, the sooner ’tis blown over and forgot. And what
good does talking ever do you know?”

“In this affair it can only do harm; more so perhaps than in many cases
of a similar kind, for it has been attended by circumstances which, for
the sake of every one concerned in it, make it unfit to become the
public conversation. I must do _this_ justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has
broken no positive engagement with my sister.”

“Law, my dear! Don’t pretend to defend him. No positive engagement
indeed! after taking her all over Allenham House, and fixing on the
very rooms they were to live in hereafter!”

Elinor, for her sister’s sake, could not press the subject farther, and
she hoped it was not required of her for Willoughby’s; since, though
Marianne might lose much, he could gain very little by the enforcement
of the real truth. After a short silence on both sides, Mrs. Jennings,
with all her natural hilarity, burst forth again.

“Well, my dear, ’tis a true saying about an ill-wind, for it will be
all the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her at last; aye, that
he will. Mind me, now, if they an’t married by Mid-summer. Lord! how
he’ll chuckle over this news! I hope he will come tonight. It will be
all to one a better match for your sister. Two thousand a year without
debt or drawback—except the little love-child, indeed; aye, I had
forgot her; but she may be ’prenticed out at a small cost, and then
what does it signify? Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly
what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and
conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered
with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in
one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were
there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a
very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for;
and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile
from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit
up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages
that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the
village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a
thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send
three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your
mother. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can. One
shoulder of mutton, you know, drives another down. If we _can_ but put
Willoughby out of her head!”

“Ay, if we can do _that_, Ma’am,” said Elinor, “we shall do very well
with or without Colonel Brandon.” And then rising, she went away to
join Marianne, whom she found, as she expected, in her own room,
leaning, in silent misery, over the small remains of a fire, which,
till Elinor’s entrance, had been her only light.

“You had better leave me,” was all the notice that her sister received
from her.

“I will leave you,” said Elinor, “if you will go to bed.” But this,
from the momentary perverseness of impatient suffering, she at first
refused to do. Her sister’s earnest, though gentle persuasion, however,
soon softened her to compliance, and Elinor saw her lay her aching head
on the pillow, and as she hoped, in a way to get some quiet rest before
she left her.

In the drawing-room, whither she then repaired, she was soon joined by
Mrs. Jennings, with a wine-glass, full of something, in her hand.

“My dear,” said she, entering, “I have just recollected that I have
some of the finest old Constantia wine in the house that ever was
tasted, so I have brought a glass of it for your sister. My poor
husband! how fond he was of it! Whenever he had a touch of his old
colicky gout, he said it did him more good than any thing else in the
world. Do take it to your sister.”

“Dear Ma’am,” replied Elinor, smiling at the difference of the
complaints for which it was recommended, “how good you are! But I have
just left Marianne in bed, and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think
nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me
leave, I will drink the wine myself.”

Mrs. Jennings, though regretting that she had not been five minutes
earlier, was satisfied with the compromise; and Elinor, as she
swallowed the chief of it, reflected, that though its effects on a
colicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing
powers, on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself
as on her sister.

Colonel Brandon came in while the party were at tea, and by his manner
of looking round the room for Marianne, Elinor immediately fancied that
he neither expected nor wished to see her there, and, in short, that he
was already aware of what occasioned her absence. Mrs. Jennings was not
struck by the same thought; for soon after his entrance, she walked
across the room to the tea-table where Elinor presided, and whispered,
“The Colonel looks as grave as ever you see. He knows nothing of it; do
tell him, my dear.”

He shortly afterwards drew a chair close to hers, and, with a look
which perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired after her
sister.

“Marianne is not well,” said she. “She has been indisposed all day, and
we have persuaded her to go to bed.”

“Perhaps, then,” he hesitatingly replied, “what I heard this morning
may be—there may be more truth in it than I could believe possible at
first.”

“What did you hear?”

“That a gentleman, whom I had reason to think—in short, that a man,
whom I _knew_ to be engaged—but how shall I tell you? If you know it
already, as surely you must, I may be spared.”

“You mean,” answered Elinor, with forced calmness, “Mr. Willoughby’s
marriage with Miss Grey. Yes, we _do_ know it all. This seems to have
been a day of general elucidation, for this very morning first unfolded
it to us. Mr. Willoughby is unfathomable! Where did you hear it?”

“In a stationer’s shop in Pall Mall, where I had business. Two ladies
were waiting for their carriage, and one of them was giving the other
an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting
concealment, that it was impossible for me not to hear all. The name of
Willoughby, John Willoughby, frequently repeated, first caught my
attention; and what followed was a positive assertion that every thing
was now finally settled respecting his marriage with Miss Grey—it was
no longer to be a secret—it would take place even within a few weeks,
with many particulars of preparations and other matters. One thing,
especially, I remember, because it served to identify the man still
more:—as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to go to Combe Magna,
his seat in Somersetshire. My astonishment!—but it would be impossible
to describe what I felt. The communicative lady I learnt, on inquiry,
for I stayed in the shop till they were gone, was a Mrs. Ellison, and
that, as I have been since informed, is the name of Miss Grey’s
guardian.”

“It is. But have you likewise heard that Miss Grey has fifty thousand
pounds? In that, if in any thing, we may find an explanation.”

“It may be so; but Willoughby is capable—at least I think”—he stopped a
moment; then added in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, “And
your sister—how did she—”

“Her sufferings have been very severe. I have only to hope that they
may be proportionately short. It has been, it is a most cruel
affliction. Till yesterday, I believe, she never doubted his regard;
and even now, perhaps—but _I_ am almost convinced that he never was
really attached to her. He has been very deceitful! and, in some
points, there seems a hardness of heart about him.”

“Ah!” said Colonel Brandon, “there is, indeed! But your sister does
not—I think you said so—she does not consider quite as you do?”

“You know her disposition, and may believe how eagerly she would still
justify him if she could.”

He made no answer; and soon afterwards, by the removal of the
tea-things, and the arrangement of the card parties, the subject was
necessarily dropped. Mrs. Jennings, who had watched them with pleasure
while they were talking, and who expected to see the effect of Miss
Dashwood’s communication, in such an instantaneous gaiety on Colonel
Brandon’s side, as might have become a man in the bloom of youth, of
hope and happiness, saw him, with amazement, remain the whole evening
more serious and thoughtful than usual.




CHAPTER XXXI.


From a night of more sleep than she had expected, Marianne awoke the
next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had
closed her eyes.

Elinor encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and
before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and
again; and with the same steady conviction and affectionate counsel on
Elinor’s side, the same impetuous feelings and varying opinions on
Marianne’s, as before. Sometimes she could believe Willoughby to be as
unfortunate and as innocent as herself, and at others, lost every
consolation in the impossibility of acquitting him. At one moment she
was absolutely indifferent to the observation of all the world, at
another she would seclude herself from it for ever, and at a third
could resist it with energy. In one thing, however, she was uniform,
when it came to the point, in avoiding, where it was possible, the
presence of Mrs. Jennings, and in a determined silence when obliged to
endure it. Her heart was hardened against the belief of Mrs. Jennings’s
entering into her sorrows with any compassion.

“No, no, no, it cannot be,” she cried; “she cannot feel. Her kindness
is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants
is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it.”

Elinor had not needed this to be assured of the injustice to which her
sister was often led in her opinion of others, by the irritable
refinement of her own mind, and the too great importance placed by her
on the delicacies of a strong sensibility, and the graces of a polished
manner. Like half the rest of the world, if more than half there be
that are clever and good, Marianne, with excellent abilities and an
excellent disposition, was neither reasonable nor candid. She expected
from other people the same opinions and feelings as her own, and she
judged of their motives by the immediate effect of their actions on
herself. Thus a circumstance occurred, while the sisters were together
in their own room after breakfast, which sunk the heart of Mrs.
Jennings still lower in her estimation; because, through her own
weakness, it chanced to prove a source of fresh pain to herself, though
Mrs. Jennings was governed in it by an impulse of the utmost goodwill.

With a letter in her outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling,
from the persuasion of bringing comfort, she entered their room,
saying,

“Now, my dear, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.”

Marianne heard enough. In one moment her imagination placed before her
a letter from Willoughby, full of tenderness and contrition,
explanatory of all that had passed, satisfactory, convincing; and
instantly followed by Willoughby himself, rushing eagerly into the room
to inforce, at her feet, by the eloquence of his eyes, the assurances
of his letter. The work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The
hand writing of her mother, never till then unwelcome, was before her;
and, in the acuteness of the disappointment which followed such an
ecstasy of more than hope, she felt as if, till that instant, she had
never suffered.

The cruelty of Mrs. Jennings no language, within her reach in her
moments of happiest eloquence, could have expressed; and now she could
reproach her only by the tears which streamed from her eyes with
passionate violence—a reproach, however, so entirely lost on its
object, that after many expressions of pity, she withdrew, still
referring her to the letter of comfort. But the letter, when she was
calm enough to read it, brought little comfort. Willoughby filled every
page. Her mother, still confident of their engagement, and relying as
warmly as ever on his constancy, had only been roused by Elinor’s
application, to intreat from Marianne greater openness towards them
both; and this, with such tenderness towards her, such affection for
Willoughby, and such a conviction of their future happiness in each
other, that she wept with agony through the whole of it.

All her impatience to be at home again now returned; her mother was
dearer to her than ever; dearer through the very excess of her mistaken
confidence in Willoughby, and she was wildly urgent to be gone. Elinor,
unable herself to determine whether it were better for Marianne to be
in London or at Barton, offered no counsel of her own except of
patience till their mother’s wishes could be known; and at length she
obtained her sister’s consent to wait for that knowledge.

Mrs. Jennings left them earlier than usual; for she could not be easy
till the Middletons and Palmers were able to grieve as much as herself;
and positively refusing Elinor’s offered attendance, went out alone for
the rest of the morning. Elinor, with a very heavy heart, aware of the
pain she was going to communicate, and perceiving, by Marianne’s
letter, how ill she had succeeded in laying any foundation for it, then
sat down to write her mother an account of what had passed, and entreat
her directions for the future; while Marianne, who came into the
drawing-room on Mrs. Jennings’s going away, remained fixed at the table
where Elinor wrote, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving over
her for the hardship of such a task, and grieving still more fondly
over its effect on her mother.

In this manner they had continued about a quarter of an hour, when
Marianne, whose nerves could not then bear any sudden noise, was
startled by a rap at the door.

“Who can this be?” cried Elinor. “So early too! I thought we _had_ been
safe.”

Marianne moved to the window.

“It is Colonel Brandon!” said she, with vexation. “We are never safe
from _him_.”

“He will not come in, as Mrs. Jennings is from home.”

“I will not trust to _that_,” retreating to her own room. “A man who
has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion
on that of others.”

The event proved her conjecture right, though it was founded on
injustice and error; for Colonel Brandon _did_ come in; and Elinor, who
was convinced that solicitude for Marianne brought him thither, and who
saw _that_ solicitude in his disturbed and melancholy look, and in his
anxious though brief inquiry after her, could not forgive her sister
for esteeming him so lightly.

“I met Mrs. Jennings in Bond Street,” said he, after the first
salutation, “and she encouraged me to come on; and I was the more
easily encouraged, because I thought it probable that I might find you
alone, which I was very desirous of doing. My object—my wish—my sole
wish in desiring it—I hope, I believe it is—is to be a means of giving
comfort;—no, I must not say comfort—not present comfort—but conviction,
lasting conviction to your sister’s mind. My regard for her, for
yourself, for your mother—will you allow me to prove it, by relating
some circumstances which nothing but a _very_ sincere regard—nothing
but an earnest desire of being useful—I think I am justified—though
where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am
right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?” He stopped.

“I understand you,” said Elinor. “You have something to tell me of Mr.
Willoughby, that will open his character farther. Your telling it will
be the greatest act of friendship that can be shown Marianne. _My_
gratitude will be insured immediately by any information tending to
that end, and _hers_ must be gained by it in time. Pray, pray let me
hear it.”

“You shall; and, to be brief, when I quitted Barton last October,—but
this will give you no idea—I must go farther back. You will find me a
very awkward narrator, Miss Dashwood; I hardly know where to begin. A
short account of myself, I believe, will be necessary, and it _shall_
be a short one. On such a subject,” sighing heavily, “can I have little
temptation to be diffuse.”

He stopt a moment for recollection, and then, with another sigh, went
on.

“You have probably entirely forgotten a conversation—(it is not to be
supposed that it could make any impression on you)—a conversation
between us one evening at Barton Park—it was the evening of a dance—in
which I alluded to a lady I had once known, as resembling, in some
measure, your sister Marianne.”

“Indeed,” answered Elinor, “I have _not_ forgotten it.” He looked
pleased by this remembrance, and added,

“If I am not deceived by the uncertainty, the partiality of tender
recollection, there is a very strong resemblance between them, as well
in mind as person. The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of
fancy and spirits. This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan
from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our ages
were nearly the same, and from our earliest years we were playfellows
and friends. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Eliza; and
my affection for her, as we grew up, was such, as perhaps, judging from
my present forlorn and cheerless gravity, you might think me incapable
of having ever felt. Hers, for me, was, I believe, fervent as the
attachment of your sister to Mr. Willoughby and it was, though from a
different cause, no less unfortunate. At seventeen she was lost to me
for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my
brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered.
And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who
was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he
did not even love her. I had hoped that her regard for me would support
her under any difficulty, and for some time it did; but at last the
misery of her situation, for she experienced great unkindness, overcame
all her resolution, and though she had promised me that nothing—but how
blindly I relate! I have never told you how this was brought on. We
were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The
treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was
banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no
liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained. I
had depended on her fortitude too far, and the blow was a severe
one—but had her marriage been happy, so young as I then was, a few
months must have reconciled me to it, or at least I should not have now
to lament it. This however was not the case. My brother had no regard
for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from
the first he treated her unkindly. The consequence of this, upon a mind
so young, so lively, so inexperienced as Mrs. Brandon’s, was but too
natural. She resigned herself at first to all the misery of her
situation; and happy had it been if she had not lived to overcome those
regrets which the remembrance of me occasioned. But can we wonder that,
with such a husband to provoke inconstancy, and without a friend to
advise or restrain her (for my father lived only a few months after
their marriage, and I was with my regiment in the East Indies) she
should fall? Had I remained in England, perhaps—but I meant to promote
the happiness of both by removing from her for years, and for that
purpose had procured my exchange. The shock which her marriage had
given me,” he continued, in a voice of great agitation, “was of
trifling weight—was nothing to what I felt when I heard, about two
years afterwards, of her divorce. It was _that_ which threw this
gloom,—even now the recollection of what I suffered—”

He could say no more, and rising hastily walked for a few minutes about
the room. Elinor, affected by his relation, and still more by his
distress, could not speak. He saw her concern, and coming to her, took
her hand, pressed it, and kissed it with grateful respect. A few
minutes more of silent exertion enabled him to proceed with composure.

“It was nearly three years after this unhappy period before I returned
to England. My first care, when I _did_ arrive, was of course to seek
for her; but the search was as fruitless as it was melancholy. I could
not trace her beyond her first seducer, and there was every reason to
fear that she had removed from him only to sink deeper in a life of
sin. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor
sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my
brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months
before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it,
that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to
dispose of it for some immediate relief. At last, however, and after I
had been six months in England, I _did_ find her. Regard for a former
servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to
visit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and
there, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my
unfortunate sister. So altered—so faded—worn down by acute suffering of
every kind! hardly could I believe the melancholy and sickly figure
before me, to be the remains of the lovely, blooming, healthful girl,
on whom I had once doted. What I endured in so beholding her—but I have
no right to wound your feelings by attempting to describe it—I have
pained you too much already. That she was, to all appearance, in the
last stage of a consumption, was—yes, in such a situation it was my
greatest comfort. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for
a better preparation for death; and that was given. I saw her placed in
comfortable lodgings, and under proper attendants; I visited her every
day during the rest of her short life: I was with her in her last
moments.”

Again he stopped to recover himself; and Elinor spoke her feelings in
an exclamation of tender concern, at the fate of his unfortunate
friend.

“Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,” said he, “by the resemblance
I have fancied between her and my poor disgraced relation. Their fates,
their fortunes, cannot be the same; and had the natural sweet
disposition of the one been guarded by a firmer mind, or a happier
marriage, she might have been all that you will live to see the other
be. But to what does all this lead? I seem to have been distressing you
for nothing. Ah! Miss Dashwood—a subject such as this—untouched for
fourteen years—it is dangerous to handle it at all! I _will_ be more
collected—more concise. She left to my care her only child, a little
girl, the offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about
three years old. She loved the child, and had always kept it with her.
It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have
discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education
myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no
family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I
saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother,
(which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the
possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford. I
called her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in
general been suspected of a much nearer connection with her. It is now
three years ago (she had just reached her fourteenth year,) that I
removed her from school, to place her under the care of a very
respectable woman, residing in Dorsetshire, who had the charge of four
or five other girls of about the same time of life; and for two years I
had every reason to be pleased with her situation. But last February,
almost a twelvemonth back, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her,
(imprudently, as it has since turned out,) at her earnest desire, to go
to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her father
there for his health. I knew him to be a very good sort of man, and I
thought well of his daughter—better than she deserved, for, with a most
obstinate and ill-judged secrecy, she would tell nothing, would give no
clue, though she certainly knew all. He, her father, a well-meaning,
but not a quick-sighted man, could really, I believe, give no
information; for he had been generally confined to the house, while the
girls were ranging over the town and making what acquaintance they
chose; and he tried to convince me, as thoroughly as he was convinced
himself, of his daughter’s being entirely unconcerned in the business.
In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest,
for eight long months, was left to conjecture. What I thought, what I
feared, may be imagined; and what I suffered too.”

“Good heavens!” cried Elinor, “could it be—could Willoughby!”—

“The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a
letter from herself, last October. It was forwarded to me from
Delaford, and I received it on the very morning of our intended party
to Whitwell; and this was the reason of my leaving Barton so suddenly,
which I am sure must at the time have appeared strange to every body,
and which I believe gave offence to some. Little did Mr. Willoughby
imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility in
breaking up the party, that I was called away to the relief of one whom
he had made poor and miserable; but _had_ he known it, what would it
have availed? Would he have been less gay or less happy in the smiles
of your sister? No, he had already done that, which no man who _can_
feel for another would do. He had left the girl whose youth and
innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with
no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He
had left her, promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor
relieved her.”

“This is beyond every thing!” exclaimed Elinor.

“His character is now before you; expensive, dissipated, and worse than
both. Knowing all this, as I have now known it many weeks, guess what I
must have felt on seeing your sister as fond of him as ever, and on
being assured that she was to marry him: guess what I must have felt
for all your sakes. When I came to you last week and found you alone, I
came determined to know the truth; though irresolute what to do when it
_was_ known. My behaviour must have seemed strange to you then; but now
you will comprehend it. To suffer you all to be so deceived; to see
your sister—but what could I do? I had no hope of interfering with
success; and sometimes I thought your sister’s influence might yet
reclaim him. But now, after such dishonorable usage, who can tell what
were his designs on her. Whatever they may have been, however, she may
now, and hereafter doubtless _will_ turn with gratitude towards her own
condition, when she compares it with that of my poor Eliza, when she
considers the wretched and hopeless situation of this poor girl, and
pictures her to herself, with an affection for him so strong, still as
strong as her own, and with a mind tormented by self-reproach, which
must attend her through life. Surely this comparison must have its use
with her. She will feel her own sufferings to be nothing. They proceed
from no misconduct, and can bring no disgrace. On the contrary, every
friend must be made still more her friend by them. Concern for her
unhappiness, and respect for her fortitude under it, must strengthen
every attachment. Use your own discretion, however, in communicating to
her what I have told you. You must know best what will be its effect;
but had I not seriously, and from my heart believed it might be of
service, might lessen her regrets, I would not have suffered myself to
trouble you with this account of my family afflictions, with a recital
which may seem to have been intended to raise myself at the expense of
others.”

Elinor’s thanks followed this speech with grateful earnestness;
attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to
Marianne, from the communication of what had passed.

“I have been more pained,” said she, “by her endeavors to acquit him
than by all the rest; for it irritates her mind more than the most
perfect conviction of his unworthiness can do. Now, though at first she
will suffer much, I am sure she will soon become easier. Have you,” she
continued, after a short silence, “ever seen Mr. Willoughby since you
left him at Barton?”

“Yes,” he replied gravely, “once I have. One meeting was unavoidable.”

Elinor, startled by his manner, looked at him anxiously, saying,

“What? have you met him to—”

“I could meet him no other way. Eliza had confessed to me, though most
reluctantly, the name of her lover; and when he returned to town, which
was within a fortnight after myself, we met by appointment, he to
defend, I to punish his conduct. We returned unwounded, and the
meeting, therefore, never got abroad.”

Elinor sighed over the fancied necessity of this; but to a man and a
soldier she presumed not to censure it.

“Such,” said Colonel Brandon, after a pause, “has been the unhappy
resemblance between the fate of mother and daughter! and so imperfectly
have I discharged my trust!”

“Is she still in town?”

“No; as soon as she recovered from her lying-in, for I found her near
her delivery, I removed her and her child into the country, and there
she remains.”

Recollecting, soon afterwards, that he was probably dividing Elinor
from her sister, he put an end to his visit, receiving from her again
the same grateful acknowledgments, and leaving her full of compassion
and esteem for him.




CHAPTER XXXII.


When the particulars of this conversation were repeated by Miss
Dashwood to her sister, as they very soon were, the effect on her was
not entirely such as the former had hoped to see. Not that Marianne
appeared to distrust the truth of any part of it, for she listened to
it all with the most steady and submissive attention, made neither
objection nor remark, attempted no vindication of Willoughby, and
seemed to show by her tears that she felt it to be impossible. But
though this behaviour assured Elinor that the conviction of this guilt
_was_ carried home to her mind, though she saw with satisfaction the
effect of it, in her no longer avoiding Colonel Brandon when he called,
in her speaking to him, even voluntarily speaking, with a kind of
compassionate respect, and though she saw her spirits less violently
irritated than before, she did not see her less wretched. Her mind did
become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the
loss of Willoughby’s character yet more heavily than she had felt the
loss of his heart; his seduction and desertion of Miss Williams, the
misery of that poor girl, and the doubt of what his designs might
_once_ have been on herself, preyed altogether so much on her spirits,
that she could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to
Elinor; and, brooding over her sorrows in silence, gave more pain to
her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most
frequent confession of them.

To give the feelings or the language of Mrs. Dashwood on receiving and
answering Elinor’s letter would be only to give a repetition of what
her daughters had already felt and said; of a disappointment hardly
less painful than Marianne’s, and an indignation even greater than
Elinor’s. Long letters from her, quickly succeeding each other, arrived
to tell all that she suffered and thought; to express her anxious
solicitude for Marianne, and entreat she would bear up with fortitude
under this misfortune. Bad indeed must the nature of Marianne’s
affliction be, when her mother could talk of fortitude! mortifying and
humiliating must be the origin of those regrets, which _she_ could wish
her not to indulge!

Against the interest of her own individual comfort, Mrs. Dashwood had
determined that it would be better for Marianne to be any where, at
that time, than at Barton, where every thing within her view would be
bringing back the past in the strongest and most afflicting manner, by
constantly placing Willoughby before her, such as she had always seen
him there. She recommended it to her daughters, therefore, by all means
not to shorten their visit to Mrs. Jennings; the length of which,
though never exactly fixed, had been expected by all to comprise at
least five or six weeks. A variety of occupations, of objects, and of
company, which could not be procured at Barton, would be inevitable
there, and might yet, she hoped, cheat Marianne, at times, into some
interest beyond herself, and even into some amusement, much as the
ideas of both might now be spurned by her.

From all danger of seeing Willoughby again, her mother considered her
to be at least equally safe in town as in the country, since his
acquaintance must now be dropped by all who called themselves her
friends. Design could never bring them in each other’s way: negligence
could never leave them exposed to a surprise; and chance had less in
its favour in the crowd of London than even in the retirement of
Barton, where it might force him before her while paying that visit at
Allenham on his marriage, which Mrs. Dashwood, from foreseeing at first
as a probable event, had brought herself to expect as a certain one.

She had yet another reason for wishing her children to remain where
they were; a letter from her son-in-law had told her that he and his
wife were to be in town before the middle of February, and she judged
it right that they should sometimes see their brother.

Marianne had promised to be guided by her mother’s opinion, and she
submitted to it therefore without opposition, though it proved
perfectly different from what she wished and expected, though she felt
it to be entirely wrong, formed on mistaken grounds, and that by
requiring her longer continuance in London it deprived her of the only
possible alleviation of her wretchedness, the personal sympathy of her
mother, and doomed her to such society and such scenes as must prevent
her ever knowing a moment’s rest.

But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil
to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other
hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward
entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay
would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better
for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire.

Her carefulness in guarding her sister from ever hearing Willoughby’s
name mentioned, was not thrown away. Marianne, though without knowing
it herself, reaped all its advantage; for neither Mrs. Jennings, nor
Sir John, nor even Mrs. Palmer herself, ever spoke of him before her.
Elinor wished that the same forbearance could have extended towards
herself, but that was impossible, and she was obliged to listen day
after day to the indignation of them all.

Sir John, could not have thought it possible. “A man of whom he had
always had such reason to think well! Such a good-natured fellow! He
did not believe there was a bolder rider in England! It was an
unaccountable business. He wished him at the devil with all his heart.
He would not speak another word to him, meet him where he might, for
all the world! No, not if it were to be by the side of Barton covert,
and they were kept watching for two hours together. Such a scoundrel of
a fellow! such a deceitful dog! It was only the last time they met that
he had offered him one of Folly’s puppies! and this was the end of it!”

Mrs. Palmer, in her way, was equally angry. “She was determined to drop
his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had
never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart
Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it
was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she
was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell
everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was.”

The rest of Mrs. Palmer’s sympathy was shown in procuring all the
particulars in her power of the approaching marriage, and communicating
them to Elinor. She could soon tell at what coachmaker’s the new
carriage was building, by what painter Mr. Willoughby’s portrait was
drawn, and at what warehouse Miss Grey’s clothes might be seen.

The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a
happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed as they often were by the
clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be
sure of exciting no interest in _one_ person at least among their
circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was _one_ who
would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any
anxiety for her sister’s health.

Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the
moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down
by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to
comfort than good-nature.

Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day,
or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, “It is very
shocking, indeed!” and by the means of this continual though gentle
vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first
without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without
recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the
dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was
wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the
interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather
against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once
be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon
as she married.

Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome
to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate
discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with
which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with
confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing
past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye
with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her
voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or
could oblige herself to speak to him. _These_ assured him that his
exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and
_these_ gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but
Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the
Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail
on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for
him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of
Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of
a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding
between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the
honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all
be made over to _her;_ and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to
think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.

Early in February, within a fortnight from the receipt of Willoughby’s
letter, Elinor had the painful office of informing her sister that he
was married. She had taken care to have the intelligence conveyed to
herself, as soon as it was known that the ceremony was over, as she was
desirous that Marianne should not receive the first notice of it from
the public papers, which she saw her eagerly examining every morning.

She received the news with resolute composure; made no observation on
it, and at first shed no tears; but after a short time they would burst
out, and for the rest of the day, she was in a state hardly less
pitiable than when she first learnt to expect the event.

The Willoughbys left town as soon as they were married; and Elinor now
hoped, as there could be no danger of her seeing either of them, to
prevail on her sister, who had never yet left the house since the blow
first fell, to go out again by degrees as she had done before.

About this time the two Miss Steeles, lately arrived at their cousin’s
house in Bartlett’s Buildings, Holburn, presented themselves again
before their more grand relations in Conduit and Berkeley Streets; and
were welcomed by them all with great cordiality.

Elinor only was sorry to see them. Their presence always gave her pain,
and she hardly knew how to make a very gracious return to the
overpowering delight of Lucy in finding her _still_ in town.

“I should have been quite disappointed if I had not found you here
_still_,” said she repeatedly, with a strong emphasis on the word. “But
I always thought I _should_. I was almost sure you would not leave
London yet awhile; though you _told_ me, you know, at Barton, that you
should not stay above a _month_. But I thought, at the time, that you
would most likely change your mind when it came to the point. It would
have been such a great pity to have went away before your brother and
sister came. And now to be sure you will be in no _hurry_ to be gone. I
am amazingly glad you did not keep to _your word_.”

Elinor perfectly understood her, and was forced to use all her
self-command to make it appear that she did _not_.

“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did you travel?”

“Not in the stage, I assure you,” replied Miss Steele, with quick
exultation; “we came post all the way, and had a very smart beau to
attend us. Dr. Davies was coming to town, and so we thought we’d join
him in a post-chaise; and he behaved very genteelly, and paid ten or
twelve shillings more than we did.”

“Oh, oh!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “very pretty, indeed! and the Doctor is
a single man, I warrant you.”

“There now,” said Miss Steele, affectedly simpering, “everybody laughs
at me so about the Doctor, and I cannot think why. My cousins say they
are sure I have made a conquest; but for my part I declare I never
think about him from one hour’s end to another. ‘Lord! here comes your
beau, Nancy,’ my cousin said t’other day, when she saw him crossing the
street to the house. My beau, indeed! said I—I cannot think who you
mean. The Doctor is no beau of mine.”

“Aye, aye, that is very pretty talking—but it won’t do—the Doctor is
the man, I see.”

“No, indeed!” replied her cousin, with affected earnestness, “and I beg
you will contradict it, if you ever hear it talked of.”

Mrs. Jennings directly gave her the gratifying assurance that she
certainly would _not_, and Miss Steele was made completely happy.

“I suppose you will go and stay with your brother and sister, Miss
Dashwood, when they come to town,” said Lucy, returning, after a
cessation of hostile hints, to the charge.

“No, I do not think we shall.”

“Oh, yes, I dare say you will.”

Elinor would not humour her by farther opposition.

“What a charming thing it is that Mrs. Dashwood can spare you both for
so long a time together!”

“Long a time, indeed!” interposed Mrs. Jennings. “Why, their visit is
but just begun!”

Lucy was silenced.

“I am sorry we cannot see your sister, Miss Dashwood,” said Miss
Steele. “I am sorry she is not well—” for Marianne had left the room on
their arrival.

“You are very good. My sister will be equally sorry to miss the
pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with
nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation.”

“Oh, dear, that is a great pity! but such old friends as Lucy and me!—I
think she might see _us;_ and I am sure we would not speak a word.”

Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was
perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore
not able to come to them.

“Oh, if that’s all,” cried Miss Steele, “we can just as well go and see
_her_.”

Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she
was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy’s sharp reprimand, which
now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the
manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the
other.




CHAPTER XXXIII.


After some opposition, Marianne yielded to her sister’s entreaties, and
consented to go out with her and Mrs. Jennings one morning for half an
hour. She expressly conditioned, however, for paying no visits, and
would do no more than accompany them to Gray’s in Sackville Street,
where Elinor was carrying on a negotiation for the exchange of a few
old-fashioned jewels of her mother.

When they stopped at the door, Mrs. Jennings recollected that there was
a lady at the other end of the street on whom she ought to call; and as
she had no business at Gray’s, it was resolved, that while her young
friends transacted their’s, she should pay her visit and return for
them.

On ascending the stairs, the Miss Dashwoods found so many people before
them in the room, that there was not a person at liberty to tend to
their orders; and they were obliged to wait. All that could be done
was, to sit down at that end of the counter which seemed to promise the
quickest succession; one gentleman only was standing there, and it is
probable that Elinor was not without hope of exciting his politeness to
a quicker despatch. But the correctness of his eye, and the delicacy of
his taste, proved to be beyond his politeness. He was giving orders for
a toothpick-case for himself, and till its size, shape, and ornaments
were determined, all of which, after examining and debating for a
quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally
arranged by his own inventive fancy, he had no leisure to bestow any
other attention on the two ladies, than what was comprised in three or
four very broad stares; a kind of notice which served to imprint on
Elinor the remembrance of a person and face, of strong, natural,
sterling insignificance, though adorned in the first style of fashion.

Marianne was spared from the troublesome feelings of contempt and
resentment, on this impertinent examination of their features, and on
the puppyism of his manner in deciding on all the different horrors of
the different toothpick-cases presented to his inspection, by remaining
unconscious of it all; for she was as well able to collect her thoughts
within herself, and be as ignorant of what was passing around her, in
Mr. Gray’s shop, as in her own bedroom.

At last the affair was decided. The ivory, the gold, and the pearls,
all received their appointment, and the gentleman having named the last
day on which his existence could be continued without the possession of
the toothpick-case, drew on his gloves with leisurely care, and
bestowing another glance on the Miss Dashwoods, but such a one as
seemed rather to demand than express admiration, walked off with a
happy air of real conceit and affected indifference.

Elinor lost no time in bringing her business forward, was on the point
of concluding it, when another gentleman presented himself at her side.
She turned her eyes towards his face, and found him with some surprise
to be her brother.

Their affection and pleasure in meeting was just enough to make a very
creditable appearance in Mr. Gray’s shop. John Dashwood was really far
from being sorry to see his sisters again; it rather gave them
satisfaction; and his inquiries after their mother were respectful and
attentive.

Elinor found that he and Fanny had been in town two days.

“I wished very much to call upon you yesterday,” said he, “but it was
impossible, for we were obliged to take Harry to see the wild beasts at
Exeter Exchange; and we spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Ferrars.
Harry was vastly pleased. _This_ morning I had fully intended to call
on you, if I could possibly find a spare half hour, but one has always
so much to do on first coming to town. I am come here to bespeak Fanny
a seal. But tomorrow I think I shall certainly be able to call in
Berkeley Street, and be introduced to your friend Mrs. Jennings. I
understand she is a woman of very good fortune. And the Middletons too,
you must introduce me to _them_. As my mother-in-law’s relations, I
shall be happy to show them every respect. They are excellent
neighbours to you in the country, I understand.”

“Excellent indeed. Their attention to our comfort, their friendliness
in every particular, is more than I can express.”

“I am extremely glad to hear it, upon my word; extremely glad indeed.
But so it ought to be; they are people of large fortune, they are
related to you, and every civility and accommodation that can serve to
make your situation pleasant might be reasonably expected. And so you
are most comfortably settled in your little cottage and want for
nothing! Edward brought us a most charming account of the place: the
most complete thing of its kind, he said, that ever was, and you all
seemed to enjoy it beyond any thing. It was a great satisfaction to us
to hear it, I assure you.”

Elinor did feel a little ashamed of her brother; and was not sorry to
be spared the necessity of answering him, by the arrival of Mrs.
Jennings’s servant, who came to tell her that his mistress waited for
them at the door.

Mr. Dashwood attended them down stairs, was introduced to Mrs. Jennings
at the door of her carriage, and repeating his hope of being able to
call on them the next day, took leave.

His visit was duly paid. He came with a pretence at an apology from
their sister-in-law, for not coming too; “but she was so much engaged
with her mother, that really she had no leisure for going any where.”
Mrs. Jennings, however, assured him directly, that she should not stand
upon ceremony, for they were all cousins, or something like it, and she
should certainly wait on Mrs. John Dashwood very soon, and bring her
sisters to see her. His manners to _them_, though calm, were perfectly
kind; to Mrs. Jennings, most attentively civil; and on Colonel
Brandon’s coming in soon after himself, he eyed him with a curiosity
which seemed to say, that he only wanted to know him to be rich, to be
equally civil to _him_.

After staying with them half an hour, he asked Elinor to walk with him
to Conduit Street, and introduce him to Sir John and Lady Middleton.
The weather was remarkably fine, and she readily consented. As soon as
they were out of the house, his enquiries began.

“Who is Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?”

“Yes; he has very good property in Dorsetshire.”

“I am glad of it. He seems a most gentlemanlike man; and I think,
Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable
establishment in life.”

“Me, brother! what do you mean?”

“He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is
the amount of his fortune?”

“I believe about two thousand a year.”

“Two thousand a-year;” and then working himself up to a pitch of
enthusiastic generosity, he added, “Elinor, I wish with all my heart it
were _twice_ as much, for your sake.”

“Indeed I believe you,” replied Elinor; “but I am very sure that
Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying _me_.”

“You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little
trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be
undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his
friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little
attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give will fix
him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not
try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your
side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite
out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too
much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no
civility shall be wanting on my part to make him pleased with you and
your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In
short, it is a kind of thing that”—lowering his voice to an important
whisper—“will be exceedingly welcome to _all parties_.” Recollecting
himself, however, he added, “That is, I mean to say—your friends are
all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she
has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too,
Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her
great pleasure; she said as much the other day.”

Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.

“It would be something remarkable, now,” he continued, “something
droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling at the
same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.”

“Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going to be
married?”

“It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation. He
has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality,
will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a year, if the match
takes place. The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton, only daughter of the
late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds. A very desirable
connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in
time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to
make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you
another instance of her liberality:—The other day, as soon as we came
to town, aware that money could not be very plenty with us just now,
she put bank-notes into Fanny’s hands to the amount of two hundred
pounds. And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great
expense while we are here.”

He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,

“Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable;
but your income is a large one.”

“Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to
complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will
in time be better. The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is
a most serious drain. And then I have made a little purchase within
this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where
old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every
respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my
duty to buy it. I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it
fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it
_has_ cost me a vast deal of money.”

“More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.”

“Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again, the next day, for
more than I gave: but, with regard to the purchase-money, I might have
been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low,
that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker’s
hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.”

Elinor could only smile.

“Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to
Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the
Stanhill effects that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were)
to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an
undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose, but, in
consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of
linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may
guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being
rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars’s kindness is.”

“Certainly,” said Elinor; “and assisted by her liberality, I hope you
may yet live to be in easy circumstances.”

“Another year or two may do much towards it,” he gravely replied; “but
however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone
laid of Fanny’s green-house, and nothing but the plan of the
flower-garden marked out.”

“Where is the green-house to be?”

“Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come
down to make room for it. It will be a very fine object from many parts
of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and
be exceedingly pretty. We have cleared away all the old thorns that
grew in patches over the brow.”

Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very
thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.

Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the
necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his
next visit at Gray’s, his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he
began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.

“She seems a most valuable woman indeed. Her house, her style of
living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance
that has not only been of great use to you hitherto, but in the end may
prove materially advantageous. Her inviting you to town is certainly a
vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks altogether so great a
regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be
forgotten. She must have a great deal to leave.”

“Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her
jointure, which will descend to her children.”

“But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income. Few
people of common prudence will do _that_ and whatever she saves, she
will be able to dispose of.”

“And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her
daughters, than to us?”

“Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I
cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas,
in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in
this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future
consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard. Nothing
can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this,
without being aware of the expectation it raises.”

“But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your
anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.”

“Why, to be sure,” said he, seeming to recollect himself, “people have
little, have very little in their power. But, my dear Elinor, what is
the matter with Marianne?—she looks very unwell, has lost her colour,
and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?”

“She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several
weeks.”

“I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness
destroys the bloom for ever! Hers has been a very short one! She was as
handsome a girl last September, as I ever saw; and as likely to attract
the man. There was something in her style of beauty, to please them
particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner
and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of _you_,
but so it happened to strike her. She will be mistaken, however. I
question whether Marianne _now_, will marry a man worth more than five
or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if
_you_ do not do better. Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire;
but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it;
and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the
earliest and best pleased of your visitors.”

Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no
likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation
of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was really
resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the
marriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough
for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly
anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from
Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means
of atoning for his own neglect.

They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John
came in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on all
sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did
not seem to know much about horses, he soon set him down as a very
good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion in his
appearance to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood
went away delighted with both.

“I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,” said he, as he
walked back with his sister. “Lady Middleton is really a most elegant
woman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know. And Mrs.
Jennings too, an exceedingly well-behaved woman, though not so elegant
as her daughter. Your sister need not have any scruple even of visiting
_her_, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and very
naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man
who had got all his money in a low way; and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were
both strongly prepossessed, that neither she nor her daughters were
such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now I can
carry her a most satisfactory account of both.”




CHAPTER XXXIV.


Mrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband’s judgment,
that she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her
daughter; and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former,
even the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy
her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most
charming women in the world!

Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a kind
of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted
them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of
demeanor, and a general want of understanding.

The same manners, however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the
good opinion of Lady Middleton did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings,
and to _her_ she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking
woman of uncordial address, who met her husband’s sisters without any
affection, and almost without having anything to say to them; for of
the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley Street, she sat at least
seven minutes and a half in silence.

Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask,
whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny
voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that
his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband’s
expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed
them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be
too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The
intelligence however, which _she_ would not give, soon flowed from
another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on
being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and
Mrs. Dashwood. He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for fear of
detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be
told, they could do nothing at present but write.

Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short
time, by twice calling in Berkeley Street. Twice was his card found on
the table, when they returned from their morning’s engagements. Elinor
was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had
missed him.

The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that,
though not much in the habit of giving anything, they determined to
give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited
them to dine in Harley Street, where they had taken a very good house
for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited
likewise, and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who,
always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager
civilities with some surprise, but much more pleasure. They were to
meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to
be of the party. The expectation of seeing _her_, however, was enough
to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet
Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to
attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect
indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in
company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was
as lively as ever.

The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon
afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing
that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.

So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable
had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly
not so elegant, and her sister not even genteel, she was as ready as
Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit Street; and it
happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as
the Dashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should begin a
few days before the party took place.

Their claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the
gentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not
have done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but
as Lady Middleton’s guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long
wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of
their characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity
of endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life,
than she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood’s card.

On Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to
determine, that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his
mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the
first time, after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly
knew how she could bear it!

These apprehensions, perhaps, were not founded entirely on reason, and
certainly not at all on truth. They were relieved however, not by her
own recollection, but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to
be inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward
certainly would not be in Harley Street on Tuesday, and even hoped to
be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her that he was kept
away by the extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal
when they were together.

The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies
to this formidable mother-in-law.

“Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!” said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs
together—for the Middletons arrived so directly after Mrs. Jennings,
that they all followed the servant at the same time:—“there is nobody
here but you, that can feel for me. I declare I can hardly stand. Good
gracious! In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness
depends on—that is to be my mother!”

Elinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the
possibility of its being Miss Morton’s mother, rather than her own,
whom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured
her, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her—to the utter
amazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at
least to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor.

Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in
her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect. Her
complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and
naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had
rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it
the strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of
many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the
number of her ideas; and of the few syllables that did escape her, not
one fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited
determination of disliking her at all events.

Elinor could not _now_ be made unhappy by this behaviour. A few months
ago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars’
power to distress her by it now; and the difference of her manners to
the Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble
her more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the
graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person—for
Lucy was particularly distinguished—whom of all others, had they known
as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while
she herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat
pointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so
misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which
it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss
Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all
four.

Lucy was all exultation on being so honorably distinguished; and Miss
Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.

The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing
bespoke the Mistress’s inclination for show, and the Master’s ability
to support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which were
making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once
been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a
loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to
infer from it;—no poverty of any kind, except of conversation,
appeared—but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood had
not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had
still less. But there was no peculiar disgrace in this; for it was very
much the case with the chief of their visitors, who almost all laboured
under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable—Want
of sense, either natural or improved—want of elegance—want of
spirits—or want of temper.

When the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room after dinner, this poverty
was particularly evident, for the gentlemen _had_ supplied the
discourse with some variety—the variety of politics, inclosing land,
and breaking horses—but then it was all over; and one subject only
engaged the ladies till coffee came in, which was the comparative
heights of Harry Dashwood, and Lady Middleton’s second son William, who
were nearly of the same age.

Had both the children been there, the affair might have been determined
too easily by measuring them at once; but as Harry only was present, it
was all conjectural assertion on both sides; and every body had a right
to be equally positive in their opinion, and to repeat it over and over
again as often as they liked.

The parties stood thus:

The two mothers, though each really convinced that her own son was the
tallest, politely decided in favour of the other.

The two grandmothers, with not less partiality, but more sincerity,
were equally earnest in support of their own descendant.

Lucy, who was hardly less anxious to please one parent than the other,
thought the boys were both remarkably tall for their age, and could not
conceive that there could be the smallest difference in the world
between them; and Miss Steele, with yet greater address gave it, as
fast as she could, in favour of each.

Elinor, having once delivered her opinion on William’s side, by which
she offended Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny still more, did not see the
necessity of enforcing it by any farther assertion; and Marianne, when
called on for hers, offended them all, by declaring that she had no
opinion to give, as she had never thought about it.

Before her removing from Norland, Elinor had painted a very pretty pair
of screens for her sister-in-law, which being now just mounted and
brought home, ornamented her present drawing room; and these screens,
catching the eye of John Dashwood on his following the other gentlemen
into the room, were officiously handed by him to Colonel Brandon for
his admiration.

“These are done by my eldest sister,” said he; “and you, as a man of
taste, will, I dare say, be pleased with them. I do not know whether
you have ever happened to see any of her performances before, but she
is in general reckoned to draw extremely well.”

The Colonel, though disclaiming all pretensions to connoisseurship,
warmly admired the screens, as he would have done any thing painted by
Miss Dashwood; and on the curiosity of the others being of course
excited, they were handed round for general inspection. Mrs. Ferrars,
not aware of their being Elinor’s work, particularly requested to look
at them; and after they had received gratifying testimony of Lady
Middletons’s approbation, Fanny presented them to her mother,
considerately informing her, at the same time, that they were done by
Miss Dashwood.

“Hum”—said Mrs. Ferrars—“very pretty,”—and without regarding them at
all, returned them to her daughter.

Perhaps Fanny thought for a moment that her mother had been quite rude
enough,—for, colouring a little, she immediately said,

“They are very pretty, ma’am—an’t they?” But then again, the dread of
having been too civil, too encouraging herself, probably came over her,
for she presently added,

“Do you not think they are something in Miss Morton’s style of
painting, Ma’am?—_She does_ paint most delightfully!—How beautifully
her last landscape is done!”

“Beautifully indeed! But _she_ does every thing well.”

Marianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly displeased with
Mrs. Ferrars; and such ill-timed praise of another, at Elinor’s
expense, though she had not any notion of what was principally meant by
it, provoked her immediately to say with warmth,

“This is admiration of a very particular kind!—what is Miss Morton to
us?—who knows, or who cares, for her?—it is Elinor of whom _we_ think
and speak.”

And so saying, she took the screens out of her sister-in-law’s hands,
to admire them herself as they ought to be admired.

Mrs. Ferrars looked exceedingly angry, and drawing herself up more
stiffly than ever, pronounced in retort this bitter philippic, “Miss
Morton is Lord Morton’s daughter.”

Fanny looked very angry too, and her husband was all in a fright at his
sister’s audacity. Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne’s warmth than
she had been by what produced it; but Colonel Brandon’s eyes, as they
were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable
in it, the affectionate heart which could not bear to see a sister
slighted in the smallest point.

Marianne’s feelings did not stop here. The cold insolence of Mrs.
Ferrars’s general behaviour to her sister, seemed, to her, to foretell
such difficulties and distresses to Elinor, as her own wounded heart
taught her to think of with horror; and urged by a strong impulse of
affectionate sensibility, she moved after a moment, to her sister’s
chair, and putting one arm round her neck, and one cheek close to hers,
said in a low, but eager, voice,

“Dear, dear Elinor, don’t mind them. Don’t let them make _you_
unhappy.”

She could say no more; her spirits were quite overcome, and hiding her
face on Elinor’s shoulder, she burst into tears. Every body’s attention
was called, and almost every body was concerned.—Colonel Brandon rose
up and went to them without knowing what he did.—Mrs. Jennings, with a
very intelligent “Ah! poor dear,” immediately gave her her salts; and
Sir John felt so desperately enraged against the author of this nervous
distress, that he instantly changed his seat to one close by Lucy
Steele, and gave her, in a whisper, a brief account of the whole
shocking affair.

In a few minutes, however, Marianne was recovered enough to put an end
to the bustle, and sit down among the rest; though her spirits retained
the impression of what had passed, the whole evening.

“Poor Marianne!” said her brother to Colonel Brandon, in a low voice,
as soon as he could secure his attention: “She has not such good health
as her sister,—she is very nervous,—she has not Elinor’s
constitution;—and one must allow that there is something very trying to
a young woman who _has been_ a beauty in the loss of her personal
attractions. You would not think it perhaps, but Marianne _was_
remarkably handsome a few months ago; quite as handsome as Elinor. Now
you see it is all gone.”




CHAPTER XXXV.


Elinor’s curiosity to see Mrs. Ferrars was satisfied. She had found in
her every thing that could tend to make a farther connection between
the families undesirable. She had seen enough of her pride, her
meanness, and her determined prejudice against herself, to comprehend
all the difficulties that must have perplexed the engagement, and
retarded the marriage, of Edward and herself, had he been otherwise
free; and she had seen almost enough to be thankful for her _own_ sake,
that one greater obstacle preserved her from suffering under any other
of Mrs. Ferrars’s creation, preserved her from all dependence upon her
caprice, or any solicitude for her good opinion. Or at least, if she
did not bring herself quite to rejoice in Edward’s being fettered to
Lucy, she determined, that had Lucy been more amiable, she _ought_ to
have rejoiced.

She wondered that Lucy’s spirits could be so very much elevated by the
civility of Mrs. Ferrars;—that her interest and her vanity should so
very much blind her as to make the attention which seemed only paid her
because she was _not Elinor_, appear a compliment to herself—or to
allow her to derive encouragement from a preference only given her,
because her real situation was unknown. But that it was so, had not
only been declared by Lucy’s eyes at the time, but was declared over
again the next morning more openly, for at her particular desire, Lady
Middleton set her down in Berkeley Street on the chance of seeing
Elinor alone, to tell her how happy she was.

The chance proved a lucky one, for a message from Mrs. Palmer soon
after she arrived, carried Mrs. Jennings away.

“My dear friend,” cried Lucy, as soon as they were by themselves, “I
come to talk to you of my happiness. Could anything be so flattering as
Mrs. Ferrars’s way of treating me yesterday? So exceeding affable as
she was! You know how I dreaded the thoughts of seeing her; but the
very moment I was introduced, there was such an affability in her
behaviour as really should seem to say, she had quite took a fancy to
me. Now was not it so? You saw it all; and was not you quite struck
with it?”

“She was certainly very civil to you.”

“Civil!—Did you see nothing but only civility?—I saw a vast deal more.
Such kindness as fell to the share of nobody but me!—No pride, no
hauteur, and your sister just the same—all sweetness and affability!”

Elinor wished to talk of something else, but Lucy still pressed her to
own that she had reason for her happiness; and Elinor was obliged to go
on.

“Undoubtedly, if they had known your engagement,” said she, “nothing
could be more flattering than their treatment of you;—but as that was
not the case—”

“I guessed you would say so,”—replied Lucy quickly—“but there was no
reason in the world why Mrs. Ferrars should seem to like me, if she did
not, and her liking me is every thing. You shan’t talk me out of my
satisfaction. I am sure it will all end well, and there will be no
difficulties at all, to what I used to think. Mrs. Ferrars is a
charming woman, and so is your sister. They are both delightful women,
indeed!—I wonder I should never hear you say how agreeable Mrs.
Dashwood was!”

To this Elinor had no answer to make, and did not attempt any.

“Are you ill, Miss Dashwood?—you seem low—you don’t speak;—sure you
an’t well.”

“I never was in better health.”

“I am glad of it with all my heart; but really you did not look it. I
should be sorry to have _you_ ill; you, that have been the greatest
comfort to me in the world!—Heaven knows what I should have done
without your friendship.”

Elinor tried to make a civil answer, though doubting her own success.
But it seemed to satisfy Lucy, for she directly replied,

“Indeed I am perfectly convinced of your regard for me, and next to
Edward’s love, it is the greatest comfort I have. Poor Edward! But now
there is one good thing, we shall be able to meet, and meet pretty
often, for Lady Middleton’s delighted with Mrs. Dashwood, so we shall
be a good deal in Harley Street, I dare say, and Edward spends half his
time with his sister—besides, Lady Middleton and Mrs. Ferrars will
visit now;—and Mrs. Ferrars and your sister were both so good to say
more than once, they should always be glad to see me. They are such
charming women!—I am sure if ever you tell your sister what I think of
her, you cannot speak too high.”

But Elinor would not give her any encouragement to hope that she
_should_ tell her sister. Lucy continued.

“I am sure I should have seen it in a moment, if Mrs. Ferrars had took
a dislike to me. If she had only made me a formal courtesy, for
instance, without saying a word, and never after had took any notice of
me, and never looked at me in a pleasant way—you know what I mean—if I
had been treated in that forbidding sort of way, I should have gave it
all up in despair. I could not have stood it. For where she _does_
dislike, I know it is most violent.”

Elinor was prevented from making any reply to this civil triumph, by
the door’s being thrown open, the servant’s announcing Mr. Ferrars, and
Edward’s immediately walking in.

It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each showed that
it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to
have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to
advance farther into it. The very circumstance, in its unpleasantest
form, which they would each have been most anxious to avoid, had fallen
on them.—They were not only all three together, but were together
without the relief of any other person. The ladies recovered themselves
first. It was not Lucy’s business to put herself forward, and the
appearance of secrecy must still be kept up. She could therefore only
_look_ her tenderness, and after slightly addressing him, said no more.

But Elinor had more to do; and so anxious was she, for his sake and her
own, to do it well, that she forced herself, after a moment’s
recollection, to welcome him, with a look and manner that were almost
easy, and almost open; and another struggle, another effort still
improved them. She would not allow the presence of Lucy, nor the
consciousness of some injustice towards herself, to deter her from
saying that she was happy to see him, and that she had very much
regretted being from home, when he called before in Berkeley Street.
She would not be frightened from paying him those attentions which, as
a friend and almost a relation, were his due, by the observant eyes of
Lucy, though she soon perceived them to be narrowly watching her.

Her manners gave some re-assurance to Edward, and he had courage enough
to sit down; but his embarrassment still exceeded that of the ladies in
a proportion, which the case rendered reasonable, though his sex might
make it rare; for his heart had not the indifference of Lucy’s, nor
could his conscience have quite the ease of Elinor’s.

Lucy, with a demure and settled air, seemed determined to make no
contribution to the comfort of the others, and would not say a word;
and almost every thing that _was_ said, proceeded from Elinor, who was
obliged to volunteer all the information about her mother’s health,
their coming to town, &c. which Edward ought to have inquired about,
but never did.

Her exertions did not stop here; for she soon afterwards felt herself
so heroically disposed as to determine, under pretence of fetching
Marianne, to leave the others by themselves; and she really did it, and
_that_ in the handsomest manner, for she loitered away several minutes
on the landing-place, with the most high-minded fortitude, before she
went to her sister. When that was once done, however, it was time for
the raptures of Edward to cease; for Marianne’s joy hurried her into
the drawing-room immediately. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every
other of her feelings, strong in itself, and strongly spoken. She met
him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the
affection of a sister.

“Dear Edward!” she cried, “this is a moment of great happiness!—This
would almost make amends for every thing!”

Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such
witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat
down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was
looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Edward and
sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other
should be checked by Lucy’s unwelcome presence. Edward was the first to
speak, and it was to notice Marianne’s altered looks, and express his
fear of her not finding London agree with her.

“Oh, don’t think of me!” she replied with spirited earnestness, though
her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, “don’t think of _my_
health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both.”

This remark was not calculated to make Edward or Elinor more easy, nor
to conciliate the good will of Lucy, who looked up at Marianne with no
very benignant expression.

“Do you like London?” said Edward, willing to say any thing that might
introduce another subject.

“Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The
sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank
Heaven! you are what you always were!”

She paused—no one spoke.

“I think, Elinor,” she presently added, “we must employ Edward to take
care of us in our return to Barton. In a week or two, I suppose, we
shall be going; and, I trust, Edward will not be very unwilling to
accept the charge.”

Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even
himself. But Marianne, who saw his agitation, and could easily trace it
to whatever cause best pleased herself, was perfectly satisfied, and
soon talked of something else.

“We spent such a day, Edward, in Harley Street yesterday! So dull, so
wretchedly dull!—But I have much to say to you on that head, which
cannot be said now.”

And with this admirable discretion did she defer the assurance of her
finding their mutual relatives more disagreeable than ever, and of her
being particularly disgusted with his mother, till they were more in
private.

“But why were you not there, Edward?—Why did you not come?”

“I was engaged elsewhere.”

“Engaged! But what was that, when such friends were to be met?”

“Perhaps, Miss Marianne,” cried Lucy, eager to take some revenge on
her, “you think young men never stand upon engagements, if they have no
mind to keep them, little as well as great.”

Elinor was very angry, but Marianne seemed entirely insensible of the
sting; for she calmly replied,

“Not so, indeed; for, seriously speaking, I am very sure that
conscience only kept Edward from Harley Street. And I really believe he
_has_ the most delicate conscience in the world; the most scrupulous in
performing every engagement, however minute, and however it may make
against his interest or pleasure. He is the most fearful of giving
pain, of wounding expectation, and the most incapable of being selfish,
of any body I ever saw. Edward, it is so, and I will say it. What! are
you never to hear yourself praised!—Then you must be no friend of mine;
for those who will accept of my love and esteem, must submit to my open
commendation.”

The nature of her commendation, in the present case, however, happened
to be particularly ill-suited to the feelings of two thirds of her
auditors, and was so very unexhilarating to Edward, that he very soon
got up to go away.

“Going so soon!” said Marianne; “my dear Edward, this must not be.”

And drawing him a little aside, she whispered her persuasion that Lucy
could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he
would go; and Lucy, who would have outstaid him, had his visit lasted
two hours, soon afterwards went away.

“What can bring her here so often?” said Marianne, on her leaving them.
“Could not she see that we wanted her gone!—how teazing to Edward!”

“Why so?—we were all his friends, and Lucy has been the longest known
to him of any. It is but natural that he should like to see her as well
as ourselves.”

Marianne looked at her steadily, and said, “You know, Elinor, that this
is a kind of talking which I cannot bear. If you only hope to have your
assertion contradicted, as I must suppose to be the case, you ought to
recollect that I am the last person in the world to do it. I cannot
descend to be tricked out of assurances, that are not really wanted.”

She then left the room; and Elinor dared not follow her to say more,
for bound as she was by her promise of secrecy to Lucy, she could give
no information that would convince Marianne; and painful as the
consequences of her still continuing in an error might be, she was
obliged to submit to it. All that she could hope, was that Edward would
not often expose her or himself to the distress of hearing Marianne’s
mistaken warmth, nor to the repetition of any other part of the pain
that had attended their recent meeting—and this she had every reason to
expect.




CHAPTER XXXVI.


Within a few days after this meeting, the newspapers announced to the
world, that the lady of Thomas Palmer, Esq. was safely delivered of a
son and heir; a very interesting and satisfactory paragraph, at least
to all those intimate connections who knew it before.

This event, highly important to Mrs. Jennings’s happiness, produced a
temporary alteration in the disposal of her time, and influenced, in a
like degree, the engagements of her young friends; for as she wished to
be as much as possible with Charlotte, she went thither every morning
as soon as she was dressed, and did not return till late in the
evening; and the Miss Dashwoods, at the particular request of the
Middletons, spent the whole of every day in Conduit Street. For their
own comfort they would much rather have remained, at least all the
morning, in Mrs. Jennings’s house; but it was not a thing to be urged
against the wishes of everybody. Their hours were therefore made over
to Lady Middleton and the two Miss Steeles, by whom their company, in
fact was as little valued, as it was professedly sought.

They had too much sense to be desirable companions to the former; and
by the latter they were considered with a jealous eye, as intruding on
_their_ ground, and sharing the kindness which they wanted to
monopolize. Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s
behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all.
Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not
believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she
fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to
be satirical; but _that_ did not signify. It was censure in common use,
and easily given.

Their presence was a restraint both on her and on Lucy. It checked the
idleness of one, and the business of the other. Lady Middleton was
ashamed of doing nothing before them, and the flattery which Lucy was
proud to think of and administer at other times, she feared they would
despise her for offering. Miss Steele was the least discomposed of the
three, by their presence; and it was in their power to reconcile her to
it entirely. Would either of them only have given her a full and minute
account of the whole affair between Marianne and Mr. Willoughby, she
would have thought herself amply rewarded for the sacrifice of the best
place by the fire after dinner, which their arrival occasioned. But
this conciliation was not granted; for though she often threw out
expressions of pity for her sister to Elinor, and more than once dropt
a reflection on the inconstancy of beaux before Marianne, no effect was
produced, but a look of indifference from the former, or of disgust in
the latter. An effort even yet lighter might have made her their
friend. Would they only have laughed at her about the Doctor! But so
little were they, any more than the others, inclined to oblige her,
that if Sir John dined from home, she might spend a whole day without
hearing any other raillery on the subject, than what she was kind
enough to bestow on herself.

All these jealousies and discontents, however, were so totally
unsuspected by Mrs. Jennings, that she thought it a delightful thing
for the girls to be together; and generally congratulated her young
friends every night, on having escaped the company of a stupid old
woman so long. She joined them sometimes at Sir John’s, sometimes at
her own house; but wherever it was, she always came in excellent
spirits, full of delight and importance, attributing Charlotte’s well
doing to her own care, and ready to give so exact, so minute a detail
of her situation, as only Miss Steele had curiosity enough to desire.
One thing _did_ disturb her; and of that she made her daily complaint.
Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex,
of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at
different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and
every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his
father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like
every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to
acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the
world.

I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time
befell Mrs. John Dashwood. It so happened that while her two sisters
with Mrs. Jennings were first calling on her in Harley Street, another
of her acquaintance had dropt in—a circumstance in itself not
apparently likely to produce evil to her. But while the imaginations of
other people will carry them away to form wrong judgments of our
conduct, and to decide on it by slight appearances, one’s happiness
must in some measure be always at the mercy of chance. In the present
instance, this last-arrived lady allowed her fancy to so far outrun
truth and probability, that on merely hearing the name of the Miss
Dashwoods, and understanding them to be Mr. Dashwood’s sisters, she
immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this
misconstruction produced within a day or two afterwards, cards of
invitation for them as well as for their brother and sister, to a small
musical party at her house. The consequence of which was, that Mrs.
John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great
inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what
was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing
to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not
expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing
them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for
when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be
wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from
them.

Marianne had now been brought by degrees, so much into the habit of
going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to
her, whether she went or not: and she prepared quietly and mechanically
for every evening’s engagement, though without expecting the smallest
amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last
moment, where it was to take her.

To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent, as
not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her
toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of
their being together, when it was finished. Nothing escaped _her_
minute observation and general curiosity; she saw every thing, and
asked every thing; was never easy till she knew the price of every part
of Marianne’s dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns
altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself, and was not
without hopes of finding out before they parted, how much her washing
cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself.
The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally
concluded with a compliment, which though meant as its douceur, was
considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after
undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the
colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost
sure of being told that upon “her word she looked vastly smart, and she
dared to say she would make a great many conquests.”

With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed on the present
occasion, to her brother’s carriage; which they were ready to enter
five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very
agreeable to their sister-in-law, who had preceded them to the house of
her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part
that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman.

The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like
other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real
taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all;
and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation,
and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in
England.

As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no
scruple of turning her eyes from the grand pianoforte, whenever it
suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and
violoncello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the
room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of
young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases
at Gray’s. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and
speaking familiarly to her brother; and had just determined to find out
his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr.
Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

He addressed her with easy civility, and twisted his head into a bow
which assured her as plainly as words could have done, that he was
exactly the coxcomb she had heard him described to be by Lucy. Happy
had it been for her, if her regard for Edward had depended less on his
own merit, than on the merit of his nearest relations! For then his
brother’s bow must have given the finishing stroke to what the
ill-humour of his mother and sister would have begun. But while she
wondered at the difference of the two young men, she did not find that
the emptiness and conceit of the one, put her out of all charity with
the modesty and worth of the other. Why they _were_ different, Robert
explained to her himself in the course of a quarter of an hour’s
conversation; for, talking of his brother, and lamenting the extreme
_gaucherie_ which he really believed kept him from mixing in proper
society, he candidly and generously attributed it much less to any
natural deficiency, than to the misfortune of a private education;
while he himself, though probably without any particular, any material
superiority by nature, merely from the advantage of a public school,
was as well fitted to mix in the world as any other man.

“Upon my soul,” he added, “I believe it is nothing more; and so I often
tell my mother, when she is grieving about it. ‘My dear Madam,’ I
always say to her, ‘you must make yourself easy. The evil is now
irremediable, and it has been entirely your own doing. Why would you be
persuaded by my uncle, Sir Robert, against your own judgment, to place
Edward under private tuition, at the most critical time of his life? If
you had only sent him to Westminster as well as myself, instead of
sending him to Mr. Pratt’s, all this would have been prevented.’ This
is the way in which I always consider the matter, and my mother is
perfectly convinced of her error.”

Elinor would not oppose his opinion, because, whatever might be her
general estimation of the advantage of a public school, she could not
think of Edward’s abode in Mr. Pratt’s family, with any satisfaction.

“You reside in Devonshire, I think,”—was his next observation, “in a
cottage near Dawlish.”

Elinor set him right as to its situation; and it seemed rather
surprising to him that anybody could live in Devonshire, without living
near Dawlish. He bestowed his hearty approbation however on their
species of house.

“For my own part,” said he, “I am excessively fond of a cottage; there
is always so much comfort, so much elegance about them. And I protest,
if I had any money to spare, I should buy a little land and build one
myself, within a short distance of London, where I might drive myself
down at any time, and collect a few friends about me, and be happy. I
advise every body who is going to build, to build a cottage. My friend
Lord Courtland came to me the other day on purpose to ask my advice,
and laid before me three different plans of Bonomi’s. I was to decide
on the best of them. ‘My dear Courtland,’ said I, immediately throwing
them all into the fire, ‘do not adopt either of them, but by all means
build a cottage.’ And that I fancy, will be the end of it.

“Some people imagine that there can be no accommodations, no space in a
cottage; but this is all a mistake. I was last month at my friend
Elliott’s, near Dartford. Lady Elliott wished to give a dance. ‘But how
can it be done?’ said she; ‘my dear Ferrars, do tell me how it is to be
managed. There is not a room in this cottage that will hold ten couple,
and where can the supper be?’ _I_ immediately saw that there could be
no difficulty in it, so I said, ‘My dear Lady Elliott, do not be
uneasy. The dining parlour will admit eighteen couple with ease;
card-tables may be placed in the drawing-room; the library may be open
for tea and other refreshments; and let the supper be set out in the
saloon.’ Lady Elliott was delighted with the thought. We measured the
dining-room, and found it would hold exactly eighteen couple, and the
affair was arranged precisely after my plan. So that, in fact, you see,
if people do but know how to set about it, every comfort may be as well
enjoyed in a cottage as in the most spacious dwelling.”

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the
compliment of rational opposition.

As John Dashwood had no more pleasure in music than his eldest sister,
his mind was equally at liberty to fix on any thing else; and a thought
struck him during the evening, which he communicated to his wife, for
her approbation, when they got home. The consideration of Mrs.
Dennison’s mistake, in supposing his sisters their guests, had
suggested the propriety of their being really invited to become such,
while Mrs. Jennings’s engagements kept her from home. The expense would
be nothing, the inconvenience not more; and it was altogether an
attention which the delicacy of his conscience pointed out to be
requisite to its complete enfranchisement from his promise to his
father. Fanny was startled at the proposal.

“I do not see how it can be done,” said she, “without affronting Lady
Middleton, for they spend every day with her; otherwise I should be
exceedingly glad to do it. You know I am always ready to pay them any
attention in my power, as my taking them out this evening shows. But
they are Lady Middleton’s visitors. How can I ask them away from her?”

Her husband, but with great humility, did not see the force of her
objection. “They had already spent a week in this manner in Conduit
Street, and Lady Middleton could not be displeased at their giving the
same number of days to such near relations.”

Fanny paused a moment, and then, with fresh vigor, said,

“My love, I would ask them with all my heart, if it was in my power.
But I had just settled within myself to ask the Miss Steeles to spend a
few days with us. They are very well behaved, good kind of girls; and I
think the attention is due to them, as their uncle did so very well by
Edward. We can ask your sisters some other year, you know; but the Miss
Steeles may not be in town any more. I am sure you will like them;
indeed, you _do_ like them, you know, very much already, and so does my
mother; and they are such favourites with Harry!”

Mr. Dashwood was convinced. He saw the necessity of inviting the Miss
Steeles immediately, and his conscience was pacified by the resolution
of inviting his sisters another year; at the same time, however, slyly
suspecting that another year would make the invitation needless, by
bringing Elinor to town as Colonel Brandon’s wife, and Marianne as
_their_ visitor.

Fanny, rejoicing in her escape, and proud of the ready wit that had
procured it, wrote the next morning to Lucy, to request her company and
her sister’s, for some days, in Harley Street, as soon as Lady
Middleton could spare them. This was enough to make Lucy really and
reasonably happy. Mrs. Dashwood seemed actually working for her,
herself; cherishing all her hopes, and promoting all her views! Such an
opportunity of being with Edward and his family was, above all things,
the most material to her interest, and such an invitation the most
gratifying to her feelings! It was an advantage that could not be too
gratefully acknowledged, nor too speedily made use of; and the visit to
Lady Middleton, which had not before had any precise limits, was
instantly discovered to have been always meant to end in two days’
time.

When the note was shown to Elinor, as it was within ten minutes after
its arrival, it gave her, for the first time, some share in the
expectations of Lucy; for such a mark of uncommon kindness, vouchsafed
on so short an acquaintance, seemed to declare that the good-will
towards her arose from something more than merely malice against
herself; and might be brought, by time and address, to do every thing
that Lucy wished. Her flattery had already subdued the pride of Lady
Middleton, and made an entry into the close heart of Mrs. John
Dashwood; and these were effects that laid open the probability of
greater.

The Miss Steeles removed to Harley Street, and all that reached Elinor
of their influence there, strengthened her expectation of the event.
Sir John, who called on them more than once, brought home such accounts
of the favour they were in, as must be universally striking. Mrs.
Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her
life, as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book made
by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know
whether she should ever be able to part with them.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME




CHAPTER XXXVII.


Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a fortnight, that her mother felt
it no longer necessary to give up the whole of her time to her; and,
contenting herself with visiting her once or twice a day, returned from
that period to her own home, and her own habits, in which she found the
Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their former share.

About the third or fourth morning after their being thus resettled in
Berkeley Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from her ordinary visit to
Mrs. Palmer, entered the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting by
herself, with an air of such hurrying importance as prepared her to
hear something wonderful; and giving her time only to form that idea,
began directly to justify it, by saying,

“Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you heard the news?”

“No, ma’am. What is it?”

“Something so strange! But you shall hear it all. When I got to Mr.
Palmer’s, I found Charlotte quite in a fuss about the child. She was
sure it was very ill—it cried, and fretted, and was all over pimples.
So I looked at it directly, and, ‘Lord! my dear,’ says I, ‘it is
nothing in the world, but the red gum;’ and nurse said just the same.
But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied, so Mr. Donavan was sent for;
and luckily he happened to just come in from Harley Street, so he
stepped over directly, and as soon as ever he saw the child, he said
just as we did, that it was nothing in the world but the red gum, and
then Charlotte was easy. And so, just as he was going away again, it
came into my head, I am sure I do not know how I happened to think of
it, but it came into my head to ask him if there was any news. So upon
that, he smirked, and simpered, and looked grave, and seemed to know
something or other, and at last he said in a whisper, ‘For fear any
unpleasant report should reach the young ladies under your care as to
their sister’s indisposition, I think it advisable to say, that I
believe there is no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs. Dashwood will
do very well.’”

“What! is Fanny ill?”

“That is exactly what I said, my dear. ‘Lord!’ says I, ‘is Mrs.
Dashwood ill?’ So then it all came out; and the long and the short of
the matter, by all I can learn, seems to be this. Mr. Edward Ferrars,
the very young man I used to joke with you about (but however, as it
turns out, I am monstrous glad there was never any thing in it), Mr.
Edward Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above this twelvemonth to my
cousin Lucy!—There’s for you, my dear! And not a creature knowing a
syllable of the matter, except Nancy! Could you have believed such a
thing possible? There is no great wonder in their liking one another;
but that matters should be brought so forward between them, and nobody
suspect it! _That_ is strange! I never happened to see them together,
or I am sure I should have found it out directly. Well, and so this was
kept a great secret, for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she nor your
brother or sister suspected a word of the matter: till this very
morning, poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-meaning creature, but no
conjurer, popt it all out. ‘Lord!’ thinks she to herself, ‘they are all
so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will make no difficulty about it;’ and
so, away she went to your sister, who was sitting all alone at her
carpet-work, little suspecting what was to come—for she had just been
saying to your brother, only five minutes before, that she thought to
make a match between Edward and some Lord’s daughter or other, I forget
who. So you may think what a blow it was to all her vanity and pride.
She fell into violent hysterics immediately, with such screams as
reached your brother’s ears, as he was sitting in his own dressing-room
down stairs, thinking about writing a letter to his steward in the
country. So up he flew directly, and a terrible scene took place, for
Lucy was come to them by that time, little dreaming what was going on.
Poor soul! I pity _her_. And I must say, I think she was used very
hardly; for your sister scolded like any fury, and soon drove her into
a fainting fit. Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried bitterly; and
your brother, he walked about the room, and said he did not know what
to do. Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay a minute longer in
the house, and your brother was forced to go down upon _his_ knees too,
to persuade her to let them stay till they had packed up their clothes.
_Then_ she fell into hysterics again, and he was so frightened that he
would send for Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the house in all this
uproar. The carriage was at the door ready to take my poor cousins
away, and they were just stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in such
a condition, he says, she could hardly walk; and Nancy, she was almost
as bad. I declare, I have no patience with your sister; and I hope,
with all my heart, it will be a match in spite of her. Lord! what a
taking poor Mr. Edward will be in when he hears of it! To have his love
used so scornfully! for they say he is monstrous fond of her, as well
he may. I should not wonder, if he was to be in the greatest
passion!—and Mr. Donavan thinks just the same. He and I had a great
deal of talk about it; and the best of all is, that he is gone back
again to Harley Street, that he may be within call when Mrs. Ferrars is
told of it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my cousins left the
house, for your sister was sure _she_ would be in hysterics too; and so
she may, for what I care. I have no pity for either of them. I have no
notion of people’s making such a to-do about money and greatness. There
is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward and Lucy should not marry; for I
am sure Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by her son, and though
Lucy has next to nothing herself, she knows better than any body how to
make the most of every thing; I dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only
allow him five hundred a-year, she would make as good an appearance
with it as any body else would with eight. Lord! how snug they might
live in such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two
maids, and two men; and I believe I could help them to a housemaid, for
my Betty has a sister out of place, that would fit them exactly.”

Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor had had time enough to collect
her thoughts, she was able to give such an answer, and make such
observations, as the subject might naturally be supposed to produce.
Happy to find that she was not suspected of any extraordinary interest
in it; that Mrs. Jennings (as she had of late often hoped might be the
case) had ceased to imagine her at all attached to Edward; and happy
above all the rest, in the absence of Marianne, she felt very well able
to speak of the affair without embarrassment, and to give her judgment,
as she believed, with impartiality on the conduct of every one
concerned in it.

She could hardly determine what her own expectation of its event really
was; though she earnestly tried to drive away the notion of its being
possible to end otherwise at last, than in the marriage of Edward and
Lucy. What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though there could not be a
doubt of its nature, she was anxious to hear; and still more anxious to
know how Edward would conduct himself. For _him_ she felt much
compassion;—for Lucy very little—and it cost her some pains to procure
that little;—for the rest of the party none at all.

As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other subject, Elinor soon saw the
necessity of preparing Marianne for its discussion. No time was to be
lost in undeceiving her, in making her acquainted with the real truth,
and in endeavouring to bring her to hear it talked of by others,
without betraying that she felt any uneasiness for her sister, or any
resentment against Edward.

Elinor’s office was a painful one.—She was going to remove what she
really believed to be her sister’s chief consolation,—to give such
particulars of Edward as she feared would ruin him for ever in her good
opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a resemblance in their situations,
which to _her_ fancy would seem strong, feel all her own disappointment
over again. But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to
be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it.

She was very far from wishing to dwell on her own feelings, or to
represent herself as suffering much, any otherwise than as the
self-command she had practised since her first knowledge of Edward’s
engagement, might suggest a hint of what was practicable to Marianne.
Her narration was clear and simple; and though it could not be given
without emotion, it was not accompanied by violent agitation, nor
impetuous grief. _That_ belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne
listened with horror, and cried excessively. Elinor was to be the
comforter of others in her own distresses, no less than in theirs; and
all the comfort that could be given by assurances of her own composure
of mind, and a very earnest vindication of Edward from every charge but
of imprudence, was readily offered.

But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed
a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she _had_
loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy
Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely
incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded
at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of
Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and
Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only
could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind.

Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact
of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed.—Marianne’s
feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of
detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her
distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first
question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was,—

“How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?”

“I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park
last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement.”

At these words, Marianne’s eyes expressed the astonishment which her
lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed—

“Four months!—Have you known of this four months?”

Elinor confirmed it.

“What! while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your
heart? And I have reproached you for being happy!”

“It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse!”

“Four months!” cried Marianne again. “So calm! so cheerful! How have
you been supported?”

“By feeling that I was doing my duty.—My promise to Lucy, obliged me to
be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the
truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a
solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy.”

Marianne seemed much struck.

“I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother,” added
Elinor; “and once or twice I have attempted it;—but without betraying
my trust, I never could have convinced you.”

“Four months! and yet you loved him!”

“Yes. But I did not love only him; and while the comfort of others was
dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now,
I can think and speak of it with little emotion. I would not have you
suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially
myself. I have many things to support me. I am not conscious of having
provoked the disappointment by any imprudence of my own, I have borne
it as much as possible without spreading it farther. I acquit Edward of
essential misconduct. I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of his
always doing his duty, that though now he may harbour some regret, in
the end he must become so. Lucy does not want sense, and that is the
foundation on which every thing good may be built. And after all,
Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and
constant attachment, and all that can be said of one’s happiness
depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant—it is not
fit—it is not possible that it should be so. Edward will marry Lucy; he
will marry a woman superior in person and understanding to half her
sex; and time and habit will teach him to forget that he ever thought
another superior to _her_.”

“If such is your way of thinking,” said Marianne, “if the loss of what
is most valued is so easily to be made up by something else, your
resolution, your self-command, are, perhaps, a little less to be
wondered at.—They are brought more within my comprehension.”

“I understand you. You do not suppose that I have ever felt much. For
four months, Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my mind, without
being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature; knowing that it
would make you and my mother most unhappy whenever it were explained to
you, yet unable to prepare you for it in the least. It was told me,—it
was in a manner forced on me by the very person herself, whose prior
engagement ruined all my prospects; and told me, as I thought, with
triumph. This person’s suspicions, therefore, I have had to oppose, by
endeavouring to appear indifferent where I have been most deeply
interested; and it has not been only once; I have had her hopes and
exultation to listen to again and again. I have known myself to be
divided from Edward for ever, without hearing one circumstance that
could make me less desire the connection. Nothing has proved him
unworthy; nor has anything declared him indifferent to me.  I have had
to contend against the unkindness of his sister, and the insolence of
his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without
enjoying its advantages. And all this has been going on at a time,
when, as you know too well, it has not been my only unhappiness. If you
can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that I
have suffered _now_. The composure of mind with which I have brought
myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have
been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful
exertion; they did not spring up of themselves; they did not occur to
relieve my spirits at first. No, Marianne. _Then_, if I had not been
bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely—not even
what I owed to my dearest friends—from openly showing that I was _very_
unhappy.”

Marianne was quite subdued.

“Oh! Elinor,” she cried, “you have made me hate myself for ever.—How
barbarous have I been to you!—you, who have been my only comfort, who
have borne with me in all my misery, who have seemed to be only
suffering for me!—Is this my gratitude?—Is this the only return I can
make you?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying
to do it away.”

The tenderest caresses followed this confession. In such a frame of
mind as she was now in, Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from her
whatever promise she required; and at her request, Marianne engaged
never to speak of the affair to any one with the least appearance of
bitterness; to meet Lucy without betraying the smallest increase of
dislike to her; and even to see Edward himself, if chance should bring
them together, without any diminution of her usual cordiality. These
were great concessions; but where Marianne felt that she had injured,
no reparation could be too much for her to make.

She performed her promise of being discreet, to admiration.—She
attended to all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the subject, with an
unchanging complexion, dissented from her in nothing, and was heard
three times to say, “Yes, ma’am.”—She listened to her praise of Lucy
with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings
talked of Edward’s affection, it cost her only a spasm in her
throat.—Such advances towards heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel
equal to any thing herself.

The next morning brought a farther trial of it, in a visit from their
brother, who came with a most serious aspect to talk over the dreadful
affair, and bring them news of his wife.

“You have heard, I suppose,” said he with great solemnity, as soon as
he was seated, “of the very shocking discovery that took place under
our roof yesterday.”

They all looked their assent; it seemed too awful a moment for speech.

“Your sister,” he continued, “has suffered dreadfully. Mrs. Ferrars
too—in short it has been a scene of such complicated distress—but I
will hope that the storm may be weathered without our being any of us
quite overcome. Poor Fanny! she was in hysterics all yesterday. But I
would not alarm you too much. Donavan says there is nothing materially
to be apprehended; her constitution is a good one, and her resolution
equal to any thing. She has borne it all, with the fortitude of an
angel! She says she never shall think well of anybody again; and one
cannot wonder at it, after being so deceived!—meeting with such
ingratitude, where so much kindness had been shown, so much confidence
had been placed! It was quite out of the benevolence of her heart, that
she had asked these young women to her house; merely because she
thought they deserved some attention, were harmless, well-behaved
girls, and would be pleasant companions; for otherwise we both wished
very much to have invited you and Marianne to be with us, while your
kind friend there, was attending her daughter. And now to be so
rewarded! ‘I wish, with all my heart,’ says poor Fanny in her
affectionate way, ‘that we had asked your sisters instead of them.’”

Here he stopped to be thanked; which being done, he went on.

“What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when first Fanny broke it to her, is
not to be described. While she with the truest affection had been
planning a most eligible connection for him, was it to be supposed that
he could be all the time secretly engaged to another person!—such a
suspicion could never have entered her head! If she suspected _any_
prepossession elsewhere, it could not be in _that_ quarter. ‘_There_,
to be sure,’ said she, ‘I might have thought myself safe.’ She was
quite in an agony. We consulted together, however, as to what should be
done, and at last she determined to send for Edward. He came. But I am
sorry to relate what ensued. All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make
him put an end to the engagement, assisted too as you may well suppose
by my arguments, and Fanny’s entreaties, was of no avail. Duty,
affection, every thing was disregarded. I never thought Edward so
stubborn, so unfeeling before. His mother explained to him her liberal
designs, in case of his marrying Miss Morton; told him she would settle
on him the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-tax, brings in a good
thousand a-year; offered even, when matters grew desperate, to make it
twelve hundred; and in opposition to this, if he still persisted in
this low connection, represented to him the certain penury that must
attend the match. His own two thousand pounds she protested should be
his all; she would never see him again; and so far would she be from
affording him the smallest assistance, that if he were to enter into
any profession with a view of better support, she would do all in her
power to prevent him advancing in it.”

Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands
together, and cried, “Gracious God! can this be possible!”

“Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the obstinacy
which could resist such arguments as these. Your exclamation is very
natural.”

Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and
forbore.

“All this, however,” he continued, “was urged in vain. Edward said very
little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing
should prevail on him to give up his engagement. He would stand to it,
cost him what it might.”

“Then,” cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be
silent, “he has acted like an honest man! I beg your pardon, Mr.
Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a
rascal. I have some little concern in the business, as well as
yourself, for Lucy Steele is my cousin, and I believe there is not a
better kind of girl in the world, nor one who more deserves a good
husband.”

John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but his nature was calm, not open
to provocation, and he never wished to offend anybody, especially
anybody of good fortune. He therefore replied, without any resentment,

“I would by no means speak disrespectfully of any relation of yours,
madam. Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman,
but in the present case you know, the connection must be impossible.
And to have entered into a secret engagement with a young man under her
uncle’s care, the son of a woman especially of such very large fortune
as Mrs. Ferrars, is perhaps, altogether a little extraordinary. In
short, I do not mean to reflect upon the behaviour of any person whom
you have a regard for, Mrs. Jennings. We all wish her extremely happy;
and Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct throughout the whole, has been such as every
conscientious, good mother, in like circumstances, would adopt. It has
been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it
will be a bad one.”

Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor’s heart wrung
for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother’s threats, for a
woman who could not reward him.

“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Jennings, “and how did it end?”

“I am sorry to say, ma’am, in a most unhappy rupture:—Edward is
dismissed for ever from his mother’s notice. He left her house
yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do
not know; for _we_ of course can make no inquiry.”

“Poor young man!—and what is to become of him?”

“What, indeed, ma’am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the
prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more
deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds—how can a man live on
it?—and when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for
his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two
thousand, five hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand
pounds,) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must
all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our
power to assist him.”

“Poor young man!” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure he should be very
welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I
could see him. It is not fit that he should be living about at his own
charge now, at lodgings and taverns.”

Elinor’s heart thanked her for such kindness towards Edward, though she
could not forbear smiling at the form of it.

“If he would only have done as well by himself,” said John Dashwood,
“as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been
in his proper situation, and would have wanted for nothing. But as it
is, it must be out of anybody’s power to assist him. And there is one
thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his
mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle
_that_ estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward’s,
on proper conditions. I left her this morning with her lawyer, talking
over the business.”

“Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is _her_ revenge. Everybody has a way
of their own. But I don’t think mine would be, to make one son
independent, because another had plagued me.”

Marianne got up and walked about the room.

“Can anything be more galling to the spirit of a man,” continued John,
“than to see his younger brother in possession of an estate which might
have been his own? Poor Edward! I feel for him sincerely.”

A few minutes more spent in the same kind of effusion, concluded his
visit; and with repeated assurances to his sisters that he really
believed there was no material danger in Fanny’s indisposition, and
that they need not therefore be very uneasy about it, he went away;
leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present
occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the
Dashwoods’, and Edward’s.

Marianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and
as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in
Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the
party.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.


Mrs. Jennings was very warm in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only
Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. _They_ only knew how
little he had had to tempt him to be disobedient, and how small was the
consolation, beyond the consciousness of doing right, that could remain
to him in the loss of friends and fortune. Elinor gloried in his
integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his
punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public
discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which
either of them were fond of dwelling when alone. Elinor avoided it upon
principle, as tending to fix still more upon her thoughts, by the too
warm, too positive assurances of Marianne, that belief of Edward’s
continued affection for herself which she rather wished to do away; and
Marianne’s courage soon failed her, in trying to converse upon a topic
which always left her more dissatisfied with herself than ever, by the
comparison it necessarily produced between Elinor’s conduct and her
own.

She felt all the force of that comparison; but not as her sister had
hoped, to urge her to exertion now; she felt it with all the pain of
continual self-reproach, regretted most bitterly that she had never
exerted herself before; but it brought only the torture of penitence,
without the hope of amendment. Her mind was so much weakened that she
still fancied present exertion impossible, and therefore it only
dispirited her more.

Nothing new was heard by them, for a day or two afterwards, of affairs
in Harley Street, or Bartlett’s Buildings. But though so much of the
matter was known to them already, that Mrs. Jennings might have had
enough to do in spreading that knowledge farther, without seeking after
more, she had resolved from the first to pay a visit of comfort and
inquiry to her cousins as soon as she could; and nothing but the
hindrance of more visitors than usual, had prevented her going to them
within that time.

The third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, was so
fine, so beautiful a Sunday as to draw many to Kensington Gardens,
though it was only the second week in March. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor
were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were
again in town, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose rather
to stay at home, than venture into so public a place.

An intimate acquaintance of Mrs. Jennings joined them soon after they
entered the Gardens, and Elinor was not sorry that by her continuing
with them, and engaging all Mrs. Jennings’s conversation, she was
herself left to quiet reflection. She saw nothing of the Willoughbys,
nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could by
any chance whether grave or gay, be interesting to her. But at last she
found herself with some surprise, accosted by Miss Steele, who, though
looking rather shy, expressed great satisfaction in meeting them, and
on receiving encouragement from the particular kindness of Mrs.
Jennings, left her own party for a short time, to join their’s. Mrs.
Jennings immediately whispered to Elinor,

“Get it all out of her, my dear. She will tell you any thing if you
ask. You see I cannot leave Mrs. Clarke.”

It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s too,
that she would tell any thing _without_ being asked; for nothing would
otherwise have been learnt.

“I am so glad to meet you;” said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by
the arm—“for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.” And then
lowering her voice, “I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is
she angry?”

“Not at all, I believe, with you.”

“That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is _she_ angry?”

“I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.”

“I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of
it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. She vowed at first she
would never trim me up a new bonnet, nor do any thing else for me
again, so long as she lived; but now she is quite come to, and we are
as good friends as ever. Look, she made me this bow to my hat, and put
in the feather last night. There now, _you_ are going to laugh at me
too. But why should not I wear pink ribbons? I do not care if it _is_
the Doctor’s favourite colour. I am sure, for my part, I should never
have known he _did_ like it better than any other colour, if he had not
happened to say so. My cousins have been so plaguing me! I declare
sometimes I do not know which way to look before them.”

She had wandered away to a subject on which Elinor had nothing to say,
and therefore soon judged it expedient to find her way back again to
the first.

“Well, but Miss Dashwood,” speaking triumphantly, “people may say what
they chuse about Mr. Ferrars’s declaring he would not have Lucy, for it
is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such
ill-natured reports to be spread abroad. Whatever Lucy might think
about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set
it down for certain.”

“I never heard any thing of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,”
said Elinor.

“Oh, did not you? But it _was_ said, I know, very well, and by more
than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses
could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with
thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing
at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my
cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was
afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us
for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in
my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your
brother’s Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday,
Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once
Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that.
However this morning he came just as we came home from church; and then
it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street,
and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had
declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but
Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that
as soon as he had went away from his mother’s house, he had got upon
his horse, and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he
had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get
the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he
said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at
all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because
it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds,
and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he
had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they
to live upon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no better,
and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to
the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say
all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for _her_
sake, and upon _her_ account, that he said a word about being off, and
not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of
being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing
like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of
talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and
love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can’t repeat such kind of
things you know)—she told him directly, she had not the least mind in
the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how
little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all,
you know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and
talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he
should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he
got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin
called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and
would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into
the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but
she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a
pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons.”

“I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,” said Elinor;
“you were all in the same room together, were not you?”

“No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love
when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—To be sure you must know
better than that. (Laughing affectedly.)—No, no; they were shut up in
the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the
door.”

“How!” cried Elinor; “have you been repeating to me what you only
learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it
before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me
particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known
yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?”

“Oh, la! there is nothing in _that_. I only stood at the door, and
heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by
me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many
secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or
behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.”

Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be
kept beyond a couple of minutes, from what was uppermost in her mind.

“Edward talks of going to Oxford soon,” said she; “but now he is
lodging at No.—, Pall Mall. What an ill-natured woman his mother is,
an’t she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I
shan’t say anything against them to _you;_ and to be sure they did send
us home in their own chariot, which was more than I looked for. And for
my part, I was all in a fright for fear your sister should ask us for
the huswifes she had gave us a day or two before; but, however, nothing
was said about them, and I took care to keep mine out of sight. Edward
have got some business at Oxford, he says; so he must go there for a
time; and after _that_, as soon as he can light upon a Bishop, he will
be ordained. I wonder what curacy he will get! Good gracious! (giggling
as she spoke) I’d lay my life I know what my cousins will say, when
they hear of it. They will tell me I should write to the Doctor, to get
Edward the curacy of his new living. I know they will; but I am sure I
would not do such a thing for all the world. ‘La!’ I shall say
directly, ‘I wonder how you could think of such a thing? _I_ write to
the Doctor, indeed!’”

“Well,” said Elinor, “it is a comfort to be prepared against the worst.
You have got your answer ready.”

Miss Steele was going to reply on the same subject, but the approach of
her own party made another more necessary.

“Oh, la! here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to
you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer. I assure you
they are very genteel people. He makes a monstrous deal of money, and
they keep their own coach. I have not time to speak to Mrs. Jennings
about it myself, but pray tell her I am quite happy to hear she is not
in anger against us, and Lady Middleton the same; and if anything
should happen to take you and your sister away, and Mrs. Jennings
should want company, I am sure we should be very glad to come and stay
with her for as long a time as she likes. I suppose Lady Middleton
won’t ask us any more this bout. Good-by; I am sorry Miss Marianne was
not here. Remember me kindly to her. La! if you have not got your
spotted muslin on!—I wonder you was not afraid of its being torn.”

Such was her parting concern; for after this, she had time only to pay
her farewell compliments to Mrs. Jennings, before her company was
claimed by Mrs. Richardson; and Elinor was left in possession of
knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection some time, though
she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and
foreplanned in her own mind. Edward’s marriage with Lucy was as firmly
determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely
uncertain, as she had concluded it would be;—every thing depended,
exactly after her expectation, on his getting that preferment, of
which, at present, there seemed not the smallest chance.

As soon as they returned to the carriage, Mrs. Jennings was eager for
information; but as Elinor wished to spread as little as possible
intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she
confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as
she felt assured that Lucy, for the sake of her own consequence, would
choose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the
means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her
communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following
natural remark.

“Wait for his having a living!—ay, we all know how _that_ will
end:—they will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it,
will set down upon a curacy of fifty pounds a-year, with the interest
of his two thousand pounds, and what little matter Mr. Steele and Mr.
Pratt can give her. Then they will have a child every year! and Lord
help ’em! how poor they will be! I must see what I can give them
towards furnishing their house. Two maids and two men, indeed! as I
talked of t’ other day. No, no, they must get a stout girl of all
works. Betty’s sister would never do for them _now_.”

The next morning brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from
Lucy herself. It was as follows:

“Bartlett’s Building, March.


“I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing
to her; but I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear
such a good account of myself and my dear Edward, after all the
troubles we have went through lately, therefore will make no more
apologies, but proceed to say that, thank God! though we have suffered
dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always
be in one another’s love. We have had great trials, and great
persecutions, but however, at the same time, gratefully acknowledge
many friends, yourself not the least among them, whose great kindness I
shall always thankfully remember, as will Edward too, who I have told
of it. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs.
Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he
would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I, as I thought my
duty required, urge him to it for prudence sake, and would have parted
for ever on the spot, would he consent to it; but he said it should
never be, he did not regard his mother’s anger, while he could have my
affections; our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must
wait, and hope for the best; he will be ordained shortly; and should it
ever be in your power to recommend him to any body that has a living to
bestow, am very sure you will not forget us, and dear Mrs. Jennings
too, trust she will speak a good word for us to Sir John, or Mr.
Palmer, or any friend that may be able to assist us.—Poor Anne was much
to blame for what she did, but she did it for the best, so I say
nothing; hope Mrs. Jennings won’t think it too much trouble to give us
a call, should she come this way any morning, ’twould be a great
kindness, and my cousins would be proud to know her.—My paper reminds
me to conclude; and begging to be most gratefully and respectfully
remembered to her, and to Sir John, and Lady Middleton, and the dear
children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,


“I am, &c.”


As soon as Elinor had finished it, she performed what she concluded to
be its writer’s real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs.
Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and
praise.

“Very well indeed!—how prettily she writes!—aye, that was quite proper
to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor soul! I
wish I _could_ get him a living, with all my heart. She calls me dear
Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived. Very
well upon my word. That sentence is very prettily turned. Yes, yes, I
will go and see her, sure enough. How attentive she is, to think of
every body!—Thank you, my dear, for showing it me. It is as pretty a
letter as ever I saw, and does Lucy’s head and heart great credit.”




CHAPTER XXXIX.


The Miss Dashwoods had now been rather more than two months in town,
and Marianne’s impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed
for the air, the liberty, the quiet of the country; and fancied that if
any place could give her ease, Barton must do it. Elinor was hardly
less anxious than herself for their removal, and only so much less bent
on its being effected immediately, as that she was conscious of the
difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought
to acknowledge. She began, however, seriously to turn her thoughts
towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to
their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her
good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from
home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more
eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to Cleveland about
the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both
her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with
them. This would not, in itself, have been sufficient for the delicacy
of Miss Dashwood;—but it was inforced with so much real politeness by
Mr. Palmer himself, as, joined to the very great amendment of his
manners towards them since her sister had been known to be unhappy,
induced her to accept it with pleasure.

When she told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was
not very auspicious.

“Cleveland!”—she cried, with great agitation. “No, I cannot go to
Cleveland.”

“You forget,” said Elinor gently, “that its situation is not—that it is
not in the neighbourhood of—”

“But it is in Somersetshire.—I cannot go into Somersetshire.—There,
where I looked forward to going...No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to
go there.”

Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such
feelings;—she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on
others;—represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the
time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to
see, in a more eligible, more comfortable manner, than any other plan
could do, and perhaps without any greater delay. From Cleveland, which
was within a few miles of Bristol, the distance to Barton was not
beyond one day, though a long day’s journey; and their mother’s servant
might easily come there to attend them down; and as there could be no
occasion of their staying above a week at Cleveland, they might now be
at home in little more than three weeks’ time. As Marianne’s affection
for her mother was sincere, it must triumph with little difficulty,
over the imaginary evils she had started.

Mrs. Jennings was so far from being weary of her guests, that she
pressed them very earnestly to return with her again from Cleveland.
Elinor was grateful for the attention, but it could not alter her
design; and their mother’s concurrence being readily gained, every
thing relative to their return was arranged as far as it could be;—and
Marianne found some relief in drawing up a statement of the hours that
were yet to divide her from Barton.

“Ah! Colonel, I do not know what you and I shall do without the Miss
Dashwoods;”—was Mrs. Jennings’s address to him when he first called on
her, after their leaving her was settled—“for they are quite resolved
upon going home from the Palmers;—and how forlorn we shall be, when I
come back!—Lord! we shall sit and gape at one another as dull as two
cats.”

Perhaps Mrs. Jennings was in hopes, by this vigorous sketch of their
future ennui, to provoke him to make that offer, which might give
himself an escape from it; and if so, she had soon afterwards good
reason to think her object gained; for, on Elinor’s moving to the
window to take more expeditiously the dimensions of a print, which she
was going to copy for her friend, he followed her to it with a look of
particular meaning, and conversed with her there for several minutes.
The effect of his discourse on the lady too, could not escape her
observation, for though she was too honorable to listen, and had even
changed her seat, on purpose that she might _not_ hear, to one close by
the piano forte on which Marianne was playing, she could not keep
herself from seeing that Elinor changed colour, attended with
agitation, and was too intent on what he said to pursue her employment.
Still farther in confirmation of her hopes, in the interval of
Marianne’s turning from one lesson to another, some words of the
Colonel’s inevitably reached her ear, in which he seemed to be
apologising for the badness of his house. This set the matter beyond a
doubt. She wondered, indeed, at his thinking it necessary to do so; but
supposed it to be the proper etiquette. What Elinor said in reply she
could not distinguish, but judged from the motion of her lips, that she
did not think _that_ any material objection; and Mrs. Jennings
commended her in her heart for being so honest. They then talked on for
a few minutes longer without her catching a syllable, when another
lucky stop in Marianne’s performance brought her these words in the
Colonel’s calm voice,—

“I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.”

Astonished and shocked at so unlover-like a speech, she was almost
ready to cry out, “Lord! what should hinder it?”—but checking her
desire, confined herself to this silent ejaculation.

“This is very strange!—sure he need not wait to be older.”

This delay on the Colonel’s side, however, did not seem to offend or
mortify his fair companion in the least, for on their breaking up the
conference soon afterwards, and moving different ways, Mrs. Jennings
very plainly heard Elinor say, and with a voice which showed her to
feel what she said,

“I shall always think myself very much obliged to you.”

Mrs. Jennings was delighted with her gratitude, and only wondered that
after hearing such a sentence, the Colonel should be able to take leave
of them, as he immediately did, with the utmost _sang-froid_, and go
away without making her any reply! She had not thought her old friend
could have made so indifferent a suitor.

What had really passed between them was to this effect.

“I have heard,” said he, with great compassion, “of the injustice your
friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand
the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering
in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been
rightly informed? Is it so?;”

Elinor told him that it was.

“The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,” he replied, with great feeling,
“of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached
to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be
doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or
three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a
young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time,
but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as
a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends
to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of
Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his,
if he think it worth his acceptance; but _that_, perhaps, so
unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear
to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a
small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200£
per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear,
not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such
as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting it to him, will be very
great. Pray assure him of it.”

Elinor’s astonishment at this commission could hardly have been
greater, had the Colonel been really making her an offer of his hand.
The preferment, which only two days before she had considered as
hopeless for Edward, was already provided to enable him to marry; and
_she_, of all people in the world, was fixed on to bestow it! Her
emotion was such as Mrs. Jennings had attributed to a very different
cause; but whatever minor feelings less pure, less pleasing, might have
a share in that emotion, her esteem for the general benevolence, and
her gratitude for the particular friendship, which together prompted
Colonel Brandon to this act, were strongly felt, and warmly expressed.
She thanked him for it with all her heart, spoke of Edward’s principles
and disposition with that praise which she knew them to deserve; and
promised to undertake the commission with pleasure, if it were really
his wish to put off so agreeable an office to another. But at the same
time, she could not help thinking that no one could so well perform it
as himself. It was an office in short, from which, unwilling to give
Edward the pain of receiving an obligation from _her_, she would have
been very glad to be spared herself; but Colonel Brandon, on motives of
equal delicacy, declining it likewise, still seemed so desirous of its
being given through her means, that she would not on any account make
farther opposition. Edward, she believed, was still in town, and
fortunately she had heard his address from Miss Steele. She could
undertake therefore to inform him of it, in the course of the day.
After this had been settled, Colonel Brandon began to talk of his own
advantage in securing so respectable and agreeable a neighbour, and
_then_ it was that he mentioned with regret, that the house was small
and indifferent; an evil which Elinor, as Mrs. Jennings had supposed
her to do, made very light of, at least as far as regarded its size.

“The smallness of the house,” said she, “I cannot imagine any
inconvenience to them, for it will be in proportion to their family and
income.”

By which the Colonel was surprised to find that _she_ was considering
Mr. Ferrars’s marriage as the certain consequence of the presentation;
for he did not suppose it possible that Delaford living could supply
such an income, as anybody in his style of life would venture to settle
on, and he said so.

“This little rectory _can_ do no more than make Mr. Ferrars comfortable
as a bachelor; it cannot enable him to marry. I am sorry to say that my
patronage ends with this; and my interest is hardly more extensive. If,
however, by an unforeseen chance it should be in my power to serve him
farther, I must think very differently of him from what I now do, if I
am not as ready to be useful to him then as I sincerely wish I could be
at present. What I am now doing indeed, seems nothing at all, since it
can advance him so little towards what must be his principal, his only
object of happiness. His marriage must still be a distant good; at
least, I am afraid it cannot take place very soon.”

Such was the sentence which, when misunderstood, so justly offended the
delicate feelings of Mrs. Jennings; but after this narration of what
really passed between Colonel Brandon and Elinor, while they stood at
the window, the gratitude expressed by the latter on their parting, may
perhaps appear in general, not less reasonably excited, nor less
properly worded than if it had arisen from an offer of marriage.




CHAPTER XL.


“Well, Miss Dashwood,” said Mrs. Jennings, sagaciously smiling, as soon
as the gentleman had withdrawn, “I do not ask you what the Colonel has
been saying to you; for though, upon my honour, I _tried_ to keep out
of hearing, I could not help catching enough to understand his
business. And I assure you I never was better pleased in my life, and I
wish you joy of it with all my heart.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elinor. “It _is_ a matter of great joy to me;
and I feel the goodness of Colonel Brandon most sensibly. There are not
many men who would act as he has done. Few people who have so
compassionate a heart! I never was more astonished in my life.”

“Lord! my dear, you are very modest. I an’t the least astonished at it
in the world, for I have often thought of late, there was nothing more
likely to happen.”

“You judged from your knowledge of the Colonel’s general benevolence;
but at least you could not foresee that the opportunity would so very
soon occur.”

“Opportunity!” repeated Mrs. Jennings—“Oh! as to that, when a man has
once made up his mind to such a thing, somehow or other he will soon
find an opportunity. Well, my dear, I wish you joy of it again and
again; and if ever there was a happy couple in the world, I think I
shall soon know where to look for them.”

“You mean to go to Delaford after them I suppose,” said Elinor, with a
faint smile.

“Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one,
I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as
ever I saw.”

“He spoke of its being out of repair.”

“Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who should do
it but himself?”

They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the
carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to
go, said,—

“Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But,
however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite
alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too
full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to
tell your sister all about it.”

Marianne had left the room before the conversation began.

“Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention
it at present to any body else.”

“Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you
would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as
Holborn to-day.”

“No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be
very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought
not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do _that_ directly. It is
of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of
course have much to do relative to his ordination.”

This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars
was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not
immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a
very happy idea, and she exclaimed;—

“Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much
the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness;
and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my
dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write
himself?—sure, he is the proper person.”

Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s
speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore
only replied to its conclusion.

“Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to
announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.”

“And so _you_ are forced to do it. Well _that_ is an odd kind of
delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to
write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not
heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to
bed.”

And away she went; but returning again in a moment,

“I have just been thinking of Betty’s sister, my dear. I should be very
glad to get her so good a mistress. But whether she would do for a
lady’s maid, I am sure I can’t tell. She is an excellent housemaid, and
works very well at her needle. However, you will think of all that at
your leisure.”

“Certainly, ma’am,” replied Elinor, not hearing much of what she said,
and more anxious to be alone, than to be mistress of the subject.

How she should begin—how she should express herself in her note to
Edward, was now all her concern. The particular circumstances between
them made a difficulty of that which to any other person would have
been the easiest thing in the world; but she equally feared to say too
much or too little, and sat deliberating over her paper, with the pen
in her hand, till broken in on by the entrance of Edward himself.

He had met Mrs. Jennings at the door in her way to the carriage, as he
came to leave his farewell card; and she, after apologising for not
returning herself, had obliged him to enter, by saying that Miss
Dashwood was above, and wanted to speak with him on very particular
business.

Elinor had just been congratulating herself, in the midst of her
perplexity, that however difficult it might be to express herself
properly by letter, it was at least preferable to giving the
information by word of mouth, when her visitor entered, to force her
upon this greatest exertion of all. Her astonishment and confusion were
very great on his so sudden appearance. She had not seen him before
since his engagement became public, and therefore not since his knowing
her to be acquainted with it; which, with the consciousness of what she
had been thinking of, and what she had to tell him, made her feel
particularly uncomfortable for some minutes. He too was much
distressed; and they sat down together in a most promising state of
embarrassment.—Whether he had asked her pardon for his intrusion on
first coming into the room, he could not recollect; but determining to
be on the safe side, he made his apology in form as soon as he could
say any thing, after taking a chair.

“Mrs. Jennings told me,” said he, “that you wished to speak with me, at
least I understood her so—or I certainly should not have intruded on
you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been
extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister;
especially as it will most likely be some time—it is not probable that
I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford
tomorrow.”

“You would not have gone, however,” said Elinor, recovering herself,
and determined to get over what she so much dreaded as soon as
possible, “without receiving our good wishes, even if we had not been
able to give them in person. Mrs. Jennings was quite right in what she
said. I have something of consequence to inform you of, which I was on
the point of communicating by paper. I am charged with a most agreeable
office (breathing rather faster than usual as she spoke.) Colonel
Brandon, who was here only ten minutes ago, has desired me to say, that
understanding you mean to take orders, he has great pleasure in
offering you the living of Delaford now just vacant, and only wishes it
were more valuable. Allow me to congratulate you on having so
respectable and well-judging a friend, and to join in his wish that the
living—it is about two hundred a-year—were much more considerable, and
such as might better enable you to—as might be more than a temporary
accommodation to yourself—such, in short, as might establish all your
views of happiness.”

What Edward felt, as he could not say it himself, it cannot be expected
that any one else should say for him. He _looked_ all the astonishment
which such unexpected, such unthought-of information could not fail of
exciting; but he said only these two words,—

“Colonel Brandon!”

“Yes,” continued Elinor, gathering more resolution, as some of the
worst was over, “Colonel Brandon means it as a testimony of his concern
for what has lately passed—for the cruel situation in which the
unjustifiable conduct of your family has placed you—a concern which I
am sure Marianne, myself, and all your friends, must share; and
likewise as a proof of his high esteem for your general character, and
his particular approbation of your behaviour on the present occasion.”

“Colonel Brandon give _me_ a living!—Can it be possible?”

“The unkindness of your own relations has made you astonished to find
friendship any where.”

“No,” replied he, with sudden consciousness, “not to find it in _you;_
for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all.—I
feel it—I would express it if I could—but, as you well know, I am no
orator.”

“You are very much mistaken. I do assure you that you owe it entirely,
at least almost entirely, to your own merit, and Colonel Brandon’s
discernment of it. I have had no hand in it. I did not even know, till
I understood his design, that the living was vacant; nor had it ever
occurred to me that he might have had such a living in his gift. As a
friend of mine, of my family, he may, perhaps—indeed I know he _has_,
still greater pleasure in bestowing it; but, upon my word, you owe
nothing to my solicitation.”

Truth obliged her to acknowledge some small share in the action, but
she was at the same time so unwilling to appear as the benefactress of
Edward, that she acknowledged it with hesitation; which probably
contributed to fix that suspicion in his mind which had recently
entered it. For a short time he sat deep in thought, after Elinor had
ceased to speak;—at last, and as if it were rather an effort, he said,

“Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have
always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him
highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly
the gentleman.”

“Indeed,” replied Elinor, “I believe that you will find him, on farther
acquaintance, all that you have heard him to be, and as you will be
such very near neighbours (for I understand the parsonage is almost
close to the mansion-house,) it is particularly important that he
_should_ be all this.”

Edward made no answer; but when she had turned away her head, gave her
a look so serious, so earnest, so uncheerful, as seemed to say, that he
might hereafter wish the distance between the parsonage and the
mansion-house much greater.

“Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,” said he, soon
afterwards, rising from his chair.

Elinor told him the number of the house.

“I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not
allow me to give _you;_ to assure him that he has made me a very—an
exceedingly happy man.”

Elinor did not offer to detain him; and they parted, with a very
earnest assurance on _her_ side of her unceasing good wishes for his
happiness in every change of situation that might befall him; on _his_,
with rather an attempt to return the same good will, than the power of
expressing it.

“When I see him again,” said Elinor to herself, as the door shut him
out, “I shall see him the husband of Lucy.”

And with this pleasing anticipation, she sat down to reconsider the
past, recall the words and endeavour to comprehend all the feelings of
Edward; and, of course, to reflect on her own with discontent.

When Mrs. Jennings came home, though she returned from seeing people
whom she had never seen before, and of whom therefore she must have a
great deal to say, her mind was so much more occupied by the important
secret in her possession, than by anything else, that she reverted to
it again as soon as Elinor appeared.

“Well, my dear,” she cried, “I sent you up the young man. Did not I do
right?—And I suppose you had no great difficulty—You did not find him
very unwilling to accept your proposal?”

“No, ma’am; _that_ was not very likely.”

“Well, and how soon will he be ready?—For it seems all to depend upon
that.”

“Really,” said Elinor, “I know so little of these kind of forms, that I
can hardly even conjecture as to the time, or the preparation
necessary; but I suppose two or three months will complete his
ordination.”

“Two or three months!” cried Mrs. Jennings; “Lord! my dear, how calmly
you talk of it; and can the Colonel wait two or three months! Lord
bless me!—I am sure it would put _me_ quite out of patience!—And though
one would be very glad to do a kindness by poor Mr. Ferrars, I do think
it is not worth while to wait two or three months for him. Sure
somebody else might be found that would do as well; somebody that is in
orders already.”

“My dear ma’am,” said Elinor, “what can you be thinking of? Why,
Colonel Brandon’s only object is to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

“Lord bless you, my dear! Sure you do not mean to persuade me that the
Colonel only marries you for the sake of giving ten guineas to Mr.
Ferrars!”

The deception could not continue after this; and an explanation
immediately took place, by which both gained considerable amusement for
the moment, without any material loss of happiness to either, for Mrs.
Jennings only exchanged one form of delight for another, and still
without forfeiting her expectation of the first.

“Aye, aye, the parsonage is but a small one,” said she, after the first
ebullition of surprise and satisfaction was over, “and very likely
_may_ be out of repair; but to hear a man apologising, as I thought,
for a house that to my knowledge has five sitting rooms on the
ground-floor, and I think the housekeeper told me could make up fifteen
beds! and to you too, that had been used to live in Barton cottage! It
seems quite ridiculous. But, my dear, we must touch up the Colonel to
do some thing to the parsonage, and make it comfortable for them,
before Lucy goes to it.”

“But Colonel Brandon does not seem to have any idea of the living’s
being enough to allow them to marry.”

“The Colonel is a ninny, my dear; because he has two thousand a-year
himself, he thinks that nobody else can marry on less. Take my word for
it, that, if I am alive, I shall be paying a visit at Delaford
Parsonage before Michaelmas; and I am sure I shan’t go if Lucy an’t
there.”

Elinor was quite of her opinion, as to the probability of their not
waiting for any thing more.




CHAPTER XLI.


Edward, having carried his thanks to Colonel Brandon, proceeded with
his happiness to Lucy; and such was the excess of it by the time he
reached Bartlett’s Buildings, that she was able to assure Mrs.
Jennings, who called on her again the next day with her
congratulations, that she had never seen him in such spirits before in
her life.

Her own happiness, and her own spirits, were at least very certain; and
she joined Mrs. Jennings most heartily in her expectation of their
being all comfortably together in Delaford Parsonage before Michaelmas.
So far was she, at the same time, from any backwardness to give Elinor
that credit which Edward _would_ give her, that she spoke of her
friendship for them both with the most grateful warmth, was ready to
own all their obligation to her, and openly declared that no exertion
for their good on Miss Dashwood’s part, either present or future, would
ever surprise her, for she believed her capable of doing any thing in
the world for those she really valued. As for Colonel Brandon, she was
not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly
anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns;
anxious that his tithes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly
resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could,
of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry.

It was now above a week since John Dashwood had called in Berkeley
Street, and as since that time no notice had been taken by them of his
wife’s indisposition, beyond one verbal enquiry, Elinor began to feel
it necessary to pay her a visit.—This was an obligation, however, which
not only opposed her own inclination, but which had not the assistance
of any encouragement from her companions. Marianne, not contented with
absolutely refusing to go herself, was very urgent to prevent her
sister’s going at all; and Mrs. Jennings, though her carriage was
always at Elinor’s service, so very much disliked Mrs. John Dashwood,
that not even her curiosity to see how she looked after the late
discovery, nor her strong desire to affront her by taking Edward’s
part, could overcome her unwillingness to be in her company again. The
consequence was, that Elinor set out by herself to pay a visit, for
which no one could really have less inclination, and to run the risk of
a tête-à-tête with a woman, whom neither of the others had so much
reason to dislike.

Mrs. Dashwood was denied; but before the carriage could turn from the
house, her husband accidentally came out. He expressed great pleasure
in meeting Elinor, told her that he had been just going to call in
Berkeley Street, and, assuring her that Fanny would be very glad to see
her, invited her to come in.

They walked up stairs in to the drawing-room.—Nobody was there.

“Fanny is in her own room, I suppose,” said he: “I will go to her
presently, for I am sure she will not have the least objection in the
world to seeing _you_. Very far from it, indeed. _Now_ especially there
cannot be—but however, you and Marianne were always great favourites.
Why would not Marianne come?”

Elinor made what excuse she could for her.

“I am not sorry to see you alone,” he replied, “for I have a good deal
to say to you. This living of Colonel Brandon’s—can it be true?—has he
really given it to Edward?—I heard it yesterday by chance, and was
coming to you on purpose to enquire farther about it.”

“It is perfectly true.—Colonel Brandon has given the living of Delaford
to Edward.”

“Really!—Well, this is very astonishing!—no relationship!—no connection
between them!—and now that livings fetch such a price!—what was the
value of this?”

“About two hundred a year.”

“Very well—and for the next presentation to a living of that
value—supposing the late incumbent to have been old and sickly, and
likely to vacate it soon—he might have got I dare say—fourteen hundred
pounds. And how came he not to have settled that matter before this
person’s death? _Now_, indeed it would be too late to sell it, but a
man of Colonel Brandon’s sense! I wonder he should be so improvident in
a point of such common, such natural, concern! Well, I am convinced
that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human
character. I suppose, however—on recollection—that the case may
probably be _this_. Edward is only to hold the living till the person
to whom the Colonel has really sold the presentation, is old enough to
take it. Aye, aye, that is the fact, depend upon it.”

Elinor contradicted it, however, very positively; and by relating that
she had herself been employed in conveying the offer from Colonel
Brandon to Edward, and, therefore, must understand the terms on which
it was given, obliged him to submit to her authority.

“It is truly astonishing!”—he cried, after hearing what she said—“what
could be the Colonel’s motive?”

“A very simple one—to be of use to Mr. Ferrars.”

“Well, well; whatever Colonel Brandon may be, Edward is a very lucky
man.—You will not mention the matter to Fanny, however, for though I
have broke it to her, and she bears it vastly well,—she will not like
to hear it much talked of.”

Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she
thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth
to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly
impoverished.

“Mrs. Ferrars,” added he, lowering his voice to the tone becoming so
important a subject, “knows nothing about it at present, and I believe
it will be best to keep it entirely concealed from her as long as may
be. When the marriage takes place, I fear she must hear of it all.”

“But why should such precaution be used? Though it is not to be
supposed that Mrs. Ferrars can have the smallest satisfaction in
knowing that her son has money enough to live upon, for _that_ must be
quite out of the question; yet why, upon her late behaviour, is she
supposed to feel at all? She has done with her son,—she cast him off
for ever, and has made all those over whom she had any influence, cast
him off likewise. Surely, after doing so, she cannot be imagined liable
to any impression of sorrow or of joy on his account: she cannot be
interested in any thing that befalls him. She would not be so weak as
to throw away the comfort of a child, and yet retain the anxiety of a
parent!”

“Ah! Elinor,” said John, “your reasoning is very good, but it is
founded on ignorance of human nature. When Edward’s unhappy match takes
place, depend upon it his mother will feel as much as if she had never
discarded him; and, therefore every circumstance that may accelerate
that dreadful event, must be concealed from her as much as possible.
Mrs. Ferrars can never forget that Edward is her son.”

“You surprise me; I should think it must nearly have escaped her memory
by _this_ time.”

“You wrong her exceedingly. Mrs. Ferrars is one of the most
affectionate mothers in the world.”

Elinor was silent.

“We think _now_,”—said Mr. Dashwood, after a short pause, “of
_Robert’s_ marrying Miss Morton.”

Elinor, smiling at the grave and decisive importance of her brother’s
tone, calmly replied,—

“The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.”

“Choice!—how do you mean?”

“I only mean that I suppose, from your manner of speaking, it must be
the same to Miss Morton whether she marry Edward or Robert.”

“Certainly, there can be no difference; for Robert will now to all
intents and purposes be considered as the eldest son;—and as to any
thing else, they are both very agreeable young men: I do not know that
one is superior to the other.”

Elinor said no more, and John was also for a short time silent.—His
reflections ended thus.

“Of _one_ thing, my dear sister,” kindly taking her hand, and speaking
in an awful whisper, “I may assure you;—and I _will_ do it, because I
know it must gratify you. I have good reason to think—indeed I have it
from the best authority, or I should not repeat it, for otherwise it
would be very wrong to say any thing about it,—but I have it from the
very best authority,—not that I ever precisely heard Mrs. Ferrars say
it herself—but her daughter _did_, and I have it from her,—that in
short, whatever objections there might be against a certain—a certain
connection, you understand me,—it would have been far preferable to
her,—it would not have given her half the vexation that _this_ does. I
was exceedingly pleased to hear that Mrs. Ferrars considered it in that
light; a very gratifying circumstance you know to us all. ‘It would
have been beyond comparison,’ she said, ‘the least evil of the two, and
she would be glad to compound _now_ for nothing worse.’ But however,
all that is quite out of the question,—not to be thought of or
mentioned—as to any attachment you know, it never could be: all that is
gone by. But I thought I would just tell you of this, because I knew
how much it must please you. Not that you have any reason to regret, my
dear Elinor. There is no doubt of your doing exceedingly well,—quite as
well, or better, perhaps, all things considered. Has Colonel Brandon
been with you lately?”

Elinor had heard enough, if not to gratify her vanity, and raise her
self-importance, to agitate her nerves and fill her mind;—and she was
therefore glad to be spared from the necessity of saying much in reply
herself, and from the danger of hearing any thing more from her
brother, by the entrance of Mr. Robert Ferrars. After a few moments’
chat, John Dashwood, recollecting that Fanny was yet uninformed of her
sister’s being there, quitted the room in quest of her; and Elinor was
left to improve her acquaintance with Robert, who, by the gay
unconcern, the happy self-complacency of his manner while enjoying so
unfair a division of his mother’s love and liberality, to the prejudice
of his banished brother, earned only by his own dissipated course of
life, and that brother’s integrity, was confirming her most
unfavourable opinion of his head and heart.

They had scarcely been two minutes by themselves, before he began to
speak of Edward; for he, too, had heard of the living, and was very
inquisitive on the subject. Elinor repeated the particulars of it, as
she had given them to John; and their effect on Robert, though very
different, was not less striking than it had been on _him_. He laughed
most immoderately. The idea of Edward’s being a clergyman, and living
in a small parsonage-house, diverted him beyond measure;—and when to
that was added the fanciful imagery of Edward reading prayers in a
white surplice, and publishing the banns of marriage between John Smith
and Mary Brown, he could conceive nothing more ridiculous.

Elinor, while she waited in silence and immovable gravity, the
conclusion of such folly, could not restrain her eyes from being fixed
on him with a look that spoke all the contempt it excited. It was a
look, however, very well bestowed, for it relieved her own feelings,
and gave no intelligence to him. He was recalled from wit to wisdom,
not by any reproof of hers, but by his own sensibility.

“We may treat it as a joke,” said he, at last, recovering from the
affected laugh which had considerably lengthened out the genuine gaiety
of the moment; “but, upon my soul, it is a most serious business. Poor
Edward! he is ruined for ever. I am extremely sorry for it; for I know
him to be a very good-hearted creature; as well-meaning a fellow
perhaps, as any in the world. You must not judge of him, Miss Dashwood,
from _your_ slight acquaintance. Poor Edward! His manners are certainly
not the happiest in nature. But we are not all born, you know, with the
same powers,—the same address. Poor fellow! to see him in a circle of
strangers! To be sure it was pitiable enough; but upon my soul, I
believe he has as good a heart as any in the kingdom; and I declare and
protest to you I never was so shocked in my life, as when it all burst
forth. I could not believe it. My mother was the first person who told
me of it; and I, feeling myself called on to act with resolution,
immediately said to her, ‘My dear madam, I do not know what you may
intend to do on the occasion, but as for myself, I must say, that if
Edward does marry this young woman, _I_ never will see him again.’ That
was what I said immediately. I was most uncommonly shocked, indeed!
Poor Edward! he has done for himself completely,—shut himself out for
ever from all decent society! But, as I directly said to my mother, I
am not in the least surprised at it; from his style of education, it
was always to be expected. My poor mother was half frantic.”

“Have you ever seen the lady?”

“Yes; once, while she was staying in this house, I happened to drop in
for ten minutes; and I saw quite enough of her. The merest awkward
country girl, without style, or elegance, and almost without beauty. I
remember her perfectly. Just the kind of girl I should suppose likely
to captivate poor Edward. I offered immediately, as soon as my mother
related the affair to me, to talk to him myself, and dissuade him from
the match; but it was too late _then_, I found, to do any thing, for
unluckily, I was not in the way at first, and knew nothing of it till
after the breach had taken place, when it was not for me, you know, to
interfere. But had I been informed of it a few hours earlier, I think
it is most probable that something might have been hit on. I certainly
should have represented it to Edward in a very strong light. ‘My dear
fellow,’ I should have said, ‘consider what you are doing. You are
making a most disgraceful connection, and such a one as your family are
unanimous in disapproving.’ I cannot help thinking, in short, that
means might have been found. But now it is all too late. He must be
starved, you know, that is certain; absolutely starved.”

He had just settled this point with great composure, when the entrance
of Mrs. John Dashwood put an end to the subject. But though _she_ never
spoke of it out of her own family, Elinor could see its influence on
her mind, in the something like confusion of countenance with which she
entered, and an attempt at cordiality in her behaviour to herself. She
even proceeded so far as to be concerned to find that Elinor and her
sister were so soon to leave town, as she had hoped to see more of
them;—an exertion in which her husband, who attended her into the room,
and hung enamoured over her accents, seemed to distinguish every thing
that was most affectionate and graceful.




CHAPTER XLII.


One other short call in Harley Street, in which Elinor received her
brother’s congratulations on their travelling so far towards Barton
without any expense, and on Colonel Brandon’s being to follow them to
Cleveland in a day or two, completed the intercourse of the brother and
sisters in town;—and a faint invitation from Fanny, to come to Norland
whenever it should happen to be in their way, which of all things was
the most unlikely to occur, with a more warm, though less public,
assurance, from John to Elinor, of the promptitude with which he should
come to see her at Delaford, was all that foretold any meeting in the
country.

It amused her to observe that all her friends seemed determined to send
her to Delaford;—a place, in which, of all others, she would now least
chuse to visit, or wish to reside; for not only was it considered as
her future home by her brother and Mrs. Jennings, but even Lucy, when
they parted, gave her a pressing invitation to visit her there.

Very early in April, and tolerably early in the day, the two parties
from Hanover Square and Berkeley Street set out from their respective
homes, to meet, by appointment, on the road. For the convenience of
Charlotte and her child, they were to be more than two days on their
journey, and Mr. Palmer, travelling more expeditiously with Colonel
Brandon, was to join them at Cleveland soon after their arrival.

Marianne, few as had been her hours of comfort in London, and eager as
she had long been to quit it, could not, when it came to the point, bid
adieu to the house in which she had for the last time enjoyed those
hopes, and that confidence, in Willoughby, which were now extinguished
for ever, without great pain. Nor could she leave the place in which
Willoughby remained, busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which
_she_ could have no share, without shedding many tears.

Elinor’s satisfaction, at the moment of removal, was more positive. She
had no such object for her lingering thoughts to fix on, she left no
creature behind, from whom it would give her a moment’s regret to be
divided for ever, she was pleased to be free herself from the
persecution of Lucy’s friendship, she was grateful for bringing her
sister away unseen by Willoughby since his marriage, and she looked
forward with hope to what a few months of tranquility at Barton might
do towards restoring Marianne’s peace of mind, and confirming her own.

Their journey was safely performed. The second day brought them into
the cherished, or the prohibited, county of Somerset, for as such was
it dwelt on by turns in Marianne’s imagination; and in the forenoon of
the third they drove up to Cleveland.

Cleveland was a spacious, modern-built house, situated on a sloping
lawn. It had no park, but the pleasure-grounds were tolerably
extensive; and like every other place of the same degree of importance,
it had its open shrubbery, and closer wood walk, a road of smooth
gravel winding round a plantation, led to the front, the lawn was
dotted over with timber, the house itself was under the guardianship of
the fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them
altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars, shut out the
offices.

Marianne entered the house with a heart swelling with emotion from the
consciousness of being only eighty miles from Barton, and not thirty
from Combe Magna; and before she had been five minutes within its
walls, while the others were busily helping Charlotte to show her child
to the housekeeper, she quitted it again, stealing away through the
winding shrubberies, now just beginning to be in beauty, to gain a
distant eminence; where, from its Grecian temple, her eye, wandering
over a wide tract of country to the south-east, could fondly rest on
the farthest ridge of hills in the horizon, and fancy that from their
summits Combe Magna might be seen.

In such moments of precious, invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears
of agony to be at Cleveland; and as she returned by a different circuit
to the house, feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty, of
wandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude, she
resolved to spend almost every hour of every day while she remained
with the Palmers, in the indulgence of such solitary rambles.

She returned just in time to join the others as they quitted the house,
on an excursion through its more immediate premises; and the rest of
the morning was easily whiled away, in lounging round the kitchen
garden, examining the bloom upon its walls, and listening to the
gardener’s lamentations upon blights, in dawdling through the
green-house, where the loss of her favourite plants, unwarily exposed,
and nipped by the lingering frost, raised the laughter of
Charlotte,—and in visiting her poultry-yard, where, in the disappointed
hopes of her dairy-maid, by hens forsaking their nests, or being stolen
by a fox, or in the rapid decrease of a promising young brood, she
found fresh sources of merriment.

The morning was fine and dry, and Marianne, in her plan of employment
abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay
at Cleveland. With great surprise therefore, did she find herself
prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had
depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over
the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred
her from it; but a heavy and settled rain even _she_ could not fancy
dry or pleasant weather for walking.

Their party was small, and the hours passed quietly away. Mrs. Palmer
had her child, and Mrs. Jennings her carpet-work; they talked of the
friends they had left behind, arranged Lady Middleton’s engagements,
and wondered whether Mr. Palmer and Colonel Brandon would get farther
than Reading that night. Elinor, however little concerned in it, joined
in their discourse; and Marianne, who had the knack of finding her way
in every house to the library, however it might be avoided by the
family in general, soon procured herself a book.

Nothing was wanting on Mrs. Palmer’s side that constant and friendly
good humour could do, to make them feel themselves welcome. The
openness and heartiness of her manner more than atoned for that want of
recollection and elegance which made her often deficient in the forms
of politeness; her kindness, recommended by so pretty a face, was
engaging; her folly, though evident was not disgusting, because it was
not conceited; and Elinor could have forgiven every thing but her
laugh.

The two gentlemen arrived the next day to a very late dinner, affording
a pleasant enlargement of the party, and a very welcome variety to
their conversation, which a long morning of the same continued rain had
reduced very low.

Elinor had seen so little of Mr. Palmer, and in that little had seen so
much variety in his address to her sister and herself, that she knew
not what to expect to find him in his own family. She found him,
however, perfectly the gentleman in his behaviour to all his visitors,
and only occasionally rude to his wife and her mother; she found him
very capable of being a pleasant companion, and only prevented from
being so always, by too great an aptitude to fancy himself as much
superior to people in general, as he must feel himself to be to Mrs.
Jennings and Charlotte. For the rest of his character and habits, they
were marked, as far as Elinor could perceive, with no traits at all
unusual in his sex and time of life. He was nice in his eating,
uncertain in his hours; fond of his child, though affecting to slight
it; and idled away the mornings at billiards, which ought to have been
devoted to business. She liked him, however, upon the whole, much
better than she had expected, and in her heart was not sorry that she
could like him no more;—not sorry to be driven by the observation of
his Epicurism, his selfishness, and his conceit, to rest with
complacency on the remembrance of Edward’s generous temper, simple
taste, and diffident feelings.

Of Edward, or at least of some of his concerns, she now received
intelligence from Colonel Brandon, who had been into Dorsetshire
lately; and who, treating her at once as the disinterested friend of
Mr. Ferrars, and the kind confidante of himself, talked to her a great
deal of the parsonage at Delaford, described its deficiencies, and told
her what he meant to do himself towards removing them.—His behaviour to
her in this, as well as in every other particular, his open pleasure in
meeting her after an absence of only ten days, his readiness to
converse with her, and his deference for her opinion, might very well
justify Mrs. Jennings’s persuasion of his attachment, and would have
been enough, perhaps, had not Elinor still, as from the first, believed
Marianne his real favourite, to make her suspect it herself. But as it
was, such a notion had scarcely ever entered her head, except by Mrs.
Jennings’s suggestion; and she could not help believing herself the
nicest observer of the two;—she watched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings
thought only of his behaviour;—and while his looks of anxious
solicitude on Marianne’s feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning
of a heavy cold, because unexpressed by words, entirely escaped the
latter lady’s observation;—_she_ could discover in them the quick
feelings, and needless alarm of a lover.

Two delightful twilight walks on the third and fourth evenings of her
being there, not merely on the dry gravel of the shrubbery, but all
over the grounds, and especially in the most distant parts of them,
where there was something more of wildness than in the rest, where the
trees were the oldest, and the grass was the longest and wettest,
had—assisted by the still greater imprudence of sitting in her wet
shoes and stockings—given Marianne a cold so violent as, though for a
day or two trifled with or denied, would force itself by increasing
ailments on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself.
Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were all
declined. Though heavy and feverish, with a pain in her limbs, and a
cough, and a sore throat, a good night’s rest was to cure her entirely;
and it was with difficulty that Elinor prevailed on her, when she went
to bed, to try one or two of the simplest of the remedies.




CHAPTER XLIII.


Marianne got up the next morning at her usual time; to every inquiry
replied that she was better, and tried to prove herself so, by engaging
in her accustomary employments. But a day spent in sitting shivering
over the fire with a book in her hand, which she was unable to read, or
in lying, weary and languid, on a sofa, did not speak much in favour of
her amendment; and when, at last, she went early to bed, more and more
indisposed, Colonel Brandon was only astonished at her sister’s
composure, who, though attending and nursing her the whole day, against
Marianne’s inclination, and forcing proper medicines on her at night,
trusted, like Marianne, to the certainty and efficacy of sleep, and
felt no real alarm.

A very restless and feverish night, however, disappointed the
expectation of both; and when Marianne, after persisting in rising,
confessed herself unable to sit up, and returned voluntarily to her
bed, Elinor was very ready to adopt Mrs. Jennings’s advice, of sending
for the Palmers’ apothecary.

He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to
expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by
pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the
word “infection” to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer,
on her baby’s account. Mrs. Jennings, who had been inclined from the
first to think Marianne’s complaint more serious than Elinor, now
looked very grave on Mr. Harris’s report, and confirming Charlotte’s
fears and caution, urged the necessity of her immediate removal with
her infant; and Mr. Palmer, though treating their apprehensions as
idle, found the anxiety and importunity of his wife too great to be
withstood. Her departure, therefore, was fixed on; and within an hour
after Mr. Harris’s arrival, she set off, with her little boy and his
nurse, for the house of a near relation of Mr. Palmer’s, who lived a
few miles on the other side of Bath; whither her husband promised, at
her earnest entreaty, to join her in a day or two; and whither she was
almost equally urgent with her mother to accompany her. Mrs. Jennings,
however, with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her,
declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as
Marianne remained ill, and of endeavouring, by her own attentive care,
to supply to her the place of the mother she had taken her from; and
Elinor found her on every occasion a most willing and active helpmate,
desirous to share in all her fatigues, and often by her better
experience in nursing, of material use.

Poor Marianne, languid and low from the nature of her malady, and
feeling herself universally ill, could no longer hope that tomorrow
would find her recovered; and the idea of what tomorrow would have
produced, but for this unlucky illness, made every ailment severe; for
on that day they were to have begun their journey home; and, attended
the whole way by a servant of Mrs. Jennings, were to have taken their
mother by surprise on the following forenoon. The little she said was
all in lamentation of this inevitable delay; though Elinor tried to
raise her spirits, and make her believe, as she _then_ really believed
herself, that it would be a very short one.

The next day produced little or no alteration in the state of the
patient; she certainly was not better, and, except that there was no
amendment, did not appear worse. Their party was now farther reduced;
for Mr. Palmer, though very unwilling to go as well from real humanity
and good-nature, as from a dislike of appearing to be frightened away
by his wife, was persuaded at last by Colonel Brandon to perform his
promise of following her; and while he was preparing to go, Colonel
Brandon himself, with a much greater exertion, began to talk of going
likewise.—Here, however, the kindness of Mrs. Jennings interposed most
acceptably; for to send the Colonel away while his love was in so much
uneasiness on her sister’s account, would be to deprive them both, she
thought, of every comfort; and therefore telling him at once that his
stay at Cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to
play at piquet of an evening, while Miss Dashwood was above with her
sister, &c. she urged him so strongly to remain, that he, who was
gratifying the first wish of his own heart by a compliance, could not
long even affect to demur; especially as Mrs. Jennings’s entreaty was
warmly seconded by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to feel a relief to himself,
in leaving behind him a person so well able to assist or advise Miss
Dashwood in any emergence.

Marianne was, of course, kept in ignorance of all these arrangements.
She knew not that she had been the means of sending the owners of
Cleveland away, in about seven days from the time of their arrival. It
gave her no surprise that she saw nothing of Mrs. Palmer; and as it
gave her likewise no concern, she never mentioned her name.

Two days passed away from the time of Mr. Palmer’s departure, and her
situation continued, with little variation, the same. Mr. Harris, who
attended her every day, still talked boldly of a speedy recovery, and
Miss Dashwood was equally sanguine; but the expectation of the others
was by no means so cheerful. Mrs. Jennings had determined very early in
the seizure that Marianne would never get over it, and Colonel Brandon,
who was chiefly of use in listening to Mrs. Jennings’s forebodings, was
not in a state of mind to resist their influence. He tried to reason
himself out of fears, which the different judgment of the apothecary
seemed to render absurd; but the many hours of each day in which he was
left entirely alone, were but too favourable for the admission of every
melancholy idea, and he could not expel from his mind the persuasion
that he should see Marianne no more.

On the morning of the third day however, the gloomy anticipations of
both were almost done away; for when Mr. Harris arrived, he declared
his patient materially better. Her pulse was much stronger, and every
symptom more favourable than on the preceding visit. Elinor, confirmed
in every pleasant hope, was all cheerfulness; rejoicing that in her
letters to her mother, she had pursued her own judgment rather than her
friend’s, in making very light of the indisposition which delayed them
at Cleveland; and almost fixing on the time when Marianne would be able
to travel.

But the day did not close so auspiciously as it began. Towards the
evening Marianne became ill again, growing more heavy, restless, and
uncomfortable than before. Her sister, however, still sanguine, was
willing to attribute the change to nothing more than the fatigue of
having sat up to have her bed made; and carefully administering the
cordials prescribed, saw her, with satisfaction, sink at last into a
slumber, from which she expected the most beneficial effects. Her
sleep, though not so quiet as Elinor wished to see it, lasted a
considerable time; and anxious to observe the result of it herself, she
resolved to sit with her during the whole of it. Mrs. Jennings, knowing
nothing of any change in the patient, went unusually early to bed; her
maid, who was one of the principal nurses, was recreating herself in
the housekeeper’s room, and Elinor remained alone with Marianne.

The repose of the latter became more and more disturbed; and her
sister, who watched, with unremitting attention her continual change of
posture, and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of complaint
which passed her lips, was almost wishing to rouse her from so painful
a slumber, when Marianne, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in
the house, started hastily up, and, with feverish wildness, cried out,—

“Is mama coming?”

“Not yet,” cried the other, concealing her terror, and assisting
Marianne to lie down again, “but she will be here, I hope, before it is
long. It is a great way, you know, from hence to Barton.”

“But she must not go round by London,” cried Marianne, in the same
hurried manner. “I shall never see her, if she goes by London.”

Elinor perceived with alarm that she was not quite herself, and, while
attempting to soothe her, eagerly felt her pulse. It was lower and
quicker than ever! and Marianne, still talking wildly of mama, her
alarm increased so rapidly, as to determine her on sending instantly
for Mr. Harris, and despatching a messenger to Barton for her mother.
To consult with Colonel Brandon on the best means of effecting the
latter, was a thought which immediately followed the resolution of its
performance; and as soon she had rung up the maid to take her place by
her sister, she hastened down to the drawing-room, where she knew he
was generally to be found at a much later hour than the present.

It was no time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were
immediately before him. Her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to
attempt the removal of:—he listened to them in silent despondence;—but
her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that
seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind,
he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood.
Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him
with brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off
his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses
directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.

The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon—or such
a companion for her mother,—how gratefully was it felt!—a companion
whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose
friendship might soothe her!—as far as the shock of such a summons
_could_ be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance,
would lessen it.

_He_, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of
a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost
despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might
look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The
horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon
only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken
too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about
twelve o’clock, and she returned to her sister’s apartment to wait for
the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the
night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after
hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne’s side, and
in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor’s, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her
apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former
security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow
Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what
her mistress had always thought.

Marianne’s ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her
mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the
heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with
so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief,
fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had
been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother
arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational.

She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if _he_ could
not come, for some other advice, when the former—but not till after
five o’clock—arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends for
his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant
alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to be
material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment must
procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was communicated
to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of three or four
hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more
composed than he had found them.

With strong concern, and with many reproaches for not being called to
their aid, did Mrs. Jennings hear in the morning of what had passed.
Her former apprehensions, now with greater reason restored, left her no
doubt of the event; and though trying to speak comfort to Elinor, her
conviction of her sister’s danger would not allow her to offer the
comfort of hope. Her heart was really grieved. The rapid decay, the
early death of a girl so young, so lovely as Marianne, must have struck
a less interested person with concern. On Mrs. Jennings’s compassion
she had other claims. She had been for three months her companion, was
still under her care, and she was known to have been greatly injured,
and long unhappy. The distress of her sister too, particularly a
favourite, was before her;—and as for their mother, when Mrs. Jennings
considered that Marianne might probably be to _her_ what Charlotte was
to herself, her sympathy in _her_ sufferings was very sincere.

Mr. Harris was punctual in his second visit;—but he came to be
disappointed in his hopes of what the last would produce. His medicines
had failed;—the fever was unabated; and Marianne only more quiet—not
more herself—remained in a heavy stupor. Elinor, catching all, and more
than all, his fears in a moment, proposed to call in further advice.
But he judged it unnecessary: he had still something more to try, some
more fresh application, of whose success he was as confident as the
last, and his visit concluded with encouraging assurances which reached
the ear, but could not enter the heart of Miss Dashwood. She was calm,
except when she thought of her mother; but she was almost hopeless; and
in this state she continued till noon, scarcely stirring from her
sister’s bed, her thoughts wandering from one image of grief, one
suffering friend to another, and her spirits oppressed to the utmost by
the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the
severity and danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous
indisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought on. Elinor
felt all the reasonableness of the idea, and it gave fresh misery to
her reflections.

About noon, however, she began—but with a caution—a dread of
disappointment which for some time kept her silent, even to her
friend—to fancy, to hope she could perceive a slight amendment in her
sister’s pulse;—she waited, watched, and examined it again and
again;—and at last, with an agitation more difficult to bury under
exterior calmness, than all her foregoing distress, ventured to
communicate her hopes. Mrs. Jennings, though forced, on examination, to
acknowledge a temporary revival, tried to keep her young friend from
indulging a thought of its continuance;—and Elinor, conning over every
injunction of distrust, told herself likewise not to hope. But it was
too late. Hope had already entered; and feeling all its anxious
flutter, she bent over her sister to watch—she hardly knew for what.
Half an hour passed away, and the favourable symptom yet blessed her.
Others even arose to confirm it. Her breath, her skin, her lips, all
flattered Elinor with signs of amendment; and Marianne fixed her eyes
on her with a rational, though languid, gaze. Anxiety and hope now
oppressed her in equal degrees, and left her no moment of tranquillity
till the arrival of Mr. Harris at four o’clock;—when his assurances,
his felicitations on a recovery in her sister even surpassing his
expectation, gave her confidence, comfort, and tears of joy.

Marianne was in every respect materially better, and he declared her
entirely out of danger. Mrs. Jennings, perhaps satisfied with the
partial justification of her forebodings which had been found in their
late alarm, allowed herself to trust in his judgment, and admitted,
with unfeigned joy, and soon with unequivocal cheerfulness, the
probability of an entire recovery.

Elinor could not be cheerful. Her joy was of a different kind, and led
to any thing rather than to gaiety. Marianne restored to life, health,
friends, and to her doting mother, was an idea to fill her heart with
sensations of exquisite comfort, and expand it in fervent
gratitude;—but it led to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no
smiles. All within Elinor’s breast was satisfaction, silent and strong.

She continued by the side of her sister, with little intermission the
whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every inquiry of her
enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every
look and every breath. The possibility of a relapse would of course, in
some moments, occur to remind her of what anxiety was—but when she saw,
on her frequent and minute examination, that every symptom of recovery
continued, and saw Marianne at six o’clock sink into a quiet, steady,
and to all appearance comfortable, sleep, she silenced every doubt.

The time was now drawing on, when Colonel Brandon might be expected
back. At ten o’clock, she trusted, or at least not much later her
mother would be relieved from the dreadful suspense in which she must
now be travelling towards them. The Colonel, too!—perhaps scarcely less
an object of pity!—Oh!—how slow was the progress of time which yet kept
them in ignorance!

At seven o’clock, leaving Marianne still sweetly asleep, she joined
Mrs. Jennings in the drawing-room to tea. Of breakfast she had been
kept by her fears, and of dinner by their sudden reverse, from eating
much;—and the present refreshment, therefore, with such feelings of
content as she brought to it, was particularly welcome. Mrs. Jennings
would have persuaded her, at its conclusion, to take some rest before
her mother’s arrival, and allow _her_ to take her place by Marianne;
but Elinor had no sense of fatigue, no capability of sleep at that
moment about her, and she was not to be kept away from her sister an
unnecessary instant. Mrs. Jennings therefore attending her up stairs
into the sick chamber, to satisfy herself that all continued right,
left her there again to her charge and her thoughts, and retired to her
own room to write letters and sleep.

The night was cold and stormy. The wind roared round the house, and the
rain beat against the windows; but Elinor, all happiness within,
regarded it not. Marianne slept through every blast; and the
travellers—they had a rich reward in store, for every present
inconvenience.

The clock struck eight. Had it been ten, Elinor would have been
convinced that at that moment she heard a carriage driving up to the
house; and so strong was the persuasion that she _did_, in spite of the
_almost_ impossibility of their being already come, that she moved into
the adjoining dressing-closet and opened a window shutter, to be
satisfied of the truth. She instantly saw that her ears had not
deceived her. The flaring lamps of a carriage were immediately in view.
By their uncertain light she thought she could discern it to be drawn
by four horses; and this, while it told the excess of her poor mother’s
alarm, gave some explanation to such unexpected rapidity.

Never in her life had Elinor found it so difficult to be calm, as at
that moment. The knowledge of what her mother must be feeling as the
carriage stopt at the door—of her doubt—her dread—perhaps her
despair!—and of what _she_ had to tell!—with such knowledge it was
impossible to be calm. All that remained to be done was to be speedy;
and, therefore staying only till she could leave Mrs. Jennings’s maid
with her sister, she hurried down stairs.

The bustle in the vestibule, as she passed along an inner lobby,
assured her that they were already in the house. She rushed to the
drawing-room,—she entered it,—and saw only Willoughby.




CHAPTER XLIV.


Elinor, starting back with a look of horror at the sight of him, obeyed
the first impulse of her heart in turning instantly to quit the room,
and her hand was already on the lock, when its action was suspended by
his hastily advancing, and saying, in a voice rather of command than
supplication,

“Miss Dashwood, for half an hour—for ten minutes—I entreat you to
stay.”

“No, sir,” she replied with firmness, “I shall _not_ stay. Your
business cannot be with _me_. The servants, I suppose, forgot to tell
you that Mr. Palmer was not in the house.”

“Had they told me,” he cried with vehemence, “that Mr. Palmer and all
his relations were at the devil, it would not have turned me from the
door. My business is with you, and only you.”

“With me!”—in the utmost amazement—“well, sir,—be quick—and if you
can—less violent.”

“Sit down, and I will be both.”

She hesitated; she knew not what to do. The possibility of Colonel
Brandon’s arriving and finding her there, came across her. But she had
promised to hear him, and her curiosity no less than her honor was
engaged. After a moment’s recollection, therefore, concluding that
prudence required dispatch, and that her acquiescence would best
promote it, she walked silently towards the table, and sat down. He
took the opposite chair, and for half a minute not a word was said by
either.

“Pray be quick, sir,”—said Elinor, impatiently;—“I have no time to
spare.”

He was sitting in an attitude of deep meditation, and seemed not to
hear her.

“Your sister,” said he, with abruptness, a moment afterwards—“is out of
danger. I heard it from the servant. God be praised!—But is it true? is
it really true?”

Elinor would not speak. He repeated the inquiry with yet greater
eagerness.

“For God’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?”

“We hope she is.”

He rose up, and walked across the room.

“Had I known as much half an hour ago;—but since I _am_ here,” speaking
with a forced vivacity as he returned to his seat,—“what does it
signify? For once, Miss Dashwood—it will be the last time, perhaps—let
us be cheerful together. I am in a fine mood for gaiety. Tell me
honestly” a deeper glow overspreading his cheeks, “do you think me most
a knave or a fool?”

Elinor looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to
think that he must be in liquor;—the strangeness of such a visit, and
of such manners, seemed no otherwise intelligible; and with this
impression she immediately rose, saying,

“Mr. Willoughby, I advise you at present to return to Combe. I am not
at leisure to remain with you longer. Whatever your business may be
with me, it will be better recollected and explained to-morrow.”

“I understand you,” he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice
perfectly calm; “yes, I am very drunk. A pint of porter with my cold
beef at Marlborough was enough to over-set me.”

“At Marlborough!”—cried Elinor, more and more at a loss to understand
what he would be at.

“Yes,—I left London this morning at eight o’clock, and the only ten
minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a
nuncheon at Marlborough.”

The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he
spoke, convincing Elinor, that whatever other unpardonable folly might
bring him to Cleveland, he was not brought there by intoxication, she
said, after a moment’s recollection,

“Mr. Willoughby, you _ought_ to feel, and I certainly _do_, that after
what has passed, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself
upon my notice, requires a very particular excuse. What is it, that you
mean by it?”

“I mean,” said he, with serious energy, “if I can, to make you hate me
one degree less than you do _now_. I mean to offer some kind of
explanation, some kind of apology, for the past; to open my whole heart
to you, and by convincing you, that though I have been always a
blockhead, I have not been always a rascal, to obtain something like
forgiveness from Ma— from your sister.”

“Is this the real reason of your coming?”

“Upon my soul it is,”—was his answer, with a warmth which brought all
the former Willoughby to her remembrance, and in spite of herself made
her think him sincere.

“If that is all, you may be satisfied already; for Marianne _does_, she
has _long_ forgiven you.”

“Has she?” he cried, in the same eager tone. “Then she has forgiven me
before she ought to have done it. But she shall forgive me again, and
on more reasonable grounds. _Now_ will you listen to me?”

Elinor bowed her assent.

“I do not know,” said he, after a pause of expectation on her side, and
thoughtfulness on his own, “how _you_ may have accounted for my
behaviour to your sister, or what diabolical motive you may have
imputed to me. Perhaps you will hardly think the better of me,—it is
worth the trial however, and you shall hear every thing. When I first
became intimate in your family, I had no other intention, no other view
in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged
to remain in Devonshire, more pleasantly than I had ever done before.
Your sister’s lovely person and interesting manners could not but
please me; and her behaviour to me almost from the first, was of a
kind—it is astonishing, when I reflect on what it was, and what _she_
was, that my heart should have been so insensible! But at first I must
confess, my vanity only was elevated by it. Careless of her happiness,
thinking only of my own amusement, giving way to feelings which I had
always been too much in the habit of indulging, I endeavoured, by every
means in my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design
of returning her affection.”

Miss Dashwood, at this point, turning her eyes on him with the most
angry contempt, stopped him, by saying,

“It is hardly worth while, Mr. Willoughby, for you to relate, or for me
to listen any longer. Such a beginning as this cannot be followed by
any thing. Do not let me be pained by hearing any thing more on the
subject.”

“I insist on you hearing the whole of it,” he replied, “My fortune was
never large, and I had always been expensive, always in the habit of
associating with people of better income than myself. Every year since
my coming of age, or even before, I believe, had added to my debts; and
though the death of my old cousin, Mrs. Smith, was to set me free; yet
that event being uncertain, and possibly far distant, it had been for
some time my intention to re-establish my circumstances by marrying a
woman of fortune. To attach myself to your sister, therefore, was not a
thing to be thought of; and with a meanness, selfishness, cruelty,
which no indignant, no contemptuous look, even of yours, Miss Dashwood,
can ever reprobate too much,—I was acting in this manner, trying to
engage her regard, without a thought of returning it. But one thing may
be said for me: even in that horrid state of selfish vanity, I did not
know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I did not _then_
know what it was to love. But have I ever known it? Well may it be
doubted; for, had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings
to vanity, to avarice? or, what is more, could I have sacrificed hers?
But I have done it. To avoid a comparative poverty, which her affection
and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by
raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a
blessing.”

“You did then,” said Elinor, a little softened, “believe yourself at
one time attached to her?”

“To have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness!
Is there a man on earth who could have done it? Yes, I found myself, by
insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my
life were what I spent with her when I felt my intentions were strictly
honourable, and my feelings blameless. Even _then_, however, when fully
determined on paying my addresses to her, I allowed myself most
improperly to put off, from day to day, the moment of doing it, from an
unwillingness to enter into an engagement while my circumstances were
so greatly embarrassed. I will not reason here—nor will I stop for
_you_ to expatiate on the absurdity, and the worse than absurdity, of
scrupling to engage my faith where my honour was already bound. The
event has proved, that I was a cunning fool, providing with great
circumspection for a possible opportunity of making myself contemptible
and wretched for ever. At last, however, my resolution was taken, and I
had determined, as soon as I could engage her alone, to justify the
attentions I had so invariably paid her, and openly assure her of an
affection which I had already taken such pains to display. But in the
interim—in the interim of the very few hours that were to pass, before
I could have an opportunity of speaking with her in private—a
circumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all my
resolution, and with it all my comfort. A discovery took place,”—here
he hesitated and looked down. “Mrs. Smith had somehow or other been
informed, I imagine by some distant relation, whose interest it was to
deprive me of her favour, of an affair, a connection—but I need not
explain myself farther,” he added, looking at her with an heightened
colour and an enquiring eye,—“your particular intimacy—you have
probably heard the whole story long ago.”

“I have,” returned Elinor, colouring likewise, and hardening her heart
anew against any compassion for him, “I have heard it all. And how you
will explain away any part of your guilt in that dreadful business, I
confess is beyond my comprehension.”

“Remember,” cried Willoughby, “from whom you received the account.
Could it be an impartial one? I acknowledge that her situation and her
character ought to have been respected by me. I do not mean to justify
myself, but at the same time cannot leave you to suppose that I have
nothing to urge—that because she was injured she was irreproachable,
and because _I_ was a libertine, _she_ must be a saint. If the violence
of her passions, the weakness of her understanding—I do not mean,
however, to defend myself. Her affection for me deserved better
treatment, and I often, with great self-reproach, recall the tenderness
which, for a very short time, had the power of creating any return. I
wish—I heartily wish it had never been. But I have injured more than
herself; and I have injured one, whose affection for me (may I say it?)
was scarcely less warm than hers; and whose mind—Oh! how infinitely
superior!”

“Your indifference, however, towards that unfortunate girl—I must say
it, unpleasant to me as the discussion of such a subject may well
be—your indifference is no apology for your cruel neglect of her. Do
not think yourself excused by any weakness, any natural defect of
understanding on her side, in the wanton cruelty so evident on yours.
You must have known, that while you were enjoying yourself in
Devonshire pursuing fresh schemes, always gay, always happy, she was
reduced to the extremest indigence.”

“But, upon my soul, I did _not_ know it,” he warmly replied; “I did not
recollect that I had omitted to give her my direction; and common sense
might have told her how to find it out.”

“Well, sir, and what said Mrs. Smith?”

“She taxed me with the offence at once, and my confusion may be
guessed. The purity of her life, the formality of her notions, her
ignorance of the world—every thing was against me. The matter itself I
could not deny, and vain was every endeavour to soften it. She was
previously disposed, I believe, to doubt the morality of my conduct in
general, and was moreover discontented with the very little attention,
the very little portion of my time that I had bestowed on her, in my
present visit. In short, it ended in a total breach. By one measure I
might have saved myself. In the height of her morality, good woman! she
offered to forgive the past, if I would marry Eliza. That could not
be—and I was formally dismissed from her favour and her house. The
night following this affair—I was to go the next morning—was spent by
me in deliberating on what my future conduct should be. The struggle
was great—but it ended too soon. My affection for Marianne, my thorough
conviction of her attachment to me—it was all insufficient to outweigh
that dread of poverty, or get the better of those false ideas of the
necessity of riches, which I was naturally inclined to feel, and
expensive society had increased. I had reason to believe myself secure
of my present wife, if I chose to address her, and I persuaded myself
to think that nothing else in common prudence remained for me to do. A
heavy scene however awaited me, before I could leave Devonshire;—I was
engaged to dine with you on that very day; some apology was therefore
necessary for my breaking this engagement. But whether I should write
this apology, or deliver it in person, was a point of long debate. To
see Marianne, I felt, would be dreadful, and I even doubted whether I
could see her again, and keep to my resolution. In that point, however,
I undervalued my own magnanimity, as the event declared; for I went, I
saw her, and saw her miserable, and left her miserable—and left her
hoping never to see her again.”

“Why did you call, Mr. Willoughby?” said Elinor, reproachfully; “a note
would have answered every purpose. Why was it necessary to call?”

“It was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the
country in a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the
neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had really passed between
Mrs. Smith and myself—and I resolved therefore on calling at the
cottage, in my way to Honiton. The sight of your dear sister, however,
was really dreadful; and, to heighten the matter, I found her alone.
You were all gone I do not know where. I had left her only the evening
before, so fully, so firmly resolved within my self on doing right! A
few hours were to have engaged her to me for ever; and I remember how
happy, how gay were my spirits, as I walked from the cottage to
Allenham, satisfied with myself, delighted with every body! But in
this, our last interview of friendship, I approached her with a sense
of guilt that almost took from me the power of dissembling. Her sorrow,
her disappointment, her deep regret, when I told her that I was obliged
to leave Devonshire so immediately—I never shall forget it—united too
with such reliance, such confidence in me!—Oh, God!—what a hard-hearted
rascal I was!”

They were both silent for a few moments. Elinor first spoke.

“Did you tell her that you should soon return?”

“I do not know what I told her,” he replied, impatiently; “less than
was due to the past, beyond a doubt, and in all likelihood much more
than was justified by the future. I cannot think of it.—It won’t
do.—Then came your dear mother to torture me farther, with all her
kindness and confidence. Thank Heaven! it _did_ torture me. I was
miserable. Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it
gives me to look back on my own misery. I owe such a grudge to myself
for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past
sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now. Well, I
went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was
only indifferent. My journey to town—travelling with my own horses, and
therefore so tediously—no creature to speak to—my own reflections so
cheerful—when I looked forward every thing so inviting!—when I looked
back at Barton, the picture so soothing!—oh, it was a blessed journey!”

He stopped.

“Well, sir,” said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for
his departure, “and this is all?”

“All!—no:—have you forgot what passed in town? That infamous letter?
Did she show it you?”

“Yes, I saw every note that passed.”

“When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in
town the whole time,) what I felt is—in the common phrase, not to be
expressed; in a more simple one—perhaps too simple to raise any
emotion—my feelings were very, very painful.—Every line, every word
was—in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here,
would forbid—a dagger to my heart. To know that Marianne was in town
was—in the same language—a thunderbolt.—Thunderbolts and daggers!—what
a reproof would she have given me!—her taste, her opinions—I believe
they are better known to me than my own,—and I am sure they are
dearer.”

Elinor’s heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of this
extraordinary conversation, was now softened again;—yet she felt it her
duty to check such ideas in her companion as the last.

“This is not right, Mr. Willoughby.—Remember that you are married.
Relate only what in your conscience you think necessary for me to
hear.”

“Marianne’s note, by assuring me that I was still as dear to her as in
former days,—that in spite of the many, many weeks we had been
separated, she was as constant in her own feelings, and as full of
faith in the constancy of mine as ever,—awakened all my remorse. I say
awakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in
some measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened
villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and chusing to fancy that
she too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our
past attachment as a mere idle, trifling business, shrugging up my
shoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach,
overcoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, ‘I shall be
heartily glad to hear she is well married.’ But this note made me know
myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any
other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But
every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat
was impossible. All that I had to do, was to avoid you both. I sent no
answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her
farther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in
Berkeley Street;—but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a
cool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely
out of the house one morning, and left my name.”

“Watched us out of the house!”

“Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how
often I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a
shop to avoid your sight, as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did in
Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse
of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness
on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your
sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the Middletons as
much as possible, as well as everybody else who was likely to prove an
acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in town, however, I
blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the
day after I had called at Mrs. Jennings’s. He asked me to a party, a
dance at his house in the evening. Had he _not_ told me as an
inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have
felt it too certain a thing, to trust myself near him. The next morning
brought another short note from Marianne—still affectionate, open,
artless, confiding—everything that could make _my_ conduct most
hateful. I could not answer it. I tried—but could not frame a sentence.
But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you _can_
pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was _then_. With my
head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy
lover to another woman! Those three or four weeks were worse than all.
Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on me; and what
a sweet figure I cut! what an evening of agony it was! Marianne,
beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me Willoughby in such a
tone! Oh, God! holding out her hand to me, asking me for an
explanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking
solicitude on my face! and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other
hand, looking all that was—Well, it does not signify; it is over now.
Such an evening! I ran away from you all as soon as I could; but not
before I had seen Marianne’s sweet face as white as death. _That_ was
the last, last look I ever had of her; the last manner in which she
appeared to me. It was a horrid sight! yet when I thought of her to-day
as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew
exactly how she would appear to those, who saw her last in this world.
She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same
look and hue.”

A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first
rousing himself, broke it thus:

“Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better,
certainly out of danger?”

“We are assured of it.”

“Your poor mother, too!—doting on Marianne.”

“But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter; have you any thing to
say about that?”

“Yes, yes, _that_ in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you
know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting
at the Ellisons,—and her letter, with some others, was brought to me
there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia’s eye before it
caught mine—and its size, the elegance of the paper, the hand-writing
altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had
reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire,
and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had
marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever.
Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a
woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents.
She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched.
Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion—her malice—At all
events it must be appeased. And, in short—what do you think of my
wife’s style of letter-writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it
not?”

“Your wife!—The letter was in your own hand-writing.”

“Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as
I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own—her own
happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do!—we were
engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed—But I am
talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was
necessary to me, and in a situation like mine, any thing was to be done
to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my
character in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language
my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business
was to declare myself a scoundrel, and whether I did it with a bow or a
bluster was of little importance. ‘I am ruined for ever in their
opinion,’ said I to myself: ‘I am shut out for ever from their society,
they already think me an unprincipled fellow, this letter will only
make them think me a blackguard one.’ Such were my reasonings, as, in a
sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife’s words, and parted
with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes,—unluckily they were
all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and
hoarded them for ever,—I was forced to put them up, and could not even
kiss them. And the lock of hair—that too I had always carried about me
in the same pocket-book, which was now searched by Madam with the most
ingratiating virulence,—the dear lock,—all, every memento was torn from
me.”

“You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blamable,” said Elinor, while
her voice, in spite of herself, betrayed her compassionate emotion;
“you ought not to speak in this way, either of Mrs. Willoughby or my
sister. You had made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your
wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least. She
must be attached to you, or she would not have married you. To treat
her with unkindness, to speak of her slightingly is no atonement to
Marianne—nor can I suppose it a relief to your own conscience.”

“Do not talk to me of my wife,” said he with a heavy sigh; “she does
not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we
married. Well, married we were, and came down to Combe Magna to be
happy, and afterwards returned to town to be gay. And now do you pity
me, Miss Dashwood? Or have I said all this to no purpose? Am I,—be it
only one degree,—am I less guilty in your opinion than I was before? My
intentions were not always wrong. Have I explained away any part of my
guilt?”

“Yes, you have certainly removed something—a little. You have proved
yourself, on the whole, less faulty than I had believed you. You have
proved your heart less wicked, much less wicked. But I hardly know—the
misery that you have inflicted—I hardly know what could have made it
worse.”

“Will you repeat to your sister when she is recovered, what I have been
telling you?—Let me be a little lightened too in her opinion as well as
in yours. You tell me that she has forgiven me already. Let me be able
to fancy that a better knowledge of my heart, and of my present
feelings, will draw from her a more spontaneous, more natural, more
gentle, less dignified, forgiveness. Tell her of my misery and my
penitence—tell her that my heart was never inconstant to her, and if
you will, that at this moment she is dearer to me than ever.”

“I will tell her all that is necessary to what may comparatively be
called, your justification. But you have not explained to me the
particular reason of your coming now, nor how you heard of her
illness.”

“Last night, in Drury Lane lobby, I ran against Sir John Middleton, and
when he saw who I was, for the first time these two months, he spoke to
me. That he had cut me ever since my marriage, I had seen without
surprise or resentment. Now, however, his good-natured, honest, stupid
soul, full of indignation against me, and concern for your sister,
could not resist the temptation of telling me what he knew ought to,
though probably he did not think it _would_, vex me horridly. As
bluntly as he could speak it, therefore, he told me that Marianne
Dashwood was dying of a putrid fever at Cleveland—a letter that morning
received from Mrs. Jennings declared her danger most imminent—the
Palmers are all gone off in a fright, &c. I was too much shocked to be
able to pass myself off as insensible even to the undiscerning Sir
John. His heart was softened in seeing mine suffer; and so much of his
ill-will was done away, that when we parted, he almost shook me by the
hand while he reminded me of an old promise about a pointer puppy. What
I felt on hearing that your sister was dying, and dying too, believing
me the greatest villain upon earth, scorning, hating me in her latest
moments—for how could I tell what horrid projects might not have been
imputed? _One_ person I was sure would represent me as capable of
anything—What I felt was dreadful! My resolution was soon made, and at
eight o’clock this morning I was in my carriage. Now you know all.”

Elinor made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the
irreparable injury which too early an independence and its consequent
habits of idleness, dissipation, and luxury, had made in the mind, the
character, the happiness, of a man who, to every advantage of person
and talents, united a disposition naturally open and honest, and a
feeling, affectionate temper. The world had made him extravagant and
vain—Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish.
Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another,
had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least
its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. Each faulty
propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punishment.
The attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against
every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no
longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the
sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery,
was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more
incurable nature. From a reverie of this kind she was recalled at the
end of some minutes by Willoughby, who, rousing himself from a reverie
at least equally painful, started up in preparation for going, and
said—

“There is no use in staying here; I must be off.”

“Are you going back to town?”

“No—to Combe Magna. I have business there; from thence to town in a day
or two. Good bye.”

He held out his hand. She could not refuse to give him hers;—he pressed
it with affection.

“And you _do_ think something better of me than you did?” said he,
letting it fall, and leaning against the mantel-piece as if forgetting
he was to go.

Elinor assured him that she did;—that she forgave, pitied, wished him
well—was even interested in his happiness—and added some gentle counsel
as to the behaviour most likely to promote it. His answer was not very
encouraging.

“As to that,” said he, “I must rub through the world as well as I can.
Domestic happiness is out of the question. If, however, I am allowed to
think that you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions, it
may be the means—it may put me on my guard—at least, it may be
something to live for. Marianne to be sure is lost to me for ever. Were
I even by any blessed chance at liberty again—”

Elinor stopped him with a reproof.

“Well,”—he replied—“once more good bye. I shall now go away and live in
dread of one event.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your sister’s marriage.”

“You are very wrong. She can never be more lost to you than she is
now.”

“But she will be gained by some one else. And if that some one should
be the very he whom, of all others, I could least bear—but I will not
stay to rob myself of all your compassionate goodwill, by showing that
where I have most injured I can least forgive. Good bye,—God bless
you!”

And with these words, he almost ran out of the room.




CHAPTER XLV.


Elinor, for some time after he left her, for some time even after the
sound of his carriage had died away, remained too much oppressed by a
crowd of ideas, widely differing in themselves, but of which sadness
was the general result, to think even of her sister.

Willoughby, he, whom only half an hour ago she had abhorred as the most
worthless of men, Willoughby, in spite of all his faults, excited a
degree of commiseration for the sufferings produced by them, which made
her think of him as now separated for ever from her family, with a
tenderness, a regret, rather in proportion, as she soon acknowledged
within herself—to his wishes than to his merits. She felt that his
influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not
in reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon attraction, that
open, affectionate, and lively manner which it was no merit to possess;
and by that still ardent love for Marianne, which it was not even
innocent to indulge. But she felt that it was so, long, long before she
could feel his influence less.

When at last she returned to the unconscious Marianne, she found her
just awaking, refreshed by so long and sweet a sleep to the extent of
her hopes. Elinor’s heart was full. The past, the present, the future,
Willoughby’s visit, Marianne’s safety, and her mother’s expected
arrival, threw her altogether into an agitation of spirits which kept
off every indication of fatigue, and made her only fearful of betraying
herself to her sister. Short was the time, however, in which that fear
could affect her, for within half an hour after Willoughby’s leaving
the house, she was again called down stairs by the sound of another
carriage.—Eager to save her mother from every unnecessary moment’s
horrible suspense, she ran immediately into the hall, and reached the
outward door just in time to receive and support her as she entered it.

Mrs. Dashwood, whose terror as they drew near the house had produced
almost the conviction of Marianne’s being no more, had no voice to
inquire after her, no voice even for Elinor; but _she_, waiting neither
for salutation nor inquiry, instantly gave the joyful relief; and her
mother, catching it with all her usual warmth, was in a moment as much
overcome by her happiness, as she had been before by her fears. She was
supported into the drawing-room between her daughter and her friend;
and there, shedding tears of joy, though still unable to speak,
embraced Elinor again and again, turning from her at intervals to press
Colonel Brandon’s hand, with a look which spoke at once her gratitude,
and her conviction of his sharing with herself in the bliss of the
moment. He shared it, however, in a silence even greater than her own.

As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her
first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child,
rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger.
Elinor’s delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only
checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep:
but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life
of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother
was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation,
submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse
around her. Mrs. Dashwood _would_ sit up with her all night; and
Elinor, in compliance with her mother’s entreaty, went to bed. But the
rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most
wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of
spirits. Willoughby, “poor Willoughby,” as she now allowed herself to
call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard
his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself
for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it
to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of
it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after
such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a
moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon,
reproved herself, felt that to _his_ sufferings and _his_ constancy far
more than to his rival’s, the reward of her sister was due, and wished
any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby’s death.

The shock of Colonel Brandon’s errand at Barton had been much softened
to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her
uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out
for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further
intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival,
that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away,
as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

Marianne continued to mend every day, and the brilliant cheerfulness of
Mrs. Dashwood’s looks and spirits proved her to be, as she repeatedly
declared herself, one of the happiest women in the world. Elinor could
not hear the declaration, nor witness its proofs without sometimes
wondering whether her mother ever recollected Edward. But Mrs.
Dashwood, trusting to the temperate account of her own disappointment
which Elinor had sent her, was led away by the exuberance of her joy to
think only of what would increase it. Marianne was restored to her from
a danger in which, as she now began to feel, her own mistaken judgment
in encouraging the unfortunate attachment to Willoughby, had
contributed to place her;—and in her recovery she had yet another
source of joy unthought of by Elinor. It was thus imparted to her, as
soon as any opportunity of private conference between them occurred.

“At last we are alone. My Elinor, you do not yet know all my happiness.
Colonel Brandon loves Marianne. He has told me so himself.”

Her daughter, feeling by turns both pleased and pained, surprised and
not surprised, was all silent attention.

“You are never like me, dear Elinor, or I should wonder at your
composure now. Had I sat down to wish for any possible good to my
family, I should have fixed on Colonel Brandon’s marrying one of you as
the object most desirable. And I believe Marianne will be the most
happy with him of the two.”

Elinor was half inclined to ask her reason for thinking so, because
satisfied that none founded on an impartial consideration of their age,
characters, or feelings, could be given;—but her mother must always be
carried away by her imagination on any interesting subject, and
therefore instead of an inquiry, she passed it off with a smile.

“He opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled. It came out
quite unawares, quite undesignedly. I, you may well believe, could talk
of nothing but my child;—he could not conceal his distress; I saw that
it equalled my own, and he perhaps, thinking that mere friendship, as
the world now goes, would not justify so warm a sympathy—or rather, not
thinking at all, I suppose—giving way to irresistible feelings, made me
acquainted with his earnest, tender, constant, affection for Marianne.
He has loved her, my Elinor, ever since the first moment of seeing
her.”

Here, however, Elinor perceived,—not the language, not the professions
of Colonel Brandon, but the natural embellishments of her mother’s
active fancy, which fashioned every thing delightful to her as it
chose.

“His regard for her, infinitely surpassing anything that Willoughby
ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or
constant—which ever we are to call it—has subsisted through all the
knowledge of dear Marianne’s unhappy prepossession for that worthless
young man!—and without selfishness—without encouraging a hope!—could he
have seen her happy with another—Such a noble mind!—such openness, such
sincerity!—no one can be deceived in _him_.”

“Colonel Brandon’s character,” said Elinor, “as an excellent man, is
well established.”

“I know it is,”—replied her mother seriously, “or after such a warning,
_I_ should be the last to encourage such affection, or even to be
pleased by it. But his coming for me as he did, with such active, such
ready friendship, is enough to prove him one of the worthiest of men.”

“His character, however,” answered Elinor, “does not rest on _one_ act
of kindness, to which his affection for Marianne, were humanity out of
the case, would have prompted him. To Mrs. Jennings, to the Middletons,
he has been long and intimately known; they equally love and respect
him; and even my own knowledge of him, though lately acquired, is very
considerable; and so highly do _I_ value and esteem him, that if
Marianne can be happy with him, I shall be as ready as yourself to
think our connection the greatest blessing to us in the world. What
answer did you give him?—Did you allow him to hope?”

“Oh! my love, I could not then talk of hope to him or to myself.
Marianne might at that moment be dying. But he did not ask for hope or
encouragement. His was an involuntary confidence, an irrepressible
effusion to a soothing friend, not an application to a parent. Yet
after a time I _did_ say, for at first I was quite overcome, that if
she lived, as I trusted she might, my greatest happiness would lie in
promoting their marriage; and since our arrival, since our delightful
security, I have repeated it to him more fully, have given him every
encouragement in my power. Time, a very little time, I tell him, will
do everything; Marianne’s heart is not to be wasted for ever on such a
man as Willoughby. His own merits must soon secure it.”

“To judge from the Colonel’s spirits, however, you have not yet made
him equally sanguine.”

“No. He thinks Marianne’s affection too deeply rooted for any change in
it under a great length of time, and even supposing her heart again
free, is too diffident of himself to believe, that with such a
difference of age and disposition he could ever attach her. There,
however, he is quite mistaken. His age is only so much beyond hers as
to be an advantage, as to make his character and principles fixed; and
his disposition, I am well convinced, is exactly the very one to make
your sister happy. And his person, his manners too, are all in his
favour. My partiality does not blind me; he certainly is not so
handsome as Willoughby; but at the same time, there is something much
more pleasing in his countenance. There was always a something, if you
remember, in Willoughby’s eyes at times, which I did not like.”

Elinor could _not_ remember it; but her mother, without waiting for her
assent, continued,

“And his manners, the Colonel’s manners are not only more pleasing to
me than Willoughby’s ever were, but they are of a kind I well know to
be more solidly attaching to Marianne. Their gentleness, their genuine
attention to other people, and their manly unstudied simplicity is much
more accordant with her real disposition, than the liveliness, often
artificial, and often ill-timed of the other. I am very sure myself,
that had Willoughby turned out as really amiable, as he has proved
himself the contrary, Marianne would yet never have been so happy with
_him_ as she will be with Colonel Brandon.”

She paused.—Her daughter could not quite agree with her, but her
dissent was not heard, and therefore gave no offence.

“At Delaford, she will be within an easy distance of me,” added Mrs.
Dashwood, “even if I remain at Barton; and in all probability,—for I
hear it is a large village,—indeed there certainly _must_ be some small
house or cottage close by, that would suit us quite as well as our
present situation.”

Poor Elinor!—here was a new scheme for getting her to Delaford!—but her
spirit was stubborn.

“His fortune too!—for at my time of life you know, everybody cares
about _that;_—and though I neither know nor desire to know, what it
really is, I am sure it must be a good one.”

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a third person, and
Elinor withdrew to think it all over in private, to wish success to her
friend, and yet in wishing it, to feel a pang for Willoughby.




CHAPTER XLVI.


Marianne’s illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long
enough to make her recovery slow; and with youth, natural strength, and
her mother’s presence in aid, it proceeded so smoothly as to enable her
to remove, within four days after the arrival of the latter, into Mrs.
Palmer’s dressing-room. When there, at her own particular request, for
she was impatient to pour forth her thanks to him for fetching her
mother, Colonel Brandon was invited to visit her.

His emotion on entering the room, in seeing her altered looks, and in
receiving the pale hand which she immediately held out to him, was
such, as, in Elinor’s conjecture, must arise from something more than
his affection for Marianne, or the consciousness of its being known to
others; and she soon discovered in his melancholy eye and varying
complexion as he looked at her sister, the probable recurrence of many
past scenes of misery to his mind, brought back by that resemblance
between Marianne and Eliza already acknowledged, and now strengthened
by the hollow eye, the sickly skin, the posture of reclining weakness,
and the warm acknowledgment of peculiar obligation.

Mrs. Dashwood, not less watchful of what passed than her daughter, but
with a mind very differently influenced, and therefore watching to very
different effect, saw nothing in the Colonel’s behaviour but what arose
from the most simple and self-evident sensations, while in the actions
and words of Marianne she persuaded herself to think that something
more than gratitude already dawned.

At the end of another day or two, Marianne growing visibly stronger
every twelve hours, Mrs. Dashwood, urged equally by her own and her
daughter’s wishes, began to talk of removing to Barton. On _her_
measures depended those of her two friends; Mrs. Jennings could not
quit Cleveland during the Dashwoods’ stay; and Colonel Brandon was soon
brought, by their united request, to consider his own abode there as
equally determinate, if not equally indispensable. At his and Mrs.
Jennings’s united request in return, Mrs. Dashwood was prevailed on to
accept the use of his carriage on her journey back, for the better
accommodation of her sick child; and the Colonel, at the joint
invitation of Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings, whose active good-nature
made her friendly and hospitable for other people as well as herself,
engaged with pleasure to redeem it by a visit at the cottage, in the
course of a few weeks.

The day of separation and departure arrived; and Marianne, after taking
so particular and lengthened a leave of Mrs. Jennings, one so earnestly
grateful, so full of respect and kind wishes as seemed due to her own
heart from a secret acknowledgment of past inattention, and bidding
Colonel Brandon farewell with a cordiality of a friend, was carefully
assisted by him into the carriage, of which he seemed anxious that she
should engross at least half. Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor then followed,
and the others were left by themselves, to talk of the travellers, and
feel their own dullness, till Mrs. Jennings was summoned to her chaise
to take comfort in the gossip of her maid for the loss of her two young
companions; and Colonel Brandon immediately afterwards took his
solitary way to Delaford.

The Dashwoods were two days on the road, and Marianne bore her journey
on both, without essential fatigue. Every thing that the most zealous
affection, the most solicitous care could do to render her comfortable,
was the office of each watchful companion, and each found their reward
in her bodily ease, and her calmness of spirits. To Elinor, the
observation of the latter was particularly grateful. She, who had seen
her week after week so constantly suffering, oppressed by anguish of
heart which she had neither courage to speak of, nor fortitude to
conceal, now saw with a joy, which no other could equally share, an
apparent composure of mind, which, in being the result as she trusted
of serious reflection, must eventually lead her to contentment and
cheerfulness.

As they approached Barton, indeed, and entered on scenes of which every
field and every tree brought some peculiar, some painful recollection,
she grew silent and thoughtful, and turning away her face from their
notice, sat earnestly gazing through the window. But here, Elinor could
neither wonder nor blame; and when she saw, as she assisted Marianne
from the carriage, that she had been crying, she saw only an emotion
too natural in itself to raise any thing less tender than pity, and in
its unobtrusiveness entitled to praise. In the whole of her subsequent
manner, she traced the direction of a mind awakened to reasonable
exertion; for no sooner had they entered their common sitting-room,
than Marianne turned her eyes around it with a look of resolute
firmness, as if determined at once to accustom herself to the sight of
every object with which the remembrance of Willoughby could be
connected.—She said little, but every sentence aimed at cheerfulness,
and though a sigh sometimes escaped her, it never passed away without
the atonement of a smile. After dinner she would try her piano-forte.
She went to it; but the music on which her eye first rested was an
opera, procured for her by Willoughby, containing some of their
favourite duets, and bearing on its outward leaf her own name in his
hand-writing.—That would not do.—She shook her head, put the music
aside, and after running over the keys for a minute, complained of
feebleness in her fingers, and closed the instrument again; declaring
however with firmness as she did so, that she should in future practice
much.

The next morning produced no abatement in these happy symptoms. On the
contrary, with a mind and body alike strengthened by rest, she looked
and spoke with more genuine spirit, anticipating the pleasure of
Margaret’s return, and talking of the dear family party which would
then be restored, of their mutual pursuits and cheerful society, as the
only happiness worth a wish.

“When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength,” said
she, “we will take long walks together every day. We will walk to the
farm at the edge of the down, and see how the children go on; we will
walk to Sir John’s new plantations at Barton Cross, and the Abbeyland;
and we will often go to the old ruins of the Priory, and try to trace
its foundations as far as we are told they once reached. I know we
shall be happy. I know the summer will pass happily away. I mean never
to be later in rising than six, and from that time till dinner I shall
divide every moment between music and reading. I have formed my plan,
and am determined to enter on a course of serious study. Our own
library is too well known to me, to be resorted to for any thing beyond
mere amusement. But there are many works well worth reading at the
Park; and there are others of more modern production which I know I can
borrow of Colonel Brandon. By reading only six hours a-day, I shall
gain in the course of a twelve-month a great deal of instruction which
I now feel myself to want.”

Elinor honoured her for a plan which originated so nobly as this;
though smiling to see the same eager fancy which had been leading her
to the extreme of languid indolence and selfish repining, now at work
in introducing excess into a scheme of such rational employment and
virtuous self-control. Her smile however changed to a sigh when she
remembered that promise to Willoughby was yet unfulfilled, and feared
she had that to communicate which might again unsettle the mind of
Marianne, and ruin at least for a time this fair prospect of busy
tranquillity. Willing therefore to delay the evil hour, she resolved to
wait till her sister’s health were more secure, before she appointed
it. But the resolution was made only to be broken.

Marianne had been two or three days at home, before the weather was
fine enough for an invalid like herself to venture out. But at last a
soft, genial morning appeared; such as might tempt the daughter’s
wishes and the mother’s confidence; and Marianne, leaning on Elinor’s
arm, was authorised to walk as long as she could without fatigue, in
the lane before the house.

The sisters set out at a pace, slow as the feebleness of Marianne in an
exercise hitherto untried since her illness required; and they had
advanced only so far beyond the house as to admit a full view of the
hill, the important hill behind, when pausing with her eyes turned
towards it, Marianne calmly said,—

“There, exactly there,”—pointing with one hand, “on that projecting
mound,—there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby.”

Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added,

“I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot!
shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?” hesitatingly it was said.
“Or will it be wrong? I _can_ talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to
do.”

Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.

“As for regret,” said Marianne, “I have done with that, as far as _he_
is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have
been for him, but what they are _now_. At present, if I could be
satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not
_always_ acting a part, not _always_ deceiving me; but above all, if I
could be assured that he never was so _very_ wicked as my fears have
sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl—”

She stopt. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,

“If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy.”

“Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it
horrible to suspect a person, who has been what _he_ has been to _me_,
of such designs, but what must it make me appear to myself? What in a
situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could
expose me to—”

“How then,” asked her sister, “would you account for his behaviour?”

“I would suppose him,—Oh, how gladly would I suppose him, only fickle,
very, very fickle.”

Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the eligibility
of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in
stronger health;—and they crept on for a few minutes in silence.

“I am not wishing him too much good,” said Marianne at last with a
sigh, “when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant
than my own. He will suffer enough in them.”

“Do you compare your conduct with his?”

“No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with
yours.”

“Our situations have borne little resemblance.”

“They have borne more than our conduct. Do not, my dearest Elinor, let
your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My illness
has made me think. It has given me leisure and calmness for serious
recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was
perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own
behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last
autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of
kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my
sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me
to the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by
myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt even at the
time to be wrong. Had I died, it would have been self-destruction. I
did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such
feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,—wonder
that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for
atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I
died, in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my
friend, my sister! You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my
latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart! How should I
have lived in _your_ remembrance! My mother too! How could you have
consoled her! I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I
looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing
indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing
kindness of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To
the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common
acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart
hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very
attention. To John, to Fanny, yes, even to them, little as they
deserve, I had given less than their due. But you, you above all, above
my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and
its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?—not to any compassion
that could benefit you or myself.—Your example was before me; but to
what avail? Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I
imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part
in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which
you had hitherto been left to discharge alone? No; not less when I knew
you to be unhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn
away from every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing
sorrow to exist but with me, regretting only _that_ heart which had
deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an
unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake.”

Here ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor,
impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly
that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well
deserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,—

“You are very good.—The future must be my proof. I have laid down my
plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it—my feelings shall be
governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor
torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother,
and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my
affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I shall never
again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix in other
society, it will be only to show that my spirit is humbled, my heart
amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of
life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby—to say that I
shall soon or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. His
remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions.
But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason,
by constant employment.”

She paused—and added in a low voice, “If I could but know _his_ heart,
everything would become easy.”

Elinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or
impropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all
nearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as
reflection did nothing, resolution must do all, soon found herself
leading to the fact.

She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her
anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief
points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his
repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard.
Marianne said not a word.—She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the
ground, and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A
thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge
one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand,
unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister’s, and tears covered
her cheeks.

Elinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they
reached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity
must be though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing
but Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully
minute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could
be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne with a
kiss of gratitude and these two words just articulate through her
tears, “Tell mama,” withdrew from her sister and walked slowly up
stairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as
what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously pre-arranging its
result, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne
fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting
injunction.




CHAPTER XLVII.


Mrs. Dashwood did not hear unmoved the vindication of her former
favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his
imputed guilt;—she was sorry for him;—she wished him happy. But the
feelings of the past could not be recalled.—Nothing could restore him
with a faith unbroken—a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing
could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his
means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could
replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests
of Colonel Brandon.

Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby’s story from
himself—had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of
his countenance and his manner, it is probable that her compassion
would have been greater. But it was neither in Elinor’s power, nor in
her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed
explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection
had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of
Willoughby’s deserts;—she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple
truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character,
without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray.

In the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began
voluntarily to speak of him again;—but that it was not without an
effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for
some time previously sitting—her rising colour, as she spoke,—and her
unsteady voice, plainly showed.

“I wish to assure you both,” said she, “that I see every thing—as you
can desire me to do.”

Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing
tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister’s
unbiased opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne
slowly continued,—

“It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now
heard exactly what I wished to hear.”—For some moments her voice was
lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than
before—“I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never
could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I
must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem.
Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.”

“I know it—I know it,” cried her mother. “Happy with a man of libertine
practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our
friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made
happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would
have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.”

Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.”

“You consider the matter,” said Elinor, “exactly as a good mind and a
sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as
well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances,
reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you
in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have
been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain.
Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is
acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that
self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your
inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought
on distresses which would not be the _less_ grievous to you, from
having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. _Your_ sense of
honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your
situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you
possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on
your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but
beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management
do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? Beyond
_that_, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge _his_
enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on
feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own
influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had
involved him in such difficulties?”

Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word “Selfish?” in a
tone that implied—“do you really think him selfish?”

“The whole of his behaviour,” replied Elinor, “from the beginning to
the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was
selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which
afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of
it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or
his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.”

“It is very true. _My_ happiness never was his object.”

“At present,” continued Elinor, “he regrets what he has done. And why
does he regret it?—Because he finds it has not answered towards
himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now
unembarrassed—he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only
that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But
does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?—The
inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered
under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now
reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could
make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always
poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable
comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance,
even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.”

“I have not a doubt of it,” said Marianne; “and I have nothing to
regret—nothing but my own folly.”

“Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,” said Mrs. Dashwood;
“_she_ must be answerable.”

Marianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, satisfied that each
felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might
weaken her sister’s spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first
subject, immediately continued,

“_One_ observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the
story—that all Willoughby’s difficulties have arisen from the first
offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime
has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present
discontents.”

Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led
by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon’s injuries and merits, warm
as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not
look, however, as if much of it were heard by her.

Elinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following
days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done;
but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear
cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time
upon her health.

Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each
other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their
usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to
Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.

Elinor grew impatient for some tidings of Edward. She had heard nothing
of him since her leaving London, nothing new of his plans, nothing
certain even of his present abode. Some letters had passed between her
and her brother, in consequence of Marianne’s illness; and in the first
of John’s, there had been this sentence:—“We know nothing of our
unfortunate Edward, and can make no enquiries on so prohibited a
subject, but conclude him to be still at Oxford;” which was all the
intelligence of Edward afforded her by the correspondence, for his name
was not even mentioned in any of the succeeding letters. She was not
doomed, however, to be long in ignorance of his measures.

Their man-servant had been sent one morning to Exeter on business; and
when, as he waited at table, he had satisfied the inquiries of his
mistress as to the event of his errand, this was his voluntary
communication,—

“I suppose you know, ma’am, that Mr. Ferrars is married.”

Marianne gave a violent start, fixed her eyes upon Elinor, saw her
turning pale, and fell back in her chair in hysterics. Mrs. Dashwood,
whose eyes, as she answered the servant’s inquiry, had intuitively
taken the same direction, was shocked to perceive by Elinor’s
countenance how much she really suffered, and a moment afterwards,
alike distressed by Marianne’s situation, knew not on which child to
bestow her principal attention.

The servant, who saw only that Miss Marianne was taken ill, had sense
enough to call one of the maids, who, with Mrs. Dashwood’s assistance,
supported her into the other room. By that time, Marianne was rather
better, and her mother leaving her to the care of Margaret and the
maid, returned to Elinor, who, though still much disordered, had so far
recovered the use of her reason and voice as to be just beginning an
inquiry of Thomas, as to the source of his intelligence. Mrs. Dashwood
immediately took all that trouble on herself; and Elinor had the
benefit of the information without the exertion of seeking it.

“Who told you that Mr. Ferrars was married, Thomas?”

“I see Mr. Ferrars myself, ma’am, this morning in Exeter, and his lady
too, Miss Steele as was. They was stopping in a chaise at the door of
the New London Inn, as I went there with a message from Sally at the
Park to her brother, who is one of the post-boys. I happened to look up
as I went by the chaise, and so I see directly it was the youngest Miss
Steele; so I took off my hat, and she knew me and called to me, and
inquired after you, ma’am, and the young ladies, especially Miss
Marianne, and bid me I should give her compliments and Mr. Ferrars’s,
their best compliments and service, and how sorry they was they had not
time to come on and see you, but they was in a great hurry to go
forwards, for they was going further down for a little while, but
howsever, when they come back, they’d make sure to come and see you.”

“But did she tell you she was married, Thomas?”

“Yes, ma’am. She smiled, and said how she had changed her name since
she was in these parts. She was always a very affable and free-spoken
young lady, and very civil behaved. So, I made free to wish her joy.”

“Was Mr. Ferrars in the carriage with her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I just see him leaning back in it, but he did not look
up;—he never was a gentleman much for talking.”

Elinor’s heart could easily account for his not putting himself
forward; and Mrs. Dashwood probably found the same explanation.

“Was there no one else in the carriage?”

“No, ma’am, only they two.”

“Do you know where they came from?”

“They come straight from town, as Miss Lucy—Mrs. Ferrars told me.”

“And are they going farther westward?”

“Yes, ma’am—but not to bide long. They will soon be back again, and
then they’d be sure and call here.”

Mrs. Dashwood now looked at her daughter; but Elinor knew better than
to expect them. She recognised the whole of Lucy in the message, and
was very confident that Edward would never come near them. She observed
in a low voice, to her mother, that they were probably going down to
Mr. Pratt’s, near Plymouth.

Thomas’s intelligence seemed over. Elinor looked as if she wished to
hear more.

“Did you see them off, before you came away?”

“No, ma’am—the horses were just coming out, but I could not bide any
longer; I was afraid of being late.”

“Did Mrs. Ferrars look well?”

“Yes, ma’am, she said how she was very well; and to my mind she was
always a very handsome young lady—and she seemed vastly contented.”

Mrs. Dashwood could think of no other question, and Thomas and the
tablecloth, now alike needless, were soon afterwards dismissed.
Marianne had already sent to say, that she should eat nothing more.
Mrs. Dashwood’s and Elinor’s appetites were equally lost, and Margaret
might think herself very well off, that with so much uneasiness as both
her sisters had lately experienced, so much reason as they had often
had to be careless of their meals, she had never been obliged to go
without her dinner before.

When the dessert and the wine were arranged, and Mrs. Dashwood and
Elinor were left by themselves, they remained long together in a
similarity of thoughtfulness and silence. Mrs. Dashwood feared to
hazard any remark, and ventured not to offer consolation. She now found
that she had erred in relying on Elinor’s representation of herself;
and justly concluded that every thing had been expressly softened at
the time, to spare her from an increase of unhappiness, suffering as
she then had suffered for Marianne. She found that she had been misled
by the careful, the considerate attention of her daughter, to think the
attachment, which once she had so well understood, much slighter in
reality, than she had been wont to believe, or than it was now proved
to be. She feared that under this persuasion she had been unjust,
inattentive, nay, almost unkind, to her Elinor;—that Marianne’s
affliction, because more acknowledged, more immediately before her, had
too much engrossed her tenderness, and led her away to forget that in
Elinor she might have a daughter suffering almost as much, certainly
with less self-provocation, and greater fortitude.




CHAPTER XLVIII.


Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an
unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it,
and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had
always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something
would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his
own, some mediation of friends, or some more eligible opportunity of
establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all.
But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking
flattery, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence.

That he should be married soon, before (as she imagined) he could be in
orders, and consequently before he could be in possession of the
living, surprised her a little at first. But she soon saw how likely it
was that Lucy, in her self-provident care, in her haste to secure him,
should overlook every thing but the risk of delay. They were married,
married in town, and now hastening down to her uncle’s. What had Edward
felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother’s
servant, on hearing Lucy’s message!

They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford.—Delaford,—that
place in which so much conspired to give her an interest; which she
wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in
an instant in their parsonage-house; saw in Lucy, the active,
contriving manager, uniting at once a desire of smart appearance with
the utmost frugality, and ashamed to be suspected of half her
economical practices;—pursuing her own interest in every thought,
courting the favour of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every
wealthy friend. In Edward—she knew not what she saw, nor what she
wished to see;—happy or unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away
her head from every sketch of him.

Elinor flattered herself that some one of their connections in London
would write to them to announce the event, and give farther
particulars,—but day after day passed off, and brought no letter, no
tidings. Though uncertain that any one were to blame, she found fault
with every absent friend. They were all thoughtless or indolent.

“When do you write to Colonel Brandon, ma’am?” was an inquiry which
sprung from the impatience of her mind to have something going on.

“I wrote to him, my love, last week, and rather expect to see, than to
hear from him again. I earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should
not be surprised to see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day.”

This was gaining something, something to look forward to. Colonel
Brandon _must_ have some information to give.

Scarcely had she so determined it, when the figure of a man on
horseback drew her eyes to the window. He stopt at their gate. It was a
gentleman, it was Colonel Brandon himself. Now she could hear more; and
she trembled in expectation of it. But it was _not_ Colonel Brandon;
neither his air, nor his height. Were it possible, she must say it must
be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted: she could not be
mistaken,—it _was_ Edward. She moved away and sat down. “He comes from
Mr. Pratt’s purposely to see us. I _will_ be calm; I _will_ be mistress
of myself.”

In a moment she perceived that the others were likewise aware of the
mistake. She saw her mother and Marianne change colour; saw them look
at herself, and whisper a few sentences to each other. She would have
given the world to be able to speak—and to make them understand that
she hoped no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behaviour to
him;—but she had no utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their
own discretion.

Not a syllable passed aloud. They all waited in silence for the
appearance of their visitor. His footsteps were heard along the gravel
path; in a moment he was in the passage, and in another he was before
them.

His countenance, as he entered the room, was not too happy, even for
Elinor. His complexion was white with agitation, and he looked as if
fearful of his reception, and conscious that he merited no kind one.
Mrs. Dashwood, however, conforming, as she trusted, to the wishes of
that daughter, by whom she then meant in the warmth of her heart to be
guided in every thing, met him with a look of forced complacency, gave
him her hand, and wished him joy.

He coloured, and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor’s lips
had moved with her mother’s, and, when the moment of action was over,
she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too
late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and
talked of the weather.

Marianne had retreated as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her
distress; and Margaret, understanding some part, but not the whole of
the case, thought it incumbent on her to be dignified, and therefore
took a seat as far from him as she could, and maintained a strict
silence.

When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very
awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt
obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried
manner, he replied in the affirmative.

Another pause.

Elinor resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own
voice, now said,

“Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?”

“At Longstaple!” he replied, with an air of surprise. “No, my mother is
in town.”

“I meant,” said Elinor, taking up some work from the table, “to enquire
for Mrs. _Edward_ Ferrars.”

She dared not look up;—but her mother and Marianne both turned their
eyes on him. He coloured, seemed perplexed, looked doubtingly, and,
after some hesitation, said,—

“Perhaps you mean—my brother—you mean Mrs.—Mrs. _Robert_ Ferrars.”

“Mrs. Robert Ferrars!” was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an
accent of the utmost amazement; and though Elinor could not speak, even
_her_ eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose
from his seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing
what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while
spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as
he spoke, said, in a hurried voice,—

“Perhaps you do not know: you may not have heard that my brother is
lately married to—to the youngest—to Miss Lucy Steele.”

His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor,
who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such
agitation as made her hardly know where she was.

“Yes,” said he, “they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish.”

Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as
soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first
she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked any
where, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even
heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie,
which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs.
Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted
the room, and walked out towards the village—leaving the others in the
greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so
wonderful and so sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of
lessening but by their own conjectures.




CHAPTER XLIX.


Unaccountable, however, as the circumstances of his release might
appear to the whole family, it was certain that Edward was free; and to
what purpose that freedom would be employed was easily pre-determined
by all;—for after experiencing the blessings of _one_ imprudent
engagement, contracted without his mother’s consent, as he had already
done for more than four years, nothing less could be expected of him in
the failure of _that_, than the immediate contraction of another.

His errand at Barton, in fact, was a simple one. It was only to ask
Elinor to marry him;—and considering that he was not altogether
inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should
feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in
need of encouragement and fresh air.

How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how
soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he
expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly
told. This only need be said;—that when they all sat down to table at
four o’clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his
lady, engaged her mother’s consent, and was not only in the rapturous
profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one
of the happiest of men. His situation indeed was more than commonly
joyful. He had more than the ordinary triumph of accepted love to swell
his heart, and raise his spirits. He was released without any reproach
to himself, from an entanglement which had long formed his misery, from
a woman whom he had long ceased to love;—and elevated at once to that
security with another, which he must have thought of almost with
despair, as soon as he had learnt to consider it with desire. He was
brought, not from doubt or suspense, but from misery to happiness;—and
the change was openly spoken in such a genuine, flowing, grateful
cheerfulness, as his friends had never witnessed in him before.

His heart was now open to Elinor, all its weaknesses, all its errors
confessed, and his first boyish attachment to Lucy treated with all the
philosophic dignity of twenty-four.

“It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,” said he, “the
consequence of ignorance of the world, and want of employment. Had my
mother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen
from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think, nay, I am sure, it would never
have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the
time, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had
any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance
from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied
attachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I
must have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of
having any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any
myself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first
twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which
belonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered
at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to
do, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home
in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my
brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to
be very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and
was always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part
of my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything
that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too—at least I thought so
_then;_ and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no
comparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I
hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every
way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable
piece of folly.”

The change which a few hours had wrought in the minds and the happiness
of the Dashwoods, was such—so great—as promised them all, the
satisfaction of a sleepless night. Mrs. Dashwood, too happy to be
comfortable, knew not how to love Edward, nor praise Elinor enough, how
to be enough thankful for his release without wounding his delicacy,
nor how at once to give them leisure for unrestrained conversation
together, and yet enjoy, as she wished, the sight and society of both.

Marianne could speak _her_ happiness only by tears. Comparisons would
occur—regrets would arise; and her joy, though sincere as her love for
her sister, was of a kind to give her neither spirits nor language.

But Elinor—how are _her_ feelings to be described? From the moment of
learning that Lucy was married to another, that Edward was free, to the
moment of his justifying the hopes which had so instantly followed, she
was every thing by turns but tranquil. But when the second moment had
passed, when she found every doubt, every solicitude removed, compared
her situation with what so lately it had been,—saw him honourably
released from his former engagement,—saw him instantly profiting by the
release, to address herself and declare an affection as tender, as
constant as she had ever supposed it to be,—she was oppressed, she was
overcome by her own felicity; and happily disposed as is the human mind
to be easily familiarized with any change for the better, it required
several hours to give sedateness to her spirits, or any degree of
tranquillity to her heart.

Edward was now fixed at the cottage at least for a week;—for whatever
other claims might be made on him, it was impossible that less than a
week should be given up to the enjoyment of Elinor’s company, or
suffice to say half that was to be said of the past, the present, and
the future;—for though a very few hours spent in the hard labor of
incessant talking will despatch more subjects than can really be in
common between any two rational creatures, yet with lovers it is
different. Between _them_ no subject is finished, no communication is
even made, till it has been made at least twenty times over.

Lucy’s marriage, the unceasing and reasonable wonder among them all,
formed of course one of the earliest discussions of the lovers;—and
Elinor’s particular knowledge of each party made it appear to her in
every view, as one of the most extraordinary and unaccountable
circumstances she had ever heard. How they could be thrown together,
and by what attraction Robert could be drawn on to marry a girl, of
whose beauty she had herself heard him speak without any admiration,—a
girl too already engaged to his brother, and on whose account that
brother had been thrown off by his family—it was beyond her
comprehension to make out. To her own heart it was a delightful affair,
to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her
judgment, it was completely a puzzle.

Edward could only attempt an explanation by supposing, that, perhaps,
at first accidentally meeting, the vanity of the one had been so worked
on by the flattery of the other, as to lead by degrees to all the rest.
Elinor remembered what Robert had told her in Harley Street, of his
opinion of what his own mediation in his brother’s affairs might have
done, if applied to in time. She repeated it to Edward.

“_That_ was exactly like Robert,” was his immediate observation. “And
_that_,” he presently added, “might perhaps be in _his_ head when the
acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might
think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs
might afterward arise.”

How long it had been carrying on between them, however, he was equally
at a loss with herself to make out; for at Oxford, where he had
remained for choice ever since his quitting London, he had had no means
of hearing of her but from herself, and her letters to the very last
were neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual. Not the
smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred to prepare him for
what followed;—and when at last it burst on him in a letter from Lucy
herself, he had been for some time, he believed, half stupified between
the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance. He put the
letter into Elinor’s hands.

“DEAR SIR,
    “Being very sure I have long lost your affections, I have thought
    myself at liberty to bestow my own on another, and have no doubt of
    being as happy with him as I once used to think I might be with
    you; but I scorn to accept a hand while the heart was another’s.
    Sincerely wish you happy in your choice, and it shall not be my
    fault if we are not always good friends, as our near relationship
    now makes proper. I can safely say I owe you no ill-will, and am
    sure you will be too generous to do us any ill offices. Your
    brother has gained my affections entirely, and as we could not live
    without one another, we are just returned from the altar, and are
    now on our way to Dawlish for a few weeks, which place your dear
    brother has great curiosity to see, but thought I would first
    trouble you with these few lines, and shall always remain,


“Your sincere well-wisher, friend, and sister,
“LUCY FERRARS.


“I have burnt all your letters, and will return your picture the first
opportunity. Please to destroy my scrawls—but the ring with my hair you
are very welcome to keep.”

Elinor read and returned it without any comment.

“I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,” said Edward.—“For
worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by _you_ in former
days.—In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife!—how I have blushed
over the pages of her writing!—and I believe I may say that since the
first half year of our foolish—business—this is the only letter I ever
received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the
defect of the style.”

“However it may have come about,” said Elinor, after a pause,—“they are
certainly married. And your mother has brought on herself a most
appropriate punishment. The independence she settled on Robert, through
resentment against you, has put it in his power to make his own choice;
and she has actually been bribing one son with a thousand a-year, to do
the very deed which she disinherited the other for intending to do. She
will hardly be less hurt, I suppose, by Robert’s marrying Lucy, than
she would have been by your marrying her.”

“She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite.—She
will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him
much sooner.”

In what state the affair stood at present between them, Edward knew
not, for no communication with any of his family had yet been attempted
by him. He had quitted Oxford within four and twenty hours after Lucy’s
letter arrived, and with only one object before him, the nearest road
to Barton, had had no leisure to form any scheme of conduct, with which
that road did not hold the most intimate connection. He could do
nothing till he were assured of his fate with Miss Dashwood; and by his
rapidity in seeking _that_ fate, it is to be supposed, in spite of the
jealousy with which he had once thought of Colonel Brandon, in spite of
the modesty with which he rated his own deserts, and the politeness
with which he talked of his doubts, he did not, upon the whole, expect
a very cruel reception. It was his business, however, to say that he
_did_, and he said it very prettily. What he might say on the subject a
twelvemonth after, must be referred to the imagination of husbands and
wives.

That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of
malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to
Elinor; and Edward himself, now thoroughly enlightened on her
character, had no scruple in believing her capable of the utmost
meanness of wanton ill-nature. Though his eyes had been long opened,
even before his acquaintance with Elinor began, to her ignorance and a
want of liberality in some of her opinions—they had been equally
imputed, by him, to her want of education; and till her last letter
reached him, he had always believed her to be a well-disposed,
good-hearted girl, and thoroughly attached to himself. Nothing but such
a persuasion could have prevented his putting an end to an engagement,
which, long before the discovery of it laid him open to his mother’s
anger, had been a continual source of disquiet and regret to him.

“I thought it my duty,” said he, “independent of my feelings, to give
her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was
renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in
the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed
nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how
could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted on sharing
my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but the most
disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I cannot
comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could
be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest
regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could
not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living.”

“No; but she might suppose that something would occur in your favour;
that your own family might in time relent. And at any rate, she lost
nothing by continuing the engagement, for she has proved that it
fettered neither her inclination nor her actions. The connection was
certainly a respectable one, and probably gained her consideration
among her friends; and, if nothing more advantageous occurred, it would
be better for her to marry _you_ than be single.”

Edward was, of course, immediately convinced that nothing could have
been more natural than Lucy’s conduct, nor more self-evident than the
motive of it.

Elinor scolded him, harshly as ladies always scold the imprudence which
compliments themselves, for having spent so much time with them at
Norland, when he must have felt his own inconstancy.

“Your behaviour was certainly very wrong,” said she; “because—to say
nothing of my own conviction, our relations were all led away by it to
fancy and expect _what_, as you were _then_ situated, could never be.”

He could only plead an ignorance of his own heart, and a mistaken
confidence in the force of his engagement.

“I was simple enough to think, that because my _faith_ was plighted to
another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the
consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred
as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only
friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and
Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I _was_
wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I
reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than
these:—The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but
myself.”

Elinor smiled, and shook her head.

Edward heard with pleasure of Colonel Brandon’s being expected at the
Cottage, as he really wished not only to be better acquainted with him,
but to have an opportunity of convincing him that he no longer resented
his giving him the living of Delaford—“Which, at present,” said he,
“after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion,
he must think I have never forgiven him for offering.”

_Now_ he felt astonished himself that he had never yet been to the
place. But so little interest had he taken in the matter, that he owed
all his knowledge of the house, garden, and glebe, extent of the
parish, condition of the land, and rate of the tithes, to Elinor
herself, who had heard so much of it from Colonel Brandon, and heard it
with so much attention, as to be entirely mistress of the subject.

One question after this only remained undecided, between them, one
difficulty only was to be overcome. They were brought together by
mutual affection, with the warmest approbation of their real friends;
their intimate knowledge of each other seemed to make their happiness
certain—and they only wanted something to live upon. Edward had two
thousand pounds, and Elinor one, which, with Delaford living, was all
that they could call their own; for it was impossible that Mrs.
Dashwood should advance anything; and they were neither of them quite
enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year
would supply them with the comforts of life.

Edward was not entirely without hopes of some favourable change in his
mother towards him; and on _that_ he rested for the residue of their
income. But Elinor had no such dependence; for since Edward would still
be unable to marry Miss Morton, and his chusing herself had been spoken
of in Mrs. Ferrars’s flattering language as only a lesser evil than his
chusing Lucy Steele, she feared that Robert’s offence would serve no
other purpose than to enrich Fanny.

About four days after Edward’s arrival Colonel Brandon appeared, to
complete Mrs. Dashwood’s satisfaction, and to give her the dignity of
having, for the first time since her living at Barton, more company
with her than her house would hold. Edward was allowed to retain the
privilege of first comer, and Colonel Brandon therefore walked every
night to his old quarters at the Park; from whence he usually returned
in the morning, early enough to interrupt the lovers’ first tête-à-tête
before breakfast.

A three weeks’ residence at Delaford, where, in his evening hours at
least, he had little to do but to calculate the disproportion between
thirty-six and seventeen, brought him to Barton in a temper of mind
which needed all the improvement in Marianne’s looks, all the kindness
of her welcome, and all the encouragement of her mother’s language, to
make it cheerful. Among such friends, however, and such flattery, he
did revive. No rumour of Lucy’s marriage had yet reached him:—he knew
nothing of what had passed; and the first hours of his visit were
consequently spent in hearing and in wondering. Every thing was
explained to him by Mrs. Dashwood, and he found fresh reason to rejoice
in what he had done for Mr. Ferrars, since eventually it promoted the
interest of Elinor.

It would be needless to say, that the gentlemen advanced in the good
opinion of each other, as they advanced in each other’s acquaintance,
for it could not be otherwise. Their resemblance in good principles and
good sense, in disposition and manner of thinking, would probably have
been sufficient to unite them in friendship, without any other
attraction; but their being in love with two sisters, and two sisters
fond of each other, made that mutual regard inevitable and immediate,
which might otherwise have waited the effect of time and judgment.

The letters from town, which a few days before would have made every
nerve in Elinor’s body thrill with transport, now arrived to be read
with less emotion than mirth. Mrs. Jennings wrote to tell the wonderful
tale, to vent her honest indignation against the jilting girl, and pour
forth her compassion towards poor Mr. Edward, who, she was sure, had
quite doted upon the worthless hussy, and was now, by all accounts,
almost broken-hearted, at Oxford. “I do think,” she continued, “nothing
was ever carried on so sly; for it was but two days before Lucy called
and sat a couple of hours with me. Not a soul suspected anything of the
matter, not even Nancy, who, poor soul! came crying to me the day
after, in a great fright for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, as well as not
knowing how to get to Plymouth; for Lucy it seems borrowed all her
money before she went off to be married, on purpose we suppose to make
a show with, and poor Nancy had not seven shillings in the world; so I
was very glad to give her five guineas to take her down to Exeter,
where she thinks of staying three or four weeks with Mrs. Burgess, in
hopes, as I tell her, to fall in with the Doctor again. And I must say
that Lucy’s crossness not to take them along with them in the chaise is
worse than all. Poor Mr. Edward! I cannot get him out of my head, but
you must send for him to Barton, and Miss Marianne must try to comfort
him.”

Mr. Dashwood’s strains were more solemn. Mrs. Ferrars was the most
unfortunate of women—poor Fanny had suffered agonies of sensibility—and
he considered the existence of each, under such a blow, with grateful
wonder. Robert’s offence was unpardonable, but Lucy’s was infinitely
worse. Neither of them were ever again to be mentioned to Mrs. Ferrars;
and even, if she might hereafter be induced to forgive her son, his
wife should never be acknowledged as her daughter, nor be permitted to
appear in her presence. The secrecy with which everything had been
carried on between them, was rationally treated as enormously
heightening the crime, because, had any suspicion of it occurred to the
others, proper measures would have been taken to prevent the marriage;
and he called on Elinor to join with him in regretting that Lucy’s
engagement with Edward had not rather been fulfilled, than that she
should thus be the means of spreading misery farther in the family. He
thus continued:—

“Mrs. Ferrars has never yet mentioned Edward’s name, which does not
surprise us; but, to our great astonishment, not a line has been
received from him on the occasion. Perhaps, however, he is kept silent
by his fear of offending, and I shall, therefore, give him a hint, by a
line to Oxford, that his sister and I both think a letter of proper
submission from him, addressed perhaps to Fanny, and by her shown to
her mother, might not be taken amiss; for we all know the tenderness of
Mrs. Ferrars’s heart, and that she wishes for nothing so much as to be
on good terms with her children.”

This paragraph was of some importance to the prospects and conduct of
Edward. It determined him to attempt a reconciliation, though not
exactly in the manner pointed out by their brother and sister.

“A letter of proper submission!” repeated he; “would they have me beg
my mother’s pardon for Robert’s ingratitude to _her_, and breach of
honour to _me?_ I can make no submission. I am grown neither humble nor
penitent by what has passed. I am grown very happy; but that would not
interest. I know of no submission that _is_ proper for me to make.”

“You may certainly ask to be forgiven,” said Elinor, “because you have
offended;—and I should think you might _now_ venture so far as to
profess some concern for having ever formed the engagement which drew
on you your mother’s anger.”

He agreed that he might.

“And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be
convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent
in _her_ eyes as the first.”

He had nothing to urge against it, but still resisted the idea of a
letter of proper submission; and therefore, to make it easier to him,
as he declared a much greater willingness to make mean concessions by
word of mouth than on paper, it was resolved that, instead of writing
to Fanny, he should go to London, and personally intreat her good
offices in his favour. “And if they really _do_ interest themselves,”
said Marianne, in her new character of candour, “in bringing about a
reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely
without merit.”

After a visit on Colonel Brandon’s side of only three or four days, the
two gentlemen quitted Barton together. They were to go immediately to
Delaford, that Edward might have some personal knowledge of his future
home, and assist his patron and friend in deciding on what improvements
were needed to it; and from thence, after staying there a couple of
nights, he was to proceed on his journey to town.




CHAPTER L.


After a proper resistance on the part of Mrs. Ferrars, just so violent
and so steady as to preserve her from that reproach which she always
seemed fearful of incurring, the reproach of being too amiable, Edward
was admitted to her presence, and pronounced to be again her son.

Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of
her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward
a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of
Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the
resuscitation of Edward, she had one again.

In spite of his being allowed once more to live, however, he did not
feel the continuance of his existence secure, till he had revealed his
present engagement; for the publication of that circumstance, he
feared, might give a sudden turn to his constitution, and carry him off
as rapidly as before. With apprehensive caution therefore it was
revealed, and he was listened to with unexpected calmness. Mrs. Ferrars
at first reasonably endeavoured to dissuade him from marrying Miss
Dashwood, by every argument in her power;—told him, that in Miss Morton
he would have a woman of higher rank and larger fortune;—and enforced
the assertion, by observing that Miss Morton was the daughter of a
nobleman with thirty thousand pounds, while Miss Dashwood was only the
daughter of a private gentleman with no more than _three;_ but when she
found that, though perfectly admitting the truth of her representation,
he was by no means inclined to be guided by it, she judged it wisest,
from the experience of the past, to submit—and therefore, after such an
ungracious delay as she owed to her own dignity, and as served to
prevent every suspicion of good-will, she issued her decree of consent
to the marriage of Edward and Elinor.

What she would engage to do towards augmenting their income was next to
be considered; and here it plainly appeared, that though Edward was now
her only son, he was by no means her eldest; for while Robert was
inevitably endowed with a thousand pounds a-year, not the smallest
objection was made against Edward’s taking orders for the sake of two
hundred and fifty at the utmost; nor was anything promised either for
the present or in future, beyond the ten thousand pounds, which had
been given with Fanny.

It was as much, however, as was desired, and more than was expected, by
Edward and Elinor; and Mrs. Ferrars herself, by her shuffling excuses,
seemed the only person surprised at her not giving more.

With an income quite sufficient to their wants thus secured to them,
they had nothing to wait for after Edward was in possession of the
living, but the readiness of the house, to which Colonel Brandon, with
an eager desire for the accommodation of Elinor, was making
considerable improvements; and after waiting some time for their
completion, after experiencing, as usual, a thousand disappointments
and delays from the unaccountable dilatoriness of the workmen, Elinor,
as usual, broke through the first positive resolution of not marrying
till every thing was ready, and the ceremony took place in Barton
church early in the autumn.

The first month after their marriage was spent with their friend at the
Mansion-house; from whence they could superintend the progress of the
Parsonage, and direct every thing as they liked on the spot;—could
chuse papers, project shrubberies, and invent a sweep. Mrs. Jennings’s
prophecies, though rather jumbled together, were chiefly fulfilled; for
she was able to visit Edward and his wife in their Parsonage by
Michaelmas, and she found in Elinor and her husband, as she really
believed, one of the happiest couples in the world. They had in fact
nothing to wish for, but the marriage of Colonel Brandon and Marianne,
and rather better pasturage for their cows.

They were visited on their first settling by almost all their relations
and friends. Mrs. Ferrars came to inspect the happiness which she was
almost ashamed of having authorised; and even the Dashwoods were at the
expense of a journey from Sussex to do them honour.

“I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister,” said John, as
they were walking together one morning before the gates of Delaford
House, “_that_ would be saying too much, for certainly you have been
one of the most fortunate young women in the world, as it is. But, I
confess, it would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon
brother. His property here, his place, his house, every thing is in
such respectable and excellent condition! And his woods,—I have not
seen such timber any where in Dorsetshire, as there is now standing in
Delaford Hanger! And though, perhaps, Marianne may not seem exactly the
person to attract him, yet I think it would altogether be advisable for
you to have them now frequently staying with you, for as Colonel
Brandon seems a great deal at home, nobody can tell what may happen;
for, when people are much thrown together, and see little of anybody
else,—and it will always be in your power to set her off to advantage,
and so forth. In short, you may as well give her a chance: you
understand me.”

But though Mrs. Ferrars _did_ come to see them, and always treated them
with the make-believe of decent affection, they were never insulted by
her real favour and preference. _That_ was due to the folly of Robert,
and the cunning of his wife; and it was earned by them before many
months had passed away. The selfish sagacity of the latter, which had
at first drawn Robert into the scrape, was the principal instrument of
his deliverance from it; for her respectful humility, assiduous
attentions, and endless flatteries, as soon as the smallest opening was
given for their exercise, reconciled Mrs. Ferrars to his choice, and
re-established him completely in her favour.

The whole of Lucy’s behaviour in the affair, and the prosperity which
crowned it, therefore, may be held forth as a most encouraging instance
of what an earnest, an unceasing attention to self-interest, however
its progress may be apparently obstructed, will do in securing every
advantage of fortune, with no other sacrifice than that of time and
conscience. When Robert first sought her acquaintance, and privately
visited her in Bartlett’s Buildings, it was only with the view imputed
to him by his brother. He merely meant to persuade her to give up the
engagement; and as there could be nothing to overcome but the affection
of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle
the matter. In that point, however, and that only, he erred; for though
Lucy soon gave him hopes that his eloquence would convince her in
_time_, another visit, another conversation, was always wanted to
produce this conviction. Some doubts always lingered in her mind when
they parted, which could only be removed by another half hour’s
discourse with himself. His attendance was by this means secured, and
the rest followed in course. Instead of talking of Edward, they came
gradually to talk only of Robert,—a subject on which he had always more
to say than on any other, and in which she soon betrayed an interest
even equal to his own; and in short, it became speedily evident to
both, that he had entirely supplanted his brother. He was proud of his
conquest, proud of tricking Edward, and very proud of marrying
privately without his mother’s consent. What immediately followed is
known. They passed some months in great happiness at Dawlish; for she
had many relations and old acquaintances to cut—and he drew several
plans for magnificent cottages;—and from thence returning to town,
procured the forgiveness of Mrs. Ferrars, by the simple expedient of
asking it, which, at Lucy’s instigation, was adopted. The forgiveness,
at first, indeed, as was reasonable, comprehended only Robert; and
Lucy, who had owed his mother no duty and therefore could have
transgressed none, still remained some weeks longer unpardoned. But
perseverance in humility of conduct and messages, in self-condemnation
for Robert’s offence, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated
with, procured her in time the haughty notice which overcame her by its
graciousness, and led soon afterwards, by rapid degrees, to the highest
state of affection and influence. Lucy became as necessary to Mrs.
Ferrars, as either Robert or Fanny; and while Edward was never
cordially forgiven for having once intended to marry her, and Elinor,
though superior to her in fortune and birth, was spoken of as an
intruder, _she_ was in every thing considered, and always openly
acknowledged, to be a favourite child. They settled in town, received
very liberal assistance from Mrs. Ferrars, were on the best terms
imaginable with the Dashwoods; and setting aside the jealousies and
ill-will continually subsisting between Fanny and Lucy, in which their
husbands of course took a part, as well as the frequent domestic
disagreements between Robert and Lucy themselves, nothing could exceed
the harmony in which they all lived together.

What Edward had done to forfeit the right of eldest son, might have
puzzled many people to find out; and what Robert had done to succeed to
it, might have puzzled them still more. It was an arrangement, however,
justified in its effects, if not in its cause; for nothing ever
appeared in Robert’s style of living or of talking to give a suspicion
of his regretting the extent of his income, as either leaving his
brother too little, or bringing himself too much;—and if Edward might
be judged from the ready discharge of his duties in every particular,
from an increasing attachment to his wife and his home, and from the
regular cheerfulness of his spirits, he might be supposed no less
contented with his lot, no less free from every wish of an exchange.

Elinor’s marriage divided her as little from her family as could well
be contrived, without rendering the cottage at Barton entirely useless,
for her mother and sisters spent much more than half their time with
her. Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy as well as pleasure
in the frequency of her visits at Delaford; for her wish of bringing
Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though
rather more liberal than what John had expressed. It was now her
darling object. Precious as was the company of her daughter to her, she
desired nothing so much as to give up its constant enjoyment to her
valued friend; and to see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was
equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and
their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the
reward of all.

With such a confederacy against her—with a knowledge so intimate of his
goodness—with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at
last, though long after it was observable to everybody else—burst on
her—what could she do?

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to
discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her
conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an
affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment
superior to strong esteem and lively friendship, voluntarily to give
her hand to another!—and _that_ other, a man who had suffered no less
than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years
before, she had considered too old to be married,—and who still sought
the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible
passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with
expecting,—instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and
finding her only pleasures in retirement and study, as afterwards in
her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found
herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new
duties, placed in a new home, a wife, the mistress of a family, and the
patroness of a village.

Colonel Brandon was now as happy, as all those who best loved him,
believed he deserved to be;—in Marianne he was consoled for every past
affliction;—her regard and her society restored his mind to animation,
and his spirits to cheerfulness; and that Marianne found her own
happiness in forming his, was equally the persuasion and delight of
each observing friend. Marianne could never love by halves; and her
whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had
once been to Willoughby.

Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his
punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of
Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as
the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he
behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy
and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own
punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought
of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he
was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an
habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be
depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to
enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home
always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in
sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic
felicity.

For Marianne, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her
loss, he always retained that decided regard which interested him in
every thing that befell her, and made her his secret standard of
perfection in woman; and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him
in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.

Mrs. Dashwood was prudent enough to remain at the cottage, without
attempting a removal to Delaford; and fortunately for Sir John and Mrs.
Jennings, when Marianne was taken from them, Margaret had reached an
age highly suitable for dancing, and not very ineligible for being
supposed to have a lover.

Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication
which strong family affection would naturally dictate; and among the
merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked
as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost
within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement
between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.

THE END


2  THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION. 

When  Jesus  was  asked  just  before  His  death,  when  the  things 
that  He  had  prophesied  against  Jerusalem  should  come  to  pass  (Mark 
13:1-31),  He  replied  in  verse  32,  "But  of  that  day  and  that  houi 
knoweth  no  man,  no,  not  the  angels  which  are  in  Heaven,  neither 
(NOT  YET)  the  Son,  but  the  FATHER."  But  after  His  Ascension 
He  received  from  the  Father  the  information  that  the  Disciples  asked 
for,  and  before  the  close  of  the  first  century,  while  at  least  one  of 
those  Disciples  was  still  living,  the  beloved  John,  He  sent  an  angel 
messenger  to  impart  to  him,  and  through  him  to  the  Churches,  the 
information  that  is  "unveiled"  in  this  Book  of  Revelation.  Thus  we 
see  that  the  canon  of  Scripture  would  be  incomplete  without  this 
message  from  Jesus  to  His  Church  after  His  return  to  Heaven. 

While  the  Apostle  John  is  the  writer  of  the  Book  he  is  not  the 
author  or  composer.  The  Author  was  the  Lord  Jesus  Himself.  The 
Apostle  was  only  a  "scribe"  or  "amanuensis."  Twice  he  declares  that 
the  contents  of  the  Book  were  revealed  to  him  by  an  angel.  Rev.  1:1; 
22 : 8.  The  fact  that  the  style  of  the  Book  differs  so  strikingly  from 
the  other  writings  of  John,  as  the  Gospel  and  Epistles,  is  the  strongest 
kind  of  evidence  that  John  did  not  compose  the  Book,  but  that  it  was 
dictated  or  visualized  to  him.  In  its  subject  matter,  and  in  the  majesty 
and  sublimity  of  its  language,  which  is  in  harmony  with  its  contents, 
the  Book  of  Revelation  differs  from  all  other  books,  and  is  incom- 
parably above  them,  thus  revealing  its  Divine  Authorship.  In  fact  it 
is  the  only  portion  of  the  New  Testament  to  which  Jesus  gives  His 
endorsement,  and  affixes  His  signature,  saying  at  its  close — "I  JESUS 
have  sent  Mine  Angel  to  testify  unto  you  these  things  in  the 
Churches."    Rev.  22:16. 

The  Book  of  Revelation  then  is  not  a  compilation  of  Jewish 
"Apocalyptic  Literature,"  intermixed  with  "Heathen  Visions  Chris- 
tianized," thus  being  a  "patchwork"  of  Jewish  and  Heathen  Folklore, 
but  it  is  the  Revelation  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  God  gave  unto  Him, 
to  show  unto  His  servants  things  which  must  shortly  come  to  pass. 
This  He  sent  by  His  ANGEL.  Who  this  Angel  was  we  are  not  told, 
but  when  John  fell  down  to  worship  him,  he  said,  "See  thou  do  it  not : 
for  I  am  thy  fellowservant,  and  of  thy  brethren  the  prophets,  and  of 
them  which  keep  the  sayings  of  this  book-"  Rev.  22 : 8-9.  He  must 
therefore  have  been  one  of  the  old  prophets  raised  for  the  purpose. 

The  Book  is  a  PROPHETIC  Book.  It  is  not  a  history.  It  does 
not  record  the  past,  but  reveals  the  future.  It  makes  this  claim  in 
the  Title — "Blessed  is  he  that  readeth,  and  they  that  hear  the  words 
of  THIS  PROPHECY,"  Rev.  1:3;  and  four  times  in  the  concluding 
chapter.  Rev.  22:  7,  10,  18,  19.  It  is  the  summing  up  and  consumma- 
tion of  all  prophecy.  In  it  all  unfulfilled  prophecy  is  fulfilled.  It  is 
the  "finality"  in  prophecy  until  Jesus  comes  back.  There  has  been 
no  "new  revelation"  since  it  was  written ;  and  all  those  who  claim  to 
have  received  new  and  later  "revelations"  are  impostors  and  false 
prophets.  There  is  no  place  for  "additions"  or  "subtractions"  in  the 
Book.  It  opens  with  a  "blessmg"  promised  the  reader,  and  ends  with 
a  "curse"  upon  those  who  "ADD  UNTO"  or  "TAKE  FROM"  it. 
Rev.  1:3;  22: 18-19. 


THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION.  3 

Nothing  is  said  about  understanding  the  Book,  but  blessed  is  he 
that  "readeth,"  or  if  too  illiterate  to  read,  blessed  are  they  that  "hear," 
that  is,  listen  to  its  reading.  The  reference  here  is  doubtless  to  the 
"reader"  and  "hearers"  of  the  Scripture  as  read  in  the  Synagogue  in 
the  Apostle's  day.  That  the  Book  should  be  shunned  by  many  because 
of  its  mysterious  character  is  no  wonder.  It  is  one  of  the  "devices" 
of  Satan  to  get  people  to  neglect  a  Book  that  foretells  his  casting  as 
"Prince  of  the  Powers  of  the  Air,"  and  the  "God  of  This  Age,"  out  of 
the  Heavenlies;  of  his  imprisonment  in  the  "Bottomless  Pit"  for  1000 
years ;  and  his  final  casting  into  the  Lake  of  Fire.  While  Satan  hates 
all  Scripture  in  general,  he  hates  the  books  of  Genesis  and  Revelation 
in  particular.  Therefore  he  attacks  the  authenticity  of  Genesis,  and 
seeks  to  have  Revelation  neglected. 

The  Book  is  not  only  a  "Prophetic"  book,  it  is  a  "SYMBOLIC" 
book,  that  is,  it  is  written  largely  in  "symbolic"  language,  that  is  the 
meaning  of  the  statement  in  the  Title— "He  sent  and  'SIGNIFIED' 
it  by  His  Angel  unto  His  Servant  John."  The  word  "sigfnified"  means 
given  in  "signs"  and  "s3mibols"  and  should  be  pronounced  "SIGN'- 
IFIED."  There  are  more  "signs"  and  "symbols"  in  the  Book  of 
Revelation  than  in  any  other  book  in  the  Bible,  but  they  are  either 
explained  there  or  in  some  other  part  of  the  Scriptures.  No  one  can 
understand  the  Book  of  Revelation  who  does  not  understand  the  Book 
of  Daniel.  The  Prophet  Daniel  was  told  to  "seal  up"  the  words  of  his 
prophecy  until  the  "Time  of  the  End,"  not  the  "end  of  time,"  but  the 
end  of  the  "Times  of  the  Gentiles."  Dan.  12 : 4, 9.  But  the  writer  of 
the  Book  of  Revelation  was  told  to  "seal  NOT"  tlfe  sayings  of  the 
Book,  for  the  TIME  IS  AT  HAND.    Rev.  22: 10. 

The  symbolism  of  the  Book  of  Revelation  shows  that  it  was 
written  for  a  "special  class,"  for  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
"Word  of  God,"  and  who  have  "spiritual  discernment,"  and  not  for  the 
carnally  minded  reader.  "The  secret  things  belong  unto  the  Lord 
our  God,  but  those  things  which  are  REVEALED  belong  unto  us 
and  our  children  forever."  Deu.  29 :  29.  The  Book  of  Revelation  was 
written  to  reveal  or  disclose  the  purpose  of  God  as  to  the  earth  and 
the  nations,  and  we  are  not  prying  into  God's  secrets  when  we  read 
and  study  it.  It  being  the  last  prophecy,  we  naturally  would  expect 
it  to  sum  up  all  previous  prophecy,  and  as  all  previous  prophecy  had 
to  do  with  the  CHURCH,  ISRAEL,  and  THE  NATIONS,  so  we 
should  expect  this  last  prophecy  to  give  us  the  final  word  as  to  them ; 
and  that  is  what  it  does.  We  find  the  CHURCH  in  the  beginning, 
ISRAEL  in  the  middle,  and  the  saved  NATIONS  at  the  end.  These 
three  are  also  seen  in  the  construction  of  the  Holy  City,  New  Jeru- 
salem ;  where  we  have  the  CHURCH  in  the  Foundation,  represented 
by  the  names  of  the  Twelve  Apostles,  and  ISRAEL  in  the  Gates, 
with  the  names  of  the  Twelve  Tribes  of  Israel  written  over  them,  and 
the  saved  NATIONS  in  the  Streets,  where  they  walk  in  the  light  of 
the  City's  Glory. 

The  Book  is  largely  Jewish.  This  is  seen  in  its  "sigfns"  and  sym- 
bols, such  as  the  Tabernacle,  the  Ark,  the  Altar,  the  Trumpets  and 
Plagues,  and  the  sealing  of  the  144,000  of  Israel.    It  is  Jewish  because 


THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION. 

God  in  it,  after  the  Church  is  taken  out,  deals  again  with  Israel,  and 
in  chapters  6  to  19  inclusive  He  reveals  what  shall  take  place  during 
the  last  or  "SevcaJieth  Week"  of  Daniel's  "Seventy  Weeks." 

It  is  the  Book  of  "CONSUMMATION"  and  its  proper  place  in 
the  sacred  canon  is  where  it  is  placed,  at  the  end  of  the  Bible.  The 
Book  is  full  of  ACTION.  Earth  and  heaven  are  brought  near 
together.  The  clouds  roll  away,  thrones,  elders,  and  angelic  forms  are 
seen;  harps,  trumpets,  cries  from  disembodied  souls  and  choruses  of 
song  are  heard.  Earth  touches  heaven,  and  alas  it  touches  hell  also. 
Good  and  evil  meet.  There  is  no  blending,  but  sharp  contrasts,  and 
a  long  protracted  conflict  that  ends  in  victory  for  the  good,  and  the 
"BEAST,"  the  "FALSE  PROPHET,"  SATAN  and  his  hosts,  and 
"DEATH"  and  HADES  find  their  place  in  the  "Lake  of  Fire."  It 
describes  the  culmination  of  the  evils  foreseen  and  described  in  I.  Tim. 
4: 1 ;  2  Tim.  3: 1-5;  2  Pet.  2:1-2;  Jude  14-19,  and  declares  the  CON- 
SUMMATION of  that  which  the  Prophets  foretold,  the  creation  of  a 

NEW  HEAVEN  AND  A  NEW  EARTH 
in  which  righteousness  shall  dwell.  Isa.  65 :  17.  At  last  the  patience 
of  the  patriarchs  and  saints  is  rewarded ;  the  longings  of  faith,  and  the 
hope  of  Israel  and  the  Church  fulfilled,  and  the  glory  of  God  shines 
unhindered  on  a  scene  of  righteousness  and  peace.  The  Bible  begins 
with  Paradise  LOST,  and  closes  with  Paradise  REGAINED. 


The  Salutation. 

Chap.  1:4-6. 

"JOHN  to  the  Seven  Churches  which  are  in  Asia:  Grace  be 
unto  you,  and  peace,  from  Him  which  Is,  and  which  Was,  and 
which  IS  TO  COME;  and  from  the  'Seven  Spirits'  which  are 
before  HIS  Throne;  and  from  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  the  FAITH- 
FUL WITNESS,  and  the  FIRST  BEGOTTEN  OF  THE 
DEAD,  and  the  PRINCE  OF  THE  KINGS  OF  THE  EARTH. 
Unto  Him  that  LOVED  US  and  WASHED  (Loosed)  US  from 
our  sins  in  His  own  blood.  And  hath  made  us  KINGS  and 
PRIESTS  unto  God  and  His  Father;  to  Him  be  glory  and 
dominion  for  ever  and  ever.    >men." 

The  Salutation  is  addressed  to  the  "Seven  Churches  Which  Are 
In  Asia."  By  Asia  is  not  meant  the  great  Continent  of  Asia,  or  even 
the  whole  of  Asia  Minor,  but  only  the  western  end  of  Asia  Minor 
bordering  on  the  Aegean  and  Mediterranean  Seas,  and  about  the  size 
of  the  State  of  Pennsylvania.  Neither  do  these  Seven  Churches  mean 
that  there  were  only  seven  churches  in  that  district,  for  there  were  at 
least  three  other  churches,  that  of  Colosse,  Col.  1:2;  Hierapolis, 
Col.  4:13;  and  Troas,  Acts  20:6-7.  These  seven  Churches  then 
murt  be  representative  or  typical  churches,  chosen  for  certain  char- 
acteristics typical  of  the  character  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  not  only 
in  that  day,  but  on  down  the  centuries  until  the  Church  shall  be 
removed  from  the  earth,  and  represent  seven  church  periods  clearly 
defined  in  Church  History.  This  we  shall  see,  in  our  study  of  chap- 
ters two  and  three,  to  be  the  case. 


6  THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION. 

In  the  Benediction — "Grace  be  unto  you,  and  peace,  from  Him 
which  is,  and  which  was,  and  which  is  to  come;  and  from  the  Seven 
Spirits  which  are  before  His  Throne;  and  from  Jesus  Christ,  who  is 
the  Faithful  Witness,  etc.,"  we  behold  the  Trinity.  Here  Jesus  is 
distinguished  from — "HIM  (the  Father)  which  Is,  and  which  Was, 
and  which  Is  To  Come,"  but  in  verse  8,  He  claims  the  same  Title, 
which  only  proves  that  Jesus  was  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  and  that 
He  and  the  Father  are  one. 

It  is  also  worthy  of  note  that  the  "Threefold  Office"  of  Jesus,  as 
PROPHET,  PRIEST,  and  KING  is  brought  out  in  the  Salutation. 
He  is  called  the  "Faithful  Witness,"  as  such  he  is  a  PROPHET.  As 
the  "First  Begotten  From  The  Dead,"  He  carried  His  own  blood  into 
the  Heavenly  Tabernacle,  and  thus  performed  the  work  of  a  PRIEST. 
As  the  "Prince  Of  The  Kings  Of  The  Earth,"  as  He  will  be  when  He 
takes  the  Throne,  He  will  be  a  KING.  As  Prophet  Jesus  is  God's 
WORD,  as  Priest  He  is  God's  LAMB,  and  as  King  He  is  God's 
LION. 

John  also  emphasizes  the  fact  that  Jesus  LOVED  us  before  He 
WASHED  (Loosed)  us  from  our  sins  in  His  own  blood,  and  that  He 
has  made  us  "Kings"  and  "Priests"  unto  God,  and  that  we  need  no 
human  Priest  to  stand  between  us  and  God. 


The  Announcement. 

"Behold,  He  cometh  with  clouds;  and  ev«ry  eye  shall  SEE 
HIM,  and  they  also  which  PIERCED  HIM:  and  all  kindreds  of 
the  earth  shall  wail  because  of  Him.     Even  so,  Amen." 

Rev.  1:7. 

This  refers  to  the  Second  Stage  of  Christ's  Coming,  the  "Revela- 
tion" or  "Appearing."  The  First  Stage  of  His  Coming,  the  "Rap- 
ture," is  not  mentioned  in  the  Book.  This  will  fulfil  Zech.  12:10, 
"They  (the  Jews)  shall  look  upon  Me  (Jesus)  whom  they  hare 
PIERCED."  This  is  confirmatory  of  the  view  that  the  Book  of 
Revelation  deals  mainly  with  the  events  that  follow  after  the  "Rap- 
ture" and  precede  and  attend  the  "Revelation"  or  the  coming  to  the 
«arth  of  the  Lord. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  grief  and  remorse  that  will  fill  the 
hearts  of  those  Jews  who  shall  witness  the  return  of  the  Lord  to 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  when  they  shall  see  in  His  hands  and  feet  the 
"PRINT  OF  THE  NAILS,"  and  He  shall  be  revealed  as  the  One 
they  crucified.  Like  Thomas  they  will  cry,  "MY  LORD  AND  MY 
GOD."  John  20  :  24-29.  The  Prophet  Zechariah  (Zech.  12  :9-14) 
describes  it  as  a  time  of  great  "BITTERNESS"  and  a  day  of  great 
mourning  in  Jerusalem,  when  families  will  separate  themselves  from 
their  neighbors  and  mourn  every  family  apart.  And  not  only  shall 
the  Jews  mourn  because  they  rejected  Him  when  He  came  the  first 
time,  but  the  nations  of  the  earth  will  WAIL  when  they  realize  that 
He  has  come  back,  not  as  a  Saviour,  but  a  Judge  to  punish  them 
for  their  iniquities. 


The  Things  Which  Thou  Hast  Seen 


I.  The  Things  Which  Thou  Hast  Seen 

THE  VISION. 

"I  John,  who  also  am  your  brother,  and  companion  in  trib- 
ulation, and  in  the  Kingdom  and  patience  of  Jesus  Christ,  was 
in  the  Isle  that  is  called  Patmos,  for  the  word  of  God,  and  for  the 
testimony  of  Jesus  Christ.  I  was  in  the  SPIRIT  on  the  LORD'S 
DAY,  and  heard  behind  me  a  great  voice,  as  of  a  Trumpet,  say- 
ing, I  am  ALPHA  and  OMEGA,  the  FIRST  and  the  LAST: 
and,  What  thou  SEEST,  write  in  a  book,  and  send  it  unto  the 
Seven  Churches  which  are  in  Asia;  unto  Ephesus,  and  unto 
Smyrna,  and  unto  Pergamos,  and  unto  Thyatira,  and  unto  Sar- 
dis,  and  unto  Philadelphia,  and  unto  Laodicea.  And  I  turned  to 
to  see  the  voice  that  spake  with  me.     And  being  turned,  I  saw 

SEVEN  GOLDEN  CANDLESTICKS; 
and  in  the  midst  of  the   Seven   Candlesticks  one  like  unto   the 

SON  OF  MIAN, 
clothed  with  a  garment  down  to  the  foot,  and  girt  about  the  paps 
(breast^  with  a  golden  girdle.  His  Head  and  his  Hairs  were 
white  like  wool,  as  white  as  snow;  and  His  Eyes  were  as  a  flame 
of  fire;  and  His  Feet  like  xmto  fine  brass,  as  if  they  burned  in  a 
furnace;  and  His  Voice  as  the  sound  of  many  waters.  And  He 
had  in  His  Right  Hand  "Seven  Stars";  and  out  of  His  Mouth 
went  a  sharp  two  edged  Sword;  and  His  Countenance  was  as  the 
sun  shineth  in  his  strength.  And  when  I  saw  Him,  I  fell  at  His 
feet  as  dead.  And  He  laid  His  Right  Hand  upon  me,  saying  unto 
me,  "Fear  not;  I  am  the  FIRST  and  the  LAST:  I  am  He  that 
LIVETH,  and  WAS  DEAD;  and  behold,  I  am  ALIVE  FOR 
EVERMORE,  AMEN;  and  have  the  KEYS  of  HELL  (Hades, 
the  Underworld),  and  of  DEIATH  (the  Grave).  Write  the  things 
which  thou  hast  SEEN,  and  the  things  which  ARE,  and  the 
things  which  shall  be  HEREAFTER  (after  these);  the  Mystery 
of  the  'Seven  Stars'  which  thou  sawest  in  my  right  hand,  and 
the  'Seven  Golden  Candlesticks.'  The  'Seven  Stars'  are  the 
ANGELS  (Messengers)  of  the  'Seven  Churches':  and  the  'Seven 
Candlesticks'  which  thou  sawest  are  the  SEVEN  CHURCHES." 
Rev.  1:9-20. 

The  Apostle  John  addresses  the  Churches  as  their  brother  and 
companion  in  TRIBULATION.  This  does  not  mean  "The  Great 
Tribulation,"  for  that  is  not  for  the  Church  but  for  Israel,  and  is  still 
future.  When  John  wrote  the  Book  of  Revelation  in  A.  D.  95-96  the 
Christians  were  undergoing  a  persecution  under  the  Roman  Emperor 
Domitian,  and  as  a  result  of  this  persecution  John  had  been  banished 
to  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  a  small,  rocky  island  in  the  Aegean  Sea  30 
miles  off  the  west  coast  of  Asia  Minor,  and  opposite  the  city  of 
Ephesus.  John  was  pastor  of  the  Church  at  Ephesus  at  the  time  of 
his  banishment,  and  it  was  to  that  Church  that  the  first  Message  to 
the  Seven  Churches  was  addressed.  John  was  banished  for  "the 
Word  of  God,  and  his  testimony  to  Jesus  Christ." 

He  tells  us  that  he  was  "in  the  Spirit  on  the  LORD'S  DAY." 
There  has  been  much  confusion  as  to  what  is  meant  here  by  the 
"Lord's  Day  "  Some  hold  that  the  "First  Day  of  the  Week"  or  the 
Christian  Sabbath  is  meant,  others  that  John  meant  the  "Day  of  the 
Lord." 

Both  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament  speak  of  the  "Day  of  the 
Lord."  Isa.  2:12,  Joel  1:15,  2:1,  3:14,  Ezek.  13:5,  Malachi  4:5, 
Acts  2 :  20,  2.  Cor.  1 :  14,  1.  Thess.  5 : 2,  2.  Pet.  3 :  10.    The  term  applies 


THE  THINGS   WHICH   THOU   HAST   SEEN. 

to  the  "Day  of  the  Lord's  Return"  and  includes  both  the  Tribulation 
and  the  Millennium.  See  the  Chart  on  the  Prophetic  Days  of  Scrip- 
ture. The  Christian  Sabbath  was  never  called  the  "LORD'S  DAY" 
until  after  the  Book  of  Revelation  was  written  and  got  its  name  from 
that  source.  It  is  always  called  in  the  Gospels  and  Epistles  the  "First 
Day  of  the  Week." 

It  is  hardly  likely  that  John  could  have  been  caught  up  as  Paul 
was  into  the  Third  Heaven  and  seen  and  heard  all  that  he  describes  in 
the  Book  of  Revelation  on  one  Sabbath  Day,  and  as  the  Book  from 
chapter  5  is  a  description  of  the  things  that  are  to  come  to  pass  in 
the  "DAY  OF  THE  LORD,"  what  better  understanding  of  the 
"LORD'S  DAY"  can  we  have  than  that  John  was  projected  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  across  the  centuries  into  the  "DAY  OF  THE  LORD" 
and  had  visualized  to  him  the  things  that  shall  come  to  pass  in  that 
day.  This  is  the  rational  solution  of  the  question.  See  the  Chart, 
John's  Patmos  Vision. 

When  John  thus  found  himself  in  the  "Day  of  the  Lord"  he 
heard  behind  him  a  great  voice,  as  of  a  trumpet,  which  said — "I  am 
Alpha  and  Omega,  the  First  and  the  Last,"  and  the  repetition  of  the 
statement  in  verses  17  and  18,  with  the  added  words — "I  am  He  that 
Liveth,  and  WAS  DEAD;  and  behold,  I  am  ALIVE  FOR  EVER- 
MORE, AMEN;  and  have  the  keys  of  Hell  (Hades,  the  Underworld), 
and  of  Death  (the  Grave),"  identifies  the  speaker  as  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  Himself.  John  had  his  back  turned  to  the  speaker,  and  when 
he  turned  around  he  saw  one  like  unto  the 

SON  OF  MAN 
standing  in  the  midst  of  "Seven  Candlesticks."  "LAMPSTANDS" 
is  a  better  translation  and  is  so  given  in  the  margin  of  our  Bibles. 
A  candlestick  requires  a  light  such  as  a  candle,  which  is  self-consum- 
ing, while  a  "Lampstand"  is  for  the  support  of  a  lamp  whose  wick 
instead  of  burning  away  is  fed  from  the  oil  within.  In  the  Scriptures 
oil  is  emblematic  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  as  Jesus  Himself  interprets 
the  "Lampstands"  as  meaning  the  Seven  Churches  to  whom  He  was 
about  to  send  messages,  we  see  that  Jesus  looks  upon  the  churches 
as  not  the  LIGHT,  but  simply  the  "LIGHT  HOLDER."  From  the 
fact  that  Jesus  speaks  of  "Stars"  and  "Lampstands"  it  is  clear  that 
we  are  living  in  the  NIGHT  of  this  Dispensation,  for  "stars"  and 
"lampstands"  belong  to  the  night. 

THE  VISION  OF  THE 
GLORIFIED  SON  OF  MAN. 

The  Vision  that  John  saw  was  that  of  the  GLORIFIED  "SON 
OF  MAN."  When  Jesus  ascended  He  took  up  with  Him  His 
HUMANITY,  and  we  now  have  in  the  Glory  the  MAN  Christ  Jesus. 
1.  Tim.  2:  5.  When  Jesus  was  on  the  earth  He  was,  as  the  "Son  of 
Man,"  a  PROPHET,  now  as  the  "Son  of  Man"  in  Glory  He  is  a 
Priest,  and  when  He  comes  again  it  will  be  as  the  "Son  of  Man"  to 
reign  as  KING. 

While  Jesus  is  now  a  High  Priest  in  heaven,  John  did  not  see 
Him  engaged  in  any  High  Priestly  work.  While  He  was  clothed 
in  a  High   Priestly  robe,  there  was  no  mitre   upon   His   head,   nor 


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THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU   HAST  SEEN.  U 

Khigly  Crown.  The  description  of  Him  is  more  that  of  a  JUDGE. 
This  is  confirmatory  evidence  that  John  was  transported  into  the 
"Day  of  the  Lord,"  and  that  his  vision  of  Christ  is  as  Christ  shall 
appear  after  His  High  Priestly  work  is  finished  and  before  He 
assumes  His  Kingly  Office.  This  is  seen  in  that  He  was  girded 
about  the  breasts,  and  not  around  the  waist.  The  High  Priest  was 
girded  around  the  waist,  signifying  service,  but  a  girdle  or  sash  over 
the  shoulder  and  around  the  breasts  is  an  insignia  of  the  Magis- 
terial Office.     This  is  still  further  revealed  when  we  study  the 

SEVENFOLD  GLORY  OF  HIS  PERSON. 

L     HIS  "HEAD  AND  HIS  HAIR." 

His  "Head"  and  "Hair"  were  "WHITE  LIKE  WOOL,"  as 
"WHITE  AS  SNOW."  Here  there  is  a  correspondence  to  the  "Snow 
White  Wig"  worn  by  English  judges.  This  description  of  Christ 
reminds  us  of  Daniel's  vision  of  the  "ANCIENT  OF  DAYS,"  "whose 
garment  was  white  as  snow,  and  the  hair  of  his  head  like  the  PURE 
WOOL."  Dan.  7:9.  Daniel  refers  three  times  to  the  "Ancient  Of 
Days."  In  Chap.  7:  13,  he  distinguishes  between  the  "Son  of  Man" 
and  the  "Ancient  of  Days,"  but  in  verses  9  and  22  he  associates  the 
"Ancient  of  Days"  with  a  "Throne  of  Judgment,"  and  as  God  the 
Father  has  committed  all  judgment  to  the  Son  (John  5:22),  and  the 
Father  and  the  Son  are  one,  the  title  "Ancient  Of  Days"  is  used 
interchangeably.  And  as  the  title  "Ancient  of  Days"  is  applied  to 
the  "Son  of  Man"  (Christ)  at  the  time  He  assumes  the  Judgeship 
(Dan.  7:9-10),  which  is  not  until  after  the  Rapture  of  the  Church, 
we  have  here  additional  corroborative  proof  that  John's  Vision 
belongs  to  the  "Day  of  the  Lord."  The  "White  Hair"  of  the  Son 
of  Man  refers  to  His  ANTIQUITY,  to  His  patriarchal  dignity,  not 
that  His  hair  was  made  white  by  age,  for  the  Eternal  never  grows 
old,  but  it  bespeaks  wisdom  and  experience,  and  the  venerableness 
of  His  character. 

2.  HIS  EYES. 

"His  Eyes  were  a  FLAME  OF  FIRE."  Those  eyes  that  had 
often  been  dimmed  with  human  tears,  and  that  wept  at  the  grave  of 
Lazarus,  are  here  pictured  as  burning  with  an  "OMNISCIENT 
FLAME."  How  often  when  on  the  earth  those  eyes  read  the  inner- 
most thoughts  of  men,  and  even  soldiers  quailed  before  His  soul  pene- 
trating gaze,  so  when  He  sits  as  the  Judge  of  men  all  things  will  be 
NAKED  and  OPEN  before  Him. 

3.  HIS  FEET. 

"His  Feet  like  unto  fine  BRASS,  as  if  they  BURNED  IN  A 
FURNACE."  In  that  day  those  feet  that  trod  the  Via  Dolorosa  of 
suffering  will  be  like  unto  INCANDESCENT  BRASS,  that  shall 
tread  and  crush  Antichrist  and  Satan  when  He  comes  to  "Tread  the 
WINE-PRESS  of  the  fierceness  and  wrath  of  Almighty  God."  Rev. 
19:15. 

4.  HIS  VOICE. 

"His  Voice  as  the  SOUND  OF  MANY  WATERS."  There  is 
nothing  more  melodious  or  musical  than  the  babbling  brook,  or  more 


12  THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU   HAST   SEEN. 

thunderous  than  the  rush  of  the  cataract  over  the  falls,  and  there  is 
nothing  more  fearful  to  the  criminal  than  the  words  of  the  Judg^ 
as  he  passes  sentence;  but  how  terrifying  will  be  the  sentence  when 
with  a  strong  voice  the  Son  of  Man  shall  say  in  the  Judgment  Day, 
"Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the 
Devil  and  his  angels."    Matt.  25 :  41. 

5.  HIS  HAND. 

"In  His  Right  Hand  SEVEN  STARS." 

We  are  told  in  verse  20,  that  the  "Seven  Stars"  stand  for  the 
"ANGELS"  of  the  "Seven  Churches."  These  "Angels"  are  not 
angelic  beings  but  the  Messengers  or  Ministers  of  the  churches. 
What  a  beautiful  and  solemn  lesson  is  taught  here.  It  is  that  the 
ministers  of  Christ  derive  their  power  and  office  from  Him,  and  that 
He  holds  them  in  His  hand.  If  they  are  false  to  Him,  no  one  can 
deliver  them  from  His  power,  and  if  they  are  true  and  loyal,  no  one 
can  touch  or  molest,  or  do  them  harm. 

6.  HIS  MOUTH. 

"Out  of  His  Mouth  went  a  SHARP  TWO-EDGED  SWORD." 
While  the  "Sword  of  the  Spirit"  is  the  "Word  of  God"  (Eph.  6: 17), 
and  the  "Word  of  God"  is  quick,  and  powerful,  and  sharper  than  any 
TWO-EDGED  SWORD,  piercing  even  to  the  dividing  asunder  of 
soul  and  spirit,  and  of  the  joints  and  marrow  (the  body),  (Heb. 
4: 12),  that  is  not  the  sword  meant  here. 

The  "Sword  of  the  Spirit"  is  the  Holy  Spirit's  SWORD,  and 
He  alone  wields  it.  The  sword  meant  here  is  the  Sword  of  the  Son 
of  Man  (Christ),  and  it  is  the  "SWORD  OF  JUSTICE,"  for  the 
Son  of  Man,  out  of  whose  mouth  this  sword  comes,  is  the  "White 
Horse  Rider"  of  Rev.  19: 11-15,  "out  of  whose  mouth  goeth  a  SHARP 
SWORD,  that  with  it  He  should  smite  the  nations."  And  that 
sword,  like  the  "Sword  of  the  Spirit"  will  be  TWO-EDGED  also,  for 
the  protection  of  His  people,  and  the  destruction  of  His  enemies. 
This  is  still  further  proof  that  John's  vision  of  Christ  was  as  He 
shall  appear  in  the  "DAY  OF  THE  LORD." 

7.  HIS  COUNTENANCE. 

"His  Countenance  was  as  the  SUN  SHINETH  IN  HIS 
STRENGTH."  This  recalls  to  our  memory  His  appearance  on  the 
Mount  of  Transfiguration  when  "His  Face  did  shine  AS  THE  SUN," 
Matt.  17 : 2.  And  we  read  of  the  New  Jerusalem  that  the  inhabitants 
thereof  have  no  need  of  the  SUN,  for  the  LAMB  is  the  Light 
thereof.  Rev.  21:23.  And  when  we  recall  that  the  Prophet  Mala- 
chi  tells  us  that  when  Jesus  comes  back  He  will  be  the  SUN  OF 
RIGHTEOUSNESS  (Malachi  4:2),  we  see  that  John's  vision  of  the 
Son  of  Man  was  as  He  shall  appear  at  the  Second  Stage  of  His 
Return,  the  "Revelation."  Thus  we  have  in  John's  "Seven-Fold" 
description  of  the  person  of  the  "Glorified  Son  of  Man"  circumstantial 
or  indirect  evidence  that  John  saw  his  vision  of  the  Son  of  Man,  not 
on  a  Sabbath  Day  (or  the  "Lord's  Day"  as  we  now  call  it),  but  was 
projected  by  the  Holy  Spirit  forward  into  the  "Day  of  the  Lord"  and 
saw  Him  as  He  will  appear  then  as  the  Judge,  and  the  coming 
"SUN  OF  RIGHTEOUSNESS." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU  HAST   SEEN.  13 

The  "Key"  to  the  Book. 

The  "Key"  to  the  Book  is  its 

"THREE-FOLD  DIVISION." 

Rev.  1:19 

1.  The  Things  Which  Thou  Hast  "SEEN." 

2.  The  Things  Which  "ARE." 

3.  The  Things  Which  "SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER." 

This  is  the  only  book  in  the  Bible  where  the  Divisions  are  given, 
and  they  are  here  given  by  Christ  Himself. 

1.  The  Things  Which  Thou  Hast  "SEEN." 

The  Vision  of  the  Son  of  Man  in  the  midst  of  the  "Seven  Lamp- 
stands."    Rev.  1 :  10-20. 

2.  The  Things  Which  "ARE." 

The  Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches,  Rev.  2 :  1-3 ;  22.  As  these 
Messages  were  to  seven  churches  that  were  in  existence  in  John's 
day,  and  to  whom  he  personally  wrote,  the  advocates  of  the  theory 
that  John  was  in  the  Spirit  on  a  certain  Sabbath  or  "Lord's  Day," 
naturally  claim  that  John  at  that  time  could  not  have  been  trans- 
ported into  the  "Day  of  the  Lord."  But  that  does  not  necessarily 
follow.  As  we  now  know  (see  exposition  of  chapters  2  and  3)  those 
Churches  were  REPRESENTATIVE  CHURCHES,  and  were  typ- 
ical of  seven  well  defined  periods  in  Church  History,  that  could  not 
be  so  understood  until  the  history  of  the  Christian  Church  would  be 
complete,  and  that  will  not  be  until  the  "Day  of  the  Lord,"  so  John 
could  have  been  projected  in  vision  by  the  Spirit  into  the  "Day  of 
the  Lord,"  and  after  his  Vision  of  the  Glorified  Son  of  Man,  the 
"Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches"  were  dictated  to  him  by  the  Son 
of  Man  Himself,  that  John  when  he  recovered  from  his  vision  and 
found  himself  back  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos  could  send  them  to  the 
churches. 

3.  The  Things  Which  "SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER." 
Literally — "after  these."     In   other   words   the   "Things"   which 

shall  come  to  pass  after  the  "Church  Period"  ends. 
The  Book  naturally  divides  into 

Seven  Sevens. 

I.  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES.     Rev.  2:1-3: 22. 

II.  THE  SEVEN  SEALS.    Rev.  6:1-8:5. 

III.  THE  SEVEN  TRUMPETS.     Rev.  8:  7-11 :  19. 

IV.  THE  SEVEN  PERSONAGES.    Rev.  12:1-13:18. 
V.  THE  SEVEN  VIALS.     Rev.  15  :  1-16:  21. 

VI.    THE  SEVEN  DOOMS.    Rev.  17:1-20:15. 
VII.    THE  SEVEN  NEW  THINGS.     Rev.  21 :  1-22:  5. 

Between  these  series  of  "Sevens,"  and  between  some  of  the  parts 
of  a  series  there  are  Parenthetical  Statements  and  Episodes  or  Inter- 
vals, as  seen  in  the  following  Table  of  Contents. 


14  THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU  HAST  SEEN. 

Table  of  Contents 

The  Title— Rev.  1 : 1-3. 

The  Salutation— Rev.  1 : 4-6. 

The  Announcement — Rev.  1 : 7. 

The  Testimony  Of  The  Almighty— Rev.  1 : 8. 

I. 

"THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU   HAST   SEEN/* 

The  Vision  Of  The  Son  of  Man— Rev.  1 :  9-20. 

II. 

"THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE." 

The  Messages  To  The  Seven  Churches— Rev.  2:1-3:22. 

III. 
"THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER." 

1.  The  Heavenly  Door.     Rev.  4:1. 

2.  The  Heavenly  Throne.    Rev.  4:2-3,  5-6. 

3.  The  Four  And  Twenty  Elders.     Rev.  4:4. 

4.  The  Four  Beasts.    Rev.  4:6-11. 

5.  The  Seven  Sealed  Book.     Rev.  5 :  1-14. 

Daniel's  Seventieth  Week 

1.    THE  SEVEN  SEALS. 

FrasT  Seal — A  White  Horse.     Rev.  6:  1-2. 
Second  Seal — A  Red  Horse.     Rev.  6:3-4. 
Third  Seal— A  Black  Horse.     Rev.  6:5-5. 
Fourth  Seal— A  Pale  Horse.     Rev.  6 :  7-S. 
Fifth  Seal— Souls  of  Martyrs.     Rev.  6:9-11, 
Sixth  Seal — Physical  Changes.     Rev.  6:  12-17. 


INTERVAL 
Between  The  Sixth  And  Seventh  Seals 

(1)  Sealing  of  144,000.    Rev.  7:1-8. 

(2)  Blood  Washed  Multitude.    Rev.  7:9-17. 


Seventh  Seal — Silence.     Rev.  8:1. 

Golden  Censer.     Rev.  8 :  3-5. 

2.    THE  SEVEN  TRUMPETS. 

First  Trumpet.     Hail — Fire — Blood.     Rev.  8:7. 
Second  Trumpet.    Burning  Mountain.     Rev.  8:8-9. 
Third  Trumpet.    Star  Wormwood,     Rev.  8:10-11. 
Fourth  Trumpet.    Sun— Moon — Stars  Smitten.     Rev.  8 :  12. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU  HAST  SEEN.  15 

The  Angel  Warning 

"Three  Woes"  Announced.    Rev.  8 :  13. 

Fifth  Trumpet. 

First  Woe — Plague  of  Locusts.     Rev.  9 : 1-12. 

Sixth  Trumpet. 

Second  Woe— Plague  of  Horseman.     Rev.  9:13-21. 


INTERVAL 
Between   The    Sixth    And    Seventh    Trumpets 

(1)  Little  Book.     Rev.  10:1-11. 

(2)  Two  Witnesses.     Rev.  11:1-14. 


Seventh  Trumpet. 

Third  Woe — Cover  Remainder  of  the  Week. 
And  Includes  the  "Seven  Personages" 
The  "Seven  Vials"  and  "Four  Dooms." 
Rev.  11:15-20:10. 

THE  MIDDLE  OF  THE  WEEK. 

3.  THE  SEVEN  PERSONAGES. 

First  Per.    The  Sun-Clothed  Women.    Rev.  12 : 1-2. 
Secx)ND  Per.    The  Dragon.     Rev.  12 : 3-4. 
Third  Per.    The  Man-Child.     Rev.  12 :  5-6. 
Fourth  Per.    The  Archangel.     Rev.  12:7-12. 
Fifth  Per.    The  Jewish  Remnant.     Rev.  12:13-17. 
Sixth  Per.     The  Beast  Out  of  the  Sea.     Rev.  13 :  1-10. 
Seven  Per.    The  Beast  Out  of  the  Earth.     Rev.  13: 11-18. 


INTERVAL 

Between  The  "Seven  Personages'* 

And  The  "Seven  Vials." 

(1).  The  Lamb  On  Mt.  Zion.     Rev.  14:1-5. 

(2).  The  Three  Angel  Messengers.     Rev.  14:6-7. 

(3).  The  Blessed  Dead.     Rev.  14:  12-13. 

(4).  The  Harvest  And  Vintage.     Rev.  14:14-20. 


THE  SEVEN  VIALS. 

Prelude.     Rev.  15:1. 

(1).     The  Sea  Of  Glass.     Rev.  15:2-4. 

(2.)     The  Tabernacle  Of  Testimony.     Rev.  15  :  5-8. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  THOU  HAST  SEEN. 

FmsT  Vial.    Boils.     Rev.  16:1-2. 

Second  Vial.     Blood  On  The  Sea.    Rev.  16 :  3. 

Third  Vial.     Blood  On  The  Rivers.     Rev.  16:4-7. 

Fourth  Vial.     Great  Heat.     Rev.  16:8-9. 

Fifth  Vial.     Darkness.     Rev.  16:10-11. 

Sixth  Vial.     Euphrates  Dried  Up.     Rev.  16 :  12. 


INTERVAL 
Between  The  Sixth  And  Seventh  Vials 
Three  Unclean  Spirits.     Rev.  16:  13-16. 


Seventh  Vial.     Great  HaiL     Rev.  16:17-21. 

5.    THE  SEVEN  DOOMS. 

First  Doom — Ecclesiastical  Babylon.     Rev.  17:1-18. 
Second  Doom — Commercial  Babylon.     Rev.  18:1-24. 


INTERVAL 
Between  The  Second  And  Third  Dooms. 
(1).    The  Hallelujah  Chorus.     Rev.  19:1-7. 
(2).    The  Marriage  Of  The  Lamb.     Rev.  19:8-10. 
(3).     The  Battle  Of  Armageddon.     Rev.  19:11-21. 


Third  Doom — The  Antichrist  And  The  False  Prophet. 

Rev.  19:  20. 
Fourth  Doom — The  Antichristian  Nations.    Rev.  19:21. 


INTERVAL 
Between  The  Fourth  And  Fifth  Dooms 
(1).     Satan  Bound.     Rev.  20:1-3. 
(2).     First  Resurrection.     Rev.  20:4-5. 
(3).    The  Millennium.     Rev.  20:6. 
(4).     Satan  Loosed.     Rev.  20:7. 

Fifth  Doom — Gog  and  Magog.    Rev.  20:8-9. 

Sixth  Doom— Satan.    Rev.  20 :  10. 

Seventh  Doom— The  Wicked  Dead.    Rev.  20: 11-15. 

THE  SEVEN  NEW  THINGS. 

First  New  Thing — The  New  Heaven.    Rev.  21 : 1. 
Second  New  Thing— The  New  Earth.     Rev.  21:2-8. 
Third  New  Thing— The  New  City.     Rev.  21 : 9-23. 
Fourth  New  Thing — The  New  Nations.     Rev.  21:24-27. 
Fifth  New  Thing — The  New  River.     Rev.  22:1. 
Sixth  New  Thing— The  New  Tree.     Rev.  22:2. 
Seventh  New  Thing — The  New  Throne.     Rev.  22 :  3-5. 

The  Final  Testimony  And  Warnings.    Rev.  22: 6-21. 


II 

The  Things  Which  Are 


n.  The  Things  Which  Are 


THE  MESSAGES  TO  THE  SEVEN  CHURCHES. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  "Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches" 
are  inserted  between  Two  Visions,  the  "Vision  of  Christ"  in  the  midst 
of  the  "Seven  Lampstands"  in  chapter  one  and  the  "Vision  of  the  Four 
and  Twenty  Elders"  round  about  the  Throne,  in  chapter  four. 

As  chapter  four  is  a  vision  of  the  "Glorified  Church"  with  the 
Lord,  after  it  has  been  caught  out  (1  Thess.  4:  13-17),  then  the  Sec- 
ond Division  of  the  Book — 

"The  Things  Which  Are," 
and  which  includes  chapters  two  and  three,  must  be  a  description  or 
prophetic  outline  of  the  "Spiritual  History"  of  the  Church  from  the 
time  when  John  wrote  the  Book  in  A.  D.  96,  down  to  the  taking  out 
of  the  Church,  or  else  we  have  no  "prophetic  view"  of  the  Church 
during  that  period,  for  she  disappears  from  the  earth  at  the  close  of 
chapter  three,  and  is  not  seen  again  until  she  reappears  with  her  Lord 
in  chapter  nineteen.  This  we  shall  find  to  be  the  case.  See  Chart 
of  the  Book  of  Revelation. 

This  interpretation  of  the  "Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches"  was 
hidden  to  the  early  Church,  because  time  was  required  for  Church 
History  to  develop  and  be  written,  so  a  comparison  could  be  made  to 
reveal  the  correspondence.  If  it  had  been  clearly  revealed  that  the 
Seven  Churches  stood  for  "Seven  Church  Periods"  that  would  have 
to  elapse  before  Christ  could  come  back,  the  incentive  to  watch  would 
have  been  absent. 

While  the  character  of  these  Seven  Churches  is  descriptive  of  the 
Church  during  seven  periods  of  her  history,  we  must  not  forget  that 
the  condition  of  those  churches,  as  described,  were  their  exact  condi- 
tion in  John's  day.  So  we  see  that  at  the  close  of  the  First  Century 
the  leaven  of  "False  Doctrine"  was  at  work  in  the  Churches.  The 
churches  are  given  in  the  order  named,  because  the  peculiar  character- 
istic of  that  Church  applied  to  the  period  of  Church  History  to  which 
it  is  assigned.  It  also  must  not  be  forgotten,  that,  that  which  is  a  dis- 
tinctive characteristic  of  each  Church  Period,  does  not  disappear  with 
that  Period,  but  continues  on  down  through  the  next  Period,  and  so 
on  until  the  end,  thus  increasing  the  imperfections  of  the  visible 
Church,  until  it  ends  in  an  open  Apostasy,  as  shown  on  the  chart — 
"The  Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches  Compared  with  Church 
History." 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  "Salutation"  to  each  Church  contains 
a  reference  to  some  characteristic  of  the  Son  of  Man  as  described  in 
chapter  one.     We  will  now  consider  each  message  separately. 


XmiJS  AIOH  JO  1M33S30 
NOISN30SV 


20  THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE. 

I.     THE  CHURCH  AT  EPHESUS. 
(A  Backslidden  Church.) 

Rev.  2:1-7. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "Unto  the  Angel  of  the  Church 
of  Ephesus  write;  these  things  saith  He  that  holdeth  the  'Seven 
Stars'  in  His  right  hand,  who  walketh  in  the  midst  o£  the  'Seven 
Golden  Candlesticks'." 

2.  THE  COMMENDATION— "I  know  thy  works,  and  thy 
labor,  and  thy  patience,  and  how  thou  canst  not  bear  them  which 
are  evil;  and  thou  hast  tried  them  which  say  they  are  Apostles, 
and  are  not,  and  hast  found  them  liars;  and  hast  borne,  and  hast 
patience,  and  for  My  Name's  Sake  hast  labored,  and  hast  not 
fainted." 

3.  THE  COMPLAINT— "Nevertheless  I  have  somewhat 
against  thee,  because  thou  Hast  Left  Thy  First  Love." 

4.  THE  WARNING— "Remember  therefore  from  whence 
thou  art  fallen,  and  repent,  and  do  the  first  works;  or  else  I  will 
come  unto  thee  quickly,  and  will  remove  thy  CANDLESTICK 
out  of  his  place,  except  thou  repent." 

5.  PRAISE— "But  this  thou  hast,  that  thou  hatest  the  deeds 
of  the  Nicolaitanes,  which  I  also  hate." 

6.  THE  PROMISE— "He  that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear 
what  the  SPIRIT  saith  unto  the  Churches:  To  him  that  over- 
cometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  TREE  OF  LIFE,  which  is  in 
the  midst  of  the  Paradise  of  God." 

The  complaint  that  Christ  makes  against  this  Church  is  that  it 
"had  left  its  First  Love."  Its  character  is  seen  in  its  very  name,  for 
Ephesus  means  to  "let  go,"  "to  relax."  It  had  become  a  Backslidden 
Church.  Paul,  who  founded  it,  warned  it  of  what  should  happen,  in 
his  parting  message. 

"I  know  this,  that  after  my  departing  shall  grievous 
'wolves'  enter  in  among  you,  not  sparing  the  flock.    Also 
of  your  own  selves   shall   men  arise,   'speaking  perverse 
things,'   to  draw  away   disciples   after  them."     Acts   20: 
29,  30. 
The  significance  of  this  warning  is  seen  in  the  commendation  of 
the  Message,  vs.  6 — "But  this  thou  hast,  that  thou  'hatest'  the  deeds 
of  the  Nicolaitanes  which  I  also  hate."     Here  Paul's  "wolves"  are 
called  Nicolaitanes.    They  were  not  a  sect,  but  a  party  in  the  Church 
who  were  trying  to  establish  a  "Priestly  Order."     Probably  trying  to 
model  the  Church  after  the  Old  Testament  order  of  Priests,  Levites, 
and  common  people.    This  is  seen  in  the  meaning  of  the  word,  which 
is  from  "Niko"  to  conquer,  to  overthrow,  and  "Laos"  the  people  or 
laity.    The  object  was  to  establish  a  "Holy  Order  of  Men,"  and  place 
them  over  the  laity,  which  was  foreign  to  the  New  Testament  plan, 
and  call  them  not  pastors,  but — Clergy,  Bishops,  Archbishops,  Cardi- 
nals, Popes.     Here  we  have  the  origin  of  the  dogma  of  "Apostolic 
Succession,"  and  the  separation  of  the  Clergy  from  the  Laity,  a  thing 
that  God  "hates."     The  Church  at  Ephesus  was  not  deceived,  but 
recognized  them  as  false  apostles  and  liars. 

The  character  of  the  Church  at  Ephesus  is  a  fair  outline  of  the 
Church  Period  from  A.  D.  70  to  A.  D.  170. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE.  21 

11.     THE  CHURCH  AT  SMYRNA. 

(A  Persecuted  Church.) 

Rev.  2:8-11. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  unto  the  Angel  of  the 
Church  in  Smyrna  write;  These  things  saith  the  First  and  the 
Last,  who  was  dead,  and  is  alive." 

2.  THE  PERSECUTION— "I  know  thy  works,  and 
TRIBULATION,  and  poverty,  (but  thou  art  rich),  and  I  know 
the  blasphemy  of  them  which  say,  they  are  Jews,  and  are  not, 
but  are  the  'Synagogue  of  Satan'." 

3.  THE  EXHORTATION— "Fear  none  of  those  things 
which  thou  shalt  suffer:  behold  the  Devil  shall  cast  some  of  you 
into  prison,  that  ye  may  be  tried;  and  ye  shall  have  TRIBU- 
LATION ten  days:  be  thou  faithful  UNTO  death,  and  I  will 
give  thee  a  CROWN  OF  LIFE." 

4.  THE  PROMISE— "He  that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear 
what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the  Churches:  He  that  overcometh 
shall  not  be  hurt  of  the  SECOND  DEATH." 

The  Church  in  its  "Ephesian  Period"  having  lost  its  "First  Love," 
ihe  Lord  is  now  about  to  "chastise"  it,  so  as  to  cause  it  to  return  to 
Him.  Smyrna  has  for  its  root  meaning  "bitterness,"  and  means 
"Myrrh,"  an  ointment  associated  with  death,  and  we  see  in  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  a  prophecy  of  the  persecution  and  death  which  was 
to  befall  the  members  of  the  Smyrna  Church.  They  were  told  not  to 
"fear"  the  things  that  they  should  be  called  on  to  suffer,  but  to  be 
faithful  "unto"  death,  not  "until"  death.  That  is,  not  until  the  end 
of  their  "natural"  life.  They  were  not  to  "recant"  when  called  upon  to 
face  a  Martyr's  death,  but  remain  faithful  until  death  relieved  them  of 
their  suffering.  The  reward  would  be  a  "Crown  of  Life."  This  is 
the  Martyr's  crown. 

They  were  told  that  the  "author"  of  their  suffering  would  be  the 
Devil,  and  its  duration  would  be  "ten  days,"  which  was  doubtless  a 
prophetic  reference  to  the  "Ten  Great  Persecutions"  under  the  Roman 
Emperors,  beginning  with  Nero,  A.  D.  64,  and  ending  with  Diocletian 
in  A.  D.  310.  Seven  of  these  "Great  Persecutions"  occurred  during 
this  "Smyrna  Period"  of  Church  History.  Or  it  may  refer  to  the  10 
years  of  the  last  and  fiercest  persecution  under  Diocletian.  This 
Period  extended  from  A.  D.  170  to  Constantine  A.  D.  312. 

See  the  Judgment  of  Reward  Chart. 

III.    THE  CHURCH  AT  PERGAMOS. 
(A  Licentious  Church.) 

Rev.  2:12-17. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  to  the  Angel  of  the  Church 
in  Pergamos  write:  These  things  saith  He  which  hath  the  Sharp 
Sword  with  two  edges. 

2.  THE  COMMENDATION-"!  know  thy  works,  and 
where  thd^  dwellest,  even  where  SATAN'S  SEAT  IS:  and  thou 
boldest  fast  My  Name,  and  hast  not  denied  My  Faith,  even  in 
those  days  wherein  Antipas  was  My  faithful  martyr,  who  was 
slain  among  you,  where   Satan  dwelleth. 

3.  THE    COMPLAINT-"But    I    have    a    few   things    against      - 
thee,   because   thou   hast  there   them   that   hold   the   DOCTRINE 


22  THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE. 

OF  BALAAM,  who  taught  Balak  to  cast  a  stumbling  block 
before  the  Children  of  Israel,  to  eat  things  sacrificed  unto  idols, 
and  to  conunit  fornication.  So  hast  thou  also  them  thjrt  hold 
the  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  NICOLAITANES,  which  thing  I 
hate. 

4.  THE  WARNING— "Repent!  or  else  I  will  come  unto  thee 
quickly,  and  will  fight  against  them  with  the  SWORD  OF  MY 
MOUTH. 

5.  THE  PROMISE— "He  that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear 
what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the  Churches;  To  him  that  overcom- 
eth  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  HIDDEN  MANNA,  and  will  give 
him  a  WHITE  STONE,  and  in  the  stone  a  NEW  NAME  writ- 
ten, which  no  man  knoweth  saving  he  that  receiveth  it." 

In  this  Message  Pergamos  is  spoken  of  as  "Satan's  Seat."  When 
Attalus  III,  the  Priest-King  of  the  Chaldean  Hierarchy,  fled  before 
the  conquering  Persians  to  Pergamos,  and  settled  there,  Satan  shifted 
his  capital  from  Babylon  to  Pergamos.  At  first  he  persecuted  the  fol- 
lowers of  Christ,  and  Antipas  was  one  of  the  martyrs.  But  soon  he 
changed  his  tactics  and  began  to  exalt  the  Church,  and  through  Con- 
stantine  united  the  Church  and  State,  and  oflFered  all  kinds  of  induce- 
ments for  worldly  people  to  come  into  the  Church.  Constantine's 
motive  was  more  political  than  religious.  He  wished  to  weld  his 
Christian  and  Pagan  subjects  into  one  people,  and  so  consolidate  his 
Empire.  The  result  of  this  union  was  that  two  false  and  pernicious 
doctrines  crept  into  the  Church.  The  first  was  the  "Doctrine  of 
Balaam,"  and  the  second  the  "Doctrine  of  the  Nicolaitanes."  The 
latter  we  have  already  considered  under  the  Messagfe  to  the  Church  at 
Ephesus.  And  the  foothold  it  had  secured  in  the  Church  was  seen  in 
the  First  Great  Council  of  the  Church  held  at  Nicaea,  in  A.  D.  325. 
The  Council  was  composed  of  about  1500  delegates,  the  laymen  out- 
numbering the  Bishops  5  to  1.  It  was  a  stormy  council,  full  of 
intrigue  and  political  methods,  and  from  the  supremacy  of  the 
"Clergy"  over  the  "Laity"  it  was  evident  that  the  "Doctrine  of  the 
Nicolaitanes"  had  secured  a  strong  and  permanent  foothold. 

The  "Doctrine  of  Balaam"  is  disclosed  in  the  story  of  Balaam 
found  in  the  Book  of  Numbers,  chapters  22  to  25  inclusive.  When  the 
Children  of  Israel  on  their  way  to  Canaan  had  reached  the  land  of 
Moab,  Balak  the  king  of  Moab  sent  for  Balaam  the  Son  of  Beor,  who 
lived  at  Pethor  on  the  river  Euphrates,  to  come  and  curse  them. 
When  the  Lord  would  not  permit  Balaam  to  curse  Israel,  he  sug- 
gested to  Balak  that  he  invite  them  to  the  licentious  feasts  of  "Baal- 
Peor,"  and  thus  cause  Israel  to  fall  into  a  snare  that  would  so  anger 
the  Lord  that  he  would  Himself  destroy  them.  This  Balak  did,  and 
the  result  was  that  when  the  men  of  Israel  went  to  those  sensual 
feasts  and  saw  the  "daughters  of  Moab"  they  committed  whoredoms 
with  them,  which  so  kindled  God's  anger  that  He  sent  a  plague  that 
destroyed"  42,000  of  them.  Now  the  word  "Pergamos"  means  "Mar- 
riage," and  when  the  Church  entered  into  a  union  with  the  State  it 
was  guilty  of  "Spiritual  Fornication"  or  "Balaamism." 

The  "Balaam  Method"  that  Constantine  employed  was  to  give  to 
the  Bishops  of  the  Church  a  number  of  imposing  buildings  called 
Basilicas  for  conversion  into  churches,  for  whose  decoration  he  wa« 
lavish  in  the  gift  of  money.     He  also  supplied  superb  vestments  fci 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE.  23 

the  clergy,  and  soon  the  Bishop  found  himself  clad  in  costly  vest- 
ments, seated  on  a  lofty  throne  in  the  apse  of  the  Basilica,  with  a 
marble  altar,  adorned  with  gold  and  gems,  on  a  lower  level  in  front 
of  him.  A  sensuous  form  of  worship  was  introduced,  the  character 
of  the  preaching  was  changed,  and  the  great  "Pagan  Festivals"  were 
adopted,  with  but  little  alteration,  to  please  the  Pagan  members  of 
the  church,  and  attract  Pagans  to  the  church.  For  illustration,  as  the 
Winter  Solstice  falls  on  the  21st  day  of  December,  which  is  the  short- 
est day  in  the  year,  and  it  is  not  until  the  25th  that  the  day  begins 
to  lengthen,  which  day  was  regarded  throughout  the  Heathen  woild 
as  the  "birthday"  of  the  "Sun-God,"  and  was  a  high  festival,  which 
was  celebrated  at  Rome  by  the  "Great  Games"  of  the  Circus,  it  was 
found  advisable  to  change  the  Birthday  of  the  Son  of  God,  from  April, 
at  which  time  He  was  probably  born,  to  December  25th,  because  as 
He  was  the  "Sun  of  Righteousness,"  what  more  appropriate  birth- 
day could  He  have  than  the  birthday  of  the  Pagan  "Sun-God"? 
It  was  at  this  time  that 

"Post-Millennial  Views" 
had  their  origin.  As  the  Church  had  become  rich  and  powerful,  it 
was  suggested  that  by  the  union  of  Church  and  State  a  condition  of 
aflFairs  would  develop  that  would  usher  in  the  Millennium  without  the 
return  of  Christ,  and  since  some  scriptural  support  was  needed  for 
such  a  doctrine,  it  was  claimed  that  the  Jews  had  been  cast  off  "for- 
ever," and  that  all  the  prophecies  of  Israel's  future  glory  were 
intended  for  the  Church.  This  "Period"  extends  from  the  accession 
of  Constantine  A.  D.  312  to  A,  D.  606,  when  Boniface  III  was 
crowned  "Universal  Bishop." 


IV.     THE  CHURCH  AT  THYATIRA. 

(A  Lax  Church.) 

Rev.  2 :  18-29. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  unto  the  Angel  of  the 
Church  in  Thyatira  write:  These  things  saith  the  Son  of  God, 
who  hath  His  eyes  like  unto  a  flame  of  fire,  and  His  feet  are 
like  fine  brass. 

2.  THE  COMMENDATION— "I  know  thy  works,  and 
charity,  and  service,  and  faith,  and  thy  patience,  and  thy  works; 
and  the  last  to  be  more  than  the  first. 

3.  THE  COMPLAINT— "Notwithstanding  I  have  a  few 
things  against  thee,  because  thou  sufferest  that  woman  JEZEBEL, 
which  calleth  herself  a  Prophetess,  to  teach  and  to  seduce  my  ser- 
vants to  commit  fornication,  and  to  eat  things  sacrificed  unto 
idols.  And  I  gave  her  space  to  repent  of  her  fornication:  and 
she  repented  not.  Behold,  I  will  cast  her  into  a  bed,  and  them 
that  commit  adultery  with  her  into  great  tribulation,  except  they 
repent  of  their  deeds.  And  I  will  kill  her  children  with  death; 
and  all  the  churches  shall  know  that  I  am  He  which  searcheth 
the  reins  and  hearts:  and  I  will  give  unto  every  one  of  you  accord- 
ing to  your  works." 

4.  THE  PROMISE— "But  unto  you  I  say,  and  unto  the 
rest  in  Thyatira,  as  many  as  have  not  this  doctrine,  and  which 
have  not  known  the  depths  of  Satan,  as  they  speak;  I  will  put 
upon  you  none  other  burden.     But  that  which  ye  have  already. 


24  THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE. 

hold  fast  till  I  come.  And  he  that  overcometh,  and  keepeth  my 
works  unto  the  end,  to  him  will  I  give  power  over  the  nations: 
and  he  shall  rule  them  with  a  rod  of  iron;  as  the  vessels  of  a  potter 
shall  they  be  broken  to  shivers:  even  as  I  received  of  My  Father. 
Amd  I  will  give  him  the  MORNING  STAR.  He  that  hath  an 
ear,  let  him  hear  what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the  Churches." 

In  His  commendation  of  this  Church,  Christ  lays  the  emphasis  on 
their  "works,"  as  if  they  depended  on  them,  and  claimed  they  de- 
served merit  for  "works"  of  "Supererogation."  But  He  had  a  com- 
plaint to  make  against  them  that  was  terrible  in  its  awfulness.  He 
charges  them  not  merely  with  permitting  a  bad  woman,  Jezebel,  who 
called  herself  a  "Prophetess,"  to  remain  in  the  Church,  but  with  per- 
mitting her  to  "teach"  her  pernicious  doctrines,  and  to  "seduce"  the 
servants  to  "commit  fornication,"  and  to  "eat  things  sacrificed  to 
idols." 

Who  this  woman  was  is  a  question.  She  was  a  "pretender,"  and 
called  herself  a  "prophetess."  Probably  she  was  of  noble  lineage.  She 
certainly  was  a  woman  of  commanding  influence.  Whether  her  real 
name  was  Jezebel  or  not,  she  was  so  like  her  prototype  in  the  Old 
Testament,  Jezebel  the  wife  of  Ahab,  that  Christ  called  her  by  that 
name.  Jezebel,  the  wife  of  Ahab,  was  not  by  birth  a  daughter  of 
Abraham,  but  a  princess  of  idolatrous  Tyre,  at  a  time,  too,  when  its 
royal  family  was  famed  for  cruel  savagery  and  intense  devotion  to 
Baal  and  Astarte.  Her  father,  Eth-baal,  a  priest  of  the  latter  deity, 
murdered  the  reigning  monarch  Phales,  and  succeeded  him.  Ahab, 
king  of  Israel,  to  strengthen  his  kingdom,  married  Jezebel,  and  she, 
aided  and  abetted  by  Ahab,  introduced  the  licentious  worship  of  Baal 
into  Israel,  and  killed  all  the  prophets  of  the  Lord  she  could  lay  her 
hands  on.  And  this  influence  she  exercised,  not  only  while  her  hus- 
band was  alive,  but  also  during  the  reign  of  her  two  sons,  Ahaziah 
and  Jehoram.  Moreover,  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  Athaliah  to 
Jehoram,  son  of  Jehoshaphat,  king  of  Judah,  introduced  idolatrous 
worship  into  Judah,  and  it  was  not  long  before  there  was  a  house  of 
Baal  built  in  Jerusalem,  and  so  Jezebel  caused  all  Israel  to  sin  after 
the  sin  of  Jeroboam  the  son  of  Nebat.     1  Kings  16 :  29-33. 

There  is  no  question  that,  whether  Jezebel  was  a  real  person  or 
not,  she  typified  a  "System"  and-  that  "System"  was  the  "Papal 
Church."  When  the  "Papal  Church"  introduced  images  and  pictures 
into  its  churches  for  the  people  to  bow  down  to  it  became  idolatrous. 
And  when  it  set  up  its  claim  that  the  teaching  of  the  Church  is  su- 
perior to  the  Word  of  God,  it  assumed  the  role  of  "Prophetess."  A 
careful  study  of  the  "Papal  System"  from  A.  D.  606  to  the  Reforma- 
tion A.  D.  1520,  with  its  institution  of  the  "Sacrifice  of  the  Mass"  and 
other  Pagan  rites,  reveals  in  it  the  sway  of  "Jezebelism."  It  was  also 
a  period  of  "Jezebelistic  Persecution,"  as  seen  in  the  wars  of  the  Cru- 
sades, and  the  rise  of  the  Inquisition.  A  careful  comparison  of  this 
"Message"  with  the  Parable  of  "The  Leaven"  will  reveal  the  won- 
derful correspondence  between  the  two,  the  "Jezebel"  of  the  Church 
of  Thyatira,  being  the  "Woman"  of  the  Parable,  who  inserted  the 
"Leaven"  of  "False  Doctrine"  into  the  Meal  of  the  Gospel.  This 
Period  extended  from  A.  D.  606  to  the  Reformation  A.  D.  1520. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE.  25 

V.    THE  CHURCH  AT  SARDIS. 

(A  Dead  Church.) 

Rev.  3 . 1-6. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  unto  the  Angel  of  the 
Church  in  Sardis  write:  these  things  saith  He  that  hath  the  Seven 
Spirits  of  God,  and  the  Seven  Stars. 

2.  THE  CONDEMNATION— I  know  thy  works,  that  thou 
hast  a  name  that  thou  livest,  and  ART  DEAD. 

3.  THE  COUNSEL— Be  watchful,  and  strengthen  the  things 
which  remain,  that  are  ready  to  die:  for  I  have  not  found  thy 
works  perfect  before  God.  Remember  therefore  how  thou  hast 
received  and  heard,  and  hold  fast,  and  repent. 

4.  THE  WARNING— If  therefore  thou  shalt  not  watch,  I 
will  come  on  thee  as  a  thief,  and  thou  shalt  not  know  what  hour 
I  will  come  upon  thee. 

5.  THE  PROMISE — Thou  hast  a  few  names  even  in  Sardis 
which  have  not  defiled  their  garments;  and  they  shall  walk  with 
me  in  white:  for  they  are  worthy.  He  that  overcometh,  the  same 
shall  be  clothed  in  WHITE  RAIMENT;  and  I  will  not  blot  out 
his  name  out  of  the  Book  of  Life,  but  I  will  confess  his  name 
before  My  Father,  and  before  His  angels.  He  that  hath  an  ear, 
let  him  hear  what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the  Churches." 

The  Church  at  Sardis  was  called  a  "Dead  Church"  though  it  had 
ii  name  to  live.  That  is,  it  was  a  "Formalistic  Church,"  a  church  given 
over  to  "formal"  or  "ritualistic"  worship.  It  had  the  "Form  of  God- 
liness without  the  power."  The  meaning  of  the  word  "Sardis"  is  the 
"escaping  one,"  or  those  who  "come  out"  and  so  it  is  an  excellent 
type  of  the  Church  of  the 

Reformation  Period. 

By  the  Reformation  we  mean  that  period  in  the  history  of  the 
Christian  Church  when  Martin  Luther  and  a  number  of  other  reform- 
ers protested  against  the  false  teaching,  tyranny  and  claims  of  the 
Papal  Church. 

This  Period  began  about  A.  D.  1500.  The  condition  of  affairs  in 
the  realm  dominated  by  the  Papal  Church  became  intolerable,  and 
came  to  a  crisis  when  Martin  Luther,  on  October  31,  1517  A.  D., 
nailed  his  95  Theses  on  the  church  door  at  Wittenberg,  Germany. 
From  that  date  the  Reformation  set  in.  But  it  was  more  a  struggle 
for  political  liberty  than  a  purely  Christian  or  religious  movement. 

It  had  the  advantage  of  encouraging  and  aiding  the  circulation  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  that  had  hitherto  been  a  sealed  book,  the  revival 
of  the  Doctrine  of  "Justification  by  Faith,"  and  a  reversion  to  more 
simple  modes  of  worship,  but  the  multiplication  of  sects  only  led  to 
bitter  controversial  contentions,  that,  while  they  threw  much  light  on 
the  Word  of  God,  interfered  greatly  with  the  spiritual  state  of  the 
Church,  until  it  could  truthfully  be  said,  "That  she  had  a  name  to  live 
and  was  dead." 

While  the  reformers  swept  away  much  ritualistic  and  doctrinal 
rubbish  they  failed  to  recover  the  promise  of  the  Second  Advent. 
They  turned  to  God  from  idols,  but  not  to  "wait  for  His  Son  from 
the  Heavens."  The  "Sardis  Period"  extended  from  A.  D.  1520  to 
about  A.  D.  1750. 


26  THE  THINGS  SVHICH  ARE. 

VI.    THE  CHURCH  AT  PHILADELPHIA. 

(A  Favored  Church.) 

Rev.  3:7-13. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  to  the  Angel  of  the  Churcfe 
in  Philadelphia  write:  These  things  saith  He  that  is  Holy,  He 
that  is  True,  He  that  hath  the  Key  of  David,  He  that  openeth; 
and  no  man  shutteth;  and  shutteth,  and  no  man  openeth. 

2.  COMMENDATION— I  know  thy  works:  behold  I  have 
set  before  thee  an  OPEN  DOOR,  and  no  man  can  shut  it:  for 
thou  hast  a  little  strength,  and  hast  kept  My  word,  and  hast  not 
denied  My  name. 

3.  THE  PROMISE— Behold,  I  will  make  them  of  the  Syna- 
gogue of  Satan,  which  say  they  are  Jews,  and  are  not,  but  do  lie; 
behold,  I  will  make  them  to  come  and  worship  before  thy  feet, 
and  to  know  that  I  have  loved  thee.  Because  thou  hast  kept  the 
word  of  My  Patience,  I  also  will  keep  thee  from  the  HOUR  OP 
TRIBULATION,  which  shall  come  upon  all  the  world,  to  try 
them  that  dwell  upon  the  earth.  Behold,  I  come  quickly:  hold 
that  fast  which  thou  hast,  that  no  man  take  thy  CROWN. 
Him  that  overcometh  will  I  make  a  PILLAR  in  the  Temple  of 
My  God,  and  he  shall  go  no  more  out:  and  I  will  write  upon  him 
the  NAME  of  My  God,  and  the  name  of  the  CITY  of  My  God, 
which  is  NEW  JERUSALEM,  which  cometh  down  out  of  Heaven 
from  My  God:  and  I  will  write  upon  him  My  NEW  NAME. 
He  that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear  what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the 
Churches." 

There  is  no  question  about  the  meaning  of  the  word  Philadelphia. 
It  means  "Brotherly  Love,"  and  well  describes  the  charity  and  broth- 
erly fellowship  that  dissipated  the  bitter  personal  animosities  that 
characterized  the  theological  disputants  of  the  "Sardis  Period,"  and 
made  possible  the  evangelistic  and  missionary  labors  of  the  past  150 
years.    Three  things  are  said  of  this  Church : 

1.  It  had  a  "little  strength."  It  was  like  a  person  coming  back 
to  life  who  was  still  very  weak.  It  was  the  "dead"  Sardis  Church 
"revived,"  and  Revivals  have  been  characteristic  of  the  Philadelphia 
Period.  These  Revivals  began  with  George  Whitefield  in  A.  D.  1739, 
followed  by  John  Wesley,  Charles  G.  Finney  and  D.  L.  Moody. 

2.  It  had  set  before  it  an  "open  door,"  that  no  "man"  could  shut. 
Note  that  this  promise  was  made  by  Him,  who  "hath  the  'Key  of 
David,'  He  that  'openeth'  and  no  man  shutteth;  and  'shutteth'  and  no 
man  openeth."  In  1793  William  Carey  sailed  for  India,  where  he 
found  an  "open  door,"  and  since  then  the  Lord  has  opened  the  door 
into  China,  Japan,  Korea,  India,  Africa  and  the  isles  of  the  sea,  until 
there  is  not  a  country  in  the  world  where  the  missionary  cannot  go. 

3.  It  was  to  be  kept  from  the  "Hour  of  Temptation"  (TRIBU- 
LATION), that  shall  come  upon  ALL  THE  WORLD,  and  as  there 
has  never  as  yet  been  a  WORLDWIDE  Tribulation,  this  "Hour  of 
Tribulation"  must  still  be  future  and  refers  doubtless  to  the  "Great 
Tribulation"  that  is  to  come  upon  the  "whole  world,"  just  before 
the  return  of  the  Lord  to  set  up  His  Millennial  Kingdom,  and  as  the 
promise  is  that  the  "Philadelphia  Church"  shall  not  pass  through  the 
Tribulation,  is  not  this  additional  proof  that  the  Church  shall  be 
"caught  out"  before  the  Tribulation? 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE.  27 

The  Philadelphia  Period  covers  the  time  between  A.  D.  1750 
and  A.  D.  1900.  We  must  not  forget  that  the  characteristics  of  all 
these  Periods  continue  on  in  the  Church  down  to  the  end.  This  is 
true  of  the  Evangelistic  and  Missionary  movements  of  the  "Phila- 
delphia Period,"  but  they  are  now  more  mechanical  and  based  on 
business  methods,  and  there  is  less  spiritual  power,  and  this  will  con- 
tinue until  Christ  returns. 


VII.     THE  CHURCH  AT  LAODICEA. 

(A  Lukewarm  Church.) 

Rev.  3:14-22. 

1.  THE  SALUTATION— "And  unto  the  Angel  of  the 
Church  of  the  Laodiceans  write:  These  things  saith  the  Amen, 
the  Faithful  and  True  Witness,  the  beginning  of  the  creation  of 
God. 

2.  THE  COMPLAINT— I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art 
neither  hot  nor  cold:  I  would  thou  wert  cold  or  hot.  So  then 
because  thou  art  lukewarm,  and  neither  cold  or  hot,  I  will  spue 
thee  out  of  my  mouth.  Because  thou  sayest,  I  am  rich  and 
increased  with  goods,  and  have  need  of  nothing,  and  knowest  not 
that  thou  are  wretched,  and  miserable,  and  poor,  and  blind,  and 
naked. 

3.  THE  COUNSEI^-I  counsel  thee  to  buy  of  Me  gold  tried 
in  the  fire,  that  thou  mayest  be  rich;  and  white  raiment,  that  thou 
mayest  be  clothed,  and  that  the  shame  of  thy  nakedness  do  not 
appear;  and  anoint  thine  eyes  with  eyesalve,  that  thou  mayest  see. 

4.  THE  CHASTENING— As  many  as  T  love,  I  rebuke  and 
chasten:  be  zealous  therefore,  and  repent. 

5.  THE  PROMISE— Behold  T  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock: 
if  any  man  hear  My  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to 
him,  and  will  sup  with  him,  and  he  with  me.  To  him  that  over- 
cometh  will  I  grant  to  sit  with  me  in  My  Throne,  even  as  I  also 
overcame,  and  am  set  down  with  My  Father  in  His  Throne.  He 
that  hath  an  ear,  let  him  hear  what  the  Spirit  saith  unto  the 
Churches." 

Christ  has  no  "commendation"  for  this  Church,  but  much  to  com- 
plain of.    He  says — 

"I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art  neither  cold  or  hot;  I  would 
thou  wert  cold  or  hot.  So  then,  because  thou  art  lukewarm,  and 
neither  cold  or  hot,  I  will  spue  thee  out  of  my  mouth," 

There  is  nothing  more  disgustmg  or  nauseating  than  "tepid" 
water.  So  there  is  nothing  more  repugnant  to  Christ  than  a  "tepid" 
church.  He  would  rather  have  a  church  "frozen"  or  "boiling."  It  was 
the  "chilly  spiritual  atmosphere"  of  the  Church  of  England  that  drove 
John  Wesley  to  start  those  outside  meetings  which  became  so  noted 
for  their  "religious  fervor,"  and  it  was  the  same  "chilly  atmosphere" 
of  the  Methodist  Church  that  drove  William  Booth  in  turn  to  become 
a  "Red-hot"  Salvationist. 

Our  churches  today  are  largely  in  this  "lukewarm*"  condition. 
There  is  very  little  of  warm-hearted  spirituality.  There  is  much 
going  on  in  them,  but  it  is  largely  mechanical  and  of  a  social  char- 
acter.    Committees,  societies,  and  clubs  are  multiplied,  but  there  is 


28  THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE. 

an  absence  of  "spiritual  heat."  Revival  meetings  are  held,  but  instead 
of  waiting  on  the  Lord  for  power,  evangelists  and  paid  singers  are 
hired  and  soul  winning  is  made  a  business.  The  cause  of  this  "luke- 
warmness"  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  Church  of  Laodicea — Self- 
Deception. 

"Because  thou  sayest  I  am  rich,  and  increased  with  goods,  and 

have  need  of  nothing;  and  knowest  not  that  thou  art  wretched, 

and  miserable,  and  poor,  and  blind  and  naked." 

They  thought  they  were  rich,  and  outwardly  they  were,  but 
Christ  saw  the  poverty  of  their  heart.  There  are  many  such  churches 
in  the  world  today.  More  so  than  in  any  other  period  in  the  history 
of  the  church.  Many  of  these  churches  have  Cathedral-like  buildings, 
stained  glass  windows,  eloquent  preachers,  paid  singers,  large  congre- 
gations. Some  of  them  have  large  landed  interests  and  are  well  en- 
dowed, and  yet  they  are  poor.  Many  of  the  members,  if  not  the 
majority,  are  worldly,  card  playing,  dancing,  and  theatre  going  Chris- 
tians. The  poor  and  the  saintly  are  not  wanted  in  such  churches 
because  their  presence  is  a  rebuke.  These  churches  do  not  see  that 
they  are  wretched,  miserable,  poor,  blind,  and  naked. 

If  we  were  to  visit  such  churches  they  would  take  pride  in  show- 
ing us  the  building,  they  would  praise  the  preaching  and  singing, 
they  would  boast  of  the  character  of  their  congregations,  the  exclu- 
siveness  of  their  membership,  and  the  attractiveness  of  all  their  serv- 
ices, but  if  we  suggested  a  series  of  meetings  for  the  "deepening  of  the 
Spiritual  Life,"  or  the  "conversion  of  the  imsaved,"  they  would  say — 
*'Oh,  no,  we  do  not  want  such  meetings,  we  have  need  of  nothing.** 
The  Church  at  Laodicea  was  not  burdened  with  debt,  but  it  was  bur- 
dened with  WEALTH. 

The  trouble  with  the  church  today  is  that  it  thinks  that  nothing 
can  be  done  without  money,  and  that  if  we  only  had  the  money  the 
■world  would  be  converted  in  this  generation.  The  world  is  not  to  be 
converted  by  money,  but  by  the  Spirit  of  God. 

The  trouble  with  the  Church  of  Laodicea  was  that  its  "Gold"  was 
not  of  the  right  kind,  and  so  it  was  counseled  to  buy  of  the  Lord 
"gold  tried  in  the  fire."  What  kind  of  gold  is  that?  It  is  gold  that 
has  no  taint  vpon  it.  Gold  that  is  not  cankered,  or  secured  by  fraud, 
or  the  withholding  of  a  just  wage.  What  a  description  we  have  of 
these  Laodicean  days  in  James  5 :  1-4. 

But  the  Church  of  Laodicea  was  not  only  poor,  though  rich,  it 
was  blind.  Or  to  put  it  more  accurately — "Near-Sighted."  They 
could  see  their  worldly  prosperity,  but  were  "Short-Sighted"  as  to 
heavenly  things,  so  the  Lord  counseled  them  to  anoint  their  eyes  with 
'*Eye-Salve."  Their  merchants  dealt  in  ointments  and  herbs  of  a  high 
degree  of  healing  virtue,  but  they  possessed  no  salve  that  would 
restore  impaired  Spiritual  Vision,  only  the  Unction  of  the  Holy  One 
could  do  that. 

But  the  Church  was  not  only  poor,  and  blind,  it  was  naked.  Their 
outward  garments  were  doubtless  of  the  finest  material  and  the  latest 
fashionable  cut,  but  not  such  as  should  adorn  the  person  of  a  Child  of 
God.    So  they  were  counseled  to  purchase  of  Christ  "White  Raiment," 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE.  29 

in  exchange  for  the  "raven  black  woolen"  garments  for  which  the 
garment  makers  of  Laodicea  were  famous. 

Then  a  most  startling  revelation  was  made  to  the  Church  of 
Laodicea,  Christ  said — 

"Behold,  I  Stand  at  the  Door  and  Knock." 
These  words  are  generally  quoted  as  an  appeal  to  sinners,  but 
they  are  not,  they  are  addressed  to  a  Church,  and  to  a  Church  in 
whose  midst  Christ  had  once  stood,  but  now  found  Himself  excluded 
and  standing  outside  knocking  for  admittance. 

This  is  the  most  startling  thing  recorded  in  the  New  Testament, 
that  it  is  possible  for  a  church  to  be  outwardly  prosperous  and  yet 
have  no  Christ  in  its  midst,  and  be  unconscious  of  the  fact.  This  is  a 
description  of  a  Christless  Church.    Oh,  the 

EXCLUDED  CHRIST. 
Excluded  from  His  own  nation,  for  they  Rejected  Him ;  excluded 
from  the  world,  for  it  Crucified  Him;  excluded  from  His  Church,  for 
He  stands  outside  its  door  Knocking  for  Entrance. 

How  did  Christ  come  to  be  outside  the  Church?  He  had  been 
within  it  once  or  there  never  would  have  been  a  Church.  How  did 
He  come  to  leave?  It  is  clear  that  they  had  not  thrust  Him  out,  for 
they  do  not  seem  to  have  missed  His  presence.  They  continued  to 
worship  Him,  to  sing  His  praises,  and  engage  in  all  manner  of  Chris- 
tian service,  yet  He  hafd  withdrawn.  Why?  The  reason  is  summed 
up  in  one  word — Worldliness. 

But  how  is  Christ  to  get  back  into  His  Church?  Does  it  require 
the  unanimous  vote  or  invitation  of  the  membership?  No.  "If  any 
man  hear  my  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him,  and  will 
sup  with  him,  and  he  with  Me."  That  is  the  way  to  revive  a  luke- 
warm church  is  for  the  individual  members  to  open  their  hearts  and 
let  Christ  re-enter,  and  thus  open  the  door  for  His  reappearance. 
The  character  of  the  Church  today  is  Laodicean,  and  as  the  Lao- 
dicean Period  is  to  continue  until  the  Church  of  the  "New-Born"  is 
taken  out,  we  cannot  hope  for  any  great  change  until  the  Lord  comes 
back. 

What  do  these  "Messages  to  the  Churches"  teach  us?  They 
clearly  teach  the  DECLINE  OF  THE  CHURCH.  That  the  profess- 
ing Church  instead  of  increasing  in  spiritual  and  world  converting 
power  will  become  lukewarm,  faithless,  and  CHRISTLESS. 

In  Paul's  Parable  of  the  "Two  Olive  Trees"  (Rom.  11  :15-27),  he 
shows  how  the  "natural  branches"  of  the  "Good  Olive  Tree," 
(Israel)  were  broken  off  because  of  UNBELIEF,  that  the  "Wild 
Olive  Tree"  of  the  Church  might  be  "grafted  in,"  which  in  turn,  be- 
cause of  UNBELIEF,  would  be  displaced  that  the  "Natural  branches" 
might  be  "grafted  back  again,"  thus  showing  that  the  Church  does 
not  take  the  place  of  Israel  permanently,  but  simply  fills  up  the  "Gap" 
between  Israel's  "casting  off"  and  "restoration  to  Divine  favor."  As 
the  Laodicean  Period  closes  the  "Church  Age,"  the  Church  disappears 
at  the  end  of  Chapter  Three,  and  Israel  comes  again  into  view.  See 
the  Chart  on  the  next  page. 


m 

The  Things  Which  Shall  Be  Hereafter 


IIL  The  Things  Which  ShaU  Be  Hereafter 

We  have  now  come  to  the  Third  Division  of  the  Book.  The- 
Three  Divisions  of  the  Book  do  not  overlap  nor  are  they  concurrent. 
The  word  translated  "hereafter,"  would  be  better  translated  "after 
these  things."  The  word  "hereafter"  permits  a  "time  space,"  while 
the  words  "after  these  things"  refer  to  the  things  that  shall  imme-- 
diately  follow  the  completion  of  the  "Church  Age,"  as  prefigured  i» 
the  Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches.  The  Church  disappears  from 
view  with  the  close  of  the  third  chapter  and  is  not  heard  of  again 
until  the  nineteenth  chapter,  where  her  marriage  to  the  Lamb  is 
announced.  Rev.  19 : 7-9.  The  removal  of  the  Church  at  the  end 
of  the  third  chapter  opens  the  way  for  God  to  renew  His  dealings 
with  Israel,  and  take  up  the  broken  thread  of  Jewish  History.  That 
the  portion  of  the  Book  from  chapter  three  to  the  end  of  chapter  nine- 
teen is  largely  made  up  of  symbols  taken  from  the  Old  Testament,  as 
the  Tabernacle,  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  Altar,  Censer,  Elders,  Cheru- 
bim, Seals,  Trumpets,  Plagues,  etc.,  is  conclusive  evidence  that  we 
are  here  back  on  Jewish  ground,  and  that  the  Parenthetical  Dispensa- 
tion of  the  Church  is  complete,  and  that  the  last  or  "Seventieth 
Week"  of  Daniel's  "Seventy  Weeks"  is  in  course  of  fulfilment.  It  is 
clear  therefore  that  we  must  look  for  the  explanation  of  these  sym- 
bols to  the  Old  Testament. 

Chapters  four  and  five  are  introductory  and  preparatory  to  the 
"Prophetic  Action"  of  the  "Seals,"  "Trumpets"  and  "Vials,"  and 
must  be  considered  first. 

1.     THE  HEAVENLY  DOOR. 

Rev.  4:1. 

"AFTER  THIS  I  looked,  and,  behold,  a  DOOR  WAS 
OPENED  IN  HEAVEN:  and  the  first  voice  which  I  heard  was 
as  it  were  a  trximpet  talking  with  me;  which  said,  Come  up  hither, 
and  I  will  shew  thee  things  which  must  be  hereafter"  (after 
these). 

The  scene  now  changes  from  earth  (Patmos)  to  Heaven.  John 
tells  us  that  After  This,  after  his  Vision  of  Christ  in  the  midst  of  the 
"Seven  Candlesticks,"  and  his  foreview  of  the  history  of  the  Christian 
Church,  as  reviewed  in  the  Messages  to  the  Seven  Churches,  which 
carried  him  down  to  the  end  of  the  Church  Age,  he  looked,  and  be- 
hold a  DOOR  WAS  OPENED  IN  HEAVEN,  and  the  same  voice 
that  spoke  to  him  from  the  midst  of  the  "Seven  Golden  Candlesticks," 
which  was  the  voice  of  Christ  (Rev.  1 :  10-13),  said  with  the  clearness 
and  sweetness  of  a  tnunpet — 

"COME   UP   HITHER 

AND   I   WILL   SHOW   THEE  THINGS   WHICH    MUST 

BE    HEREAFTER." 

And  John  adds 

"IMMEDIATELY  I  WAS   IN   THE    SPIRIT: 

and,  behold,  a  Throne  was  set  in  Heaven,  and  ONE  sat  on  the  Throne." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        33 

The  experience  of  John  was  similar  to  that  of  Paul,  who  was 
caught  up  into  Paradise.  Whether  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body 
they  are  uncertain,  at  least  Paul  was.  2.  Cor.  12:2-4.  The  diflfer- 
ence  between  them  however  was,  that,  while  Paul  heard  words  that 
he  was  forbidden  to  speak,  John  was  told  to  "WRITE  IN  A  BOOK" 
the  things  he  saw  and  heard,  and  send  them  to  the  Seven  Churches 
in  Asia. 

In  this  "Rapture"  of  John  we  have  a  type  of  the 
RAPTURE   OF  THE   CHURCH, 
and  it  is  at  this  place  in  the  Book  that  the  "RAPTURE"  of  the 
Church  takes  place. 

After  the  confession  of  Peter  at  Caesarea  Philippi,  that  Jesus  was 
the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God  (Matt.  16:  13-28),  and  Jesus  had 
said  that  upon  the  rock  of  that  confession  He  would  build  His  Church, 
He  said  to  His  Disciples' — "Verily  I  say  unto  you,  there  be  some 
standing  here  which  shall  not  taste  of  death,  till  they  see  the  Son  of 
Man  COMING  IN  HIS  KINGDOM."  And  then  we  read  in  the 
next  chapter  (and  there  should  be  no  chapter  division),  "And  after 
six  days  Jesus  taketh  Peter,  James  and  John  his  brother,  and  bring- 
eth  them  up  into  an  high  mountain  apart,  and  was  TRANSFIG- 
URED BEFORE  THEM."  Matt.  17 :  1-9.  Now  this  "Transfigura- 
tion Scene"  is  a  type  of  the  Second  Coming  of  Christ,  Moses  being 
a  type  of  the  "Resurrected  Saints,"  and  Elijah  of  the  "Translated 
Saints." 

As  the  promise  of  Christ  to  His  Disciples  that  some  of  them 
should  not  "taste  of  death"  until  they  saw  in  vision  a  rehearsal  of  the 
manner  of  His  Second  Coming,  was  fulfilled  in  the  "Transfiguration 
Scene,"  so  the  statement  made  to  Peter  as  to  John,  "If  I  will  that  he 
TARRY  TILL  I  COME"  (John  21:20-23),  finds  its  fulfilment  in 
John's  being  caught  up  in  vision  and  beholding  before  his  death, 
■what  he  would  have  witnessed  and  experienced  if  his  life  had  been 
prolonged  until  Jesus  came  back.  Thus  John  was  permitted  to  live, 
until,  in  vision,  he  saw  the  Return  of  the  Lord. 

The  "Rapture"  of  the  Church  is  described  in  1.  Thess.  4:  16-17. 
"For  the  Lord  HIMSELF  shall  descend  from  Heaven  with  a 
SHOUT,  with  the  VOICE  OF  THE  ARCHANGEL,  and  with  the 
TRUMP  OF  GOD;  and  the  DEAD  IN  CHRIST  shall  rise  first: 
then  we  WHICH  ARE  ALIVE  and  REMAIN  shall  be  CAUGHT 
UP  TOGETHER  WITH  THEM  in  the  clouds,  to  meet  the  Lord  IN 
THE  AIR:  and  so  shall  we  ever  be  with  the  Lord."  Note  how  John's 
taking  up  corresponds  with  this.  He  was  summoned  by  the  "VOICE 
OF  CHRIST,"  and  it  will  be  the  "SHOUT  of  Christ"  that  shall  sum- 
mon the  saints  at  the  Rapture.  It  was  with  a  "LOUD  VOICE"  that 
Jesus  called  Lazarus  from  the  tomb.  John  11:43.  And  as  it  was  a 
Trumpet  Like  Voice  that  summoned  John,  so  it  will  be  a  TRUMPET 
CALL  that  will  summon  the  Saints  at  the  Rapture. 

As  confirmatory  proof  that  the  Church  is  "caught  out"  at  this 
time  and  place,  we  have  in  the  description  of  the  Throne,  the  state- 
ment that  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  Seven-fold  plentitude  of  His  power, 
is  BACK  IN  HEAVEN.  In  none  of  the  Epistles  is  the  Holy  Spirit 
invoked  along  with  the  Father  and  the  Son,  except  in  2.  Cor.  13 :  14, 


34        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

because  He  is  viewed  as  abiding  on  the  earth  with  the  Church,  con- 
victing  of  sin,  comforting  believers,  and  gathering  out  the  elect,  but 
here  He  is  no  longer  on  the  earth  but  back  in  Heaven,  and  before  the 
Throne.  This  is  the  strongest  kind  of  evidence  that  the  Church  at 
this  time  has  been  "caught  out"  and  is  no  longer  on  the  earth,  for 
when  the  Holy  Spirit  goes  oack  to  Heaven  He  will  take  the  Church 
WITH  HIM.  And  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  Heaven  is  con- 
clusive evidence  that  the  events  that  follow  are  to  take  place  after  the 
Church  has  been  caught  out,  and  therefore  the  Church  is  not  to  pass 
through  the  Tribulation. 

2.    THE  HEAVENLY  THRONE. 

Rev.  4:2-3,  5-6. 

"And  immediately  I  was  in  the  SPIRIT:  and,  behold,  a 
THRONE  was  set  in  Heaven,  and  ONE  sat  on  the  THRONE. 
And  HE  that  sat  was  to  look  upon  like  a  Jasper  and  a  Sardius 
stone:  and  there  was  a  Rainbow  round  about  the  THRONE,  in 
sight  like  unto  an  Emerald.  .  .  .  And  out  of  the  THRONE 
proceeded  Lightnings  and  Thunderings  and  Voices;  and  there 
were  Seven  Lamps  of  Fire  burning  before  the  THRONE,  which 
are  the  SEVEN  SPIRITS  OF  GOD.  And  before  the  THRONE 
there  was  a  Sea  of  Glass  like  unto  crystal." 

The  first  thing  John  saw  in  Heaven  was  a  THRONE.  The 
Throne  was  not  vacant,  but  One  sat  upon  it,  upon  whom  to  look  was 
like  looking  at  glistening  gems,  such  as  Jasper  and  Sardius.  The 
occupant  of  the  Throne  was  no  other  than  God  Himself.  In  Rev. 
21:10-11,  John  in  describing  the  New  Jerusalem  says,  that  its  light 
is  the  "GLORY  OF  GOD."  A  light  like  unto  a  stone  most  precious, 
even  like  a  JASPER  stone,  clear  as  crystal.  This  corresponds  with 
John's  declaration  in  1.  John  1 : 5,  that  "GOD  IS  LIGHT." 

Ezekiel  in  describing  his  vision  of  the  "Throne  of  God"  says — 
"Above  the  Firmament  that  was  over  their  heads  was  the  likeness 
of  a  Throne,  as  the  appearance  of  a  Sapphire  Stone:  and  upon  the 
likeness  of  the  Throne  was  the  likeness  as  the  appearance  of  a  MAN 
above  upon  it.  And  I  saw  as  the  color  of  Amber,  as  the  appearance 
of  fire  round  about  within  it,  from  the  appearance  of  His  loins  even 
upward,  and  from  the  appearance  of  His  loins  even  downward,  I  saw 
as  it  were  the  appearance  of  fire,  and  it  had  brightness  round  about. 
As  the  appearance  of  the  Bow  that  is  in  the  cloud  in  the  day  of  rain, 
so  was  the  appearance  of  the  brightness  round  about.  This  was  the 
appearance  of  the  likeness  of  the  GLORY  OF  THE  LORD."  Ez. 
1 :  26-28. 

Now  there  are  two  things  in  Ezekiel's  Vision  that  correspond 
with  John's  Vision  of  the  "THRONE  OF  GOD."  First  that  the 
form  of  the  one  who  sat  on  the  Throne  could  not  be  clearly  distin- 
guished or  described,  but  that  it  was  RESPLENDENT  WITH 
LIGHT,  which  veiled  the  form  or  person;  and  secondly,  that  there 
was  a  RAINBOW  ROUND  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.  The  person 
of  God  then,  as  He  sits  upon  His  Throne,  is  veiled  in  a  Glory  that 
can  only  be  compared  to  the  shining  of  some  beautiful  gem.  But  one 
of  the  remarkable  things  about  the  Throne  of  God  is,  that  it  is  sur- 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        35 

roimded  by  a  "RAINBOW"  that  is  emerald  in  color.  The  first  men- 
tion we  have  in  the  Bible  of  a  Rainbow  is  in  Gen.  9:  13-17.  "I  do 
set  My  BOW  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall  be  for  a  token  of  a  COVE- 
NANT between  Me  and  the  Earth."  A  Covenant  that  God  would 
not  destroy  this  earth  again  by  a  Flood.  But  that  Rainbow  was  only 
SEMI-CIRCULAR,  such  as  we  see  in  the  heavens  in  summer  after 
a  shower;  but  the  Rainbow  Ezekiel  and  John  saw  around  the  Throne 
of  God  was  CIRCULAR.  In  this  world  we  only  see  half  a  Rainbow, 
or  the  half  of  things,  in  Heaven  we  shall  see  the  whole  of  things. 
The  Rainbow  is  the  sign  of  a  Covenant  based  on  an  accepted  Sacri- 
fice, the  Sacrifice  of  Noah  (Gen.  8:20-22),  and  the  Rainbow  about 
the  Throne  of  God  is  the  sign  of  a  Covenant  based  on  the  accepted 
Sacrifice  of  Christ  on  the  Cross.  The  difference  between  Noah's 
Rainbow  and  the  one  around  the  Throne  of  God  is,  that  Noah's  is 
composed  of  the  seven  primary  colors,  Red,  Orange,  Yellow,  Green, 
Blue,  Indigo,  and  Violet,  while  the  one  around  the  Throne  of  God 
is  EMERALD.  What  does  this  "CIRCULAR  GREEN  RAIN^ 
BOW"  about  the  Throne  of  God  signify?  It  signifies  that  God  is  a 
Covenant  keeping  God,  that  His  promises  as  to  this  earth  shall  be 
fulfilled.  Even  though  He  is  about  to  bring  great  judgments  upon 
it,  He  will  not  destroy  it,  but  it  shall  pass  through  those  judgments 
safely.  He  will  redeem  it,  and  bless  it,  until  its  hills,  and  valleys, 
and  plains,  shall  teem  with  the  green  verdure,  fruitful  orchards,  and 
bountiful  vineyards  of  the  long  Millennial  Day  that  is  to  follow  those 
judgments.  If  the  Rainbow  did  not  encircle  the  Throne  as  a  "Halo," 
it  might  by  its  reflection  in  the  "Sea  of  Glass"  appear  to  John  to  be 
round. 

The  "Throne"  was  not  the  "Throne  of  Grace"  for  out  of  it  pro- 
ceeded lightnings  and  thunderings  and  voices,  that  remind  us  of  Mt. 
Sinai,  and  proclaim  it  to  be  the 

"THRONE  OF  JUDGMENT." 

Before  the  Throne  was  a  "SEA  OF  GLASS."  This  "Sea  of 
Glass"  was  unoccupied,  but  later  is  seen  mixed  with  fire  (Rev.  15 : 
2-3),  and  occupied  by  martyrs  of  the  Tribulation  Period  who  get  the 
victory  over  the  Beast,  and  who  have  harps,  and  sing  the  Song  of 
MOSES  AND  THE  LAMB.  This  "Glassy  Sea"  reminds  us  of  the 
"Brazen  Sea"  that  stood  before  Solomon's  Temple  (1.  Kings  7: 
23-45),  and  thus  was  in  front  of  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  the  "Mercy 
Seat"  of  which  was  the  earthly  Throne  of  God  in  Old  Testament  days. 

Right  here  it  might  be  well  for  us  to  remember  that  the  earthly 
Tabernacle  erected  by  Moses,  with  all  its  vessels  and  instruments  of 
service  and  mode  of  worship,  was  patterned  after  the  "Heavenly  Tab- 
ernacle."   Heb.  9:23. 

A  knowledge  then  of  the  Tabernacle  and  its  various  parts  and 
vessels  of  service,  will  help  us  to  understand  John's  Vision  of  the 
"Heavenly  Tabernacle."  Like  John,  Paul  was  "caught  up"  into 
Heaven,  and  saw  the  "Heavenly  Tabernacle,"  and  he  most  beautifully 
and  clearly  makes  a  comparison  between  it  and  the  "Mosaic  Taber- 
nacle" in  his  Letter  to  the  Hebrews. 

The  "Throne"  that  John  saw  in  Heaven  corresponds  with  the 
"Mercy  Seat"  of  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant.    The  "Four  Beasts  (Living 


36 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 


Ones)"  with  the  "Cherubim"  that  guarded  the  "Mercy  Seat."  The 
"Four  and  Twenty  Elders"  with  the  "Priestly  Courses"  that  officiated 
in  the  Tabernacle.  The  "Seven  Lamps  (Spirits)"  before  the 
"Throne,"  with  the  "Seven  Branched  Candlestick"  of  the  Holy  Place 
of  the  Tabernacle.  The  "Sea  of  Glas's"  with  the  "Brazen  Laver"  for 
cleansing,  that  stood  in  front  of  the  Tabernacle.  The  "Altar"  under 
which  John  saw  the  "soul  of  Martyrs"  with  the  "Altar  of  Burnt 
Offering."  If  the  "Throne"  section  of  the  "Heavenly  Taberi?acle" 
corresponds  with  the  "Most  Holy  Place"  of  the  "Mosaic  Tabernacle," 
and  the  "Four  and  Twenty  Elder"  section  with  the  "Altar  of  In- 
cense" and  "Seven  Lamps  of  Fire "  corresponds  with  the  "Holy 
Place,"  then  the  "Sea  of  Glass"  and  the  "Altar"  should  correspond 
with  the  "Court"  of  the  Tabernacle.  This  will  help  us  to  relatively 
locate  what  John  saw  in  the  Heavenly  Tabernacle. 

It  is  also  profitable  and  instructive  to  compare  the  "Heavenly" 
and  "Earthly"  Tabernacles  with  the  "Tabernacle  of  Man."  See  the 
Chart  of  "The  Three  Tabernacles."     Here  we  see  that  the  "Spirit" 

The  Heavenly  Tabernacle 




38        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

part  of  man  corresponds  to  the  "Most  Holy  Place"  of  the  Taber- 
nacle, the  "Soulish"  part  to  the  "Holy  Place,"  and  the  "Body"  part 
to  the  "Outer  Court."  As  the  only  entrance  from  the  "Holy  Place" 
into  the  "Most  Holy  Place"  of  the  Tabernacle  was  through  the 
"Veil,"  so  the  only  entrance  from  the  "Soulish"  part  of  man  into 
the  "Spirit"  part  is  through  the  "Gate  of  the  Will."  And  it  is  only 
when  the  "Will"  surrenders  to  the  Holy  Spirit  that  God  can  take  up 
His  abode  in  the  "Spirit"  part  of  man,  as  He  took  up  His  residence 
in  the  "Most  Holy  Place"  of  the  Tabernacle  on  the  "Mercy  Seat,"  and 
man  become  a  regenerated  soul. 

3.    THE  FOUR  AND  TWENTY  ELDERS. 

Rev.  4:4. 
"And  round  about  the  Throne  were  FtAir  and  Twenty  Seats 
(Thrones):  and  upon  the  Seats  I  saw  Four  and  Twenty  Elders 
sitting,  clothed  in  white  raiment;  and   they  had  on   their  heads 
Crowns  of  Gold." 

Who  are  these  "Elders"  and  what  do  they  represent?  They  are 
not  a  heavenly  and  unfallen  order  of  beings,  like  the  angels  or  "Liv- 
ing Creatures"  that  surround  the  Throne,  they  are  the  representa- 
tives of  redeemed  mankind.  The  name  Elder  is  never  applied  to 
angels,  neither  do  angels  have  "crowns"  and  sit  on  "thrones."  Only 
redeemed  MEN  are  promised  "Thrones"  and  Crowns."  Matt.  19 :  28. 
Rev.  3:21.  Rev.  20:4.  Rev.  2.10.  1.  Pet.  5:2-4.  2.  Tim.  4:8. 
These  "Elders"  then  must  be  representatives  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament  Saints,  that  have  been  redeemed  by  the  BLOOD  OF 
CHRIST.  This  will  be  made  more  clear  as  we  consider  their  posi- 
tion, dress,  and  song. 

They  are  seated  on  "thrones,"  not  ordinary  seats,  and  remind 
us  of  Daniel's  Vision  of  the  Judgment. 

"I  beheld  till  THRONES  were  placed  and  ONE  that  was 
ANCIENT  OF  DAYS  did  sit;  His  raiment  was  white  as  snow,  and 
the  hair  of  His  head  like  pure  wool;  His  Throne  was  fiery  flames, 
the  wheels  thereof  burning  fire.  A  fiery  stream  issued  and  came 
forth  from  before  Him,  thousand  thousands  ministered  unto  Him, 
and  10,000  times  10,000  stood  before  Him ;  the  JUDGMENT  was  set, 
and  the  'Books'  were  opened."    Dan.  7 :  9-10  R.  V. 

This  is  Daniel's  foreview  of  the 

"JUDGMENT  SEAT  OF  CHRIST." 

While  the  "Thrones"  were  placed  (ready  for  those  who  should 
be  found  worthy  to  occupy  them)  they  were  as  yet  unoccupied. 
Their  occupancy  awaited  the  outcome  of  the  Judgment.  Now  as  the 
"Thrones^'  that  John  saw  were  occupied  by  crowned  Elders.  Then 
fiiose  Elders  must  have  passed  the  "fiery  test"  of  the  Judgment  of 
Reward  (2.  Cor.  5:10,  1.  Cor.  3:11-15),  and  received  their  crowns. 
Those  Crowns  are  five  in  number.  The  "Incorruptible  Crown." 
1.  Cor.  9:25-27.  The  "Crown  of  Life."  Rev.  2:10.  The  "Crown 
of  Glory."  1.  Pet.  5:2-4.  The  "Crown  of  Righteousness."  2.  Tim. 
4 :  8.  The  "Crown  of  Rejoicing."  1.  Thess.  2 :  19-20.  See  the  Chart— 
■"Judgment  of  Reward." 

That  these  "Elders"  were  REDEEMED  MEN  is  further  evi- 
denced by  the  "Song"  they  sung. 


40         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

"And  they  sung  a  NEW  SONG,  Saying,  Thou  art  worthy 
to  take  the  Book,  and  to  open  the  Seals  thereof,  for  thou  wast 
slain,  and  hast  REDEEMED  US  TO  GOD  BY  THY  BLOOD, 
out  of  every  kindred,  and  tongue,  and  people,  and  nation;  and 
hast  made  us  unto  our  God  KINGS  and  PRIESTS;  and  we  shall 
reign  on  the  earth."     Rev.  5:  9-10. 

Now  this  could  not  be  said  of  angels,  or  any  other  created  heav- 
enly beings,  for  they  have  not  been  redeemed  by  the  Blood  of  the 
Lamb,  nor  are  they  to  be  "Kings"  and  "Priests"  on  the  earth. 

While  the  "Elders"  sit  on  Thrones  and  wear  Crowns,  they  are 
not  dressed  in  royal  robes  but  in  "white  raiment,"  the  garment  of  a 
Priest.  They  are  the  members  of  a  "ROYAL  PRIESTHOOD." 
1.  Pet.  2:9.  That  the  time  has  not  yet  come  for  them  to  reign  is 
clear,  for  they  are  engaged  in  Priestly  duties,  having  "Golden  Vials 
full  of  odors,  which  are  the  prayers  of  saints,"  in  their  hands.  Rev. 
5 : 8.  These  saints  are  not  the  saints  of  the  Church,  but  the  Jewish 
saints  on  earth  during  the  "Tribulation  Period,"  whose  prayers  are 
so  beautifully  prewritten  in  the  Psalms. 

That  the  "Elders"  will  be  given  the  right  of  Judgment  is  clear. 
Writing  to  the  Corinthians  Paul  says — "Do  ye  not  know  that  the 
Saints  shall  JUDGE  THE  WORLD.  .  .  .  Know  ye  not  that 
We  shall  JUDGE  ANGELS."  (The  Fallen  Angels.)  1.  Cor.  6:2-3. 
The  time  when  this  right  of  Judgment  is  conferred  on  the  "Elders" 
(Saints)  is  given  by  John  as  after  the  binding  of  Satan,  and  just 
before  the  Millennium— "I  saw  THRONES,  and  they  (the  First 
Resurrection  Saints — THE  ELDERS)  sat  upon  them,  and  JUDG- 
MENT was  given  unto  them."    Rev.  20 :  4. 

The  word  "Elder"  in  the  majority  of  places  where  it  is  used  in 
the  Scriptures  means  the  representative  head  of  a  city,  family,  tribe 
or  nation,  so  the  "Four  and  Twenty  Elders"  are  representative  of 
the  redeemed  human  race.  But  why  24  Elders?  Twenty-four  is  the 
number  of  the  Priestly  Courses  as  given  in  1.  Chron.  24:  1-19.  When 
David  distributed  the  Priests  into  "Courses"  he  found  there  were 
24  Heads  of  the  Priestly  families,  and  these  24  Heads  he  made  rep- 
resentative of  the  WHOLE  PRIESTHOOD.  As  the  "Elders"  are 
representative  of  both  the  Old  and  New  Testament  Saints,  and  the 
Old  Testament  Saints  are  represented  by  the  Twelve  Tribes  of 
Israel,  and  the  New  Testament  Saints  by  the  Twelve  Apostles  of  the 
Lamb,  they  together  make  up  24  representative  characters.  This 
distinction  is  clearly  brought  out  in  the  description  of  the  New 
Jerusalem,  where  the  12  Foundation  Stones  are  named  after  the 
Twelve  Apostles  of  the  Lamb,  and  the  12  Gates  after  the  Twelve 
Tribes  of  Israel.     Rev.  21 :  10-14. 

While  the  Four  and  Twenty  Elders  are  representative  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testament  Saints,  they  do  not,  as  a  whole,  represent  the 
Church,  for  the  Church  is  composed  only  of  New  Testament  Saints. 
The  Old  Testament  saints  are  merely  the  Friends  of  the  Bridegroom. 
But  the  fact  that  the  New  Testament  Saints,  as  represented  by  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  are  required  to  make  up  the  24  representative  char- 
acters (Elders),  is  additional  evidence  that  the  Rapture  of  the  Church 
takes  place  before  the  Tribulation. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         41 

4.    THE  FOUR  BEASTS. 

Rev.  4:6-11. 

"In  the  midst  of  the  Throne,  and  round  about  the  Throne, 
were  FOUR  BEASTS  full  of  eyes  before  and  behind.  And  the 
First  Beast  was  like  a  LION,  and  the  Second  Beast  like  a  CALF, 
and  the  Third  Beast  had  a  face  as  a  MAN,  and  the  Fourth  Beast 
was  like  a  FLYING  EAGLE.  And  the  four  Beasts  had  each  of 
them  six  wings  about  him;  and  they  were  full  of  eyes  within;  and 
they  rest  not  day  or  night,  saying,  HOLY,  HOLY,  HOLY, 
LORD  GOD  ALMIGHTY,  WHICH  WAS,  AND  IS,  AND  IS 
TO   COME." 

The  word  translated  "Beasts"  should  be  translated  "LIVING 
CREATURES,"  as  in  the  Revised  Version.  The  word  here  trans- 
lated "beast"  (Zoon),  is  not  the  same  as  the  one  translated  "beast" 
(Therion)  in  chapters  eleven,  thirteen,  and  s'eventeen.  The  word 
here  used  means  a  "living  being"  or  "creature,"  while  the  word  used 
in  chapters  eleven,  thirteen,  and  seventeen,  means  a  wild,  untamed 
animal.  They  are  not  angelic  beings,  for  they  are  distinguished  from 
the  angels,  who  are  mentioned  as  a  class  by  themselves  in  Rev.  5:11. 
Neither  are  they  representative  of  redeemed  human  beings,  for  they 
do  not  join  in  the  Redemption  Song.  Rev.  5 : 8-10.  The  word  "they" 
in  this  passage  does  not  refer  to  the  "Four  Living  Creatures,"  but  to 
the  "Four  and  Twenty  Elders." 

The  "Four  Living  Creatures"  are  not  in  the  same  class  with  the 
"Elders,"  for  they  have  no  "thrones"  or  "crowns"  or  "harps"  or 
"golden  vials."  They  are  the  "Guardians"  of  the  Throne  of  God, 
and  accompany  it  wherever  it  goes.  Ez.  1 :  24-28.  They  are  four  in 
number,  which  is  the  "earth  number,"  and  therefore  have  something 
to  do  with  the  earth.  That  is,  they  are  interested  in  the  "re-genesis" 
of  the  earth  to  its  former  glory  before  the  Fall.  They  have  eyes 
before  and  behind  and  within,  which  reveals  their  intelligence  and 
spiritual  insight  of  things  past,  present,  and  to  come,  and  they  are 
tireless  in  their  service,  for  they  rest  not  day  nor  night,  saying,  "Holy, 
Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Almighty,  which  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come." 

The  first  time  these  "Living  Creatures"  are  mentioned  in  the 
Bible  is  in  Gen.  3 :  24,  where  they  are  called  "CHERUBIM,"  but  are 
not  described.  They  were  placed  at  the  entrance  to  the  "Garden  of 
Eden"  to  prevent  the  re-entrance  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  to  keep  the 
way  of  the  "Tree  of  Life."  It  would  appear  as  if  at  the  place  where 
they  were  stationed  there  was  a  Tabernacle,  a  place  of  worship  to 
which  Cain  and  Abel  resorted  to  make  their  offerings,  and  that  it 
was  from  there  that  Cain  went  out  from  the  "PRESENCE  OF  THE 
LORD."     Gen.  4 :  16. 

When  Moses  was  given  on  the  Holy  Mount  the  pattern  of  the 
Tabernacle,  he  was  instructed  to  make  the  "Ark  of  the  Covenant" 
with  two  Cherubim  upon  it.  Ex.  25 :  10-22.  These  Cherubim  were 
guardians  of  the  "Mercy  Seat,"  or  the  place  of  God's  PRESENCE 
when  He  in  His  "Shekinah  Glory"  visited  the  Tabernacle.  But  it  is 
not  until  Ezekiel  had  his  vision  of  the  Cherubim  (Ez.  1:1-28:  10: 
1-22),  that  we  have  a  description  of  what  they  are  like.  See  the  Chart 
on  the  Cherubim  the  next  page. 


The  Cherubim 





THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         43 

Ezekiel  describes  them  as  having  the  likeness  of  a  man,  with  4 
-faces,  and  4  wings,  and  feet  like  a  calf's  foot,  and  hands  like  a  man's 
hand  under  their  wings  on  their  4  sides.  Their  4  faces  were  different. 
The  front  face  was  that  of  a  MAN,  the  right  side  face  was  that  of  a 
LION,  the  left  side  face  was  that  of  an  OX,  and  the  rear  face  was 
that  of  an  EAGLE,  and  their  whole  body,  back,  hands,  and  wings, 
were  full  of  eyes  round  about.  Ez.  10:  12.  In  John's  Vision  of  the 
■"Cherubim"  or  "Living  Creatures"  they  are  described  as  like  animals, 
the  first  was  like  a  LION,  the  second  like  a  CALF,  or  a  young  Ox, 
the  third  had  the  face  of  a  MAN,  and  the  fourth  was  like  a  FLYING 
EAGLE.  John's  "Living  Creatures"  had  6  wings,  while  Ezekiel's 
^'Cherubim"  had  only  4.  In  Ezekiel's  vision,  the  "Cherubim,"  or 
"Living  Creatures,"  were  accompanied  by  the  Holy  Spirit  (Ez.  1 :  12) 
and  traveled  on  wheels,  which  shows  that  they  were  on  some  tour 
or  mission,  attended  by  the  Lord,  who  sat  on  His  Throne  over  their 
heads  (Ez,  1:25-28),  but  the  wheels  are  absent  in  John's  vision,  for 
the  scene  is  in  Heaven,  the  permanent  home  of  the  Throne  of  God. 

In  the  camping  and  marching  order  of  Israel  in  the  Wilderness, 
there  was  a  fixed  relation  of  the  Twelve  Tribes  to  the  Tabernacle. 
In  camp  the  Tabernacle  rested  in  the  middle.  The  Camp  of  Judah, 
composed  of  3  Tribes,  rested  on  the  East,  with  its  Standard  bearing 
the  figure  of  a  LION.  The  Camp  of  Ephraim,  composed  of  3  Tribes, 
rested  on  the  West,  with  its  Standard  bearing  the  figure  of  an  OX. 
The  Camp  of  Reuben,  composed  of  3  Tribes,  rested  on  the  South, 
with  its  Standard  bearing  the  figrire  of  a  MAN.  The  Camp  of  Dan, 
composed  of  3  Tribes,  rested  on  the  North,  with  its  Standard  bear- 
ing the  figure  of  an  EAGLE.  Thus  the  Tabernacle  in  the  centre  of 
the  Camp,  the  place  of  God's  Presence,  was  surrounded  and  protected 
by  Standards  that  bore  the  figures  of  Ezekiel's  and  John's  "Living 
Creatures." 

The  dissimilarity  between  Ezekiel's  "Living  Creatures,"  and 
John's  "Living  Creatures"  can  only  be  explained  on  the  supposition 
that  there  are  different  orders  of  "Living  Creatures"  or  "Cherubim,** 
each  adapted  to  the  service  he  is  created  to  perform.  In  Isaiah's 
Vision  in  the  Temple  of  the  Lord  seated  on  His  Throne,  he  saw  a 
heavenly  order  of  beings  that  he  called  the  "Seraphim."  They  had  6 
wings,  like  John's  "Living  Creatures,"  and  cried  "Holy,  Holy,  Holy, 
is  the  Lord  of  Hosts:  the  whole  earth  is  full  of  His  Glory"  (Isa.  6: 
1-4),  but  they  stood  above  the  Throne,  while  Ezekiel's  Cherubim 
supported  the  Throne,  and  John's  "Living  Creatures"  were  in  the 
midst  or  around  the  Throne.  Whatever  significances  there  may  be 
in  the  different  forms  the  "Cherubim"  or  "Living  Creatures'"  took,  it 
is  clear  that  they  do  not  represent  the  Church,  but  are  attendants  or 
officials  attached  to  the  Throne  of  God,  for  they  summon  the  four 
Horsemen  to  appear  (Rev.  6:1-8),  and  one  of  them  hands  to  the 
''Seven  Vial  Angels,"  the  "Golden  Vials"  filled  with  the  "Wrath  of 
God."  Rev.  15:7.  And  when  they  give  glory  and  honor  and  thanks 
to  Him  that  sits  upon  the  Throne,  who  liveth  forever  and  ever,  the 
"Four  and  Twenty  Elders"  fall  down  before  Him  that  sits  upon  the 
Throne,  and  worship  Him  .  .  .  and  cast  their  crowns  before  the 
Throne,  saying,  "Thou  art  worthy,  O  Lord,  to  receive  glory  and 
honor  and  power ;  for  Thou  hast  created  all  things,  and  for  Thy  pleas- 
ure they  are  and  were  created.**    Rev.  4:  9-11. 


44        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

5.    THE  SEVEN-SEALED  BOOK. 
Rev.  5:1-14. 


"And  I  saw  in  the  right  hand  of  Him  that  sat  on  the  Throne 
a  Book  written  within  and  on  the  back,  sealed  with  SEVEN 
SEALS.  And  I  saw  a  strong  angel  proclaiming  with  a  loud  voice, 
Who  is  worthy  to  open  the  Book,  and  to  loose  the  SEALS 
thereof?  And  no  man  in  heaven,  nor  in  earth,  neither  under  the 
earth,  was  able  to  open  the  Book,  neither  to  look  thereon.  And 
one  of  the  Elders  saith  unto  me.  Weep  not:  behold,  the  LION 
OF  THE  TRIBE  OF  JUDA,  the  ROOT  OF  DAVID,  hath  pre- 
vailed to  open  the  Book,  and  to  loose  the  SEVEN  SEALS 
thereof.  And  I  beheld,  and,  lo,  in  the  midst  of  the  Throne,  and 
of  the  Four  Beasts,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  Elders,  stood  a 
LAMB  as  it  had  been  slain,  having  SEVEN  HORNS  and 
SEVEN  EYES,  which  are  the  SEVEN  SPIRTS  OF  GOD  sent 
forth  into  all  the  earth.  And  HE  came  and  took  the  Book  out 
of  the  right  hand  of  Him  that  sat  upon  the  Throne." 

What  is  this  "SEVEN  SEALED  BOOK"?  Writing  to  the 
Ephesians  (Eph.  1 :  13-14),  Paul  said— "Ye  were  SEALED  with  the 
Holy  Spirit  of  promise,  which  is  the  earnest  of  our  inheritance  until 
the  REDEMPTION  of  the  PURCHASED  POSSESSION."  Then 
there  is  a  POSSESSION  that  is  to  be  REDEEMED.  What  this  is, 
Paul  tells  us  in  Rom.  8 :  22-23.  "We  know  that  the  WHOLE  CRE- 
ATION GROANETH  AND  TRAVAILETH  IN  PAIN  TO- 
GETHER UNTIL  NOW.  And  not  only  they  (all  earthly  created 
things),  but  ourselves  also,  which  have  the  "First  fruits  of  the  Spirit," 
even  we  ourselves  groan  within  ourselves,  waiting  for  the  adoption, 
to  wit,  the  REDEMPTION  OF  OUR  BODY."  (This  will  take 
place  at  the  First  Resurrection). 

We  see  from  these  references  that  there  is  something  that  was 
lost  to  mankind  and  the  earth  that  is  to  be  redeemed,  and  we  do  not 
have  to  go  far  to  find  out  what  it  was.  It  is  the  inheritance  of  the 
earth  and  of  immortal  life  given  to  Adam  and  Eve,  and  that  was  lost 
in  the  Fall  of  Eden.  When  Adam  sinned  he  lost  his  inheritance  of 
the  earth,  and  it  passed  out  of  his  hands  into  the  possession  of  Satan, 
to  the  disinheritance  of  all  of  Adam's  seed.  The  forfeited  Title  Deed 
is  now  in  God's  hands  and  is  awaiting  redemption.  Its  redemption 
means  the  legal  repossession  of  all  that  Adam  lost  by  the  Fall.  Adam 
was  impotent  to  redeem  the  lost  possession,  but  the  law  provides 
(Lev.  25:23-34)  that  a  kinsman  may  redeem  a  lost  possession.  That 
KINSMAN  has  been  provided  in  the  person  of  JESUS  CHRIST. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        45 

To  become  a  kinsman  He  had  to  be  born  into  the  human  race.  This 
the  Virgin  Birth  accomplished.  Jesus  paid  the  REDEMPTIVE 
PRICE,  which  was  His  own  BLOOD,  on  the  Cross  (1.  Pet.  1 :  18-20), 
but  He  has  not  as  yet  claimed  that  which  He  then  purchased.  When 
the  time  comes  for  the  Redemption  of  the  PURCHASED  POSSES- 
SION Jesus  will  do  so.  That  time  and  the  act  is  described  in  the 
scripture  we  are  now  considering.  The  "SEVEN  SEALED  BOOK" 
is  the  "TITLE  DEED"  to  the  redeemed  inheritance.  In  Old  Testa- 
ment days  when  a  kinsman  desired  to  redeem  a  property  he  took  his 
position,  with  ten  men  (Elders)  as  witnesses,  in  the  gate  of  the  city 
and  advertised  his  purpose.  This  is  beautifully  illustrated  in  the 
story  of  Boaz  and  Ruth.  Ruth  4:  1-12.  The  kinsman  who  redeemed 
the  property  was  called  the  "Goel"  or  REDEEMER. 

When  the  "strong  angel"  proclaimed  with  a  loud  voice — "WHO 
is  worthy  to  open  the  Book,  and  to  loose  the  Seals  thereof?"  that 
was  the  advertisement  for  the  "KINSMAN  REDEEMER"  to  appear. 
But,  said  John,  there  was  no  MAN  (^adeemed  man)  in  Heaven,  nor 
in  Earth,  neither  under  the  Earth,  who  was  able  to  open  the  Book, 
neither  to  look  thereon.  It  was  not  a  question  of  the  worthiness  of 
some  angelic  being,  as  Michael  or  Gabriel,  to  open  the  Book,  but  of 
a  MAN.  When  John  saw  that  there  was  no  one  worthy  to  open  the 
Book  he  wept.  Some  say  he  wept  because  he  was  disappointed  that 
he  could  not  satisfy  his  curiosity  as  to  the  contents  of  the  Book,  but 
such  a  statement  is  puerile.  A  man  under  the  influence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  would  not  be  so  foolish.  John  wept  because  he  knew  what 
the  Book  was,  and  that  if  there  was  no  one  to  open  that  "BOOK  OF 
REDEMPTION,"  that  all  hope  of  the  redemption  of  the  earth  and 
of  man  was  gone.  But  John's  sorrow  was  of  short  duration,  for  one 
of  the  Elders  said— "Weep  not :  behold,  the  LION  OF  THE  TRIBE 
OF  JUDAH,  the  ROOT  OF  DAVID,  hath  prevailed  to  open  the 
Book,  and  to  loose  the  'Seven  Seals'  thereof."  And  John  saw,  what 
he  had  not  noticed  before  a  LAMB,  as  it  had  been  slain,  standing  in 
the  midst  of  the  Throne,  and  of  the  "Four  Living  Creatures."  John 
had  not  seen  the  Lamb  before,  because  it  (He)  had  been  seated  on 
the  Throne  with  the  Father,  and  advanced  out  of  the  Glory  of  the 
Throne  as  the  Elder  spoke. 

John  looked  for  a  "Lion"  and  saw  a  LAMB.  But  the  Elder  was 
right  in  calling  it  a  "Lion,"  for  Jesus  was  about  to  assume  His  Title 
as  the  LION  OF  THE  TRIBE  OF  JUDAH,  and  reign  and  rule  with 
KINGLY  POWER.  That  the  Lamb  was  not  an  animal  is  clear  from 
verse  seven,  where  it  says — "And  HE  (the  Lamb)  came  and  took 
the  Book  out  of  the  right  hand  of  Him  that  sat  upon  the  Throne." 
This  is  the  sul:)liraest  individual  act  recorded  in  the  Scriptures.  On 
it  the  redemption  of  the  whole  creation  of  God  depends.  It  is  still 
future  and  takes  place  after  the  Church  has  been  "caught  out"  and 
Judged,  and  before  the  Tribulation  Period  begins,  and  you  and  I,  if 
we  are  redeemed  by  the  Blood  of  the  Lamb,  will  witness  the  scene, 
and  take  pxart  in  the  "Song  of  Redemption"  that  follows.    Rev.  5 : 8-10. 


46        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER 
THE  "SEVEN-HORNED"   LAMB. 


This  is  the  "DUE  TIME,"  when  the  "MAN"  CHRIST  JESUS, 

who  gave  Himself  as  a  "RANSOM"  (on  the  Cross)  for  the  redemp- 
tion of  the  lost  inheritance,  will  he  TESTIFIED  TO  before  the 
Throne  of  God,  by  redeemed  mankind,  angels,  and  every  creature  in 
Heaven  and  Earth,  and  under  the  Earth.    1.  Tim.  2:  5-6;  Rev,  5 : 8-14. 

When  the  Lamb  leaves  the  Throne  to  take  the  Book,  His  Media- 
torial Work  ceases,  and  His  REDEMPTIVE  WORK  begins.  When 
our  "KINSMAN  REDEEMER"  is  handed  the  "Book,"  the  "TITLE 
DEED"  to  the  "Purchased  Possession,"  He  has  the  right  to  break  its 
SEALS,  and  claim  the  "Inheritance,"  and  DISPOSSESS  the  present 
claimant  SATAN.  This  He  will  immediately  proceed  to  do,  as  He 
breaks  the  SEALS.  Satan  is  not  evicted  at  once.  He  contests  the 
claim  and  it  is  only  after  a  prolonged  conflict  that  he  is  finally  dis- 
possessed and  cast  into  the  Lake  of  Fire. 

In  the  Gospels  four  titles  are  given  to  Jesus.  He  is  the  Son  of 
David ;  the  Son  of  Abraham ;  the  Son  of  Man ;  and  the  Son  of  Grod. 

1.  As  the  Son  of  David,  He  has  title  to  the  Throne  of  David. 

2.  As  the  Son  of  Abraham,  He  has  title  to  the  Land  of  Pales- 
tine, and  all  included  in  the  Royal  Grant  to  Abraham.  See  Map  of 
The  Royal  Grant. 

3.  As  the  Son  of  Man,  He  has  title  to  the  Earth  and  the  World. 

4.  As  the  Son  of  God,  He  is  the  Heir  of  All  Things. 

The  manner  of  redemption  of  a  lost  inheritance  is  beautifully  set 
forth  in  the  Old  Testament.  A  property  could  not  be  alienated  from 
the  original  owner  or  his  heirs  for  a  longer  period  than  50  years,  at 
which  time  it  reverted  to  the  original  owner.  If  however  for  some 
reason  the  owner  was  forced  to  sell  it,  it  could  be  redeemed  by  the 
next  of  kin  on  the  payment  of  the  proportionate  amount  of  its  value 
due  until  the  next  "Year  of  Jubilee."  Lev.  25 : 8-17.  Two  illustra- 
tions of  this  method  of  redeeming  a  forfeited  possession  are  gfiven 
in  the  Old  Testament ;  one  in  Ruth  4 :  1-12,  where  Boaz  redeems  the 
possession  of  Elimelech,  the  other  in  Jer.  32 : 6-12,  where  the  Prophet 
Jeremiah  purchased  the  possession  of  his  cousin  Hanameel.  The 
"Deed"  was  written  on  a  parchment  roll,  and  when  the  inside  was 
filled,  the  outside  was  used,  but  enough  space  was  left  to  not  show 
the  writing  when  the  parchment  was  rolled  up  and  sealed,  and  on  the 
outside  of  the  roll  that  showed,  the  Title  of  the  Deed,  and  the  names 


48        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

of  the  subscribing  witnesses  were  written.  Two  copies  of  the  "Deed" 
were  made.  One  was  sealed,  and  the  other  left  unsealed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reference.  These  deeds  were  handed  to  the  purchaser  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,  and  either  kept  by  him,  or  intrusted  to  a  cus- 
todian, or  placed,  as  in  the  case  of  Jeremiah,  in  an  earthen  vessel,  that 
would  neither  rot  nor  rust,  to  be  preserved  until  the  end  of  t^e  Sev- 
enty Years  of  Captivity  that  the  Prophet  had  foretold  was  to  be. 
This  method  of  taking  title,  explains  the  meaning  and  purpose  of  the 
"Seven  Sealed  Book"  that  John  saw  written  within  and  on  the  back. 
The  "Seals"  were  not  in  a  row  along  the  edge  of  the  Book  or  Roll, 
but  a  Seal  was  broken  and  the  parchment  unrolled  until  the  next 
seal  was  reached,  and  so  on  until  all  the  "Seals"  had  been  broken. 
We  are  not  told  that  what  happened  as  the  "Seals"  were  broken  was 
read  out  of  the  Book.  The  contents  of  the  "Book"  are  not  disclosed. 
We  are  simply  told,  as  the  "Seals"  are  broken,  that  certain  things 
happened.  They  doubtless  were  preliminary  to  the  Lamb's  taking 
possession  of  the  Purchased  Possession.  It  is  not  until  chapter  10: 
1-6,  that  Christ,  as  the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL,"  puts  His  right  foot 
upon  the  sea,  and  His  left  foot  on  the  earth,  and  cries — "There  shall 
be  time  no  longer,"  that  is  "NO  LONGER  DELAY,"  that  He  takes 
formal  possession,  but  as  the  claim  is  disputed  further  steps,  as  we 
shall  see,  are  necessary  to  secure  possession. 


DanieFs  Seventieth  Week 

Daniel  9:1-27. 

As  the  events  recorded  in  Rev.  6: 1  to  Rev.  19:21,  are  connected 
with  the  last,  or  "Seventieth  Week,"  of  Daniel's  "SEVENTY 
WEEKS,"  it  is  necessary  that  we  stop  here  and  explain  what  is 
meant  by  Daniel's  "Seventieth  Week." 

The  Prophet  Daniel  had  been  68  years  (B.  C.  538)  in  Babylon, 
and  by  a  study  of  the  Prophecy  of  Jeremiah  (Jer.  25:11),  he  dis- 
covered that  the  "Seventy  Years"  Captivity  of  his  people  was  near- 
ing  its  end,  and  so  he  set  his  face  unto  the  Lord,  to  seek  by  prayer  and 
supplication  (Dan.  9:3)  to  know  the  exact  time  of  its  ending,  and 
while  he  was  praying  the  Angel  Gabriel  appeared  to  enlighten  him. 
(Dan.  9:20-23.)  Daniel  was  concerned  about  the  expiration  of  the 
"Seventy  Years"  of  the  Captivity,  and  the  restoration  of  his  people  to 
Palestine,  and  the  rebuilding  of  the  City  of  Jerusalem  and  of  the 
Temple.  But  the  Angel  Gabriel  came  to  disclose  to  him  something 
more  important  than  that.  While  he  doubtless  informed  Daniel  that 
God  would  fulfil  His  promise  as  to  the  "Seventy  Years"  of  the  Cap- 
tivity, which,  as  we  know.  He  did,  he  also  made  known  to  Daniel 
that  that  would  not  end  the  troubles  of  Israel.  That  while  the  Jews 
were  to  return  to  Jerusalem  at  the  end  of  the  "Seventy  Years"  of 
Captivity,  there  was  a  longer  period  to  elapse  before  the  Kingdom 
would  be  restored  to  them,  a  period  of 

"SEVENTY  WEEKS." 




THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         49 

"SEVENTY  WEEKS  are  determined  upon  Thy  People  (Dan- 
iel's people  the  Jews)  and  upon  the  Holy  City  (Jerusalem),  to  finish 
the  transgression,  and  to  make  an  end  of  sins,  and  to  make  recon- 
ciliation for  iniquity,  and  to  bring  in  everlasting  righteousness,  and 
to  seal  up  the  vision  and  prophecy,  and  to  anoint  the  most  Holy. 
Know  therefore  and  understand,  that  from  the  going  forth  of  the 
commandment  to  restore  and  to  build  Jerusalem  unto  the  'MESSIAH 
THE  PRINCE'  shall  be  SEVEN  WEEKS,  and  THREESCORE 
AND  TWO  WEEKS:  the  street  shall  be  built  again,  and  the  wall, 
even  in  troublous  times.  And  after  THREESCORE  AND  TWO 
WEEKS  shall  MESSIAH  BE  CUT  OFF,  but  not  for  Himself:  and 
the  people  (Roman)  of  the  PRINCE  THAT  SHALL  COME  (Anti- 
christ) shall  destroy  the  City  and  the  Sanctuary ;  and  the  end  thereof 
shall  be  ■with  a  flood,  and  unto  the  end  of  the  war  desolations  are 
determined.  And  he  (Antichrist)  shall  confirm  the  Covenant  with 
many  for  ONE  WEEK  (the  last  or  Seventieth  Week)  :  and  in  the 
midst  of  THE  WEEK  he  (Antichrist)  shall  cause  the  Sacrifice  and 
the  oblations  to  cease,  and  for  the  overspreading  of  abominations  (the 
Abomination  of  Desolation  spoken  of  by  Christ.  Matt.  24:  15)  he 
shall  make  it  desolate,  even  until  the  consummation,  and  that  deter- 
mined shall  be  poured  upon  the  desolate."    Dan.  9 :  24-27. 

This  Vision  of  the  "SEVENTY  WEEKS"  is  the  most  important 
revelation,  in  many  ways,  made  in  the  Scriptures.  We  are  here  told 
that  this  Period  of  "SEVENTY  WEEKS"  was  determined  upon 
Daniel's  PEOPLE  (the  Jews),  and  upon  the  HOLY  CITY  (Jeru- 
salem), This  is  very  important.  It  discloses  the  fact  that  the  "SEV- 
ENTY WEEKS"  nave  nothing  to  do  with  the  Gentiles,  or  the 
Church,  but  only  with  the  JEWS  and  JERUSALEM.  It  also  dis- 
closes anothei  important  fact  that  the  "SEVENTY  WEEKS"  only 
cover  the  period  when  the  Jews  are  DWELLING  IN  THEIR  OWN 
LAND,  and  does  not  cover  the  present  period  of  their  Dispersion. 
We  are  told  h  verse  24  that  these  "SEVENTY  WEEKS"  were  de- 
termined for  z  SIX-FOLD  purpose. 

1.     TO  FINISH  THE  TRANSGRESSION. 

It  is  the  transgression  of  ISRAEL  that  is  here  referred  to,  and 
the  finishing  of  it  will  be  the  turning  away  of  UNGODLINESS 
FROM  JACOB.  Rom.  11:26-27.  The  transgression  of  Israel  has 
not  yet  come  to  an  end,  and  will  not  until  they  as  a  Nation  shall  be 
converted. 

2.     TO  MAKE  AN  END  OF  SINS. 

The  margin  reads  to  "seal  up"  sins.  The  sins  of  ISRAEL.  This 
may  refer  to  the  author  of  Israel's  sins — Satan,  who  shall  at  that  time 
be  "sealed  up"  in  the  Pit.     Rev.  20 :  1-3. 

3.     TO  MAKE  RECONCILIATION  FOR  INIQUITY. 

This  refers  to  ISRAEL'S  iniquity  in  the  rejection  of  their  Mes- 
siah. While  atonement  was  made  for  their  sin  on  the  Cross,  its  appli- 
cation to  Israel  as  a  Nation  awaits  the  day  when  they  shall  look  on 
Him  whom  they  pierced  (Zech.  12:10),  and  a  fountain  shall  be 
opened  to  the  "House  of  David,"  and  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem 


50         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

for  sin  and  uncleanliness,  Zech.  13:  1,  and  a  nation,  the  Jewish  Nation, 
shall  be  "born  again"  in  a  day.    Isa.  66 : 8. 

4.     TO  BRING  IN  EVERLASTING  RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

When  the  "Transgres'sion  of  ISRAEL"  has  come  to  an  end,  and 
her  sins  are  "sealed  up,"  then  everlasting  righteousness  shall  be 
brought  in.  The  King  will  come,  and  the  Kingdom  be  restored  to 
Israel,  and  the  Millennium  will  be  here,  and  the  "Knowledge  of  the 
Lord"  shall  cover  the  earth,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea.     Hab.  2:  14. 

5.     TO  SEAL  UP  THE  VISION  AND  PROPHECY. 

When  the  "Transgression  of  ISRAEL"  has  ceased  and  they 
have  uninterrupted  communion  with  God,  there  will  no  longer  be 
any  need  for  "Vision"  or  "Prophet."  It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that 
"Vision"  and  "Prophecy"  has  been  confined  to  the  Jewish  race. 

6.    TO  ANOINT  THE  MOST  HOLY. 

This  probably  refers  to  the  anointing  of  the  "Most  Holy  Place," 
or  the  "Holy  of  Holies"  of  the  MILLENNIAL  TEMPLE,  described 
by  Ezekiel.  Ezek.  41.  There  is  great  significance  in  this  announce- 
ment; for,  although  the  Tabernacle  of  Moses  was  anointed  (Lev. 
8 :  10) ,  there  is  no  mention  of  such  a  ceremony  in  the  Consecration 
of  either  Solomon's  Temple,  or  the  Temple  of  Zerubbabel,  for  those 
buildings  were  considered  merely  as  continuations  of  the  Mosaic 
Tabernacle.  But  when  the  King  comes  back  and  sits  upon  the  Throne 
of  His  father  David,  there  is  to  be  a  magnificent  Temple  erected,  the 
like  of  which  has  never  as  yet  been  seen  on  this  planet  of  ours.  There 
will  be  no  "Ark  of  the  Covenant"  with  its  "Mercy  Seat,"  in  the 
"Most  Holy  Place"  of  the  Millennial  Temple  (Jer.  3:  16),  but  in  its 
place  will  stand  the  ROYAL  THRONE  on  which  the  "BRANCH," 
the  Messiah  shall  sit  as  a  KING-PRIEST  (Zech.  6:12-13),  and 
whose  anointing  is  here  referred  to. 

Now  as  the  fulfilment  of  this  "Six-Fold"  purpose  of  the  "SEV- 
ENTY WEEKS"  synchronizes  with  the  things  that  shall  happen  at 
the  close  of  this  Dispensation,  and  that  are  described  in  Rev.  6:1; 
19:21,  it  is  clear  that  the  last,  or  "SEVENTIETH  WEEK"  of  Dan- 
iel's "Seventy  Weeks,"  covers  the  "TIME  PERIOD"  of  Rev.  6:1; 
19:21,  and  confirms  the  claim  that  that  "Period"  is  Jewish  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  Church.  To  prove  this  it  is  only  necessary 
to  outline  Daniel's  "Seventy  Weeks." 

The  "Seventy  Weeks"  are  divided  into  "THREE  PERIODS" 
of  7  Weeks,  and  62  Weeks,  and  1  Week.  They  cover  the  time  from 
the  going  forth  of  the  commandment  to  restore  and  to  build  Jeru- 
salem, which  was  the  14th  day  of  the  month  Nisan  (March)  B,  C. 
445,  to  the  Second  Stage  (The  Revelation)  of  the  Second  Coming  of 
Christ.  The  "First  Period,"  7  WEEKS,  refers  to  the  time  required 
to  rebuild  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  which  was  49  years,  thus  giving  us 
the  "Key"  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  "WEEK,"  for  if  7  WEEKS 
are  equal  to  49  YEARS,  then  1  WEEK  is  equal  to  7  YEARS.  Now 
we  are  told  that  from  the  going  forth  of  the  commandment  to 
restore  and  rebuild  Jerusalem  (B.  C.  445)  unto  the  "MESSIAH  THE 


52         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

PRINCE,"  shall  be  7  WEEKS,  and  THREESCORE  AND  TWO 
WEEKS,  or  69  WEEKS,  or,  if  1  WEEK  is  equal  to  7  YEARS, 
7  X  69  or  483  YEARS.    Now  Jesus,  as  "MESSIAH  THE  PRINCE," 

rode  in  triumph  into  Jerusalem  on  Palm  Sunday,  April  2,  A.  D.  30. 
The  difference  in  time  between  B.  C.  445  and  A.  D.  30  is  475  years, 
but,  as  we  have  seen,  69  WEEKS  equal  483  years,  a  difference  of  8 
years.    How  are  we  to  explain  th's  difference? 

The  475  years  between  B.  C.  445  and  A.  D.  30,  are  Julian  or 
Astronomical  years  of  365^4  days  each,  but  when  we  reduce  them  to 
Calendar  years  of  360  days  each,  the  year  used  in  the  Scriptures,  we 
find  that  we  have  exactly  483  years  of  360  days  each.  This  proves 
that  there  was  no  break  between  the  "First"  and  "Second"  Periods 
of  the  "Seventy  Weeks,"  and  that  the  prophecy  that  there  should  be 
69  WEEKS  to  the  coming  of  "MESSIAH  THE  PRINCE"  was  lit- 
erally fulfilled.  Now  as  69  WEEKS  of  Daniel's  "SEVENTY 
WEEKS"  have  already  expired,  and  all  that  was  prophesied  to 
occur  during  those  "SEVENTY  WEEKS"  has  not  yet  been  ful- 
filled, it  stands  to  reason  that  the  things  unfulfilled  are  still  future, 
and  must  be  fulfilled  in  the  remaining  "ONE  WEEK,"  and  that 
that  "ONE  WEEK"  shall  be  "SEVEN  YEARS"  long,  for  it  must 
be  of  the  same  length  as  the  other  "WEEKS."  This  then  gives 
us  the  length  of  time  of  the  reign  of  the  "PRINCE  THAT  SHALL 
COME"  (Antichrist),  who  we  are  told  in  verse  27  (Dan.  9:27)  shall 
make  a  Covenant  with  the  Jews  for  "ONE  WEEK"  (7  years),  the 
last  or  "SEVENTIETH  WEEK,"  and  that  in  the  "Middle"  of  the 
WEEK  he  shall  break  the  Covenant  and  cause  the  "sacrifice  and 
oblation"  that  the  Jews  will  have  restored,  to  cease,  and  then  the 
"overspreading  of  abominations  that  maketh  desolate,"  shall  con- 
tinue until  the  end  of  the  WEEK.  As  this  is  just  what  is  foretold 
will  occur  during  the  reign  of  Antichrist  (2.  Thess.  2 : 3-4)  we  see 
that  the  "Period"  between  Rev.  6:  1  and  Rev.  19:21,  that  we  are  now 
about  to  study,  is  the  "Third  Period"  of  ONE  WEEK,  of  Daniel's 
"SEVENTY  WEEKS"  and  that  it  is  to  last  SEVEN  YEARS.  From 
this  we  see  that  while  there  was  no  "Time  Space"  between  the  "First" 
and  "Second"  Periods  of  the  "Seventy  Weeks,"  there  is  a  "Time 
Space"  between  the  "Second"  and  "Third"  Periods  or  the  69th  and 
70th  Week,  of  already  (A.  D.  1919)  1889  years,  or  the  present  Church 
Age.  This  was  hidden  so  the  ChurCh  should  not  fail  to  watch.  See 
the  Chart,  "Daniel's  Seventy  Weeks." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        53 

The  Seven  Seals 

FIRST  SEAL. 

(A  White  Horse.) 

Rev.  6:1-2. 


"And  I  saw  when  the  LAMB  opened  one  of  the  SEALS,  and 
I  heard,  as  it  were  the  noise  of  thunder,  one  of  the  'Four  Beasts' 
saying,  Come  and  see.  And  I  saw,  and  behold  a  WHITE 
HORSE:  and  he  that  sat  on  him  had  a  bow;  and  a  crown  was 
given  unto  him:  and  he  went  forth  conquering,  and  to  conquer." 

When  the  LAMB  broke  the  "First  Seal,"  the  first,  or  "Lion-like 
Living  Creature"  cried  with  a  voice  of  thunder — "COME."  The 
words  "and  see"  are  omitted  in  many  manuscripts,  and  in  the  Revised 
Version.  John  had  no  need  to  "come"  for  he  was  already  there.  The 
command  then  of  "Come"  was  to  the  "Rider"  of  the  White  Horse. 
When  he  appeared,  John  says — "And  I  saw,  and  behold  a  WHITE 
HORSE ;  and  he  that  sat  on  him  had  a  bow ;  and  a  crown  was  given 
unto  him:  and  he  went  forth  conquering,  and  to  conquer." 

Who  is  the  "Rider"  upon  this  White  Horse?  He  is  not  Christ, 
as  some  claim,  for  Christ,  as  the  LAMB,  is  holding  the  "Seven  Sealed 
Book"  and  breaking  its  "Seals."  Christ  does  not  appear  as  a  White 
Horse  Rider  until  chapter  19:  11-16,  when  He  comes  with  the  armies 
of  Heaven  to  engage  in  the  Battle  of  Armageddon.  Then  He  is  called 
"Faithful  and  True,"  and  on  His  head  there  is  a  many  "Diademed 
Crown,"  and  He  is  clothed  in  a  vesture  dipped  in  blood,  and  His  name 
is  called  the  "WORD  OF  GOD,"  and  there  is  no  weapon  of  warfare 
in  His  hand,  but  a  sharp  sword  comes  out  of  His  mouth,  and  the 
eflFect  upon  His  enemies  will  be  swift  and  terrible. 

This  "Rider"  has  a  "bow,"  no  arrow  is  mentioned,  and  he  is  not 
crowned  at  first,  but  a  crown  will  be  given  to  him  later,  the  "Ste- 
phanos" or  "Victor's  Crown,"  as  a  reward  for  his  victories  which  are 
prolonged  and  bloodless.  This  is  the  picture  of  a  brilliant,  strategical, 
and  irresistible  conqueror,  whose  victories  will  dazzle  the  world,  and 
elevate  him  to  a  leadership  that  will  place  him  at  the  Head  of  th6 


54        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

Ten  Federated  Kingdoms  of  the  revived  Roman  Empire.  As  a 
subaltern,  like  Napoleon  I,  he  will  rise  from  the  ranks  until  a  crown 
will  be  given  him.  His  triumphs  will  be  due  to  his  skilful  diplomacy. 
Like  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  his  prototype,  he  "will  come  in  peaceably^ 
and  obtain  the  Kingdom  by  flatteries."  Dan.  11 :  21.  As  the  "Tool  of 
Satan"  he  will  be  endowed  with  wonder  working  powers,  and  when 
he  comes,  he  will  find  the  world  ready  to  receive  him,  for  God  will 
send  upon  its  inhabitants  a  "strong  delusion"  that  they  will  believe  a 
LIE,  or  "THE  LIE,"  for  that  is  what  he  will  be.  2.  Thess.  2:9-11. 
In  other  words  this  White  Horse  Rider  is  the  ANTICHRIST. 
He  is  the  "PRINCE  WHO  IS  TO  COME"  of  Daniel's  Vision  of  the 
"Seventy  Weeks,"  and  who  will  confirm  the  Covenant  for  "ONE 
WEEK,"  the  last  or  "Seventieth  Week,"  with  Daniel's  people  the 
Jews.  Dan.  9 :  27.  This  Covenant  will  probably  be  the  privilege  to 
return  to  Palestine  and  rebuild  the  Temple  and  re-establish  their  sac- 
rificial form  of  worship,  and  national  existence,  in  exchange  for  the 
financial  assistance  of  the  Jewish  bankers  of  the  world  in  his  schemes 
of  establishing  world  wide  commerce,  and  the  formation  of  a  gigantic 
corporation,  with  its  commercial  centre  in  the  rebuilt  city  of  Babylon, 
so  that  no  one  can  buy  or  sell  unless  they  have  his  "MARK,"  (the 
"Mark  of  the  Beast,"  Rev.  13  :  16-17),  for  we  are  told  in  Dan.  8 :  23-25, 
that  "through  his  policy  also  he  shall  cause  CRAFT  (manufactories) 
to  prosper  in  his  hand." 

The  rise  of  this  White  Horse  Rider  necessarily  antedates  the 
beginning  of  the  "Seventieth  Week,"  or  the  "SEVEN  YEARS"  of  his 
reign,  for  he  must  have  reached  a  position  of  power  to  make  a  Cove- 
nant with  the  Jews  at  the  beginning  of  the  "WEEK,"  but  he  does 
not  become  "THE  BEAST,"  as  described  in  chapter  13 :  1-8,  until  the 
"Middle"  of  the  WEEK,  that  is,  until  after  Satan  is  cast  out  of  the 
Heavenlies  and  incarnates  himself  in  him.  His  rise  to  power  and  the 
rebuilding  of  Babylon  will  take  time,  so  the  Rapture  of  the  Church 
will  doubtless  antedate  the  beginning  of  the  WEEK  by  some  years. 
But  while  the  establishment  of  the  Antichrist's  power  will  be  com- 
paratively peaceful,  that  peace  will  be  shortlived  as  is  evident  from 
the  breaking  of  the  "Second  Seal." 

This  "White  Horse  Rider"  will  be  Satan's  "SUPERMAN."  The 
Scriptures  clearly  teach  that  there  is  some  day  to  arise  a  human 
being  who  shall  be  the  embodiment  of  all  Satanic  power.  He  will 
be  known  as  the  "WILFUL  KING"  because  he  shall  do  according 
to  his  own  will.  He  will  be  the  Czar  of  Czars.  He  will  have  no 
respect  for  sacred  things  or  places.  He  will  cause  a  throne  to  be 
erected  in  the  Most  Holy  Place  of  a  Temple  that  the  Jews  will 
build  at  Jerusalem,  and,  seating  himself  upon  it,  he  will  proclaim 
himself  God,  and  men  will  be  commanded  to  worship  him;  and 
Satan  will  give  unto  him  his  power  and  his  seat  (Throne)  and  great 
authority.  All  this  will  be  fully  brought  out  under  the  "Sixth 
Personage."  the  "Beast  Out  of  the  Sea,"  Page  103. 


•J^HE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER,         55 

SECOND  SEAL. 

(A  Red  Horse.) 

Rev.  6:3-4. 


"And  when  He  had  opened  the  'SECOND  SEAL,'  I  heard 

je  'Second  Beast'  say,  Come.    And  there  went  out  another  Horse 

that  was  RED:  and  power  was  g^ven  to  him  that  sat  thereon  to 

take  peace  from  the  earth,  and  that  they  should  kill  one  another: 

and  there  was  given  unto  him  a  GREAT  SWORD." 

There  is  no  need  to  tarry  long  with  this  SEAL.  When  it  was 
Voken  John  heard  the  second,  or  "Calf-like  Living  Creature"  say, 
**Come,"  and  a  "RED  HORSE"  appeared  and  went  forth,  whose 
Rider  was  given  a  "GREAT  SWORD,"  and  who  had  power  to  take 
peace  from  the  earth,  and  cause  men  to  kill  one  another.  The  sym- 
bolism is  very  clear.  Red,  the  color  of  the  Horse,  is  a  symbol  of 
BLOOD,  and  the  Sword  is  a  symbol  of  WAR.  The  time  is  clearly 
that  prophesied  by  Christ — "And  ye  shall  hear  of  wars  and  rumors  of 
wars  .  .  .  for  nation  shall  rise  against  nation,  and  kingdom 
against  kingdom."  Matt.  24:  6-7.  This  seems  to  imply  that  the  Anti- 
christ will  not  have  everything  his  own  way,  and  that  his  Autocratic 
methods  will  lead  to  insubordination  and  civil  wars  among  the  nations 
under  some  great  leader  represented  by  the  Rider  of  the  Red  Horse, 
whose  "Great  Sword"  is  symbolical  of  the  awful  destruction  of 
human  life  that  will  follow. 

This  is  a  fulfillment  of  1.  Thess.  5  : 3.  "When  they  shall  say 
PEACE  and  SAFETY;  then  sudden  destruction  cometh  upon  them, 
as  travail  upon  a  woman  with  child ;  and  they  shall  not  escape."  We 
learn  from  this  "Seal"  that  wars  are  likely  to  break  out  at  any  time 
and  that  there  will  be  no  peace  on  the  earth  until  the  return  of  the 
"Prince  of  Peace." 


56       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

THIRD  SEAL. 

(A  Black  Horse.) 

Rev.  6:5-6. 


"And  when  He  opened  the  'THIRD  SEAL/  I  heard  the 
'Third  Beast'  say,  Come.  And  I  beheld,  and  lo  a  BLACK 
HORSE:  and  he  that  sat  on  him  had  a  pair  of  balances  in  his 
hand.  And  I  heard  a  voice  in  the  midst  of  the  Four  Beasts  say, 
A  measure  of  wheat  for  a  penny,  and  three  measures  of  barley 
for  a  penny:  and  see  thou  hurt  ndt  the  oil  and  the  wine.** 


When  the  "THIRD  SEAL"  was  broken  John  heard  the  third  or 
"Man-like  Living  Creature"  say— "Come,"  and  a  "BLACK  HORSE" 
appeared  and  went  forth,  whose  Rider  held  in  his  hand  a  "pair  of 
balances,"  and  John  heard  the  voice  of  an  invisible  person  in  the 
midst  of  the  "Four  Living  Creatures"  say — "A  measure  of  wheat  for 
a  penny,  and  three  measures  of  barley  for  a  penny,  and  see  thou  hurt 
not  the  oil  and  the  wine."  The  "BLACK  HORSE"  signifies  famine, 
and  the  Rider  the  "Conserver  of  Food."  When  all  able  bodied  men 
are  drafted  for  war,  and  no  one  left  to  sow  and  harvest  the  crops, 
then  famine  is  sure  to  follow.  So  great  will  be  the  famine,  that  it 
will  take  a  "denarius"  a  day's  wages,  to  buy  a  "choenix"  (2  pints)  of 
wheat,"  the  daily  ration  of  a  slave.  What  is  meant  by  not  hurting  the 
oil  and  wine,  may  be,  that  as  the  Olive  tree  and  grapevine  do  not 
bear  their  fruit  until  some  months  after  the  wheat  and  barley  harvest, 
and  grow  without  much  attention,  their  crops  would  not  be  so  much 
affected  by  war,  and  therefore  the  Olive  trees  and  grapevines  were 
not  to  be  ruthlessly  destroyed  by  invaders  for  they  were  needed  for 
medicinal  purposes. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        37 

FOURTH  SEAL. 
(A  Pale  Horse.) 

Rev.  6:7-8. 


"And  when  He  had  opened  the  'FOURTH  SEAL/  I  heard 
the  voice  of  the  'Fourth  Beast'  say,  Come.  And  I  looked,  and 
behold  a  PALE  HORSE:  and  his  name  that  sat  on  him  was 
DEATH,  and  HELL  (Hades)  followed  with  him.  And  power 
was  given  unto  them  over  the*  fourth  part  of  the  earth,  to  kill 
with  SWORD,  and  with  HUNGER,  and  with  DEATH,  and  with 
the  BEASTS  OF  THE  EARTH." 

When  the  "FOURTH  SEAL"  was  broken  John  heard  the  fourth, 
or  "Eagle-like  Living  Creature"  say— "Come,"  and  a  "PALE 
HORSE"  appeared  and  went  forth.  Note  the  "corpse-like"  color  of 
the  Horse.  We  are  not  surprised  then  when  the  Rider  upon  the 
"PALE  HORSE"  is  called  "DEATH,"  and  that  "HADES,"  the 
"Grave,"  not  "Hell,"  follows  after  "Death"  like  a  great  "Voracious 
Monster"  to  swallow  up  the  victims  of  "DEATH."  It  is  worthy  of 
note  that  the  Riders  of  the  first  three  Horses  are  not  named,  but  it 
will  be  very  clear  when  the  events  they  chronicle  occur,  who  and  what 
is  meant.  Here  however  the  Rider  is  personified  and  called 
"DEATH,"  and  his  consort  is  called  "HADES,"  they  are  inseparable 
companions.  The  reference  here  is  clearly  to  some  great  PESTI- 
LENCE that  shall  come  upon  the  earth.  After  a  devastating  war, 
followed  by  famine,  during  which  the  dead  are  left  unburied,  a 
PESTILENCE  is  sure  to  follow.  The  "fourth  part  of  the  earth" 
over  which  the  Pestilence  shall  sweep  will  probably  be  that  part  of 
the  Eastern  Hemisphere  covered  by  the  revived  Roman  Empire. 
See  Map  of  the  Old  Roman  Empire.  So  great  will  be  the  destruction 
of  human  life  in  the  days  of  the  "Fourth  Seal"  that  HADES  will 
have  to  enlarge  herself  and  open  her  mouth  without  measure,  as  fore- 
told in  Isa.  5 :  13-16.  The  means  of  destruction  mentioned — the 
SWORD,  HUNGER,  DEATH,  and  the  BEASTS  OF  THE  EARTH, 


58         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

are  the  "FOUR  SORE  JUDGMENTS"  of  Ez.  14:21,  that  are  to  fall 
upon  JERUSALEM — '"For  thus  saith  the  Lord  God:  How  much 
more  when  I  send  mv  'FOUR  SORE  JUDGMENTS'  upon  JERU- 
SALEM, the  SWORD,  and  the  FAMINE,  and  the  NOISOME 
BEAST,  and  the  PESTILENCE,  to  cut  ott  from  it  man  and  beast." 
Those  will  be  awful  times  to  those  who  must  pass  through  them. 
But  the  Church  will  not  be  in  them  having  been  '"caught  out"  before 
as  promised.  But  a\Wul  as  those  days  will  be.  thev  will  be  only  the 
"BEGINNING  OF  SORROWS"  for  those  who  are  left.  Matt.  24: 
6-S.  And  the  worst  thing  about  them  will  be  that  they  are  "Harden- 
ing Judgments,"  and  instead  of  the  people  repenting  and  calling  upon 
God.  they  will  call  on  the  mountains  and  rocks  to  hide  them  from  the 
face  of  Him  that  sitteth  on  the  Throne.    Rev.  6:  15-17. 

FIFTH  SEAL. 

(The  Souls  o£  Martyrs.) 

Rev.  6:9-11. 


Tfac  Sacrificial  Altar 

(SquIs  Under  the  Altar.) 

"And  when  He  had  opened  the  'FIFTH  SEAL,'  I  saw  under 
the  'Altar'  the  SOULS  of  them  that  were  slain  for  the  Word  ol 
God,  and  for  the  testimony  which  they  held:  and  they  cried  with 
a  loud  voice,  saying,  How  long,  O  Lord,  Holy  and  True,  dost 
Thou  not  judge  and  avenge  cnir  BLOOD  on  them  that  dwell  on 
the  earth?  And  white  robes  were  given  unto  every  one  of  them: 
and  it  was  said  unto  them,  that  they  should  rest  yet  for  a  'little 
season,'  until  their  fellow  servants  also  and  their  brethren,  that 
should  be  killed  as  they  were,  should  be  fulfilled." 

When  the  Lamb  had  opened  the  "FIFTH  SEAL,"  John  sa« 
tinder  the  "Sacrificial  Altar,"  corresponding  to  the  "Burnt  Offering 
Altar,"  the  "SOULS"  of  them  that  were  slain  for  the  "Word  of  God" 
and  for  the  "testimony  they  held."  The  fact  that  their  "SOULS" 
were  under  the  "Sacrificial  Altar"  is  proof  that  they  had  been  offered 
as  a  "Sacrifice,"  that  is  that  they  were  MARTYRS.  But  they  were 
not  the  Martyrs  of  the  Christian  Church,  for  they  had  been  resur- 
rected and  taken  up  with  the  Church.    These  Martyrs  are  those  who 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        59 

will  be  killed  for  the  "Word  of  God"  and  their  "testimony"  after  the 
Church  is  caught  out. 

According  to  Christ  (Matt.  24:9-14),  a  persecution  will  be 
brought  about  by  the  preaching  of  the  "GOSPEL  OF  THE  KING- 
DOM." When  the  Church  is  caught  out  the  preaching  of  the  "GOS- 
PEL OF  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD"  (Acts  20:24),  which  is  being 
preached  now,  will  cease,  and  the  preaching  of  the  "GOSPEL  OF 
THE  KINGDOM"  will  be  revived.  It  is  the  Gospel  that  John  the 
Baptist  preached,  "Repent  ye :  for  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at 
hand,"  Matt.  3:  1-2,  and  that  Elijah  the  Prophet  when  he  returns  will 
preach.  Malachi  4:5-6.  It  is  to  be  preached  in  all  the  world  for  a 
witness;  and  then  shall  the  "End,"  the  End  of  this  Dispensation, 
come.  It  will  be  preached  by  the  Jews,  and  will  be  the  announcement 
that  Christ  is  coming  back  to  set  up  His  Earthly  Kingdom,  and  rule 
over  the  affairs  of  men.  This  will  be  exceedingly  distasteful  to  the 
Kings  of  the  Earth,  particularly  to  Antichrist  and  the  Kings  of  the 
Ten  Federated  Kingdoms,  and  the  outcome  will  be  a  "Great  Perse- 
cution" of  those  who  preach  and  accept  such  a  Gospel,  and  the 
"SOULS"  that  John  saw  under  the  "Sacrificial  Altar,"  are  the  souls 
of  those  who  shall  perish  during  that  time  of  persecution.  That 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  "Soul  Sleep,"  and  that  disembodied  SOULS 
are  conscious  and  can  speak  and  cry,  is  clear  from  what  John  saw 
and  heard,  for  these  "SOULS"  cried  with  a  loud  voice — "How  long, 
O  Lord,  Holy  and  True,  dost  Thou  not  judge  and  avenge  our  BLOOD 
on  them  that  dwell  on  the  earth?"  The  character  of  their  cry  is  fur- 
ther proof  that  they  are  not  the  Martyrs  of  the  Christian  Church, 
for  they  would  not  cry  to  be  avenged,  but  like  Stephen  would  say — • 
"Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge."  Acts  7:60.  Their  cry  is 
that  of  the  Imprecatory  Psalms  (Psa.  35,  55,  59,  94,  etc.)  and  indi- 
cates that  these  Martyrs  whose  SOULS  are  seen  are  mainly  JEWS. 
This  is  still  more  likely  when  we  consider  that  the  "Gospel  of  the 
Kingdom"  is  to  be  preached  to  the  NATIONS,  and  Israel  has  never 
been  numbered  among  the  Nations.    Num.  23 : 9. 

To  these  martyred  "SOULS"  white  robes  were  given.  This  does 
not  mean  that  they  were  resurrected,  that  is,  given  glorified  BODIES, 
and  then  robed,  but  that  they  in  their  "Soulish"  or  "PSYCHICAL" 
bodies  were  given  white  robes,  for  while  the  "Spirit"  of  man  loses  its 
earthly,  or  FLESHY  body,  at  death,  it  still  has  a  body,  its  SOUL- 
ISH body,  that  can  see,  hear,  speak,  etc.,  for  how  could  a  SOUL  "cry" 
if  it  did  not  have  a  form  and  physical  senses.  For  a  full  exposition 
of  this  see  the  Author's  Book  on  "Dispensational  Truth,"  the  Chapter 
on  the  "Spirit  World." 

These  martyred  SOULS  were  comforted,  and  told  that  they 
should  rest  for  a  "little  season,"  about  3J/2  years,  until  their  fellow 
servants  also,  and  their  brethren  (Jews)  that  should  be  killed,  as  they 
were,  should  be  fulfilled.  This  promise  is  fulfilled  in  Rev.  20:4-6. 
These  are  the  Saints  of  the  Most  High  that  Daniel  foresaw  would 
receive  the  Kingdom.     Dan.  7 :  27. 


60        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

SIXTH  SEAL. 

(Physical  Changes.) 

Rev.  6:12-17. 

"And  I  beheld  when  He  had  opened  the  'SIXTH  SEAL,* 
and,  lo,  there  was  an  earthquake:  and  the  sun  became  black  as 
sackclcAh  of  hair,  and  the  moon  became  as  blood:  and  the  stars 
of  heaven  fell  unto  the  earth,  even  as  a  tig  tree  casteth  her 
untimely  rif^-,  when  she  is  shaken  of  a  mighty  wind.  And  the 
heaven  departed  as  a  scroll  when  it  is  rolled  together;  and  every 
mountain  end  sland  were  moved  out  of  their  places.  And  the 
kings  of  the  eaith,  and  the  great  men,  and  the  rich  men,  and  the 
chief  captains,  and  the  mighty  men,  and  every  bond  man,  and 
every  free  man  mc  tnemselves  in  the  dens  and  in  the  rocks  of 
thf  mountains;  and  said  to  the  mountains  and  rocks,  FALL  ON 
V6,  and  HIDE  US  from  the  face  of  Him  that  sitteth  on  the 
Throne,  and  from  the  WRATH  OF  THE  LAMB:  for  th".  great 
day  of  HIS  WRATH  is  come;  and  who  shall  be  able  to  stand?" 

When  the  "SIXTH  SEAL"  was  broken  John  tells  us  that  there 
was  a  "GREAT  EARTHQUAKE,"  and  the  "SUN  BECAME 
BLACK  AS  SACKCLOTH  OF  HAIR,"  and  the  "MOON  BECAME 
AS  BLOOD,"  and  the  "STARS  OF  HEAVEN  FELL  TO  THE 
EARTH,"  and  the  "HEAVEN  DEPARTED  AS  A  SCROLL,"  and 
"EVERY  MOUNTAIN  AND  ISLAND  WERE  MOVED  OUT  OF 
THEIR  PLACE."  It  will  not  do  to  say  that  these  things  prefigure 
and  symbolize  the  overthrow  of  the  Powers  of  the  Earth  by  great 
social  and  political  convulsions.  These  are  nothing  more  or  less  than 
great  physical  convulsions  that  shall  shake  the  earth,  and  that  have 
been  foretold  by  the  Prophets  and  by  Christ  Himself.  Such  physical 
phenomena  and  changes  have  happened  before.  We  must  not  forget 
the  "GREAT  DARKNESS"  that  for  3  days  overspread  Egypt  in  the 
days  before  the  Exodus  (Ex.  10:21-23),  nor  the  "DARKNESS"  that 
settled  over  Jerusalem  and  Calvary  on  the  day  of  the  Crucifixion  of 
Christ.    Matt.  27:45. 

The  Prophet  Zachariah  speaks  of  a  day  that  shall  not  be  "dear" 
or  "dark,"  and  he  associates  it  with  an  earthquake  at  the  time  of  the 
return  of  the  Lord.  Zech.  14:  1-7.  On  May  19,  1780,  there  was  in 
New  England  what  is  called  in  history  the  "Dark  Day."  It  was  not 
an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  yet  it  was  dark  enough  to  make  the  stars 
visible,  and  the  chickens  went  to  roost.  The  cause  of  that  darkness 
has  never  been  explained.  In  the  prophecy  of  Joel  we  read — "I  will 
shew  wonders  in  the  heavens,  and  in  the  earth,  blood,  and  fire,  and 
pillars  of  smoke.  The  sun  shall  be  TURNED  INTO  DARKNESS, 
and  the  moon  into  BLOOD,  before  THE  GREAT  AND  TERRIBLE 
DAY  OF  THE  LORD  COME."  Joel  2:30-31.  In  Isa.  13:9-10,  we 
read— "Behold  the  'DAY  OF  THE  LORD'  cometh,  cruel  both  with 
wrath  and  fierce  anger,  to  lay  the  land  desolate,  and  He  shall  destroy 
the  sinners  thereof  out  of  it.  For  the  stars  of  heaven  and  the  con- 
stellations thereof  shall  NOT  GIVE  THEIR  LIGHT,  the  sun  shall 
be  DARKENED  in  his  going  forth,  and  the  moon  shall  not  CAUSE 
HER  LIGHT  TO  SHINE."  In  Isa.  34:4  we  read— "All  the  host  of 
heaven  (the  stars)  shall  be  dissolved  and  the  heavens  shall  be  rolled 
together  as  a  scroll:  and  all  their  host  shall  fall  down,  as  the  leaf 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        61 

falleth  from  the  vine,  and  as  falling  fig  from  the  figtree."  This  corre- 
sponds to  the  "stars  of  heaven"  of  this  "SEAL,"  and  probably  refers 
not  to  the  constellations  and  heavenly  bodies  (stars),  they  are  too 
far  away  to  be  affected  by  judgments  on  the  earth,  but  to  our  own 
atmosphere,  and  to  "meteors"  and  "shooting  stars,"  similar  to  the 
"shooting  stars"  of  November  15th,  1833,  when  they  fell  for  3  hours 
during  the  evening,  and  so  terrified  the  people  that  they  thought  the 
end  of  the  world  had  come.  These  physical  convulsions  will  be  the 
earth's  "TRAVAIL  PAINS"  as  she  labors  to  bring  forth  the  NEW 
CREATION  of  the  Millennial  Age.  Christ  refers  to  this  period  in 
Matt.  24:29,  where  He  says— "In  those  days  shall  the  SUN  BE 
DARKENED  (that  is,  its  light  obscured),  and  the  MOON  SHALL 
NOT  GIVE  HER  LIGHT,  and  the  STARS  SHALL  FALL  FROM 
HEAVEN,  and  the  POWERS  OF  THE  HEAVENS  (the  Principali- 
ties and  Powers  of  the  Heavenly  Places  (Eph.  6:  12),  not  the  Powers 
and  Kingdoms  of  the  Earth),  SHALL  BE  SHAKEN."  All  these 
startling  physical  changes  and  convulsions  will  cause  a  great  fear  to 
fall  upon  all  classes  and  conditions  of  men  (7  classes  are  named), 
who  will  no  longer  attribute  such  changes  merely  to  natural  law, 
but  will  see  the  "HAND  OF  THE  ALMIGHTY"  in  it  all.  To  them 
the  "DAY  OF  JUDGMENT"  will  become  a  reality,  and  in  their  fear 
and  terror  they  will  hide  themselves  in  the  dens  and  in  the  rocks  of 
the  mountains,  and  say  to  them— "FALL  ON  US,  AND  HIDE  US 
FROM  THE  FACE  OF  HIM  THAT  SITTETH  ON  THE 
THRONE,  AND  FROM  THE  'WRATH  OF  THE  LAMB,'  FOR 
THE  GREAT  DAY  OF  HIS  WRATH  IS  COME,  AND  WHO 
SHALL  BE  ABLE  TO  STAND?"  What  a  prayer?  Instead  of 
repenting  and  crying  for  Salvation,  they  will  call  on  the  mountains 
and  rocks  to  bury  them  from  the  sight  of  the  Almighty. 

At  this  point  it  will  be  interesting  to  compare,  as  on  the  next 
three  pages,  Christ's  "Olivet  Discourse"  (Matt.  24:1-30),  with  the  "Six 
Seals"  of  Rev.  6:1-17.  The  similarity  between  them  is  most  striking, 
and  proves  that  the  author  of  the  "Olivet  Discourse"  foreknew,  in  the 
"Days  of  His  Flesh,"  in  their  exact  order,  the  things  that  shall  come  to 
pass  in  the  "Day  of  the  Lord."  This  is  indisputable  evidence  of  the 
Deity  of  Jesus. 


62        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER, 


Comparison  Of 
Christ's  ^'Olivet  Discourse" 
And"Revelation  Six" 


Tuesday 

Afternoon 

APRli-4-:A.D.30 


Tuesday 

EVENINQ 


MATT24-:I-3 

AND  Jesns  went  out,  and  de- 
^  parted  firom  the  temple; 
and  Mb  disciples  came  to  him  for 
to  shew  him  tho  bmldinge  of  the 
temple. 

2  And  Jeens  eaid  nnto  them. 
See  ye  not  all  these  things?  ver- 
ily  I  say  unto  yon,  There  shall 
not  be  .left  here  one  stone  upon 
another,  that  shall  not  be  thiown 
down. 

3  U  And  as  he  sat  upon  the 
mount  of  Olires,  the  disciples 
came  unto  him  privately,  saying, 
Tell  us,  when  shall  these  things 
bel  and  what  thaU  be  the  sign 
o?  thy  coming,  and  of  the  end  of 
the  worldl 


The  Three-fold  Question 

l-WHEN  SHALL  THESE  THINQS  BE? 

2- WHAT  Shall  BE  THt  Siqn  OfThv  COMiNq? 
3-Ano  Of  The  End  Of  The  WorloCAqe)? 

Answer  To  First  Question 

Rev.  G:i-2 


l-SEAL       M 


Matt.  2^:4-5 

4  And  Jesus  answered  and  said 
nnto  them,  Take  heed  that  no 
aan  deceive  you.  FALS E  CHR  I  ST 'S 

p  For  many  shall  come  m  my  ■ 

name,  saying,  I  am  Ohrist;  and 
:diall  deceive  numy. 


MATT.  24-: 6-7 

6  And  ye  shall  hear  of  wars  and 
rumours  of  wars :  see  that  ye  be 
not  troubled :  for  all  these  things 
must  come  to  pass,  but  the  end 
is  not  yot. 

7  For  nation  shall  rise  against 
nation,  and  kingdom  against 
kmgduin : 


2-Seal 

Wars 


ND  I  saw  when  th&  Jiiamb 
opened  one  of  the  seals,  and 
I  heard,  as  it  were  the  noise  o^f 
thunder,  one  of  the  four  beasts 
saying,  Oome  and  see. 

2  And  I  saw,  and  behold  a 
white  horse :  and  he  that  sat  on 
him  had  a  bowj  and  a  crown  was 
gfren  nnto  him:  and  he  went 
forth  conquering,  and  to  con- 
quer. 

Rev.  6: 3-4- 

3  And  when  he  had  opened  the 
second  seal,  I  heard  the  second 
beast  say,  Oome  and  see. 

4  And  there  went  out-  another 
horse  that  was  red:  and  power 
was  given  to  him  that  sat  thereon 
to  take  peace  from  the  earth,  and 
that  they  should  kill  one  another: 
and  there  was  given  unto  him  a 
great  sword. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         63 


Matt  £4-.7 

and  there  sliall  be  tiuu  ines. 


Matt.  24-;  9-13 

9  Then  shall  they  deliver  yon 
np  to  be  afflicted,  and  shall  kill 
you :  and  ye  shall  be  hated  of 
all  nations  for  my  name's  sake. 

10  And  then  shall  many  be  of- 
fended, and  shall  betray  one  an- 
other, and  shall  hate  one  another. 

11  And  many  false  prophets 
shall  rise,  and  shall  deceive  many. 

12  And  because  iniquity  shall 
abound,  the  love  of  many  shall 
wax  cold. 

13  But  he  that  shall  endure  unto 
the  end,  the  same  shall  be  saved. 


Matt.  24: 14- 

14  Ajid  this  gospel  of  the  king- 
dom shall  be  preached  in  all  the 
world  for  a  witness  unto  all  na- 
tions; and  then  shall  the  end  come. 


3rSEAL 

Famines 


Matt  24: 7-8 

and  pestilences,  and  earth- 
quakes, in  divers  places. 
8  All  these  are  the  beginning  of 
sorrows. 


4-SEAL 

Pestilence 

A/d 

Death 


Rev. 6:5-6 

6  And  wben  he  had  opened  the 
third  seal,  I  heard  the  third  beast 
say.  Come  and  see.  And  I  be- 
held, and  lo  a  black  horse ;  and 
he  that  sat  on  him  had  a  pair  of 
balances  in  his  hand. 

6  And  I  heard  a  voice  in  the 
midst  of  the  four  beasts  say,  A 
measure  of  wheat  for  a  penny, 
and  three  measures  of  barley  for 
a  penny;  and  tee  thou  hurt  not 
the  oil  and  the  wine. 

Rev.  6:7-8 

7  And  when  he  had  opened  the 
fourth  seal,  I  heard  the  voice  of 
the  fourth  beast  say,  Come  and 
see. 

8  And  I  looked,  and  behold  a 
pale  horse :  and  his  name  that  sat 
on  him  was  Death,  and  Hell  fol- 
lowed with  him.  And  power 
was  given  unto  them  over  the 
fourth  part  of  the  earth,  to  kill 
with  sword,  and  with  hunger, 
and  with  death,  and  with  the 
beasts  of  the  earth. 

ReV.6:9-II 

».     ^  9  And  when  he  had  qpened  the 

^  -  ^  E  A  L        fifth  seal,  I  saw  under  the  altar 

VA        —^  „  „       . ^  the  souls  of  them  that  were  slain 

yiARTTKDOMb  for  the  word  of  God,  and  for  the 

testimony  which  they  held : 

10  And  they  cried  with  a  loud 
voice,  saying,  How  long,  O  Lord, 
holy  and  true,  dost  thou  not 
judge  and  avenge  our  blood  oh 
them  that  dwell  on  the  earth  1 

11  And  white  robes  were  given 
unto  every  one  of  them ;  and  it 
was  said  unto  them,  that  they 
should  rest  yet  for  a  little  season, 
until -their  fellow  servants  also 
and  their  brethren,  that  should 
be  killed  as  they  tco  e,  should  be 
fulfilled.- 

The  Qospel  Now  beinq  Preach- 
ed ,(  s  Th  e  '  G_ospEi_OFjrHE_GRACE 
Of  God 'I  Acts  zq-z^. 


Answer  To  Second  Question 

MATT.  2,4: 15 

" The.  Sic;ni"of  The  Desolator" 

Dan-  9:27 


15  Wben  ye  therefore  shall  see 
the  abomination  of  desolation, 
spoken  of  by  Daniel  the  prophet, 
stand  in  the  holy  place,  (whoso 
readeth,  let  him  understand,) 


64        THS  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 


Matt.  24-:  1 6-22 

16  Then  let  ^em  which  be  in 
Jndea  flee  into  the  moTintaing  t 

17  Let  .him  which  is  on  the 
housetop  not  come  down  to  take 
any  thing  ont  of  his  house : 

18  Neither  let  him  which  is  in 
the  field  retom  back  to  take  his. 
clothes. 

19  And  woe  nnto  them  that  are 
with  child,  and  to  them  that  give- 
suck  in  those  days ! 

20  But  pray  ye  that  your  flight 
be  not  in  the  winter,  neither  on 
the  sabbath  day : 

21  For  then  shall  be  great  trib-  \ 

nlation,  such  as  was  not  since  the   lTijp"^RpivT    TPIRIII  AT»ni>4" 
beginning  of  the  world  to  this/    Int    V^HEAT     IWIBULAMUn 
time,  no,  nor  ever  shall  be. 

22  And  except  those  days  should 
be  shortened,  there  should  no 
flesh  be  saved :  bmt  for  the  elect's 
sake  those  days  shall  be  shortened. 

Answer  To  Third  Question 


MaTT.24.2930 

29  ^  Immediately  after  the  trib- 
ulation of  those  days  shall  the 
sun  be  darkened,  and  the  moon 
shall  not  give  her  light,  and  the 
stars  shall  fall  from  heaven,  and 
the  powers  of  the  heavens  shaU 
be  shaken : 

30  And  then  shall  appear  the 
sign,  of  the  Son  of  man  in  heav- 
en :  and  then  shall  all  the  tribes 
of  the  earth  mourn,  and  they 
shall  see  the  Son  of  man  conung 
in  the  clouds  of  heaven  with  pow- 
er and  great  glory. 

„  The 

Fig-Tree"Siqt4 

Matt.  24-32-35 

32  Now  learn  a  parable  of  the 
fig  tree ;  When  his  branch  is  yet 
tender,  and  putteth  forth  leaves, 
ye  know  that  sununer  is  nigh : 

S3  So  likewise  ye,  when  ye 
shall  see  all  these  things,  know 
that  it  is  near,  even  at  the  floors. 

34  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  This\ 
generation  shall  not  pass,  till  all  7 
these  things  be  fulfilled. 

35  Heaven  and  earth  sliall  pass 
away,  but  my  words  shall  not 
pass  away. 


6«Seal 
Physical 
Chanqes 


Jewish 

RACE 


REV.6:l2't7 

12  And  I  beheld  wben  he  bad 
opened  the  sijrth  seal,  and,  lo, 
there  was  a  great  earthquake; 
and  the  sun  became  black  as 
sackcloth  of  hair,  and  the  moon 
became  as  blood ; 

13  And  the  stars  of  heaven 
fell  unto  the  earth,  even  as  a  fig 
tree  casteth  her  untimely  figs, 
when  she  is  shaken  of  a  mighty 
wind. 

14  And  the  heaven  departed  as 
a  scroll  when  it  is  rolled  together ; 
and  e^cery  mountain  and  island 
were  moved  out  of  their  places. 

16  And  the  kings  of  the  earth, 
and  the  great  men,  and  the  rich 
men,  and  the  chief  captains,  and 
the  mighty  men,  and  every  bond 
man,  and  eveif  free  man,  hid 
themselves  in  the  dens  and  in 
the  rocks  of  the  mountains ; 

16  And  said  to  the  mountains 
and  rocks.  Fall  on  na,  and  hide 
us  from  the  face  of  him  that  sit- 
teth  on  the  throne,  and  from  the 
wrath  of  the'Lamb : 

17  For  the  great  day  ef  his 
wrath  is  come ;  and  who  shall  4>e' 
able  to  standi 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

The  Interval  Between  the  Sixth  and 
Seventh  Seals 


1.    THE  SEALING  OF  THE  144,000. 
Rev.  7:1-8. 

"And  after  these  things  I  saw  four  angels  standing  on  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  holding  the  four  winds  of  the  earth, 
that  the  wind  should  not  blow  on  the  earth,  nor  on  the  sea,  nor 
on  any  tree.  And  I  saw  another  angel  ascending  from  the  East, 
having  the  'SEAL  OF  THE  LIVING  GOD':  and  he  cried  with 
a  loud  voice  to  the  four  angels,  to  whom  it  was  given  to  hurt  the 
earth  and  the  sea,  Saying,  Hurt  not  the  earth,  neither  the  sea, 
nor  the  trees,  till  we  have  SEALED  THE  SERVANTS  OF 
OUR  GOD  IN  THEIR  FOREHEADS.  And  I  heard  the  num- 
ber of  them  which  were  SEALED:  and  there  were  SEALED  A 
HUNDRED  AND  FORTY  AND  FOUR  THOUSAND  OF  ALL 
THE  TRIBES  OF  ISRAEL." 

Here  we  have  a  respite  in  the  breaking  of  the  "Seals"  that  God's 
"elect  of  Israel"  may  be  "SEALED."  As  God  reserved  7000  in  the 
days  of  Ahab  who  did  not  bow  the  knee  to  Baal  (1.  Kings  19:  18), 
so  there  will  be  a  "remnant  according  to  the  election  of  grace"  (Rom. 
11 :4-6),  and  God  will  reserve  144,000  of  Israel  who  during  the  period 
of  the  Tribulation  will  not  bow  the  knee  to  Antichrist.  This  SEAL- 
ING is  not  the  Sealing  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  by  whom  the  Believer  is 
sealed  (Eph.  1:13-14),  but  it  is  a  "sealing"  at  the  hand  of  Angels. 
Christ  refers  to  it  in  Matt.  24:31.  What  this  SEALING  is  we  are 
told  in  Rev.  14:1.  The  "FATHER'S  NAME"  is  to  be  written  on 
their  foreheads.  They  were  "Sealed"  on  their  FOREHEADS  where 
others  could  see  it.  Theirs  was  no  secret  discipleship.  In  the  same 
public  manner  the  followers  of  Antichrist  will  be  "Sealed"  in  their 
Foreheads  or  on  their  RIGHT  HAND,  with  the  "MARK  OF  THE 
BEAST"  which  is  the  NUMBER  OF  HIS  NAME,  or  666.  Rev. 
13:16-18. 

The  144,000,  12,000  from  each  Tribe,  will  be  of  the  earthly  Israel, 
the  literal  seed  of  Abraham,  living  at  that  time,  and  not  of  a  mystical 
or  spiritual  Israel.  Though  the  "Twelve  Tribes"  were  long  ago  lost 
among  the  nations,  their  whereabouts  is  not  unknown  to  God.  And 
though  they  may  have  lost  their  genealogical  books  and  records, 
so  as  not  to  be  able  to  trace  their  Tribal  descent,  God  knows  -where 
they  are,  and  who  is  who,  and  in  that  day  the  angels,  with  omniscient 
(M-ecision,  will  seal  them  according  to  their  Tribes,  12,000  from  each 
Tribe.  The  Angel  who  has  charge  of  the  SEALING  comes  from 
the  EAST.  This  is  significant.  It  intimates  that  the  "Sealed  Ones" 
have  their  gaze  directed  toward  the  "SUN-RISING,"  as  if  looking 
for  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  in  Malachi,  "Unto  you  that  fear  My 
name  shall  the  'SUN  OF  RIGHTEOUSNESS'  arise  with  healing  in 
His  wings."  Mai.  4 :  2.  The  "Elect"  then  of  Israel  will  be  those  who 
''fear  Christ's  name,"  and  who,  like  as  Simon  and  Anna  watched  for 
His  First  Coming,  will  be  looking  for  the  coming  of  their  Messiah. 


66        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

There  is  a  remarkable  difference  in  the  names  of  the  Tribes  as 
here  recorded  and  the  names  of  the  original  Twelve  Tribes.  Here 
the  names  of  Dan  and  Ephraim  are  omitted,  and  the  names  of  Joseph 
and  Levi  are  substituted.  Why  is  this?  The  reason  is  plain.  In 
Deu.  29:  18-21,  we  read  that  the  man,  or  woman,  or  family,  or  TRIBE, 
that  should  introduce  idolatry  into  Israel,  should  have  their  or  its 
name  "blotted  out"  from  under  heaven,  and  be  separated  out  of  the 
Tribes  of  Israel.  This  is  just  what  the  Tribes  of  Dan  and  Ephraim 
were  guilty  of  when  they  permitted  Jeroboam  to  set  up  "Golden 
Calves"  to  be  worshipped,  one  at  Dan  in  the  "Tribe  of  Dan,"  and  the 
other  at  Bethel  in  the  "Tribe  of  Ephraim."  1.  Kings  12:  25-30.  This 
is  the  reason  why  the  Tribes  of  Dan  and  Ephraim  are  omitted  from 
the  list  in  this  chapter,  and  the  names  of  Joseph  and  Levi  substituted. 
But  as  the  Tribes  of  Dan  and  Ephraim  are  in  the  list  of  the  Twelve 
Tribes  that  shall  occupy  the  Holy  Land  during  the  Millennium  (Ez. 
48: 1-7,  23-29),  it  is  evident  that  the  SEALING  of  the  Tribes  in  this 
chapter  is  more  for  HEAVENLY  PRESERVATION,  than  to  keep 
them  for  an  earthly  inheritance,  and  this  view  is  confirmed  by  the 
fact  that  they  are  later  seen  with  the  Lamb  on  the  Heavenly  Mount 
Zion.  Rev.  14: 1-5.  The  omission  of  their  names  in  this  list  of 
these  "SEALED  ONES"  is  to  show  that  the  Tribes  of  Dan  and 
Ephraim  must  pass  through  the  Great  Tribulation  unprotected  by 
sealing. 

2.     THE  BLOOD  WASHED  MULTITUDE. 

Rev.  7:9-17. 

"After  this  I  beheld,  and,  lo,  a  great  multitude,  which  no  man 
could  number,  of  ALL  nations,  and  kindreds,  and  people,  and 
tongues^  stood  before  the  Throne,  and  before  the  Lamb,  clothed 
in  white  robes,  and  palms  in  their  hands;  and  cried  with  a  loud 
voice,  SALVATION  TO  OUR  GOD  WHICH  SITTETH  UPON 
THE  THRONE,  AND  UNTO  THE  LAMB.  And  all  the  angels 
stood  round  about  the  Throne,  and  about  the  Elders  and  the  Four 
Beasts,  and  fell  before  the  Throne  on  their  faces,  and  worshipped 
God,  saying,  AMEN:  BLESSING,  AND  GLORY,  AND  WIS- 
DOM, AND  THANKSGIVING,  AND  HONOR,  AND  POWER, 
AND  MIGHT,  BE  UNTO  OUR  GOD  FOR  EVER  AND  EVER. 
AMEN. 

And  one  of  the  Elders  answered,  saying  unto  me,  What  are 
these  which  are  arrayed  in  White  robes?  and  whence  came  they? 
And  I  said  unto  him.  Sir,  thou  knowest.  And  he  said  to  me, 
These  are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and  have 
washed  their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  BLOOD  OF 
THE  LAMB.  Therefore  are  they  before  the  Throne  of  God,  and 
serve  Him  day  and  night  in  His  Temple:  and  He  that  sitteth  on 
the  Throne  shall  dwell  among  them.  They  shall  hunger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more :  neither  shall  the  sim  light  on  them, 
nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Throne 
shall  feed  them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fotmtains  of 
water:  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.  57 

This  "Blood  Washed  Multitude"  introduces  us  to  another  class 
of  the  saved  of  the  "End-time."  They  do  not  represent  the  Church, 
for  the  Church  has  already  been  taken  out.  They  differ  from  the 
Elders,  who  represent  the  Church,  in  that  they  stand,  and  have 
"palms"  in  their  hands,  while  the  Elders  have  "crowns,"  and  "sit  on 
thrones,"  and  have  "harps,"  and  "golden  vials"  in  their  hands.  They 
are  an  "elect  body"  of  Gentiles  gathered  out  from  all  nations,  and 
kindreds,  and  people,  and  tongues.  The  statement  that  they  "came 
out  of  great  tribulation"  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  it  was  "The 
Great  Tribulation"  that  they  came  out  of,  for  that  covers  only  the 
"last  half"  of  the  Week,  and  they  are  seen  by  John  in  the  middle  of 
the  "first  half"  of  the  Week.  The  Revised  Version  uses  the  word 
"come"  instead  of  "came,"  and  some  versions  the  words  "coming  out." 
It  does  not  say  that  they  came  out  of  "THE  Great  Tribulation,"  but 
simply  that  they  came  out  of  "great  tribulation,"  and  as  the  whole 
of  the  Week  is  a  period  of  tribulation  they  could  come  out  of  tribu- 
lation any  time  during  the  Week.  They  are  a  vast  multitude  saved 
by  the  preaching  of  the  "Gospel  of  the  Kingdom."  While  the  Holy 
Spirit  went  back  with  the  Church  to  escort  the  "Bride  to  be"  home, 
it  does  not  follow  that  He  remained  there.  For  in  Old  Testament 
times,  and  during  the  earthly  ministry  of  Jesus,  He  was  active  in  the 
conversion  of  men,  and  so  it  will  be  after  the  Church  is  caught  out. 
Those  who  are  converted  during  the  Tribulation  period  will  be  con- 
verted by  the  Holy  Spirit. 

The  claim  has  been  made  that  this  "Blood  Washed  Multitude" 
represent  the  Gentiles  who  shall  pass  safely  through  "The  Great 
Tribulation,"  and  who  cry  "SALVATION"  because  they  have  been 
saved  from  martyrdom  and  death  during  the  Tribulation,  and  that 
they  serve  God  day  and  night  in  the  new  "Millennial  Temple"  on  the 
earth  because  there  is  no  day  or  night  or  Temple  in  Heaven.  Whil« 
that  is  true  of  the  Holy  City,  New  Jerusalem  (Rev.  21 :  22-25),  it  is 
not  true  of  Heaven,  for  they  are  not  the  same.  The  New  Jerusalem  is 
the  place  (City)  that  Jesus  went  to  prepare  for  His  Bride,  the  Church 
(John  14:2),  and  John  declares  that  he  saw  it  coming  down  "out  of" 
Heaven.  Rev.  21 : 2.  Therefore  the  New  Jerusalem  is  not  Heaven. 
That  there  is  a  "TEMPLE"  in  Heaven  we  are  told  in  chapters  11 :  19, 
15:5-8,  and  16:1.  And  the  statement  "That  they  shall  hunger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more;  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them, 
nor  any  heat,  for  the  LAMB  which  is  in  the  MIDST  OF  THE 
THRONE  shall  feed  them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains 
of  waters :  and  GOD  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes,"  is  not 
Millennial  but  Heavenly  in  character.  And  further  this  "Blood 
Washed  Multitude,  being  Gentiles,  could  not  serve  in  an  earthly 
Jewish  Temple." 

The  sight  of  this  "Blood  Washed  Multitude"  will  so  thrill  and 
rejoice  the  Angelic  Hosts  that  they  will  fall  upon  their  faces  and 
worship  God,  saying,  "AMEN:  BLESSING,  AND  GLORY,  AND 
WISDOM,  AND  THANKSGIVING,  AND  HONOR,  AND 
POWER,  AND  MIGHT,  BE  UNTO  OUR  GOD  FOR  EVER  AND 
EVER.    AMEN." 


6S        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER 

SEVENTH  SEAL 
(Silence.) 

Rev.  8:1. 

"And  when  He  had  opened  the  'SEVENTH  SEAL,'  there 
was  SILENCE  IN  HEAVEN  ABOUT  THE  SPACE  OF  HALF 
AN  HOUR." 

We  must  not  forget  that  the  "SEVENTH  SEAL"  includes  all 
that  happens  during  the  sounding  of  the  "Trumpets,"  and  the  pour- 
ing out  of  the  "Vials,"  and  so  extends  down  to  the  ushering  in  of 
the  Millennium.  To  illustrate,  a  rocket  fired  into  the  air  may  burst 
into  "seven  stars,"  and  one  of  these  stars  into  "seven  other  stars,"  and 
one  of  the  second  group  of  stars  into  a  third  group  of  "seven  stars." 
So  the  "Seventh"  Seal  includes  the  "Seven  Trumpets,"  and  the  "Sev- 
enth" Trumpet  includes  the  "Seven  Vials." 

The  "SILENCE"  that  followed  the  breaking  of  the  "Seventh 
Seal"  was  preparatory  to  what  was  to  follow  during  the  sounding 
of  the  "Trumpets,"  and  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Vials."  This 
"SILENCE"  was  something  remarkable.  The  Four  and  Twenty 
Elders  ceased  their  harp-playing;  the  angels  hushed  their  voices,  and 
the  Cherubim  and  Seraphim  and  all  the  host  of  Heaven  were  silent, 
and  so  great  was  the  silence  that  all  Heaven  was  awed  by  it;  and 
to  add  to  the  noticeableness  of  it,  John  added  that  it  lasted  for  "HALF 
AN  HOUR."  Now  a  "half  an  hour"  is  not  long  when  engaged  in 
some  pleasant  employment,  but  it  causes  a  nerve  breaking  tension 
when  we  do  not  know  what  is  going  to  happen,  and  when  a  life  is  at 
stake  a  minute,  or  even  a  few  seconds,  seem  to  be  hours.  The  sus- 
pense of  the  half  hour  of  SILENCE  in  Heaven  was  intense.  But 
why  that  half  hour  of  silence?  What  did  it  portend?  It  was  the 
period  of  silent  preparation  for  the  awful  judgments  that  were  to 
burst  forth  in  the  earth  under  the  "Trumpets"  and  "Vials." 

THE  GOLDEN  CENSER. 

Rev.  8:2-5. 

"And  I  saw  the  SEVEN  ANGELS  which  stood  before  God; 
and  to  them  were  given  SEVEN  TRUMPETS.  And  ANOTHER 
ANGEL  came  and  stood  at  the  ALTAR  (The  Golden  Incense 
Altar),  having  a  GOLDEN  CENSER;  and  there  was  given  unto 
him  much  Incense,  that  he  should  offer  it  with  the  prayers  of  all 
saints  upon  the  GOLDEN  ALTAR  which  was  before  the  Throne. 
And  the  smoke  of  the  Incense,  which  came  with  the  prayers  of 
the  saints,  ascended  up  before  God  out  of  the  Angel's  hand. 
And  the  Angel  took  the  CENSER  and  FILLED  IT  WITH 
FIRE  OF  THE  ALTAR,  and  cast  it  INTO  THE  EARTH; 
and  there  were  VOICES,  and  THUNDERINGS,  and  LIGHT- 
NINGS, and  an  EARTHQUAKE." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         69 


Following  the  SILENCE  in  Heaven  John  saw  "SEVEN 
ANGELS"  of  official  importance,  for  they  stand  in  the  presence  of 
God,  to  whom  "SEVEN  TRUMPETS"  were  given.  Trumpets  are 
used  to  call  to  war,  to  worship,  for  the  convocation  of  the  people,  to 
proclaim  Festivals,  as  the  Year  of  Jubilee,  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles, 
and  for  Judgments.  Ex.  19:  16.  Amos  3:6.  Joshua  6:  13-16.  Zeph. 
1 :  14-16.  These  "Seven  Angels"  prepared  themselves'  to  sound. 
That  is,  they  took  the  Trumpets  that  were  handed  them  and  took  up 
their  positions  where  they  could  in  turn  sound  their  Trumpets.  But 
before  the  Trumpets  were  sounded  John  saw  ANOTHER  ANGEL 
with  a  "GOLDEN  CENSER"  in  his  hand  come  and  stand  before  the 
"Golden  Incense  Altar."  The  name  of  this  "Angel  Priest"  is  not 
given,  and  it  is  useless  to  speculate  as  to  who  he  was.  Some  claim 
it  was  Christ,  because  He  is  our  "Great  High  Priest,"  but  that  is 
immaterial.  We  are  told  that  he  was  given  much  incense,  and  that 
he  offered  with  it  the  prayers  of  the  "ALL  SAINTS."  These  Saints 
were  the  Saints  of  the  Tribulation  period,  and  their  prayers  were  for 
deliverance  from  their  enemies.  This  will  account  for  the  remark- 
able act  of  the  "Angel  Priest"  of  filling  the  Censer  with  FIRE  FROM 
OFF  THE  ALTAR,  and  casting  it  on  to  the  earth,  the  effect  of 
which  wa.?  seen  in  the  VOICES  and  THUNDERINGS,  that  broke 
the  SILENCE  of  Heaven,  and  the  LIGHTNINGS  and  EARTH- 
QUAKE on  the  Earth.  As  the  same  four  things  happen  when  the 
"Seventh  Trumpet"  sounds  (Rev.  11:19),  and  the  "Seventh  Vial"  is 
poured  out,  it  is  clear  that  the  "Seventh  Seal,"  the  "Seventh  Trum- 
pet," and  the  "Seventh  Vial,"  all  end  alike,  and  synchronize  as  to  their 
ending,  that  is,  all  end  at  the  same  time,  the  "end  of  the  Week." 
The  Judgments  that  follow  on  the  Earth  as  the  Trumpets  sound,  and 
the  Vials  are  poured  out,  are  the  answers  to  the  prayers  of  the  Saiats 
for  vengeance  on  their  enemies. 


70         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

The  Seven  Trumpets 


FIRST  TRUMPET. 

(HaU—Fire— Blood.) 

Rev.  8:6-7. 

"And  the  *SEVEN  ANGELS'  which  had  the  'SEVEN  TRUM- 
PETS' prepared  themselves  to  sound.  The  'First  Angel*  sounded, 
and  there  followed  HAIL  and  FIRE  mingled  with  BLOOD,  and 
they  were  cast  upon  the  Earth:  and  the  third  part  of  trees  was 
burnt  up,  and  all  green  grass  was  burnt  up." 

There  is  no  need  to  spiritualize  this.  It  means  just  what  it  says. 
These  things  have  happened  before  why  not  again?  It  is  the  ful- 
filment of  Joel  2:  30-31,  where  the  Lord  says  that  in  the  "latter  days" 
He  will — "Shew  wonders  in  the  heavens  and  in  the  earth,  BLOOD, 
and  FIRE,  and  PILLARS  OF  SMOKE.  The  sun  shall  be  turned 
into  DARKNESS,  and  the  Moon  into  BLOOD,  before  the  GREAT 
AND  THE  TERRIBLE  DAY  OF  THE  LORD  COME."  The  DAY 
when  He  shall  come  to  take  VENGEANCE  ON  HIS  ENEMIES. 
The  Lord  is  going  to  repeat  the  "PLAGUES  OF  EGYPT."  They 
were  literal,  why  not  the  "Trumpet"  and  "Vial"  Judgments?  The 
literalness  of  these  Judgments  give  us  the  "key"  to  the  LITERAL- 
NESS  of  the  Book  of  Revelation.  No  less  than  5  of  the  9  Plagues 
of  Egypt  are  to  be  repeated  during  the  Tribulation  Period.  This 
Plague  is  the  same  as  the  "SEVENTH  EGYPTIAN  PLAGUE." 
"And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Stretch  forth  thine  hand  toward 
heaven,  that  there  may  be  HAIL  in  all  the  Land  of  Egypt,  upon 
man,  and  upon  beast,  and  upon  every  herb  of  the  field,  throughout 
the  Land  of  Egypt."  And  Moses  stretched  forth  his  "rod"  toward 
heaven:  and  the  Lord  sent  THUNDER  and  HAIL,  and  the  FIRE 
ran  along  upon  the  groimd;  and  the  Lord  rained  HAIL  upon  the 
Land  of  Egypt.  So  there  was  HAIL,  and  FIRE  mingled  with  the 
HAIL,  very  grievous,  such  as  there  was  none  like  it  in  all  the  Land  of 
Egypt  since  it  became  a  nation.  And  the  HAIL  smote  throughout 
all  the  Land  of  Egypt  all  that  was  in  the  field,  both  man  and  beast; 
and  the  HAIL  smote  every  herb  of  the  field,  and  brake  every  tree 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         jj 

of  the  field.    ONLY  IN  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN,  WHERE  THE 
CHILDREN   OF   ISRAEL  WERE,   WAS   THERE   NO    HAIL." 

Ex.  9:22-26.  The  difference  between  this  Egyptian  Plague,  and  the 
Plague  of  the  First  Trumpet,  isr,  that  the  situation  will  be  reversed. 
Then  the  "CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL"  escaped,  now  they  will  suf- 
fer. The  Judgments  of  Egypt  were  directed  against  Pharoah,  the 
Judgments  of  the  Tribulation  Period  will  be  directed  against  Israel. 
The  Egyptian  "Plague  of  Hail"  was  clearly  a  great  "ELEC- 
TRICAL STORM"  that  did  not  touch  the  Land  of  Goshen  where 
the  Children  of  Israel  dwelt.  The  FIRE  that  "ran  along  the  ground" 
was  lightning.  The  difference  between  the  Egyptian  Plague  and  the 
one  John  describes  is,  that  in  Egypt  man  and  beast  suffered  with  the 
vegetation,  while  only  the  trees  and  the  green  grass  will  suffer  when 
the  First  Trumpet  sounds,  and  the  HAIL  and  FIRE  will  be 
MINGLED  WITH  BLOOD.  In  Egypt  the  "Hail"  smote  every 
herb  of  the  field,  and  broke  every  tree,  but  under  the  First  Trumpet 
only  one-third  of  the  trees  and  grass  will  be  burnt  up. 

SECOND  TRUMPET. 
(The  Burning  Mountain.) 

Rev.  8:8-9. 

"And  the  'SECOND  ANGEL'  sounded,  and  as  it  were  a 
'GREAT  MOUNTAIN'  burning  with  fire  was  cast  into  the  sea: 
and  the  third  part  o£  the  sea  BECAME  BLOOD;  and  the  third 
part  of  the  creatures  which  were  in  the  sea,  and  had  life,  DIED; 
and  the  third  part  of  the  ships  were  DESTROYED." 

As  this  "MOUNTAIN"  is  to  fall  on  the  sea,  and  the  Judgments 
poured  forth  by  the  "Trumpets"  and  "Vials"  are  to  fall  mainly  on  that 
part  of  the  world  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  the  "SEA"  here  mentioned  is  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 

Notice  that  John  does  not  say  that  it  was  a  "Mountain"  that  he 
saw  cast  into  the  sea,  but  that  it  appeared  like  a  mountain,  not  a 
burning  volcano,  but  an  immense  meteoric  mass  ablaze  with  fire. 
That  was  as  near  as  John  could  describe  it.  The  effect  of  this 
"burning  mass"  on  the  sea,  into  which  it  fell,  was  to  turn  a  third 
part  of  the  sea  into  BLOOD.  If  any  are  disposed  to  doubt  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  thing  let  them  turn  to  the  "First  Egyptian  Plague" 
Ex.  7:  19-21,  and  read  the  account  of  the  turning  of  the  waters  of  the 
River  Nile  into  BLOOD.  "And  all  the  waters  that  were  in  the  river 
were  turned  to  BLOOD.  And  the  fish  that  was  in  the  river  DIED; 
and  the  river  STANK,  and  the  Egyptians  could  not  drink  of  the 
water  of  the  river:  and  there  was  BLOOD  throughout  ALL  THE 
LAND  OF  EGYPT."  The  only  difference  between  the  "First 
Egyptian  Plague,"  and  the  effect  on  the  Mediterranean  Sea  by  the 
falling  of  a  "Meteor"  into  it  at  the  sounding  of  the  Second  Trumpet, 
will  be,  that  only  ^  of  the  sea  shall  become  BLOOD,  that  where  the 
"Meteor"  strikes,  and  thus  only  ^4  of  the  living  creatures  in  the 
sea  shall  DIE.  One-third  also  of  the  ships  shall  be  DESTROYED, 
possibly  by  a  tidal  wave,  or  the  "Meteor"  may  fall  on  a  fleet  of  naval 
vessels,  like  the  storm  that  destroyed  the  Spanish  Armada. 


72       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER, 

THIRD  TRUMPET. 

(The  Star  Wormwood.) 

Rev.  8:10-11. 

"And  the  THIRD  ANGEL  sounded,  and  there  fell  a  'GREAT 

STAR*  from  heaven,  burning  as  it  were  a  lamp,  and  it  fell  upon 

the  third  part  of  the  rivers,  and  upon  the  fountains  of  waters; 

and  the  name  of  the  'Star'  is  'WORMWOOD':  and  the  third  part 

of  the  waters   (rivers)   became  WORMWOOD;  and  many  men 

died  of  the  waters,  because  they  were  made  bitter." 

When  the  "Third  Trumpet"  sounded  a  "GREAT  STAR"  fell 
from  heaven  burning  like  a  lamp  (R.  V.  Torch).  This  will  doubt- 
less be  another  "Meteor,"  that  will  assume  the  form  of  a  "Torch"  in 
its  blazing  path  through  the  heavens,  and  when  its  gaseous  vapors 
are  scattered  as  it  explodes,  they  will  be  absorbed  by  the  third  part 
of  the  rivers  and  fountains  of  waters,  and  they  will  be  poisoned  by 
the  noxious  gases,  and  made  bitter,  and  many  men  shall  die  from 
drinking  of  those  waters.  "Wormwood"  is  a  perennial  herb,  very 
bitter,  and  is  used  in  the  manufacture  of  "Absinthe."  It  is  much 
used  in  France  as  a  beverage,  and  is  more  intoxicating  and  destruc- 
tive than  ordinary  liquors.  This  time  is  foretold  by  the  Prophet 
Jeremiah.  "Therefore  thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  because  they 
have  forsaken  my  law,  Behold,  I  will  feed  them,  even  this  people 
(Israel),  with  WORMWOOD,  and  give  them  WATER  OF  GALL 
to  drink."    Jer.  9:13-15. 

FOURTH  TRUMPET. 

(SUN,  Moon  and  Stars  Smitten.) 

Rev.  8 :  12. 

"And  the  'FOURTH  ANGEL*  sounded,  and  the  third  part 
of  the  SUN  was  smitten,  and  the  third  part  of  the  MOON,  and 
the  third  part  of  the  STARS;  so  as  the  third  part  of  them  was 
DARKENED,  and  the  day  shone  not  for  a  third  part  of  it,  and 
the  night  likewise." 

What  happens  under  the  sounding  of  this  "Trumpet"  is  so  simi- 
lar to  what  happened  under  the  "Sixth  Seal"  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  further  dwell  on  it  here.  These  are  some  of  the  "Signs"  spoken 
of  by  Christ,  in  Luke's  Gospel,  that  shall  precede  His  Second  Com- 
ing. There  shall  be  signs  in  the  SUN,  and  in  the  MOON,  and  in 
the  STARS,  and  upon  the  earth  distress  of  nations,  with  PER- 
PLEXITY."    Luke  21 :  25-28. 

THE  ANGEL  WARNING. 

("Three  Woes"  Aimounced.) 

Rev.  8:13. 

"And  I  beheld,  and  heard  an  ANGEL  (R.  V.  Eagle)  flying 

through   the  midst  of  heaven,  saying  with  a  loud  voice,   WOE, 

WOE,  WOE,  to  the  inhabiters  of  the  earth  by  reason  of  the  other 

voices  of  the  Trumpet  of  the  THREE  ANGELS,  which  are  yet 

to  sound." 

The  Revised  Version,  and  many  Manuscripts  substitute  "Eagle** 
for  ANGEL,  but  that  does  not  affect  the  meaning,  for  if  God  could 
make  Balaam's  "ass"  to  speak.  He  can  use  an  "Eagle"  to  announce 
a  message. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER        73 

FIFTH  TRUMPET. 

FIRST  WOE. 
(The  Plague  Of  Locusts.) 

Rev.  9:1-12. 


"And  the  FIFTH  ANGEL  sounded,  and  I  saw  a  'STAR* 
fall  from  Heaven  unto  the  earth:  and  to  HIM  was  given  the 
'Key'  of  the  'BOTTOMLE^SS  PIT.'  And  he  opened  the  'BOT- 
TOMLESS PIT,'  and  there  arose  a  smoke  out  of  the  'Pit,'  as 
the  smoke  of  a  furnace;  and  the  Sun  and  the  air  were  darkened 
by  reason  of  the  smoke  of  the  'Pit.'  And  there  came  out  of  the 
smoke  LOCUSTS  upon  the  earth:  and  unto  them  was  given 
power,  as  the  Scorpions  of  the  earth  have  power.  And  it  was 
commanded  them  that  they  should  not  hurt  the  grass  of  the 
earth,  neither  any  green  thing,  neither  any  tree;  but  only  those 
men  which  have  not  the  'SEAL  OF  GOD'  in  their  foreheads. 
And  to  them  it  was  given  that  they  should  not  kill  them,  but 
that  they  should  be  TORMENTED  FIVE  MONTHS:  and  their 
torment  was  as  the  TORMENT  OF  A  SCORPION,  when  he 
striketh  a  man.  And  in  those  days  shall  men  seek  death,  and 
shall  not  find  it:  and  shall  desire  to  die,  and  death  shsdl  flee  from 
them.  And  the  shape  of  the  LOCUSTS  were  like  unto  HORSES 
PREPARED  UNTO  BATTLE:  and  on  their  heads  were  as  it 
were  crowns  of  gold,  and  their  faces  were  as  the  faces  of  men. 
And  they  had  hair  as  the  hair  of  women,  and  their  teeth  were  as 
the  teeth  of  lions.  And  they  had  'Breastplates,'  as  it  were  Breast- 
plates of  iron;  and  the  sound  of  their  wings  was  as  the  sound  of 
chariots  of  many  horses  running  to  battle.  And  they  had  tails 
like  unto  SCORPIONS,  and  there  were  stings  in  their  tails:  and 
their  power  was  to  hurt  men  FIVE  MONTHS.  And  they  had  a 
King  over  them,  which  is  the  ANGEL  of  the  'Bottomless  Pit,' 
whose  name  in  the  Hebrew  tongue  is  ABADDON,  but  in  the 
Greek  tongue  hath  his  name  APOLLYON.  One  'WOE'  is  oast; 
and,  behold,  there  come  'TWO  V/OES'  more  hereafter" 

At  the  sounding  of  the  Fifth  Trumpet  John  saw  a  "STAR"  fall, 
or  as  the  Revised  Version  has  it,  "fallen  from  Heaven."  That  it 
was  not.  a  literal  star  is  clear,  for  in  the  next  verse  the  "STAR"  is 
spoken  of  as  a  PERSON  (He),  and  in  the  Old  Testament  angels  w^re 
called  "Stars."     Job  38:7.     Because  the  "STAR"  was  "fallen  from 


74        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

Heaven"  does  not  imply  that  the  "ANGEL,"  for  that  is  what  it  was, 
was  a  "FALLEN  ANGEL,"  or  SATAN  himself,  as  some  have  sup- 
posed. John  simply  meant  that  he  saw  the  descent  of  the  "STAR," 
or  Angel,  and  so  rapidly  did  it  descend  that  it  appeared  to  be  falling. 
This  is  the  same  "STAR  ANGEL"  that  in  Rev.  20 :  1-3  comes  down 
from  Heaven,  having  the  "Key"  of  the  "BOTTOMLESS  PIT,"  and 
a  great  chain  in  his  hand,  and  binds  SATAN,  and  casts  him  into  the 
*'PIT."  This  makes  it  clear  that  the  "STAR  ANGEL"  is  not  SATAN. 
The  work  of  both  Angels  is  the  same,  to  imlock  and  lock  the  "Bot- 
tomless Pit."  It  does  not  look  reasonable  that  God  would  entrust 
the  "Key"  of  the  "Prison  House"  of  the  "Demons"  to  a  "Fallen 
Angel,"  or  even  Satan  himself. 

THE  BOTTOMLESS  PIT. 

The  "BOTTOMLESS  PIT"  is  not  Hell,  or  Hades,  the  place  of 
abode  of  the  "Spirits"  of  wicked  men  and  women  until  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  "Wicked  Dead."  See  the  Chart  of  "The  Underworld." 
Neither  is  it  "Tartarus"  the  "Prison  House"  of  the  "Fallen  Angels" 
(Jude  6-7),  nor  the  "Lake  of  Fire,"  the  "Final  Hell"  (Gehenna), 
Matt.  25 :  41,  but  it  is  the  place  of  confinement  of  the  DEMONS,  who 
are  not  Satan's  Angels  but  a  class  of  "disembodied  Spirits,"  supposed 
by  many  to  be  the  "disembodied  spirits"  of  the  inhabitants:  of  the 
Pre-Adamite  Earth,  who,  as  they  have  liberty  and  opportunity,  as  in 
the  days  of  Christ,  try  to  re-embody  themselves  again  in  human 
bodies.  They  are  wicked,  unclean,  vicious,  and  have  power  to  de- 
range both  mind  and  body.  Matt.  12:22;  15:22.  Luke  4:35;  8: 
26-36;  9:42.  They  are  the  "Familiar  Spirits"  of  the  Old  Testament 
and  the  "Seducing  Spirits"  of  which  Paul  warned  Timothy.  1.  Tim. 
4:1.  They  wander  about  in  desolate  places.  Christ  used  them  to 
illustrate  the  condition  of  the  Jewish  people  in  the  "last  days"  when 
"Demoniacal  Power"  shall  be  increased  over  them  SEVENFOLD. 
He  said,  "When  the  'UNCLEAN  SPIRIT'  (or  Demon)  is  gone  out 
of  a  man,  he  (the  Demon)  walketh  through  dry  places,  seeking  rest, 
and  findeth  none.  Then  he  saith,  I  will  return  into  my  house  from 
whence  I  came  out :  and  when  he  is  come,  he  findeth  it  empty,  swept, 
and  garnished.  Then  goeth  he,  and  taketh  with  himself  SEVEN 
OTHER  SPIRITS  more  wicked  than  himself,  and  they  enter  in  and 
dwell  there:  and  the  last  state  of  that  man  is  worse  than  the  first. 
Even  so  shall  it  be  also  unto  this  WICKED  GENERATION." 
Matt.  12:43-45.  The  word  "Generation,"  means  not  simply  the  life- 
time of  an  individual,  but  it  means  a  "race,"  and  by  this  "WICKED 
GENERATION,"  Christ  meant  those  He  was  addressing,  and  they 
were  the  Jews.  So  we  see  that  the  Jews,  as  a  "race,"  when  Jesus 
comes  back,  will  be  SEVENFOLD  DEMONIACALLY  POS- 
SESSED. This  will  account  for  their  making  a  "Covenant"  with 
Antichrist  which  the  Prophet  Isaiah  calls  a  "Covenant  with  DEATH 
and  HELL."  Isa.  28:  18.  When  Christ  cast  the  "Legion"  of  devils 
(Demons)  out  of  the  Gadarene  Demoniac,  they  besought  Him  to 
not  cast  them  into  the  "deep,"  that  is,  not  into  the  "ABYSS,"  the 
"BOTTOMLESS  PIT."     Luke  8:26-36. 


WOOD  S.83NNIS  3HX 


9  30nr  '  i-N3fi5onr  oi  ST3t)Nv  Namvj   — —  ~ 

OV30    03X3IM  3HJ.-  HOI^^3M>)nS3M    0HO33S3H.L    '^"oir 


O      ? 


^    J. 


76         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

When  the  "Star  Angel"  opened  the  "Bottomless  Pit,"  smoke, 
like  the  smoke  of  a  great  furnace,  issued  forth  and  darkened  the  sun, 
and  there  came  out  of  the  smoke  LOCUSTS  upon  the  earth.  These 
were  not  ordinary  locusts.  Neither  were  the  locusts  of  the  "Eighth 
Egyptian  Plague."  Ex.  10 :  3-20.  For  we  read  of  them  that  "there 
were  no  such  locusts  as  they,  neither  after  them  shall  be  such,"  that 
is,  just  like  them.  Nevertheless  they  were  locusts,  not  some  "com- 
posite creature"  such  as  John  saw,  for  they  acted  like  locusts  and  ate 
up  every  green  thing.  The  difference  must  have  been  in  their  size 
and  voraciousness. 

The  LOCUSTS  that  John  saw  come  out  of  the  "Bottomless 
Pit"  were  a  kind  of  "INFERNAL  CHERUBIM."  That  is,  they 
were  a  combination  of  the  HORSE,  the  MAN,  the  WOMAN,  the 
LION,  and  the  SCORPION,  and  the  sound  of  their  wings  in  flying 
was  as  the  "sound  of  chariots  of  many  horses  running  to  battle." 
Their  size  is  not  given,  but  they  were  doubtless  much  larger  than 
ordinary  locusts,  but  they  were  not  like  them,  for  ordinary  locusts 
feed  on  vegetation,  but  these  locusts  were  forbidden  to  hurt  the 
grass,  or  the  trees,  or  any  green  thing,  but  were  to  afiflict  ONLY 
MEN,  and  they  had  human  intelligence,  for  they  afflicted  only  those 
men  who  had  not  the  "SEAL  OF  GOD"  in  their  foreheads.  These 
men  they  were  not  permitted  to  kill,  but  only  torment,  and  that  for 
only  a  limited  period — FIVE  MONTHS,  the  time  limit  of  ordinary 
locusts,  which  is  from  May  to  September.  The  length  of  time  is 
mentioned  twice,  and  the  character  of  the  torment  was  like  that  which 
follows  the  STING  OF  A  SCORPION,  which  causes  excru-^iating 
pain  that  often  causes  the  afflicted  person  to  desire  to  die.  Sr,  fear- 
fully excruciating  will  be  the  anguish  of  those  who  shall  be  tor- 
mented by  these  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS"  that  thej/  will  "seek 
death,  and  shall  not  find  it;  and  shall  desire  to  die.  but  death  shall 
flee  from  them,"  the  inference  being  that  the  LO  ;UST  or  DEMON 
controlling  them  shall  have  power  to  prevent  their  death. 

There  is  a  remarkable  description  in  the  prophecy  of  Joel,  of 
what  is  spoken  of  as  an  army  of  HORSEMEN,  but  which  seems  to 
refer  to  John's  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS."  "The  appearance  of  them 
is  as  the  appearance  of  horses,  and  as  horsemen,  so  shall  they  run. 
Like  the  noise  of  CHARIOTS  on  the  tops  of  mountains  shall  they 
leap,  like  the  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire  that  devcureth  the  stubble,  as  a 
strong  people  set  in  battle  array.  Before  their  face  the  PEOPLE 
SHALL  BE  MUCH  PAINED:  all  faces  shall  gather  blackness. 
They  shall  run  like  mighty  men ;  they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men 
of  war ;  and  they  shall  march  every  one  his  ways,  and  they  shall  not 
break  ranks;  neither  shall  one  thrust  another;  they  shall  walk  every 
one  in  his  path ;  and  when  they  fall  upon  the  sword,  they  shall  not 
be  wounded.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in  the  city ;  they  shall  run 
upon  the  wall,  they  shall  climb  up  upon  the  houses;  they  shall  enter 
in  at  the  windows  like  a  thief.  The  earth  shall  quake  before  them ; 
the  heavens  shall  tremble ;  the  sun  and  the  moon  shall  be  dark,  and 
the  stars  shall  withdraw  their  shining.'*  Joel  2:4-10.  There  are  a 
number  of  things  in  this  prophecy  of  Joel  that  makes  us  doubt  that 
an  invasion  of  literal  horsemen  is  meant     Horses  do  not  climb  walls, 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        77 

or  climb  up  upon  roofs,  or  enter  windows  like  a  thief.  They  do  not 
fly  in  the  heavens  and  in  such  numbers  as  to  darken  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars,  nor  do  they  fall  upon  the  sword  and  escape  wounding. 
This  could  only  be  said  of  "spirit  beings"  as  DEMONS.  This  proph- 
ecy looks  more  like  a  scourge  of  locusts;  not  literal  locusts,  but  such 
"SCORPION  LOCUSTS"  as  John  describes,  for  they  attack  men,  and 
cause  them  such  great  pain  that  their  faces  turn  BLACK.  This  view 
is  confirmed  when  we  note  the  time  of  this  "horsemen"  invasion. 
Joel  tells  us  that  it  will  be  in  the  "Day  of  the  Lord"  (Joel  2:  1,  11), 
that  it  will  be  accompanied  with  the  "sound  of  a  trumpet,"  that  it 
will  precede  the  pouring  out  of  the  Holy  Spirit  on  all  flesh,  and  that 
it  will  be  at  a  time  when  the  Lord  will  "shew  wonders  in  the  heavens 
and  in  the  earth,  BLOOD,  and  FIRE,  and  PILLARS  OF  SMOKE." 

Now  we  know  that  the  "Gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit"  on  the  Day  of 
Pentecost  was  only  the  "first  fruits"  and  partial  fulfilment  of  this 
prophecy  of  Joel,  for  none  of  these  terrible  things  occurred  at  that 
time,  and  there  was  no  invasion  of  enemy  "horsemen,"  or  a  "scourge 
of  locusts,"  on,  or  before,  or  after,  the  Day  of  Pentecost  such  as  here 
described.  As  we  have  no  historical  record  of  such  an  invasion  of 
"locust  horsemen"  as  the  Prophet  Joel  describes,  the  event  must  still 
be  future,  and  the  description  in  many  respects  corresponds  with 
what  John  tells  us  will  happen  when  the  Fifth  Trumpet  sounds. 

These  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS"  have  a  King,  which  ordinary 
locusts  have  not.  Prov.  30 :  27.  This  King's  name  in  the  Hebrew  is 
"ABADDON,"  but  in  the  Greek  is  "APOLLYON."  Now  Satan  is 
no  where  in  the  Scriptures  called  by  either  of  these  names,  so  Satan 
cannot  be  the  King  of  the  Demons,  for  their  King  is  the  King  of 
the  "Bottomless  Pit,"  to  which  he  is  confined,  while  Satan  and  his 
angels  are  at  liberty  and  roam  the  Heavenlies.  The  meaning  then 
of  this  scourge  of  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS"  seems  to  be,  that  an 
Angel,  the  custodian  of  the  "Pit,"  will  open  the  "Bottomless  Pit," 
and  liberate  a  vast  multitude  of  Demons  who  shall  enter  into  and 
take  possession  of  the  bodies  of  men,  and  so  torment  them  that  they 
shall  desire  to  die  and  shall  not  be  able. 

Those  will  be  awful  days  in  which  to  live,  and  especially  so  for 
those  who  have  the  "MARK  OF  THE  BEAST,"  who  will  be  the  spe- 
cial mark  of  those  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS."  They  will  be  invisible  to 
the  natural  eye,  being  "SPIRIT  BEINGS,"  but  their  presence  will  be 
known  by  the  suffering  they  inflict,  which  will  be  unavoidable  because 
of  their  invisibility,  and  the  inability  to  provide  any  material  means  as 
screens,  to  protect  one's  person  from  their  attack.  This  invasion  of 
"Scorpion  Locusts"  will  last  for  5  months  and  may  well  be  called  a 
"WOE,"  but  it  will  be  comparatively  trifling  in  comparison  with  the 
two  "WOES"  that  are  to  follow,  that  of  the  "Plague  of  Infernal  Cav- 
alry," and  the  "Vial  Judgments,"  which  are  included  under  the  "Third 
Woe." 


78        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

THE  SIXTH  TRUMPET. 

SECOND  WOE 

(The  Plague  Of  Horsemen.) 

Rev.  9:13-21. 


"And  the  'SIXTH  ANGEL'  sounded,  and  I  heard  a  voice 
from  the  'Four  Horns'  of  the  'Golden  Altar'  which  is  before  God, 
saying  to  the  'SIXTH  ANGEL*  which  had  the  Trumoet,  Loose 
the  "Fcfur  Angels'  which  are  bound  in  the  great  river  Euphrates, 
and  the  'Four  Angels*  were  loosed,  which  were  prepared  for  an 
hour,  and  a  day,  and  a  month,  and  a  year,  for  to  slay  the  third 
part  of  men.  And  the  number  of  the  army  of  the  horsemen  were 
two  hundred  thousand  thousand:  and  I  heard  the  number  of 
therrL  And  thus  I  saw  the  horses  in  the  Vision,  and  them  that 
sat  on  them,  having  breastplates  of  fire,  and  of  jacinth,  and 
brimstone:  and  the  heads  of  the  horses  were  as  the  heads  of  lions: 
and  out  of  their  mouth  issued  fire  and  smoke  and  brimstone. 
By  these  three  was  the  third  part  of  men  killed,  by  the  fire,  and 
by  the  smoke,  and  by  the  brimstone,  which  issued  out  of  their 
mouths.  For  their  power  is  in  their  mouth,  and  in  their  tails: 
for  their  tails  were  like  unto  serpents,  and  had  heads,  and  with 
them  do  hurt.  And  the  rest  of  the  men  which  were  not  killed 
by  these  Plagues  yet  repented  not  of  the  works  of  their  hands, 
that  they  should  not  worship  devils  (demons),  and  idols  of  gold, 
and  silver,  and  brass,  and  stone,  and  of  wood;  which  neither  can 
see,  or  hear,  nor  walk:  neither  repented  they  of  their  murders, 
nor  of  their  sorceries,  nor  of  their  fornication,  nor  of  their  thefts.*' 

That  these  "Four  Angels,"  who  were  bound  at  the  river  Eu- 
phrates, were  bad  angels  is  seen  from  the  fact  that  they  were  bound, 
and  that  they  are  the  leaders  or  commanders  of  an  army  of  200,- 
000,000  "INFERNAL  CAVALRY."  This  army  of  200,000,000  horse- 
men is  a  supernatural  army.  It  is  not  composed  of  ordinary  men  and 
horses.  The  fact  that  these  "Four  Angels"  were  bound  at  the 
Euphrates,  where  Satan's  seat  was  in  ancient  times,  and  where  it  is 
to  be  again  in  the  City  of  Babylon  restored,  and  from  whence  he 
sallied  forth  to  do  his  diabolical  work,  makes  it  clear  that  this  army 
is  a  part  of  Satan's  forces.  Supernatural  armies  are  not  unknown  to 
the  Scriptures.     Horses  and  a  chariot  of  fire  separated  Elijah  from 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.  79 

Elisha  in  the  day  when  Elijah  was  taken  up  by  a  whirlwind  into 
Heaven,  2.  Kings  2:11.  When  Dothan  was  besieged  by  the  army 
of  Syria,  God  opened  the  eyes  of  Elisha's  servant,  and  he  saw  the 
mountains  around  the  city  full  of  horses  and  chariots  of  fire.  2.  Kings 
6:  13-17.  When  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  shall  come  to  take  "The  King- 
dom," He  will  be  attended  by  the  "Armies  of  Heaven"  riding  on 
"White  Horses,"  and  it  stands  to  reason,  if  there  is  to  be  "War  in 
Heaven"  between  Michael  and  his  angels,  and  Satan  and  his  angels 
(Rev.  12:7),  that  Satan  has  his  armies,  and  among  them  horsemen, 
and  that  the  200,000,000  Horsemen  mentioned  here  are  Satan's  Horse- 
men, for  no  such  army  of  ordinary  horsemen  ever  was,  or  ever  could 
be,  assembled  on  this  earth. 

Again  the  horses  were  not  ordinary  horses,  for  while  their  bodies 
were  like  the  body  of  a  HORSE,  their  heads  were  as  the  head  of  a 
LION,  and  their  tails  were  like  unto  a  SERPENT,  the  end  of  which 
had  the  HEAD  OF  A  SERPENT,  and  it  was  the  SULPHUROUS 
SMOKE  AND  FIRE  that  issued  from  their  mouths,  and  the  SER- 
PENT STING  of  their  tails,  that  killed  all  that  crossed  their  path, 
that  reveals  the  Satanic  character  of  the  horses  and  their  riders.  The 
"Riders"  upon  these  horses  had  "Breastplates'  of  FIRE,  JACINTH, 
and  BRIMSTONE,"  to  match  the  breath  of  the  horses  upon  which 
they  rode. 

The  wonderful  thing  about  this  invasion  of  "INFERNAL  CAV- 
ALRY" was  the  awful  destruction  they  wrought.  They  slew  the 
THIRD  PART  OF  MEN.  If  that  means  of  the  whole  world,  and 
the  present  population  of  the  earth  is  1,700,000,000,  then  this  army 
will  destroy  566,666,666  persons.  It  probably  however  refers  to  one- 
third  of  the  men  of  the  old  Roman  world.  Another  remarkable 
thing  is,  that  the  "Four  Angels"  were  prepared  for  THE  (R.  V.) 
HOUR,  MONTH,  and  YEAR,  that  is,  they  were  waiting  for  the 
EXACT  year,  month,  day,  and  even  hour,  known  only  to  God,  on 
which  to  make  the  invasion,  and  not,  as  some  think,  to  slay  for  a 
year,  month  and  day,  or  391  days.  "Known  unto  God  are  all  His 
works  from  the  beginning  of  the  world."  Acts  15 :  18.  This  Plague 
of  "INFERNAL  CAVALRY"  was  for  a  twofold  purpose,  retribution 
and  reformation.  To  punish  the  idolatry  and  demon  worship  of 
men,  and  their  sins  of  murder,  sorcery,  fornication,  and  theft,  and 
to  keep  others  from  following  in  their  footsteps.  But  it  appears 
from  verses  20  and  21,  that  the  residue  of  men  who  were  not  killed, 
did  not  repent  and  turn  from  their  sins,  and  so  were  left  for  later 
judgments. 

This  army  of  "INFERNAL  CAVALRY,"  being  composed  of 
"SPIRIT  BEINGS"  like  the  "SCORPION  LOCUSTS,"  will  like  them 
be  invisible  to  the  natural  eye,  and  therefore  cannot  be  resisted,  or 
warred  against,  by  carnal  weapons.  Those  attacked  will  therefore  be 
without  any  means  of  protection,  and  this  will  account  for  the  awful 
destruction  of  human  life,  for  the  "third  part"  of  man  will  be  killed. 
The  awful  destructive  judgments  of  the  "Trumpets"  and  "Vials"  that 
are  to  come  upon  the  earth  are  doubtless  for  the  purpose  of  weeding 
out  the  worst  of  the  human  race,  so  that  only  the  better  class  of  men 
shall  be  saved  for  the  millennium. 


80         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

The  Interval  Between  the  Sixth  and 
Seventh  Trumpets. 


1.     THE  LITTLE  BOOK. 
Rev.  10:1-11. 


"And  I  saw  another  'MIGHTY  ANGEL*  come  down  from 
Heaven,  clothed  with  a  cloud:  and  a  Rainbow  was  upon  His  head, 
and  His  face  was  as  it  were  the  Sun,  and  His  feet  as  Pillars  of 
Fire:  and  He  had  in  His  hand  a  ♦LITTLE  BOOK'  open:  and 
He  set  His  right  foot  on  the  SEA,  and  His  left  foot  on  the 
EARTH,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  as  when  a  lion  roareth:  and 
when  He  had  cried  'SEVEN  THUNDERS'  uttered  their  voices. 
And  when  the  'SEVEN  THUNDERS'  had  uttered  their  voices, 
I  was  about  to  write:  and  I  heard  a  voice  from  Heaven  saying 
unto  me,  Seal  up  those  things  which  the  SEVEN  THUNDERS 
uttered,  and  write  them  not.  And  the  'ANGEL*  which  I  saw 
stand  upon  the  sea  and  upon  the  earth  lifted  up  His  hand  to 
Heaven,  and  swear  by  Him  that  LIVETH  FOREVER  AND 
EVER,  who  created  heaven,  and  the  things  that  therein  are,  and 
the  earth,  and  the  things  that  therein  are,  and  the  sea,  and  the 
things  which  are  therein,  that  there  should  be  TIME  NO 
LONGER:  but  in  the  days  of  the  voice  of  the  'SEVENTH 
ANGEL,'  when  he  shall  begin  to  sound,  the  'MYSTERY  OF 
GOD*  SHOULD  BE  FINISHED,  as  He  hath  declared  to  His 
servants  the  Prophets.  And  the  voice  which  I  heard  from  Heaven 
spake  unto  me  again,  and  said.  Go  and  take  the  'LITTLE  BOOK* 
•which  is  open  in  the  hand  of  the  'ANGEL'  which  standeth  upon 
the  sea  and  upon  the  earth.  And  I  went  unto  the  'ANGEL,*  and 
said  unto  him,  Give  me  the  'LITTLE  BOOK.'  And  he  said  unto 
me.  Take  it,  and  eat  it  up;  and  it  shall  make  thy  belly  bitter,  but 
it  shall  be  in  thy  mouth  sweet  as  honey.  And  I  took  the  'LIT- 
TLE BOOK'  out  of  the  'ANGEL'S'  hand,  and  ate  it  up;  and  it 
•was  in  my  mouth  sweet  as  honey;  and  as  soon  as  I  had  eaten  it, 
my  belly  was  bitter.  And  He  said  unto  me,  Thou  must  prophesy 
again  before  many  peoples,  and  nations,  and  tongues,  and  kings." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 


81 


Who  this  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  is  we  do  not  know  unless  he 
be  Christ  Himself.  In  the  Old  Testament  the  Son  of  God  was 
called  the  "ANGEL  OF  THE  LORD"  (Ex.  3:2-18),  and  as  we  are 
now  in  that  part  of  the  Book  of  Revelation  that  deals  mainly  with 
Israel  it  is  nothing  less  than  what  we  should  expect  to  hear,  Christ 
spoken  of  as  a  "MIGHTY  ANGEL."  Then  the  description  of  this 
"MIGHTY  ANGEL"  seems  to  point  to  the  same  Person  that  John 
saw  standing  amid  the  "Lampstands"  in  chapter  1 :  12-16,  or  Christ 
Himself.  The  "ANGEL"  was  clothed  in  a  CLOUD,  there  was  a 
RAINBOW  upon  His  head,  His  face  was  as  it  were  the  SUN,  and 
His  feet  as  PILLARS  OF  FIRE.  No  mere  angel  was  ever  before 
or  since  described  in  the  Scriptures  as  appearing  like  that.  Then 
He  is  described  as  crying  with  a  loud  voice,  as  a  lion  roareth,  and 
Christ  is  spoken  of  in  this  Book  (Rev.  5:5)  as  "THE  LION  OF 
THE  TRIBE  OF  JUDAH";  and  in  the  chapter  that  follows  this 
the  same  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  speaks  of  the  "Two  Witnesses,"  as 
"MY  WITNESSES,"  which  is  further  indisputable  evidence  that 
this  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  is  no  other  than  Christ  Himself.  This 
interpretation  makes  clear  what  follows.  For  when  this  "MIGHTY 
ANGEL"  places  His  right  foot  upon  the  sea,  and  His  left  foot  on 
the  earth,  and  swears  that  there  shall  be  "TIME  NO  LONGER,"  or 
"NO  LONGER  DELAY"  (margin),  it  is  Christ  taking  formal  pos- 
session of  the  Earth  and  Sea,  and  declaring  that  there  shall  be  no 
longer  delay  in  dispossessing  the  false  claimant  Satan. 

When  the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  John 
heard  "SEVEN  THUNDERS"  utter  their  voices.  These  "THUN- 
DERS" spoke,  for  John  heard  what  they  said,  and  as  he  had  been 
commanded  to  write  what  he  should  see  and  hear,  he  proceeded  to 
write  what  the  "voices"  of  the  "SEVEN  THUNDERS"  uttered,  but 
he  was  told  to  "seal  up  those  things  which  the  'SEVEN  THUN- 
DERS' uttered,  and  write  them  not."  What  they  said  has  never  as 
yet  been  revealed,  but  doubtless  will  be  when  the  time  comes  to  make 
the  revelation. 

John  was  then  told  to— "Go,  take  the  'LITTLE  BOOK'  which  is 
open  in  the  hand  of  the  'ANGEL'  which  standeth  upon  the  sea  and 
upon  the  earth."  John  was  at  this  time  back  again  on  the  earth. 
And  when  John  took  the  "LITTLE  BOOK,"  the  "ANGEL"  said 
to  him — "Take,  and  eat  it  up;  and  it  shall  make  thy  belly  bitter,  and 
it  shall  be  in  thy  mouth  sweet  as  honey."  And  when  John  had  eaten 
the  "BOOK"  it  was  as  the  "ANGEL"  had  said,  sweet  to  his  mouth 
and  bitter  to  his  stomach. 

What  was  this  "LITTLE  BOOK"?  Some  claim  that  it  was 
the  "SEVEN  SEALED  BOOK,"  now  open,  and  therefore  the 
"TITLE  DEED"  to  the  Earth,  and  that  the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL" 
held  it  in  His  hand,  as  He  stood  with  one  foot  on  the  sea  and  one 
foot  on  the  earth,  as  His  authority  for  claiming  possession.  But 
the  "ANGEL"  does  not  make  that  use  of  it,  and  if  it  were  His 
"TITLE  DEED"  to  the  Earth  it  seems  a  strange  procedure  for  Him 
lo  give  it  to  John  to  eat.  Then  it  is  described  as  a  "LITTLE 
BOOK,"  as  if  its  contents  were  small.  In  that  respect  it  stands  in 
marked    contrast    with    the    "SEVEN    SEALED    BOOK"    whose 


82        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

numerous  "Seals"  and  the  time  taken  to  break  them,  imply  that  it 
was  of  considerable  size.  Then  the  effect  upon  John  of  the  eating  of 
the  "LITTLE  BOOK"  seems  to  indicate  that  it  was  more  than  a 
"Title  Deed."  For  it  contained  matter  that  when  John  first  ate  it 
(glanced  over  it)  was  sweet  as  honey  to  his  mouth,  but  when  he  had 
thoroughly  digested  its  contents  was  bitter  to  his  belly.  In  other 
words  the  "LITTLE  BOOK"  contained  matter  connected  with  John's 
work  as  a  Prophet,  for  the  "ANGEL"  immediately  said  to  him — 
"Thou  must  prophecy  again  before  many  peoples,  and  nations,  and 
tongues,  and  kings,"  which  for  ought  we  know  John  did. 

This  "LITTLE  BOOK,"  here  open,  is  probably  the  "BOOK" 
that  Daniel  was  told  to  "SEAL  UP."  Dan.  12 : 4,  9.  That  "Book" 
contained  things  that  were  not  to  be  revealed  until  the  "TIME  OF 
THE  END."  Not  the  "End  Of  Time,"  but  the  "End"  of  the 
"TIMES  OF  THE  GENTILES,"  which  synchronizes  with  the  last 
half  of  Daniel's  "SEVENTIETH  WEEK,"  and  therefore  with 
"THE  GREAT  TRIBULATION  PERIOD."  If  this  supposition 
be  true,  then  the  "LITTLE  BOOK"  was  a  foreview  of  the  things 
that  are  to  befall  Daniel's  People  in  the  last  half  of  Daniel's  "SEV- 
ENTIETH WEEK."  The  effect  on  John  of  reading  the  "LITTLE 
BOOK"  seems  to  confirm  this  view,  for  as  he  read  of  the  deliver- 
ances that  were  to  come  to  his  people,  and  of  the  final  victory  of  the 
Lamb,  and  the  setting  up  of  "The  Kingdom,"  the  "Book"  was  as 
"sweet  as  honey"  to  his  taste,  but  when  he  meditated  upon  the 
awful  sufferings  that  would  come  upon  the  world,  and  upon  the 
Jews,  under  the  reign  of  the  "BEAST"  (Antichrist),  and  during  the 
pouring  out  of  the  "VIALS,"  it  was  bitterness  to  his  soul. 

THE  FINISHED  MYSTERY. 

When  the  "SEVENTH  TRUMPET  ANGEL"  shall  begin  to 
sound  the  "MYSTERY  OF  GOD"  shall  be  finished.  This  is  not 
the  "Mystery  of  the  Church"  for  that  was  finished  by  the  taking  out 
of  the  Church  in  chapter  four.  That  "Mystery"  was  unknown  to 
the  Prophets.  The  "MYSTERY  OF  GOD"  is  the  "Mystery"  of 
why  God  permitted  Satan  to  cause  the  "Fall  of  Man"  and  thus  bring 
sin,  and  misery,  and  death  into  the  world.  To  the  Old  Testament 
Prophets  God  revealed  the  fact  that  in  His  own  good  time  He  would 
make  clear  this  "MYSTERY,"  and  when  the  "SEVENTH  TRUM- 
PET" (that  includes  all  that  happens  from  chapter  11:15)  sounds, 
the  "MYSTERY  OF  GOD"  will  be  finished,  for  then  the  "MYS- 
TERY of  INIQUITY"  (Antichrist,  2.  Thess.  2:6-10)  will  be  re- 
vealed, in  whom  Satan  will  incarnate  himself  after  he  is  cast  out  of 
Heaven,  and  in  his  destruction,  and  the  "Binding  of  Satan,"  and  the 
setting  up  of  the  "Millennial  Kingdom"  of  Christ,  shall  be  fulfilled 
the  promises  to  the  Prophets,  that  peace  and  righteousness  shall 
reign  on  the  earth.  And  when,  as  the  result  of  the  "Renovation  of 
the  Earth  by  Fire,"  the  redeemed  human  race  shall  take  up  its  abode 
upon  a  redeemed  and  restored  earth,  and  sin  and  rebellion  shall  for- 
ever be  destroyed,  the  "MYSTERY  OF  GOD,"  or  why  sin  was  per- 
mitted to  wreck  this  world,  will  be  finished. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

2.     THE  TWO  WITNESSES. 

Rev.  11:1-14. 

"And  there  was  given  me  a  reed  like  unto  a  rod:  and  the 
•ANGEL'  stood,  saying,  Rise  and  measure  the  'TEMPLE  OF 
GOD,'  and  the  'ALTAR,'  and  them  that  worship  therein.  But 
the  'COURT'  which  is  without  the  TEMPLE  leave  out;  and 
measure  it  not;  for  it  is  given  unto  the  GENTILES:  and  the  Holy 
City  shall  they  tread  under  foot  FORTY  AND  TWO  MONTHS. 
And  I  will  give  power  unto  MY  'TWO  WITNESSES,'  and  they 
shall  prophesy  a  THOUSAND  TWO  HUNDRED  AND 
THREE-SCORE  DAYS,  clothed  in  sackcloth.  These  are  the 
'TWO  OLIVE  TREES'  and  the  'TWO  CANDLESTICKS' 
standing  before  the  God  of  the  earth.  And  if  any  man  will  hurt 
them,  fire  proceedeth  out  of  their  mouth,  and  devoureth  their 
enemies:  and  if  any  man  will  hurt  them,  he  must  in  this  man- 
ner be  killed.  These  have  power  to  SHUT  HEAVEN,  that  it 
rain  not  in  the  days  of  their  prophecy:  and  have  power  over 
waters  to  TURN  THEM  TO  BLOOD,  and  to  smite  the  earth 
with  ALL  PLAGUES,  as  often  as  they  will.  And  when  they 
shall  have  finished  their  testimony,  the  BEAST  THAT 
ASCENDETH  OUT  OF  THE  'BOTTOMLESSS  PIT'  shall  make 
war  against  them,  and  shall  overcome  them,  and  kill  them.  And 
their  dead  bodies  shall  lie  in  the  street  of  the  'GREAT  CITY,' 
v/hich  spiritually  is  called  SODOM  and  EGYPT,  where  also 
our  Lord  WAS  CRUCIFIED.  And  they  of  the  people  and 
kindreds  and  tongues  and  nations  shall  see  their  dead  bodies 
THREE  DAYS  AND  A  HALF,  and  shall  not  suffer  their  dead 
bodies  to  be  put  in  graves.  And  they  that  dwell  upon  the  earth 
shall  rejoice  over  them,  and  make  merry,  and  shall  send  gifts  one 
to  another;  because  these  TWO  PROPHETS  tormented  them 
that  dwelt  on  the  earth.  And  after  three  days  and  a  half  the 
SPIRIT  OF  LIFE  from  God  entered  into  them,  and  they  stood 
upon  their  feet;  and  great  fear  fell  upon  them  which  saw  them. 
And  they  heard  a  great  voice  from  Heaven  saying  unto  them 
'COME  UP  HITHER,'  and  they  ascended  up  to  Heaven  in  a 
cloud;  and  their  enemies  beheld  them.  And  the  same  hour  was 
there  a  GREAT  EARTHQUAKE,  and  the  tenth  part  of  the  City 
fell,  and  in  the  earthquake  were  slain  of  men  seven  thousand:  and 
the  remnant  were  aflfrighted.  and  gave  glory  to  the  God  of 
Heaven." 

The  "ANGEL"  that  told  John  to  rise  and  measure  the  TEM- 
PLE was  the  same  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  that  handed  him  the  "LIT- 
TLE BOOK"  to  eat.  And  as  they  were  both  still  on  the  earth,  the 
"TEMPLE"  that  John  was  told  to  measure  was  the  Temple  at 
Jerusalem.  Not  the  Temple  of  Herod,  for  that  had  been  destroyed 
over  25  years  before  by  Titus',  in  A.  D.  70.  This  then  must  be  a 
future  temple  that  is  to  be  built  at  Jerusalem.  It  is  clear  that  there 
will  be  a  Temple  at  Jerusalem  during  the  reign  of  Antichrist,  for  he 
shall  sit  in  it,  and  proclaim  himself  GOD.  2.  Thess.  2 :  3-4.  And 
he  shall  cause  the  "ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION"  spoken 
of  by  Daniel  the  Prophet  (Dan.  9:27),  probably  the  "IMAGE  OF 
THE  BEAST,"  to  be  set  up  in  the  "HOLY  PLACE."  Matt.  24:  15. 
This  will  not  be  the  Millennial  Temple  described  by  Ezekiel  (Ez. 
4:1;  42:20),  for  that  will  be  built  at  Shiloh,  in  the  midst  of  the 
Holy  Oblation  (Ez.  48:8,  21),  and  not  until  after  the  physical 
changes  that  will  take  place  at  the  return  of  Christ  (Zech.  14:4) 
shall  have  changed  the  surface  of  the  Land  of  Palestine.     The  Tera- 


84  THE  THINGS   WHICH   THOU   HAST   SEEN. 

pie  that  the  Jews  will  build  on  their  return  to  Jerusalem  will  prob- 
ably be  destroyed  by  the  Earthquake  that  destroys  the  tenth  part 
of  the  City,  for  that  Earthquake  will  synchronize  with  the  "Great 
Earthquake"  that  shall  occur  at  the  breaking  of  the  "Seventh  Seal," 
the  sounding  of  the  "Seventh  Trumpet,"  and  the  pouring  out  of  the 
"Seventh  Vial."    Rev.  8:5,  11 :  19,  16:  18. 

John  was  told  to  measure  only  the  Temple  proper,  and  to  leave 
out  the  "Court"  that  surrounded  it.  The  Temple  of  Herod  had  four 
Courts:  the  Court  of  the  Priests,  the  Court  of  Israel,  the  Court  of 
the  Women,  and  the  Court  of  the  Gentiles.  The  Tabernacle  had  but 
one  Court;  while  Solomon's  Temple  had  two,  the  Court  of  the 
Priests,  and  the  Court  of  the  Gentiles.  As  the  "Court"  of  this  new 
Temple,  as  well  as  the  Holy  City  (Jerusalem),  is  to  be  trodden  under 
foot  of  the  Gentiles  for  42  months,  or  3>4  years,  this  period  must 
refer  to  the  last  half  of  the  "Seventieth  Week,"  after  Antichrist 
breaks  his  "Covenant"  with  the  Jews,  and  desecrates  the  Temple, 
for  Jerusalem  must  be  trodden  down  of  the  Gentiles  until  the  "Times 
of  the  Gentiles"  is  fulfilled  (Luke  21:24),  and  that  will  not  end 
until  the  Battle  of  Armageddon. 

After  the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  had  given  John  instructions  as 
to  measuring  the  Temple,  He  said — "And  I  will  give  power  unto 
MY  'TWO  WITNESSES,'  and  they  shall  prophesy  a  'thousand 
two  himdred  and  threescore  days'."  As  a  "thousand  two  hundred  and 
threescore  days"  are  equal  to  42  months  of  30  days  each,  or  to  3^ 
years,  then  the  time  when  these  "TWO  WITNESSES"  are  to 
prophesy  must  correspond  with  the  last  half  of  the  "Week,"  or  the 
time  of  THE  GREAT  TRIBULATION. 

Who  are  these  "TWO  WITNESSES"?  They  are  men:  not 
systems,  or  churches,  or  a  body  of  witnesses,  for  they  prophesy  and 
are  clothed  in  sackcloth,  neither  of  which  can  be  said  of  other  than 
persons,  and  there  are  TWO  of  them.  It  is  very  easy  to  identify 
them.  They  have  power  to  shut  heaven  that  it  rain  not  in  the  DAYS 
OF  THEIR  PROPHECY.  This  can  refer  to  no  other  than  Elijah, 
who  had  power  in  the  days  of  King  Ahab  to  shut  up  the  heavens  for 
the  space  of  three  years  and  six  months  (1.  Kings  17:1.  Luke  4:25. 
James  5:17),  and  this  is  the  same  length  of  time,  42  months,  or 
1260  days,  or  3>^  years,  that  these  "TWO  WITNESSES"  are  to 
prophesy.  Then  we  know  that  Elijah  was  translated,  and  did  not 
see  death,  that  he  might  come  back  before  "THE  GREAT  AND 
DREADFUL  DAY  OF  THE  LORD"  for  the  purpose  of  "turning 
the  heart  of  the  children  to  their  fathers,"  and  this  is  the  purpose  of 
the  prophesying  of  these  "TWO  WITNESSES."  Mai.  4:5-6.  It 
is  clear  from  the  time  that  the  Prophet  Malachi  said  that  Elijah 
would  come  again,  JUST  BEFORE  "The  Great  And  Dreadful  Day 
Of  The  Lord,"  that  this  prophecy  was  not  fulfilled  in  John  the  Bap- 
tist. He  announced  the  "First  Coming"  of  Christ,  but  no  "Great 
And  Dreadful  Day  Of  The  Lord"  followed.  That  event  is  yet  future, 
and  follows  the  testimony  of  these  "TWO  WITNESSES." 

When  the  Jews  sent  Priests  and  Levites  from  Jerusalem  to 
John  to  ask  him""Who  Art  Thou?"  he  confessed— "I  AM  NOT  THE 
CHRIST."    Andthey  asked  him,  "What  then?    Art  thou  ELIJAH?** 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         85 

And  he  said— "I  AM  NOT."  It  is  clear  from  John's  answers  to  these 
questions  that  he  was  NOT  ELIJAH.  When  Gabriel  announced 
to  Zacharias  the  birth  of  John  the  Baptist,  he  said,  he  shall  go  before 
Him  (Christ)  in  the  "SPIRIT  AND  POWER"  of  Elijah.  That  is, 
he  will  not  be  Elijah,  but  shall  be  like  him  in  spirit  and  power! 
When  John  from  his  prison  cell  sent  messengfers  to  Jesus  to  ask 
Him  if  He  were  the  Christ,  after  Christ  had  dismissed  those  messen- 
gers He  said  to  the  multitude  of  John,  "IF  YE  WILL  RECEIVE 
'IT/  THIS  IS  ELIJAH  WHICH  WAS  FOR  TO  COME."  Matt. 
11:1-14.  Jesus  here  simply  affirms  that  John  was  ELIJAH  if  m^n 
would  RECEIVE  "IT."  Not  receive  "HIM"  (John),  but  receive 
"IT."  What  did  Jesus  mean  by  "IT"?  The  context  shows  that 
Jesus  was  talking  about  the  "KINGDOM"  (Verses  11  and  12),  and 
if  they  had  received  "THE  KINGDOM"  that  John  announced  was 
at  hand,  then  John,  instead  of  being  John,  would  have  been  ELIJAH 
come  back,  but  because  God  foresaw  that  the  Jews  would  not  re- 
ceive the  KINGDOM,  He  could  not  send  ELIJAH  at  that  time,  so 
He  had  to  send  a  substitute  with  the  "spirit"  and  "power"  of  Elijah 
in  his  place,  so  He  sent  John  the  Baptist. 

But  you  say,  did  not  Jesus  say  to  the  Disciples  when  they  were 
coming  down  from  the  Mt.  of  Transfiguration,  where  they  had  seen 
Elijah — "Elias  truly  shall  first  come,  and  restore  all  things.  But  I 
say  unto  you  that  ELIAS  IS  COME  ALREADY,  and  they  knew 
him  not,  but  have  done  unto  him  whatsoever  they  listed.  Then  the 
Disciples  understood  that  He  spake  unto  them  of  JOHN  THE  BAP- 
TIST"? Matt.  17:11-13.  Now  whatever  this  may  mean,  it  cannot 
contradict  John's  own  declaration  that  he  WAS  NOT  ELIJAH,  or 
Christ's  statement  that  if  God  had  foreseen  that  the  Jews  would 
have  received  the  Kingdom,  He  would  have  sent  ELIJAH  instead 
of  John.  And  Christ's  statement  in  the  above  reference,  that  Elijah's 
purpose  in  coming  is  to  "RESTORE  ALL  THINGS,"  which  John 
did  not  do,  and  Malachi's  declaration  that  Elijah  would  not  come 
until  just  before  the  'GREAT  AND  DREADFUL  DAY  OF  THE 
LORD,'  makes  it  clear  that  John  the  Baptist  was  not  Elijah,  and 
that  Elijah  is  yet  to  come. 

It  is  clear  then  that  one  of  the  "TWO  WITNESSES"  will  be 
Elijah,  but  who  will  be  the  other?  Many  claim  that  Moses  will  be 
the  second  Witness,  while  some  say  he  will  be  Enoch,  because  they 
say  Moses  being  a  resurrected  person  cannot  die  again,  and  the 
"Two  Witnesses"  are  both  to  die.  They  claim  that  both  Enoch  and 
Elijah  were  caught  up  in  their  bodies,  without  dying,  that  they 
might  come  back  again  in  their  bodies  and  die.  There  is  no  scrip- 
tural ground  for  declaring  that  Moses  cannot  die  again.  Lazarus 
was  raised  from  the  dead  and  he  died  again,  and  the  "Wicked  Dead" 
shall  be  raised  from  the  dead,  and  after  Judgment  at  the  "Great  White 
Throne,"  they  shall  be  sentenced  to  die  again,  which  is  the  "SEC- 
OND DEATH."     Rev.  20:12-15. 

It  is  said  of  these  "TWO  WITNESSES"  that  they  have  power— 

1.  "To  SHUT  HEAVEN,  that  it  RAIN  NOT  in  the  days  of 
their  prophecy." 


86        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

2.  "And  have  power  over  WATERS  to  TURN  THEM  TO 
BLOOD,  and  to  smite  the  earth  with  ALL  PLAGUES,  as  often  as 
they  will." 

Now  we  know  that  Moses  had  power  to  turn  water  into  BLOOD, 
and  to  smite  the  earth  with  PLAGUES,  but  we  are  not  told  that 
Enoch  had  such  power. 

If  we  study  carefully  what  shall  happen  during  the  period  the 
"TWO  WITNESSES"  shall  testify,  which  as  we  have  seen  will  be 
the  last  half  of  the  "Week,"  or  33^  years,  we  shall  see  that  the 
"TV\^0  WITNESSES"  can  be  no  other  than  MOSES  and  ELIJAH. 
It  is  probable  that  Elijah  will  shut  up  the  heavens  that  there  shall 
be  no  rain,  during  the  3^^  years  of  their  witnessing,  for  we  read  that 
there  is  to  be  a  "FIRE  TEST"  such  as  Elijah  appointed  on  Mt. 
Carmel  in  the  days  of  King  Ahab  (1.  Kings  18:  17-40),  and  the  con- 
test will  be  between  Elijah  and  the  "FALSE  PROPHET,"  and  that 
the  "FALSE  PROPHET"  shall  have  power  to  do  what  the  Priests 
of  Baal  could  not  do,  bring  FIRE  FROM  HEAVEN.  Rev.  13 :  13. 
The  crucial  question  on  Mt.  Carmel  was,  who  is  GrOD,  JEHOVAH 
or  BAAL?  In  the  days  of  Antichrist  it  will  be,  who  is  GOD, 
JEHOVAH  or  ANTICHRIST?  The  test  will  be  the  power  to  bring 
down  FIRE  FROM  HEAVEN.  As  the  "False  Prophet"  will  imi- 
tate the  power  of  Elijah  and  bring  down  FIRE  FROM  HEAVEN, 
the  test  will  not  be  decisive.  The  true  Israel  of  God  however  will 
acknowledge  the  claim  of  Jehovah,  while  the  followers  of  "The 
Beast"  will  continue  to  believe  in  him.  But  Elijah  shall  not  be  as 
fortunate  as  he  was  in  the  days  of  Ahab,  for  then  he  escaped  the 
vengeance  of  Jezebel,  but  he  will  not  be  able  to  escape  the  vengeance 
of  Antichrist  who  will  see  to  it  that  both  he  and  Moses  arc  slain. 

As  the  Plagues  that  are  to  accompany  the  pouring  out  of  the 
"Vials,"  are  four  of  them  similar  to  the  "Plagues  of  Egypt,"  who 
more  likely  to  bring  them  to  pass  than  Moses?  The  evidence 
seems  conclusive  that  the  "TWO  WITNESSES"  will  be  MOSES 
and  ELIJAH. 

In  passing  it  is  worth  noting  the  "TITLE"  of  these  two  men. 
The  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  (Christ)  calls  them  My  "TWO  WIT- 
NESSES." This  implies  that  "WITNESSING"  was  their  business. 
And  when  we  recall  their  witnessiag  on  the  Mt.  of  Transiigfuration 
(Matt.  17:3),  and  that  it  was  TWO  MEN  that  witnessed  to  the 
women  at  the  Tomb  that  Jesus  had  risen  (Luke  24:4-7),  and  that 
it  was  TWO  MEN  who  stood  by  and  witnessed  to  the  Disciples  as 
Jesus  ascended  into  Heaven  (Acts  1:10-11),  and  that  in  all  three 
incidents  the  MEN  were  clothed  in  "shining  garments,"  it  seems 
clear  that  Moses  was  resurrected  and  Elijah  translated  for  the  ex- 
press office  of  "WITNESSES." 

These  "TWO  WITNESSES"  are  called  the  "TWO  OLIVE 
TREES"  and  the  "TWO  CANDLESTICKS"  which  stand  before 
the  God  of  the  earth.  For  an  explanation  of  this  symbol  we  must 
turn  back  to  the  Old  Testament.  The  Prophet  Zechariah  saw  in  a 
vision  a  "GOLDEN  CANDLESTICK,"  with  a  bowl  upon  the  top 
of  it,  and  the  seven  lamps  thereon,  and  seven  pipes  to  the  seven 
lamps ;  and  TWO  OLIVE  TREES  by  it,  one  upon  the  right  side  of 
the  bowl,  and  the  other  upon  the  left  side  thereof.     And  he  turned 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        87 

to  the  angel  that  talked  with  him  and  said  "What  are  these  'TWO 
OLIVE  TREES'  upon  the  right  side  of  the  CANDLESTICK  and 
upon  the  left  side  thereof?"  And  he  said,  "These  are  the  'TWO 
ANOINTED  ONES,'  that  stand  by  the  Lord  of  the  whole  earth." 
Zech.  4:  1-14.  These  "TWO  ANOINTED  ONES"  were  Zerubbabel 
the  Governor,  and  Joshua  the  High  Priest.  Haggai  1 :  1,  14.  Zech. 
3:  1 ;  4:  6.  They  had  been  anointed  by  the  Holy  Spirit  to  rebuild  and 
restore  Jerusalem  and  the  Temple  after  the  Babylonian  Captivity, 
against  which  Satan  was  raising  up  much  opposition.  Zech.  3:1-7. 
What  more  appropriate  type  could  have  been  used  than  this?  Zerub- 
babel and  Joshua  are  types  of  the  "TWO  WITNESSES"  whose 
work  it  will  be  to  proclaim  that  the  time  has  come  to  rebuild  Jeru- 
salem and  re-establish  the  Temple  worship,  for  the  "KINGDOM  OF 
HEAVEN"  is  at  hand.  And  they  will  have  to  do  it  in  the  face  of  the 
opposition  of  Satan,  who  at  that  time  will  have  incarnated  himself  in 
the  Antichrist.  How  beautifully  this  illustrates  the  fact  that  every 
Type  in  the  Scriptures  has  its  Anti-Type,  and  that  the  Old  Testa- 
ment infolds  and  unfolds  the  New  Testament,  and  that  until  the  Anti- 
Type  appears  the  plan  and  purpose  of  God  remains  unfulfilled  and 
incomplete. 

These  "TWO  WITNESSES"  are  to  prophecy  for  1260  days,  or 
3y2  years,  and  for  that  length  of  time  they  are  immune  from  death. 
For  if  any  man  attempt  to  hurt  them,  "fire  will  proceed  out  of  their 
mouths  and  devour  their  enemies."  But  when  they  have  "finished 
their  testimony,"  they  shall  be  overcome  by  "THE  BEAST"  (Anti- 
christ), who  will  make  war  against  them,  and  shall  kill  them,  and 
their  dead  bodies  shall  lie  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  which  is  spirit- 
ually called  Sodom  and  Egypt  at  that  time,  because  the  character  of 
its  inhabitants  will  resemble  the  character  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Sodom  in  the  days  of  Lot,  and  the  conduct  of  Israel  in  Egypt  (Ezek. 
23:  3-4,  8,  19),  for  the  space  of  "three  days  and  a  half,"  and  the  peo- 
ple of  all  nationalities  shall  not  suffer  their  dead  bodies  to  be  buried, 
and  they  shall  rejoice  over  them,  and  make  merry,  and  shall  send 
gifts  one  to  another,  because  these  "TWO  WITNESSES"  who  tor- 
mented them  by  their  testimony  and  their  plagues  are  dead.  How 
foolish  men  are.  They  think  that  when  they  kill  God's  Prophets 
they  have  destroyed  His  law,  and  cannot  be  punished. 

But  the  people's  rejoicing  will  be  short-lived,  for  at  the  end  of 
the  3^  days  the  "SPIRIT  OF  LIFE"  will  re-enter  the  bodies  of  the 
"TWO  WITNESSES,"  and  they  shall  stand  upon  their  feet,  and 
great  fear  shall  be  upon  their  enemies,  and  a  voice  from  Heaven  will 
be  heard  saying— "COME  UP  HITHER,"  and  they  shall  ascend  up 
to  Heaven  in  a  cloud  as  Christ  Himself  ascended,  and  their  enemies 
shall  witness  their  ascent.  They  are  first  resurrected  and  then  trans- 
lated. The  same  hour  of  their  ascension  there  will  be  a  "Great  Earth- 
quake" that  will  destroy  a  tenth  part  of  the  city  of  Jerusalem  and 
7000  of  its  inhabitants,  and  the  remainder  of  its  inhabitants  will  turn 
to  God  from  fright.  But  this  repentance  will  be  short-lived,  like  that 
of  Pharoah's. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  because  this  description  of  the 
"Two  Witnesses"  is  given  to  John  in  the  "INTERVAL"  between  the 
"Sixth"  and  "Seventh"  Trumpets,  that  the  "Two  Witnesses"  testify 


88        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

only  during  that  "INTERVAL."  The  time  is  too  short,  for  they 
testify  for  1260  days,  or  42  months.  Their  witnessing  was  still  future 
when  John  was  told  about  them,  for  the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  said  to 
John — "I  WILL  give,"  showing  that  the  "Two  Witnesses:"  had  not 
as  yet  appeared,  for  John  did  not  see  them,  he  simply  recorded  what 
the  "MIGHTY  ANGEL"  told  him  about  them.  As  we  have  seen, 
the  period  of  their  witnessing  is  during  the  "last  half"  of  the  Week, 
and  therefore  they  do  not  appear  until  the  "Middle"  of  the  Week. 

"The  'SECOND  WOE'  is  past:  and,  behold,  the  'THIRD  WOE* 
Cometh  quickly." 

SEVENTH  TRUMPET. 

THIRD  WOE. 
(Covers  The  Rest  Of  The  Week.) 

Rev.  11:  15-19. 
"And    the   'SEVENTH    ANGEL'    sounded:    and    there    were 
great  voices   in    Heaven,   saying,   THE   KINGDOMS   OF   THIS 
WORLD  ARE  BECOME  THE  KINGDOMS  OF  OUR  LORD, 
AND    OF    HIS    CHRIST;    AND    HE    SHALL    REIGN    FOR 
EVER  AND  EVER.     And   the  four  aiwl  Twenty   Elders,   which 
sat   before    God   on    their   seats,   fell    upon    their   faces,    and   wor- 
shiped   God,    saying,    We    give    Thee    thanks,    O    Lord    God    Al- 
mighty, which  art,  and  wast,  and  art  to  come;  because  Thou  hast 
taken    to    Thee    Thy    great    power,   and    hast    reigned.      And    the 
nations   were   angry,   and    Thy    wrath    is    come,    and    the    time   of 
the  dead,  that  they   should  be  judged,   and  that  Thou  shouldest 
give  reward  unto  Thy  Servants  the  Prophets,  and  to  the  Saints, 
and   them   that   fear  Thy   Name,   small   and   great;   and   shouldest 
destroy  them  which   destroy  the   earth.     And   the  TEMPLE   OF 
GOD  was  opened  IN  HEAVEN,  and  there  was  seen  in  His  Tem- 
ple the  'Ark  of  His  Testament':  and  there  were  LIGHTNINGS, 
and  VOICES,   and   THUNDERINGS   and   an   EARTHQUAKE, 
and  GREAT  HAIL." 
The  sounding  of  the  "SEVENTH  TRUMPET"  includes  all  that 
happens  down  to  chapter  20:3.     When  it  sounded  John  heard  "Grreat 
Voices"  in  Heaven  saying— "THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THIS  WORLD 
ARE  BECOME  THE  KINGDOMS  OF  OUR  LORD,  AND  OF  HIS 
CHRIST;  AND  HE  SHALL  REIGN  FOR  EVER  AND  EVER." 
This  is  the  announcement  that  the  time  had  comiC  for  Christ  to  take 
"THE  KINGDOM,"  though  "The  Kingdom."  does  not  fully   come 
into   His   possession   for  3^2   years.     The   whole  of   this   passage   is 
anticipative,  for  the  "sayings"  of  the  Four  and  Twenty  Elders  look 
forward   to   the    Resurrections   and  Judgments  of   chapter  20.     The 
scene  is  located  in  Heaven.    For  it  is  there  that  John  hears  the  Trum- 
pet  sound,   and   sees   the   "Temple   of   God"   opened,   and   hears   the 
"voices"  and  "thunderings"  that  accompany  the  devastation  of  the 
earth  by  "earthquake"  and  "hail."    This  announcement  is  preliminary 
to  the  great  events  that  are  to  follow,  which  will  be  the  most  remark- 
able and  momentous  that  have  ever  happened  on  this  earth. 

The  "THIRD  WOE"  includes  the  "VIALS."  and  all  other  judg- 
ments down  to  chapter  20:  3.  The  "Time  Limit"  of  the  "SEVENTH 
TRUMPET"  is  given  in  chapter  10:7,  and  is  spoken  of  as  "THE 
'DAYS'  "  of  the  "Voice"  of  the  "SEVENTH  ANGEL"  when  he  shall 
BEGIN  TO  SOUND.  Implying  that  the  blast  or  blasts,  of  the 
"SEVENTH  TRUMPET"  shall  be  long  continued,  that  is,  extend 
over  the  whole  of  the  last  half  of  the  "Week." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        89 


The  Middle  of  the  Week 


The  Seven  Personages 

1.     THE  SUN-CLOTHED  WOMAN. 

Rev.  12 :  1-2. 


"And  there  appeared  a  'GREAT  WONDER'  in  Heaven;  a 
Woman  CLOTHED  WITH  THE  SUN,  and  the  MOON  UNDER 
HER  FEET,  and  upon  her  head  a  CROWN  OF  TWELVE 
STARS:  and  she  being  with  child  cried,  travailing  in  birth,  and 
pained  to  be  delivered." 

In  the  "Middle  of  the  Week"  two  "Wonders"  will  appear  in 
Heaven,  for  John  is  back  again  in  Heaven.  The  Revised  Version 
calls  them  "SIGNS,"  that  is,  they  are  "SYMBOLS"  of  something, 
and  must  be  thus  interpreted.  The  first  will  be  a  "SUN  CLOTHED 
WOMAN."  Who  does  this  "Sun  Clothed  Woman"  represent?  Some 
would  have  us  believe  that  this  "Woman"  is  the  Virgin  Mary,  others 
that  she  represents  the  Church.     Those  who  say  she  represents  the 


90         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

Church  claim  that  she  represents  the  visible  or  outward  Church,  and 
her  "Child"  represents'  the  "True  Church"  or  those  who  are  to  be 
"caught  out"  at  the  Rapture.  If  this  be  true,  and  the  "Child"  is  not 
caught  out  until  the  "Middle  of  the  Week,"  then  the  Church  will 
have  to  go  half  way  through  the  "Tribulation."  The  fact  is,  the 
"Woman"  is  neither  the  Virgin  Mary  or  the  Church.  She  is  ISRAEL. 
We  have  only  to  be  reminded  of  "Joseph's  Dream,"  v/here  he  says — 
"Behold,  I  have  dreamed  a  dream  more ;  and,  behold,  the  'SUN*  and 
the  'MOON'  and  the  'ELEVEN  STARS'  made  Obeisance  to  me" 
(Gen.  37:9),  to  see  the  Jewish  character  of  this  "Woman."  Joseph 
was  the  "Twelfth"  star. 

Israel  is  again  and  again  compared  to  a  woman,  and  a  married 
woman,  in  the  Old  Testament.  Isa.  54:  1.  And  in  the  period  of  her 
rejection  she  is  spoken  of  as  a  WIDOW  (Isa.  47  :  7-9.  Luke  18 :  1-8), 
and  a  DIVORCED  Woman  (Isa.  50:1),  and  an  ADULTEROUS 
WIFE  (Jer.  3:1-25,  Hosea  2:1-23)  but  the  Church  is  a  VIRGIN, 
and  an  ESPOUSED  Virgin  at  that.  2.  Cor.  11:2.  Eph.  5:25-27. 
The  "Sun  Clothed  Woman"  is  described  as  being  "WITH  CHILD," 
and  "TRAVAILING  TO  BRING  FORTH."  When  was  the  Church 
in  such  a  condition?  To  be  found  in  such  a  condition  would  unfit  her 
to  be  the  Bride  of  Christ.  Nowhere  in  the  scriptures  is  it  intimated 
that  the  Church  is  ever  to  be  a  Mother.  But  it  is  so  prophesied  of 
Israel.  Speaking  of  the  sevenfold  privilege  of  Israel,  Paul  says — 
"Who  are  Israelites ;  to  whom  pertaineth  the  adoption,  and  the  glory, 
and  the  covenants,  and  the  giving  of  the  law,  and  the  service  of  God, 
and  the  promises,  whose  are  the  fathers,  and  of  whom  AS  CON- 
CERNING THE  FLESH  CHRIST  CAME."  Rom.  9:4-5.  Here 
we  see  that  Christ  was  to  come  from  ISRAEL.  Then  we  know  that 
the  "PROMISED  SEED"  was  to  come  through  ISRAEL,  and  the 
Prophet  Isaiah  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  Israel  could  say — 
"UNTO  US  A  CHILD  IS  BORN  UNTO  US  A  SON  IS  GIVEN.** 
Isa.  9 : 6-7.  Before  the  promised  heir  could  be  born  Israel  had  to  pass 
through  many  sore  afiflictions  and  judgments.  These  were  her  "TRA- 
VAIL TIME."  There  can  be  no  question  but  what  the  "Sun  Clothed 
Woman"  represents  ISRAEL. 

2.     THE  DRAGON. 

Rev.  12:3-4. 

"And  there  appeared  another  'WONDER'  in  Heaven;  and 
behold  a  'GREAT  RED  DRAGON,'  having  SEVEN  HEADS  and 
TEN  HORNS,  and  SEVEN  CROWNS  upon  his  heads.  And  his 
tail  drew  the  THIRD  PART  OF  THE  STARS  OF  HEAVEN, 
and  did  cast  them  to  the  earth:  and  the  DRAGON  stood  before 
the  WOMAN  which  was  ready  to  be  delivered,  for  to  devour  her 
CHILD  as  soon  as  it  was  born." 

The  second  "WONDER"  that  will  appear  in  Heaven  will  be  a 
"GREAT  RED  DRAGON."  We  are  not  left  in  doubt  as  to  who  is 
meant,  for  in  verse  9  he  is  called  that  "OLD  SERPENT,  THE 
DEVIL,"  and  "SATAN."  His  color  is  RED,  the  color  of  blood, 
for  he  was  a  murderer  from  the  beginning.    John  8 :  44. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        91 

He  has  "SEVEN  HEADS"  and  "TEN  HORNS,"  and  upon  his 
heads  are  "SEVEN  CROWNS."  These  are  the  emblems  of  the 
universality  of  his  earthly  dominion,  and  typify  the  sevenfold  per- 
fection of  his  power:  for  he  is  the 

PRINCE  OF  THE  "POWERS  OF  THE  AIR." 

And    the 

"PRINCE  OF  THIS  WORLD." 

(Eph.  6:12.     John   12:31,   14:30,   16:11.) 

As  such  Jesus  did  not  dispute  his  claim  when  in  the  Wilderness 
Temptation  he  offered  Him  the  "Kingdoms  of  this  World"  and  the 
glory  of  them.  Luke  4:5-7.  His  "Seven  Heads,"  "Ten  Horns,"  and 
"Crowns,"  associate  him  with  the  "BEAST  OUT  OF  THE  SEA"  of 
the  first  verse  of  the  next  chapter,  the  only  difference  being  that  the 
Dragon's  "Crowns"  are  on  his  "Heads,"  while  those  of  the  Beast 
are  on  his  "Horns,"  and  therefore  differ  in  number.  These  features, 
common  to  both,  reveal  the  fact  that  there  is  some  relation  between 
the  "Dragon"  and  the  "Beast,"  and  that  the  "Beast"  is  an  earthly 
embodiment  or  incarnation  of  the  "DRAGON,"  for  the  "Beast"  does 
not  appear  on  the  earth  until  after  the  "Dragon"  is  cast  out  of 
Heaven.  Though  the  "Antichrist"  exists  from  the  beginning  of  the 
Week,  he  does  not  become  "THE  BEAST"  until  in  the  "Middle  of 
the  Week."  Satan  is  cast  out  of  Heaven  and  incarnates  himself  in 
him.  Then  the  "Antichrist"  breaks  his  "Covenant"  with  Israel,  dese- 
crates the  Temple,  and  becomes  the  "Satanic  Person"  that  rules  dur- 
ing the  last  half  of  the  Week. 

The  "STARS  OF  HEAVEN"  attached  to  his  "tail"  reveal  the 
fact  that  Satan  will  take  with  him  in  his  expulsion  from  Heaven,  a 
third  of  the  Angels,  for  the  Angels  are  spoken  of  as  "Stars"  in  the 
Old  Testament.  Job  38:7.  These  "Angels"  will  be  cast  with  him 
into  the  earth.  They  will  not  be  visible  but  they  will  secretly  sow 
the  seeds  of  rebellion,  and  ultimately  they  will  be  cast  with  Satan 
into  the  "Lake  of  Fire"  which  will  be  prepared  for  them.  Matt. 
25 :  41.  While  we  are  not  told  that  Satan's  "Angels"  are  cast  bound 
with  him  into  the  "Bottomless  Pit,"  yet  the  inference  is  that  they 
are,  for  during  the  Millennium  they  do  not  appear  to  be  present  on 
the  earth. 

John  tells  us  that  the  "Dragon"  stood  before  the  "Sun  Clothed 
Woman"  ready  to  "devour  her  child"  as  soon  as  it  was  born.  It  is 
intensely  interesting  reading  to  trace  in  the  Scriptures  the  story  of 
Satan's  efforts  to  prevent  the  birth  of  the  "Man-Child"  CHRIST,  and 
then  after  His  birth  to  destroy  Him  before  He  could  reach  the  Cross 
and  purchase  man's  redemption.  As  soon  as  Satan  had  accomplished 
the  Fall  of  Adam  and  Eve,  he  found  himself  under  the  curse  of  God, 
and  was  told  that  the  "SEED"  of  the  Woman  should  bruise  his  head. 
Gen.  3:  14-15.  This  aroused  the  enmity  of  Satan  and  he  determined 
to  prevent  the  birth  of  the  promised  "Seed,"  or,  if  that  were  not  pos- 
sible, to  destroy  the  "Seed"  after  birth.  So  as  soon  as  Abel  was  born, 
from  whom  the  promised  "Seed"  was  to  come,  Satan  schemed  for 
his  destruction,  and  finally  got  his  brother  Cain  to  kill  him.  Then 
the  "Sons  of  God"  (Angels)  doubtless  at  Satan's  instigation,  married 


92         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

the  "Daughters  of  Men"  (Cainitesj,  and  their  "sin,"  and  the  char- 
acter of  their  offspring  moved  God  to  destroy  mankind  from  off  the 
earth.  This  was  what  Satan  planned  for,  and  would  have  been  a 
victory  for  Satan  and  a  defeat  for  God,  so  God  decided  to  spare  the 
race,  and  begin  over  again  with  a  representative  man,  Noah.  But  it 
was  not  long  before  Noah  planted  a  vineyard  and  drank  himself 
drunk  with  the  wine  therefrom,  the  result  the  curse  of  Canaan  the 
Son  of  Ham.  Gen.  9:  18-27.  Then  the  people  began  to  multiply  and 
Satan  filled  their  heart  with  pride  and  presumption  and  they  rose  and 
built  the  "Tower  of  Babel,"  the  result  the  "Confusion  of  Tongues" 
and  the  unity  of  the  race  broken  up.  Gen.  11:  1-9.  Then  the  Lord 
called  Abraham  and  the  fight  narrowed  down  to  his  seed.  Abraham 
was  75  years  old,  and  had  no  children,  and  Sarah  his  wife  was  65 
years  of  age  and  barren.  Gen.  16:1.  Doubtless  Satan  laughed  at 
the  situation  because  of  Sarah's  barrenness,  in  which  probably  he  had 
a  hand,  but  to  show  Satan  that  He  could  work  a  miracle  if  neces- 
sary, to  produce  the  promised  "seed,"  God  waited  until  Sarah  was 
"past  age,"  until  she  was  90  years  old  (Gen.  17:17),  and  then  He 
caused  her  to  conceive  and  bear  the  promised  "seed."  Gen.  18:9-15; 
21 :  1-3*.  When  Isaac  was  about  12  years  of  age  Satan  moved  God  to 
test  Abraham  by  commanding  him  to  ofifer  up  Isaac  as  a  sacrifice 
upon  Mount  Moriah.  It  was  similar  to  the  test  of  Job.  Job  1:6-12; 
2:3-6.  The  plan  for  Isaac's  destruction  failed,  for  when  God  saw 
that  Abraham  was  willing  and  ready  to  slay  his  son.  He  intervened 
and  spared  his  life.  When  Isaac  grew  up  and  married  Rebekah, 
Satan,  to  prevent  her  having  offspring,  caused  her  to  be  barren,  but 
Isaac  prayed  and  God  heard  his  prayer  (Gen.  25:20-21),  and  twins 
were  born.  Then  Satan,  when  they  had  grown  up,  stirred  up  enmity 
between  them  hoping  that  the  tragedy  of  Cain  and  Abel  would  be 
repeated,  and  Jacob,  through  whom  Christ  was  to  come,  would  be 
slain.  When  the  time  came  for  Moses  to  be  born,  Satan  put  it  into 
the  heart  of  Pharaoh  to  order  that  all  male  Hebrew  children  should 
be  destroyed  at  birth,  his'  purpose  being  to  destroy  the  male  line  of 
descent  altogether.  But  his  plan  was  frustrated  by  a  baby's  tear. 
Ex.  2:5-10.  And  so  it  went  on,  until  at  the  death  of  King  Jehosha- 
phat  his  son  Jehoram  slew  all  his  brethren  with  the  sword  (2.  Chron. 
21  :  13),  thus  reducing  the  "seed  royal"  down  to  one  life.  But 
Jehoram  had  children.  Then  the  Arabians  slew  all  his  children  but 
one,  Ahaziah  the  youngest.  2.  Chron.  21:17  (margin).  2.  Chron. 
22:1.  But  Ahaziah  had  children.  These  in  turn  were  slain  by 
Athaliah  his  mother,  doubtless  at  the  instigation  of  Satan.  She 
thought  she  had  slain  them  all,  but  God  interposed  and  rescued  the 
infant  son  at  the  hands  of  his  aunt,  who  hid  him  in  the  Temple 
(2.  Cor.  22:  10-12),  and  for  6  years  all  the  hopes  of  God's  people  as 
to  the  promised  "seed"  rested  on  that  infant's  life.  During  the  Cap- 
ti^■ity  Satan  tried  to  destroy  the  whole  Hebrew  nation  at  the  hands 
Ci  Haman,  but  a  very  little  thing,  a  king's  sleepless  night,  frustrated 
that  plan.     Esther  3:8-15,  6:  1-11.     But  the  story  is  too  long. 

At  last  the  promised  "SEED"  was  bom.  Then  Satan,  failing  to 
prevent  His  birth,  determined  to  destroy  Him  before  He  could  reach 
the  Cross.     To  that  end  he  prompted  Herod,  through  jealousy  and 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         93 

fear,  to  slay  all  the  male  children  at  Bethlehem  under  2  years  of  age, 
but  Joseph  warned  of  God  in  a  dream,  had  fled  with  the  infant  Christ 
to  Egypt.  When  Christ  entered  on  His  ministry  Satan  met  Him  in 
the  Wilderness  and  suggested  that  He  throw  Himself  from  the  Pin- 
nacle of  the  Temple.  Foiled  in  that  Satan  sought  Christ's  life  by 
getting  His  own  townspeople  to  attempt  to  cast  Him  over  a  preci- 
pice. Luke  4 :  29.  The  two  storms  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee  were  but 
attempts  of  Satan  to  destroy  Christ.  You  cannot  rebuke  a  thing, 
you  can  only  rebuke  a  person,  and  when  Christ  rebuked  the  winds 
and  the  sea.  He  rebuked  the  person  (Satan)  who  had  caused  their 
disturbance.     Matt.  8 :  24-27. 

Then  Satan  renewed  the  fight  through  Priests  and  Pharisees 
until  he  succeeded  at  last  in  getting  one  of  Christ's  own  disciples, 
Judas,  to  sell  his  Master.  Then  amid  the  shades  of  Gethsemane, 
through  physical  exhaustion,  he  sought  to  kill  Christ.  And  when 
he  at  last  succeeded  in  having  Christ  crucified,  through  the  agency 
of  Pilate,  he  thought  he  had  conquered,  but  to  be  doubly  sure  he 
took  good  care  to  have  the  place  of  burial  sealed  and  guarded.  But 
when  Christ  rose  from  the  dead  Satan's  rage  knew  no  bounds.  In  all 
probability  Satan  and  his  angels  contested  the  Ascension  of  Christ, 
for  only  thus  can  we  account  for  the  necessity  of  His  going  up  10 
days  before  Pentecost,  that  He  might  have  ample  time,  convoyed  by 
"Twelve  Legions  of  Angels,"  for  any  "Battle  of  the  Clouds"  that 
Satan  might  attempt.  The  history  of  the  Christian  Church  is  but 
one  long  story  of  the  "Irrepressible  Conflict"  between  Satan  and 
God's  people.  Paul  writing  to  the  Thessalonians  said — "We  would 
have  come  unto  you,  even  I  Paul,  once  and  again,  but  SATAN  hin- 
dered us."  1.  Thess.  2:18.  And  now  as  the  time  draws  nigh  for 
Christ  to  receive  "The  Kingdom,"  which  means  that  He  will  come 
back  to  the  earth,  and  that  Satan's  power  and  dominion  over  the 
earth  shall  cease,  and  Satan  be  bound  for  1000  years,  Satan  filled  with 
wrath  will  oppose  His  return  wi«th  his  armies  and  there  will  be  "WAR 
IN  HEAVEN." 

3.    THE  MAN-CHILD. 

Rev.   12:5-6. 

"And  she  brought  forth  a  'MAN-CHILD,'  who  was  to  rule 
all  nations  with  a  'ROD  OF  IRON':  and  her  child  was  caught  up 
unto  God,  and  to  His  Throne." 

As  the  result  of  her  "travail"  the  "Sun  Clothed  Woman"  brought 
forth  a  "MAN-CHILD"  who  was  to  rule  the  nations  with  a  "ROD 
OF  IRON."  There  can  be  no  question  as  to  who  is  meant  by  the 
"Man-Child."  He  is  CHRIST.  The  Second  Psalm  settles  that— 
"Ask  of  me,  and  I  shall  give  Thee  the  heathen  for  Thine  inheritance, 
and  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  for  Thy  possession.  Thou  shalt 
break  them  with  a  'ROD  OF  IRON' :  Thou  shalt  dash  them  in  pieces 
like  a  potter's  vessel."  The  "Man-Child"  cannot  be  the  Church,  as 
some  claim,  because  the  "Man-Child"  is  caught  up  to  the  FATHER'S 
THRONE,  where  He  is  now  seated,  while  the  Church,  which  is  not 
as  yet  caught  up,  is  to  be  caught  up  to  CHRIST  IN  THE  AIR. 
L  Thess.  4:17. 


94        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

Those  who  claim  that  Christ  and  the  Church  together  constitute 
the  "Man-Child,"  because  in  the  Message  to  the  Church  at  Thyatira, 
the  promise  to  the  "Overcomers"  is,  that  they  shall  rule  the  Nations 
with  a  "ROD  OF  IRON,"  forget  that  this  promise  is  not  to  the 
Church  as  a  whole,  but  only  to  the  "Overcomers"  of  the  "Thyatiran 
Church  Period,"  A.  D.  606-1520.  In  other  words  the  "Overcomers" 
of  the  "Thyatiran  Church  Period"  shall  hold  some  prominent  "Rulmg 
Power"  with  Christ  in  the  Millennial  Kingdom. 

"And  the  'WOMAN'  fled  into  the  'Wilderness,' 
where  she  hath  a  place  prepared  of  God,  that  they  should 
feed  her  there  a  thousand  two  himdred  and  threescore 
days." 

Here  is  where  many  interpreters  of  this  chapter  have  been  led 
astray.  They  have  supposed  that  the  "Woman"  flees  into  the 
Wilderness  immediately  after  the  birth  of  her  child,  and  because  the 
time  of  her  flight  is  in  the  "Middle  of  the  Week"  (for  the  1260  days 
of  her  preservation  in  the  Wilderness  corresponds  with  the  "last 
half"  of  the  "Week"),  they  cannot  see  how  her  "Child"  can  be  Christ, 
for  Christ  was  born  and  "caught  up"  to  His  Father's  Throne  cen- 
turies ago,  while  this  event  is  still  future.  But  they  overlook  the  fact 
that  between  the  5th  and  6th  verses  of  this  chapter  the  present 
CHURCH  PERIOD  comes  in.  Between  these  verses  the  "GAP" 
between  the  "Sixty-ninth"  and  the  "Seventieth"  Week  of  Daniel's 
"Seventy  Weeks"  is  found.  The  5th  verse  describes  the  "BIRTH" 
of  Christ,  and  His  "ASCENSION,"  and  then  John  jumps  over  the 
"GAP,"  and  describes  in  the  6th  verse  the  "Flight"  of  the  Woman 
ISRAEL  into  the  Wilderness  to  escape  from  the  Antichrist.  The 
reason  for  this  is  that  John  is  not  dealing  here  with  the  Church,  and 
having  introduced  the  "Woman"  and  her  "Child"  to  account  for  the 
"Dragon's"  wrath  against  her  because  he  did  not  succeed  in  destroy- 
ing her  "Child"  (Christ)  when  He  was  born,  John  jumps  over  the 
"GAP,"  that  he  may  again  take  up  God's  dealing  with  ISRAEL. 
The  "Flight"  of  the  "Woman"  is  mentioned  here  by  anticipation,  for 
she  does  not  flee  until  after  the  "War  in  Heaven." 

Here  is  evidence  that  the  "Sun  Clothed  Woman"  is  not  the 
"Virgin  Mary,"  for  she  does  not  flee  into  Egypt,  as  Joseph  and  the 
Virgin  did  (Matt.  2:12-15),  but  into  the  WILDERNESS.  Neither 
does  she  flee  "with  her  child,"  for  it  was  taken  away  from  her  and 
caught  up  to  the  "Throne  of  God."  Neither  does  she  flee  for  her 
child's  protection,  but  for  her  own  safety. 

From  this  passage  we  learn  that  Christ's  Millennial  rule  will  be 
AUTOCRATIC,  for  He  shall  rule  over  the  Nations  with  a  "ROD  OF 
IRON."  This  does  not  signify  that  His  rule  will  be  tyrannical.  It 
simply  means  that  His  WILL  shall  be  supreme.  We  cannot  imagine 
Christ's  rule  to  be  other  than  a  rule  of  love.  Politics  will  have  no  place 
in  the  government,  the  masses  will  not  be  oppressed  by  those  in  power, 
equal  rights  will  be  accorded  to  everyone,  and  every  man  shall  sit 
under  his  own  vine  and  figtree. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         95 

4.     THE  ARCHANGEL. 
(War  In  Heaven.) 

Rev.   12:7-12. 


"And  there  was  'WAR  IN  HEAVEN':  MICHAEL  and  bis 
angels  fought  against  the  DRAGON:  and  the  DRAGON  fought 
and  his  angels,  and  prevailed  not:  neither  was  their  place  found 
any  more  in  Heaven.  And  the  GREAT  DRAGON  was  cast  out, 
that  old  SERPENT,  called  the  DEVIL,  and  SATAN,  which  de- 
ceiveth  the  whole  world:  he  was  cast  out  into  the  earth,  and  his 
angels  were  cast  out  with  him.  And  I  heard  a  loud  voice  saying 
in  Heaven,  Now  is  come  salvation,  and  strength,  and  the  King- 
dom of  God,  and  the  power  of  His  Christ:  for  the  ACCUSER 
OF  OUR  BRETHREN  IS  CAST  DOWN,  which  accused  them 
before  our  God  day  and  night.  And  they  overcame  him  (the 
Dragon)  by  the  BLOOD  OF  THE  LAMB,  and  by  the  WORD 
OF  THEIR  TESTIMONY;  and  they  loved  not  their  lives  unto 
the  death  (Martyr's  Death).  Therefore  rejoice,  ye  heavens,  and 
ye  that  dwell  in  them.  Woe  to  the  INHABITERS  OF  THE 
EARTH  AND  OF  THE  SEA!  for  the  DEVIL  is  come  down 
unto  vou,  having  great  wrath,  because  he  knoweth  that  he  hath 
but  a  SHORT  TIME."  (3J^  years.) 


96         THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

The  "WAR  IN  HEAVEN"  is  started  by  the  attempt  to  expel 
the  DRAGON  and  his  angels  From  the  Heavenlies.  That  the 
DRAGON  (Satan)  and  his  angels  were  not  cast  out  of  Heaven  at 
the  time  of  his  "Rebellion"  (which  antedates  the  present  earth),  and 
confined  in  some  "prison  house,"  is  clear,  for  he  was  at  liberty  to  visit 
the  Garden  of  Eden  and  tempt  Adam  and  Eve,  and  he  had  access  to 
God  in  Heaven  in  the  days  of  Job,  2000  years  before  Christ  (Job  1:1; 
2:8),  and  he  was  free  to  visit  the  earth  in  Christ's  day  and  tempt 
Him  in  the  Wilderness,  and  later  to  sift  Peter.  His  origin  is  more  or 
less  shrouded  in  mystery,  but  one  thing  is  certain,  he  is  a  "created 
being,"  and  that  of  the  most  exalted  type.  He  was  before  his  rebel- 
lion "The  Anointed  Cherub  That  Covereth."  That  is,  he  was  the 
guardian  or  protector  of  the  "Throne  of  God."  He  was  perfect  in  all 
his  ways  from  the  day  that  he  was  created  until  iniquity  was  found 
in  him.  In  him  was  the  "fulness  of  wi«dom,"  and  the  "perfection  of 
beauty,"  but  it  was  his  "beauty"  that  caused  the  pride  (1.  Tim.  3:6) 
that  was  his  downfall.  He  was  clothed  in  a  garment  that  was  cov- 
ered with  the  most  rare  and  precious  gems,  the  sardius,  topaz,  dia- 
mond, beryl,  onyx,  jasper,  sapphire,  emerald,  carbuncle,  all  woven  in 
with  gold.  He  dwelt  in  Eden,  the  Garden  of  God.  This  probably 
refers  not  to  the  earthly  Eden,  but  to  the  "Paradise  of  God"  on  high, 
for  Satan  dwelt  on  the  "Holy  Mount  of  God."  All  this  we  learn 
from  Ezek.  28:11-19,  where  the  Prophet  has  a  "foreview"  of  the 
Antichrist  under  the  title  of  the  "King  of  Tyrus,"  and  as  Antichrist 
when  he  becomes  the  "Beast"  is  to  be  an  incarnation  of  Satan,  the 
Prophet  here  describes  Satan's  original  glory  from  which  he  fell,  for 
there  has  never  as  yet  been  such  a  King  of  Tyrus  as  here  described. 
The  cause  of  Satan's  rebellion,  or  fall,  is  given  in  Isa.  14:  12-20.  He 
is  there  called  "LUCIFER,  SON  OF  THE  MORNING."  This  was 
his  glorious  title  when  he  was  created,  and  this  world  of  ours  was 
made,  at  which  time — "The  'Morning  Stars'  (probably  other  glorious 
created  ruling  beings  like  himself),  sang  together,  and  all  the  'Sons 
of  God'  (angels)  shouted  for  joy."    Job  38:7. 

It  is  well  to  note  that  the  one  here  called  "LUCIFER,"  is  in 
verse  four  (Isa.  14:4),  also  called  the  "King  of  Babylon."  As  there 
never  has  been  a  King  of  Babylon  like  the  one  here  described,  the 
description  must  be  that  of  a  future  King  of  Babylon.  And  as  "Anti- 
christ" is  to  have  for  his  Capital  City  Babylon  rebuilt,  this  is  prob- 
ably a  "foreview"  by  the  Prophet  of  Antichrist  as  indwelt  by  "LUCI- 
FER" (Satan)  in  that  day  when  he  shall  be  King  of  Babylon,  and 
also  King  of  Tyrus. 

The  common  notion  is  that  Satan  and  his  angels  are  imprisoned 
in  Hell.  This  is  not  true.  The  angels  described  in  2.  Pet.  2 : 4,  and 
Jude  6,  as  having  left  their  "first  estate,"  and  being  "reserved  in  ever- 
lasting chains  under  darkness,"  are  not  Satan's  angels.  They  are  a 
special  class  of  angels,  spoken  of  as  "Sons  of  God,"  whose  sin  of 
marrying  the  "Daughters  of  Men"  caused  the  Flood.  Gen.  6:  1-8. 
They  are  the  "Spirits  in  Prison"  of  whom  Peter  speaks  in  1.  Pet.  3: 
18-20.  They  are  now  confined  in  "Tartarus"  awaiting  the  "Great 
White  Throne"  Judgment.  Jude  6.  As  this  Book  of  Revelation  that 
we  are  now  studying  is  a  prophecy  of  "Things  To  Come"  that  were 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         97 

future  in  the  Apostle  John's  day,  and  it  declares  that  Satan  was  still 
in  the  Heavenlies  at  that  time,  A.  D.  96,  as  he  has  not  been  cast  out 
since  he  must  still  be  there. 

He  is  a  great  "Celestial  Potentate."  He  is  the  "PRINCE  OF 
THE  POWERS  OF  THE  AIR"  (Eph.  2:2),  and  the  "GOD  OF 
THIS  WORLD."  2.  Cor.  4:4.  He  is  the  "God"  not  of  the  earth, 
for  that  belongs  to  its  Maker — GOD.  "The  earth  is  the  Lord's  and 
the  fulness  thereof."  He  is  the  "God"  ©f  the  "WORLD  SYSTEMS" 
of  the  habitable  earth.  These  "World  Systems"  embrace  business, 
society,  politics,  and  religion.  He  is  the  Ruler  of  the  "Powers  of 
Darkness"  of  the  "Spirit  World"  (Eph.  6:  11-12),  and  his  position  is 
so  exalted  that  even  Michael  the  Archangel  dare  not  insult  him, 
Jude  9.  So  mighty  is  he  that  man  cannot  successfully  resist  him 
without  Divine  help. 

Satan  is  a  King,  and  has  a  KINGDOM.  Of  it  Christ  said— "If 
Satan  cast  out  Satan  he  is  divided  against  himself;  how  then  shall 
his  'KINGDOM'  stand"?  (Matt.  12:24-30.)  Speaking  of  the  "Evil 
Powers"  Paul  wrote — "We  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and  blood,  but 
against  'Principalities,'  against  'Powers,'  against  the  'Rulers  of  Dark- 
ness Of  This  World'  (Age),  against  'Spiritual  Wickedness'  in  HIGH 
PLACES"  (the  Heavenlies).  Eph.  6:12.  From  this  we  see  that 
Satan's  Kingdom  consists  of  "Principalities,"  "Powers,"  "Age  Rulers 
of  Darkness,"  and  "Wicked  Spirits"  in  the  Heavenlies.  These 
"Principalities"  are  ruled  by  "Princes"  who  control  the  nations  of 
the  earth  as  in  the  days  of  Daniel  the  Prophet,  when  a  Heavenly 
Messenger  was  sent  to  Daniel,  but  was  hindered  "three  weeks"  from 
reaching  him  by  the  "Prince  of  the  Kingdom  of  Persia,"  Satan's  rul- 
ing "Prince  of  Persia,"  until  Michael  the  Archangel  came  to  his  res- 
cue.   Dan.  10:10-14. 

The  opposing  "Commanders  in  Chief"  of  the  "War  in  Heaven" 
will  be  MICHAEL  and  the  DRAGON  (Satan).  We  are  first  intro- 
duced to  Michael  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  and  his  appearance  here 
is  a  confirmation  that  this  part  of  the  Book  of  Revelation  is  Jewish, 
and  a  continuation  or  supplement  to  the  Book  of  Daniel.  Michael  is 
called  in  the  Book  of  Daniel  "one  of  the  CHIEF  PRINCES"  (Dan. 
10:13),  "YOUR  PRINCE"  (Dan.  10:21),  and  the  "GREAT  PRINCE 
WHICH  STANDETH  FOR  THY  PEOPLE."  Dan.  12:1.  That 
is,  Michael  has  been  chosen  from  among  the  "Chief  Princes"  that 
stand  before  God,  to  be  the  protector  of  Daniel's  People,  the  Jews. 
In  Jude  9  he  is  called  the  "ARCHANGEL,"  and  as  there  is  but  one 
"Archangel"  spoken  of  in  the  Bible,  Michael  must  be  he.  He  also 
has  something  to  do  with  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  for  he  is  asso- 
ciated with  the  "Resurrection"  mentioned  in  Dan.  12 :  1-2,  and  he 
contested  with  the  Devil  the  resurrection  of  Moses  (Jude  9),  and  the 
"Voice"  of  the  Archangel  that  will  be  heard  when  the  "Dead  in 
Christ"  shall  rise  (1.  Thess.  4:  16),  will  be  the  "voice"  of  MICHAEL. 

When  the  "Dragon"  is  cast  out  of  the  "Heavenlies"  there  will  be 
great  rejoicing  in  Heaven  because  the  "Accuser"  of  Christ's  "Breth- 
ren" (the  Jews)  is  cast  down,  but  there  will  be  "woe"  for  the  "in- 
habitants of  the  earth,"  for  the  "Dragon"  will  be  filled  with  "great 
wrath"  because  he  knows  that  he  will  have  but  a  "short  time".  (3/2 


98        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

years)  to  vent  his  wrath  on  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  before  he  is 
chained  and  cast  into  the  Bottomless  Pit. 

While  Satan  has  been  the  "Accuser  of  the  Brethren"  in  all  Ages, 
the  context  shows  that  reference  is  here  made  to  the  "Jewish  Rem- 
nant" (the  brethren  of  Christ),  who  during  the  first  3>4  years  of  the 
"Tribulation  Period"  pass  through  great  persecution,  and  die  as  "mar- 
tyrs." They  are  referred  to  in  Rev.  6:9-11  as  the  "souls  of  them  that 
were  slain  for  the  Word  of  God,"  and  we  are  here  told  (Rev.  12:  11) 
that  they  overcame  by  the  "Blood  oi  the  Lamb,"  and  the  "Word  of 
their  Testimony,"  and  died  as  "martyrs,"  for  they  "loved  not  their  lives 
iinto  the  death."  As  they  overcame  by  the  "Blood  Of  The  Lamb," 
then  the  "TIME"  of  their  overcoming  must  be  subsequent  to  the 
shedding  of  Christ's  blood  on  Calvary,  that  is,  Satan  according  to  this 
account,  could  not  have  been  cast  out  of  the  "Heavenlies"  prior  to 
the  Crucifixion  of  Christ.  When  Jesus  said — "I  beheld  Satan  as 
lightning  fall  from  heaven"  (Luke  10:  18),  He  was  not  referring  to 
some  past  fall  of  Satan,  but  it  was  a  prophetic  utterance,  by  way  of 
anticipation,  of  his  future  fall,  when  he  shall  be  hurled  headfiret  out 
of  Heaven  by  Michael  the  Archangel.  As  further  evidence  as  to  the 
time  of  Satan's  casting  out,  Daniel  the  Prophet  tells  us  that  it  will 
be  at  the  "Time  of  Trouble"  that  is  to  come  upon  Daniel's  People,  the 
Jews,  and  that  "Time  of  Trouble"  is  the  "GREAT  TRIBULATION." 
At  that  time  Michael  shall  "stand  up"  to  deliver  Daniel's  People,  and 
the  result  will  be  "WAR  IN  HEAVEN"  and  Daniel's  People  shall 
be  delivered,  not  from  the  "Great  Tribulation,"  but  out  of  it. 

When  the  Dragon  and  all  the  Principalities  and  Powers  of  evil 
that  now  occupy  the  "Middle  Heaven"  of  the  Heavenlies,  that  is, 
the  Heaven  between  the  atmosphere  of  our  earth,  and  the  "Third 
Heaven"  where  God  dwells,  are  cast  out  and  down,  then  the  Heavens 
will  be  CLEAN,  for  they  are  not  now  clean  in  God's  sight.  Job 
15:  15.  And  as  all  these  "Evil  Powers"  will  doubtless  be  imprisoned 
during  the  Millennium,  with  Satan,  the  Heavens  will  be  CLEAN 
during  that  period,  and  this  will  account  for  the  universal  rule  of 
righteousness  and  peace  of  those  days. 

"THE  PERSECUTION  OF  THE  "SUN  CLOTHED  WOMAN." 

Rev.   12:  13-16. 

"And  when  the  'Dragon'  saw  that  he  was  cast  unto  the  earth, 
he  persecuted  the  'Woman'  which  brought  forth  the  'MAN- 
CHILD.'  And  to  the  'Woman'  were  given  two  wings  of  a  Great 
Eagle,  that  she  might  fly  into  the  Wilderness,  into  her  place, 
where  she  is  nourished  for  a  'time,'  and  'times,'  and  'half  a  timef* 
(31/2  years),  from  the  face  of  the  'Serpent'  (The  Dragon).  And 
the  'Serpent'  cast  out  of  his  mouth  water  as  a  flood  after  the 
'Woman,'  that  he  might  cause  her  to  be  carried  away  of  the  flood. 
And  the  earth  helped  the  'Woman';  and  the  earth  opened  her 
mouth,  and  swallowed  up  the  flood  which  the  Dragon  cast  out 
of  his  mouth." 

When  the  Dragon  is  cast  out  of  Heaven  into  the  Earth,  know- 
ing that  his  defeat  has  been  brought  about  by  the  elevation  of  the 
"MAN-CHILD"  to  the  place  of  power,  he  will  concentrate  his  hatred 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.         99 

and  malice  on  the  "Sun-Clothed  Woman"  (Israel),  who  ^ave  the 
"Man-Child"  birth.  To  the  "Woman"  will  be  given  the  "WINGS 
OF  A  GREAT  EAGLE"  that  she  may  fly  into  the  "Wilderness,"  into 
"HER  PLACE"  where  she  shall  be  nourished  for  a  "TIME,  TIMES 
and  HALF  A  TIME,"  or  3^  years.  This  takes  us  back  to  the  flight 
of  Israel  from  Egypt,  of  which  God  said — "Ye  have  seen  what  I  did 
unto  the  Egyptians,  and  how  I  bare  you  on  'EAGLE'S  WINGS,"  and 
brought  you  unto  myself."  Ex.  19 : 4.  As  the  "Woman"  and  the 
"Dragon"  are  symbols,  so  are  the  "Eagle's  Wings."  They  speak  of 
the  rapid  and  safe  flight  of  the  "Woman"  (ISRAEL)  into  the 
"Wilderness"  where  she  shall  be  safely  kept  and  nourished  for  3^^ 
years  until  the  Dragon  is  bound. 

The  Prophet  Isaiah  speaks  of  this  time  when  he  says — "Come, 
my  peonle  CTSRAELV  enter  thou  into  thy  CHAMBERS,  and  SHUT 
THY  DOORS  ABOUT  THEE:  HIDE  THYSELF  AS  IT  WERE 
FOR  A  LITTLE  WHILE  (3j^  years)  UNTIL  THE  INDIGNA- 
TION (The  Great  Tribulation)  IS  OVERPAST.  ...  In  THAT 
DAY  (the  Day  of  the  casting  out  of  the  Dragon)  the  Lord  with  His 
sore  and  great  and  strong  sword  shall  punish  'LEVIATHAN'  (the 
"Dragon"  or  "Serpent")  the  piercing  SERPENT,  even  'LEVIA- 
THAN' the  crooked  SERPENT,  and  He  shall  slay  'THE  DRAGON' 
that  is  in  the  sea."  Isa.  26:  20;  27:  1.  This  may  mean  the  "BEAST" 
that  comes  up  out  of  the  sea,  the  "ANTICHRIST."     Rev.  13 :  1-2. 

This  is  the  time,  that  Christ  refers  to  in  Matt.  24:  15-22.  "When 
ye  therefore  shall  see  the  'ABOMINATION  OF  DESOLATION,' 
spoken  of  by  Daniel  the  Prophet  (Dan.  9:27),  stand  in  the  Holy 
Place  (whoso  readeth,  let  him  understand),  then  let  them  which  be 
in  Judea  flee  into  the  mountains :  let  him  which  is  on  the  housetop 
not  come  down  to  take  anything  out  of  his  house :  neither  let  him 
which  is  in  the  field  return  back  to  take  his  clothes.  And  woe  unto 
them  that  are  with  child,  and  to  them  that  give  suck  in  those  days! 
But  pray  ye  that  your  flight  be  not  in  the  winter,  neither  on  the 
Sabbath  day:  for  then  shall  be  GREAT  TRIBULATION,  such  as 
was  not  since  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  this  time,  no,  nor  ever 
shall  be.  And  except  those  days  should  be  shortened,  there  should 
no  flesh  be  saved ;  but  for  the  ELECT'S  SAKE  (the  elect  of  Israel) 
those  days  shall  be  shortened."  The  flight  that  Matthew  here  speaks 
about  is  not  the  same  flight  that  Luke  speaks  about.  "And  when 
ye  shall  see  Jerusalem  COMPASSED  WITH  ARMIES,  then  know 
that  the  desolation  thereof  is  nigh.  Then  let  them  which  are  in  Judea 
flee  to  the  mountains :  and  let  them  which  are  in  the  midst  of  it  de- 
part ont:  and  let  not  them  that  are  in  the  countries  enter  thereinto. 
For  these  be  the  days  of  vengeance,  that  all  things  which  are  writ- 
ten may  be  fulfilled.  But  woe  unto  them  that  are  with  child,  and 
to  therr'  hat  give  suck,  in  those  days !  for  there  shall  be  great  dis- 
tress i  i  the  ?and,  and  wrath  upon  this  people.  And  they  shall  fall  by 
the  ed^^e  of  the  sword,  and  shall  be  led  away  captive  into  all  nations: 
and  JERUSALEM  SHALL  BE  TRODDEN  DOWN  OF  THE 
GENTII.F.S,  UNTIL  THE  TIMES  OF  THE  GENTILES  BE  FUL- 
FILLED "     Li  ke  21  :  20-24. 


100       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

A  careful  comparison  of  these  two  passages  will  reveal  their 
difference.  Luke  refers  to  the  "Destruction  of  Jerusalem"  by  Titus, 
A.  D.  70,  at  which  time  Jerusalem  was  compassed  by  the  Roman 
Army,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  were  so  great 
that  mothers  cooked  and  ate  their  own  children.  This  is  past.  And 
verse  24  has  been  fulfilled  for  the  Jews  have  been  "led  away  captive 
into  ALL  NATIONS,"  where  they  still  remain,  and  Jerusalem  has 
since  then  been  "TRODDEN  DOWN  OF  THE  GENTILES,"  and 
will  continue  to  be  until  the  "TIMES  OF  THE  GENTILES"  shall 
be  fulfilled.  But  the  "flight"  that  Matthew  speaks  about  is  still 
future.  He  locates  it  at  the  time  of  the  "Great  Tribulation,"  which 
he  says  is  to  be  preceded  by  the  setting  up  of  the  "ABOMINATION 
OF  DESOLATION,"  spoken  of  by  Daniel  the  Prophet.  The  gods, 
or  idols  of  the  heathen,  are  spoken  of  as  "ABOMINATIONS."  Mil- 
com,  or  Molech,  was  the  "abomination"  of  the  Ammonites ;  Chemosh, 
the  "abomination"  of  Moab.  1.  Kings  11:5-7.  This  interprets  the 
"ABOMINATION"  spoken  of  by  Daniel,  as  nothing  other  than  an 
"IDOL"  or  "FALSE  GOD."  In  the  "Middle  of  the  Week,"  a 
"DESOLATOR"  (Antichrist)  will  appear  and  cause  the  sacrifices 
and  oblations  to  cease,  and  set  up  in  the  "Holy  Place"  of  the  Temple 
an  "IDOL,"  and  that  "Idol"  will  be  an  "IMAGE  OF  THE  BEAST." 
Rev.  13:14-15. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  "Flight  of  the  Woman"  and  see  if  we 
can  locate  "her  place,"  the  "chamber"  to  which  she  is  to  flee,  and 
"shut  to  the  door,"  and  "hide  herself  for  a  little  while,"  and  be 
nourished  by  God  for  a  "Time,  and  Times,  and  Half  a  Time,"  or 
2>y2  years. 

THE  CITIES  OF  REFUGE. 

The  "Cities  of  Refuge"  of  Old  Testament  times  are  a  type  of  this 
"Wilderness  Refuge"  of  the  Children  of  Israel. 

The  "Cities  of  Refuge"  were  designated  cities,  3  on  each  side  the 
river  Jordan,  where  the  "Man-Slayer"  could  flee  for  safety  from  the 
"Avenger  of  Blood."  If  it  was  proved  after  trial  that  he  had  slain  a 
man  "wilfully,"  he  was  turned  over  to  the  "Avenger  of  Blood,"  but  if 
he  did  it  unwittingly,  his  life  was  spared,  but  he  had  to  remain  in  the 
city  until  the  death  of  the  High  Priest.  If  there  were  no  "Man-Slayer" 
there  would  be  no  "Avenger  of  Blood,"  and  therefore  no  need  for  a 
"City  of  Refuge." 

Nov/  if  I  find  in  the  New  Testament  that  a  certain  class  of  people 
are  called  upon  to  flee  to  a  "Place  of  Refuge"  for  the  protection  of 
their  lives,  then  I  must  believe  that  they  flee  because  an  "Avenger  of 
Blood"  is  after  them,  and  that  they  flee  because  they  are  guilty  of 
"Manslaughter." 

Such  a  class  of  people  I  find  in  the  Jewish  Race.  The}^  were  the 
cause  of  the  death  of  Christ,  and  though  He  was  crucified  by  the 
Roman  authorities  they  assumed  the  guilt  for  they  cried — "His  blood 
be  on  Us,  and  on  Our  Children."  Matt.  27:  25.  At  first  sight  it  looks 
like  "wilful"  murder,  yet  from  the  prayer  of  Jesus  on  the  Cross — 
"Father,  forgive  them  for  they  know  not  what  they  do,"  it  is  cleat 
that  Jesus'  death  was  not  so  much  a  premeditated  murder  as  it  was  a 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        loi 

murder  committed  in  a  blind  religious  frenzy.     Paul  says — "had  they 
known  they  would  not  have  crucihed  the  Lord  of  Glory."  1.  Cor.  2:8, 

It  is  clear  then  that  the  Jewish  race  is  only  guilty  of  "Man- 
slaughter." As  the  "Man-Slayer"  of  Jesus  they  have  been  for  over 
1800  years  running  for  a  "City  of  Refuge"  and  have  not  as  yet  reached 
it.  The  "Avenger  of  Blood"  has  been  on  their  track  and  has  hounded 
them  from  nation  to  nation,  and  the  epithet  of 
"The  Wandering  Jew" 
has  followed  them  down  the  centuries,  and  the  prophecy  of  Moses  is 
being  fulfilled  that  they  should  find  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  their  foot. 
Deut.  28 :  64-67. 

If  the  Jews  are  the  "Man-Slayer"  who  is  the  "Avenger  of  Blood"? 
Antichrist. 

And  now  as  to  the  "City  of  Refuge"  that  God  will  provide  for 
Israel  when  the  "Avenger  of  Blood"  (Antichrist),  who  shall  then  be 
indwelt  by  the  Dragon,  is  on  her  track. 

When  the  Lord  God  brought  the  Children  of  Israel  out  of  Egypt 
they  journeyed  from  the  Red  Sea,  tarrying  for  a  while  at  Mt.  Sinai  to 
receive  the  Law  and  build  the  Tabernacle,  until  they  came,  one  year, 
after  leaving  Egypt,  to  Kadesh  Barnea.  There  they  sent  up  spies  to 
spy  out  the  land  of  Canaan,  but  refused  to  go  up  and  take  possession 
of  the  land,  and  were  compelled  to  wander  in  the  Wilderness  south  of 
the  Dead  Sea.  There  God  took  care  of  them  and  fed  them  for  40 
years.  Now  it  is  in  the  same  Wilderness  that  God  is  going  to  provide 
for  them  a  place  of  "Refuge"  in  the  day  when  the  "Avenger  of  Blood" 
shall  seek  to  destroy,  them. 

Speaking  of  the  Antichrist,  the  Prophet  Daniel  says — 

"He  shall  enter  also  into  the  Glorious  Land  (Palestine) 

and  many  countries ' shall  be   overthrown;  but  these   shall 

escape  out  of  his  hand,  even  Edom  and  Moab  and  the  chief 

of  the  Children  of  Ammon."    Dan.  11 :41. 

Now  Edom  takes  in  the  Wilderness  where  Israel  wandered  for 
40  years.  And  it  is  here  in  Edom  that  the  "City  of  Refuge"  that  God 
has  provided  for  Israel  is  located,  and  is  known  today  as  Petra.  It 
was  a  gr^at  commercial  centre  in  the  days  of  King  Solomon.  In  A.  D. 
105  the  Romans  conquered  the  country  and  called  the  province 
Arabia  Petra.  When  the  power  of  Rome  waned  Petra  gradually  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Arabs  and  became  completely  lost  to  the  civil- 
ized world  in  th'e  seventh  century,  and  remained  so  until  it  was  redis- 
covered by  Burckhardt  in  1812. 

It  is  located  in  the  mountains  like  as  in  the  crater  of  a  volcano.  It 
has  but  one  entrance,  and  that  is  through  a  narrow,  winding  defile  or 
canyon  from  12  to  40  feet  wide,  the  sides  of  which  are  precipitous  and 
at  times  so  close  together  as  to  almost  shut  out  the  blue  sky  above 
and  make  you  think  you  are  passing  through  a  subterranean  passage- 
way. The  height  of  the  sides  varies  from  200  to  1000  feet,  and  the 
length  of  the  canyon  is  about  two  miles.  No  other  city  in  the  world 
has  such  a  wonderful  gateway.  The  sides  of  the  canyon  are  lined 
with  wonderful  monuments  and  temples  carved  out  of  the  rocky  sand- 
stone of  the  sides.  Once  inside  the  rocky  inclosure  of  the  city  we  find 
the  ruins  of  magnificent  buildings,  tombs  and  monuments.    The  cliffs 


102  THE  THINGS   WHICH  THOU   HAST   SEEM. 

that  surround  the  city  are  carved  and  honeycombed  with  excavations 
to  a  height  of  300  feet  above  the  floor  of  the  valley,  and  the  excava- 
tions cut  36  they  are  out  of  diflFerent  colored  strata  of  the  rock,  such 
as  red,  purple,  blue,  black,  white  and  yellow,  lend  a  beauty  to  their 
appearance  that  is  indescribable  and  overpowering  to  the  beholder. 
When  the  time  comes  for  the  "Man-Slayer"  (Israel),  to  escape 
from  the  hands  of  the  "Avenger  of  Blood"  (Antichrist),  the  rocky 
fastness  of  the  ancient  city  of  Petra  will  be  her  "City  of  Refuge." 
We  read  that  when  the  "Woman"  (Israel)  shall  flee  into  the  Wilder- 
ness that  the  "Serpent"  (Antichrist,  indwelt  by  Satan)  shall  cast  a 
flood  of  water  out  of  his  mouth  after  her  to  destroy  her,  but  that  the 
earth  shall  open  her  mouth  and  swallow  the  flood.  That  is,  Antichrist 
will  send  his  army  after  the  fleeing  Israelites,  and  it  will  probably  be 
swallowed  up  in  a  "Sand  storm"  of  the  desert,  and  Israel  shall  safely 
reach  her  place  of  refuge,  where  she  shall  be  safe,  not  until  the  death 
of  the  High  Priest,  but  until  the  return  of  "The  High  Priest"  (Jesus) 
from  Heaven,  who  as  "King-Priest"  of  the  Armies  of  Heaven  will 
deliver  her  and  allow  her  to  leave  her  place  of  refuge.  During  the 
period  of  Israel's  "hiding"  in  the  Wilderness  God  will  "nourish"  her 
as  He  did  during  her  40  years'  wandering  in  the  same  Wilderness  in 
the  days  of  Moses. 

5.     THE   JEWISH    REMNANT. 

Rev.  12:  17. 

"And  the  Dragon  was  wroth  with  the  'WOMAN,'  and  went 
to  make  war  with  the  'REMNANT  OF  HER  SEED,'  which  keep 
the  commandments  of  God,  and  have  the  testimony  of  Jesus 
Christ." 

Bafiied  in  his  attempt  to  destroy  the  "Woman,"  the  Dragon,  in 
his  rage  will  make  war  against  the  "REMNANT  OF  HER  SEED," 
that  is,  against  those  Israelites  left  in  Palestine  or  among  the  nations 
that  keep  the  "commandments  of  God,"  and  have  the  "testimony  of 
Jesus  Christ."  To  this  end  he  will  give  to  the  "BEAST"  (Antichrist) 
his  "Power,"  and  his  "Seat,"  and  "Great  Authority."    Rev.  13:2. 

Here  again  we  have  indirect  evidence  that  the  "Woman"  is  not  the 
Church  but  ISRAEL.  When  the  Church  is  caught  out  no  REMNANT 
is  left  behind,  all  that  are  "IN  CHRIST"  are  taken  away ;  but  when 
the  "Woman"  (ISRAEL)  flees  into  the  wilderness  a  "REMNANT" 
is  left  behiHd.  This  "Remnant"  is  composed  of  two  classes.  First, 
those  who  "keep  the  Commandments  of  God,"  that  is.  Orthodox  Jews 
who  observe  the  Old  Testament  Law,  and  second,  those  who  "accept 
the  testimony  of  Jesus  Christ,"  that  is,  accept  Jesus  as  their  promised 
Messiah.  The  latter  class  will  be  converted  by  the  preaching  of  the 
""Gospel  of  the  Kingdom"  by  the  "Two  Witnesses."  Those  will  be  try- 
ing times  for  those  Israelites  who  will  not  commit  idolatry  by  bowing 
the  knee  to  the  "Image  of  the  Beast,"  for  it  will  be  a  remorseless  war 
of  persecution  that  Antichrist  will  wage  against  them,  and  thousands 
win  die  a  martyr's  death. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.      103 

6.     THE  BEAST  OUT  OF  THE  SEA. 

The   Incarnation   Of   "The   Dragon,"   "The   Anti-God." 

In  "The  Beast"  Or  "Anti-Christ." 

Rev.  13:1-10. 


"And  I  (He,  the  Dragon,  R.  V.)  stood  upon  the  sand  of  the  sea 
and  (I)  saw  a  'BEAST'  rise  up  out  of  the  SEA  having  'SEVEN 
HEADS'and'TENHORNS.'and  upon  his  horns'TEN  CROWNS,' 
and  upon  his  heads  the  name  of  BLASPHEMY.  And  the 'BEAST' 
which  I  saw  was  like  a  LEOPARD,  and  his  feet  were  as  the 
feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  his  mouth  as  the  mouth  of  a  LION:  and 
the  'DRAGON'  gave  him  his  POWER,  and  his  SEAT  (Throne). 
and  GREAT  AUTHORITY.  And  I  saw  one  of  his  HEADS 
as  it  were  wounded  to  death:  and  his  deadly  wound  was  healed: 
and  all  the  world  wondered  after  the  'BEAST.'  And  they  wor- 
shipped the  'DRAGON'  which  gave  power  unto  the  'BEAST,' 
and  they  worshipped  the  'BEAST,'  saying,  Who  is  like  unto  the 
'BEAST'?  Who  IS  able  to  make  war  with  him?  And  there  was 
given  unto  him  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  and  blasphemies; 
and  power  was  given  unto  him  to  continue  forty  and  two  months. 
And  he  opened  his  mouth  in  blasphemy  against  God,  to  blaspheme 
His  name,  and  His  Tabernacle,  and  them  that  dwell  in  Heaven. 
And  it  was  given  unto  him  to  make  war  with  the  saints,  and  to 
overcome  them:  and  power  was  given  him  over  all  kindreds,  and 
tongues,  and  nations.  And  all  that  dwell  upon  the  earth  shall 
WORSHIP  HIM,  whose  names  are  not  written  in  the  'BOOK 
OF  LIFE'  of  the  Lamb  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the  world. 
If  any  man  have  an  ear,  let  him  hear.  He  that  leadeth  into  cap- 
tivity shall  go  into  captivity:  he  that  killeth  with  the  sword  must 
be  killed  with  the  sword.  Here  is  the  patience  and  the  faith  of 
the  saints." 

John  next  saw  the  "Dragon"  standing  on  the  seashore,  and  as 
he  stood,  a  "Beast"  rose  up  out  of  the  sea  having:  "SEVEN  HEADS" 
and  "TEN  HORNS,"  and  upon  his  "Horns"  "TEN  CROWNS,"  and 
upon  his  "Heads"  the  name  of  BLASPHEMY,  and  the  body  of  the 
"Beast"  was  like  a  LEOPARD,  and  his  feet  were  as  the  feet  of  a 
BEAR,  and  his  mouth  as  the  mouth  of  a  LION,  and  the  "DRAGON** 


104      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

gave  him  his  POWER,  and  his  SEAT  (Throne),  and  GREAT 
AUTHORITY.  This  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  the  "Dragon" 
gave  him  his  own  throne,  but  he  gave  him  power,  and  a  throne,  and 
great  authority.  As  John  was  back  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos,  the  "sea" 
from  which  he  saw  the  "Beast"  arise  was  probably  the  Mediter- 
ranean, though  the  "sea"  in  prophecy  signifies  the  nations. 

What  does  this  "COMPOSITE  BEAST"  signify?  This  is  not 
the  first  time  we  have  read  in  the  Scriptures  of  a  "Beast"  coming  up 
out  of  the  sea,  so  we  must  go  back  to  the  Book  of  Daniel  for  an 
explanation.  While  Daniel  was  a  Statesman  and  did  not  hold  the 
"Prophetic  Office,"  he  had  the  "Prophetic  Gift,"  and  was  not  only 
an  interpreter  of  dreams,  but  a  Prophet,  and  to  him  was  revealed 
the  whole  course  of  the  "Times  of  the  Gentiles,"  and  the  character 
of  its  last  "Great  Leader"  the  "ANTICHRIST."  His  prophecy  is 
mainly  concerned  with  the  things  that  shall  befall  his  people,  the 
Jews,  in  the  "LATTER  DAYS"  (Dan.  10:  14),  and  as  we  are  now 
dealing  with  the  things  that  shall  come  to  pass  in  the  "Last"  or 
"Seventieth  Week,"  of  Daniel's  "Seventy  Weeks,"  we  necessarily 
must  turn  back  to  the  Book  of  Daniel  for  an  explanation  of  this  sym- 
bol of  the  "BEAST."  But  before  we  take  that  up  it  is  important  to 
note  that  both  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  speak  of  a 

"MYSTERIOUS  AND  TERRIBLE  PERSONAGE" 
who  shall  be  revealed  in  the  "Last  Times."     He  is  called  by  various 
names. 

In  The  Old  Testament 

"The  Assyrian."— Isaiah  10:5-6;  30:27-33. 

"King  of  Babylon."— Isaiah  14:4. 

"Lucifer."— Isaiah  14:12. 

"The  Little  Horn."— Daniel  7:8;  8:9-12. 

"A  King  Of  Fierce  Coimtenance."— Dan.  8 :  23. 

"The  Prince  That  Shall  Come."— Dan.  9 :  26. 

"The  Wilful  King."— Dan.  1 1 :  36. 

In  The  New  Testament 

"The  Man  Of  Sin."— 2.  Thess.  2 :  3-8. 
"Son  Of  Perdition."— 2.  Thess.  2 :  3-8. 
"That  Wicked."— 2.  Thess.  2 :  3-8. 
"Antichrist."— 1.  John  2:  18. 
"The  Beast."— Rev.  13 :  1-2. 

Jesus  also  made  a  prophetic  reference  to  him.  "I  am  come  in 
my  Father's  Name,  and  ye  receive  me  not ;  if  another  shall  come  in 
his  own  name,  him  ye  will  receive."    John  5 :  43. 

I.     ISAIAH'S  FOREVIEW. 

The  Prophet  Isaiah  sees  the  Antichrist  as  the  "ASSYRIAN." 
Isa.  10:5,  12,  24;  30:27-33.  In  Isa.  11:4,  a  chapter  which  is  evi- 
dently Messianic,  we  read  that  among  other  things  which  the  Messiah 
will  do — "He  shall  smite  the  earth  with  the  'rod  of  His  mouth,'  and 
with  the  'breath  of  His  Ups'  shall  He  slay  'THE  WICKED'."    The 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       105 

■word  translated  "THE  WICKED,"  is  in  the  singular  number,  and 
cannot  refer  to  wicked  persons  in  general,  but  to  some  one  person 
-who  is  conspicuously  wicked.  The  expres:sion  is  strikingly  like  that 
of  Paul's  in  2.  Thess.  2 : 8.  "Then  shall  that  'WICKED'  be  revealed, 
■whom  the  Lord  shall  consume  with  the  'Spirit  of  His  Mouth,'  and 
shall  djestroy  with  the  'Brightness  of  His  Coming'."  It  is  evident 
that  Isaiah  and  Paul  refer  to  the  same  individual,  who  can  be  no  other 
than  the  Antichrist. 

In  Isa.  14:  4-17  there  is  a  description  of  a  "King  of  Babylon"  who 
shall  smite  the  people  in  his  wrath,  and  rule  the  nations  in  anger. 
He  is  called  "LUCIFER,  Son  of  the  Morning,"  and  his  fall  is 
described.  He  is  cast  down  to  Hell  (Sheol,  the  Underworld),  where 
his  coming  creates  a  great  stir  among  the  kings  of  the  earth  that  have 
preceded  him,  and  who  exclaim  when  they  see  him — "Art  thou  also 
Ijecome  weak  as  we ?  Art  thou  become  like  unto  us?  .  .  .  Is  this 
the  man  that  made  the  earth  to  tremble,  that  did  shake  kingdoms; 
that  made  the  world  as  a  wilderness  and  destroyed  the  cities  thereof; 
ihat  opened  not  the  house  of  his  prisoners?"  There  has  never  as  yet 
been  such  a  King  of  Babylon  as  is  here  described.  It  must  there- 
fore refer  to  some  future  King  of  Babylon,  when  Babylon  shall  be 
rebuilt,  as  we  shall  see  it  is  to  be.  Verses  12  to  14  evidently  refer 
to  Satan,  and  are  descriptive  of  him  before  his  fall,  but  as  he  is  to 
incarnate  himself  in  the  Antichrist,  who  is  to  be  a  future  King  of 
Babylon,  it  explains  the  source  of  the  pride  and  presumption  of 
Antichrist,  which  will  lead  to  his  downfall,  as  it  did  to  Satan's. 

11.     DANIEL'S  FOREVIEW. 
1.     The  Colossus. 

We  now  turn  to  Daniel.  The  Book  of  Daniel  may  be  divided 
into  two  parts.  The  first  six  chapters  are  Historical,  the  last  six  are 
Prophetical.  The  Book  contains  one  "Dream"  by  Nebuchadnezzar, 
and  four  "Visions"  by  Daniel,  all  relating  to  the  "Times  of  the  Gen- 
tiles." Nebuchadnezzar  in  his  "Dream"  saw  a  "Great  Image"  or 
"COLOSSUS."  The  Head  of  the  "Image"  was  of  fine  gold,  its  Breast 
and  Arms  of  silver,  its  Belly  (Abdomen)  and  Thighs  (Hips)  of  brass, 
its  Legs  of  iron,  and  its  Feet  of  iron  and  clay.  This  Image  was  de- 
stroyed by  a  "Stone"  cut  out  of  a  mountain  supernaturally.  The 
"Stone"  in  turn  became  a  great  mountain  and  filled  the  WHOLE 
EARTH.  Dan.  2:  31-35.  The  four  metals  of  which  the  "CO- 
LOSSUS" was  composed  represented  Four  Worldwide  Empires 
which  were  to  arise  in  succession.  Dan.  2 :  37-40.  Four  great  Em- 
pires, and  only  four,  were  to  succeed  each  other  in  the  government  of 
the  world,  from  Nebuchadnezzar  (B.  C.  606)  to  the  "Second  Com- 
ing" of  Christ — the  Babylonian,  Medo-Persian,  Grecian,  and  Roman. 
These  Empires  are  not  only  made  known  as  to  number,  but  their 
names,  in  the  order  of  their  succession,  are  given.  The  First — 
"BABYLONIAN"  is  indicated  by  Daniel  while  interpreting  the 
vision  to  Nebuchadnezzar.  "THOU  art  this  Head  of  Gold."  Dan. 
2:38.     The  Second— the  "MEDO-PERSIAN,"  Daniel  points  out  ia 


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THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       107 

his  account  of  "Belshazzar's  Feast,"  by  the  emphatic  words — '*In 
that  night  was  Belshazzar  the  King  of  the  Chaldeans  slain,  and 
Darius  the  MEDIAN  took  the  Kingdom."  Dan.  5 :  30-31.  The  Third 
— the  "GRECIAN,"  is  mentioned  in  Dan.  8:20-21,  "the  Ram  which 
thou  sawest  having  'two  horns'  are  the  kings  of  Media  and  Persia, 
and  the  'Rough  Goat'  is  the  King  of  Grecia  (Greece)."  The  Fourth — 
the  "ROMAN,"  is  referred  to  in  Dan.  9:26  as— "the  PEOPLE  of 
the  'Prince'  that  should  destroy  the  city  (Jerusalem)  and  the  Sanc- 
tuary," and  we  know  that  it  was  the  ROMANS  under  Titus,  that 
destroyed  Jerusalem  in  A.  D.  70.  While  these  Four  Great  Empires 
were  to  follow  each  other  in  the  order  named,  they  were  not  to  fol- 
low without  a  break.  The  Babylonian  lasted  from  B.  C.  606  to 
B.  C.  538.  The  Medo-Persian  from  B.  C.  538  to  B.  C.  330.  The 
Grecian  from  B.  C.  330  to  B.  C.  323.  Then  the  Grecian  was  broken 
up  into  four  parts,  Thrace,  Macedonia,  Syria,  and  Egypt,  and  the 
last  of  these  was  conquered  by  the  Romans  in  B.  C.  30,  and  the 
Roman  Empire  lasted  from  B.  C.  30  to  A.  D.  364,  when  it  was 
divided  into  its  Eastern  and  Western  Divisions'.  Since  then  there 
has  been  no  leading  world  Empire,  and  cannot  be  according  to  this 
prophecy  until  Christ  sets  up  His  "STONE"  or  "Millennial  King- 
dom," as  represented  by  the  "Stone"  that  smites  the  "COLOSSUS" 
on  its  feet,  for  this  "STONE  KINGDOM"  is  to  fill  the  whole  earth, 
and  thus  be  universal.  This  "STONE"  cannot  be  Christianity,  for 
it  does  not  fill  the  earth  by  degrees,  and  thus  crowd  out  the  "CO- 
LOSSUS," but  it  at  One  Blow  DEMOLISHES  IT,  The  action  of 
the  "STONE"  is  that  of  JUDGMENT  not  Grace,  and  is  SUDDEN 
and  CALAMITOUS.  Again  the  TIME  of  the  destruction  is  not 
until  after  the  formation  of  the  Toes,  and  we  know  that  the  "TWO 
LIMBS"  did  not  appear  until  A.  D.  364,  and  the  "TEN  TOES"  have 
not  yet  developed.  The  TIME  when  the  "STONE"  falls  on  the 
-FEET"  we  are  told  is  "in  the  days  of  THOSE  KINGS"  (Dan.  2:44), 
that  is  the  Kings  represented  b}^  the  "Ten  Toes,"  which  as  we  shall 
see  corresponds  with  the  "Ten  Horns"  of  Daniel's  "Fourth  Wild 
Beast,"  Dan.  7:7-8,  and  with  the  "Ten  Kings"  of  John's  "Beast." 
Rev.  17:  12.  The  first  Four  Kingdoms  were  literal  Kingdoms,  and 
so  must  the  "Stone  Kingdom"  be,  for  it  is  to  take  the  place  of  those 
Kingdoms  and  fill  the  whole  earth.  It  represents  therefore  the  "Mil- 
lennial Kingdom"  of  Christ,  for  He  is  the  "STONE"  of  the  Scrip- 
tures.    Matt.  21:44. 

From  what  has  been  said  we  see  that  the  "COLOSSUS"  of 
"Nebuchadnezzar's  Dream"  symbolized  the  "World  Kingdoms"  in 
their  Unity  and  Historical  Succession.  Gentile  dominion  is  repre- 
sented by^  a  huge  "METALLIC  MAN."  The  degeneration  of  the 
"World  Kingdoms"  is  seen  in  the  diminishing  value  of  the  metals 
used.  Silver  is  worth  less  than  gold,  brass  than  silver,  iron  than 
brass,  and  clay  than  iron.  The  weight  of  the  "COLOSSUS"  also 
declines;  the  specific  gravity  of  gold  is  19.5,  of  silver  10.47,  of  brass 
8,  of  cast-iron  5,  and  of  clay  1.93.  The  "Colossus"  is  TOP  HEAVY. 
The  character  of  the  governing  power  also  deteriorates  from  an 
"Absolute  Monarchy"  under  Nebuchadnezzar,  to  an  "Autocratic 
Democracy"  symbolized  by  the  mixture  of  the  iron  and  clay  of  the 


108       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BB  HEREAFTER. 

Feet.  In  other  words  the  governing  power  passes  from  the  Head, 
the  organ  that  ought  to  direct  the  members  of  the  body,  to  the  Feet» 
which  are  only  made  to  carry  the  body  whither  the  Head  directs. 
We  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  on  the  "Colossus,"  for  it  is  only  as 
we  understand  it,  that  we  can  understand  the  meaning  of  the  "Wild 
Beasts"  that  Daniel  saw  come  up  out  of  the  sea. 

2.    The  Vision  of  the  "FOUR  BEASTS." 

Forty-eight  years  after  Nebuchadnezzar  had  his  "Dream,"  B.  C. 
555,  Daniel  in  vision  stood  upon  the  shore  of  the  "Great  Sea"  (the 
Mediterranean),  and  saw  four  "Great  Beasts"  come  up  out  of  the  sea 
in  succession. 


FIRST  BEAST.  The  "First  Beast"  was  like  a  LION  and  had 
Eagle's  Wings,  and  as  the  Prophet  watched  it,  he  saw  it  lifted  up 
from  the  earth,  and  made  to  stand  upon  its  feet  as  a  Man,  and  a 
Man's  Heart  was  given  to  it.  Dan.  7 : 4.  We  have  only  to  visit  the 
British  Museum,  London,  and  examine  the  Colossal  Stone  Lions 
with  the  "wings  of  an  eagle"  and  the  "head  of  a  man,"  disinterred 
from  the  ruins  of  Babylon  and  Assyria  by  Sir  Henry  Layard  be- 
tween the  years  1840  and  1850  A.  D.,  to  see  that  this  "FIRST 
BEAST"  stands  for  Babylon  and  its  King — Nebuchadnezzar.  The 
peculiarity  of  this  "FIRST  BEAST"  was  that  it  had  "Eagle's  Wings." 
This  combination  of  the  LION,  the  "King  of  Beasts,"  and  the 
T''*'^LE,  the  "King  of  Birds,"  corresponded  to  the  Royalty  of  the 
■  Z.ad  of  Gold"  of  the  "COLOSSUS,"  and  typified  the  "Eagle-like" 
swiftness  of  the  armies  of  Nebuchadnezzar.  The  "Plucking  of  the 
Wings"  doubtless  referred  to  the  "Beastly  Insanity"  of  Nebuchad- 
nezzar (Dan.  4:20-27),  and  the  "lifting  up,"  and  causing  to  stand 
upon  its  feet  "as  a  MAN,"  to  his  restoration  to  sanity. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       109 


SECOND  BEAST.  The  "Second  Beast"  was  "like  to  a  BEAR, 
and  it  raised  up  itself  on  one  side,  and  it  had  "Three  Ribs"  in  the 
mouth  of  it,  between  the  teeth  of  it:  and  they  said  thus  unto  it 
Arise,  devour  much  flesh."  Dan.  7 : 5.  The  bear  is  the  strongest 
beast  after  the  lion  and  is  distinguished  for  its  voracity,  but  it  has 
none  of  the  agility  and  majesty  of  the  lion,  is  awkward  in  its  move- 
ments, and  effects  its  purpose  with  comparative  slowness,  and  by 
brute  force  and  sheer  strength.  These  were  the  characteristics  of  the 
Medo-Persian  Empire.  It  was  ponderous  in  its  movements.  It  did 
not  gain  its  victories  by  bravery  or  skill,  but  overwhelmed  its  enemies 
by  hurling  vast  masses  of  troops  upon  them.  Xerxes'  expedition 
against  Greece  was  undertaken  with  2,500,000  fighting  men,  who  with 
the  camp  followers  made  up  an  army  of  5,000,000.  Other  Persian 
generals  had  armies  running  up  into  the  100,000's  of  men.  It  is  easy 
to  be  seen  that  the  movements  of  such  enormous  bodies  of  men  would 
"devour  much  flesh,"  not  only  in  the  destruction  of  their  enemies,  but 
thousands  would  die  of  disease  and  exposure  and  the  countries 
through  which  they  passed  would  become  famine-stricken  by  the  loss 
of  food  seized  to  feed  such  armies.  The  side  of  the  "BEAR"  which 
raised  up  to  attack  signifies  Persia,  in  which  lay  the  greatest  mili- 
tary strength,  and  corresponded  to  the  "right  shoulder  and  arm"  of 
the  "Colossus."  The  "Three  Ribs"  stood  for  the  three  Kingdoms  of 
Lydia,  Babylon  and  Egypt,  which  formed  a  "Triple  Alliance"  to  check 
the  Medo-Persian  power,  but  were  all  destroyed  by  it. 


rifv^iSmarZr- 


110      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

THIRD  BEAST.  The  "Third  Beast"  was  "like  a  LEOPARD, 
which  had  upon  the  back  of  it  four  wings  of  a  fowl;  the  'BEAST'  had 
also  four  heads;  and  dominion  was  given  to  it."  Dan.  7:6.  The 
Leopard  is  the  most  agile  and  graceful  of  creatures ;  but  its  speed  is 
here  still  further  assisted  by  "wings."  Slight  in  its  frame,  but  strongs 
swift  and  fierce,  its  characteristics  render  it  a  fitting  symbol  of  the 
rapid  conquests  of  the  Greeks  under  Alexander  the  Great,  who,  fol- 
lowed by  small  but  well-equipped  and  splendidly  brave  armies,  moved 
with  great  celerity  and  in  about  10  years  overthrew  the  unwieldy 
forces  of  Persia,  and  subdued  the  whole  civilized  world.  The  "four 
wings  of  a  Fowl"  indicate,  that,  as  a  "fowl"  does  not  fly  high,  the 
armies  of  Alexander  were  fitted  mainly  for  lowland  fighting.  There 
is  an  incongruity  between  the  number  of  "wings"  and  the  number  of 
"heads"  of  the  Leopard.  "Four  heads"  call  for  "four  pair  of  wings.'* 
Why  only  "four"  wings  we  do  not  know,  unless  they  denote  the  four 
quarters  of  the  earth  into  which  Alexander  sought  to  extend  his 
Kingdom. 

The  "Four  Heads"  of  the  LEOPARD  represent  the  "Four  Kmg- 
doms"  into  which  the  Empire  of  Alexander  was  divided  by  his  gen- 
erals, namely  Thrace,  Macedonia,  Syria  and  Egypt.  The  "Thurd 
Beast"  corresponds  to  the  "Abdomen"  and  "Hips"  of  the 
"COLOSSUS." 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.        ill 

FOURTH  BEAST.  The  "Fourth  Beast"  was  unhke  any  Beast 
that  Daniel  had  ever  seen  or  heard  about.  It  was  "dreadful  and 
terrible,  and  strong  exceedingly,  and  it  had  great  IRON  TEETH. 
It  devoured  and  brake  in  pieces,  and  stamped  the  residue  (the  other 
Beasts)  with  the  feet  of  it ;  and  it  was  diverse  from  all  the  'BEASTS* 
that  were  before  it,  and  it  had  'TEN  HORNS'."  Dan.  7 \7 .  The 
fact  that  the  "Fourth  Beast"  had  "Iron  Teeth,"  and  that  there  were 
"Ten  Horns"  on  its  Head,  the  "iron"  corresponding  to  the  "Iron 
Limbs,"  and  the  "Ten  Horns"  to  the  "Ten  Toes"  of  the  "CO- 
LOSSUS," would  cause  Daniel  to  see  that  the  "Fourth  Beast"  stood 
for  the  Fourth  World  Empire,  the  ROMAN. 

But  as  Daniel  "considered"  the  "Ten  Horns,"  he  was  amazed  to 
see  another  "Horn,"  a  LITTLE  one,  come  up  among  them,  and 
before  whom  there  were  "three"  of  the  "First  Horns"  plucked  up  by 
the  roots,  that  is  destroyed.  And  as  he  examined  the  "LITTLE 
HORN"  more  closely  he  noticed  that  it  had  Eyes  like  the  eyes  of  a 
Man,  and  the  Mouth  of  a  Man  speaking  great  things.  Dan.  7 :  8.  This 
mystified  and  troubled  Daniel.  He  had  seen  nothing  corresponding  to 
it  on  the  "Ten  Toes"  of  the  "COLOSSUS."  It  must  mean  some  new 
and  additional  revelation  that  God  had  not  seen  fit  to  impart  to  the 
Gentile  King  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  that  was  reserved  for  Daniel  and 
his  people  (the  Jews),  for  we  must  not  forget  that  Daniel's  own 
visions,  in  the  last  six  chapters  of  the  Book,  have  to  do  with  God's 
dealings  with  the  Jewish  People  in  the  "LATTER  DAYS."  Dan. 
10:14.  So  Daniel  approached  one  of  the  "Heavenly  Messengers" 
that  stood  by  and  asked  him  the  meaning  of  what  he  had  seen.  He 
was  told  that  the  "Four  Beasts"  stood  for  "FOUR  KINGS"  or 
"KINGDOMS"  (vs.  23),  that  should  arise  out  of  the  earth.  Then 
Daniel  wanted  to  know  the  "truth"  about  the  "FOURTH  Beast," 
which  was  so  diverse  from  the  other  three,  and  particularly  about  the 
"LITTLE  HORN"  that  came  up  among  the  "Ten  Horns"  on  its  head. 
In  explanation  Daniel  was  told  that  the  "Ten  Horns"  on  the  "Fourth 
Beast"  represented  "TEN  KINGS"  that  shall  arise,  and  that  the 
"Little  Horn"  was  a  "King"  that  should  rise  among  them  and  sub- 
due three  of  them,  and  that  he  would  be  a  "PERSON"  of  remark- 
able intelligence  and  great  oratorical  powers,  having  a  mouth  speak- 
ing great  things.  That  he  would  be  audacious,  arrogant,  imperious, 
and  persecuting,  and  change  "times  and  laws,"  and  that  the  "Saints 
of  the  Most  High"  (Daniel's  People)  would  be  given  into  his  hands 
for  a  "Time,  and  Times,  and  the  Dividing  of  Time,"  or  ZYz  years. 

In  this  Vision  of  the  "Four  Beasts"  we  see  "Degeneration"  just 
as  we  saw  it  in  the  metals  of  the  "COLOSSUS."  The  descent  is  from 
the  LION,  the  "King  of  Beasts,"  to  a  nondescript  "MONSTER"  that 
defies  description.  Th(*  reason  why  these  "Four  Kingdoms"  are  rep- 
resented first  as  a  "Golden  Headed  Metallic  Image,"  and  then  as  a 
succession  of  "Wild  Beasts,"  is  to  show  the  difiference  between  Man's 
view  and  GOD'S  v  ew  of  the  World  Kingdoms.  Man  sees  in  them 
the  concrnL'ation  of  wealth,  majesty  and  power;  GOD  sees  them  as 
a  succession  of  rapacious  Wild  Beasts  devouring  one  another. 


112      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 


3.    The  Vision  Of  The  "RAM"  And  The  "HE-GOAT." 

The  explanation  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  "LITTLE  HORN" 
perplexed  Daniel,  and  he  voiced  it  by  saying  "My  'cogitations'  much 
troubled  me,  and  my  countenance  changed  in  me  (he  had  a  sad  look)  ; 
but  I  kept  the  matter  in  my  heart."  Dan.  7 :  28.  To  comfort  His 
Servant,  God,  two  years  later,  transported  Daniel  in  vision  to  Shus- 
han,  the  Capital  of  Persia,  and  as  he  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  river 
Ulai,  he  saw  a  RAM  which  had  "Two  Horns,"  one  higher  than  the 
other,  and  the  higher  came  up  last.  He  saw  the  RAM  push  "West- 
ward," and  "Northward,"  and  "Southward,"  and  nothing  could  stand 
before  it,  and  it  did  according  to  its  will.  Dan.  8 : 4.  While  Dan- 
iel was  "considering"  what  the  Vision  of  the  RAM  meant,  he  saw  a 
HE-GOAT  come  from  the  West  unmolested,  and  he  noticed  it  had 
a  "NOTABLE  HORN"  between  its  eyes,  and  when  it  reached  the 
RAM  it  was  moved  with  "choler"  or  anger  against  it,  and  smote  it 
with  "fury,"  and  broke  its  "Two  Horns,"  and  knocked  it  down  and 
stamped  upon  it.  Then  the  HE-GOAT  waxed  great,  but  when  it 
became  strong  its  "GREAT  HORN"  was  broken  off,  and  "Four 
Notable  Horns"  came  up  in  its  place,  and  out  of  one  of  them  sprang 
a  "LITTLE  HORN"  which  waxed  exceedingly  great  toward  the 
"South,"  and  toward  the  "East,"  and  toward  the  "Pleasant  Land" 
(Palestine).    Dan.  8:5-9. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       113 

When  Daniel  sought  for  the  meaning  of  this  Vision  he  heard  a 
voice  say — "Gabriel,  make  this  man  to  understand  the  Vision."  Then 
Gabriel  said  to  Daniel  the  Vision  belongs  to  the  "Time  of  the  End" 
(the  End  of  the  Times  of  the  Gentiles),  and  is  to  make  thee  know 
what  shall  come  to  pass  in  the  "Last  End  of  the  Indignation"  (the 
Great  Tribulation).  Dan.  8:15-19.  Gabriel  then  informed  Daniel 
that  the  "RAM"  stood  for  the  "Medo-Persian  Empire,"  with  its  two 
Kings,  Darius  and  his  nephew  Cyrus,  that  the  "HE-GOAT"  stood 
for  the  "Grecian  Empire,"  the  "GREAT  HORN"  between  its  eyes 
for  its  first  King  (Alexander  the  Great),  and  that  the  "FOUR 
HORNS"  that  took  the  place  of  the  "GREAT  HORN,"  stood  for 
"Four  Kingdoms"  into  which  the  "Grecian  Empire"  should  be 
divided. 

This  explanation  cleared  up  things'  considerably  for  Daniel.  It 
revealed  to  him  that  the  "TWO  HORNS"  of  the  RAM,  one  higher 
than  the  other,  and  the  "TWO  SHOULDERS"  of  the  BEAR,  one 
higher  than  the  other,  and  the  "TWO  ARMS"  of  the  COLOSSUS, 
stood  for  the  same  thing,  the  double  Empire  of  Medo-Persia.  He  also 
saw  that  the  "FOUR  HORNS"  that  came  up  in  the  place  of  the 
"GREAT  HORN"  corresponded  to  the  "FOUR  HEADS"  of  the 
LEOPARD,  and  therefore  must  correspond  with  the  "ABDOMEN" 
and  "HIPS"  of  the  COLOSSUS,  and  stand  for  the  Grecian  Empire, 
and  its  "Fourfold  Division"  among  the  Generals  of  Alexander  the 
Great. 

But  Daniel  was  still  troubled  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  "LITTLE 
HORN"  that  he  saw  come  out  of  one  of  the  "Four  Horns"  of  the 
HE-GOAT,  and  Gabriel  told  him  that  it  stood  for  a  King  of  "Fierce 
Countenance"  who  should  stand  up  in  the  "LATTER  TIME"  of  the 
Kingdom,  and  who  should  stand  up  against  the  "PRINCE  OF 
PRINCES"  (Christ).  Dan.  8:23-25.  The  description  of  this  "LIT- 
TLE HORN"  so  clearly  corresponded  to  the  description  of  the  "LIT- 
TLE HORN"  that  Daniel  saw  arise  amid  the  "Ten  Horns"  of  the 
"Fourth  Wild  Beast,"  that  he  saw  the}'^  described  and  stood  for  the 
same  Person.  The  revelation  so  overcame  Daniel  that  he  "fainted," 
and  was  sick  certain  days.    Dan.  8:27 

4.    The  Vision  Of  The  "KINGS  OF  THE  NORTH  AND  SOUTH." 

While  Daniel  had  revealed  to  him  that  the  "LITTLE  HORN" 
should  come  out  of  one  of  the  "Four  Kingdoms"  into  which  the 
Empire  of  Alexander  the  Great  was  divided,  he  was  not  at  that 
time  told  which  one,  but  20  years  later,  in  B.  C.  533,  the  information 
was  imparted  to  him  in  a  Fourth  Vision.  He  saw  in  vision  two 
Kings  warring  against  each  other.  One  was  called  the  "King  of  the 
North,"  the  other  the  "King  of  the  South."  This  chapter  (Dan.  11: 
1-45)  is  one  of  the  most  wonderfully  minute  as  to  prophetic  details 
of  any  chapter  in  the  Bible.  It  corresponds  exactly  with  the  profane 
history  of  the  kings  of  Egypt  and  Syria  for  over  350  years.  From 
verse  5  to  verse  31  we  have  an  account  of  what  is  called  the  "wars" 
of  the  "Kings  of  the  North"  (Syria)  and  of  the  "Kings  of  the  South" 
(Egypt).     These  end  with  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Antiochus  Epi- 


tl4      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

phanes,  B.  C.  164.  Verses  32-35  cover  the  whole  period  from  B.  C. 
164  down  to  the  "Time  of  the  End,"  that  is,  until  the  "Seventieth 
Week"  of  Daniel's  "Seventy  Weeks."  At  verse  36  the  "WILFUL 
KING"  appears,  and  from  that  verse  down  until  the  end  of  the  Book 
of  Daniel  we  have  an  account  of  what  is  to  befall  Daniel's  People 
in  the  "Latter  Days."  As  the  description  of  the  "WILFUL  KING" 
corresponded  with  the  description  of  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  the 
"Fourth  Wild  Beast"  and  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat," 
and  they  were  all  to  appear  at  the  same  time — the  "Time  of  the  End." 
Daniel  understood  that  they  referred  to  one  and  the  same  Person, 
and  as  the  "WILFUL  KING"  would  be  the  "King  of  the  NORTH," 
that  is,  of  Syria,  Daniel  saw  that  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  was  to  rise 
on  the  "SYRIAN  HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat,"  in  other  words  that  the 
"LITTLE  HORN,"  or  "Antichrist,"  shall  come  out  of  SYRIA,  and 
as  Syria  included  Assyria  that  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  Daniel  is 
the  sarae  as  the  "Assyrian"  of  Isaiah.  "When  the  Lord  hath  per- 
formed His  whole  work  upon  Mount  Zion  and  on  Jerusalem  (which 
wiH  not  be  until  Christ  comes  back),  I  will  punisla  the  fruit  of  the 
stout  heart  of  the  KING  OF  ASSYRIA  (Antichrist)  and  the  glory 
of  his  high  looks."  Isa.  10:  12.  I  will  break  the  ASSYRIAN  (Anti- 
christ) in  My  Land  (Palestine),  and  upon  My  mountains  tread  him 
imder  foot;  then  shall  his  yoke  depart  from  off  them  (Israel),  and  his 
burden  from  off  their  shoulders."  Isa.  14:25.  The  context  shows 
that  this  prophecy  is  connected  with  the  restoration  of  Israel  to  their 
own  land,  not  after  the  Babylonian  Captivity,  but  a  restoration  that 
is  still  future,  for  the  Assyrian  Empire  had  been  swallowed  up  by 
the  Babylonian  when  the  Prophet  wrote  and  the  ASSYRIAN  King 
here  mentioned  must  be  some  future  Assyrian  King,  for  he  is  to  be 
brought  to  Palestine  and  destroyed  there. 

We  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  confused  by  the  different 
names  given  the  Antichrist,  as  the  "King  of  Tyrus,"  the  "King  of 
Babylon,"  and  the  "King  of  Assyria,"  for  that  section  of  the  world 
will  comprise  one  territory  in  the  days  of  the  Antichrist  and  he  will 
be  known  by  all  of  these  titles. 

From  what  we  have  thus  far  learned  of  the  Antichrist,  the  prob- 
ability is  that  he  will  be  a  SYRIAN  JEW,  for  it  is  not  likely  that  the 
Jews  will  accept  as  their  Messiah  one  who  is  not  a  Jew,  unless  the 
claimant  by  false  pretense  makes  them  believe  he  is  one.  This, 
however,  does  not  prevent  the  Antichrist  being  a  Roman  citizen,  and 
the  political  head  of  the  revived  Roman  Empire,  for  Saul  of  Tarsus 
was  both  a  Jew  and  a  Roman  citizen. 

Those  who  claim  that  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  Dan.  7,  and  the 
"LITTLE  HORN"  of  Dan.  8,  are  not  the  same,  because  the  "LIT- 
TLE HORN"  of  Dan.  7  arises'  amid  the  "Ten  Horns"  of  the  "Fourth 
Wild  Beast,"  which  represents  the  Roman  Empire,  and  the  "LITTLE 
HORN"  of  Dan.  8,  arises  on  one  of  the  Horns  of  the  "He-Goat" 
which  represents  the  Grecian  Empire,  and  corresponds  to  the  "Third 
Wild  Beast,"  forget  that  the  Vision  that  the  Apostle  John  had  of  the 
revived  Roman  Empire  (Rev.  13:1-2),  the  Roman  Empire  in  its 
last  stage,  reveals  the  fact  that  the  "last  stage"  of  the  Roman  Empire 
will  include  all  the  characteristics  of  the  whole  Four  Empires,  Baby- 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTE.^       115 


Ionian,  Medo-Persian,  Grecian  and  old  Roman.  This  is  seen  in  the 
character  of  the  "BEAST"  John  saw  come  up  out  of  the  sea.  It  was 
like  unto  a  LEOPARD  (Greece),  with  the  feet  of  a  BEAR  (Medo- 
Persia),  and  the  mouth  of  a  LION  (Babylon).  The  fact  that  the 
BODY  of  the  "BEAST"  was  like  a  LEOPARD  (Greece),  reveals 
the  fact  that  the  preponderating  feature  of  the  revived  Roman  Empire 
will  be  GRECIAN,  and  that  therefore  the  "Ten  Federated  King- 
doms," represented  by  the  "Ten  Horns"  of  the  "Beast,"  will  include 
the  FOUR  KINGDOMS  into  which  the  GRECIAN  Empire  was 
divided,  viz.,  Egypt,  Macedon,  Thrace  and  SYRIA.  It  follows  there- 
fore that  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat"  (Greece),  will  be 
the  LITTLE  HORN  that  rises  among  the  "Ten  Horns"  of  the 
"Fourth  Wild  Beast"  (Rome),  for  Syria,  one  of  the  four  divisions  of 
the  Grecian  Empire,  will  be  one  of  the  component  parts  of  the  Re- 
vived Roman  Empire. 

Again  those  who  claim  that  Antiochus  Epiphanes  (B.  C.  175-165), 
a  king  of  Syria,  was  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat,"  over- 
look the  fact,  that,  while  Antiochus  Epiphanes  devastated  Palestine 
and  caused  an  "idol  altar"  to  be  erected  on  the  Brazen  Altar  of  the 
Temple,  on  which  he  offered  swine-flesh,  which  was  an  abomination 
to  the  Jews,  he  does  not  fulhl  the  description  of  the  "LITTLE 
HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat"  (Dan.  8:9-12,  23-25),  for  Antiochus 
Epiphanes,  nor  any  other  ruler  of  the  past,  ever  stood  up  against 
JESUS,  the  "Prince  of  Princes."  Neither  was  Antiochus'  Epiphanes 
"broken  without  hand."  Me  died  a  natural  death  at  Tabae  in  B.  C. 
165.  But  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  the  "He-Goat"  is  to  be  "broken 
without  hand."  His  Kingdom  is  to  1jc  destroyed  by  a  "stone  cut  out 
of  the  mountain  WITHOUT  HANDS,"  and  1  e  himself  shall  be 
"paralyzed"  by  the  "brightness  of  the  Lord's  Coming"  (1 .  Thess.  2:8). 
and  he  shall  be  cast  ALIVE  into  the  "Lake  of  Fire."  Rev.  19:20. 
There    is   no    intimation    in    Scripture    that    Antiochus    p4)iphaues    is 


116      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTEIt 

even  to  be  regarded  as  a  "type"  of  Antichrist.  They  are  distinct  his- 
torical personages,  and  though  they  resemble  each  other  in  some 
respects,  yet  they  must  not  be  confounded  with  each  other.  After 
this  prolonged  exposition  of  Daniel's  "Foreview"  of  the  Antichrist, 
which  has  seemed  necessary  to  a  proper  understanding  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  "Beast"  which  John  saw  come  up  out  of  the  sea,  we  now 
turn  to — 

III.     PAUL'S  FOREVIEW. 

"Let  no  man  deceive  you  by  any  means:  for  'that  Day'  (the 
Day  of  the  Lord)  shall  not  come  except  there  come  a  'falling 
away  first,'  and  that  'MAN  OF  SIN'  be  revealed.     The 

'SON    OF   PERDITION,' 
who  opposeth  and  exalteth  himself  above  all  that  is  called  God, 
or  that  is  worshipped;  so  that  he  As  God  sitteth  in  the  Temple 
of  God  (the  rebuilt  Temple  at  Jerusalem),  showing  himself  that 
he  is  God     .      .      .     For  the 

'MYSTERY  OF  INIQUITY' 
doth  already  work   (in   Paul's   day);   only  He   (the    Holy   Spirit) 
who  now  letteth  (restraineth  R.  V.)  will  let  (restrain),  until  He 
be  taken  out  of  the  way.     And  then  shall 
'THAT  WICKED' 
be  revealed,  whom  the  Lord  shall  consume  with  the  spirit  (breath) 
of  His  mouth,  and  shall  destroy  with  the  brightness  (manifesta- 
tion  R.  V.)    of  His  Coming.     Even   him,  whose   coming  is  after 
the  working  o£  Satan  with  all  power  and  signs  and  lying  won- 
ders, and  with  all  deceivableness  of  unrighteousness  in  them  that 
perish-  because  they  received  not  the  love  of  the  truth   (Christ) 
that  they  might  be  saved."    2.  Thess.  2:3-10. 

In  the  American  Standard  Edition  of  the  Bible  the  Antichrist  is 
called  the  "MYSTERY  OF  LAWLESSNESS"  or  the  "LAWLESS 
ONE."  As  such  he  is  not  the  cause  of  Lawlessness,  he  is  the  result 
or  fruit  of  it,  for  he  will  arise  out  of  the  seething  cauldron  of  Law- 
lessness that  is  now  becoming  more  pronounced  and  manifest  in  the 
world. 

The  name  that  the  Apostle  Paul  gives  the  Antichrist — the  "SON 
OF  PERDITION,"  is  not  without  significance.  The  name  is  used 
but  twice  in  the  Scriptures.  It  is  first  used  by  Christ  of  Judas  (John 
17:  12),  and  then  here  of  Antichrist.  The  Apostle  also  calls  the  Anti- 
christ in  this  passage  the  "MYSTERY  OF  INIQUITY."  What  does 
that  mean?  In  1.  Tim.  3:  16  Christ  is  spoken  of  as  the  "MYSTERY 
OF  GODLINESS,"  that  is,  that  He  was  God  MANIFEST  IN  THE 
FLESH.  How  did  He  become  "manifest  in  the  flesh"?  By  being 
born  of  the  Virgin  Mary  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  Thus  it  was  that  Jesus 
became  the  SON  OF  GOD.  Luke  1  :  35.  Now  as  iniquity  is  the 
opposite  of  godliness,  then  the  "MYSTERY  OF  INIQUITY"  must 
be  the  opposite  of  the  "MYSTERY  OF  GODLINESS."  That  is,  if 
Christ  is  the  "MYSTERY  OF  GODLINESS,"  Antichrist  must  be 
the  "MYSTERY  OF  INIQUITY,"  and  as  Christ  was  the  "Son  of 
God,"  then  Antichrist  must  be  the  "SON  OF  PERDITION,"  that  is, 
of  SATAN.  And  as  Christ  was  born  of  a  virgin  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
so  Antichrist  will  be  born  of  a  woman  (not  necessarily  a  virgin)  by 
Satan.  This  is  no  new  view  for  it  has  been  held  by  many  of  God's 
spiritually  minded  children  since  the  days  of  the  Apostle  John,  and 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       117 

there  is  some  warrant  for  it  in  the  Scriptures,  In  Gen.  3 :  15,  God 
said  to  the  Serpent  (Satan),  "I  will  put  enmity  between  thee  and  the 
woman,  and  between  'THY  SEED'  and  'HER  SEED'.'*  Now  the 
Woman's  SEED  was  CHRIST,  then  the  Serpent's  SEED  must  be 
ANTICHRIST.  In  John  8:44  Jesus  said  to  the  Jews — "Ye  are  of 
your  father  THE  DEVIL  .  .  .  When  he  speaketh  a  lie,  he 
speaketh  of  his  own;  for  he  is  a  liar,  and  the  father  of  IT.**  In  the 
Greek  there  is  the  definite  article  before  "lie,"  and  it  should  read 
"THE  LIE,"  so  when  the  Devil  speaks  of  "THE  LIE,"  he  is  speak- 
ing of  his  own  (child),  for  he  is  a  liar,  and  the  FATHER  OF  "IT"— 
"THE  LIE."  And  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  in  the  verse  (vs.  11) 
that  follows  the  passage  we  are  considering  that  the  Apostle  says — 
"And  for  this  cause  God  shall  send  them  strong  delusion  that  they 
should  believe  a  lie."  Here  again  the  definite  article  is  found  in  the 
Greek,  and  it  should  read  "The  LIE,"  the  "SON  OF  PERDITION," 
the  ANTICHRIST. 

But  why  was  Judas  called  the  "SON  OF  PERDITION"?  Was 
he  a  child  of  Satan  by  some  woman,  or  was  he  simply  indwelt  by 
Satan?  Here  we  must  let  the  Scriptures  speak  for  themselves.  In 
John  6:  70-71  we  read  that  Jesus  said  "Have  not  I  chosen  you  Twelve, 
and  one  of  you  is  a  DEVIL?  He  spake  of  Judas  Iscariot  the  son  of 
Simon;  for  he  it  was  that  should  betray  Him,  being  one  of  the 
Twelve."  In  no  other  passage  than  this  is  the  word  "Devil"  appHed 
to  anyone  but  to  Satan  himself.  Here  the  word  is  "diabolus,"  the 
definite  article  is  employed,  and  it  should  read — "and  one  of  you  is 
THE  DEVIL."  This  would  make  Judas  the  Devil  incarnate,  or  the 
"MYSTERY  OF  INIQUITY,"  and  explains  why  Jesus  in  John 
17:12,  calls  him  the  "SON  OF  PERDITION." 

This  is  the  only  place  in  the  Scriptures  where  the  word  "diabolus'* 
is  applied  to  a  human  being,  and  it  implies  an  incarnation. 

While  "Perdition"  is  a  PLACE  (Rev.  17:8,11),  it  is  also  a 
"condition"  into  which  men  may  fall  (1.  Tim.  6:9;  Heb.  10:39),  and 
while  men  who  have  committed  the  "Unpardonable  Sin"  are  "sons  of 
perdition,"  because  they  are  destined  to  thv=  place  of  the  irrevocably 
lost,  yet  Judas  and  Antichrist  are  the  "SONS  OF  PERDITION"  in 
a  special  sense,  for  they  are  the  SONS  or  the  author  of  "Perdition" — 
THE  DEVIL.  That  is  they  are  not  merely  "obsessed"  or  controlled 
by  the  Devil,  the  Devil  has  incarnated  himself  in  them,  and  for  the 
time  being,  to  all  practical  purposes,  they  are  the  very  Devil  himself. 

The  next  question  that  arises  is,  "If  Judas  and  the  Antichrist  are 
both  called  the  'SON  OF  PERDITION,'  are  they  one  and  the  same, 
or  are  there  two  'Sons  of  Perdition'?"  Here  we  must  anticipate. 
Turning  to  Rev.  11:7,  we  read  that  the  "Beast"  that  slays  the  "Two 
Witnesses"  ascends  out  of  the  "Bottomless  Pit"  (ABYSS),  and  that 
"Beast"  is  the  ANTICHRIST.  Now  how  did  he  get  into  the 
"ABYSS"?  Well,  if  there  is  only  one  "SON  OF  PERDITION,"  and 
Judas  and  Antichrist  are  one  and  the  same,  then  he  got  in  the 
ABYSS  when  Judas  went  to  his  "Own  Place"  (the  ABYSS).  Acts 
1 :  25.  Of  no  other  person  is  it  said  anywhere  in  the  Scriptures  that 
he  went  "to  his  own  place."  Again  in  Rev.  17:8  it  is  said — "The 
'Beast'  that  thou  sawest  was,  and  is  not:  and  shall  ascend  out  of  the 


us      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

•Bottomless  Pit*  (Abyss),  and  go  into  PERDITION."  As  this 
"Beast"  is  the  same  that  slays  the  "Two  Witnesses"  he  is  the  ANTI- 
CHRIST. Now  there  are  four  things  said  of  him.  First,  he  "WAS." 
Second,  he  "IS  NOT."  Third,  he  shall  "ASCEND  OUT  OF  THE 
BOTTOMLESS  PIT."  Fourth,  he  shall  "GO  INTO  PERDITION." 
From  this  we  learn  that  in  John's  day  the  "Beast"  "Was  Not,"  but 
that  he  had  been  before  on  the  earth,  and  was  to  come  again,  that  he 
was  to  ASCEND  FROM  THE  BOTTOMLESS  PIT.  This  is  posi- 
tive proof  that  the  ANTICHRIST  has  been  on  the  earth  before,  and 
that  when  he  comes  in  the  future  he  will  come  from  the  "ABYSS." 
The  question  then  arises,  when  was  "Antichrist"  on  the  earth 
before?  If  Judas  and  Antichrist  are  one  and  the  same  the  enigma 
is  solved.  When  Judas  was  on  the  earth,  he  WAS ;  when  Judas  went 
to  his  "Own  Place"  he  "WAS  NOT" ;  when  Judas  comes  back  from 
the  "Abyss"  he  will  be— THE  ANTICHRIST.  The  Author  does 
not  insist  on  this  view  of  Judas  and  Antichrist  being  correct,  but 
with  open  mind  he  accepts  it,  because  it  seems  to  be  the  only  logical 
solution  of  both  Judas  and  Antichrist  being  called  the  "SON  OF 
PERDITION." 

IV.     JOHN'S  FOREVIEW. 

John  saw  "A  'BEAST'  rise  up  out  of  the  sea,  having  'SEVEN 
HEADS'  and  'TEN  HORNS,'  and  upon  his  horns  'TEN 
CROWNS,'  and  upon  his  heads  the  name  of  BLASPHEMY. 
And  the  'BEAST'  which  I  saw  was  like  a  LEOPARD,  and  his 
feet  were  as  the  feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  his  mouth  as  the  mouth 
of  a  LION:  and  the  'DRAGON'  gave  him  his  POWER,  and  his 
SEAT  (Throne),  and  GREAT  AUTHORITY.  And  I  saw  one 
of  his  HEADS  as  it  were  wounded  to  death:  and  his  deadly 
wound  was  healed:  and  all  the  world  wondered  after  the  'BEAST.' 
And  they  worshipped  the  'DRAGON'  which  gave  power  anto  the 
'BEAST,'  and  they  worshipped  the  'BEAST,'  saying,  who  is  like 
unto  the  'BEAST'?  Who  is  able  to  make  war  with  him?  And 
there  was  given  unto  him  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  and 
blasphemies;  and  power  was  given  unto  him  to  continue  forty 
and  two  months." 

When  we  compare  these  "Foreviews,"  and  note  the  similarity  of 
conduct  of  Daniel's  "LITTLE  HORN,"  Paul's  "MAN  OF  SIN,"  and 
John's  "BEAST,"  and  that  Daniel's  "LITTLE  HORN"  and  John's 
"BEAST"  are  to  continue  for  the  same  length  of  time — "Forty  and 
Two  Months,"  or  3^  years,  and  that  Daniel's  "LITTLE  HORN," 
Paul's  "MAN  OF  SIN,"  and  John's  "BEAST,"  are  all  to  be  de- 
stroyed in  the  same  manner  at  Christ's  "Second  Coming,"  we  see 
that  they  all  prefigure  the  same  "Evil  Power,"  which  is  after  the 
"Working  of  Satan,"  and  which  John  in  1.  John  2 :  18,  calls  THE 
ANTICHRIST,  In  other  words  when  we  find  in  prophecy  "Three 
Symbolic  Personages"  that  come  upon  the  stage  of  action  at  the  same 
time,  occupy  the  same  territory,  exhibit  the  same  character,  do  the 
same  work,  exist  the  same  length  of  time,  and  meet  the  same  fate, 
they  must  symbolize  the  SAME  THING. 

Before  we  examine  in  detail  John's  "BEAST,"  it  would  be  well 
for  us  to  compare  it  with  Daniel's  "FOURTH  WILD  BEAST," 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       119 

In  comparing  these  two  "BEASTS"  we  find  that  they  both  come 
up  out  of  the  sea   (the  nations),  and  that  they  are   utterly   unlike 


Daniel's 
Fourth  Wild  Beast 

Dan.  7:7,  8,  19,20,23-25. 


John's 
Beast  Out  Of  The  Sea 


"After  this  I  sa-m  in  the  night  visions,  and 
behold  a  FOURTH  BEAST,  dreadful  and  ter- 
rible, and  strong  exceedingly;  and  it  had  great 
iron  teeth ;  it  devoured  and  brake  in  pieces, 
and  stamped  the  residue  (the  3  preceding 
Beasts)  with  the  feet  of  it ;  and  it  was  diverse 
from  all  the  Beasts  that  were  before  it ;  and  it 
had  TEN  HORNS.  I  considered  the  HORNS, 
and,  behold,  there  came  up  among  them  an- 
other LITTLE  HORN,  before  whom  there 
were  THREE  of  the  FIRST  HORNS  plucked 
up  by  the  roots;  and.  behold,  in  THIS  HORN 
were  eyes  like  the  eyes  of  a  MAN,  and  a  mouth 
speaking  great  things." 

"Tlicn  1  would  know  the  truth  of  the 
FOURTH  BEAST,  which  was  diverse  from 
all  the  others,  exceeding  dreadful,  whose  teeth 
were  of  iron,  and  his  nails  of  brass ;  which  de- 
voured, brake  in  pieces,  and  stamped  the  resi- 
due with  his  feet;  and  of  the  TEN  HORNS 
that  were  in  his  head,  and  of  the  OTHER 
which  came  up,  and  before  whom  three  fell ; 
even  of  THAT  HORN  that  had  eyes,  and  a 
mouth  that  spake  very  great  things,  whose 
look  was  more  stout  than  his  fellows." 

"Thus  he  said,  the  FOURTH  BEAST  shall 
be  the  FOURTH  KINGDOM  upon  earth, 
which  shall  be  diverse  from  all  kingdoms,  and 
shall  devour  the  whole  earth,  and  shall  tread  it 
down  and  break  it  in  pieces.  And  the  TEN 
HORNS  out  of  this  Kingdom  are  TEN 
KINGS  that  shall  arise;  and  another  (King) 
shall  rise  after  them ;  and  he  shall  be  diverse 
from  the  first,  and  he  shall  subdue  THREE 
KINGS.  And  he  shall  speak  great  words 
against  the  Most  High,  and  shall  wear  out  the 
saints  of  the  Most  High,  and  think  to  change 
times  and  laws;  and  they  shall  be  given  into 
his  hand  until  a  TIME  and  TIMES  and  the 
DIVIDING  OF  TIME." 


Rev.  13:1-7 


"I  saw  a  BEAST  rise  up  out  of  the  SEA, 
having  SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS. 
and  upon  his  horns  TEN  CROWNS,  and 
upon  his  heads  the  NAMES  OF  BLAS- 
PHEMY. And  the  BEAST  which  I  saw  was 
like  unto  a  LEOPARD,  and  his  feet  were  as 
the  feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  his  mouth  as  the 
mouth  of  a  LION;  and  the  Dragon  gave  him 
his  power,  and  his  seat,  and  great  authority. 
And  1  saw  one  of  his  HEADS  as  it  were 
wounded  to  death;  and  his  deadly  wound  was 
healed;  and  all  the  world  wondered  after  the 
BEAST.  .  .  .  And  there  was  given  unto 
him  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  and  blas- 
phemies; and  power  was  given  unto  him  to 
continue  FORTY  AND  TWO  MONTHS, 
And  he  opened  his  mouth  in  blasphemy  against 
God,  to  blaspheme  His  Name,  and  His  Taber- 
nacle, and  them  that  dwell  in  Heaven.  And  it 
was  given  unto  him  to  make  war  with  the 
saints,  and  to  overcome  them ;  and  power  was 
given  him  over  all  kindreds^  ard  tongues,  and 
nations." 


any  beast  we  have  ever  heard  of.  Daniel's  "Beast"  was  dreadful 
and  terrible,  and  strong  exceedingly;  and  it  had  grej  (:  iron  teeth,  and 
nails  of  brass;  while  John's  "Beast"  was  like  a  LEOPARD,  with  the 


120       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  the  mouth  of  a  LION.  As  Daniel's  "Beast" 
represented  the  "FOURTH  KINGDOM"  upon  the  earth,  the  Romaii 
Empire,  it  is  evident  that  its  characteristics  describe  the  old  Roman 
Empire,  while  the  characteristics  of  John's  Beast  represent  the  revived 
Roman  Empire.  We  know  that  the  Old  Roman  Empire  was  "strong 
exceedingly"  and  its  grip  and  power  were  like  a  beast  with  "great 
iron  teeth"  and  "nails  of  brass,"  and  from  the  description  of  John's 
"Beast"  we  learn  that  the  revived  Roman  Empire  shall  embody  all 
the  characteristics  of  the  Four  World  Empires,  as  seen  in  its 
LEOPARD  like  body,  its  feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  its  mouth  of  a  LION. 
That  both  "Beasts"  have  TEN  HORNS  reveals  the  fact  that  they  will 
be  in  existence  at  the  time  indicated  by  the  TEN  TOES  of  the  Co- 
lossus, with  which  they  correspond,  which  will  be  just  before  the 
setting  up  of  the  "Stone"  or  Millennial  Kingdom  of  Christ.  We  are 
told  that  the  "TEN  HORNS"  of  Daniel's  "Beast"  stand  for  "TEN 
KINGS,"  and  the  "TEN  HORNS"  of  John's  "Beast"  stand  for  the 
same.  Rev.  17:12.  From  this  we  see  that  both  Daniel  and  John 
foresaw  that  the  Roman  Empire  was  to  be  eventually  divided  into 
"Ten  Separate  but  Federated  Kingdoms." 

While  both  "Beasts"  have  TEN  HORNS,  they  differ  in  that 
John's  had  "SEVEN  HEADS"  while  Daniel's  had  but  ONE,  and 
among  the  "TEN  HORNS"  on  Daniel's  "Beast"  there  came  up  a 
"LITTLE  HORN,"  which  is  not  seen  amid  the  "TEN  HORNS"  of 
John's  Beast.  These,  as  we  shall  see,  are  features  that  refer  to  the 
last  stage  of  the  "Beast"  and  show  that  we  cannot  understand  the 
last  stage  of  the  "Beast"  without  carefully  comparing  Daniel's  and 
John's  "Beasts,"  for  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  Daniel's  "Beast" 
plucks  up  THREE  of  the  "TEN  HORNS"  and  destroys  them,  or 
takes  their  kingdom  away,  a  thing  that  John  omits  to  tell  us.  Again 
the  Antichristian  character  of  Daniel's  "Beast"  is  seen  in  its  "LIT- 
TLE HORN"  whose  conduct  corresponds  with  not  a  part,  but  the 
whole  of  John's  "Beast,"  and  that  for  the  same  length  of  time,  "TIME" 
and  "TIMES"  and  the  "DIVIDING  OF  TIME"  which  equals 
"FORTY  AND  TWO  MONTHS." 

It  now  remains  to  analyze  the  "Beast"  that  John  saw  come  up 
out  of  the  sea,  and  try  to  discover  the  meaning  of  its  various  mem- 
bers. 

We  have  two  descriptions  of  this  "Beast." 

Daniel's  "Fourth  Wild  Beast"  as  we  have  seen,  represents  the 
Roman  Empire  as  it  existed  from  B.  C.  30,  until  as  a  nation  it  shall 
cease  to  exist.  While  it  was  divided  in  A.  D.  364,  as  the  result  of  an 
ecclesiastical  schism,  into  its  Eastern  and  Western  Divisions,  and  lost 
its  national  life  as  a  world  power,  yet  it  has  never  lost  its  religious 
existence  or  influence  as  seen  in  the  continuance  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman  Churches,  and  Roman  Law  is  still  a  controlling  power  in  our 
laws.  In  this  sense  the  Roman  Empire  in  its  influence  has  never 
ceased  to  exist.  We  are  now  to  consider  it  in  its  last  stage  as  out- 
lined in  John's  "Beast." 

In  the  two  descriptions  of  John's  Beast  as  given  above  it  is  very 
important  to  see  that  the  "Beast"  has  a  "Dual"  meaning.  It  repre- 
sents both  the  revived  Roman  Empire,  and  its  Imperial  Head  the 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFrER.       121 


John's  Two  Visions 
Of  The  Beast 


Beast  Out  OF  The  Sea     Scarlet  Colored  Bea^t 


Rev.  13:1-7 

"I  saw  a  BEAST  rise  up  out  of  the  SEA, 
having  SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS.' 
and  upon  his  horns  TEN  CROWNS,  and 
upon  his  heads  the  NAMES  OF  BLAS- 
PHEMY. And  the  BEAST  which  I  saw  was 
like  unto  a  LEOPARD,  and  his  feet  were  as 
the  feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  his  mouth  as  the 
mouth  of  z  LION;  and  the  Dragon  gave  him 
his  power,  and  his  seat,  and  great  authority. 
And  I  saw  one  of  his  HEADS  as  it  were 
wounded  to  death;  and  his  deadly  wound  was 
healed;  and  all  the  world  wondered  after  the 
BEAST.  .  .  .  And  there  was  given  unto 
him  a  mouth  speaking  great  things  and  blas- 
phemies; and  power  was  given  unto  him  to 
continue  FORTY  AND  TWO,  MONTHS. 
And  he  opened  his  mouth  in  blasphemy  against 
God,  to  blaspheme  His  Name,  and  His  Taber- 
nacle, and  them  that  dwell  in  Heaven.  And  it 
was  given  unto  him  to  make  war  with  the 
saints,  and  to  overcome  them ;  and  power  was 
given  him  over  all  kindreds,  and  tongues,  and 
nations." 


Rev.  17:3,7-17 
"I  saw  a  Woman  sit  upon  a  scarlet  colored 
BEAST,  full  of  names  of  blasphemy,  haying 
SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS.  .  .  . 
I  will  tell  thee  the  mystery  of  the  Woman,  and 
of  the  BEAST  that  carried  her,  which  hath  the 
SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS.  The 
BEAST  that  thou  sawest  WAS.  and  IS  NOT; 
and  shall  ascend  out  of  tiie  BOTTOMLESS 
PIT     and    go    into    perdition.     .    .  The 

SEVEN  HEADS  are  SEVEN  MOUNTAINS, 
on  which  the  Woman  sitteth.  And  they  (the 
Seven  Heads,  R.  V.)  are  SEVEN  KINGS; 
FIVE  are  fallen,  and  ONE  is,  and  the  OTHER 
is  not  yet  come;  and  when  he  cometh,  he  must 
continue  a  short  space.  And  the  BEAST  that 
WAS,  and  IS  NOT,  even  he  is  the  EIGHTH, 
and  is  of  the  SEVEN,  and  goeth  into  perdition. 
And  the  TEN  HORNS  which  thou  sawest  are 
TEN  KINGS,  which  have  received  no  king- 
dom as  yet;  but  receive  power  as  kings  one 
hour  with  the  BEAST.  These  have  one  mind, 
and  shall  give  their  power  and  strength  unto 
the  BEAST.  ...  And  the  TEN  HORNS 
which  thou  sawest  upon  the  BEAST,  these 
shall  hate  the  WHORE,  and  shall  make  her 
desolate  and  naked,  and  shall  eat  her  flesh,  and 
bum  her  vidth  fire.  For  God  hath  put  in  their 
hearts  to  fulfil  His  will,  and  to  agree,  and  give 
their  kingdom  unto  the  BEAST,  until  the 
words  of  God  shall  be  fulfilled." 

Antichrist.  As  the  revived  Roman  Empire  it  is  seen  coming  up  out 
of  the  sea  of  the  nations,  as  the  Antichrist  it  comes  up  out  of  the 
ABYSS.  For  instance  it  cannot  be  said  of  the  Roman  Empire  of 
John's  day,  that  it  WAS,  and  IS  NOT,  for  it  was  at  the  height  of  its 
power  in  John's  day.  Neither  can  it  be  said  of  it  that  it  shall  ascend 
out  of  the  pit  and  go  into  PERDITION,  that  could  only  be  said  of 
a  person.  Again  we  must  distinguish  between  the  body  of  the 
"Beast"  and  its  heads  and  horns.  The  body  being  that  of  a  LEOP- 
ARD, with  the  feet  of  a  BEAR,  and  the  mouth  of  a  LION  is  to 
show  that  the  revived  Roman  Empire  in  its  last  stage  will  include 
the  characteristics  of  the  first  "Three  Wild  Beasts"  of  Daniel,  that  is. 


112       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

of  the  LION  (Babylon),  the  BEAR  (Medo-Persia),  and  the  LEOP- 
ARD (Greece),  and  as  the  largest  part  of  the  "Beast,"  the  body,  is 
represented  by  the  LEOPARD,  the  prevailing  characteristic  of  the 
revived  Roman  Empire  vi^ill  be  GRECIAN. 

The  "Beast"  that  comes  up  out  of  the  sea  (Chap.  13),  has 
SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS,  and  the  "Horns"  are 
CROWNED.  This  represents  the  "Beast,"  or  Empire,  at  the  height 
of  its  power,  when  it  will  have  all  its  "Heads,"  and  when  the  TEN 
KINGS,  the  heads  of  the  TEN  KINGDOMS  into  which  the  Empire 
shall  be  divided,  will  have  been  crowned.  The  "Beast"  that  comes 
up  out  of  the  ABYSS  also  has  SEVEN  HEADS  and  TEN  HORNS, 
but  they  are  not  crowned,  for  the  TEN  KINGS  represented  by  the 
TEN  HORNS,  have  not  as  yet  received  their  kingdom.  (Rev.  17: 
12.)  This  implies  that  the  "Beast"  of  Rev.  17,  represents  the  Anti- 
christ at  the  beginning  of  the  "Week."  As  confirmation  of  this  view 
the  "WOMAN"  is  seen  at  this  stage  riding  the  "Beast."  For  while 
the  "Scarlet  Clothed  Woman"  is  not  seen  until  chapter  17,  it  is  clear 
that  she  rides  the  "Beast"  from  the  begiiming  of  the  "Week,"  for  she 
represents  the  "PAPAL  CHURCH"  that  comes  into  power  after  the 
true  Church  has  been  caught  out.  During  the  wars  preceding  the 
rise  of  Antichrist  the  nations  that  will  then  be  found  in  the  geo- 
graphical limits  of  the  Old  Roman  Empire  will  form  an  "Alliance" 
for  mutual  protection.  Those  nations  will  be  ten  in  number,  repre- 
sented by  the  "TEN  HORNS"  of  the  Beast.  No  doubt  the  "Papal 
Church"  will  play  a  prominent  part  in  those  proceedings.  She  will 
be  rewarded  by  restoration  to  political  power,  and  this  union  of 
Church  and  State,  in  which  the  Church  will  have  control,  is  shown 
by  the  WOMAN  riding  the  Beast,  thus  dominating  it.  But  when 
the  "Ten  Kings"  shall  receive  their  Kingdoms  and  be  CROWNED, 
they  "shall  hate  the  WHORE,  and  shall  make  her  desolate  and  naked, 
and  shall  eat  her  flesh,  and  bum  her  with  fire."     (Vs.  16.) 

While  we  are  told  in  Rev.  17  : 9  that  the  "SEVEN  HEADS"  of 
the  "Beast"  represent  "SEVEN  MOUNTAINS"  (this  is  to  identify 
it  with  the  Roman  Empire),  we  are  told  in  the  next  verse  (R.  V.) 
that  they  (the  "Seven  Heads")  also  represent  "SEVEN  KINGS"  of 
whom  "Five  are  fallen,  and  one  is,  and  the  other  is  not  yet  come; 
and  when  he  cometh  he  must  continue  a  short  space."  That  is,  in 
John's  day  "Five"  of  these  Kings  had  fallen,  one  was  the  then  ruling 
Emperor,  and  the  "Seventh"  was  yet  to  come.  Who  are  meant  by 
the  first  "Five  Kings"  that  had  fallen  we  do  not  know.  The  King 
that  was  on  the  throne  in  John's  day  was  Domitian,  who  had  ban- 
ished John  to  the  Isle  of  Patmos.  The  last  or  "SEVENTH  KING" 
who  is  yet  to  come  is  undoubtedly  the  ANTICHRIST.  We  are  told 
in  Rev.  13:3,  that  one  of  the  "SEVEN  HEADS,"  or  "KINGS," 
received  a  deadly  wound.  Which  one  is  not  stated.  The  inference 
is  that  it  is  the  last,  for  the  Beast  has  all  of  his  "HEADS"  before  one 
of  them  is  wounded.  In  Rev.  17:  11  he  is  called  the  Beast  that  WAS, 
and  IS  NOT,  even  he  is  the  "EIGHTH,"  and  is  of  the  "SEVENTH," 
and  goeth  into  PERDITION.  The  only  clear  explanation  of  this 
passage  is  that  the  "SEVENTH  HEAD"— THE  ANTICHRIST,  is 
the  one  who  receives  the  "deadly  wound,"  probably  at  the  hand  of  an 


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124      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

assassin,  and  as  his  body  is  lying  in  state  prepared  for  burial,  hu 
rises  from  the  dead  (Vs.  14),  and  thus  becomes  the  "EIGHTH,** 
though  he  is  of  the  "SEVENTH."  By  this  resurrection  of  the  Anti- 
christ, Satan  imitates  the  Resurrection  of  Christ  and  makes  the 
world  "wonder  after  the  Beast"  (Rev.  13:3),  and  this  adds  to  his 
prestige  and  power.  If  this  happens  at  the  "Middle  of  the  Week,"  at 
the  time  the  Dragon  is  cast  out  of  Heaven,  it  will  account  for  the 
great  change  that  takes  place  in  the  Antichrist,  for  before  receiving 
his  "deadly  wound"  he  will  be  sweet  and  lovable,  but  after  his  resur- 
rection or  recovery  he  will  become  Devilish,  the  result  of  the  Dragon 
incarnating  himself  in  him.  It  is  at  this  time  that  he  breaks  the 
Ccfvenant  with  the  Jews  and  desecrates  the  Temple  by  setting  up  the 
"Abomination  of  Desolation"  which  is  an  "Idol  Image"  of  himself — 
the  "DESOLATOR."  As  the  "LITTLE  HORN"  of  Daniel's 
"Fourth  Wild  Beast"  he  will  destroy  three  of  the  "Ten  Kings"  and 
firmly  establish  himself  in  the  place  of  power,  and  as  he,  as  the 
"LITTLE  HORN,"  does  not  appear  until  after  the  "TEN  HORNS," 
or  "Ten  Federated  Kingdoms,"  come  intc  existence,  it  is  clear  that 
the  Antichrist  does  not  form  the  Federation,  but  is  the  outgrowth  of  it. 

He  will  be  a  "composite"  man.  One  who  embraces  in  his  char- 
acter the  abilities  and  powers  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  Xerxes,  Alexander 
the  Great  and  Caesar  Augustus.  He  will  have  the  marvelous  gift  of 
attracting  unregenerate  men,  and  the  irresistible  fascination  of  his 
personality,  his  versatile  attainments,  superhuman  wisdom,  great 
administrative  and  executive  ability,  along  with  his  powers  as  a  con- 
summate flatterer,  a  brilliant  diplomatist,  a  superb  strategist,  will 
make  him  the  most  conspicuous  and  prominent  of  men.  All  these 
gifts  will  be  conferred  on  him  by  Satan,  whose  tool  he  will  be,  and 
who  will  thus  make  him  the — 

SUPERMAN. 

He  will  pose  as  a  great  humanitarian,  the  friend  of  men,  and  the 
especial  friend  of  the  Jewish  race,  whom  he  will  oersuade  that  he  has 
come  to  usher  in  the  "Golden  Age*'  as  pictured  by  the  prophets,  and 
who  ,will  receive  him  as  their  Messiah. 

He  will  intoxicate  men  with  a  strong  delusion  and  his  never  vary- 
ing success.  And  when  he  shall  be  slain  and  rise  again  he  will  have 
lost  none  of  these  powers,  but  will  be  in  addition  the  embodiment  of 
atl  kinds  of  v/ickedness  and  blasphemy. 

"He  shall  speak  great  words  against  the  Most  High,  and  shall 
wear  out  the  saints  of  the  Most  High,  and  think  to  change  times 
and  laws."     Dan.  7:25. 

"He  shall  also  stand  up  against  the  'Prince  of  Princes**' 
(Jesus).     Dan.  8:  25. 

"He  shall  do  according  to  his  will;  and  he  shall  exalt  him- 
self and  magnify  himself  above  every  god,  and  shall  speak  marvel- 
lous things  against  the  God  of  Gods."     Dan.   11:36. 

"Who  opposeth  and  exalteth  himself  above  all  that  is  called 

God,  or  that  is  worshipped;   so  that  he  AS  GOD   sitteth   in  the 

Temple  of  God  (at  Jerusalem)  showing  himself  that  he  IS  GOD 

whose  coming  is   after   the  Working  of  Satan  with  all 

Power  and  Signs  and  Lying  Wonders."   2.  Thess.  2:3-9. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       125 

There  has  never  as  yet  appeared  on  this  earth  a  person  who 
answers  the  description  given  in  the  above  Scriptures.  Such  a  char- 
acter is  almost  inconceivable.  No  writer  would  have  invented  such 
a  character. 

7.  THE  BEAST  OUT  OF  THE  EARTH. 

The  "False  Prophet"  Or  "Anti-Spirit." 

Rev.   13:11-18. 


—■T^:^^^^'- —  rjrf*is«< — =. 

"And  I  beheld  another  'BEAST'  coming  up  out  of  the 
EARTH;  and  he  had  two  horns  like  a  lamb,  and  he  speike  as  a 
DRAGON.  And  he  exerciseth  all  the  power  of  the  'First  Beast' 
before  him,  and  causeth  the  earth  and  them  which  dwell  therein 
to  worship  the  'First  Beast/  whose  deadly  wound  was  healed. 
And  he  doeth  great  wonders,  so  that  he  maketh  fire  come  down 
from  heaven  on  the  earth  in  the  sight  of  men,  and  deceiveth  them 
that  dwell  on  the  earth  by  the  means  of  those  miracles  which  he 
had  power  to  do  in  the  sight  of  the  'Beast';  saying  to  them  that 
dwell  on  the  earth,  that  they  should  make  an  'IMAGE  TO  THE 
BEAST,'  which  had  the  wound  by  a  sword,  and  did  live.  And  he 
had  power  to  give  LIFE  UNTO  THE  'IMAGE  OF  THE 
'BEAST,'  that  the  'IMAGE  OF  THE  BEAST'  SHOULD  BOTH 
SPEAK,  AND  CAUSE  THAT  AS  MANY  AS  WOULD  NOT 
WORSHIP  THE  'IMAGE  OF  THE  BEAST'  SHOULD  BE 
KILLED.  And  he  causeth  all,  both  small  and  great,  rich  and 
poor,  free  and  bond,  to  receive  a  'MARK'  in  their  right  hand,  or 
in  their  foreheads;  and  that  no  man  might  BUY  or  SELL,  save 
he  that  had  the  'MARK,'  or  the  'NAME  OF  THE  BEAST,'  or 
the  'NUMBER  OF  HIS  NAME.'  Here  is  wisdom.  Let  him  that 
hath  understanding  count  the  'NUMBER  OF  THE  BEAST':  for 
it  is  the  'NUMBER  OF  MAN':  and  his  number  is  SIX  HUN- 
DRED THREESCORE  AND  SIX." 

After  the  Apostle  John  had  seen  and  described  the  "Beast"  that 
came  up  out  of  the  SEA,  he  saw  another  "Beast"  come  up  out  of  the 
EARTH.  This  "Second  Beast,"  while  John  does  not  say  it  was  a 
Iamb,  had  "Two  Horns"  "like  a  lamb,"  that  is,  it  was  LAMB-LIKE. 
Because  of  this  resemblance  many  claim  that  the  "Second  Beast" 
is  the  Antichrist,  for  Antichrist  is  supposed  to  imitate  Christ.  While 
the  LAMB  (Christ)  is  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Revelation  22  times, 


1J6      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

the  description  given  of  Him  in  chapter  5 : 6,  is  that  of  a  lamb  having 
""SEVEN  HORNS"  and  not  "TWO."  This  differentiates  Him  from 
the  "lamb-like  Beast"  that  comes  up  out  of  the  earth,  who,  though  he 
is  "lamb-like  in  appearance  SPEAKS  AS  A  DRAGON." 

The  "Second  Beast"  has  a  name.  He  is  called  the  "FALSE 
PROPHET"  three  times.  First  in  chapter  16:13,  then  in  chapter 
19 :  20,  and  again  in  chapter  20 :  10.  Twice  he  is  associated  with  the 
"First  Beast"  (Antichrist)  and  once  with  the  "Dragon"  (Satan)  and 
the  "First  Beast,"  and  as  they  are  PERSONS  so  must  he  be.  The 
fact  that  he  is  called  the  "False  Prophet"  is  proof  that  he  is  not  the 
"Antichrist."  Jesus  had  a  foreview  of  him  when  He  said — "There 
shall  arise  'FALSE  CHRISTS'  and  'FALSE  PROPHETS,'  and  shall 
show  GREAT  SIGNS  AND  WONDERS :  insomuch  that,  if  it  were 
possible  they  shall  deceive  the  very  elect."  Matt.  24:24.  Here  Jesus 
differentiates  between  "FALSE  CHRISTS"  and  "FALSE  PROPH- 
ETS," therefore  the  "ANTICHRIST"  and  the  "FALSE  PROPHET" 
cannot  be  the  same. 

That  the  "Second  Beast"  comes  up  out  of  the  EARTH  may 
signify  that  he  will  be  a  resurrected  person.  If,  as  was  hinted  at, 
"Antichrist"  was  Judas  resurrected,  why  should  not  the  "False 
Prophet"  also  be  a  resurrected  person?  There  will  be  two  persons, 
as  we  have  seen,  who  shall  come  back  from  Heaven  as  the  "Two 
Witnesses,"  Moses  and  Elijah,  why  not  two  persons  come  up  fro-m 
^'The  Underworld,"  brought  up  by  Satan  to  counteract  the  work  of 
the  "Two  Witnesses"?  The  fact  that  the  "First  Beast"  (Antichrist), 
and  the  "Second  Beast"  (False  Prophet)  are  cast  ALIVE  into  the 
"Lake  of  Fire"  (Rev.  19:20)  is  further  proof  that  they  are  more 
than  ordinary  mortals,  and  that  the  "First  Beast"  is  more  than  the 
last  ruling  Emperor  of  the  revived  Roman  Empire.  He  is  the  Anti- 
christ, Satan's  SUPERMAN. 

In  the  "Dragon,"  the  "Beast,"  and  the  "False  Prophet,"  we 
have  the  "SATANIC  TRINITY,"  Satan's  imitation  of  the  "Divine 
Trinity."  In  the  unseen  and  invisible  "Dragon"  we  have  the 
FATHER  (the  ANTI-GOD).  In  the  "Beast"  we  have  the  "SON 
OF  PERDITION"  (the  ANTI-CHRIST),  begotten  of  the  Dragon, 
who  appears  on  the  earth,  dies,  and  is  resurrected,  and  to  whom  is 
given  a  throne  by  his  Father  the  Dragon.  In  the  "False  Prophet"  we 
have  the  "ANTI-SPIRIT,"  who  proceeds  from  the  "Dragon  Father" 
and  "Dragon  Son,"  and  whose  speech  is  like  the  Dragon's.  The 
"Dragon"  then  will  be  the  "ANTI-GOD,"  the  "Beast"  the  "ANTI- 
CHRIST," and  the  "False  Prophet"  the  "ANTI-SPIRIT,"  and  the 
fact  that  all  three  are  cast  ALIVE  into  the  "Lake  of  Fire"  (Rev.  20: 
iO)  is  proof  that  they  together  form  a  "Triumvirate"  which  we  may 
well  call— "THE  SATANIC  TRINITY." 

Again  the  "Antichrist"  is  to  be  a  KING  and  rule  over  a  KING- 
DOM. He  will  accept  the  "Kingdoms  of  this  world"  that  Satan 
offered  Christ,  and  that  Christ  refused.  Matt.  4:8-10.  He  will  also 
EXALT  himself,  and  claim  to  be  God.  2.  Thess.  2: 4.  But  the  "False 
Prophet"  is  not  a  King,  He  does  not  exalt  himself,  he  exalts  the 
"First  Beast"  (Antichrist).  His  relation  to  the  "First  Beast"  is  the 
same  as  the  Holy  Spirit's  relation  to  Christ.     He  causeth  the  earth 


IMAGE   OF  THE   BEAST 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       129 

and  them  which  dwell  therein  to  worship  the  "First  Beast."  He  also 
has  power  to  give  life,  and  in  this  he  imitates  the  Holy  Spirit.  And 
as  the  followers  of  Christ  are  sealed  by  the  Holy  Spirit  until  the 
**Day  of  Redemption"  (Eph.  4:30);  so,  the  followers  of  Antichrist 
shall  be  sealed  by  the  False  Prophet  until  the  "Day  of  Perdition." 
Rev.  13 :  16-17. 

The  False  Prophet  will  be  a  "Miracle  Worker."  While  Jesus 
was  a  "miracle  worker,"  He  did  all  His  mighty  works  in  the  "power" 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Acts  10 :  38.  Among  the  miracles  that  the  False 
Prophet  will  perform  he  will  bring  down  FIRE  FROM  HEAVEN. 
As  we  have  seen  under  the  work  of  the  "Two  Witnesses,"  chapter 
11:  1-14,  there  will  probably  be  a  "FIRE-TEST"  between  Elijah  and 
the  False  Prophet,  and  the  test  as  to  who  is  God  of  Mt.  Carmel  will 
be  repeated.  That  Satan,  who  will  then  energize  the  False  Prophet, 
can  do  this  is  clear  from  Job  1 :  16,  where  Satan,  having  secured  per- 
mission from  God  to  touch  all  that  Job  had,  brought  down  "fire  from 
heaven"  and  burned  up  Job's  sheep  and  servants. 

The  False  Prophet  then  commands  the  people  to  make  an 
"IMAGE  OF  THE  BEAST." 

This  is  further  proof  that  the  "First  Beast"  is  the  Antichrist.  It 
is  a  strange  weakness  of  mankind  that  they  must  have  some  VIS- 
IBLE God  to  worship,  and  when  the  Children  of  Israel,  who  had  been 
delivered  from  Egypt  under  Moses'  leadership,  thought  he  had  for- 
saken them  because  he  did  not  come  down  from  the  Mount,  they 
called  Aaron  to  make  them  gods  which  should  go  before  them,  and 
Aaron  made  for  them  the  "GOLDEN  CALF."  Ex.  32 : 1-6.  So  the 
False  Prophet  will  have  the  people  make  for  the  purpose  of  worship 
an  "IMAGE  OF  THE  BEAST."  But  the  wonderful  thing  about  the 
"IMAGE"  is  that  the  False  Prophet  will  have  power  to  give  LIFE 
to  it,  and  cause  it  to  SPEAK,  and  to  demand  that  all  who  will  not 
worship  it  shall  be  put  to  death.  In  other  words  the  "IMAGE"  will 
be  a  living,  speaking,  AUTOMATON. 

This  "Image"  reminds  us  of  the  "GOLDEN  IMAGE"  that 
Nebuchadnezzar  commanded  to  be  made  and  set  up  in  the  "Plain 
of  Dura,"  in  the  Province  of  Babylon  (Dan.  3:1-30),  before  which, 
at  the  sounding  of  musical  instruments,  the  people  were  commanded 
to  bow  down  and  worship  under  penalty,  for  those  who  disobeyed, 
of  being  cast  into  a  "BURNING  FIERY  FURNACK"  Doubtless 
there  will  be  many  in  the  "Day  of  Antichrist"  who  will  refuse  to 
bow  down  and  worship  the  "Image  of  the  Beast,"  and  who  will  not 
escape  as  did  the  "Three  Hebrew  Children,"  though  God  may  inter- 
pose in  a  miraculous  way  to  deliver  some.  And  as  if  this  was  not 
enough  the  False  Prophet  shall  cause — "ALL,  both  small  and  great, 
rich  and  poor,  free  and  bond,  to  receive  a  'MARK'  in  their  RIGHT 
HAND,  or  in  their  FOREHEAD ;  and  that  no  man  might  BUY  or 
SELL,  save  he  that  has  the  'MARK'  or  the  'NAME  OF  THE 
BEAST,*  or  the  'NUMBER  OF  HIS  NAME'."  This  "MARK"  will 
be  known  as  the 

"BRAND  OF  HELL." 

This  is  what  the  world  is  fast  coming  to.  The  time  is  not  far 
distant  when  the  various  "Trusts"  and  "Combinations  of  Capital" 


130      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER 

will  be  merged  into  a  "FEDERATION  OF  TRUSTS,"  at  the  head 
of  which  shall  be  a  "NAPOLEON  OF  CAPITAL."  Ultimately  this 
"Federation  of  Trusts"  will  extend  to  the  whole  world,  at  the  head 
of  which  shall  be  THE  ANTICHRIST,  and  the  producer  and  con- 
sumer will  be  powerless  in  the  tentacles  of  this  OCTOPUS,  and  no 
man  shall  be  able  to  BUY  or  SELL  who  has  not  the  "MARK  OF 
THE  BEAST"  either  upon  his  "right  hand"  or  on  his  "forehead." 
This  "Mark"  will  be  BRANDED  or  burnt  on.  It  will  probably  be 
the  "NUMBER  OF  THE  BEAST"  or  "666."  The  number  "666"  is 
the  "NUMBER  OF  MAN,"  and  stops  short  of  the  perfect  number 
SEVEN.  Man  was  created  on  the  SIXTH  day.  Goliath,  the  opposer 
of  God's  people,  a  type  of  Satan,  was  6  cubits  in  height,  he  had  6 
pieces  of  armor,  and  his  spearhead  weighed  600  shekels,  1.  Sam. 
17 : 4-7.  Nebuchadnezzar's  Image,  a  type  of  the  "Image  of  the  Beast," 
was  60  cubits  in  height,  6  cubits  wide,  and  6  instruments  of  music 
summoned  the  worshippers.    Dan.  3 : 1-7. 

In  that  day  men  will  doubtless  prefer  to  have  the  "MARK"  on 
the  back  of  their  right  hand  so  it  can  be  readily  seen  in  the  act  of 
signing  checks,  drafts,  and  receipts.  There  will  doubtless  be  public 
officials  in  all  public  places  of  business  to  see  that  no  one  buys  or 
sells  who  has  not  the  "MARK.'*  This  will  apply  to  women  as  well 
as  men.  No  one  can  shop,  or  even  buy  from  the  huckster  at  the  door, 
without  the  "MARK,"  under  penalty  of  DEATH.  Those  will  be 
awful  times  for  those  who  will  not  WORSHIP  THE  BEAST.  If 
they  can  neither  buy  or  sell  without  the  "MARK,"  they  must  beg, 
or  starve  or  be  killed.  The  instrument  of  death  will  be  the  guillo- 
tine (Rev.  20:4),  and  the  daily  papers  will  contain  a  list  of  the  names 
of  those  who  were  beheaded  the  day  before  so  as  to  frighten  the 
people  into  obedience  to  the  law.  The  doom  of  the  "Satanic  Trin- 
ity" will  be,  that  at  the  close  of  that  awful  time  of  Tribulation  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  will  return,  and  the  "Dragon,"  the  "Anti-God," 
will  be  cast  into  the  "BOTTOMLESS  PIT"  for  a  1000  years  (Rev. 
20: 1-3),  and  the  "Beast,"  the  "Anti-Christ,"  and  the  "False  Prophet," 
the  "Anti-Spirit,**  will  be  cast  ALIVE  into  the  "LAKE  OF  FIRE.** 
Rev.  19:20. 

THE  INTERVAL  BETWEEN  THE  "SEVEN  PERSONAGES*' 
AND  THE  "SEVEN  VIALS." 

1.  THE  LAMB  ON  MOUNT  ZION. 

Rev.  14:1-5. 

"And  I  looked,  and,  lo,  a  LAMB  stood  on  MOUNT  ZION. 
and  with  Him  a  Hundred  Forty  and  Fovir  Thousand,  having  His 
Father's  name  written  in  their  foreheads.  And  I  heard  a  voice 
from  Heaven,  as  the  voice  of  many  waters,  and  as  the  voice  of  a 
great  thunder:  and  I  heard  the  voice  of  HARPERS  harping  with 
their  harps:  and  they  sung  as  it  were  a  NEW  SONG  before  the 
Throne,  and  before  the  Four  Beasts,  and  the  Elders:  and  no  man 
could  learn  that  song  but  The  Hundred  and  Forty  and  Four 
Thousand,  which  were  redeemed  from  the  earth.  These  are  they 
which  were  not  defiled  with  women:  for  they  are  virgins.  These 
arc  they  which  follow  the  Lamb  whithersoever  He  goeth.   These 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       131 

were  redeemed  from  among  men,  being  the  first  fruits  unto  God 
and  to  the  Lamb.  And  in  their  mouth  was  found  no  guile: 
for  they  are  without  fault  before  the  Throne  of  God." 

The  Lamb  here  is  Christ,  and  the  Mount  Zion  is  not  Mount 
Zion  of  the  earthly  Jerusalem  but  of  the  Heavenly  of  which  Paul 
speaks  in  Heb.  12:22-23.  "But  ye  are  come  unto  Mount  Zion,  and 
unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,  'THE  HEAVENLY  JERUSALEM,' 
and  to  an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  to  the  General  Assembly 
and  Church  of  the  'First  Bom'  (New  Born),  which  are  written  in 
Heaven,  and  to  God  the  Judge  of  all,  and  to  the  spirits  of  just  (justi- 
fied) men  made  perfect." 

The  144,000  standing  with  the  Lamb  on  Mount  Zion,  are  the 
144,000  "SEALED  ONES,"  12,000  from  each  Tribe  of  Israel,  of 
chapter  7:  3-8.  There  we  are  told  they  were  sealed,  here  we  are  told 
why.  In  chapter  seven  we  are  told  they  were  sealed  in  their  foreheads, 
here  we  are  told  that  that  sealing  was  the  writing  on  their  foreheads 
of  the  name  of  the  Lamb  (R.  V.)  and  of  the  Lamb's  Father.  As 
John  looked  at  the  Lamb  and  the  144,000  "Sealed  Ones"  who  stood 
with  Him,  he  heard  a  voice  from  Heaven,  as  the  "voice  of  many 
waters,"  and  as  the  voice  of  a  "great  thunder,"  which  identifies  the 
Speaker  with  the  one  who  spoke  from  the  midst  of  the  "Lamp-Stands" 
of  chapter  1 :  10,  15,  or  the  Lamb  Himself. 

What  the  "voice"  said  is  not  told  us,  but  it  was  followed  with  the 
voice  or  singing  of  "Harpers"  accompanied  by  their  harps.  These 
"Harpers"  sung  a  "NEW  SONG"  before  the  Throne,  and  the  "Four 
Living  Creatures,"  and  the  "Elders."  As  the  "Elders"  represent  the 
Church,  these  "Harpers"  are  not  the  Church,  for  they  sing  before  the 
"Elders."  Who  these  "Harpers"  are  we  are  told  in  chapter  15 :  2-4. 
They  are  those  who  stand  on  the  "Sea  of  Glass"  before  the  Throne. 
Rev.  4 :  6.  The  "New  Song"  they  sing  is  a  "double  song,"  the  "SONG 
OF  MOSES"  and  the  "SONG  OF  THE  LAMB,"  and  we  are  told 
that  no  man  could  learn  the  Song  but  the  144,000  who  were  redeemed 
from  the  earth.  This  is  further  evidence  that  the  144,000  "Sealed 
Ones"  are  in  Heaven,  either  having  been  translated  or  died  a  Martyr's 
death,  and  from  Rev.  14:4  we  learn  that  they  are  the  "FIRST- 
FRUITS"  of  the  restored  nation  of  Israel,  not  the  "First-Fruits"  of 
the  Church,  for  that  is  represented  by  the  "Elders,"  and  was  gathered 
out  long  before. 

These  144,000  "Sealed  Ones"  are  called  "VIRGINS";  and  the 
fact  that  they  are  spoken  of  as  not  having  been  "defiled  with  women," 
shows  that  they  are  either  all  men  of  the  character  of  the  Apostle 
Paul,  who  did  not  marrx'-,  or,  as  is  most  likely,  and  as  the  word  trans- 
lated "virgins"  means  persons  of  either  sex,  they  are  "virgins"  in  the 
sense  that  they  kept  themselves  clean  of  the  crowning  sin  of  that  day 
—FORNICATION,  for  the  crowning  sin  of  the  Tribulation  Period 
will  be  fornication  (Rev.  9:  21 ;  14:  8),  or  looseness  and  laxity  of  the 
marriage  tie,  of  which  "free-love,"  and  the  doctrine  of  "affinities,"  and 
multiplied  divorce  in  these  days  are  but  the  opening  wedge  to  the 
looseness  of  morals  of  those  Anti-Christian  times.  The  144,000 
"Sealed  Ones'*  will  be  especially  delivered  from  this  sin,  and  so  they, 
and  they  only,  as  a  special  class,  can  sing  this  "New  Song"  of  redemp- 


132      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

tion,  not  so  much  by  the  Blood,  as  from  the  sin  of  fornication.  The 
teaching  of  "seducing  spirits"  mentioned  in  1.  Tim.  4:  1-3,  as  belong- 
ing to  those  Anti-Christian  times,  of  "forbidding  to  marry  and  com- 
manding to  abstain  from  meats,"  has  a  deeper  significance  than  that 
of  the  practice  of  the  Church  of  Rome  that  requires  the  celibacy  of 
the  priesthood  and  clergy,  and  fasting  of  the  laity.  Such  teaching 
comes  from  the  "Pit,"  and  belongs  to  Antichrist's  religion,  and  its 
purpose  is  to  weaken  the  body  by  fasting  and  make  it  more  suscept- 
ible to  the  influence  of  evil  angels  and  demons,  and  to  cause  it  to 
gratify  the  desires  of  the  flesh  in  other  ways  than  by  lawful  means. 
These  "Sealed  Ones"  are  a  chosen  class  who  follow  the  Lamb  whith- 
ersoever He  goeth,  and  they  are  without  fault  before  the  Throne  of 
God. 

2.    THE  THREE  ANGEL  MESSENGERS. 

FIRST  ANGEL. 
THE  EVERLASTING  GOSPEL. 

Rev.  14:  6-7. 


"And  I  saw  another  angel  fly,  in  the  midst  of  heaven,  having 
the  'EVERLASTING  GOSPEL'  to  preach  unto  them  that  dwell 
on  the  earth,  and  to  every  nation,  and  kindred,  and  tongue,  and 
people;  saying  with  a  loud  voice  'FEAR  GOD,  AND  GIVE 
GLORY  TO  HIM;  FOR  THE  HOUR  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT 
IS  COME:  AND  WORSHIP  HIM  THAT  MADE  HEAVEN. 
AND  EARTH,  AND  THE  SEA  AND  THE  FOUNTAINS 
OF  WATERS." 

In  his  vision  of  Apocalyptic  Judgments  John  sees  many  angels  at 
work.  Here  he  sees  one  flying  in  "MID-HEAVEN."  That  is,  m  the 
heaven  or  atmosphere  that  surrounds  our  earth.  The  mission  of  this 
Angel  is  to  preach  the 

"EVERLASTING  GOSPEL" 
unto  every  nation,  kindred,  tongue,  and  people  on  the  earth.  Here  is 
the  first  and  only  place  in  the  Bible  where  an  angel  is  commissioned 
to  preach  the  Gospel.  An  angel  could  not  tell  Cornelius  how  to  be 
saved,  he  could  only  tell  him  to  send  for  Peter  for  that  purpose.  Acts 
10:  3-6.     In  this  "Gospel  Age"  only  redeemed  men  can  preach  the 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       133 

Oospel,  but  at  the  "End  Time,"  just  before  the  return  of  the  Lord,  an 
angel  will  go  forth  to  preach  the  "EVERLASTING  GOSPEL,"  or  as 
the  revised  Version  puts  it,  the  "ETERNAL  GOSPEL."  The  word 
"Gospel"  means  "Good  News."  Four  forms  of  the  Gospel  are  men- 
tioned in  the  New  Testament,  and  we  must  distinguish  carefully 
between  them. 

(1).     THE  GOSPEL  OF  "THE  KINGDOM/' 

Matt.  24:  14. 

This  is  the  "Good  News"  that  God  purposes  to  set  up  a  Kingdom 
on  this  earth  over  which  David's  Son,  JESUS,  shall  reign,  as  prophe- 
sied in  Luke  1 :  32-33.  Two  preachings  of  this  Gospel  are  mentioned, 
one  past,  beginning  with  the  ministry  of  John  the  Baptist,  and 
preached  by  Jesus  and  His  Disciples,  but  it  ended  with  the  rejection 
of  Jesus  as  King.  This  Gospel  is  to  be  preached  again  after  the 
Church  is  taken  out.  It  will  be  the  fulfilment  of  Matt.  24:  14,  where 
it  says :  "This  Gospel  of  'THE  KINGDOM'  shall  be  preached  in  all 
the  world  for  a  WITNESS  unto  all  nations :  and  then  shall  the  end 
come."  This  has  no  reference  to  the  Gospel  that  is  now  being  preached 
to  the  nations.  It  is  the  Gospel  of  SALVATION,  but  the  "Gospel  of 
the  Kingdom"  is  not  for  "Salvation"  but  for  a  WITNESS,  that  is.  it 
is  the  announcement  that  the  time  has  come  to  SET  UP  THE  KING- 
DOM, It  will  be  preached  first  by  Elijah  the  forerunner  (Mai.  4:  5-6), 
and  by  others  who  shall  be  commissioned  to  bear  the  news  to  all 
nations  as  a  proclamation  of  the  Coming  of  Christ  as  King  to  occupy 
the  Throne  of  David,  and  for  the  purpose  ot  regathering  Israel  to 
the  Promised  Land. 

(2).    THE  GOSPEL  OF  THE  "GRACE  OF  GOD." 

Acts  20 :  24. 

This  is  the  "Good  News"  that  Jesus  Christ  the  rejected  King 
died  on  the  Cross  for  our  SALVATION.  This  form  of  the  Gospel 
is  described  in  many  ways,  it  is  called  the  "GOSPEL  OF  GOD" 
(Rom.  1.1),  because  it  has  its  source  in  the  LOVE  OF  GOD.  John 
3: 16.  Its  Character  is  "GRACE."  Acts  20: 24.  Its  subject  is  CHRIST 
(Rom.  1:16;  2.  Cor.  10:14),  and  it  is  the  POWER  OF  GOD 
UNTIL  SALVATION.  It  is  also  a  "GLORIOUS  GOSPEL"  be- 
cause it  speaks  of  Him  who  is  in  the  GLORY,  and  has  been  GLORI- 
FIED, and  who  is  bringing  many  sons  to  GLORY.  1.  Tim.  1:  11, 
2.  Cor.  4:  4,  Heb.  2:  10.  And  it  is  the  "GOSPEL  OF  PEACE,"  be- 
cause it  makes  peace  between  the  sinner  and  God,  and  brings  peace 
to  the  soul.    Eph.  6:  15. 

(3).    MY  GOSPEL. 
Rom.  2 :  16.     (Acts  26 :  16-18.) 

This  is  the  same  as  the  "Gospel  of  the  Grace  of  God,"  or  of  Sal- 
vation, with  the  additional  revelations  that  were  made  known  to  Paul 
as  to  the  Church  (Eph.  3:  1-7),  and  as  to  Israel.    Rom.  11 :  1-36. 


134      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER 

(4)     THE  "EVERLASTING  GOSPEL." 

Rev.  14:6. 

This  is  what  the  Angel  preaches  in  this  chapter.  It  is  neither  the 
"Gospel  of  the  Kingdom,"  nor  of  "Grace."  Its  burden  is  not  Salvation 
but  JUDGMENT.  "Fear  God,  and  give  glory  to  Him:  for  the 
HOUR  OF  HIS  JUDGMENT  IS  COME."  It  is  "Good  News"  to 
Israel,  and  all  who  are  passing  through  the  "fires  of  Judgment," 
because  it  declares  that  their  troubles  will  soon  end  in  the  judgment 
and  destruction  of  Antichrist.  It  calls  on  men  to  worship  God  as 
"Creator,"  and  not  as  "Saviour,"  and  so  it  is  called  in  the  Revised 
Version— "THE  ETERNAL  GOSPEL,"  the  Gospel  that  has  been 
proclaimed  from  Eden  down  by  Patriarchs  and  Prophets,  and  not 
an  "Everlasting  Gospel"  in  the  sense  that  it  saves  men  for  all  eternity. 

There  is  "ANOTHER  GOSPEL"  (Gal.  1:  6-12,  2.  Cor.  11:  4), 
■which  is  not  another,  and  which  Paul  repudiated.  It  is  a  perversion  of 
the  true  Gospel  and  has  many  seductive  forms,  and  in  the  main 
teaches  that  "faith"  is  not  sufficient  to  Salvation,  nor  able  to  keep  and 
perfect,  and  so  emphasizes  "Good  Works."  Col.  2:  18-23,  Heb.  6:  1, 
9:  14.  The  Apostle  pronounces  a  fearful  "Anathema"  upon  its  preach- 
ers and  teachers.  Gal.  1 :  8-9.  Our  message  is :  "Believe  on  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  and  thou  shalt  be  saved."  Acts  16:31.  The  Angel's 
message  is :  "Fear  God  for  the  HOUR  of  His  Judgment  is  come." 
Men  reject  the  human  messenger  and  they  will  also  reject  the  Angelic 
messenger,  they  will  not  believe  even  though  ONE  (Jesus)  rose  from 
the  dead. 

SECOND  ANGEL. 

FALL  OF  BABYLON  PROCLAIMED. 

Chap.  14:8. 


"And  there  followed  another  angel,  saying  BABYLON  IS 
FALLEN,  IS  FALLEN,  that  great  City,  because  she  made  all 
nations  drink  of  the  wine  of  the  wrath  of  her  fornkation. 

Here  is  proof  that  the  City  of  Babylon  is  to  be  rebuilt.  For 
further  proof  see  chapter  eighteen.  As  to  the  fall  and  destruction  of 
the  literal  City  of  Babylon  this  proclamation  is  anticipative,  but  as  a 
declaration  that  Babylon  had  fallen  to  fearful  depths  of  wickedness 
and  apostasy,  and  had  become  "the  habitation  of  demons,  and  the  hold 
of  every  foul  spirit,  and  a  cage  of  every  unclean  and  hateful  bird,"  as 
described  in  chapter  18: 2,  it  was  already  true,  for  the  City  of  Babylon 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       135 

will  have  been  rebuilt  at  the  time  whei.  this  Angel  utters  his  proc- 
lamation. The  Angel's  warning  was  that  God's  people  might  hear 
His  voice  saying:  "Come  out  of  her,  MY  PEOPLE,  that  ye  be  not 
partakers  of  her  sins,  and  that  ye  receive  not  of  her  plagues  "  Rev 
18:  4.  f    &       •  . 

THIRD  ANGEL. 
THE  DOOM  OF  ANTICHRIST'S  FOLLOWERS. 

Rev.  14:9-11. 


"And  the  third  Angel  followed  them,  saying  with  a  loud  voice, 
If  any  man  worship  the  Beast  and  his  Image,  and  receive  his 
mark  in  his  forehead,  or  in  his  hand,  the  same  shall  drink  of  the 
wine  of  the  'wrath  of  God,'  which  is  poured  out  without  mixture 
into  the  *cup  of  His  Indignation';  and  he  shall  be  tormented  with 
fire  and  brimstone  in  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Angels,  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  LAMB:  and  the  smoke  of  their  torment  ascend- 
eth  up  for  ever  and  ever:  and  they  have  no  rest  day  or  night, 
who  worship  the  Beast  and  his  Image,  and  whosoever  receiveth 
the  'Mark'  of  his  name." 

This  is  a  most  av^^ful  warning.  Any  man  who  worships  the 
Beast,  and  receives  his  'Mark'  in  forehead  or  hand,  his  doom  is  fixed 
FOREVER,  and  he  shall  be  tormented  with  fire  and  brimstone  in  the 
presence  of  the  Holy  Angels  and  of  the  Lamb,  and  the  smoke  of  his 
torment  shall  ascend  for  ever  and  ever,  and  they  shall  have  no  rest 
<lay  or  night.  That  means  during  the  3^  years  of  Antichrist's  reign, 
after  they  have  received  the  *'Mark,"  for  there  is  no  day  or  night  in 
eternity.  If  "Eternal  Punishment"  is  taught  nowhere  else  in  the 
Bible  it  is  taught  here,  and  if  here,  why  is  it  not  true  as  to  other 
classes  of  sinners?  Just  think  of  the  horror  of  remorse  in  the  "Lake 
of  Fire,"  as  these  worshippers  of  the  Beast  shall  recall  the  "Mark  of 
the  Beast"  as  it  was  imprinted  on  their  forehead  or  right  hand  with 
their  own  consent  because  of  their  desire  to  enrich  themselves  in  the 
markets  of  their  day. 

3.    THE  BLESSED  DEAD. 

Rev.  14:  12-13. 

"Here  is  the  patience  of  the  saints:  here  are  they  that  keep 
the  Commandments  of  God,  and  the  Faith  of  Jesus.  And  I  heard 
a  voice  from  Heaven  saying  unto  me,  Write,  blessed  are  the 
dead  which  die  in  the  Lord  FROM  HENCEFORTH:  Yea,  saith 
the  Spirit,  that  they  may  rest  from  their  labors:  and  their  works 
do  follow  them." 


136       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

This  is  blessedly  true  of  all  saints  but  refers  here  to  those  who 
die  after  the  False  Prophet  has  issued  the  command  that  all  who  will 
not  worship  the  "Image  of  the  Beast" shall  be  killed."  Rev,  13:15.  This 
is  settled  by  the  word  HENCEFORTH.  This  warning  is  given  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  in  that  day  shall  be  tempted  to  compromise 
with  evil  in  order  to  preserve  their  lives.  Better  to  live  and  reign 
with  Christ  a  1000  years,  than  with  Antichrist  3%  years.  This  spe- 
cial class  of  dead  who  "DIE  IN  THE  LORD"  will  be  blessed  be- 
cause they  will  be  delivered  from  the  trials  and  sufferings  of  the 
Great  Tribulation,  and  will  receive  the  "MARTYR'S  CROWN" 
(Rev.  2:  10),  and  they  shall  rest  from  their  labors  of  stemming  the 
tide  of  iniquity  of  those  days,  and  their  works  follow  -with  them 
(R.  v.).  During  the  "Great  Tribulation"  they  that  are  loyal  to  God 
have  no  prospect  before  them  but  martyrdom,  hence  the  need  at  this 
time  of  a  special  message  of  blessing  to  those  who  are  faithful  until 
death.  What  a  contrast  between  the  "Blessed  Dead,"  and  those 
who  have  the  "Mark  of  the  Beast."  The  former  will  rest  from  their 
labors,  while  the  latter  shall  not  rest  day  or  night. 

4.     THE   HARVEST   AND   VINTAGE. 
Rev.  14:14-20. 


"And  I  looked,  and  behold  a  white  cloud,  and  upon  the  cloud 
one  sat  like  unto  the  SON  OF  MAN,  having  on  His  head  a 
Golden  Crown,  and  in  His  hand  a  sharp  Sickle.  And  another 
angel  came  out  of  the  Temple,  crying  with  a  loud  voice  to  Him 
that  sat  on  the  cloud,  Thrust  in  Thy  SICKLE,  and  reap:  for  the 
time  is  come  for  Thee  to  reap:  for  the  'Harvest  o£  the  Earth* 
IS  RIPE.  And  He  that  sat  on  the  cloud  thrust  in  His  Sickle 
on  the  earth:  and  the  earth  was  reaped.  And  another  angel 
came  out  of  the  Temple  which  is  in  Heaven,  he  also  having  a 
sharp  Sickle.  And  another  angel  came  out  from  the  Altar, 
which  had  power  over  fire;  and  cried  with  a  loud  cry  to  him 
that   had   the   sharp   Sickle,   saying   Thrust   in    thy   sharp    Sickle, 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       137 

and  gather  the  clasters  of  the  'VINE  OF  THE  EARTH'; 
for  her  grapes  are  fully  ripe.  And  the  angel  thrust  in  his  Sickle 
into  the  earth,  and  gathered  the  'VINE  OF  THE  EARTH/ 
and  cast  it  into  the  great  WINEPRESS  of  the  'Wrath  o£ 
God.'  And  the  WINEPRESS  was  trodden  without  the  city, 
and  BLOOD  came  out  of  the  WINEPRE^SS,  even  unto  the  horse 
bridles,  by  the  space  of  a  thousand  and  six  hundred  furlongs.** 

There  can  be  no  question  as  to  who  is  the  "Reaper"  of  the 
-HARVEST  OF  THE  EARTH."  It  is  the  "SON  OF  MAN," 
Christ  Himself.  He  was  the  "Sower"  and  He  shall  be  the  "Reaper/' 
This  is  not  the  "Harvest  of  the  Church/'  That  was  harvested  in 
■chapters  four  and  five,  and  the  "Reapers"  were  the  angels.  Matt. 
13:39.  This  is  the  "Harvest"  of  the  Gentile  Nations.  In  Joel  3: 
9-17  we  have  a  description  of  this  "Harvest  and  Vintage."  The 
"Harvest  and  Vintage"  are  JUDICIAL.  That  is,  they  are  for  the 
purpose  of  Judgment.  The  account  here  is  anticipative.  It  looks 
forward  to  chapter  16:  13-16,  which  speaks  of  how  the  armies  of  the 
world  are  to  be  gathered  together  by  "THREE  UNCLEAN 
SPIRITS"  to  the  Battle  of  the  Great  Day  of  God  Almighty  at  Arma- 
geddon. This  Battle  takes  place  after  the  "Fall  of  Babylon,"  and  is 
more  fully  described  in  chapter  19:  17-19. 

Here  we  are  told  that  the  Harvest  is  RIPE,  and  the  "Son  of 
Man"  is  commanded  to  thrust  in  His  Sickle,  which  He  does,  and 
while  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Vials"  is  a  part  of  the  reaping,  the 
Harvest  is  not  finished  until  the  end  of  the  "Battle  of  Armageddon." 

The  difference  between  the  "Harvest  and  the  Vintage"  is,  that 
the  "harvest"  in  the  natural  world  precedes  the  "vintage/'  but  often, 
as  in  this  case,  continues  until  they  become  one. 

The  "Vintage"  is  of  the  "VINE  OF  THE  EARTH."  Israel 
was  a  "VINE"  brought  out  of  Egypt  (Psa.  80:8)  and  planted  in 
Canaan,  but  when  God  looked  for  it  to  bring  forth  "good  grapes" 
it  brought  forth  "WILD  GRAPES"  (Isa.  5:1-7),  and  fruit  unto 
itself.  Hosea  10:1.  When  the  Lord  of  the  "Vineyard"  sent  His 
servants  for  the  "Fruit  of  the  Vineyard,"  the  husbandmen  beat  one, 
killed  another,  and  stoned  another.  At  last  He  sent  His  Son,  Him 
they  took  and  cast  out  of  the  Vineyard  and  slew.  Matt.  21 :  33-43. 
Then  Jesus  Himself  became  the  "TRUE  VINE,"  of  which  His 
disciples  are  the  branches.  John  15 : 5.  The  "VINE  OF  THE 
EARTH"  is  Antichrist  and  all  who  belong  to  his  pernicious  system. 

The  "WINEPRESS"  is  the  winepress  of  the  "FIERCENESS 
AND  WRATH  OF  ALMIGHTY  GOD."  Rev.  19: 15.  The  Prophet 
Isaiah  (Isa.  63 :  1-6)  describes  Christ's  share  in  it.  It  will  cover  the 
whole  Land  of  Palestine,  and  extend  as  far  south  as  Edom  and 
Bozrah.  So  great  shall  be  the  slaughter  that  the  blood  shall  be  up 
to  the  horses'  bridles  in  the  valleys  over  the  whole  of  Palestine  for 
1600  furlongs,  or  200  miles.  It  will  be  the  time  of  which  the  Prophet 
Isaiah  speaks,  when  the  land  shall  be  DRUNK  WITH  BLOOD. 
Isa.  34 : 7-8.  We  will  consider  it  more  in  detail  when  we  study  the 
Battle  of  Armageddon  in  chapter  nineteen. 


138      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 


The  Seven  Last  Plagues  or  Vial  Judgments. 


Rev.  15:1. 

"And  I  saw  another  SIGN  in  Heaven,  great  and  marvellous, 
SEVEN  ANGELS  having  the  'SEVEN  LAST  PLAGUES':  for 
in  them  is  filled  up  the  WRATH  OF  GOD." 

This  is  another  "SIGN"  or  "Wonder."  It  was  great  and  mar- 
vellous, because  it  "FILLED  UP  THE  WRATH  OF  GOD,"  that 
is,  it  completed  the  pouring  out  of  the  accumulated  "WRATH  OF 
GOD." 


PRELUDE. 

THE  SEA  OF  GLASS. 
Rev.  15:2-4. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       139 

"And  I  saw  as  it  were  a  'SEA  OF  GLASS'  MINGLED 
WITH  FIRE  :  and  them  that  had  gotten  the  victory  over  the 
Beast,  and  over  his  Image,  and  over  his  Mark,  and  over  the 
NUMBER  OF  HIS  NAME,  stand  on  the  SEA  OF  GLASS,  hav- 
ing the  Harps  of  God.  And  they  sing  the  SONG  OF  MOSES 
the  servant  of  God,  and  the  SONG  OF  THE  LAMB,  saying, 
Great  and  Marvellous  are  Thy  Works,  Lord  God  Almighty;  just 
and  true  are  Thy  Ways,  Thou  King  of  Saints.  Who  shall  not  fear 
Thee,  O  Lord,  and  glorify  Thy  name?  for  thou  only  art  holy! 
for  all  nations  shall  come  and  worship  before  Thee;  for  Thy 
judgments  are  made  manifest." 

This  "SEA  OF  GLASS"  is  the  same  "Sea  of  Glass"  that  we  saw 
before  the  Throne  in  chapter  4:6.  Then  it  was  unoccupied,  now  it 
is  occupied.  Then  its  surface  was  crystal  clear  and  plain,  now  its 
surface  is  of  a  "fiery"  aspect,  symbolizing  the  "fiery  trials"  of  its 
occupants.  The  occupants  of  this  "Sea  of  Glass"  come  out  of  the 
Great  Tribulation,  for  they  have  gotten  the  victory  over  the  "Beast," 
and  over  his  "Image,"  and  over  his  Mark,  and  over  the  "Number  of 
His  Name,"  and  they  have  harps,  and  thev  sing  the  "SONG  OF 
MOSES"  and  the  "SONG  OF  THE  LAMB?'  They  are  the  "Harp- 
ers" of  chapter  14 : 2,  whose  song  only  the  144,000  "Sealed  Ones" 
could  sing.  John  only  heard  them  then,  now  he  sees  them.  That 
they  could  sing  both  the  "SOng  of  Moses"  and  the  "Song  of  the 
Lamb"  implies  that  they  were  all  or  in  part  Israelites.  Some  think 
that  the  "Song  of  Moses"  that  they  sung  was  the  song  the  Children 
of  Israel  sang  on  the  shore  of  the  Red  Sea  after  their  escape  from 
Egypt,  as  given  in  Ex.  15:1-22,  while  others  think  it  is  Moses* 
"SWAN  SONG"  as  found  in  Deu.  31 :  19,  22;  31  :  30;  32:  43.  They 
sang  the  "Song  of  the  Lamb"  because  as  Israelites  they  had  been 
redeemed  by  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 

THE  TABERNACLE  OF  TESTIMONY. 

Rev.  15:5-8. 

"And  after  that  I  looked,  and  behold,  the  Temple  of  the 
'TABERNACLE  OF  TESTIMONY*  in  Heaven  was  opened:  and 
the  'Seven  Angels'  came  out  of  the  Temple,  having  the  'SEVEN 
PLAGUES,'  clothed  in  pure  and  white  linen,  and  having  their 
breasts  girded  with  Golden  Girdles.  And  one  of  the  'Four 
Beasts'  gave  unto  the  'Seven  Angels'  'SEVEN  GOLDEN 
VIALS'  full  of  the  'WRATH  OF  GOD,'  who  liveth  for  ever 
and  ever.  And  the  Temple  was  filled  with  smoke  from  the  Glory 
of  God,  and  from  His  Power:  and  no  man  was  able  to  enter  into 
the  Temple,  till  the  'SEVEN  PLAGUES'  of  the  'Seven  Angels' 
were    fulfilled." 

Here  again  we  see  the  Heavenly  Temple.  The  "Seven  Angels" 
that  come  out  of  it  are  clothed  in  priestly  garments,  and  the  "Golden 
Vials"  that  they  carry  were  given  them  by  one  of  the  "Beasts"  or 
Living  Creatures,  which  one  is  not  mentioned,  and  when  he  gave 
them  to  them  the  Heavenly  Temple  was  filled  with  smoke.  When 
the  Tabernacle  was  finished  by  Moses,  and  the  Temple  by  Solomon, 
there  was  a  "cloud,"  the  "Shekinah  Glory,"  but  no  smoke.  Ex.  40: 
34-36.  1.  Kings  8:  10-11.  The  "cloud"  means  GRACE,  the  "smoke" 
means  JUDGMENT.     Isa.  6: 1-4.     Ex.  19: 18. 


140       THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

FIRST  VIAL. 

(BoUs.) 

Rev.  16:1-2. 

"And  I  heard  a  great  voice  out  of  the  Temple  saying  to  the 
'Seven  Angels,'  Go  your  ways,  and  pour  out  the  'VIALS  OF 
THE  WRATH  OF  GOD'  upon  the  earth.  And  the  first  went, 
and  poured  out  his  VIAL  upon  the  earth;  and  there  fell  a  noi- 
some and  grievous  sore  upon  the  men  which  had  the  'MARK  OF 
THE  BEAST,'  and  upon  them  which  WORSHIPPED  HIS 
IMAGE." 

These  "VIALS"  and  their  contents  are  LITERAL.  One  cannot 
imagine  that  such  momentous  things  as  are  here  described  refer  to 
historical  events  that  are  already  past,  as  when  some  interpret  the 
"First  Vial"  as  the  French  Revolution  in  A.  D.  1792,  and  the  "sores" 
its  infidelity;  and  the  "Second  Vial"  as  the  naval  wars  of  that  Revo- 
lution ;  the  "Third  Vial"  as  the  battles  of  Napoleon  in  Italy,  and  the 
rest  of  the  Vials  as  historical  events  that  happened  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  If  this  be  true  then  we  have  been  passing  in  the  past  125 
years  through  the  period  of  the  Great  Tribulation  without  knowing 
it,  and  have  been  preaching  "Grace"  and  not  that  "THE  HOUR  OF 
HIS  JUDGMENT  IS  COME."  This  is  supposition  and  not  EX- 
POSITION, and  requires  the  reader  of  the  Book  of  Revelation  to 
be  versed  in  all  the  historical  events  of  the  Christian  Era.  No,  these 
"Vial  Judgments"  are  yet  future,  and  will  be  literally  fulfilled  as  here 
described,  and  this  gives  us  the  "KEY"  to  the  LITERALNESS  of 
the  whole  Book  of  Revelation.  That  these  "Vial  Judgments"  are  not 
figurative  is  clear  from  the  fact  that  4  of  the  7  have  actually  hap- 
pened before.  They  are  simply  repetitions  of  the  "PLAGUES  OF 
EGYPT."  See  the  Chart  on  the  "Seven  Vials"  and  the  "Egyptian 
Plagues"  compared.  This  Plague  of  a  "NOISOME  AND  GRIEV- 
OUS SORE"  that  shall  fall  upon  men,  is  a  repetition  of  the  "Plague 
of  Boils"  that  fell  upon  the  Egyptians  at  the  time  of  the  Exodus. 
Ex.  9:8-12.  The  "First  Vial  Judgment"  then  will  be  a  repetition  of 
the  "Sixth  Egyptian  Plague."  That  that  Plague  actually  happened  no 
believer  in  the  Bible  doubts,  then  why  should  we  try  to  explain 
away  the  literalness  of  the  Plagues  that  shall  follow  the  pouring  out 
of  each  of  these  Vials. 

Boils  are  caused  by  bad  blood,  and  reveal  corruption  in  the  sys- 
tem. These  "grievous  sores"  which  will  come  upon  MEN  ONLY, 
and  not  upon  the  beasts  also  as  in  the  time  of  Moses,  will  not  only 
reveal  corruption  in  the  body,  but  in  the  heart  of  those  whose  sins 
will  cause  corruption  in  their  bodies.  That  these  "sores"  are  re- 
served for  those  who  have  the  "MARK  OF  THE  BEAST,"  and  who 
worship  his  IMAGE  is  further  proof  that  these  "Vial  Judgments" 
are  still  future.    Here  is  the  fulfillment  of  Rev.  14:9-11. 

The  effect  of  the  Plague  of  Boils  upon  the  Egyptians  was  to 
harden  their  hearts,  and  a  like  effect  will  be  produced  upon  the  fol- 
lowers of  Antichrist  by  the  Plagues  that  shall  follow  the  pouring  out 
of  the  "Vials,"  for  we  read  in  verse  9,  that  men  will  blaspheme  God, 
and  refuse  to  repent.  From  this  we  see  that  suffering  alone  does  not 
lead  to  repentance. 


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142        THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

SECOND  VIAL. 

(Blood  On  the  Sea.) 

Rev.  16:3. 

"And  the  'Second  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  upon  the  sea: 
and  it  became  as  the  blood  of  a  dead  man:  and  every  living  soul 
died  in  the  sea." 

We  saw  that  at  the  sounding  of  the  "Second  Trumpet,"  that  the 
third  part  of  the  sea  became  blood,  and  the  third  part  of  the  creatures 
which  were  in  the  sea,  and  had  life,  died;  and  the  third  part  of  the 
ships  were  destroyed.  Rev.  8 : 8-9.  Here  the  whole  of  the  sea  is 
affected.  This  may  mean  only  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  or  the  Mediter- 
ranean Sea,  and  not  the  oceans  of  the  earth.  It  does  not  follow  that 
this  blood  is  that  of  men.  It  may  be  only  of  the  living  creatures 
that  are  in  the  sea.  The  Revised  Version  translates  (in  the  margin) 
the  word  "soul"  as  the  "soul  of  life,"  and  we  know  that  the  word 
"soul"  implies  "self  conscious  life,"  and  this  is  common  to  all  ani- 
mal life.  The  blood  is  certainly  not  the  blood  of  sailors  and  marines 
caused  by  some  great  naval  battle.  The  inference  is  that  the  crea- 
tures in  the  sea  died,  not  because  of  the  loss  of  their  own  blood,  but 
because  the  waters  of  the  sea  became  "AS  the  blood  of  a  dead  man" 
— that  is,  corrupt. 

THIRD  VIAL. 
(Blood  On  the  Rivers.) 

Rev.  16:4-7. 

"And  the  'Third  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  upon  the  riverm 
and  fountains  o£  waters;  and  they  BECAME  BLOOD.  And  I 
heard  the  'Angel  of  the  Waters*  say,  Thou  art  righteous,  O 
Lord,  which  art,  and  wast,  and  shalt  be,  because  Thou  hast 
judged  thus.  For  they  have  shed  the  blood  of  saints  and  proph- 
ets, and  Thou  hast  given  them  BLOOD  TO  DRINK;  for  they 
are  worthy.  And  I  heard  another  out  of  the  Altar  say,  Even  so. 
Lord   God   Almighty,   true   and   righteous   are   Thy   Judgments." 

This  is  a  repetition  of  the  "First  Egyptian  Plague."  Ex.  7: 
19-24.  When  the  waters  of  Egypt  were  turned  into  blood  all  the 
fish  died,  but  here  nothin/r  is  snid  about  the  inhabitants  of  the  riv- 
ers and  ponds.  Then  John  neard  the  "Angel  of  the  Waters"  say — 
"Thou  art  righteous,  O  Lora,  which  art,  and  wast,  and  shall  be, 
because  Thou  hast  judged  thus.  For  they  have  shed  the  blood  of 
saints  and  prophets,  and  'ihou  hast  given  them  BLOOD  TO 
DRINK;  for  they  are  worthy,"  or  deserve  it.  As  a  confirmation  of 
the  saying  of  the  "Angel  of  the  Waters,"  John  heard  another  voice 
come  from  the  Altar,  saying,  "Even  so,  Lord  God  Almighty,  true 
and  righteous  are  Thy  Judgments."  Those  will  be  awful  times  when 
there  will  be  nothing  but  BLOOD  to  quench  the  thirst.  The  ex- 
pression "Angel  of  the  Waters,"  reveals  the  fact  that  even  certain 
divisions  of  nature  are  controlled  ky  angels. 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       143 

FOURTH  VIAL. 

(Great  Heat.) 

Rev.  16:8-9. 

"And  the  'Fourth  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  UPON  THE 
SUN;  and  power  was  given  unto  him  (the  Sun)  to  scorch  men 
with  fire.  And  men  were  scorched  with  GREAT  HEAT,  and 
blasphemed  the  name  of  God,  which  hath  power  over  these 
Plagues;  and  they  repented  not  to  give  Him  glory." 

Under  the  "Fourth  Trumpet"  the  third  part  of  the  Sun  was  smit- 
ten, and  the  third  part  of  the  Moon  and  of  the  Stars ;  so  as  the  third 
part  of  them  was  darkened,  and  the  day  shone  not  for  a  third  part 
of  it,  and  the  night  likewise.  Rev.  8 :  12.  But  it  was  only  the  light 
that  was  diminished,  nothing  is  said  about  the  heat  of  the  Sun.  This 
"Fourth  Vial"  is  therefore  not  a  recurrence  of  the  "Fourth  Trumpet." 
Here  the  heat  of  the  Sun  is  intensified,  and  so  great  is  the  heat  that 
men  are  scorched  by  it.  How  this  will  be  done  it  is  useless  to  con- 
jecture. It  is  the  time  spoken  of  by  Malachi.  "Behold,  the  day 
Cometh  that  shall  BURN  AS  AN  OVEN;  and  all  the  proud,  yea, 
and  all  that  do  wickedly,  shall  be  stubble ;  at:d  the  day  that  cometh 
shall  burn  them  up,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  that  it  shall  leave  them 
neither  root  nor  branch" ;  and  the  time  is  iocaied  as  just  before  the 
"SUN  OF  RIGHTEOUSNESS"  shall  arise  with  healing  in  His 
wings.  Mai.  4:1-2.  The  eflFect  of  this  Plague  will  be  not  to  make 
men  repent,  but  to  cause  them  to  blaspheme  the  name  oi  God. 
Blessed  will  those  people  be  who  do  not  live  to  see  that  day. 

FIFTH  VIAL. 
(Darkness.) 

Rev.  16:10-11. 

"And  the  'Fifth  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  upon  the  SEAT 
(Throne)  OF  THE  BEAST:  and  his  Kingdom  was  full  of  dark- 
ness;   and    they    GNAWED    THEIR    TONGUES    FOR    PAIN, 
and   blasphemed   the   God   of   Heaven  because  of  their   'PAINS' 
and  their  'SORES,'  and  repented  not  of  their  deeds." 

Here  we  have  a  repetition  of  the  "Ninth  Egyptian  Plague,"  that 
of  DARKNESS.  Ex.  10:21-23.  This  is  the  "day"  spoken  of  by 
Joel.  "A  day  of  darkness  and  of  gloominess,  a  day  of  clouds  and  of 
thick  darkness."  Joel  2:  1-2.  Christ  speaks  of  it  in  Mark  13:24.  as 
the  time  when  "the  Sun  shall  be  darkened,  and  the  Moon  shall  not 
give  her  light." 

Notice  that  this  Plague  immediately  follows  the  Plague  of 
"Scorching  Heat,"  as  if  God  in  mercy  would  hide  the  Sun  whose, 
rays  had  been  so  hard  to  bear.  The  effect  of  the  darkness  was  to 
make  men  gnaw  their  tongues  for  PAIN  an  *  for  their  SORES, 
showing  that  these  Plagues  overlapped  each  oJier.  or  folloAved  in 
such  rapid  order  that  they  were  not  over  the  sufferin^i:  of  one  before 
they  were  suffering  from  another,  and  that  they  were  limited  to  a 
short  period  of  a  few  months,  and  not  distributed  over  a  period  of 
years  as  the  Historical  School  of  interpretation  claims.     . 


144      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

The  notable  feature  is,  that  their  sufferings  brought  no  repent- 
ance, but  caused  them  to  blaspheme  the  God  of  Heaven.  Some  talk 
of  conversion  in  Hell,  and  of  the  ultimate  restoration  of  the  wicked, 
but  it  is  not  revealed  here.  If  Hell's  torments  will  cause  men  to 
repent,  why  do  not  the  torments  of  those  under  these  plagues  lead 
to  repentance?  No,  it  only  causes  them  to  blaspheme  the  more,  and 
while  sin  and  impenitence  last,  Hell  lasts.  This  Plague  extends  over 
the  whole  Kingdom  of  the  Beast. 

SIXTH  VIAL. 

(The  Euphrates  Dried  Up.) 

Rev.   16:12. 

"And  the  'Sixth  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  upon  the  GREAT 
RIVER  EUPHRATES;  and  the  water  thereof  was  DRIED  UP, 
that  the  way  of  the  'Kings  of  the  East'  might  be  prepared." 

This  means  the  literal  river  Euphrates.  The  other  Plagues  will 
be  real,  and  why  does  not  this  mean  the  drying  up  of  the  real  Eu- 
phrates River.  The  opening  up  of  a  dry  passage  through  the  Red  Sea 
that  the  Children  of  Israel  might  escape  from  Egypt,  and  the  parting 
of  the  waters  of  the  River  Jordan  that  they  might  pass  over  into  the 
Land  of  Canaan,  are  facts  of  history,  why  then  shall  not  the  River 
Euphrates  be  dried  up  that  the  Kings  of  the  East  and  their  armies 
may  cross  over  and  assemble  for  the  Battle  of  Armageddon?  The 
prophecy  in  Isa.  11: 15-16,  where  "the  Lord  shall  utterly  destroy  the 
tongue  of  the  Egyptian  Sea  (Red  Sea),  and  .  .  •  shake  His 
hand  over  the  River  (Euphrates)  and  smite  its  seven  streams,  so 
men  can  go  over  'DRY  SHOD*/'  refers  to  this  time.  The  Kings 
shall  journey  East  from  Africa,  and  West  from  Asia  that  they  may 
meet  in  Palestine  for  the  "Battle  of  Armageddon."  The  drying  up 
of  the  Euphrates  will  serve  a  twofold  purpose.  It  will  permit  the 
remnant  of  Israel  from  Assyria  to  return,  and  also  allow  the  nations 
of  the  far  East  to  be  gathered  for  the  "Judgment  of  Nations."  Matt. 
25:31-46. 

THE  INTERVAL  BETWEEN  THE  "SIXTH"  AND 
"SEVENTH"  VIALS. 

THREE  UNCLEAN  SPIRITS. 

Rev.  16:13-16. 

"And  I  saw  THREE  UNCLEAN  SPIRITS  like  frogs  come 
out  of  the  mouth  of  the  'Dragon,'  and  out  of  the  mouth  of  the 
'Beast,'  and  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  'False  Prophet.'  For  they 
are  the  'SPIRITS  OF  DEVILS*  (Demons),  working  miracles, 
which  go  forth  unto  the  'Kings  of  the  Earth'  and  of  the  whole 
world,  to  gather  them  to  the  Battle  of  that  'Great  Day  of  God 
Almighty'  (Armageddon).  Behold  I  come  as  a  thief.  Blessed 
is  he  that  watcheth,  and  keepeth  his  garments,  lest  he  walk 
naked,  and  they  see  his  shame.  And  he  (they  R.  V.)  gathered 
them  together  into  a  place  called  in  the  Hebrew  tongue  Arma- 
geddon."    (Har-Mageddon   R.   V.) 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.      14S 


REV.Ifi:l3-ie 


Here  we  are  told  how  the  "Kings  of  the  Earth"  and  their  armies 
are  t-o  be  gathered  for  the  "Battle  of  Armageddon."  "THREE 
UNCLEAN  SPIRITS"  like  frogs,  John  does  not  say  they  were 
frogs,  will  come  one  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  "Dragon,"  one  out  of 
the  mouth  of  the  "Beast,"  and  one  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  "False 
Prophet."  That  they  are  not  real  frogs  is  clear  from  their  miracle 
working  power.  They  are  the  "SPIRITS  OF  DEMONS,"  working 
miracles,  which  go  forth  unto  the  "Kings  of  the  Earth,"  and  of  the 
whole  world,  to  gather  them  to  the  "Battle  of  that  Great  Day  of  God 
Almighty."  They  are  the  "Seducing  Spirits"  who  go  forth  preaching 
the  "DOCTRINE  OF  DEVILS"  in  the  "latter  times"  of  whom 
Paul  warns  Timothy.  1.  Tim.  4:1.  They  are  sent  out  by  the  "SA- 
TANIC TRINITY,"  the  "Dragon,"  the  "Beast,"  and  the  "False 
Prophet,"  on  a  miracle  working  ministry. 

They  are  "frog-like"  in  that  they  come  forth  out  of  the  pestifer- 
ous quagmires  of  darkness,  do  their  devilish  work  in  the  evening 
shadows  of  "Man's  Day,"  and  creep,  and  croak,  and  defile,  and  fill 
the  ears  of  the  nations  with  their  noisy  demonstrations,  until  they 
set  the  kings  and  armies  of  the  nations  in  enthusiastic  commotion 
and  movement  toward  the  Holy  Land  to  crush  out  the  efifort  to 
establish  the  Kingdom  of  Christ  on  earth.  We  have  an  illustration 
of  their  method  and  purpose  in  the  story  of  the  destruction  of  King 
Ahab.     1.  Kings  22:20-38. 

The  power  of  a  delusive  and  enthusiastic  sentiment,  however 
engendered,  to  lead  to  destruction  great  hosts  of  men  is  seen  in 
the  Crusades  to  recover  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem.  If  a 
religious  fanatacism  could,  at  9  different  times,  cause  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  religious  devotees  to  undergo  unspeakable  hardships 
for  a  religious  purpose,  what  will  not  the  miracle  working  wonders 
of  the  "FROG-LIKE  DEMONS"  of  the  last  days  of  this  Dispensa- 
tion not  be  able  to  do  in  arousing  whole  nations,  and  creating  vast 
armies  to  march  in  all  directions  from  all  countries,  headed  by  their 
Kings,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the  establishment  of  the  King- 
dom of  the  King  of  Kings  in  His  own  Land  of  Palestine? 


146      THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER. 

SEVENTH  VIAL. 

(Great  Hail.) 

Rev.  16:17-21. 

"And  the  'Seventh  Angel'  poured  out  his  Vial  INTO  THE 
AIR:  and  there  came  a  great  voice  out  of  the  Temple  of  Heaven, 
from  the  Throne,  saying— IT  IS  DONE.  And  there  were 
VOICES,  and  THUNDERS,  and  LIGHTNINGS;  and  there  was 
a  GREAT  EARTHQUAKE,  such  as  was  not  since  men  were 
upon  the  earth,  so  mighty  an  earthquake,  and  so  great.  And  the 
Great  City  (Jerusalem)  was  divided  into  three  parts,  and  the 
cities  of  the  nations  fell,  and  Great  Babylon  came  in  remem- 
brance before  God,  to  give  unto  her  the  cup  of  the  wine  of  the 
fierceness  of  His  wrath.  And  every  island  fled  away,  and  the 
mountains  were  not  foimd  (they  will  be  leveled).  And  there 
fell  upon  men  a  GREAT  HAIL  out  of  heaven,  every  stone  about 
the  weight  of  a  talent:  and  men  blasphemed  God  because  of  the 
Plague  of  the  Hail;  for  the  Plague  thereof  was  exceeding  great." 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  at  the  breaking  of  the  "Seventh  SEAL," 
and  the  sounding  of  the  "Seventh  TRUMPET,"  and  the  pouring  out 
of  the  "Seventh  VIAL,"  that  the  same  things  occur.  That  is,  voices 
and  thunderings  are  heard,  great  lightning  is  seen,  and  there  is  a 
GREAT  EARTHQUAKE.  And  at  the  sounding  of  the  "Seventh 
TRUMPET,"  and  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Seventh  VIAL"  there  is 
a  GREAT  HAIL  STORM.  This  only  confirms  what  has  been  al- 
ready stated  that  the  ^'SEVENTH  SEAL"  includes  the  Trumpets" 
and  "Vials,"  and  that  the  "SEVENTH  TRUMPET"  includes  the 
"Vials,"  and  that  what  happens  during  the  "Seventh  SEAL,"  and  the 
"Seventh  TRUMPET,"  and  the  "Seventh  VIAL,"  all  refers  to  the 
same  period,  the  "END  OF  THE  WEEK."  In  other  words,  the 
opening  of  the  "Seventh  SEAL"  reveals  the  events  that  are  about  to 
happen ;  the  blast  of  the  "Seventh  TRUMPET"  announces  the  events 
as  forth-coming,  and  the  outpouring  of  the  "Seventh  VIAL"  exe- 
cutes them. 

When  the  "Seventh  SEAL"  was  broken  there  was  "SILENCE" 
in  Heaven,  but  when  the  "Seventh  TRUMPET"  sounded,  and  the 
"Seventh  VIAL"  was  poured  out  there  were  "GREAT  VOICES"  in 
Heaven.  The  "Great  Voice"  at  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Seventh  Vial" 
was  from  the  Throne,  and  cried— "IT  IS  DONE."  When  Christ 
expired  on  the  Cross  He  cried— "IT  IS  FINISHED,"  that  is,  the 
way  and  plan  of  Salvation  was  complete,  and  this  voice  from  the 
Throne  that  cries  "IT  IS  DONE"  may  be  His  voice,  announcing 
that  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Seventh  Vial"  finishes  the  wrath  of  God. 

The  "Great  Earthquake"  that  follows  will  be  the  greatest  that 
this  world  has  ever  seen.  It  is  foretold  in  Zech.  14:4-5.  So  great 
will  it  be,  that  it  will  level  the  mountains,  and  destroy  islands,  and 
so  change  the  contour  and  shape  of  the  Land  of  Palestine  and  the 
surrounding  countries  and  seas,  as  to  make  new  maps  of  that  part 
of  the  world  necessary;  and  it  will  raise  the  Dead  Sea  so  that  its 
waters  shall  flow  again  into  the  Red  Sea.  Ez.  47 : 1-12.  It  will 
divide  the  "Great  City"  (Jerusalem)  into  3  parts,  and  the  cities  of 
the  Nations  (the  "Ten  Federated  Nations"),  and  "GREAT  BABY- 


THE  THINGS  WHICH  SHALL  BE  HEREAFTER.       147 

LON,"  whose  destruction  is  described  in  chapter  eighteen,  will  be 
destroyed  in  that  "Great  Earthquake."  This  reference  to  the  "City 
of  Babylon"  is  further  incidental  proof  that  the  City  of  Babylon  is 
to  be  rebuilt.  Among  the  cities  destroyed  in  that  Earthquake  will 
be  Rome,  Naples,  London,  Paris,  and  Constantinople. 

At  that  time  there  will  fall  upon  men  a  "GREAT  HAIL."  Each 
stone  will  weigh  about  a  Talent,  or  100  pounds.  Here  we  have  a 
repetition  of  the  "SEVENTH  EGYPTIAN  PLAGUE."  Ex.  9: 
13-35.  Hail  has  been  one  of  God's  engines  of  destruction.  He  used 
it  to  discomfit  the  enemies  of  Israel  at  Beth-horon  in  the  days  of 
Joshua.  Josh.  10:11.  The  "Law"  required  that  the  "Blasphemer" 
should  be  "STONED  TO  DEATH"  (Lev.  24:16),  and  here  these 
Blasphemers  of  the  "End  Time"  shall  be  STONED  FROM 
HEAVEN. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  "Seventh  Vial"  covers  the  whole 
period  from  the  time  the  "Seventh  Angel"  pours  out  its  contents  until 
Christ  returns  to  the  Mount  of  Olives.  For  the  earthquake  that  splits 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  upheaves  the  land  of  Palestine,  levels  mountains, 
submerges  islands,  and  destroys  the  cities  of  the  Nations,  along  with 
the  City  of  Babylon,  is  caused  by  the  touch  of  Christ's  feet  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives  at  the  Revelation  stage  of  His  Second  Coming  (Zech. 
14:4),  and  the  "Great  Hail"  in  all  probability  will  not  fall  until  the 
time  comes  in  the  crisis  of  the  Battle  of  Armageddon  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Allied  armies  of  Antichrist.  Hailstones  will  be  the  mis- 
siles used  by  the  Armies  of  Heaven. 

In  Rev.  19:15,  we  are  told  that  out  of  the  mouth  of  Christ,  at  His 
return,  will  go  a  "SHARP  SWORD,"  that  with  it  He  should  smite 
the  nations,  and  in  2  Thess.  2:8,  we  are  told  that  Antichrist  (that 
WICKED),  shall  be  consumed  by  the  "SPIRIT  OF  THE  LORD'S 
MOUTH."  Whether  we  take  these  statements  as  literal  or  not,  it 
is  clear  that  they  stand  for  some  supernatural  means  of  destruction, 
and  refer  more  to  the  followers  of  Antichrist,  than  to  Antichrist  him- 
self, for  he  personally  is  not  to  be  destroyed,  but  is  to  be  cast 
ALIVE  into  the  "Lake  of  Fire."  Rev.  19:20. 

As  the  pouring  out  of  the  "Seventh  Vial"  finishes  the  "Wrath 
of  God,"  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  purposes  of  the  Book  of  Revela- 
tion to  foretell  at  this  point  what  will  then  happen  to  the  enemies  of 
God.  These  we  will  now  examine  under  the  heading  the  "Seven 
Dooms." 


Figure 1. Assorted antennas and their uses. 


CHAPTER 1 
INTRODUCTION 


Section  . THE ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVE 


1. General 


a. The study of antennas and wave propazation 
is essential to a complete understanding o:' radio 
communication, radar, loran, and other e:ectronic 
systems. In such systems, energy in the form of 
radio or electromagnetic waves is generated by 
electronic equipment and fed to an anterna by 
means of special transmissicn lines. The antenna 
radiates this energy out into space at the speed of 
light (approximately 186,090 miles per second). 
Receiving antennas, when placed in the path of 
the traveling wave, absorb part of this energy 


ov 


TRANSMITTING ~ 
ANTENNA 


TRANSMISSION —— 
CINE 


TRANSMITTER 


and send it to the receiving equipment by means 
of a transmission line. ‘Thus, the components 
required for successful transmission of intelligence 
by means of radio waves are a transmitter and 
transmission line, a transmitting antenna, a 
medium through which the waves travel (for 
example, the atmosphere surrounding the earth), 
a receiving antenna, another transmission line, 
and suitable receiving equipment. Figure 2 is a 
block diagram showing the arrangernent of these 
components. 

b. The ability to obtain successful communica- 
tion by means of radio waves depends chiefly on 


Figure 2. 


(MEDIUM 
od (EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE} 


the power of the transmitter, the distance between 
transmitter and receiver, and the sensitivity of 
the receiver. The ability of the earth’s atmos- 
phere to conduct the energy to its destination, 
together with the nature of the terrain between 
the sending and the receiving points, may, however, 
be responsible for the frequency selected; inter- 
fering signals may make reception impossible at 
a desired time, and the amount of noise present 
and transmission line losses may combine to make 
an otherwise good signal unintelligible. To under- 
stand the proper importance of all these factors it 
is necessary first to investigate the nature of the 


PORTION OF RADIO WAVE 
INTERCEPTED BY RECISVING 
ANTENNA 


RECEIVING 
ANTENNA 


— TRANS#HMISSION 
LINE 


RECEIVER 


TM 666-1 


Simple radio communications network. 


radio wave and the factors affecting its successful 
propagation. 


2. Wave Motion 


a. Heinrich Hertz, in 1887, demonstrated that 
electromagnetic energy could be sent out int 
space in the form of radio waves. It is known, 
of course, that an induction field exists about any 
wire carrying an electric current. Another field, 
called the radiation field, exists, becomes detached 
from the wire, and travels through space to make 
radio communication possible. Attempts have 


been made to illustrate the action involved by 
comparing it to the waves formed by dropping a 
stone on the smooth surface of a pond. Although 
the analogy is not exact, it does serve a useful 
purpose because it makes comparison with a well 
known physical action. Figure 3 shows such an 
event taking place, the waves appearing to be a 
series of regularly alternating crests and hollows 
moving radially outward in all directions from the 
point of disturbance on the surface of the water. 

b. Figure 4 presents a graphical analysis of this 
action, showing how the stone imparts its energy 
to the water surface. A of figure 4 shows the 
falling stone just an instant before it strikes the 
water. Its energy has been derived from the 
gravitational pull exerted on it by the earth, and 
the amount of this energy depends not orly on the 
weight of the stone but also on the height from 
which it has been dropped. B of figure 4 shows 
the action taking place at the instant the stone 
strikes the surface, pushing the water around it 
upward and outward, thereby imparting an initial 
velocity to the mass of water at this point of con- 
tact. In C of figure 4 the stone has sunk deeper 
into the water, which closes violently over it, 
causing some spray, while the leading wave has 
moved radially outward because of its initial 
velocity. An instant later, the stone will have 
sunk out of sight, leaving the water agitated 


(D of fig. 4). Here the leading wave has continued 
to move outward, and is followed by a series of 
waves of gradually diminishing amplitude; mean- 
while, the agitation in the immediate vicinity of 
the original point of contact gradually subsides. 
Note that the leading wave has amplitude (note 
A, fig. 4) and wavelength (note B, fig. 4) corre- 
sponding to 1 complete cycle. 

c. Of course, this action fails to compare with 
that of electromagnetic radiation, since a con- 
tinuous wave motion is not imparted to the surface 
of the water by a dropped stone, the action just 
described being that of a damped oscillation. 
But suppose a string to be attached to the stone 
of figure 4 so that its upward and downward 
motion can be controlled from above. Before the 
event shown in C of figure 4, takes place, the stone 
is pulled sharply upward after its initial fall to the 
position shown in A of figure 5, and then lowered 
again to the position shown in B of figure 5. 
The result of these upward and downward motions 
is to reinforce the diminishing amplitude of the 
succeeding waves, and, if the timing and the down- 
ward force of the stone are exactly right, waves of 
constant amplitude continue to travel outward 
from the disturbing source at a velocity, », 
determined by the product of the frequency, f, 
of the downward motion (those that impart 
energy to the medium) multiplied by the measured 


Figure 8. Formation of waves in water. 


a 
@-— FALLING OBJECT 


NOTES: A AMPLITUDE OF LEADING WAVE. 
B CORRESPONDS TO 1 CYCLE OF OSCILLATION. 


LEADING WAVE FORMS AT INSTANT 
OBJECT STRIKES WATER 


TM 666-2 


Figure 4. How a falling stone imparts wave motion to a water surface. 


wavelength (lambda), of the resulting waves. 
(Since LZ is used conventionally as the symbol for 
inductance and / for dimensional length, the 
equivalent Greek letter, 4, is used for the length 
of waves.) Thus: v=)Af. If the frequency and 
the velocity of propagation are known, then the 
wavelength may be determined: 


=0/f 

d. This same type of action takes place at the 
antenna of a radio transmitter, the medium in this 
case being the free space about the antenna 
instead of a water surface, and the disturbing 
source a fluctuating induction field in place of a 
moving stone. The preceding formulas (¢ above) 
hold for this wave motion and for all types of 
wave motion, whether it be of water waves, sound 
waves in air, or light and electromagnetic waves. 
in free space. It should be noted, however, that. 
the term free space is used to denote the unob- 
structed medium through which radio waves 
travel. Free space implies that the source (trans- 
mitter and antenna in the case of radio waves) is 
surrounded by nothing except ordinary air or 


\ [© 


Figure 5. Formation of continuous waves in water. 


vacuum. The presence of trees, hills, lakes, or 
other aspects of the local terrain modifies in each 
case the effective radiation of an electromagnet:c 
wave. And thus, although the surface of the 
earth, or the air near its surface, is not considered 
to be free space, the formula in ¢ above still will 
hold in terms of properly modified factors. 

e. Like light and radiant heat, radio waves 
are a form of radiant energy propagated through 
space at a speed of nearly 300,000,000 mete:s 
(186,000 miles) persecond. Thus,a wave alternat- 
ing at a frequency of 1,000,000 cycles per second 
has a wavelength of approximately 982 feet. 


Since: 4=0/f=186,000/1,000,000 
A4=0.186 mile 

Converting to fect: =0.186 x 5,280 
A=982 feet. 


Then one half-wavelength or \/2=982/2=491 feet. 


3. Radiation from a Half-wave Antenna 


a. Although nothing has been said about the 
characteristics of a half-wave antenna, it is con- 
venient to use this element in describing the 
mechanism of radiation. Simply stated, a hal’- 
wave antenna is one which is approximately a 
half-wave long at the operating frequency. For 
example, at 30 megacycles, a half-wave antenna ‘s 
approximately 16 feet long. When power is 
delivered to such an antenna, two fields are set 
up by the fluctuating energy: one the induction 
field, which is associated with the stored energy 
(par. 6), and the other the radiation field, which 
moves out into space at nearly the speed of light, 
At the antenna, the intensities of these fields are 
large and are proportional to the amount of power 
delivered to the antenna. At a short distance 
from the antenna, and beyond, only the radiation 
field prevails. This radiation field is made uo 
of an electric component and a magnetic compo- 
nent at right angles to each other in space and 
varying together in intensity. 

b. Figure 6 shows the manner in which the 
radiation field is propagated away from the 
antenna. The electric and magnetic components 
are represented here by separate sets of flux lines, 
which are at right angles to each other and to the 
radial direction of propagation. The picture is 
representative of any plane containing the antenna, 
and applies for only a single instant of time. The 
magnetic flux lines are shown as circular lines 
having the axis of the antenna as their axis, so 
that they appear in the illustration as dots and 


4 


crosses. The electric flux lines also are closed, or 
endless, lines in the present case, and consist 
essentially of arcs of circles lying in planes con- 
taining the antenna and joined in the manner 
shown. These electric flux lines reverse direction 
at precisely the places where the magnetic flux 
lines reverse, and their density varies along the 
radial direction in the way that the magnetic flux 
density varies. In fact, the electric flux density 
is everywhere proportional to the magnetic flux 
density. 

c. The correct configuration of flux lines for a 
single instant of time is shown in figure 6. As 
time passes, these flux lines expand radially with 
the velocity of light, and new flux lines are created 
at the antenna to replace those that travel 
outward. Thus, oscillating electric and magnetic 
fields are produced along the path of travel. The 
frequency of the oscillating fields is the same as the 
frequency of the antenna current, and the magni- 
tudes of both fields vary continuously with this 
current. The variations in the magnitude of the 
electric component (called the E field) and those 
of the magnetic component (called the H field) 
are in time phase, so that at every point in space 
the time-varying magnetic field induces a differ- 
ence in voltage, which is the electric field. The 
electric field also varies with time, and its varia- 
tion is equivalent to a current, even though it is 
not associated with a movement of charge. This 
is called the displacement current, and it estab- 
lishes a magnetic field in precisely the way that a 
conduction current does. Thus, the varying mag- 
netic field produces a varying electric field, and the 
varying electric field, through its associated dis- 
placement current, sustains the varying magnetic 
SJueld. Each field supports the other, and neither 
can be propagated by itself, without setting up the 
other. 

d. The mechanism by which the flux lines of the 
radiation field become separated from the antenna 
and are radiated out into space can be understood 
by considering the movement of the charges which 
pass back and forth along the length of the antenna 
as a result of the driving current. At an instant 
of time when positive charges are distributed 
along one half of the antenna, and negative 
charges along the other half, electric flux lines 
originate on the positive charges and terminate 
on the negative charges. These flux lines follow 
paths in space such as those indicated in A of 
figure 7. As time passes, the separated charges 
again come together, bringing the two ends of the 


“ \ 


DIPOLE ANTENNA =: 


ELECTRIC FLUX 
MAGNETIC FLUX 


flux lines together, as in B of figure 7. When the 
unlike charges meet, they seem to cancel each 
other, and the flux lines attached to them collapse 
and cease to exist. Thus, the two ends of the 


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


x 
RADIAL VARIATION / 
~. OF FLUX DENSITIES 


Ed 


Figure 6. Electric and magnetic fields about an antenna. 


TM 666-4 


flux lines become joined, creating closed lines 
which are snapped free from the antenna and 
propagated outward, as shown in C and D of 
figure 7. 


4 
i 
a 
i 
8 
g 
3 
$ 
3 
2 


TM 666-5 


Figure 7. Creation of closed electric lines at an antenna. 


‘quosf sanm fo sonfine assaasuny unig “9 anit gy 


aes 


Co 


em! 


7 


4. The Wave Front 


Actually, the radiation field may be conceived 
of as a series of concentric expanding surfaces 
following one after the other. On each of these 
surfaces, the radiation field is at a constant phase 
of vibration and is called s wave front. Figure 
3 illustrates this concept. If the surface of the 
water about the point of disturbance is examined, 
water waves are observed to be radiating outward, 
increasing in circumference as they travel. At 
a distance from the origin, the circular pattern 
becomes less apparent and, when a small trans- 
verse section of the disturbed surface is studied, 
only arcs of relatively large circles of the wave 
front appear, and these seem to be transverse 
straight lines. Similar effects occur with radio 
waves that are radiated from an antenna, so that, 
at great distances from the antenna, a small por- 
tion of the wave front may be taken to be a 
transverse plane surface (fig. 8). From the point 


of view of the observer, the wave fronts march 
past, varying sinusoidally in direction and mag- 
nitude, as shown by the graphs at the top of the 
picture. 


ELECTRIC FIELD 
COMPONENT 


RECEIVING 
) ANTENNA 


TM 686-6 


Figure 9. Components of electromagnetic wave. 


a. FE and H Fields. In considering the radio 
signal path between a transmitting and a receiving 
antenna, the concept of a moving wave front 
becomes important. This path is assumed to 
follow a straight line in the direction of travel. In 
traveling this way, the radio wave may be 
described as moving electromagnetic field, having 
velocity in the direction of travel, and with com- 
ponents of electric intensity and magnetic inten- 
sity arranged at right angles to each other (fig. 9). 
This figure indicates that the instantaneous ampli- 
tudes and phase relations of the electric field, EZ, 
and the magnetic field, H, change with time 
according to the frequency of the wave. In order 
to visualize this action, imagine a receiving antenna 
in the path of the oncoming wave (fig. 10). Now 
consider that the entire wave is moving at a con- 
stant speed in the direction indicated. The 
intensities of both the electric and the magnetic 
fields will be maximum at the same instant 4s the 
crest of the wave passes the antenna, and mini- 
mum at the same instant the zero point is reached, 
but at all times the fields are perpendicular to each 
other. It should be kept in mind that figure 10 
shows only one transverse section of the entire 
wave front, which fills all the space shown in the 
figure. 

b. Directional Conventions. The direction of the 
electric or magnetic component of an electromag- 
netic wave at any instant is determined by the 
conventions described below. It should be noted, 
however, that the electric and magnetic compo- 
nents of a radiated field are in phase in respect to 
time and 90° out of phase in respect to space, but 
that the electric and magnetic components of the 
induction field are 90° out of phase in respect to 
both time and space. Therefore, for the duration 


RECEIVING ANTENNA 


= , TL 194278 


Figure 10. E and H fields of radiated wave. 


of s given electric induction field, the magnetic 
induction field is first in one direction at right 
angles to the increasing electric field and then in 
the opposite direction for the decreasing electric 
field. 

(1) Electric field. The direction of any elec- 
tric field is, like that of voltage, taken to 
be from plus to minus; that is, an arrow 
representing the direction of an electric 
field carries the plus sign at its tail and 
the minus sign at its head. This con- 
vention is based on the arbitrary selec- 
tion of a unit positive charge as a test 
charge, which in such a field would move 
from plus to minus. 

(2) Magnetic field (radiated). If the radiated 
field is moving away from an observer 
with the arrows indicating direction of 
the electric field pointing downward, the 
direction of the magnetic field is given by 
arrows pointing to the left. This con- 
vention is based on the generation of a 
magnetic field by current defined as 
electron flow—that is, moving negative 
charges—and determined by use of the 
left-hand rule. 

(3) Magnetic field (induction). To an observ- 
er looking outward from a transmitting 
antenna, an increasing electric field of 
downward direction would be accompa- 
nied by a magnetic field with arrows 
pointing to the left, and a decreasing 
electric field of downward direction 
would be accompanied by a magnetic 
field with arrows pointing to the right. 
By the same token, the electric induction 
field reverses direction for the duration 
of a given magnetic field. 


5. Polarization 


In describing the principal characteristics of a 
wave front, the electric field component is taken 
as the point of reference. For example, the inten- 
sity of a radio wave usually is measured in terms of 
the strength of the electric field, and the orienta-. 
tion of the wave in space usually is described in 
terms of the direction of wave travel and by the 
direction of the electric field. The direction of 
the electric field, in particular, determines the 
polarization of the wave. Thus, as shown in @ of 
figure 11, when the plane containing the electric 
field and the direction of travel is vertical, the: 


wave is said to be polarized vertically; if the plane 
is horizontal, as in ® of figure 11 the wave is said 
to be polarized horizontally. This polarization of 
the wave front is an important factor in the 
efficient transmission and reception of signals. 
Thus, if a single-wire antenna is used to extract 
energy from a passing radio wave, maximum pick- 
up will result when the antenna is so placed 
physically that it lies in the same direction as the 
electric field component. Therefore, a vertical 
antenna (one perpendicular to the ground) should 
be used for the efficient reception. of vertically 
polarized waves (those transmitted from a verti- 
cal antenna), and a horizontal antenna should be 
used for the reception of horizontally polarized 


“waves (those transmitted from a horizontal an- 


tenna). In both cases, the direction of travel is 
taken to be parallel to the earth’s surface. 


6. Field Intensity 


a. The conventional measure of the field inten- 
sity of a radiated wave is, as mentioned in the 
previous paragraph, a measure of the intensity of 
the electric field. This intensity usually is ex- 
pressed in volts, millivolts, or microvolts per 
meter, which is a measure of the dielectric stress 
produced by the electric field, or the voltage 
induced in a conductor 1 meter long when held so 
that it lies in the direction of the electric field and 
is at right angles to the direction of propagation 
and to the direction of the magnetic field. As the 
distance between the transmitting antenna and 
the receiving antenna becomes greater and greater, 
the field intensity of the radiated wave falls off 
proportionately to the distance. For example, if 
the received field intensity of a signal is 50 milli- 
volts per meter at a distance of 25 miles, then at 
50 miles, or twice the distance, the field intensity 
is one-half as much, or 25 millivolts. Thus, 
electric field intensity varies inversely with the 
distance from the transmitting antenna. 

b. In order to understand this variation of the 
field intensity of a radiated wave, consideration 
must be given to the relationship between the 
power radiated and the field intensity. As was 
known before the era of electronics, the power 
of a radiated wave, such as a light wave, falls off 
as the square of the distance between the source of 
light and the point of measurement. Thus, if 
lighted candle is placed in the center of a dark 
room, the intensity of its light will vary accord- 
ing to the square of the distance from it. In other 


DIRECTION OF TRAVEL ———— 


@® VERTICAL POLARIZATION 


DIRECTION OF TRAVEL ———~» 


(B) HORIZONTAL POLARIZATION 


TM 673-226 


Figure 11. Vertical and horizontal polarization. 


words, a sheet of paper held perpendicular to the 
rays of a candle and a certain distance from it will 
be lighted four times as brightly as one held at 
twice this same distance. The reason for this is 
illustrated in figure 12, where it may be seen that 
the same amount of light that is intercepted by the 
paper at A must be used to cover four times as 
great an area at B, which is twice as far from the 


candle as A. This law is expressed by the 
formula: 
A=A4rr’ 


where A is the area of any portion of the surface of 
a sphere of radius, 7, having its center at the 
source of the light. If 7 in figure 12 is equal to 1 
foot, the area of the sheet at A is then 4m (1)? or 


9 


4x, whereas the area of the sheet at B is equal to 
4x (2)? or 164. The amount of light intercepted 
at A is equivalent to the amount intercepted at B, 
which has an area four times as great. This same 
law holds for the field intensity of electromagnetic 
waves when the power intercepted in a unit area 
is considered. However, since electric power ex- 
pressed in terms of the voltage present is propor- 
tional to EF? (because P==?/R), then the square 
of the voltage falls off as the square of the distance, 
or voltage itself falls off as the distance. 


TM 666-7 


Figure 12. How light waves decrease in intensity as the 
square of the distance. 


c. This analysis of field strength and the man- 
ner in which it decreases at a distance from the 
radiating antenna supplies the basis for under- 
standing the relationship between the various 
fields and their components present at a trans- 
mitting antenna. As mentioned in paragraph 3c, 
two major fields are set up about a transmitting 
antenna when alternating current power is applied. 
The radiation field persists to great distances, and 
the manner in which the power and intensity of 


this field are related to distance has been described 
above. The induction field, on the other hand, 
is present only in the immediate area of the trans- 
mitting antenna, since its power falls off as the 
fourth power of the distance. Close by the an- 
tenna, the induction field is stronger than the 
radiation field, but, at a distance equal to a few 
wavelengths of the frequency transmitted, the 
induction field is so small as to be negligible. The 
induction field is the field usually associated with 
the voltage and current in any conductor, and as 
such not only is the electric component at right 
angles to the magnetic component (as it is about 
any inductance carrying alternating current), but 
also the usual phase shift of 90° between voltage 
and current prevails. The result is that the in- 
duction field is made up of two fields separated 
in space by 90° and in time by 90°, or (as some- 
times expressed) two fields in space quadrature and 
in time quadrature. The electric and magnetic 
components of the radiation field, as has been 
shown, are also in space quadrature but are in 
time phase. 

d. Perhaps some notion of the characteristics 
of the induction field may be gained from con- 
sidering that its components are the stored energy 
usually associated with a resonant circuit—the 
energy stored alternately by an inductor and a 
capacitor. Thus, the energy in the electrostatic 
field is the energy in the magnetic field (oscillating 
continuously from one to the other), and this 
energy in either case is returned to the antenna 
circuit. Therefore, the power in the radiation 
field is the power delivered to a transmitting an- 
tenna, less the heat loss in the antenna itself. 


Section Il. WAVE PROPAGATION 


7. The Atmosphere 


The study of wave propagation is concerned 
chiefly with the properties and effects of the actual 
medium through which radio waves must travel 
in following any given path between a transmit- 
ting antenna and a receiving antenna. Since the 
atmosphere about the earth is not uniform, chang- 
ing with a change in height or geographical lo- 
cation, or even with a change of time (day, night, 
season, year), the lack of uniformity appreciably 
influences the passage of electromagnetic waves 
through it, thereby adding many new factors to 
complicate what at first might seem to be a rel- 
atively simple communication problem. A know!l- 


10 


edge of the composition of the earth’s atmosphere 
is extremely important in solving this problem, 
and therefore, for purposes of understanding wave 
propagation, various layers of the atmosphere 
have been distinguished. These are the tropo- 
sphere, the stratosphere, and the ionosphere. Their 
relative positions are shown in figure 13. 

a. The Troposphere. The troposphere is that 
portion of the earth’s atmosphere extending from 
the surface of the earth to heights of about 11 km 
(kilometers), or approximately 61 miles. The 
temperature in this region varies appreciably with 
altitude. 

b. The Stratosphere. The stratosphere is that 
portion of the earth’s atmosphere lying between 


Heats CORPUSCLES Ml yo CORPUSCULAR RADIATION 
METERS [ECOSMIG "RAYS FAG ELECTR ONGS 


TEMPERATURES 


oe 


AYTIME SHORT-WAVE 
REFLECTION F!_REGIO 


E2 REGION: 


ROADGAST-WAVE 
REFLECTION Ei REGION 


LONG-WAVE 
REFLECTION 
«D REGION 


oe 


¢ er ey G 
TROPOSPHERE ISOTHERMAL LAYER 


OURO No ee 760 MM 


Me BASALTIC LAYER im 


TM 666- 168 


Figure 13. Layers of the earth's atmosphere. 


W 


the troposphere and the ionosphere. The tem- 
perature in this region is considered to be almost 
constant, and, hence, it is called the isothermal 
region. 

c. The Ionosphere. Besides the usual varia- 
tions of moisture content and temperature, and 
the variations in density associated with a change 
in elevation, the atmosphere is distinguished 
principally by the variation in amount of ioniza- 
tion present. The ionosphere accordingly is de- 
fined as that portion of the earth’s atmosphere 
above the lowest level at which ionization affects 
the transmission of radio waves. The ionization 
of this layer is large compared with that near the 
surface of the earth. It extends from about 50 
kilometers to 250 kilometers above the earth. 
The ionosphere is itself composed of several layers, 
as shown in figure 13, where ionization occurs at 
different levels and intensities. The properties 
of these layers and their effects upon the props- 
gation of electromagnetic waves are treated ia 
detail in the next chapter. 


8. Frequency Classifications 


An understanding of the effects of the atmos- 
pheric layers described above is complicated 
further by variations in the frequency of ths 
transmitted wave. The characteristics of low- 
frequency propagation are different from those of 
high-frequency propagation, and therefore, for 
ease of identification, the frequencies of propaga- 
tion usually are classed in ranges, as shown in 
table I. The choice of a given frequency as the 
point of division between classes, such as tha: 
between the very-high frequencies and the ultra- 
high frequencies, is more or less arbitrary and is 
agreed upon for convenience. Note that in this 
manual only those radio frequencies below 30 me 


Table I. Radto-Frequency Classifications 


Frequency (mc) Description 7 nik la 
Below .03.___.---.--- Very-low frequency_-_--  vif 
03 to .3   Low frequency --_.---- if 
3 to 3.0   Medium frequency --_-- mf 
3.0 to 30 High frequency. _...... hf 
30. to 300 Very-high frequency _..  vhf 
300 to 3,000 Ultrahigh frequency... _  ubf 
3,000 to 30,000 Superhigh frequency .__  shf 
30,000 to 300,000 Extremely-high fre- ehf 
quency. 


12 


(megacycles) per second are considered. The special 
considerations involved in the use of higher fre- 
quencies may be found in TM 11-667, Higher- 
frequency Techniques, and in TM 11-673, Gen- 
eration and Transmission of Microwave Energy. 


9. Propagation in the Atmosphere 


There are two principal ways in which radio 
waves travel from a transmitter to a receiver: by 
means of ground waves which travel directly from 
the transmitter to the receiver, and by means of 
sky waves which travel up to the electrically 
conducting layers of the earth’s atmosphere (the 
ionosphere), and are reflected by them back to 
the earth. Long-distance radio transmission takes 
place principally by means of sky waves, and short- 
distance transmission and all ultrahigh-frequency 
transmission take place by means of ground waves. 
Some forms of transmission consist of combina- 
tions of both. The propagation of the ground 
wave is in part affected by the electrical charac- 
teristics of the earth (soil or sea), and by diffraction, 
or bending, of the wave with the curvature of the 
earth. These characteristics differ in different 
localities, but under most conditions they are 
practically constant with time. Sky-wave propa- 
gation, on the other hand, is variable, since the 
state of the ionosphere is always changing and 
this, therefore, affects the reflection, or the refrac- 
tion, of the waves. 

a. Reflection. 

(1) The reflection of a radio wave is like that 
of any other type of wave. For instance, 
when a beam of light falls on the surface 
of a mirror, nearly all of it is turned back 
or reflected. As with light waves, the 
efficiency with which reflection of radio 
waves occurs depends on the material of 
the reflecting medium. Large, smooth, 
metal surfaces of good electrical conduc- 
tivity (such as copper) are very efficient 
reflectors of radio waves, reflecting nearly 
all of the energy carried by the incident 
waves. ‘The surface of the earth is itself 
a fairly good reflector of radio waves, 
particularly for waves that are incident 
at small angles from the horizontal; and 
the ionosphere, even though it is not a 
surface such as a mirror, is also a fairly 
good reflector of radio waves. 

(2) Figure 14 shows a planar wave front re- 
flected from a smooth surface. It should 


A 
ANGLE 
INCIDENT 


REFLECTING 
SURFACE 


POLARIZATION 


REFLECTION 


TM 666-40 


Figure 14. Reflection of a planar wave front. 


be remembered here that, as in the re- 
flection of light, the angle of incidence is 
always equal to the angle of reflection. 
However, the incident wave front, A—A1. 
is reversed by the reflecting surface and 
appears at B-B1 180° out of phase. 
The reason for this is that point X of the 
incident wave reaches the reflecting sur- 
face before point Y and is reflected to 
point X1 during the time it takes for 
point Y on the wave front to move to 
the point of reflection Y1. The parallel 
arrows indicate this change in phase. 


b. Refraction. 
(1) If a beam of light shines on a smooth 


surface of water, some of the light will be 
reflected and the remaining portion will 
penetrate the water, as shown in figure 
15. The phenomenon by which light 
waves penetrate the water in the manner 
shown is called refraction, and can be 
observed readily by examining a glass of 
water into which a spoon is immersed. 
If viewed from an angle, the spoon ap- 
pears broken or bent at the point where 


that a wave front is a surface of equal 
phase perpendicular to the direction of 
travel of the wave. In the case of water 
waves previously discussed, the crests 
of adjacent circular expanding ripples 
would correspond to the wave fronts 
shown in the figure. 


(2) Consider the wave front, A—A1 (fig. 16), 


one portion of which is arriving at the 
surface of the water. Since the speed of 
light is less in water than it is in air, the 
point marked A will advance the dis- 
tance, di, in a given length of time, 
whereas the point marked A1 will travel 
a greater distance, d2, in the same length 
of time, since it is still passing through a 
faster medium. As a result, the wave 
front will be turned into a new direction, 
and the beam will follow this new direction. 
Note that refraction occurs only when 
the wave or beam of light approaches 
the new medium in an oblique direction; 
if the whole wave front arrives at the new 
medium at the same moment, it is slowed 


it enters the surface of the water. The Sc 


reason for this is that light waves travel “ey 
at a slower speed through water than Kau. 
through air. Thus, in figure 15, the SS 


direction of travel of the refracted light 
is different from that of the light beam 
incident on the surface of the water. 
Figure 16 shows how this change of di- 
rection of the light beam occurs. The 


ANGLE OF INCIDENCE ——e- 


AIR 
WATER 


Xe, 
parallel lines in this figure, which look %, 
like steps of a ladder, represent wave \ 


fronts of a beam of light incident on the TM 666-8 
surface of the water. It will be recalled 


Figure 15. Reflection and refraction of a light beam. 
13 


DIRECTION OF TRAVEL 


INCIDENT LIGHT WAVES 


DIRECTION OF 
REFRACTED WAVE 


TM 666-4) 


Figure 16. Bending of a wave front by refraction. 


up uniformly and no bending occurs. 


The amount any wave is refractec. or 


bent as it passes from one medium to 

another is called the refractive indez. 

This index depends on the relative densi- 

ties of the two media and is actually a 

ratio which compares the velocity of an 
electromagnetic wave through a perfect 

vacuum to its velocity through a denser 

medium such as the earth’s atmosphere. 

ce. Diffraction. If a beam of light in an other- 
wise blacked-out room shines on the edge of an 
opaque screen, it will be observed that the screen 
will not cast a perfectly outlined shadow. ‘The 
edges of the shadow are not outlined sharply be- 
cause the light rays are bent around the edge of 
the object and decrease the area of total shadow. 
The diffraction or bending of a light wave around 
the edge of a solid object is slight. The lower the 
frequency of the wave, or the longer the wave- 
length, the greater the bending of the wave. 
Thus, radio waves are more readily diffracted than 
light waves, and sound waves more than radio 


CHRECTION OE 
WAavE MOTION 
i 


Figure 17. Diffraction of waves around solid object. 


waves. A and B of figure 17 illustrate this phe- 
nomenon and help to explain why radio waves of 
the proper frequency can be received on the far 
side of a hill or other natural obstruction, and why 
sound waves can be heard readily from around 
the corner of a large building. Diffraction is an 
important consideration in the propagation of 
radio waves at a distance, because the largest ob- 
ject to be contended with is the bulge of the earth 
itself, which prevents a direct passage of the wave 
from the transmitter to the receiver. This prob- 
lem is analyzed in detail in paragraphs 12 to 18 
on ground-wave propagation. 


Section Ill. SUMMARY AND REVIEW QUESTIONS 


10. Summary 


a. Electromagnetic waves are a form of radiant 
energy propagated into space at nearly the speed 
of light, 300,000,000 meters or 186,000 miles per 
second. 

b. A radio wave may be described as a moving 
electromagnetic field having velocity in the direc- 
tion of travel. 

c. The wavelength of a radio wave in free space 
is equal to its velocity divided by its frequency 
(A=0/f). 


14 


d. When power is delivered to an antenna, two 
fields are set up proportional to this power, an 
induction field and a radiation field. 

e. At a distance from the antenna, only the 
radiation field prevails. 

f. The radiated field has both electric and mag- 
netic field components. Each field component 
supports the other, and neither can be propagated 
by itself without setting up the other. 

g. The wave front of an electromagnetic wave 
ig an expanding spherical surface all the points of 
which are of the same phase. 


h. The electric and magnetic field components 
of a wave front are at right angles to each other 
and to the direction of travel. 

1. The direction of the components of a radiated 
field are determined by convention: If the field is 
moving away from an observer with the direction 
of the electric field given as downward, the direc- 
tion of the magnetic field is to the left. 

j. The polarization of an electromagnetic field 
is determined by the direction of its electric com- 
ponent. 

k. When the direction of the electric field is 
vertical, the wave is said to be polarized vertically; 
when the electric field is horizontal, the wave is 
said to be polarized horizontally. 

l. Vertical antennas should be used for the 
transmission and reception of vertically polarized 
waves, and horizontal antennas for horizontally 
polarized waves. 

m. The power in a radiated field at any point 
is measured in terms of the intensity of its electric 
field, which is expressed as volts, millivolts, or 
microvolts per meter. This intensity is a measure 
of the dielectric stress produced by the electric 
field, or the voltage induced in a conductor 1 meter 
long so held that it lies in the direction of the 
electric field and is at right angles to the direction 
of the magnetic field and to the direction of 
propagation. 

n. The power of any radiated wave falls off as 
the square of the distance between the source and 
the point of measurement. 

o. The intensity of the electric field of radiated 
electromagnetic waves falls off proportionally as 
the distance. 

p. At a distance of approximately 10 wave- 
lengths, or less, of the frequency transmitted, the 
power in the induction field is so smal] as to be 
negligible. 

q. The induction field is made up of two fields 
(the electrostatic and the magnetic) separated in 
space by 90° and in time by 90°—that is, in space 
quadrature and in time quadrature. 

r. The electric and magnetic components of the 
radiation field are in space quadrature and in time 
phase. 

s. The energy in the induction field is the stored 
energy usually associated with a resonant circuit, 
being returned each cycle to the antenna circuit, 
except for slight losses. 

t. The power in the radiation field is the power 
delivered to the antenna less the heat losses in the 
antenna circuit itself. 


u. The atmosphere is composed of three regions, 
named in order of their relative heights—the 
troposphere, the stratosphere, and the ionosphere. 

v. The ionosphere is defined as that portion of 
the earth’s atmosphere above the lowest level at 
which ionization affects the transmission of radio 
waves. It is composed of several layers in which 
ionization occurs at different levels and intensities. 

w. The propagation of radio waves depends on 
the frequency of the wave, the location and height 
of the antenna, and the ability of the earth’s at- 
mosphere to conduct the wave. 

z. Long-distance transmission takes place prin- 
cipally by means of sky waves, and short-distance 
transmission and all ultrahigh-frequency trans- 
mission take place by means of ground waves. 

y. Sky-wave propagation is variable, depending 
on the reflection or refraction of the wave from 
the ionosphere; ground-wave propagation is more 
constant, depending on the characteristics of the 
terrain, on reflection from the earth’s surface, and 
on the diffraction of the wave around the curvature 
of the earth. 

z. Radio waves reflected from the surface of the 
earth, from large metal objects, and from the 
iorosphere suffer a change of phase polarization of 
the wave front. 

aa. Refraction is the bending of the beam of a 
radio wave when it passes from a medium of one 
density to that of another. 

ab. The refractive index is a ratio that com- 
pares the velocity of an electromagnetic wave 
through a perfect vacuum to its velocity through 
a denser medium. 

ac. Diffraction is the bending of a wave around 
the edges of a solid object; the lower the frequency, 
or the longer the wavelength, the greater is the 
bending of the wave. 


11. Review Questions 


a. Describe an electromagnetic wave. 

b. What is the velocity of propagation of a 
radiated wave in free space? 

c. Describe simple wave motion in water. 

d. Give the formula for the length of any wave 
in terms of its velocity and frequency. 

e. When did Hertz first demonstrate the radia- 
tion of an electromagnetic wave? 

f. What two fields are set up about a trans- 
mitting antenna? 

g. Describe the components of the radiated 
field. 


15 


h. What is the conventional determination of 
the direction of the components of the radiated 


field? 
i. What is a vertically polarized wave? 


zontally polarized wave? 

j. What type of antenna should be used for 
receiving vertically polarized waves? 

k. What is the unit used in measuring the in- 
tensity of a radiated field? 

!, What is the meaning of the expression micro- 
volts per meter? 

m. Give a possible explanation of the propaga- 
tion of radio waves away from an antenna. 

n. What is the relationship between power and 
distance for a radiated wave? 

o. How are the components of the induction 
field related in time and space? The components 
of the radiated field? 

p. How do the power and the intensity of the 


A hori- 


electrostatic field vary with distance? Of the 
magnetic field? Of the radiated field? 

g. Describe the storage action of the induction 
field. 

7. How is the power in the radiation field 
related to the total power delivered to the 
antenna? 

s. Name the major regions of the atmosphere 
and describe the characteristics of each. 

t. Define the ionosphere. 

u. What major factors affect the propagation of 
radio waves? 

v. What type of transmission uses sky waves? 
Ground waves? 

w. What effect does reflection have on the 
phase of a wave front? 

z. What is refraction? 

y. Define the refractive index. 

z. What is diffraction? How does it vary with 
frequency? 


CHAPTER 2 
MODES OF PROPAGATION 


Section  . GROUND-WAVE PROPAGATION 


12. Types of Ground Waves 


a. Ground-wave propagation refers to those 
types of radio transmission that do not make use 
of reflections from the ionosphere. ‘Therefore, the 
field intensity of ground waves depends on other 
factors—the transmitter power, the characteristics 
of the transmitting antenna, the frequency of the 
waves, the diffraction of the waves around the 
curvature of the earth, the electrical characteristics 
(conductivity and dielectric constant) of the local 
terrain, the nature of the transmission path, and 
also, local meteorological conditions such as the 
distribution of the water vapor content of the at- 
mosphere. Most of the received ground-wave 


Sea 


TROPOSPHERIC PATH 
ie : 


i 


TRANSMITTER 


DIRECT PATH 


field intensity can be accounted for in terms of 
certain of these factors. Moreover, the earth it- 
self is a semiconductor, and, upon contact with 
its surface, some of the energy of the radiated 
wave is absorbed and rapidly dissipated in the 
form of heat. Thus, the losses suffered by ground- 
wave transmission are sometimes excessive and its 
use generally is limited to moderate-distance com- 
munication (up to several hundred miles) at low 
frequencies and to exceptional high-frequency 
applications. 

b. Figure 18 shows the way in which ground 
waves take a direct or reflected course from the 
transmitter to the receiver, or may be conducted 
by the surface of the earth and also refracted in 


RECEIVER 


Figure 18. Possible routes for ground waves. 


17 


the troposphere. 


The resulting ground wave, 13. Direct-Wave Component 


therefore, can be considered as being composed of 


one or more of the following components: the 
direct wave, the ground-reflected wave, the surface 


wave, and the tropospheric wave. 


8000 
4800 
4600 
4400 
4200 
4000 
4800 
3600 
3400 
3200 


3000 


TRANSMITTING ANTENNA HEIGHT ABOVE GROUND IN FEET 
> 
°o 
°o 


18 


Figure 19. 


a. The direct wave is that component of the en- 
tire wave front wuich travels directly from the 


transmitting antenna to the receiving antenna. 


-200 5000 
4800 

190 4600 
4,400 

4200 

3800 

3400 

“160 3200 
3000 

150 2800 
2600 

140 2400 

rp 130 700 
_ 2000 
= {900 
> 120 \g00 
= 4700 
w \600 
2 yuo 1500 
Pag 1400 
2 100 4300 
2 200 
= 4100 
© +90 4000 

n 
ny 900 
o° +80 800 
= 700 
= 70 600 
500 
60 

400 

Be 300 

40 200 

150 

Pe __ ——F 100 

ee 7) eee i 

10 
ra) ) 

TM 666-14 


Nomograph—antenna heights and line-of-sight distance. 


RECEIVING ANTENNA HEIGHT ABOVE GROUND IN FEET 


This component of the ground wave is limited ing distance, then, is computed easily by assum- 
only by the distance to the horizon, or line of sight, ing an earth with a radius 4/3 times its proper 
Such an earth would have a larger cir- 
added by the atmosphere diffraction of the wave — cumference and, hence, a longer distance to the 


from the transmitter plus the small distance — radius. 


around the curvature of the earth. The totallimit- horizon. This distance can be extended by in- 
as TTT Lele Th UT 
= 10-WAVELENGTH PATH i POWER IN 
—. rt 


i 
NGTH_PATH!    
5 a: 


St r a FOR 1000 WATTS RADIATED ADD +3008 
t “ o 
  i 


FREE--SPACE FIELD 


1 WATT RADIATED 
RECEIVED ON 
HALF-WAVE ANTENNA 


10000 " “ +4008 
100,000 as . “+50 08 


i 
Ul 
es = —— <M) 
att tT 
tt ANTIK” ge 
a 104 - WAVELENGTH :PATH ] 25 
<q pe hd he A en SL £ 5 
% 100 FF 4 = 7 = Soe Pig 
- i!   ! to ~Pa 
  i   { Co Nhe 
z WOl--—4-- Sere as See 1 Stearn 
a et   105-WAVELENGTH PATH      ~~ ap   £4); 
A ee ee eae elle asa 
a     ; 4 ! Qo  : 
a 130  }   eens i Se eee _ ‘i , Le yp 
— 108 - WAVELENGTH pated   ly 
140 sae rr as Tt rt +P 
meni   i 
150 po tot htt —— +t aa = 
7 WAVELENGTH PATH; Hill ool 


3 5 7 4 {0 100 1,000 10,000 
FREQUENCY IN MEGACYCLES 


TM666-1I! 


Figure 20. Attenuation of power with frequency and distance. 


\ 


NW 


30 poo oa poppe myo . Sa ace 
  Le Vy 
oN a ari Sa /— POWER RECEIVED 
50 ptt E { recenver   ~ 
1 i 
60   ——— tt tt TENSITY (NO TRANSMISSION-LINE  ! 
  \ OR OTHER CIRCUIT LOSSES) 
af ZERO- 
TO  ~-—--4-- ~tt-4-4 Hr _ = a 


AN 


t\ 

oe Sa 
mt RN 

\\ 


0B BELOW 1 WATT 


RELATION OF FIELD INTENSITY 
TO SIGNAL FIELD POWER 


(ZERO-GAIN RECEIVING ANTENNA) 


100 

MICROVOLT MICROVOLTS MICROVOLTS MILLIVOLT MILLIVOLTS MILLIVOLTS 

PER METER PER METER PER METER PER METER PER METER PER METER 
E-FIELD INTENSITY Pera p 


HA 


Figure 21. Attenuation of power in terms of field intensity. 


19 


creasing the height of either the transmitting or 
the receiving antenna, and so effectively extend- 
ing the horizon. The nomograph of figure 19 
gives an approximation of the line-of-sight trans- 
mission range without any mathematical calcula- 
tions. Simply lay a straightedge on the chart so 
that it is alined with both the receiving-antenna 
height scale and the transmitting-antenna height 
scale, which are arranged on the two outside ver- 
tical lines of the chart. The transmission range 
then is indicated on the center vertical line at the 
point where the straightedge crosses it. An in- 
stance is shown by the dotted line—If the trans- 
mitting-antenna height is 30 feet and the receiv- 
ing-antenna height is 100 feet, the line-of-sight 
transmission range is approximately 20 miles. 
b. The electric field intensity of a direct wave 
varies inversely with the distance of transmission, 
as described in paragraph 6. This inverse-dis- 
tance attenuation is shown by the graph in figure 
20. For instance, the chart shows that for a 10- 
megacycle wave, 1 watt of radiated power suffers 
an attenuation of more than 80 db (decibels) below 
1 watt over a 25-mile direct-wave path. This may 


Oo eee 
Nae <a 


(IN 180° OUT 90° OUT 
PHASE OF PHASE OF PHASE 


WAVE FRONTS OF EQUAL PHA35E 


ia. oe 


OF WAVE FRONT 


ih 
EE tt he} 


TRANSMITTING ANTENNA _ 
6 


POINT OF PHASE REVERSA 


Ve, ow 
/ oe NN 


WAVIZ FRONTS 180° OUT OF PHASE WITH ee 


be converted into terms of electric field intensity 
(microvolts per meter) by referring to figure 21. 
On this latter chart, note that at 10 megacyeles a 
loss of 80 db below 1 watt results in an electric 
field intensity of about 200 microvolts per meter. 
Also, note that the attenuation increases as the 
frequency of transmission is increased, but that 
attenuation is constant when distance is read in 
terms of wavelength, since the higher the fre- 
quency, the shorter the distance represented by a 
given number of wavelengths. Furthermore, the 
direct wave is not affected by the ground or hy the 
earth’s surface, but is subject to refraction in the 
tropospheric air between the transmitter and the 
receiver. Thisrefraction is particularly important 
at very high frequencies and is explained in greater 
detail in paragraphs 17 and 18. 


14. Ground-Reflected Component 


a. The ground-reflected component, as its name 
indicates, is the portion of the radiated wave that 
reaches the receiving antenna after being reflected 
from the ground or from the sea. For communi- 


LAST WAVE FRONT OF EQUAL PHASE 


DIRECT-WAVE COMPONENT 


GROUND- REFLECTED- 
WAVE COMPONENT 


DIRECT-WAVE COMPONENT PLUS A PHASE 


LAG DUE TO GREATER DISTANCE TRAVELED 


TM 666-13 


Figure 22. Comparison of wave fronts of direct and reflected waves. 


20 


cation between points lower than a few thousand 
feet and separated by a distance of several miles, 
the ground-reflected wave takes on an importance 
comparable to the direct wave as a means of propa- 
gation. Upon reflection from the earth’s surface, 
the reflected wave undergoes a phase reversal of 
180°, as noted previously, and this fact is impor- 
tant in determining the effect of its combining 
with the direct-wave component upon arrival at 
the point of reception. Since the reflected com- 
ponent travels a longer time in reaching its des- 
tination, a phase displacement over and above the 
180° shift caused by reflection will result. 

b. In figure 22, it may be seen that the waves 
start out with fronts of equal phase and continue 
in phase up to the point of reflection of the ground 
component. Beyond this point, corresponding 
wave fronts are 180° out of phase, plus whatever 
small phase displacement results from the rela- 
tively longer path of the reflected component. 
Where the reflected component strikes the ground 
at a small angle of incidence, the time lag will be 
small. The reflected wave will arrive at the re- 
ceiving antenna nearly 180° out of phase with the 
direct wave, and a cancelation of signal energy 
will result. This cancelation effect can be mini- 
mized by increasing the height of either antenna, 
since this tends to decrease the phase difference 
between the direct and the reflected components, 
and thus decreases the degree of signal voltage 
cancelation. 


15. Surface-Wave Component 


a. The surface wave is that component of the 
ground wave that is affected primarily by the con- 
ductivity and dielectric constant of the earth and 
is able to follow the curvature of the earth. When 
both transmitting and receiving antennas are on, 
or close to, the ground, the direct and ground- 
reflected components of the wave tend to cancel 
out, and the resulting field intensity is principally 
that of the surface wave. The surface-wave com- 
ponent is not confined to the earth’s surface, how- 
ever, but extends up to considerable heights, 
diminishing in field strength with increased height. 
Because part of its energy is absorbed by the 
ground, the electric intensity of the surface wave 
is attenuated at a much greater rate than inversely 
as the distance. This attenuation depends on the 
relative conductivity of the surface over which the 
wave travels. Table IJ shows the relative con- 
ductivity for various types of surface. The best 


tvpe of surface for surface-wave transmission is 
sea water; this accounts for the fact that relatively 
long-distance radio contacts have been established 
across the ocean. The electrical properties of the 
underlying terrain that determine the attenuation 
of the surface-wave field intensity vary little from 
time to time, and therefore, this type of transmis- 
sion has relatively stable characteristics. 


Table II. Propagation Characteristics of Local Terrain 


Type of surface condimtisity   ponent 
Sea water____...-_.--------- Good_______- 80 
Large bodies of fresh water___.  Fair__-._-_-- 80 
Wet soil... --.--.----------- Fair... __- 30 
Flat, loamy soil_._._._-._-_-. Fair... .___.. 15 
Dry, rocky terrain.-.....----- Poor._....---- 7 
Desertucoso auc so Seek ed Poor.._..----- 4 
Jungle. = 2 2. dencee sh ece yess Unusable_..._]..------ 


b. The surface-wave component generally is 
transmitted as a vertically polarized wave, and it 
remains vertically polarized at appreciable dis- 
tances from the antenna. This polarization is 
chosen because the earth has a short-circuiting 
effect on the electric intensity of a horizontally 
polarized wave but offers resistance to this com- 
ponent of the vertical wave. The ground cur- 
rents of the vertically polarized surface wave do 
not short-circuit a given electric field but rather 
serve to restore part of the energy used to the 
following field (fig. 23). The better the conduct- 
ing surface, the more energy returned and the less 
energy absorbed. Since no surface is a perfect 
conductor or perfect ground (one returning all of 
the energy) the loss retards the grounded edge 
of any given wave front, causing it to bend for- 
ward in the direction of travel so that the successive 
wave fronts have a forward tilt (fig. 23). The 
conducting surface of the earth is then, in effect, 
a part of a waveguide, and the tilt has the effect 
of propagating the energy in the direction of wave 
travel. Poor conducting surfaces cause high loss 
and greater tilt and, finally, total absorption of 
the energy. Table IT] shows the variation in 
angle of tilt from the vertical for frequencies 
from 20 ke (kilocycles) to 20 mc, propagated over 
sea water and over dry ground. As frequency 
increases, the angle of tilt increases. At 20 me, 
the tilt is negligible over sea water, being little 
more than 1°, but over dry ground it is 35°, 
effecting a considerable change in polarization. 


21 


This tilting of the electric vector of an electro- 
magnetic wave is not to be confused with the 
bending of a wave, or diffraction, which is a 
phenomenon associated with a wave front striking 
the edge of a solid object, the greatest bending 
taking place at the lowest frequencies. 


Table III. Angle of Tilt Versus Frequency 


Frequency (me) Angle of tilt over   Angle of tilt over 


ses water dry ground 
0:02.22 ede s 0°2. 5’ 4°18’ 
£7,   ee a end a _ 0°83’ 13°30’ 
2.002 octets. Se Athen Nes ee 0°25’ 32°12’ 
71     [a 1°23’ 35° 
DIRECTION OF _DIRECTION OF TRAVEL 
wy) Wh! SURFASE OF 
EARTH 
“GROUND CURRENTS 
TM 666-15 


Figure 28, Tilting of electric vector of wave froxt. 


16. Frequency Characteristics of Ground Waves 


a. The frequency characteristics of the ground 
wave determine in large part the particular com- 
ponent of the wave that will prevail along any 
given signal path. When the conductivity of the 
earth is high and the wave frequency below 30 me, 
the surface wave is the predominant component, 
except in the case of plane-to-plane or plane-to- 
ground transmission, in which the direct wave and 
ground-reflected waves are the principal means of 
communication. At frequencies greater than 10 
me and less than 30 mc, the dielectric constant of 
the terrain determines the surface-wave trans- 
mission characteristics, the signal being largest for 
the higher dielectric constants and for the lower 
frequencies. At frequencies greater than 30 mc, 
the losses suffered by the surface wave become so 
excessive that transmission is usually possible only 
by means of the direct wave. However, at fre- 
quencies where the ground-wave field intensity is 
largely determined by the surface-wave com- 
ponent, vertically polarized radiation is superior to 
horizontally polarized radiation, except in heavily 
wooded or jungle areas. In such areas, horizontal 
polarization provides better gain, even at distances 
and frequencies where the surface-wave component 
normally would predominate, because most of the 


22 


foliage grows vertically and absorbs vertically 
polarized energy. Above 30 mc, where the direct 
wave is the predominant component, the difference 
between vertical and horizontal polarization is 
negligible. 

b. These variations of the ground-wave compo- 
nents with frequency may be summarized, as 
follows: 

(1) The low-frequency band (0.03 to 0.3 mc) 
is used for moderate-distance ground 
wave communication. In this band, the 
ground losses of a vertically polarized 
wave are small, and the wave is able to 
follow the curvature of the earth for 
several hundred miles. 

(2) The medium-frequency band (0.3 to 3 
mc), which includes the standard. broad- 
cast frequencies—amplitude modula- 
tion—-is used for moderate-distance com- 
munication over land and for long- 
distance communication over sea water 
up to 1,000 miles. 

(3) The high-frequency band (3 to 30 mc) is 
used for short-distance communication. 
At these frequencies, the dielectric con- 
stant of the earth plays a greater part in 
the decrease of surface-wave field in- 
tensity and is the chief factor causing 
attenuation at very-high frequencies. 

(4) The very-high-frequency band (30 mc 
and over) is used for line-of-sight com- 
munication. At these frequencies, the 
direct-wave component is increasingly 
important. The direct-wave range there- 
fore can be extended greatly by increasing 
the height of transmitter and receiver 
antennas. Thus, it should be noted that 
whereas the distance range of the ground 
wave at low frequencies can be effectively 
increased only by increasing radiation 
power, the distance range of frequencies 
of 30 mc and higher can be effectively 
increased by increasing antenna heights 
as well as by increasing radiation power. 


17. Tropospheric- Wave Component 


a. The tropospheric wave is that. component of 
the entire wave front which is refracted in the 
lower atmosphere by relatively steep gradients 
(rapid changes in respect to height) in atmospheric 
humidity and sometimes by steep gradients in 
atmospheric density and temperature. At heights 


of a few thousand feet to a mile or so, huge masses 
of warm and cold air exist near each other, causing 
abrupt temperature differences and changes in 
density. The resulting tropospheric refraction 
and reflection make communication possiole over 
distances far greater than can be covered by the 
ordinary ground wave. A of figure 24, shows the 
downward bending of a wave front which enters 
a layer of air the dielectric constant! and moisture 
content of which decrease with heizht above the 
surface of the earth; B of figure 24 shows the up- 
ward bending of the same wave for the opposite 
condition. Since the amount of refraction in- 
creases as the frequency increases, ‘rcpospheric 
refraction is more effective at the higher fre- 
quencies, providing interesting communication 
possibilities at 50 me and above. 


E ; ari LOW DIELECTRIC CONSTANT 


SW MCNSTURE CORTENT? 
DIRECTION OF fue SORTENTS 


PROPAGATION 


Saas HIGH DIZ EL 


RSET AWW AW” {HIGH MOIS 


SURFACE OF EARTH 


jer HIGH OIL ECTRIC CNA TANT 


OIRECTION OF 
PROPAGATION 


ae sooerL Ow DIELECT RE CONSTANT 
SURFACE OF EARTH « 


TM GS-4 


Figure 24. Refraction tn the iravecphere, 


is temperature inversion 


VETS HAT 


results from several causes--% wurra alr ress 
overrunning a colder mass, the sinkoig of an el 


i cooling 


-h 
the hes fiag ol 


mass heated by compression; the rari 
surface air after sunset: snd 


a cloud layer by reflection of the sun’s rays 
from the upper surface of the clouds. Tropo- 
spheric-propagation effect depends on weather 
sondiGiens, and since these vary from minute to 
they can cause fading or variable field 
inten: in tropospheric-wave communication, 
the ree eiving and the transmitting antennas should 
heve the same type of polarization, since the 
opospheric wave maintains essentially the same 
cclarization throughout its travel. 


‘ 
BOVE 


ritnute 


+8. Abnormal Effects of the Troposphere 


2, Propagation characteristics of the tropo- 
sphere vary under special weather conditions, and 
parts of the world such conditions may 
provail over long perieds. In the tropics and over 
larec bedies of water, temperature inversions are 
ress almost continuously at heights up to 
“Hy Tset, particularly in the range from 100 to 
se feet. When the boundary of the inversion is 
defined sharply, waves traveling horizontally or 
zi very iow angles of elevation become trapped by 
Lice pafrs ne layer of air and continue to be bent 
oeew toward the earth. Figure 25 shows how such 
“d wave follows a duct, the upper and lower 

wis of wineh are formed by the boundary and the 
seria. “The waves are guided along within this 
mucb the same manner as in a metallic 
waveguice, and since attenuation in a waveguide 
«ikt, the energy does not fall off inversely as 
' sjuare of the distance. Thus, the waves fol- 
che curvature of the earth for distances far 

~voud the optical horizon of the transmitter, and 
's soarpe localities may consistently reach distances 
. rtany thoussnds of miles, 

4 Pscpospheric ducts also are formed by the 
eguniing effect of two layers of air with sharply 
aed temperature inversions. The refraction 
upper boundary bends the wave down, 
auc the tefraction from the lower boundary bends 
the wave up, effectively trapping the energy within 
The height of the duct determines the 
cinuxtin frequency, and if this height is only a 

© feet abeve the surface of the earth, or from 
yin boundary, transmission may be pos- 
at the ultrahigh or superhigh frequencies. 
iy, the height and the dielectric char- 
s of the layer are suitable for vhf trans- 
“Pewee a necessary feature of duct 
tosusmmission is that the angle of approach of the 
pindent wave be approximately half a degree or 
ivsa in-ercles for the wave to be trapped. In addi- 


23 


me Some 


ae ore ayy 
MB LPS tt 


ere eee 
aner 


frany the 


‘ae DAVEY. 


VPsaion. 


HOT DRY AIR 


ANSMITTING 
ANTENNA 


SHARPLY DEFINED BOUND- 
ARY BETWEEN HOT AND 
; 4 COOL AiR 


—~ RECEIVING 
ANTENNA 


TM 666-16 


Figure 25. Transmission by means of tropospheric duct. 


tion, both the transmitting and the receivirg 
antennas must be inside the duct, if communica- 
tion is to be established by this means. A trans- 
mitting antenna ebove the duct, as on a tower or 
promontory, will not operate inte the duct, and 


no signals by this means will be received at the 
receiving antenna. Moreover, a receiving antenna 
below a duct will receive no signals from an air- 
plane fiying in or above the duct, even though 
lme-of-sight. conditions prevail. 


Section Il. THE IONOSPHERE 


19. General 


In the early days of radio, mathematical 
physicists reasoned that it would be impossible 
to receive radio signals at very great distances 
because of the attenuation resulting from the 
absorption of the energy by the earth. When ‘t 
was found experimentally that signals could be 
received across the Atlantic Ocean, the work of the 
physicists was questioned. Their result was 
correct, of course, for the problem -to which it 
applied-—namely, the propagation of ground waves 
around a curved earth surrounded by free space, 
as has been noted in the section of ground waves. 
Obviously, some other means of propagation had 
to exist. The experimental evidence of trans- 
Atlantic communication proved only thet the 
assumption of an earth surrounded by nothing but 
free space was unjustifiable in this connectior.. 
It was then suggested by both Heaviside and Ken- 
nelly, the one an English scientist and the cther an 
American, that the earth actually is surrounded 
by an electrified layer which acts as a reflector and 
prevents the escape of the wave into free space by 
bending it back toward the earth. Such a layer 
also could form the source of the electric currents 
in the upper atmosphere which had been suggested 
as the cause of changes in the magnetic field of the 
earth during magnetic storms. Later, when it 
was shown that not only one, but several such 


24 


layers actually did exist, and that these layers 
consisted of ionized gases of the atmosphere, the 
naine tonosphere was suggested for the region in 
which the layers were found. 


20. Formation of lonosphere 


As indicated in figure 13, the earth’s atmosphere 
extends up to a distance of over 250 miles. How- 
ever, the density of the gases that compose this 
atmosphere decreases with height, so that above 
250 miles the air particles are so rare as to be prac- 
tically nonexistent. Also indicated in figure 13 is 
the constant state of bombardment to which the 
atmosphere is subjected by radiation and particle 
showers from the sun und by cosmic rays, the 
source of which is act. yet known. The radiation 
from the sun inelu-Jea net only the light rays that 
we see, but also aii the components of the entire 
spectrum, ranghig from infrared rays to ultraviolet 
rays, and particle showers composed of positrons 
and electrons moving at almost the speed of light. 
As these different forms of radiation approach the 
atmosphere of the earth, they reach certain critical 
levels where the gases are of such density as to be 
particularly susceptible to ionization by their 
action, and at these levels ionized Isyers are 
formed. The upper layers of air appear to be 
affected most by particle radiation, although the 
predominant source of ionization is the ultraviolet 


radiation. To understand how this ionization 
takes place, a brief review of the mechanics of 
gases is necessary. 


ELECTRONS 


"hast ~~ 
a Pog ma 
. ad 
See Z \ 
a ‘ ed @ ® ‘ 
NUCLEUS oe j NUCLEUS $e x 
PQ i OO 
a ‘oil ' 
er ’ “—~ ELECTRON ft ae ‘ 
v7 Pa ee ee 7 
/ “7 oe 
{ wee 
Seculee 
HYDROGEN ATOM A HELIUM ATOM 
TMG6E- 17 


Figure 26. Structure of hydrogen and helium atoms. 


a. Matter. All matter (solids, liquids, and 
gases) is made up of fundamental units called 
molecules. The molecule, the smallest subdivision 
of a substance that exhibits all its characteristic 
properties, is constructed of atems of the elements 
comprising the substance. 

(1) The atom is made up of a central part 
called the nucleus, around which mi- 
nute particles or charges of electricity 
called electrons circulate (fig. 26), sorne- 
what as the planets revolve around the 
sun. In the normal or neutral atom, the 
electrical charge of each electron is 
balanced by an equal charge of opposite 
kind associated with the nucieus. The 
kind of charge represented by the electron 
is conventionally called negative, and 
that associated with the nucleus is called 
positive. 

(2) In the atoms of many substances, such as 
gases, one or more of the outer electrons 
are bound so loosely to the nucleus that 
they can be detached from the atom by 
suitable means, thus leaving the atom as 
a whole with a net positive charge. When 
this occurs, electrical activity becomes 
evident. 

b. Ionization. It has been found that energy 
in the form of electromagnetic radiation is capable 
of dislodging some of the loosely bound electrons 
from their atoms, provided that the radiation is 
of the proper wavelength and energy. When a 
number of such events happens in any gas, the 
gas is said to be zonized, since it has atoms lacking 
their normal quota of electrons, and free electrons 
unassociated with any atom. Atoras lacking in 
their normal quota of electrons are called positive 
ions, and electrons unassociated with any aiom 


are called negative tons. The term ion is, in fact, 
applied to any elemental particle that has an 
electric charge. 

(1) Although a few ions may exist in any gas, 
external energy must be applied to the 
atom in order te produce an abundance of 
ions. A state of ionization is said to exist 
when al! or a large proportion of the parti- 
cles in the gas are positive and negative 
ions. The external energy necessary for 
ionization can come from several sources, 
the most important being from an impact 
with another particle, from cosmic waves 
such as light waves, X-rays, gamma rays, 
and ultraviolet rays; from chemical re- 
action, or by the application of heat. 

(2) The natural ionization in air caused by 
any of the energies listed above produces 
approximately 2 ions per cubic centimeter 
per second at atmospheric pressure. At 
higher altitudes such as in the ionosphere, 
the rate of ionization is approximately 
100 times as great. In the upper atmos- 
phere, where the pressure is low, condi- 
tions are excellent for ionization to take 
place. The sun constantly gives off 
ultraviolet rays of the proper wavelength 
to ionize the gas particles of the upper 
atmosphere. 

c Recombination. The atoms and ions in a gas 
are in constant motion, and frequent collisions 
take place between them. When an electron col- 
lides with a positive ion, it may combi with the 
ion and form again a neutral atom the gas. 
The process of recombination goes on coi .antly, 
so that an atom, once it has been ioniz ., does 
not remain so indefinitely. The time that it takes 
for recombination, or deionization, depends on 
several factors, but principally on the average 
distance between the particles of the gas. If only 
a few particles are present, as in the upper atmos- 
phere, collisions will not occur very frequently, 
and the particies remain ionized for relatively long 
periods. 

d. Source of Ionizatien—the Sun. Although the 
sup is composed of the same elements that are to 
be found on the earth, these elements exist in such 
a violent state of solar activity as to remain con- 
stantly in a molten or gaseous state. Probably 
because of intense internal stresses and the play 
oi atomic forces on a gigantic scale, the sun con- 
stantly emits huge amounts of energy in the form 
of heat, particles, and electromagnetic waves. 


25 


Figure 27, Selar eruption. 


Eruptions at the surface of the sun have been — rediation, and hence on the extent of ionization 
noted to shoot immense clouds of hot gases to  vaused by this radiation. 

distances of half a million miles above the surface (.) Affect of sunspots. During periods of high 
(fig. 27). Another disturbance of the sun’s sur- sunspot activity, the extent of ionization 
face is the appearance of sunspots, which  ave of the various layers is greater than the 
particular effects on the amount of ultraviolet average. The sunspots are dark areas 


Pigur: 28. Suaspots 


26 


which appear on the disk of the sun (fig. 
28), and although their relative darkness 
would seem to indicate lower tempera- 
tures and lower ultraviolet radiation, 
they have bright gaseous clouds about 
them, and the processes involved in the 
formation of the sunspots probably pro- 
duce vast amounts of ultraviolet energy. 
The sunspots usually appear in groups, 
and follow a more or less definite cycle of 
activity, with an average time interval of 
11.1 years between the maxima of two 
consecutive cycles. Magnetic storms on 
the earth alo are related to the presence 
of large sunspots. 

(2) Dellinger fade. Bright visible flares on 
the sun’s disk instantaneously produce 
great effects on the ion density of the 
various ionospheric layers. This effect 
is known.as the Dellinger fade, or sudden 
atmospheric disturbance. Great in- 
creases are noted in the ionization pro- 
duced at low levels of the ionosphere as 
the result of these flares. 

e. Formation of an Ionized Layer. When ultra- 
violet radiation of a particular wavelength enters 
the earth’s atmosphere from above, the waves 
penetrate to a depth at which the critical density 
of the medium is sufficient to absorb the larger 
portion of the incident energy in the process of 
producing ionization. Before reaching this depth, 
the air particles are dispersed so sparsely that ouly 
a relatively few molecules of the rarefied gases be- 
come ionized. Upon reaching the level of critical 


density, a greater proportion of molecules are ion- 
ized, but the wave energy becomes so attenuated 
by the process of ionization that it is too weak to 
produce further ionization. The higher the fre- 
quency of the waves, the further they will pene- 
trate the atmosphere before reaching this level of 
critica] density. Thus, an ionized layer is formed 
with the greatest intensity of ionization at its 
center and lesser intensities at its edges. How- 
ever, both the greater rate of recombination and 
the attenuation of the waves serve to decrease the 
extent of ionization in the lower or atmospherically 
denser part of an ionized region. 


21. lonosphere Layers or Regions 


By means of ionospheric sounding, it has been 
determined that there are four distinct layers of 
the ionosphere, which are called, in order of in- 
creasing heights and intensities, the D, FE, Fi, and 
F2layers. The relative distribution of these layers 
about the earth is indicated in figure 29. As may 
be seen in this figure, the four layers are present 
only during the daytime, when the sun is directed 
toward that portion of the atmosphere. During 
the night, the F'1 and F2 layers seem to merge into 
a single F layer, and the D and £ layers fade out, 
because of the recombination of the ions compos- 
ing them. However, the actual number of layers, 
their heights above the earth, and the relative intensity 
of ionization present in them all vary from hour to 
hour, from day to day, from month to month, from 
season to season, and from year to year. 

a. D Region. At somewhat more than twice the 


Figure 29. 


Ionosphere layers and regions. 


highest altitude ever reached by man or between 
heights of 30 to 55 miles (50 to 90 kilometers) 
above the surface of the earth, is the first region of 
pronounced ionization; known asthe Dregion. In 
comparison with the conditions existing in the 
layers at greater heights, the amount of ionization 
in the D region is not extensive and has little effect 
in bending the paths of high-frequency radio waves. 
The chief effects of the ionization in this region are 
to cause a weakening or an attenuation of the field 
intensity of high-frequency radio waves as the 
transmission path of such waves crosses through 
this region, and to cause complete absorption of 
low- and medium-frequency radio waves. The D 
region exists only during the daylight hours, and 
its intensity follows the variation of the sun’s al- 
titude, becoming most dense at noon, and fading 
out shortly after sunset because of the rapid re- 
combination of ions at this atmospheric height. 
It is chiefly responsible for the fact that the inten- 
sity of high-frequency waves is lower when the 
transmission path lies in sunlit hours than when 
the path traverses these regions during darkness. 

b. E Layer. At heights between 55 and 90 
miles (90 to 145 km) lies the second region in 
order of height, called the E layer. This layer 
sometimes is known as the Kennelly-Heaviside 
region after the names of the men who first pro- 
posed its existence. The layer height varies some- 
what with the season, lower heights occurring 
when the sun is in that latitude, probably because 
the solar ultraviolet radiation penetrates farther 
into the earth’s atmosphere when the sun is more 
directly overhead. Since the rate of recombina- 
tion is large at this atmospheric level, the intensity 
of ionization of the E layer follows the sun’s alti- 
tude variations closely, reaching a maximum at 
about noon, and fading to such a weak level during 
the night as to be practically useless as an aid to 
high-frequency radio communication. The num- 
ber of electrons per unit volume in this layer is 
usually great enought to refract back to earth 
radio waves at frequencies as high as 20 mc. 
Thus, the Z layer is of great importance to radio 
transmission for distances less than approximately 
1,500 miles. For longer distances, transmission by 
this means is rather poor, because the necessarily 
lk. vertical angle cf departure of the wave from 
the ground results in greater absorption of the 
wave in the ionized region. At distances greater 
than 1,500 miles, better transmission can be ob- 
tained by means of the F, F1, and F2 layers. 

c. F Layer. At heights between 90 and 240 


28 


miles (145 to 380 km) above the earth’s surface is 
another region of ionization, known as the F layer. 
Tonization exists at all hours, usually with two 
well defined layers during the daytime and one 
during the night. In this region, at night, the 
single F layer lies at a height of about 170 miles, 
or 270 km. The atmosphere is so rare at these 
heights that recombination of ions takes place at a 
very slow rate, and sufficient ions remain through- 
out the night to refract high-frequency waves back 
to earth. 

d. Fl and F2 Layers. During the daylight hours, 
especially when the sun is high, as in tropical 
latitudes and during summer months, the F region 
splits up into two distinct layers—the F1, with a 
lower limit at a height of approximately 90 miles 
(145 km), and the F2, with a lower limit at a 
height of about 160 to 220 miles, depending on 
the seasons and the time of day. The F2 layer is 
the most highly ionized of all the layers and is the 
most useful for long-distance radio communica- 
tion. The degree of ionization for this layer ex- 
hibits an appreciable day-to-day variation in com- 
parison with that of the other layers. The 
intensity of ionization reaches a maximum in the 
afternoon and gradually decreases throughout the 
night. The rise of ion density is very rapid in the 
morning, and the low recombination rate permits 
this high ion density to persist. 

e. Other Layers. In addition to these regions of 
ionization which appear regularly and undergo 
variations daily, seasonally, and from year to year 
in height and ionization, other layers occasionally 
appear, particularly at heights near that of the E 
layers, much as clouds appear in the sky. Fre- 
quently their appearance is in sufficient intensity 
to enable good radio transmission to take place by 
means of reflection from them. At other times, 
especially during disturbed conditions in polar 
regions such as those that cause the aurora boreaiis, 
diffuse ionization may occur over a fairly large 
range of heights and may be detrimental to radio 
transmission because of the excessive absorption 
produced. 


22. lonosphere Characteristics 


Although a detailed enalysis of what happens to 
electromagnetic waves as they enter the ionosphere 
is beyond the scope of this manual, the principal 
factors and assumptions are described in this 
paragraph in terms of practical effects. 

a. Critical Frequency. In addition to the height, 


the principal ionosphere characteristic which con- 
trols or determines long-distance radio trans- 
mission is the ionization density of each of the 
layers. The higher the frequency, the greater the 
density of ionization required to reflect waves 
back to earth. In other words, the shorter the 
length of the waves, the denser or more closely 
compacted must be the medium to refract them. 
Therefore, the upper layers, which are the most 
highly ionized, reflect the higher frequencies, 
whereas the D layer, which is the least. ionized, 
does not reflect frequencies above approximately 
500 kc. Thus, at any given time, for each layer 
there is a value of highest frequency, called the 
critical frequency, at which waves sent vertically 
upward are reflected directly back to earth. 
Waves of frequencies higher than the critical 
frequency pass on through the ionized layer and 
are not reflected back to earth, unless they are 
reflected from an upper layer. Waves of frequen- 
cies lower than the critical frequency are reflected 
back to earth, unless they: are absorbed by, or 
have been reflected from, a lower layer. 
(1) Figure 30 shows waves of different fre- 
quencies radiated vertically into the 


i 
be 
Be 


ionosphere. Two of these signals are 
returned directly to the earth and the 
third passes through both layers and is 
not returned. Each of the returned 
waves is at the critical frequency for its 
layer—that is, the highest frequency that 
is returned. All frequencies below the 
critical frequency are returned in the 
same manner. The unreturned signal 
is at a frequency above the critical 
frequency for either layer and therefore 
passes through to outer space. 


(2) This phenomenon may be understood in 


terms of the combined refractive and 
reflective effects of ionization on an 
electromagnetic wave. When a ray, or 
tram of waves, enters an ionospheric 
layer, it is slowed down as soon as it 
starts to penetrate the layer. This 
process of refraction is similar to that of 
the refraction of light passing from air to 
water, as explained in paragraph 9. 
When the signal enters the ionosphere at 
a 90° angle, there is no bending of the 
wave—the whole wave front is slowed 


AVE ABOVE 
CRITICAL 
> FREQUENCY 


Figure $0. Critical frequencies. 


29 


down uniformly. The higher the fre- 
quency of the signal, the deeper it must 
penetrate the layer before it surrenders 
all of its energy. It should be remem- 
bered, however, that an ionization layer 
is most dense near its center, and that 
the wave will pass on through if this 
center density is insufficient to absorb all 
of the energy. The surrendered energy 
is reradiated by the layer, directly 
downward to the area of transmission. 
By analogy, this effect is similar to that 
obtained in tossing tennis balls vertically 
upward to a wire screen. If the openings 
in the screen are smaller than the diam- 
eter of the ball, all of those thrown are 
reflected back almost as effectively as 
though the screen were a solid piece of 
metal. But if golf balls were thrown at 
the same screen, most of them would 
pass through the screen and not be 
reflected. Thus, it may be concluded 
that (like frequency in respect to ioniza- 
tion) there is for a given screen a critical 
diameter of ball which will be reflected 
back; any smaller ball will pass on 
through. 

b. Critical Angle. The determination of a criti- 
cal frequency by vertical propagation is useful be- 
cause it marks a boundary condition. Electro- 
magnetic waves used in radio communications, 
however, are generally incident at some oblique 
angle to the ionosphere. These waves are re- 
fracted by the ionosphere and may or may not be 
returned to the earth. Obviously, any frequency 
at or below the critical frequency will be returned 
to the earth, but frequencies above the critical fre- 
quency also will be returned if propagated at cer- 
tain angles of incidence. This effect can be under- 
stood by considering for a moment our former 
analogy of the screen and the tennis balls. If, for 
instance, the critical diameter for a given screen 
is the diameter of a tennis ball, then golf balls 
thrown obliquely at the screen will hit the wire 
mesh at an angle and be reflected downward, even 
though they would pass easily through the screen 
if thrown vertically upward. Thus, for this screen 
there is a certain angle of incidence at which most 
of the golf balls would be reflected downward. In 
electromagnetic-wave propagation the same con- 
ditions prevail. At angles of incidence near the 
vertical, a given frequency passes on through the 
ionosphere. But as the angle lessens, a point is 


30 


reached at which the wave ‘is reflected back to 
earth. This angle is called the critical angle. 
The point at which the wave returns is a minimum 
distance, called the skip distance; at smaller angles 
of incidence, the wave returns at greater and 
greater distances. 
(1) The concept of critical angle may be un- 
derstood by consideration of a similar 
optical phenomenon (fig. 31). If a beam 


Critical angle of light beam. 


Figure 81, 


of light passes from a dense medium 
(water) to one of less density (air) at right 
angles to the boundary between them, it 
passes through with no change in direc- 
tion. As the angle of incidence becomes 
smaller than 90°, the beam is only slightly 
reflected back into the water, most of the 
light being refracted or bent in the air. 
The amount of bending increases as the 
angle grows smaller, but at a given angle, 
which is the critical angle, no light is re- 


fracted by the air, all of it being reflected 
back into the water. At angles smaller 
than the critical angle, the light beam is 
reflected back at greater and greater dis- 
tances from the source. At this point, 
it should be noted that this optical phe- 
nomenon cannot be applied strictly to 
radio waves, since the boundaries be- 
tween the dense ionization of the layer 
and the air above it are not sharp bound- 
ries. The wave is both bent and re- 
flected, and therefore, in propagation 
work the terms refraction and reflection 
tend to be used interchangeably. 


(2) The popular explanation of the return of 


radio waves as a phenomenon in refrac- 
tion alone is illustrated in figure 32. 


/ 


  \ 
CRITICAL ANGLE _ = 7 
/ 
/ 


Figure 32. Idealized refraction of radio wave. 


Suppose a train of wave fronts to be 
propagated from A so that it enters the 
ionosphere at an angle, . As each wave 
front enters the ionosphere, the upper 
part of the wave front feels the effect of 
lowered index of refraction first. There- 
fore, the upper part of each wave front 
has an increased phase velocity, so that 
the entire wave front as it enters the 
ionosphere wheels about like a column of 
soldiers obeying the command, ‘“‘Column 
rigbt.”” Since the central parts of the 
ionosphere have a greater ion density, the 
bending effect on the upper part of the 
wave front is greatest, so that the wheel- 


ing process continues and the waves are 
directed back toward the earth at 

point B. 
ce. Virtual Height. The oversimplified curved 
path shown in the figure also helps to make clear 
the notion of virtual height of an ionospheric 
layer. In following the curved path, as illustrated 
in the schematic drawing of figure 33, the time of 


A___VIRTUAL HEIGHT 


QWER ED OF 
IONOSPHERE LAYER 


RECEIVER 
TM 666-22 


TRANSMITTEP EARTH 


Figure 88. Virtual height of ionospheric layer. 


transmission of the radio wave along the actual 
path BCD in the ionized layer is considered to be 
the same as would be required for transmission 
along path BAD if there were no ionized particles 
present, and a perfect reflecting surface at A in- 
stead. The height, H, from the earth to the inter- 
section of the two projected straight parts of the 
path is called the virtual height of the layer. 
Note that this virtual height is considerably 
greater than the actual layer height. However, 
it is @ convenient and an important quantity in 
measurements and applications involving iono- 
spheric reflections. 


23. Regular Variations of lonosphere 


a. General. Since the existence of the iono- 
sphere is dependent on radiations from the sun, it 
is obvious that the movements of the earth about 
the sun, or changes in the sun’s state of activity 
which might serve to cause an increase or decrease in 
the amount of its radiation, will result in variations 
in the conformation of the ionosphere. These varia- 
tions include those which are more or less regular 
in their nature and, therefore, can be predicted in 
advance, and the irregular variations resulting 
from the abnormal behavior of thesun. For pur- 


31 


poses of discussion, the regular variations may be 
divided into four classes: the diurnal or daily 
variation, the seasonal, the 11-year, and the 27- 
day. For convenience, table IV lists the regular 


Type of variation 


Diurnal 
with hour of day). 


Seasonal....___...--- 


11-year sunspot cycle. - 


27-day (sunspot) --_---- 


32 


(variation 


variations together with the resulting effects upon 
the ionosphere and on radio communications, and 
also gives suggestions that may be followed in 
compensating for these effects. 


Table IV. Regular Variations of Ionosphere 


Effect on ionosphere 


F layer: Height and density de- 


crease at night, increase after 
dawn. During day, layer 
splits into—(1) Fl layer: 
Density follows vertical angle 
of sun; (2) F2 layer: Height 
increases until midday, den- 
sity increases until later in 
day. 


E layer: Height approximately 


constant, density follows verti- 
cal angle of sun. Practically 
nonexistent at night. 


D layer: Appears after dawn, 


density follows vertical angle 
of sun, disappears at night. 


F2 layer: Virtual heights increase 


greatly in summer, decrease in 
winter. Ionization density 
peaks earlier and _ reaches 
higher value in winter. Mini- 
mum predawn density reaches 
lower value in winter. 


Fi, E, and D layers: Reach 


lower maximum densities in 
winter months. 


Layer density increases and de- 


creases in accord with sunspot 
activity (maximum, 1947- 
1948 and 1958-1959; mini- 
mum 1944 and 1955). 


Recurrence of SID’s (sudden 


ionospheric disturbances) and 
ionospheric storms at 27-day 
intervals. Disturbed condi- 
tions frequently may be identi- 
fied with particularly active 
sunspots whose radiations are 
directed toward the earth 
every 27 days as the sun 
rotates. 


Effect on communications 


Skip distance varies in 1- to 
30-me range. Absorption 
increases during day. 


MUF’s (maximum usable fre- 
quencies) (par. 28), gen- 
erally reach higher midday 
values in winter but main- 
tain high values later into 
afternoon in summer. Pre- 
dawn dip in MUF’s reaches 
lower value in winter. Less 
absorption encountered in 
winter. 


Higher critical frequencies 
during years of maximum 
sunspot activity. MUF 


variation: Sunspot max: 
842 me.; sunspot min: 
4-22 me. 


See effects of SID’s and iono- 
spheric storms in table V. 


Method of compensation 


Use higher frequencies dur- 
ing day, lower frequencies 
at night. 


Provide greater spread be- 
tween nighttime and day- 
time operating frequen- 
cies in winter than in 
summer, 


Provide for higher operating 
frequencies to be used 
during periods of sunspot 
maximum and lower fre- 
quencies for use during 


minimum. (Consult TB 
11-499 to determine 
MUF.) 


See compensation for SID’s 
and ionospheric storms in 
table V. 


rr 


b. Diurnal. For the most part, the diurnal 
variations and their effects upon the ionosphere 
layers have been discussed in the description of 
these layers (par. 21). Note, in table IV, that 
to compensate for the resulting variations in the 
skip distance, it is suggested that higher medium 
frequencies be used during the daytime, and 
lower medium frequencies at night. The reason 
for this appears in the fact that the ion density 
of the F2 layer is greater during the daytime, and 
will reflect radio waves of higher frequency than 
the F layer will reflect during the night. The 
higher frequency waves suffer less absorption in 
passing through the D region, whereas at night 
the disappearance of the D region permits the use 
of lower frequencies. 


RELATIVE 
LAYER _HEIGHT 


b> [h 
Da 


WINTER 


l2 18 
TM 666-23 


° 
fo) 
& 
rx} 
c) 
9 
fe) 
° 
® 


Figure 84. Daily and seasonal variations in ion density. 


c. Seasonal. As the apparent position of the 
sun moves from one hemisphere to the other with 
corresponding changes in season, the maximum 
ion density in the D, E, and F1 layers shifts accord- 
ingly, each being relatively greater during the 
summer. The F2 layer, however, does not follow 
this pattern in seasonal shift. In most localities, 
the F2 ion density is greatest in winter and least 
in summer, which is quite the reverse of what 
might be expected from simple theory. Figure 
34 shows graphs of the relative ion densities of all 
layers, and also the relative heights of these 
layers above the surface of the earth, as the 


seasonal shifts occur. Note that, in winter the 
ion density of the F2 layer rises to a sharp peak 
at about noon, and assumes a much _ higher 
density than in summer. Also, note that the 
separation of the Fl and F2 layers is not so well 
defined in summer, since the height of the F2 
layer is relatively less during that season. 

d. Eleven-year. That sunspot activity varies 
according to an 1l-year cycle has been known 
since 1851. Shortly after the discovery of this 
phenomenon, a method was devised for measuring 
the relative intensity of sunspot activity, and, 
by means of this method, the alternations from 
maximum to minimum have been followed closely 
throughout the years. Briefly, the method entails 
the use of the so-called Wolf sunspot number, a 
number obtained for each day by multiplying 
by 10 the number of distinct visible sunspot 
groups and adding thereto the number of individ- 
ual spots observable in the groups. For months 
at a time, the visible surface of the sun may be 
devoid of spots and so that sunspot number ‘ 
zero (comparing views shown in fig. 28). This 
frequently occurs during times of sunspot minima. 
At other times, even the mean annual sunspot 
number has been known to rise as high as 140, 
with daily values running into the hundreds. 
These conditions occur at the maximum of the 
sunspot cycle. Although the time from minimum 
to minimum has been found to be variable, it 
averages around 11 years. Also, the height of 
the maximum and the depth of the minimum vary 
from cycle to cycle. The increased activity at 
times of sunspot maxima is reflected in an increase 
in ion density of all the ionosphere layers, 
resulting in higher critical frequencies for the 
E, F\, and F2 layers, and higher absorption in the 
D region. This permits the use of higher fre- 
quencies for communication over long distances 
at times of sunspot maxima than would be usable 
at times of sunspot minima. The increased 
absorption in the D region, which has the greatest 
effect on the lower frequencies, requires that higher 
frequencies be used, but the over-all effect is an 
improvement in propagation conditions during 
sunspot maxima as the critical frequencies are 
raised more than the absorption limits. 

e. Twenty-Seven Day. Another cycle that is 
due to sunspot activity is the 27-day variation re- 
sulting from the rotation of the sun on its axis. 
As the number of sunspots changes from day to 
day with solar rotation or the formation of new 
spots or the disappearance of old ones on the 


33 


visible part of the sun, absorption by the D region 
also changes. Similar changes are observed in the 
E layer critical frequency. These variations ex- 
hibit wide geographic range; they are not effects 
that are observed at one station and not observed 
at others. Although fluctuations in F2 layer criti- 
cal frequencies from day to day are greater than 
for any other layer, these fluctuations are not gen- 
erally of a world-wide character. Because of the 
variability of the F2 layer, precise predictions of 
its critical frequencies cannot be made for indi- 
vidual days, although seasonal and long-term 
trends and geographic distribution may be out- 
lined accurately in advance. It is necessary in 
selecting frequencies for long-distance communica- 
tion to allow for these fluctuations. 


24. Irregular Variations of lonosphere 


In addition to the more or less regular varia- 
tions in the characteristics of the ionosphere, a 
number of singular, transient effects, though un- 
predictable, have important bearing on propaga- 
tion phenomena. Some of the more prevalent 
of these effects are: sporadic Z; sudden ionospheric 
disturbance (Dellinger fade); ionospheric storms; 
and scattered reflections. These variations have 
been listen for convenience in table V where their 
effects on the ionosphere and on radio communica- 
tion, together with suggestions for compensating 
for them, are given. 

a. Sporadic E. The sporadic £, also known as 
the EZ, layer, is an ionized cloud that appears at 
indefinite intervals, and at a slightly greater height 
than the normal F layer. The nature and cause 
of this abnormal layer are as yet unknown. Some- 
times the sporadic E consists of an extremely 
efficient radiating surface that is capable of re- 
flecting so much of the energy radiated from the 
transmitting antenna, even at frequencies of 10 
to 15 me, that reflections from the other layers of 
the ionosphere are blanked out completely. At 
other times, the sporadic EF may be so thin that, 
although its presence can be verified by sounding, 
reflections from the upper layers easily can be re- 
ceived through it. The sporadic E layer may 
occur during the day or night. Its occurrence is 
frequent, and thus, from 25 to 50 percent of the 
time, long-distance propagation at frequencies up 
to 15 me is rendered possible by its means in 
middle latitudes. Occurrence of sporadic E is 
not usually simultaneous at all stations. In gen- 


34 


eral, tropical stations exhibit less sporadic E than 
stations in higher latitudes. 

b. Sudden Ionospheric Disturbance or Dellinger 
Fade. The most startling of all the irregularities of 
the ionosphere and of radio wave transmission is 
the sudden type of distrubance manifested by a 
radio fadeout. This disturbance, abbreviated 
SID, and sometimes called the Dellinger fade, 
comes without warning and may prevail for a 
length of time from a few minutes to several hours. 
All stations lying wholly or in part on the sunward 
side of the earth are affected, and, at the onset of 
SID, receiving station operators are inclined to 
believe that their radio sets have suddenly gone 
dead. Examination of the sun at the times of 
occurrence of these effects, however, has revealed 
that in all cases where reliable solar data were 
available the appearance of this ionospheric dis- 
turbance was coincidental with the onset of a 
bright solar eruption (fig. 35), and its duration was 
the same as that of the eruption. Such an eruption 
causes a sudden abnormal increase in the ionization 
of the D region, frequently with simultaneous dis- 
turbances in terrestrial magnetism and earth cur- 
rents. Such increases in D region ionization 
usually result in total absorption, in this region, of 
all frequencies above 1,000 kc. 

c. Ionosphere Storms. An ionosphere storm is a 
period of disturbance in the ionosphere, during 
which there are large variations from normal, of 
critical frequencies, layer heights, and absorption. 
These storms may last for periods of varying in- 
tensity (from several hours to several days), and 
usually extend over the entire earth. High- 
frequency sky-wave transmission above approxi- 
mately 1,500 kc then shows low intensity and is 
subject to flutter fading. During the first few 
hours of severe ionosphere storms, the ionosphere 
is turbulent, stratification is destroyed, and radio- 
wave propagation is erratic. During the later 
stages of severe storms and during the whole 
period of more moderate storms, the upper part of 
the ionosphere is expanded and diffused. The 
critical frequencies are much lower than normal 
because of a decrease in ion density, and the virtual 
heights of the layers much greater, so that the 
maximum usable frequencies are much lower than 
normal. It is often necessary to lower the working 
frequency to maintain communication during one 
of these storms. There is also increased absorption 
of radio waves during the storm. Ionosphere 
storms are most severe at the higher latitudes and 
decrease in intensity toward the equator. These 


Table V. Irregular Variations of Ionosphere 


Type of variation Effect on ionosphere 


Clouds of abnormal! ionization 
occurring in the E layer or 
slightly above for a large por- 
tion of time each month result 
in abnormally high critical 
frequencies. Usually spotty 
in geographic extent and time. 


Sporadic Z layer------ 


Unusual amount of ultraviolet 
radiation from solar flare re- 
sults in abnormally high ion- 
ization in all layers. Ioniza- 
tion increase occurs with great 
suddenness throughout day- 
light portion of earth. 


Sudden _ ionospheric 
disturbance (SID). 


Usually accompanies magnetic 

disturbance occurring about 
18 hours after SID’s. Prob- 
ably both are due to abnormal 
particle radiation. Upper 
ionosphere expands and dif- 
fuses, critical frequencies be- 
low normal, virtual heights 
above normal. 
Severest effects toward geo- 
magnetic poles, decreasing to- 
ward equator. Few minutes 
to several hours in duration; 
effects disappear gradually in 
few days. 

Scattered refiections...  The ionospheric layers are not 

smooth. Irregularities in den- 

sity and in height are normal. 


Tonospheric storm. -- .- 


storms probably are caused by abuormal particle 
radiation from the sun, and are likely to occur 
during periods of great solar activity. The storms 
are most likely to start about 2 days after an 
active sunspot group crosses the center of the sun’s 
disk. 

d. Scattered Reflections. An irregular type of 
reflection from the ionosphere occurs at all seasons 
and is prevalent both day and night. The iono- 


Excellent transmission within 


Limits number of usable high 


Because of irregularities in the 


Effect on communications Methods of compensation 


Frequency may have to be 
lowered to maintain short- 
skip communications. At 
times, long-distance com- 
munications on abnor- 
mally high frequencies are 


normal skip distance. Oc- 
casionally, long-distance 
communications on _ fre- 
quencies of 60 mc or higher 
are possible. 


possible. (See TB 11- 
499.) 
Normal frequencies above 1   Raise working frequency 


above normal for short- 
hop transmission. Lower 
frequency below normal 
for long-hop transmission. 


or 1.5 me are rendered use- 
less because of high absorp- 
tion in the abnormally-ion- 
ized D layer. Frequencies 
considerably higher than 
norma! will survive this ab- 
sorption for short hops. 
Low frequencies may not 
penetrate the D layer and 
thus may be transmitted for 
long distances. 
Use frequencies lower than 
normal, particularly in 
high latitude circuits. 


frequencies. 


Fading of short duration. 


ionosphere, the electric field No compensation required. 


at a receiver consists of 
several fields arriving from 
slightly different directions 
with varying phase relation- 
ships. The result is fading 
of the signal resulting from 
cancelation and reinforce- 
ment. 


sphere layers are irregular, and the presence. of 
ionized clouds or scattering patches at E layer 
heights has been mentioned previously. Irregular 
reflections are obtained from these because of the 
rapid change of ionization with height. A radio 
wave can reflect from either the top or bottom of 
one of these scattering clouds, and these reflections 
make possible the reception of signals within the 
normal skip zones and at frequencies much higher 


35 


ONIGAT ERUERTICM 


-TM 666-24 


Figure 35. Bright-solar eruption. 


than those well receivable from the regular layers. 
The reflections may cause signal distortion and 
contribute to so-called flutter fading. Signals 
received from such reflections either may arrive 
from all directions or, if the transmitter operates 
with a highly directional antenna, may appear to 
come from the direction in which the antenna is 


TRANSMITTING 
ANTENNA 


pointed. The field intensity at the receiving sta- 
tion may be the sum of the components of several 
contributing radio waves of varying phase rela- 
tions. Figure 36 shows the effect of just two of 
these scattered signal components arriving at a 
receiving station by different paths, the one by 
reftection from the lower surface of the scattering 
cloud of ionization, the other after re-reflection 
from the top of this same cloud. It is obvious that, 
with respect to the latter signal component, a 
time lag will occur which either will serve to cancel 
@ portion of the signal reflected directly from the 
bottom surface of the scattering cloud, and thus 
cause fading, or will augment this signal, depend- 
ing upon the phase relations of the two components 
at the receiving station. 


25. lonosphere Predictions 


By sounding the ionosphere it is possible to pre- 
dict for several months in advance the various 
important characteristics of the ionosphere above 
any point on the surface of .the earth. Such 
predictions are useful in the selection of optimum 
frequencies for radio communication over a defi- 
nite path at particular times. The average vari- 
ations of the critical frequency and maximum 
usable frequency factors are sufficiently well 
known to permit long-range predictions to be made 
for average conditions on ionospherically quiet 


HIGHER LAYER 


/ 


SCATTERING 
CLOUD 


RECEIVING 
ANTENNA 


Rei tu cee-25. 


36 Figure 36. Scattering of signal components of radio wave. 


days (days without ionosphere disturbances). One 
of the basic principles employed in all ionosphere 
predictions is the relation of ionospheric charac- 
teristics to the sunspot cycle. The actual predic- 
tion consists essentially of first predicting the 
solar activity and then deducing, from the mass of 
data available, the corresponding trends of sea- 
sonal, diurnal, and geographic variations of the 
ionosphere characteristics. No attempt.is made 
at present in these long-range predictions to 
estimate the detailed day-to-day variations in the 


Section Ill. 
26. General 


Sky-wave propagation refers to those types of 
radio transmission that make use of ionospheric 
reflections to provide signal paths between trans- 
mitters and receivers. Sky-wave transmission, 
being by far the most important method for long- 
distance radio communication, presents many 
problems that can be solved adequately only 
through a complete understanding of the prin- 
ciples involved. A typical question in sky-wave 
propagation is whether the ionosphere will support 
(reflect) a radio wave of a particular frequency 
and whether the received signal will be strong 
enough at the receiver to be heard above the noise 
level present at the receiver. The answer to this 
question can be given only after considering the 
many factors involved—what particular path the 
radio wave will take in traveling from transmitter 
to receiver, whether the frequency of the radio 
wave lies between the limits determined by the 
maximum usable frequency and the lowest useful 
high frequency for the particular signal path; and 
the field strength that may be expected of the 
signal upon its arrival at the receiver (received 
signal strength). 


27. Sky-Wave Transmission Paths 


Figure 37 illustrates some of the many possible 
paths of radio waves from a transmitter to a re- 
ceiver as transmitted by reflection from an elec- 
trically conducting layer of the ionosphere. Note 
that some of the components of the entire wave 
front, which in this case are assumed to be of too 
high a frequency for reflection by the ionized layer, 
pass on through and are lost in outside space, 
unless they happen to be reflected from some 
higher layer having a greater degree of ion density. 


ionosphere, these being rather localized and de- 
pending on conditions of solar radiation and 
terrestrial effects of the particular days. Also, 
no account is taken of ionospheric disturbances) 
either of the ionosphere-storm type or of the 
sudden ionosphere-disturbance type. These ab- 
normalities constitute a different forecasting 
problem. Regular predictions now are published 
monthly, for a period of 3 months in advance, as 
TB 11--499-( ), Basic Radio Propagation Predic- 
tions. 


SKY-WAVE PROPAGATION 


Other components of the wave, which are assumed 
to be of the correct frequency for reflection from 
the ionosphere layer, are returned to earth, and 
it is these components of the wave that provide 
commuaications. Note also that the skip distance 
is that distance from the transmitter at which the 
ion density of the layer will just support reflection. 
The skip zone and its relation to the ground wave 
are shown in figure 38. When the skip distance 
becomes less than the inner limit of the skip zone, 
both the sky wave and the ground wave may 
have nearly the same field intensity but a random 
relative phase. When this occurs, the field of the 
sky wave successively reinforces and cancels that 
of the ground wave, causing severe fading of the 
signal. Note the distinction between the terms 
skip distance and skip zone. For each frequency 
(greater than the critical frequency) at which 
reflection from an ionosphere layer takes place, 
there is a skip distance that depends only on the 
frequency and the state of ionization. The skip 
zone, on the other hand, depends on the extent of 
the ground-wave range and disappears entirely if 
the ground-wave range equals or exceeds the skip 
distance. 

a. Sky-Wave Modes. The distance at which 
the wave returns to the earth depends on the 
height: of the ionized layer and the amount of 
bending of the path while traversing the layer, 
the latter depending on the frequency of the wave 
as compared to the ion density of the layer 
required to refract or bend the wave. Upon re- 
turn to the earth’s surface, part of the energy 
enters the earth, to be rapidly dissipated, but 
part is reflected back imto the ionosphere again, 
where it may be reflected downward again at a 
still greater distance from the transmitter. This 
means of travel in hops, by alternate reflections 
from the ionosphere and from the surface of the 


37 


38 


THESE RAYS PASS THROUGH THE 
IOWOSFHERE ANO ARE LOST. - 


TRANSMITTER 


9 
(fod 
z 
= 
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= 
4 
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= 
- 


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w 
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paths. 


mission 


‘arious sky-wave trans 


Vi 


Figure $7. 


Figure 38. 


earth, may continue, and enables transmission 
to be received at long distances from the trans- 
mitter. Figure 39 illustrates this means of travel 
for paths involving one and two reflections from 
the ionosphere (single- and double-hop modes). 
Figure 40 further illustrates this means of travel 
and reflection from different layers, with the 
layers represented by lines for simplicity. Figure 
40 also relates the heights of the various ionized 
layers to actual distances along the earth’s 
surface. 

b. Great-Circle Path. The paths which the radio 
waves normally traverse in traveling from the 
transmitter to the receiver lie in the plane passing 
through the center of the earth and the trans- 
mission and reception points. The intersection 
of this plane with the surface of the earth is the 
great-circle path between the transmission and 
reception points. Radio-wave transmission paths 
which lie in this plane generally are called, for 
brevity, great-circle paths. Frequently, however, 
waves do not follow paths confined to this plane, 
and this deviation is called non-great-circle trans- 
mission. The part of the ionosphere which 
controls sky-wave propagation is the portion 
directly above the great-circle path. For single- 
hop transmission, this portion is a region centered 
above the midpoint of the great-circle path. 
The situation becomes more complicated when the 
transmission path is too long for a single hop, 
and it is necessary to consider ionsphere con- 
ditions at more than one point along the path 
between the tranamitter and the receiver. Waves 
can follow either the major arc or the minor arc 
of the great-circle path. For instance, radio 


Ta O66-26   
Skip zone. 


waves emanated at New York City might travel 
cross-country, or westward, to reach San Fran- 
cisco, which would be along the minor arc of the 
great-circle path between these cities, or these 
waves might travel eastward, almost around the 
world to the same destination, which would be 
along the major arc. The two types of trans- 
mission are called short-path and long-path trans- 
mission, respectively. 

c. Frequency. As noted previously in the dis- 
cussion of the ionosphere, the higher the fre- 
quency of a wave, the less it is refracted by a given 
ion density. Thus, if the angle of incidence of 
the wave with the ionosphere is fixed and the 
frequency increased, the minimum distance be- 
tween the transmitter and the point of return of 
the wave to the earth increases slightly. Figure 41 
shows three separate waves of different fre- 
quencies entering at the same angle an iono- 
spheric layer of a given density. Here, the 100- 
mec wave is not refracted sufficiently by the 
ionosphere and is not returned; the 5-mc and 
the 20-mc waves are returned, but the 20 mc 
wave, being refracted less than the 5-mc wave, 
returns at a greater distance. 

d. Incident Angles. For a radio wave of a 
particular frequency and for an ionized layer of a 
particular density of ionization, there is an angle 
of incidence of the wave, called the critical angle, 
at which the wave is reflected and returns to earth 
near its minimum or skip distance. This phe- 
nomenon is explained in detail in paragraph 22, 
but it should be noted that the critical angle of a 
given wave sometimes is defined as the angle at 
which the wave is propagated horizontally within 


‘uorssrmsun.; savm-fhys fo sapopy ‘6g aunbty 


Figure 41. 


the ionospheric layer and, therefore, does not 
return to earth. On consideration, it will be seen 
that these two definitions are the same, since the 
angle at which the wave first returns and the angle 
at which it just does not return are the same 
angle. Also, the critical angle is measured (for 
purposes of calculation) between the wave path at 
incidence with the ionosphere and a line extended 


Frequency versus distance for returned waves. 


from the ionosphere to the center of the earth; 
however, for ease of explanation, the critical angle 
and all other angles of incidence are taken as 
angles made by the wave with either the earth or 
the ionosphere considered as horizontal plane 

surfaces. 
(1) Figure 42 shows a given wave at various 
angles of incidence with the ionosphere 


4) 


42 


~ CRITICAL 
ANGLE 


HIGH-ANGLE WAY! 


Figure 48. High-frequency wave at various angles of incidence. 


and its resultant variation in refraction 
or reflection. Note that at angles of 
incidence larger than the critical angle, 
the wave is not sufficiently refracted in 
the ionosphere and escapes into space. 
As the angle of incidence decreases below 


the critical angle, the wave returns to 
earth at decreasing distances from the 
transmitter until a point of minimum 
distance, the skip distance, is reached. 
Then, as the angle of incidence continues 
to decrease, the distance between the 


MEDAUM-FREQUENCY 
Wane (OF REPEAT: 


OF INCIDEN: 


~OVERCRITICAL ANGLE. 
CE FOR 


MEDIUM-FREQUENCY 
WAVE REFLECTED   


—~ HIGH-FREQUENCY. 


HIGH-FREQUENCY WAVE - 
_. (NOT REFLECTED) 


INCIDENCE) 


TM 866-28» 


Figure 44. Relation of angle of incidence to usable frequency. 


transmitter and the point at which the 
wave returns increases and continues to 
increase for smaller and smaller angles of 
incidence. Also, any high-angle wave 
which returns beyond the skip distance is 
attenuated greatly, and the skip distance 
remains as the point at which the wave 
first is returned in strength to the earth. 


(2) This irregular variation of the return 


distance with regular variation of the 
incident angle results from the fact that 
the ionosphere acts principally as a 
refracting medium for the larger angles 
of incidence. If the angle of radiation of 
the transmitted wave can be controlled, 
the smaller angles of radiation result in 
greater distance of communication. 
Figure 43 shows sky waves of a fixed 
frequency propagated at the critical 
angle and at various smaller angles. 
Note that the smaller the angle the 
greater the distance at which the wave is 
returned to earth. 


(3) The critical angle for a given frequency is 


not to be confused with the critical 
frequency for a given layer of the iono- 
sphere. The critical frequency, as ex- 
plained in paragraph 22, is the highest 
frequency a given density of ionization 
will return directly to the earth when 
propagated at a vertical angle (incident 


at 90° to the ionosphere). Although a 
vertically propagated frequency higher 
than the critical frequency does not 
return to the earth, it is possible that this 
same frequency propagated at a different 
angle will return. In other words, fre- 
quencies higher than the critical fre- 
quency may be used if the angle of 
incidence is less than 90°. Figure 44 
illustrates this relationship between the 
angle of incidence and the use of fre- 
quencies higher than the critical fre- 
quency to obtain communication. 


28. Maximum Usable Frequency (MUF) 


a. For any given ionized layer of fixed height 
and ion density, and for a transmitting antenna 
with a fixed angle of radiation, there‘is a frequency 
(higher than any other) that will return to the 
earth at a given distance. This frequency is the 
maximum usable frequency for that distance; more- 
over, it is always a frequency higher than the 
critical frequency because the angle of incidence is 
less than 90°. Thus, for any given great-circle dis- 
tance along.the earth, there is a maximum usable 
frequency which is the highest frequency that will 
be reflected from a given layer of the ionosphere 
and that will return to the earth at the great circle 
distance. If the distance between transmitter 
and receiver increases, the maximum usable fre- 


43 


Da 
SIGNALS 


NIGHT 
SIGNALS 


Figure 45. Relationship of distance, time, angle, and frequency. 


quency increases. In other words, the greater the 
transmission distance, the higher the maximum 
usable frequency. 

b. In selecting the proper operating frequency 
for sky waves which travel along a fixed radio path, 
the maximum usable frequency is perhaps the most 
important factor to be considered. If the oper- 
ating frequency is above the maximum usable fre- 
quency, the wave is said to escape, since it then 
will not be reflected by the ionosphere layer but 
will pass on through. On the other hand, if the 
operating frequency is decreased below the maxi- 
mum usable frequency in the daytime, the wave 
becomes increasingly attenuated, since, in the high- 
frequency range, the lower the frequency, the 
more wave energy is lost through ionospheric ab- 
sorption. Hence, it is usually desirable for trans- 


mission to occur on a frequency as near to the 


maximum usable frequency as possible. A direct 
telationship exists between the maximum usable 
frequency, the condition of the ionosphere, time, 
and the angle of radiation, as shown in figure 45. 
Thus, it is possible to predict mean values of maxi- 
mum usable frequency for propagation over any 


44 


path for any time in any future month. Since the 
method of problem solution entails the use of 
world-contour charts and the use of complicated 
procedures, it is beyond the scope of this manual, 
but, as mentioned previously, this information 
may be obtained by consulting TM 11-499, Radio 
Propagation, and TB 11-499-( ), the monthly 
supplement thereto. 

c. If the density of the ionosphere is such that 
the maximum usable frequency is at a frequency 
near the critical frequency, the wave. is exces- 
sively retarded in the ionized layer, and, because 
of the effects of the earth’s magnetic field, splits 
into two components known as the ordinary wave 
and the extraordinary wave. These components, 
shown in figure 46, are usually of different polari- 
zation and phase. The critical frequency for 
the extraordinary wave is higher than that for 
the ordinary wave, the difference varying with 
the intensity of the earth’s magnetic field, which 
changes with geographic position. Since the 
critical frequency for the ordinary wave is lower 
than that for the extraordinary wave, a layer of 
given ion density bends the ordinary wave less 


HEIGHT OF MAXIMUM ION DENSiITy 


, ee 
/ 
/ 
/ as 
/ / 
rs pace / / 
7 j 
Lp 7 
If / 
if / 
If / 


— ORDINARY WAVE 


\ (LOWER CRITICAL FREQUENCY) 
<\—_ SINGLE WAVE AT MUF 


EXTRAORDINARY WAVE 
(HIGHER CRITICAL FREQUENCY) 


S 


WSS> 


\", 


“ds a 


T™M 666-29 


Figure 46. Ordinary and extraordinary waves. 


than it does the extraordinary wave. From 
another point of view, the ordinary wave, which 
obeys the laws of simple refraction, must penetrate 
a greater distance into the layer than the extraor- 
dinary wave, which responds to both refraction 
and reflection. Figure 46 shows these two waves 
in conjunction with the MUF. However, it 
should be noted that this effect is important only 
for F layer transmission, causing interference fad- 
ing. The extraordinary wave reflected from the 
E layer is so weak that it does not affect radio re- 
ception. 


29. Lowest Useful Frequency (LUF) 


a. Absorption. The presence of ions in the 
upper atmosphere not only causes bending and 
the return to earth of a radio wave of sufficiently 
low frequency, but also causes part of the wave 
energy to be absorbed. The collisions of electrons 


with neighboring molecules of air reduce the 
intensity of the radio wave below that result- 
ing from the normal spreading of the wave 
front as it travels out from the transmitter. This 
absorption process is also of great importance in 
the practical use of ionospheric radio transmission. 
During the day, absorption takes place mainly in 
the D region of the ionosphere. Electron densi- 
ties in this region are considerably less than in the 
higher regions, but the increased density of the 
atmosphere itself results in an increase in the 
number of collisions between electrons and mole- 
cules of air, and more than compensates for the 
scarcity of electrons. During the night, ioniza- 
tion and absorption in the D region become negli- 
gible. However, there is some absorption for 
frequencies near the MUF of the F2 layer because 
waves at such frequencies are retarded to such an 
extent that there is sufficient time for appreciable 
energy loss to take place in spite of the relatively 


45 


small number of collisions. Such absorption is 
called deviative absorption, because it occurs in 
conjunction with retardation, which causes bend- 
ing of the waves. Absorption which takes place 
even though the wave is not appreciably retarded 
is called nondeviative absorption. The absorption 
in the D region is largely nondeviative. 

b. Lowest Useful High Frequency (LUHF). At 
certain frequencies of transmission, radio waves 
penetrating into the ionosphere, primarily in the 
D region and in the lower portion of the Z region, 
lose some of their energy by absorption. Generally 
speaking, the higher the frequency used, up to the 
limit of the maximum usable frequency, the less 
will be the total absorption and the more satisfac- 
tory will be the level of communication. Absorp- 
tion is at a maximum for frequencies of about 500 
ke to 2 me in the daytime, and decreases for both 
higher and lower frequencies at night. Thus, for 
frequencies above about 1 me, the strength of the 
received sky waves will, in the daytime, increase 
with frequency (corresponding to decreasing ab- 
sorption). Finally, a frequency will be reached 
for any given sky-wave path where the strength 
of the received signal just overrides the noise level. 
This frequency is called the LUF. Frequencies 
lower than the LUF are absorbed to such an extent 
as to render them too weak for useful communica- 
tion. It should be noted, however, that the LUF 

‘depends on the power of the transmitter as well 
as on the distance concerned. At night, the noise 
level increases with decreasing frequency so that, 
as the frequency is lowered, the signals become 
weaker with respect to the noise and the LUF 
eventually is reached. Thus, the term lowest 
useful frequency may apply to either day or night 
transmission. 

c. Summary for Variable Frequency. Assuming 
constant ionospheric conditions, a constant dis- 
tance, and single-hop transmission, it can be said 
that — 

(1) Frequencies considerably below the MUF 
will be attenuated greatly by nondevia- 
tive absorption. 

(2) Frequencies somewhat below the MUF 

will be reflected as ordinary and extraor- 
dinary waves, either or both of which 
may be attenuated greatly by deviative 
absorption. 
Frequencies near the MUF will be re- 
flected as ordinary and extraordinary 
waves, both of fair strength. 

(4) Frequencies at the MIUF will Be received 


(3 


~~ 


46 


in the greatest possible strength as one 
wave. 

(5) Frequencies above the MUF will escape 
and not be received, except as scattered 
waves (par. 24). 

d. Summary for Variable Distance. Assuming 
constant ionospheric conditions, a fixed frequency, 
and single-hop transmission, it can be said that— 

(1) At short distances, the wave will skip and 
not be received, except of course as a 
ground wave. 

(2) At just a certain distance, called the skip 
distance, the wave will be received as one 
wave and at its greatest strength. 

(3) At a greater distance, the wave still will 
be received but as an ordinary wave and 
extraordinary waves, with resultant fad- 
ing because of random polarization. 

(4) At still greater distances, the ordinary and 
extraordinary waves will be received, but 
either or both will be attenuated consider- 
ably by deviative absorption. 

(5) At even greater distances, the wave will 
be attenuated greatly by both deviative 
and nondeviative absorption. 

Note. An important fact to be borne in mind 
is that radio waves of fixed radiation angle are 
receivable at distances greater than the skip 


distance, but that as this distance is increased 
appreciably, increased attenuation results. 


30. Optimum Working Frequency (FOT) 


Variations in the ion density of the ionosphere 
layers occur from day to day, and from hour to 
hour. Predictions on which the MUF’s are based 
are made by averaging long-range observations, 
and do not take into account these day-by-day 
fluctuations. Therefore, the actual upper limiting 
frequency must be selected at a value which will 
insure against the probability of the operating 
frequency becoming greater than the MUF for 
any particular day. For the F2 layer, the optimum 
working frequency thus is selected at approxi- 
mately 85 percent of the MUF for that particular 
transmission path. The optimum working fre- 
quency for the combined #-F1 layer may be 
taken as the MUF, since the day-by-day variations 
in E layer ionization are small. Of course, if the 
LUF is nearly equal to the MUF for a given 
transmission path, the optimum working fre- 
quency must be selected at a value consistent 
with both. During moderate ionospheric storms, 
communication often can be assured by operating 


at frequencies slightly lower than normal, since 
critical frequencies are usually lower than normal 
during these periods. 


31. Received Signal Strength 


a. Factors. Whether the ionosphere will support 
transmission of sky waves over a given signal path 
at a certain time may be determined by finding 
the MUF and LUF for this path. If a consistent 
optimum working frequency can be derived from 
these factors, radio communication over this 
signal path is known to be possible. In the 
downcoming sky wave, we are not dealing with a 
steady wave of constant amplitude and phase, but 
one which may fade suddenly and greatly, whose 
polarization may be changing constantly, which 
may be composed of not one but many component 
waves, which is affected by reflection at the 
ground near the receiver, and which is subject to 
the variations in height and energy absorption in 
the ionosphere, and to focusing by the ionosphere. 
These difficulties may be minimized by due 
regard to certain factors upon which the received 
signal strength depends, such as_ transmitter 
power, antenna gain, transmission-path distance, 
absorption function of the signal path, and 
interference losses. It is obvious that the trans- 
mitter must supply the amount of power required 
to provide a field of sufficient strength at the 
receiver. 

b. Gain of Antenna. The gain of an antenna 
depends primarily on its design. The various 
types of antennas and their characteristics will be 
discussed in chapter 3, but it may be said here 
that transmitting antennas are designed for high 
efficiency in radiating energy, and receiving 
antennas are designed for the efficient pickup of 
energy. On many radio circuits, transmission is 
required between a transmitter and only one 
receiving station. In such cases, it is desirable to 
radiate as much energy as possible in the proper 
direction since radiated energy is useful only in 
that direction. Directional characteristics in a 
receiving antenna increase the energy pickup or 
gain in the favored direction and reduce the 
reception of unwanted noise and signals from 
other directions. The general requirements for 
receiving and transmitting antennas are that 
they have small energy losses and that they be 
efficient as receptors and radiators. 

c. Field Intensity. In traversing a nonionized 
region of the atmosphere, practically no energy 


is lost from the wave, and the only decrease in 
field intensity is that caused by the spreading out 
of the wave front, the inverse distance attenuation. 
The field intensity along a path, encountering no 
obstacles (neither large masses nor ions) and 
no interfering wave trains, varies inversely as the 
distance from the emitting source; the energy 
density in the waves, which is proportional to the 
square of the field intensity, varies inversely as 
the square of the distance (the familiar inverse- 
square law). As mentioned previously, the field 
intensity usually is measured in microvolts 
per meter. 

d. Absorption. The presence of ions in the 
upper atmosphere not only causes bending and the 
return to earth of a radio wave of sufficiently low 
frequency, but also causes part of the wave energy 
to be dissipated because of the collisions of the 
electrons with neighboring molecules of air. This 
reduces the intensity of the radio wave below that 
resulting from the normal spreading of the wave 
front as it travels out from the transmitter. This 
absorption process is of great importance in the 
practical use of ionospheric radio transmission. 
During the day, absorption takes place mainly 
in the D region of the ionosphere. Here, electron 
densities are considerably less than in higher 
regions, but the increased density of air molecules 
results in an increase in the number of collisions 
which more than compensates for the scarcity of 
electrons. During the night, ionization and ab- 
sorption in the D region become negligible. How- 
ever, there is still some absorption for frequencies 
near the MUF of the F2 layer because waves at 
such frequencies are retarded, and there is suffi- 
cient time for appreciable energy loss to take place 
in spite of the relatively small number of collisions. 
As stated before, such absorption is called deviative 
absorption because it occurs in conjunction with 
returdation, which also causes bending of the 
waves. Absorption which takes place even when 
the wave is not appreciably retarded is called 
nondeviative absorption. Absorption in the D 
region is largely nondeviative. 

e. Antenna Height. The received signal field is 
usually a combination of the direct field resulting 
from the downcoming sky wave, together with- 
that caused by the wave reflected from the ground. 
The resultant electric vector at the antenna, there- 
fore, is dependent on variations of the ground- 
reflection coefficient as well as on the instantaneous 
changes in both the amplitude and direction of 
the downcoming sky wave. The height of the 


47 


receiving antenna and the angle at which the sky 
wave approaches it may thus be contributing 
factors to the received signal strength, since 
polarization and phase of the ground-reflected 
component may serve either to cancel out, or to 
contribute to, the resultant field strength at the 
antenna. 


32. Fading 


Because of fluctuations in iondspheric condi- 
tions, the received intensity of the sky wave is not 
constant, but varies with time. The term fading 
refers to relatively rapid variations which occur 
during a space of minutes, seconds, or even frac- 
tions of a second. In general, fading is more 
sudden on high than on low frequencies. A type 
of fading known as selective fading also can cause 
distortion in radiotelephone signals. In such 
cases, the fading affects certain frequencies more 
than others and, therefore, may affect the side 
bands and the carrier wave differently. Fading, 
which is usually a nuisance, may be reduced by 
several methods, such as automatic volume con- 
trol, suppressed carrier transmission, and diversity 
reception. Discussion of these methods is beyond 
the scope of this manual. 

a. Types of Fading. The many types of fading 
fall into four principal classes—(1) interference 
fading, (2) polarization fading, (3) absorption 
fading, and (4) skip fading. Most of the rapid 
fading in the input to a receiver is a combination 
of the first two types; the other two are responsible 
for slower changes. 

b. Interference Fading. Interference fading is 
caused by phase interference of two or more waves 
from the same source arriving at the receiver 
over slightly different paths. If the paths are of 
different lengths, and their relative lengths vary 
for some reason, such as fluctuations in the height 
of the ionosphere layers, the relative phases of the 
waves arriving over the different paths vary with 
time, causing alternate reinforcement and cancel- 
ation of the field intensity. Because of irregu- 
larities in the ionosphere, one downcoming sky 
wave is really the summation of a great number of 
waves of small intensity and of random relative 
phases, and thus the resultant field intensity can 
vary over wide limits. The rms (root mean 
square) value of the fading mtensity is equal to the 
homogeneous field, or the steady value of the field 
that would have existed had the ionosphere not 
broken the wave up into many components. 


48 


c. rovarvzation Fading. Additional variation in 
the field intensity affecting the receiving antenna 
occurs as a result of changes in the state of polari- 
zation of the downcoming wave relative to the 
orientation of the antenna. This variation is 
called polarization fading. In general, the state 
of polarization of the downcoming sky wave is 
changing constantly. This is due mainly to the 
combination, at random amplitudes and phases, 
of the two oppositely polarized components, the 
ordinary and the extraordinary wave. The polar- 
ization of the downcoming sky wave is generally 
elliptical. By elliptical polarization is meant that, 
as the wave travels along the signal path, the 
electric and magnetic fields remain at right angles 
to each other and to the direction of propagation, 
but rotate about the signal path in more or less 
corkscrew fashion instead of remaining constantly 
in either a vertical or a horizontal plane with 
respect to the path, as does the plane polarized 
wave. This results in random and constantly 
changing values of the amplitude and orientation 
of the electric field with respect to the receiving 
antenna. The state of polarization of sky waves 
varies more rapidly the higher the frequency, 
which accounts in part for the rapid fading on the 
higher frequencies. 

d. Absorption Fading. Absorption fading is 
caused by short-time variations in the amount of 
energy lost from the wave because of absorption 
in the ionosphere. In general, the period of this 
type of fading is much longer than for the other 
two types, since the ionospheric absorption usually 
changes slowly. The sudden ionospheric disturb- 
ance is an extreme case of this type of fading, 
although usually it is classified as an irregular dis- 
turbance rather than as fading. Somewhat simi- 
lar to this type of fading, although not caused in 
the ionosphere but by reflections and absorption 
in objects close to the receiver, is the type of fading 
experienced in receiving a signal while moving 
along in an automobile. The fading out of the 
signal when the automobile is passing under a 
bridge or near a heavy steel structure is caused by 
absorption of the wave’s energy by the structure. 
Effects of this sort are involved in so-called dead 
spots or places where radio reception is particu- 
larly difficult. Also, radiation from wires, fences, 
and steel structures can cause an interference pat- 
tern that is relatively fixed in space, and can be 
noticed on moving the receiving equipment 


around. Where there are nearby structures which 


can cause these effects, care must be exercised in 
the selection of the receiving site. 

e. Skip Fading. Skip fading is observed at 
places near the limit of the skip distance, and is 
caused by the changing angle of refraction. Near 
sunrise and sunset, when the ionization density of 
the ionosphere is changing, it may happen that the 
MUF for a given transmission path fluctuates 
about the actual operating frequency. When the 
skip distance moves out past the receiving station 
(sometimes called going into the skip) the received 
intensity abruptly drops by a factor of 100 or more, 
and just as abruptly increases again when the skip 
distance moves in again. This may take place 
many times before steady conditions for trans- 
mission are established. 


33. Radio Noise and Required Signal Strength 


a. Required Signal Strength. The minimum 
radio field intensity necessary to allow the satis- 
factory reception of an intelligible signal of a 
particular type in the presence of radio noise at 
the receiving station is called the required signal 
strength for this type of service. As a propaga- 
tion factor, the required signal strength is subject 
to wide variation. It depends on the receiving 
set; the local noise or static; the type of modulation 
of the radio wave, or, in other words, the type of 
service; and the grade of service desired—e. g., 
barely intelligible, high fidelity, and so on. It 
also varies, with the radio noise, according to the 
time of day and season. 

b. Types of Radio Noise. Radio noise may be 
defined as interference, the energy of which is not 
confined to a narrow band of frequencies. Two 
general types of radio noise may be distinguished— 
(1) impulse noise, which is interference resulting 
from a single elementary disturbance, or from an 
aggregate of elementary disturbances with sys- 
tematic relative phase; and (2) random, or fluctua- 
tion noise, which is the aggregate of a large number 
of elementary disturbances with random relative 
phases. A distinction between impulse and ran- 
dom noise is not always easy to make. However, 
electrical, or man-made, noise caused by the opera- 
tion of electrical equipment is usually of the 
impulse type, whereas atmospheric noise, originat- 
ing in thunderstorms or caused by other atmos- 
pheric conditions, ordinarily may be considered to 
have the bandwidth characteristics of random 
noise. The best example of random noise is the 
fluctuation noise originating in the resistance com- 


ponents of impedance elements in the receiver or 
brought about by the fluctuations of electrons 
within vacuum tubes. Another example is the 
noise generated by cosmic rays, which are sufh- 
cently high in frequency to penetrate the atmos- 
phere of the earth. This cosmic noise is noticeable 
only in receivers capable of detecting these 
frequencies. 

(1) Atmospheric noise. At the frequencies 
under consideration in this manual, at- 
mospheric noise and precipitation noise 
are the most important types to be 
considered. Radio noise from electrical 
apparatus, such as the ignition systems 
of automobiles, may be very serious, but 
is, more or less, under the control of the 
observer, and can be largely eliminated 
if necessary. Atmospheric or precipita- 
tion noise, on the other hand, since it 
originates in thunderstorms, or in rain, 
snow, or dust storms, usually cannot be 
eliminated and thus sets the limit for 
radio reception. Most atmospheric noise 
is considered to originate in the lightning 
flashes associated with thunderstorms. 
Generally, thunderstorms occur much 
more frequently over the land than over 
the sea and are more common at low 
than at high altitudes. 

(2) Cosmic and solar radio noise. Between 
frequencies of about 10 and 100 me, 
cosmic radio noise originating in inter- 
stellar space is known to be the principal 
source of interference to reception under 
many circumstances. As stated above, 
cosmic noise has about the same char- 
acteristics as the fluctuation noise orig- 
inating in components of a receiving set. 
The sources of cosmic noise are not dis- 
tributed evenly over the sky but tend to 
be concentrated in several regions of the 
celestial sphere, the principal of these 
regions being near the center of the 
Milky Way. Consequently, when re- 
ceived on a directional antenna, the 
noise varies in characteristic manner 
from hour to hour and from day to day. 
The reason for the existence of cosmic 
noise is not well known. Some investiga- 
tors believe it to be radio-frequency 
radiation from eruptions, similar to the 
spot eruptions on our sun, occurring on 
all the stars in the galaxy; others have 


49 


considered it as originating in electron 
activity in the space between the stars. 
Recently, it has been found that the sun 
also acts as a radiator of radio noise at 
frequencies from about 200 mc up. 
Except at the time of large sunspot 
eruptions, solar noise is important only 
on very high frequencies and when highly 
directional antennas actually are pointed 
at the sun; therefore, it need not be con- 
sidered in relation to practical problems 
of propagation. 

(3) Receiving set noise. Noise generated in- 
ternally in a receiving set is caused by 
the random motion of electrons in resist- 
ance components of impedance elements 
and in the fluctuations of the electrons in 
vacuum tubes. In the absence of all 
external noise, signals, to be intelligible, 
must be strong enough to override this 
internal noise. With only internal noise 
present, the ability of a receiver to re- 
ceive a signal usually is expressed as the 
noise figure of the receiver. Experi- 
mental determination of the receiver 
input terminal voltage required to over- 
ride the internal noise in typical Army 
communications receivers shows a value 
of approximately 2 microvolts for 90 per- 
cent intelligibility of 100 percent modu- 
lated radiotelephony. Though this value 
is somewhat dependent on frequency, it 
is considered sufficiently accurate for all 
frequencies between 1.5 and 20 me. 

c. Noise Figure. For many years, radio engi- 
neers were faced with the problem of devising a 
system for rating a receiver or an amplifier on its 
merits from the standpoint of low noise. The 
problem was complicated by the fact that in ad- 
dition to the useful output voltage of a generator 
(the generator, under operating conditions, being 
an antenna and the useful output voltage being 
the desired signal voltage) a certain noise voltage 
is always present. In an antenna, this noise 
voltage would include that caused by thermal re- 
sistor noise, and atmospheric and cosmic noise; in 
a standard voltage generator, this voltage would 
include only that resulting from thermal resistor 
noise. Because of the fluctuations of atmospheric- 
and cosmic-noise voltages with time, location, and 
construction and orientation of the antenna, these 
noise voltages do not offer a constant standard for 
rating a receiver or an amplifier. However, ther- 


gO 


mal noise, presenting a readily computed voltage 
offers a satisfactory standard against which the 
noise introduced by a receiver or an amplifier can 
be rated. Based on this principle, a system of 
rating a receiver in terms of its noise figure has 
been devised for this purpose. 

(1) In a receiving system, the total noise is 
the sum of the tube noise, the thermal 
noise in the input circuit, the thermal 
noise in the output circuit, and the 
antenna noise. Antenna noise is the 
induced atmospheric and cosmic noise 
appearing at the receiver input. 

(2) The signal-to-noise ratio of an ideal re- 
ceiving system can be expressed as 


available signal 
Signal-to-noise power __ power 
ratio of ideal system ideal available 
noise power 


where the ideal available noise power is 
the power developed across the antenna 
resistance by the thermal noise voltage. 
The available signal power at the re- 
ceiver input is the power that the signal 
will develop across an input resistance 
equivalent to the antenna resistance. 
Noise figures usually are expressed in 
terms of power ratios or in db. 

(3) The noise figure of an actual receiver is 
obtained from the following ratio: 


signal-to-noise power ratio 
for an ideal receiver 

signal-to-noise power ratio 
of an actual receiver 


Noise figure = 


(4) The required signal power at the input of 
an actual receiver is the required signal 
power for an ideal receiver multiplied by 
the receiver noise figure for the same 
signal-to-noise ratio. 


d. Types of Modulation and Sermce Gain. Other 
factors upon which the required signal strength of 
a receiving system depends are known as type of 
modulation and type of service gain. Higher signal- 
to-noise ratios are required in commercial high- 
quality broadcast work than in many other types 
of service. On the other hand, in general code 
systems, such as automatic high-speed telegraphy 
or teletypewriter systems, the output signal-to- 
noise ratio need not be large, since the mechanism 
operates when the signal exceeds the noise by only 


a small margin. The gain required for a certain 
type of service is the relative signal strength re- 
quired for that type of communication as com- 
pared with the signal required for a reference type. 


This reference type of service corresponds to 90 
percent intelligibility of speech and is comparable 
to the grade of service known as order wire in 
telephonic communications. 


Section IV. SUMMARY AND REVIEW QUESTIONS 


34. Summary 


a. Ground-wave propagation refers to those 
types of radio transmission which do not make use 
of ionospheric reflections. 

b. The direct-wave component travels directly 
from the transmitting to the receiving antenna. 

c. The ground-reflected component undergoes a 
phase reversal of 180° upon reflection from the 
ground. 

d. This phase reversal may cause serious signal- 
voltage cancelation between the ground-reflected 
and the direct-wave components. 

e. The surface-wave component is affected pri- 
marily by the conductivity and dielectric constant 
of the earth. 

f. The surface-wave component is essentially 
vertically polarized at appreciable distances from 
the antenna. 

g. The tropospheric-wave component is_ re- 
fracted in the lower atmosphere by sharp changes 
in density and humidity of the air. 

h. One of the common causes of tropospheric 
refraction is temperature inversion. 

i. Trapped waves may follow the curvature of 
the earth for distances far beyond the optical 
horizon of the transmitter. 

j. The frequency characteristics of the ground 
wave determine what particular component will 
prevail along any given signal path. 

k. For frequencies above 30 me, the distance 
range of the ground wave can be increased by 
increasing the antenna height as well as by 
increasing the radiation power. 

!. The ionosphere is composed of one or more 
electrically conducting layers which bend radio 
waves back toward the earth. 

m. The ionosphere layers are formed by ioniza- 
tion of the gas molecules composing them. 

n. Recombination goes on constantly, so that 
an ionized layer does not necessarily last indef- 
initely. 

o. The chief cause of ionization of the ionosphere 
is ultraviolet radiation from the sun. 

p. Sunspots have the effect of increasing the 
ionization of ionized layers. 


g. Ionization occurs in different layers, depend- 
ing on the frequency of the ultraviolet radiation 
causing it, and on the critical density of the 
atmosphere. 

r. Although the number of layers is subject to 
variation from time to time, there are usually four 
distinct layers during the daytime. 

s. During the nighttime, only one ionized 
layer—the F layer—usually exists. 

t. The D region is the lowest layer, and it is 
chiefly important for its absorption effects. 

u. The EF layer is important for reflection of 
radio waves up to about 20 me. 

v. For transmission above 20 mc, the F, F'l, and 
F2 layers are most important. 

w. The virtual height, or apparent height, of an 
ionized layer is considerably greater than the 
actual layer height. 

x. The chief factor that controls long-distance 
communication is the ionization density of the 
ionized layer. 

y. The bigher the frequency of transmission, the 
greater must be the density of ionization to reflect 
waves back to earth. 

z. The critical frequency is the highest frequency 
at which waves sent vertically upward are re- 
flected directly back to earth. 

aa. The upper layers are the most highly ionized 
and, therefore, they reflect the higher frequencies. 

ab. Waves of all frequencies higher than the 
critical frequency are not reflected back to earth, 
but are said to escape. 

ac. Changes in the sun’s state of activity which 
cause variations in the amount of its radiation will 
result in variations in the conformation of the 
ionosphere. 

ad. Regular variations can be predicted, and 
fall into four classes: diurnal, seasonal, 11-year, 
and 27-day. 

ae. Diurnal variation is caused by the rotation 
of the earth and results in higher intensities of 
ionization during the daytime. 

af. Seasonal variation causes shifts in the maxi- 
mum ion density in the D, E, and F layers, being 
greater in summer than in winter. 


51 


ag. The ion density of the F2 layer, however, is 
much greater in winter than in summer. 

ah. The 11-year variation is caused by the cycle 
of sunspot activity which rises to a maximum 
approximately every 11 years and decreases to a 
minimum in the intervening years. 

ai. At times of sunspot maxima, higher fre- 
quencies may be used generally for communica- 
tions over long distances. 
_aj. The 27-day variation results from the rota- 
tion of the sun about its axis. 

ak, The sporadic FE is an ionized cloud which 
appears at indefinite intervals and at a slightly 
higher level than the normal £ layer. 

al. Sudden ionospheric disturbances are the 
cause of sudden radio fadeouts. 

am. During ionospheric storms, there are large 
variations from normal of critical frequencies, 
layer heights, and absorption. 

an. Scattered reflections may cause signal dis- 
tortion and so-called flutter fading. 

ao. Sky-wave transmission is possible because of 
reflections from ionosphere layers. 

ap. The skip distance is the shortest distance 
from the transmitter at which radio waves of a 
given frequency will be reflected back to earth. 

aq. The skip zone depends upon the extent of 
ground-wave range and disappears entirely if the 
ground-wave range equals or exceeds the skip 
distance. 

ar. Signal paths involving one and two reflec- 
tions from the ionosphere are called, respectively, 
single- and double-hop modes of transmission. 

as. Paths which radio waves normally traverse 
in traveling from transmitter to receiver are 
usually directly above great-circle paths. 

at. The MUF is the highest sky-wave frequency 
that is usable for a particular radio circuit at a 
particular time. 

au. The greater the transmission distance, the 
higher may be the MUF. 

av. The chief effect of the extraordinary wave 
on communications is to cause severe interference 
fading. 

aw. The LUF is the lower limiting frequency for 
satisfactory sky-wave communication for a radio 
circuit at a particular time. 

ax. The LUF is determined by the strength of 
the sky-wave signal in relation to that required to 
overcome noise. 

ay. The sky-wave field intensity is equal to the 
required field intensity at the LUF. 

az. For the F2 layer, the optimum working fre- 


52 


quency usually is selected at approximately 85 
percent of the MUF for the particular signal path. 

ba. The received signal strength depends upon 
such factors as transmitter power, antenna gain, 
transmission path distance, absorption function, 
and interference losses. 

bb. The gain of an antenna depends primarily 
upon its design. 

be. The general requirements for receiving and 
transmitting antennas are that they have small 
energy losses and are efficient receptors or 
radiators. 

bd. The free-space electric field intensity is 
inversely proportional to the distance from the 
transmitter. 

be. Absorption that takes place even when the 
wave is not appreciably retarded in the ionosphere 
is called nondeviative absorption. 

bf. Deviative absorption occurs in conjunction 
with retardation which also causes bending of the 
waves. 

bg. The height of the antenna and the angle 
at which the sky wave approaches it may be con- 
tributing factors to the received signal strength. 

bh. Phase interference of two or more waves 
from the same source arriving at the receiver by 
different paths is called interference fading. 

bi. Changes in the state of polarization of down- 
coming sky waves relative to the orientation of the 
antenna is called polarization fading. 

bj. Absorption fading is caused by short-time 
variations is the amount of energy lost from the 
wave absorption in the ionosphere. 

bk. Skip fading is caused by waves alternately 
escaping and returning to earth. 

bl. The required field strength is the minimum 
radio field intensity necessary to the satisfactory 
reception of an intelligible signal. 

bm. Radio noise may be classified as impulse 
noise, and random, or fluctuation, noise. 

bn. Most atmospheric noise is considered to 
originate in lightning flashes associated with 
thunderstorms. 

bo. Cosmic noise originates in outer space and 
usually affects reception at frequencies of from 
10 to 100 me. 

bp. Receiving set noise is caused by the random 
fluctuations of electrons in resistance components 
and in vacuum tubes. 

bg. Radio receivers may be rated according to 
their noise figure. 

br. The noise figure is equal to the ratio between 


the signal-to-noise ratio for an ideal receiver and 
that for an actual receiver. 

bs. Different types of service require different 
values of signal-to-noise ratio for satisfactory 
operation. 


35. Review Questions 


a. What are the factors affecting ground-wave 
propagation? 

b. What are the separate components of the 
ground wave? 

c. What happens to the ground-reflected com- 
ponent upon reflection from the earth’s surface? 

d. What may be done to reduce the signal- 
voltage cancelation caused by the ground-re- 
flected component arriving at the receiver out of 
phase with the direct-wave component? 

e. What affects the surface-wave component? 

f. What is meant by temperature inversion? 

g. What is the normal range of frequency for 
ground waves? 

h. Describe trapped waves. 

i. How are the ionosphere layers formed? 

j. What is meant by ionization? By recombi- 
nation? 

k. What is the principal cause of ionization? 

l. What effects do sunspots have on the ion 
layers? 

m. What is meant by Dellinger fade? 

n. Name the ionosphere layers and their relative 
heights. 

o. What general effect does the D region have 
on hf waves? 

p. What happens to the various layers during 
the night? 

qg. Are the ionosphere layers limited to any 
given number? 

r. How does refraction take place in the iono- 
sphere? 

s. Describe virtual height. 

t. Define critical frequency. 


u. Briefly describe the regular variations of the 
ionosphere. 

v. What is sporadic E? 

w. What usually happens to radio communica- 
tions during severe ionospheric storms? 

z. What are scattered reflections? 

y. Give the factors affecting sky-wave propa- 
gation. 

z. What is the skip zone? 

aa. What is the difference between the skip 
zone and the skip distance? 

ab. Describe single- and double-hop radio paths. 

ac. What is meant by short-path and long-path 
transmission? 

ad. Define maximum usable frequency. 

ae. How does variation in the oblique angle of 
incidence affect the MUF? 

af. How does the extraordinary wave affect 
communications? 

ag. What happens to waves of frequencies 
greater than the MUF? 

ah. What is meant by the lowest usable high 
frequency? 

ai. What happens to waves of frequencies lower 
than the LU" 

aj. What _.imum working frequency usually 
is selected for F2 layer propagation? 

ak. What is received signal strength? 

al. What are the general requirements for 
receiving and transmitting antennas? 

am. What is the cause of absorption? 

an. How does the height of the receiving anten- 
na affect reception? 

ao. What is meant by interference fading? By 
polarization fading? 

ap. When does skip fading usually occur? 

ay. Upon what factors does required signal 
strength depend? 

ar. What is the cause of atmospheric noise? 
Cosmic noise? Receiving set noise? 

as. What is the noise figure of a radio set? 

at. How does the type of service affect the 
required signal-to-noise ratio? 


53 


CHAPTER 3 
HALF-WAVE AND QUARTER-WAVE ANTENNAS 


Section  . BASIC THEORY 


36. Introduction 


The electric and magnetic fields radiated from 
an antenna form the electromagnetic field, and 
this field is responsible for the transmission and 
reception of electromagnetic energy through free 
‘space. An antenna, however, is also part of the 
electrical circuit of a transmitter or a receiver and, 
because of its distributed constants, it acts as a 
circuit containing inductance, capacitance, and 
resistance. Therefore, it can be expected to dis- 
play definite voltage and current relationships in 
respect to a given input. A current through it 
produces a magnetic field, and a charge on it pro- 
duces an electric field. These two fields taken 
together form the induction field. To gain a 
better understanding of antenna theory, a review 
of the basic electrical concepts of voltage and 
electric field, and current and magnetic field is 
necessary. 


37. Voltage and Electric Field 


a. Electric Field. 

(1) When a capacitor is connected across a 
source of voltage, such as a battery (fig. 
47), it is charged some amount, depend- 
ing on the voltage and the value of 
capacitance. Because of the emf (elec- 
tromotive force) of the battery, negative 
charges flow to the lower plate, leaving 
the upper plate positively charged. Ac- 
companying the accumulation of charge 
is the building up of the electric field. 
The flux lines are directed from the 
positive to the negative charges and at 
right angles to the plates. 

(2) If the two plates of the capacitor are 
spread farther apart, the electric field 
must curve to meet the plates at right 
angles (fig. 48). The straight lines in A 
become arcs in B, and approximately 
semicircles in C, where the plates are in a 


CAPACITOR 


em seme ee germ ee ce ener ete eee nee ee ee wee eee oe od 


TM 666-52 


Figure 47. Charges on plates of a capacitor. 


straight line. Instead of flat metal 
plates, as in the capacitor, the two ele- 
ments can take the form of metal rods or 
wires. The three-dimensional view in 
figure 49 depicts the electric field more 
accurately. In A of figure 49 the wires 
are approximately 30° apart, and the 
flux lines are projected radially from the 
positively charged wire to the negatively 
charged wire. In B of figure 49 the two 
wires lie in a straight line, and the flux 


om <{}) 


A B C 


™ 666-53 


Figure 48. Electric field between plates at various angles. 


TM 666-64 


Figure 49. Electric field between wires at various angles. 


lines form a pattern similar to the lines of 
longitude around the earth. To bring 
out the picture more clearly, only the 
lines in one plane are given. 


b. Voltage. 
(1) Assume that the sphere marked E in B 


of figure 49, is a transmitter supplying 
r-f energy. The two wires then can 
serve as the antenna for the transmitter. 
R-f energy is radiated from the antenna 
and charges move back and forth along 
the wires, alternately compressing and 
expanding the flux lines of the electric 
field. The reversals in polarity of the 
transmitter signal also reverse the direc- 
tion of the electric field. 


(2) When a charge is put on the plates of a 


capacitor by means of a battery, an 
electric field is set up between its plates. 
The flow of charge from source to capaci- 
tor ceases when the capacitor is fully 
charged, and the capacitor is said to be 
charged to a voltage equal and opposite to 
that of the source. The charged capaci- 
tor can be used as a source of emf since 
it stores energy in the form of an electric 
field. This is the same as saying that 
an electric field indicates voltage. The 
presence of an electric field about an 


antenna also indicates voltage. Since 
the polarity and the amount of charge 
depend on the nature of the transmitter 
output, the antenna voltage also depends 
on the energy source. For example, if a 
battery constitutes the source, the an- 
tenna charges to a voltage equal and 
opposite to that of the battery. If r-f 
energy is supplied to a half-wave antenna, 
the voltage across the antenna lags the 
current by 90°. The half-wave antenna 
acts as if it were a capacitor, and it can 
be described as capacitive. 


38. Current and Magnetic Field 


a. Current. A moving charge along a conductor 
constitutes a current and produces a magnetic 
field around the conductor.. Therefore, the flow 
of charge along an antenna also will be accom- 
panied by a magnetic field. The intensity of this 
field is directly proportional to the flow of charge. 
When the antenna is uncharged, the current flow 
is maximum, since there is no opposing electric 
field. Because of this current flow, a charge 
accumulates on the antenna, and an electric field 
builds up in increasing opposition to the emf of 
the source. The current flow decreases and when 


55 


DIRECTION OF 
CURRENT FLOW 


aw 


DIRECTION OF MAGNETIC 
FIELO 


LEFT HAND 


TM 666-55 
Figure 50. Magnetic field about a half-wave antenna. 


the antenna is fully charged, the current no longer 
flows. 

b. Magnetic Field. The magnetic field in the 
space about a current-carrying device has a specific 


: © 


) + 
  


. 


INTENSITY 
i°) 


{ 
UPWARD MOVING 
FLUX LINES 
  
  
TiM $< 


ELECTRIC FIELD 


MAGNETIC FIELD 
INTENSITY 
°o 


t CLOCKWISE __ 
FLUX LINES 


configuration, with the magnetic flux lines drawn 
according to a definite rule (fig. 50). Whereas, 
in the electric field, the electric lines are drawn 
from a positive charge to a negative charge, in the 
magnetic field, the flux lines are drawn according 
to the left-hand rule. The direction of current 
flow is upward along both halves of the antenna. 
The lines of magnetic flux form concentric loops 
which are perpendicular to the direction of current 
flow. The arrowheads on the loops indicate the 
direction of the field. If the thumb of the left 
hand is extended in the direction of current flow 
and the fingers clenched, then the rough circles 
formed by the fingers indicate the direction of the 
magnetic field. This is the left-hand rule, or 
convention, which is used to determine the direc- 
tion of the magnetic field. 


39. Combined Electric and Magnetic Fields 


a. When r-f energy from a transmitter is 
supplied to an antenna, the effects of charge, 
voltage, current, and the electric and magnetic 
fields are taking place simultaneously. These 
effects (fig. 51) have definite time and space 
relationships to each other. If a half-wave 


‘h 6 . 


t 
DOWNWARD MOVING 
FLUX LINES 

1 


TM 666-56 


Figure 51. Electric and magnetic fields 90° out of phase. 


antenna is used, the relations between charge and 
current flow can be predicted because of the 
capacitive nature of this antenna. The voltage 
will lag the current by 90° and the electric and 
magnetic fields will be 90° out of phase. With 
no electric field present (no charge), the current 
flow is unimpeded, and the magnetic field is 
maximum. As charge accumulates on the an- 
tenna, the electric field builds up in opposition 
to current flow and the magnetic field decreases 
in intensity. When the electric field reaches its 
maximum strength, the magnetic field has decayed 
to zero. 

b. A reversal in polarity of the source reverses 
the direction of current flow as well as the polarity 
of the magnetic field, and the electric field aids 
the flow of current by discharging. The magnetic 
field builds up to a maximum, and the electric 
field disappears as the charge is dissipated. The 
following half-cycle is a repetition of the first 
half-cycle, but in the reverse direction. This 
process continues as long as energy is supplied 
to the antenna. The fluctuating electric and 
magnetic fields combine to form the induction 


field, in which the electric and magnetic flux 
maximum intensities occur 90° apart in time, or 
in time quadrature. Physically, they occur at 
right angles to each other, or in space quadrature. 
To sum up, the electric and magnetic fields about 
the antenna are in space and time quadrature. 


40. Standing Waves 


a. The Infinitely Long Conductor. Assume that 
it is possible to have a wire conductor with one 
end extending infinitely, with an r-f transmitter 
connected to this wire. When the transmitter 
is turned on, an r-f current in the form of sine 
waves of r-f energy moves down the wire. These 
waves of energy are called traveling waves. The 
resistance of the conductor gradually diminishes 
the amplitude of the waves, but they continue 
to travel so long as the line does not come to an 
end. 

b. The Finite Conductor (Antenna). The an- 
tenna, however, has some finite length. There- 
fore, the traveling waves are halted when they 
reach the end.of the conductor. Assume that 


INCIDENT 
fare WAVE 
Sed 
ee eae ae oe 
A 
REFLECTED 
WAVE ™~ 
ease 
~<— 
B 
C 
TM 666-57 


Figure 52. Traveling waves on an antenna and typical resultant wave. 


57 


the r-f transmitter is turned on just long enough 
to allow one sine wave of energy to get on the 
line (A of fig. 52). This traveling wave is moving 
down the antenna toward the end. When this 
wave reaches the end of the conductor, the 
current path is broken abruptly. With the 
stoppage of current flow, the magnetic field 
collapses. A voltage is induced at the end of the 


RESULTANT 


RESULTANT 


conductor that causes current to flow back toward 
the source, as in B of figure 52. The wave is 
reflected back to the source, and, if a continual 
succession of waves is sent down the line, they will 
be reflected in the same continual pattern. The 
wave moving from the transmitter toward the 
end is called the incident wave, and its reflection 
is called the reflected wave. 


RESULTANT 


E 


T™™ 666-58 


Figure 53. Development of standing wave from traveling waves. 


58 


c. Standing Waves. 
(1) A continuous flow of incident waves 


results in a continuous flow of reflected 
waves. Since there is only one con- 
ductor, the two waves must pass each 
other. Electrically, the only current 
that actually flows is the resultant of 
both of these waves. The waves can rein- 
force or cancel each other as they move. 
When they reinforce, the resultant wave 
is maximum; when they cancel, the 
resultant wave is minimum. In a con- 
ductor which has a finite length, such as 
an antenna, the points at which the 
maxima and minima of the resultant 
wave occur (C of fig. 52) are stationary. 
In other words, the maximum and 
minimum points stand still, although both 
the incident and reflected waves are 
moving. The resultant wave stands still 
on the line, only its amplitude being 
subject to change. Because of this 
effect, the resultant is referred to as & 
standing wave. 


(2) The development of the standing wave 


on an antenna by actual addition of the 
traveling waves is illustrated in figure 53. 
At the instant pictured in A, the incident 
and reflected waves just coincide. The 
result is a standing wave having twice 
the amplitude of either traveling wave. 
In B, the waves move apart in opposite 
directions, and the amplitude of the 
resultant decreases, but the points of 
maximum and minimum do not move. 
When the traveling waves have moved 
to a position of 180° phase difference, the 
resultant is zero along the entire length 
of the antenna, as shown in C. At this 
instant there can be no current flow in 
the antenna. The continuing move- 
ment of the traveling waves, shown in 
D, builds up a resultant in a direction 
opposite to that in A. The in-phase 
condition of the traveling waves results 
in a standing wave, in Z, equal in ampli- 
tude, but 180° out of phase with the 
standing wave in A. 


(3) If the progressive pictures of the standing 


wave are assembled on one set of axes, 
the result is as in figure 54. The net 
effect of the incident and reflected waves 
is apparent. The curves are lettered 


TM 666-59 


Figure 54. Standing waves. 


with reference to figure 53. As the travel- 
ing waves move past each other, the 
standing wave changes only its ampli- 
tude. The fixed minimum points are 
called nodes, and the curves representing 
the amplitude are called loops. 


(4) The concept of the standing wave can be 


applied to the half-wave antenna with 
reference to either current or voltage 
distribution at any instant. This appli- 
cation is possible because there are 
traveling waves of both voltage and 
current. Since voltage and current are 
out of phase on the half-wave antenna, 
the standing waves also are found to be 
out of phase. 


41. Voltage and Current Distribution on Half- 


Wave Antenna 


a. Instantaneous Voltage and Current. 
(1) When an r-f transmitter is feeding a 


half-wave antenna, positive and negative 
charges move back and forth along the 
antenna (figs. 55 and 56). The first 
picture shows the position of the charges 
at some arbitrary time, TO. The r-f 
charges being observed are at the ends 
of the antenna, and there is a maximum 
difference in potential between the ends, 
A and B. The remaining illustrations 
show the instantaneous positions of the 
charges at regular intervals of 22.5° 
throughout a complete cycle. 


(2) To the right of each instantaneous posi- 


tion of the charges are curves representing 
59 


+ 
(o) 


  


° 


Ti 


+ 
tw 


@ 
: 


T4 


T5 


T6 


T7 


Ts 


MOVEMENT OF POINTS OF CHARGE 


p 
(=) 
wo 


nN 

n 

a 
° 


  
IL 


Nn 
Nn 
% 


S 
i 


BSS 
on 
° 


a 
N 
wo 


  


NN 


a 
N 
a 


f ge 


180°————__________» 


—————__—- 180° 


DISTRIBUTION CURVES 


VOLTAGE 


Fis 
ow 


+ 


°o + i ° 


t 
t 


+ 


“s 
Vw 


TAA 


°o 


SVT 


° 


+ 


° 


+ 


° 


CURRENT 


Sed 
o 


(2) 


t 


DDIT 


+ 


TP DDD 


° 


° 


TM 666-60A 


Figure 55, Voltage and current distribution in terms of positive and negative charges. 


MOVEMENT OF POINTS OF CHARGE 


(CONTINUED) 
A Cc 8B 
re 
—_—_—————_——I 30°-—_-__________- 


Le § ae > EO” RRR 


it! a) ©) aie ene nee, ROC 


Ce 0 nt) Ee; ae 


™ Qo y 


> 


<_—_________—__ 360° 
360° —____—_—__-_____> 


DISTRIBUTION CURVES (CONTINUED) 


VOLTAGE 


> 
ow 


MTYNNS 


Ant 


CURRENT 


aie 
wo 


Coens 


°o 


+ 


  {°) 


+ 


Pec 


TM 666-60B 


Figure 56. Voltage and current distribution in terms of positive and negative charyes. 


the current and voltage at that particular 
time for any point on the antenna. For 
example, at time TO, the positive and 
negative charges are at points A and B 
on the antenna. The voltage between 
these points represents a maximum dif- 
ference of potential. The current, being 
90° out of phase in respect to the voltage, 
is everywhere zero. These distribution 
curves are standing waves derived in the 
same manner as those discussed in the 
previous paragraph. 


(3) The next illustration shows the position 


of the charges at time T1. The standing 
wave of current is a relative maximum 
at the center of the antenna. This 
current loop has nodes which remain at 
the ends of the antenna, and it is, there- 
fore, 90° out of phase with the standing 
wave of voltage. 


(4) At T2 and T3, the charges move closer 


together, and the standing wave of 
voltage slowly decreases in amplitude. 
Conversely, the current loop increases 
in magnitude. When the charges meet 
after 90° of the r-f cycle (T4), the effect 
is that of having the positive and negative 
charges cancel. The voltage loop accord- 
ingly is zero everywhere on the antenna, 
and the current loop rises to its maximum 
value, unimpeded by any charge on the 
antenna. 


(5) At time T5, the charges have passed each 


other, each charge having moved past the 
center point of the antenna. The polarity 
of the voltage loops is reversed, and they 
build up in the opposite direction, keep- 
ing the node always at the center point of 
the antenna. The reversal of polarity is 
shown in the charge positions at T3, T4, 
and T5. The separation of the charges 
also is accompanied by a decrease in the 
amplitude of the current loop. 


(6) From T5 to T8, the charges move out to 


the ends of the antenna. During this 
time, the voltage loops increase and the 
current loops decrease in amplitude. At 
time T8, which occurs 180° after TO in 
the r-f cycle, the charges have moved to 
opposite ends of the antenna. Compare 
the picture in TO to the picture in T8. 
It is seen that the negative charge is now 
at point A and the positive charge at 


point B. Since the positions of the 
charges have been reversed from TO to 
T8, the voltage loops in T8 are 180° out 
of phase compared with the loops in TO. 


(7) From T8 to T16 in figure 56, the move- 


ment of the charges is shown in the 
opposite direction, the current loop 
reaching ® maximum at T12. When the 
entire r-f cycle is completed at time T16, 
the charges have returned to the posi- 
tions they occupied at TO. The distri- 
bution curves of voltage and current also 
are in their original conditions. The 
entire process then is repeated for each 
r-f cycle. 


b. Standing Waves of Voltage and Current. 
(1) The distribution curves of the current and 


voltage are standing waves. This means 
that they are the resultants obtained by 
adding two traveling waves. The two 
traveling waves are associated with the 
positive and negative charges. The wave 
caused by the negative charge can be 
called the incident wave, and the wave 
caused by the positive charge the re- 
flected wave. The discussion, however, is 
clearer when the concept of negative and 
positive charges is used. 


(2) The positive charge above, taken at time 


TO in figure 55, produces a traveling wave 
of voltage, shown by the dashed line in A, 
figure 57. The negative charge at the 
opposite end of the antenna produces an 
identical traveling wave (dash-dot curve). 
These two add together to produce the 
TO voltage distribution curve, which is 
the resultant wave of A of figure 55. 
Both of these waveforms are identical, 
being the standing wave of voltage at 
time TO. All the following distribution 
curves of figure 57 are produced in the 
same manner. They are the standing- 
wave resultants caused by the traveling 
waves accompanying the charges. 


(3) In B of figure 57, each of the traveling 


waves has moved 45°, the positive travel- 
ing wave moving to the right and the 
negative traveling wave moving to the 
left. This time corresponds to T2 in 
figure 55. The standing wave produced 
corresponds to the voltage distribution 
curve at T2. The standing waves of cur- 
rent are produced in the same manner. 


VOLTAGE WAVES 


IN A,B,AND G 
———--= VOLTAGE WAVE DUE TO POINT OF + CHARGE 
—— - —— VOLTAGE WAVE DUE TO POINT OF — CHARGE 


RESULTANT VOLTAGE WAVE 


CURRENT WAVES 


IN 0,E,AND F 

~——-—-— CURRENT WAVE DUE TO POINT OF + CHARGE 
—~—~-— CURRENT WAVE DUE TO POINT OF — CHARGE 
RESULTANT CURRENT WAVE 


Tm 666-6! 


Figure 57. Standing waves of voltage and current. 


63 


TO} TI6 


T2   T14 
PN fo 
T3   T13 IW 
Ww \\ Fo 
= T4/Ti2} A awa 5 
peer ee 
76   T10 Fi ae 
eet 9 eet ee ete a 


VOLTAGE DISTRIBUTION 


°F Tl 


T2 T3 T4 ™T T6 T? T8 TY TIO TU FTI2 TI3 T14 TIS TIE 


~+——— VOLTAGE ——~ 


NN eee 

Se ee 
eee ee 
Roe eee 


VOLTAGE ATA 
-SSs= VOLTAGE AT Y 


B 


T™ 666-62 


Figure 58. Standing waves of voltage at a point on the antenna. 


The current curves at D, HE, and F of 
figure 57 correspond to times TO, T2, 
and 14 of figure 55. 


c. Standing Waves of Voltage. 
(1) In A of figure 58, voltage standing waves 


occurring at different times are brought 
together on one axis, AB, representing a 
half-wave antenna. Essentially, these 
are the same curves shown progressively 
in figures 55 and 56 as voltage distribu- 
tion curves. They can be used to deter- 
mine the voltage at any point on the 
antenna at any instant of time. For 
example, if it is desired to know the 
variations of voltage occurring at point 
Y on the antenna over the r-f cycle, the 
variations are graphed in respect to 
time, as shown in B of figure 58. At TO 
the voltage at Y is maximum. From 
TO through T3 the voltage decreases, 
passing through zero at T4. The voltage 
builds up to a maximum in the opposite 


direction at T8, returning through zero 

to its original position from T8 to T16. 
(2) Between TO and T16, therefore, an entire 
sine-wave cycle, Y, is reproduced. This 
is true also of any other point on the an- 
tenna with the exception of the node at 
X. The peak amplitude of the sine 
wave produced at any point depends on 
its position on the antenna. The nearer 
the point is to either end, the greater its 

peak amplitude. 

d. Standing Waves of Current. The standing 
waves of current occurring at various times 
through the r+f cycle are assembled on a single 


‘axis in figure 59. This axis, AB, represents the 


half-wave antenna. If the current variations at 
point Y from TO to T16 are graphed iv respect to 
time, the result is the sine wave in B of figure 59. 
This is true for any point along the antenna with 
the exception of the nodes at the ends. The 
current has its greatest swing at X, the center of 
the antenna. Comparison of the voltage varia- 


T2  76 
Ti   T7 
T 
m TO'Te8/ TI6, A B 
E 
T9   TIS 
TIO} Ti4 
Ti2 Ti2 
CURRENT DISTRIBUTION 
A 


T2 T3 T4 TS 


ASMABCO 


  


CURRENT AT X 
———-— CURRENT AT Y 


at 


Té T7 T8 


T9 TIO TH Ti2 TiS Tl4 TIS,FTIE 


‘ Pa 


5 ites 
ee 


B 


TM 666-63 


Figure 59. Standing waves of current at a point on the antenna. 


tion curve (A of fig. 58) with the current variation 
curve (A of fig. 59) shows the voltage curve lead- 
ing the current curve by 90° at Y. This relation 
can be expected on any half-wave device. 

e. Measurement of Standing Waves. In figure 
60, the standing waves of voltage E, and current 
I, are indicated along the antenna. There are 
current nodes at A and B and a voltage node at X. 
These standing waves are found on any half-wave 
antenna. A meter that indicates the effective 
value (0.707 of peak) of the a-c signal can be used 
to measure the standing waves present on the 
half-wave antenna. 


TM 666-64 


Figure 60. Standing waves us measured with a meter. 


42. Velocity of Propagation and Antenna 
Length 


a. In free space, electromagnetic waves travel 
at a constant velocity of 300,000 kilomete:s or 
186,000 miles per second. The r-f energy on an 
antenna, however, moves at a velocity consider- 
ably less than that of the radiated energy in free 
space because the antenna has a dielectric constant 
greater than that of free space. Since the dielec- 
tric constant of free space (air or vacuum) is 
approximately 1, a dielectric constant greater 
than 1 retards electromagnetic-wave travel. 

b. Because of the difference in velocity between 
the wave in free space and the wave on the an- 
tenna, the physical length of the antenna no longer 
corresponds to its electrical length. The antenna 
is a half-wavelength electrically, but somewhat 
shorter than this physically. This is shown in 
the formula for the velocity of electromagnetic 


waves, 
V=fn 
65 


where V is the velocity, f is the frequency, and \ 
is the wavelength. Since the frequency of the 
wave remains constant, a decrease in the velocity 
results in a decrease in the wavelength. There- 
fore, the wave traveling in an antenna has a 
shorter wavelength than the same wave traveling 
in free space, and the physical length of the 
antenna can be shorter. 

c. The actual difference between the physical 
length and the electrical length of the antenna 
depends on several factors. A thin wire antenna, 
for example, has less effect on wave velocity than 
an antenna with a large cross section. As the 
circumference of the antenna increases, the wave 
velocity is lowered as compared with its free-space 
velocity. The effect of antenna circumference 
on wave velocity is illustrated in the graph of 
figure 61. 


CIRCUMFERENCE 
WAVELENGTHS -——~ 


WAVE VELOCITY 
FREE-SPACE VELOCITY 


ee 


TM 666-65 


Figure 61. Effect of antenna circumference on wave velocity. 


d. Other factors are involved that lower wave 
velocity on the antenna. Stray capacitance, for 
exalaple, increases the dielectric constant and 
lowers wave velocity. This capacitance can be 
caused by the line connecting the antenna to the 
transmitter, the insulators used to give physical 
support to the antenna, or nearby objects made 


66 


of metallic or dielectric materials. The change 
in velocity resulting from stray capacitance is 
called end effect because the ends of the antenna 
are made farther apart electrically than they are 
physically. End effect is counteracted by making 
the physical length about 5 percent shorter than 
the electrical length, as expressed in the formula 


L=0.95(492/f) 
=468/f 


where L is the physical length in feet and f is the 
frequency in megacycles. This formula is ac- 
curate for all practical purposes in determining 
the physical length of an antenna 1 half-wave- 
length at the operating frequency. 

e. The capacitive end effect also changes 
slightly the standing waves of voltage and current. 
When the standing waves are measured, it is 
found that the nodes have some value and do not 
reach zero, because some current is necessary to 
charge the stray capacitance. The standing 
waves measured in figure 62 show the results of 
end effect. 


43. Resonance, Resistance, and Impedance 


a. Resonance. The antenna is a circuit element 
having distributed constants of inductance, capac- 
itance, and resistance, which can be made to form 
@ resonant circuit. The half-wave antenna is the 
shortest resonant length of antenna. However, 
antennas which are 2 or more half-wavelengths 
also can be resonant. Such antennas are said to 
operate on harmonics. If an antenna is 4 half- 
wavelengths at the transmitter frequency, it is 
being operated at the fourth harmonic of its 
lowest resonant frequency. In other words, this 
antenna is a half-wavelength at one-quarter of the 
frequency of operation. An antenna operating on 
the third harmonic is shown in figure 53. 

b. Resistance. 

(1) A current flowing in the antenna must 
contend with three kinds of resistance. 
With the antenna considered as a radi- 
ator of energy, the power expended in the 
form of radiation can be thought of as an 
PR, loss. R, is called the radiation 
resistance. With the antenna considered 
as a conductor, a certain amount of 
energy is dissipated in the form of heat. 
In this J?R, loss, R, is the ohmic resist- 
ance. There is also an [RP loss because of 
the leakage resistance of dielectric ele- 


ments, such as insulators. This R usu- 
ally is included in the ohmic resistance. 


(2) The purpose of the antenna is to dissipate 


as much energy as possible in the form of 
radiation. The energy dissipated by the 
radiation resistance, therefore, is the use- 
ful part of the total power dissipated. 
Since the actual power loss depends on 
the ohmic resistance, this resistance 
should be kept as low as possible. In 
the half-wave antenna, the radiation re- 
sistance is large compared to the ohmic 
resistance, and most of the available 
energy isradiated. The half-wave anten- 
ne is, therefore, a very efficient radiator 
for most purposes. 


73 


OHMS 
aaeeaiaimamebemiemmers ae gee) (CENTER) 


a Sai: 


eee, eo 


(3) For a half-wave antenna fed at the center 
point, the radiation resistance is equal 


TM 666-68 
Figure 62. Impedance along half-wave antenna. 


to 73 ohms. The reference point is the 
center of the antenna at the time of peak 
current flow. Ohmic resistance is refer- 
red to this point. The total resistance is 
of importance in matching the antenna 
to a transmission line. 


c. Impedance. 
(1) Because the half-wave antenna has differ- 


ent conditions of voltage and current at 
different points and because impedance is 
equal to the voltage across a circuit 
divided by the current through it, the 
impendance will vary along the length of 
the antenna. If E is divided by J at 
each point of the voltage and current 
curves in figure 62, the result is the 
impedance curve, Z. The impedance is 
about 73 ohms at the center point and 
rises to a value of about 2,500 ohms at 
the ends. 


(2) The impedance of the half-wave antenna 


usually is considered to be the impedance 
as seen by the transmitter at the input 
terminals. This impedance consists of 
both resistance and reactance. If the 


antenna is cut to a length of exact 
resonance, the reactance is zero and the 
impedance is purely resistive. However, 
if the antenna is longer or shorter than 
resonance, reactance is present. When 
the antenna .is made shorter, capacitive 
reactance is present; when the antenna 
is made longer, inductive reactance is 
present. 


(3) The impedance at the antenna input 


terminals is important in terms of power 
efficiency. If the tranamitter is feeding a 
nonresonant antenna, a power loss is 
caused by the reactive component of the 
antenna impedance. Conversely, if the 
frequency of the transmitter is changed, 
the electrical length of the antenna also 
changes, If the frequency is made some- 
what higher, the electrical length is made 
greater, and inductive reactance is added 
to the impedance. If the frequency is 
lowered, the electrical length is shortened, 
and capacitive reactance is added to the 
impedance. 


Section Il. TRANSMISSION LINES 


possible to connect the antenna directly: to the 
transmitter, the antenna generally is located some 
distance away. In a vehicular installation, for 
example, the antenna is mounted outside and the 
transmitter inside the vehicle. A transmission 
line, therefore, is necessary as a connecting link. 


47 


44, Introduction 


a. A transmission line is a device for guiding 
electrical energy from one point to another. 
Therefore, it can be used to transfer the output 
of a transmitter to an antenna. Although it is 


b. The transmission line has a single purpose in 
respect to both the transmitter and the antenna. 
This purpose is to transfer the power output of 
the transmitter to the antenna with the least 
possible loss. How well this purpose is accom- 
plished depends on the characteristics of the 
transmission line used. 


45. Transmission-Line Characteristics 


a. Terminology. 


(1) The transmission line used to couple 
energy from the transmitter to the an- 
tenna has an input end and an output 
end. The output circuit of the trans- 
mitter is coupled to the input end, also 
called the generator end or source. The 
antenna is coupled to the output end, 
also called the load end or the sink. 


TRANSMISSION 


TRANSMITTER 


TRANSMITTER 


LINE 


(2) The ratio of voltage to current at the 


input end is known as the input imped- 
ance. The ratio of voltage to current at 
the output end is known as the output 
impedance. If the line were of infinite 
length, the characteristic impedance would 
be the ratio of voltage to current on this 
infinite line. This value is a constant 
for a given transmission line. 


(3) By comparing its electrical length to the 


wavelength of the energy to be trans- 
ferred, a transmission line can be called 
long or short. It is short when its length 
is short compared with a wavelength, 
and long when its length is long com- 
pared with a wavelength. This becomes 
important when considering the efficiency 
of energy transfer through the line, be- 
cause the line has distributed constants 
the effect of which increases with length. 


OUTPUT 
ANTENNA 
END 
A 
ANTENNA 
B 
TM 666-67 


Figure 63. Basic transmission line and equivalent circuit. 


b. Distributed Constants. 
(1¥ The transmission line is essentially a four- 


terminal device. Two terminals (input 
end) are connected to the transmitter, 
and two terminals (output end) are con- 
nected to the antenna. Between these 
terminals are distributed constants of 
inductance, capacitance, and resistance; 
their values depend on the physical char- 
acteristics of the line. 


(2) A of figure 63, shows a basic system con- 


sisting of a transmitter, two wires, and 
an antenna. The equivalent circuit, B, 
shows that any given section of the line 
has a certain amount of distributed con- 
stants which are divided into three equal 
sections of lumped constants. The num- 
ber of sections depends on the unit of 
length. chosen. The amounts of induct- 
ance, capacitance, and resistance depend 
on the length of the line, the size of the 
conducting wires, the spacing between 
the wires, and the dielectric (air or insu- 
lating medium) between the wires. 


(3) These constants actually cannot be dis- 


tinguished in the manner shown in B of 
figure 63. For example, the resistance is 
distributed uniformly along the entire 
length of the line and usually is measured 
in ohms per unit length. This is repre- 
sented as Rs in section 1. There is also 
a certain amount of leakage resistance 
between the wires, represerited as Reg. 
This resistance is in shunt with the input 
and output ends and is the result of cur- 
rent leakage between. the wires through 
. the dielectric. 


(4) The wires forming the. transmission line 


also possess distributedinductance. This 
inductance can be seen in the action of 
magnetic fields set up by current flow. 
For example, if current flow attempts to 
drop to zero suddenly, the collapsing 
magnetic fields sustain the éurrent for a 
time. 
is sustained is a measure of the distributed 
inductance. The distributed inductance, 
L, is considered to be in series with 
the line, and is measured in microhenries 
per unit length. 


(5) The two wires substituted for the plates 


of a capacitor in figure 49 show an electric 
field produced between them when they 


The time during which the current. 


were connected to a source of emf. This 
is also true of the wires that constitute 
the transmission line. The intensity of 
this electric field is a measure of the dis- 
tributed capacitancy, which is expressed 
in micromicrofarads per unit length. 
These wires act as a capacitance, C, 
shunted across the line (B of fig. 63). 

c. Characteristic Impedance. In addition to 
having the distributed constants, a transmission 
line has a characteristic impedance. If an infinitely 
long transmission line is assumed, then the charac- 
teristic impedance, Z,, determines the current that 
flows when a given voltage is applied. This 
impedante is purely resistive, and it. is constant 
for a given transmission line. The characteristic 
impedance is important in determining how well 
energy is transferred from the sourcé to the load. 
For the infinitely long line, all of the energy is sent 
out on the line, and none returns to the source. If 
a finite line is terminated with a purely resistive 
load equal to Z,, the source appears to see an infi- 
nitely long line, and all the energy passes into the 
line. If the line is terminated in any other load, 
anergy is reflected back to the source. 

d, Attenuation and Losses. The ideal trans- 
mission line has no losses. It transfers all the 
energy available at the transmitter to the antenna. 
Actual transmission lines, however, dissipate power 
in three ways. 

(1) Radiation. The transmission line tends 
to act like an antenna. Radiation losses 
can be considerable with certain types of 
lines. 

(2) Heating. The resistance of the conduc- 
tors dissipates a certain amount of power 
in the form of heat (/?R loss). At higher 
frequencies, an appreciable amount of 
heat loss can result from skin effect. An 
I*R loss also results from leakage between 
the conductors (dielectric loss). Heat 
loss increases with lines having a lower 
characteristic impedance because of the 
higher currents that are permitted to flow. 

(3) Reflection. It has been explained that'a 
load other than Z, reflects energy back 
along the line. This results in the reflec- 
tion loss explained below, 

e. Reflection of Energy. 

(1) In discussing the infinitely long antenna 
wire, it was pointed out that energy 
injected by the transmitter results in 
traveling waves. The same can be said 


69 


of an infinitely long transmission line. 
Traveling waves of voltage and current 
continue to move down the line so long 
the line has no end. 


(2) Assume a finite line where the two con- 


ductors terminate abruptly, as if they 
were cut. Traveling waves reaching this 
open end are reflected in the same manner 
and this results in the formation of stand- 
ing waves of voltage and current that are 
out of phase, just as on the antenna. 
The reflected waves represent energy that 
is not absorbed by the load but is reflected 
back along the line. This is undesirable 
in a transmission line, where the object is 
to transfer as much energy as possible to 
the load. 


(3) If energy is reflected, standing waves are 
formed, which means a changing ratio of 


voltage to current along the line, and 
therefore a changing line impedance. If 
all energy is reflected from the output 
end and none is absorbed by the load, the 
impedance is purely reactive all along the 
line. If some energy is absorbed and 
some reflected, the line impedance either 
can be resistive (more or less than Z,) or 
can have both resistive and reactive 
components. 


f. Z, and Reflection. 


70 


(1) There can be no reflected waves, and 


hence no standing waves, on an infinitely 
long line. However, an infinitely long line 
has an impedance of Z,. When the trans- 
mitter injects energy into a line impedance 
equal to the characteristic impedance, 
there are no standing waves and no 
reflections. The transmitter can appear 
to see an infinitely long line if a resistive 
load equal to the characteristic im- 
pedance is placed across the output end. 
Consequently, a line terminated in this 
manner causes no reflection of energy and 
no standing waves. This results in a 
maximum transfer of energy from trans- 
mitter to antenna. 


(2) Inductance, capacitance, and resistance 


found in & transmission line are distrib- 
uted uniformly along its length. There- 
fore, no reflection of energy takes place 
unless the impedance at some point on 
the line is different from that caused by 
the distributed constants. The imped- 


ance seen by the transmitter can be 
changed by changing the load. The 
traveling waves reaching the load sud- 
denly encounter an impedance different 
from that along the line, resulting in the 
formation of standing waves and reflec- 
tion of energy. Reflections occur so long 
as the load differs in any way from Zp. 

g. Basic Line Terminations. The load which 
terminates the transmission line can vary from 
zero to infinity. It can be either resistive or reac- 
tive, or both. A line terminated in a resistance 
equal to Z, is said to be properly terminated. In 
this case, the line appears to be infinitely long 
looking from the source toward the load, and no 
reflection occurs. Any other load causes reflection 
and the formation of standing waves. The two 
extreme cases of line terminations are shorted or 
open output terminals. In the first, the short 
represents a load equal to zero. Since a zero lead 
differs from the characteristic impedance, standing 
waves are set up on the transmission line. This 
short-circuited line is known as a closed-end line. 
If the output terminals are left open, the load is 
infinite, also resulting in standing waves. This is 
called an open-end line. In either the closed-end 
or the open-end line discussed in (1) and (2) below, 
no power is delivered to the load (antenna). The 
use of either line results in complete reflection of 
energy back to the source (barring line losses). 

(1) The standing waves created on a closed- 
end line are shown in A of figure 64. 
The line used is a half-wavelength at the 
operating frequency. For simplicity, the 
waves are shown using the top wire as 
a zero baseline. Because of the short 
across the output terminals, the current 
loop is maximum at that point, and the 
voltage is zero. A quarter-wavelength 
back along the line, there is a current 
node with a maximum on the voltage 
loop. A half-wavelength back (at the 
input terminals), there is a voltage node 
with a current loop (maximum negative). 
The voltage and current ratio, and there- 
fore, the impedance, continually change 
along the line. At the load, the im- 
pedance is zero. At the current node, 
the voltage is maximum and the im- 
pedance infinite (there is no current 
flow). At the source, the current again 
is maximum and the impedance zero. 
At the load end, therefore, no power is 


absorbed (P=PZ=f x 0=0), all of it 
being reflected back along the line. At 
the source, the transmitter is working 
into zero impedance, and there is no ex- 
penditure of power. (In the actual case, 
however, some loss is caused by numerous 
factors, such as radiation or heat.) Con- 
sequently, no energy is transferred to 
the antenna if there is a short across the 
output terminals of this line. 

(2) In a half-wavelength section of open-end 
line, the load, Z,, is infinite, and creates 


E 1 I E 
~~ Pas Paar 
7 N 
ne ge gh \ 
Vv 4 . 
A B 


Tm 666-68 


Figure 64. Standing-wave formation on closed- and open-end 
half-wave transmission lines. 


A 


the standing waves shown in B of figure 
64. Although the standing wave of 
voltage is maximum at the open end, 
current is zero. Ata quarter-wavelength 
back, the current ismaximum, the voltage 
is zero, and the impedance is zero. At 
the source, the current again is zero, the 
voltage maximum, and the impedance 
infinite. Since the transmitter is work- 
ing into an infinite impedance, no current 
flowsand no power isexpended (P=P??Z= 
0 x Z=0). 


(3) If a transmission line is terminated in 


either a low or a high resistance (fig. 65), 
as compared with Z,, the effect is similar 
to an open or a closed end. The low 
resistance termination causes standing 
waves, which have nodes and loops at 
the same points as with a closed end. 
The amplitudes of the standing waves are 
lower, however, and the nodes no longer 
reach zero. This is because some power 
is absorbed by the low resistance, al- 
though most of it is reflected back to the 


TM 666-69 


Figure 65. Half-wave lines terminated in low and high resistance. 


71 


source. Compare A of figure 65, with 
A of figure 64. 


(4) In B of figure 65, the line is terminated 


in a high resistance. This produces 
standing waves similar to those produced 
by an open end, as in: B of figure 64. 
Again, the difference is only in standing- 
wave amplitude. Figure 66 shows that 
the standing waves decrease in amplitude 
when the characteristic impedance _ is 
approached from either side. Values of 
resistive load ranging from a closed to an 
open end are noted. 


(5) The effects of purely reactive loads are 


shown in figure 67. In A, a half-wave 
section of line is terminated in a purely 
capacitive load. Compare the standing 
waves in this case to the standing waves 
resulting from an open-end line. The 
standing waves are shifted an eighth- 
wavelength forward from the source and 
the current leads the voltage, the latter 
condition resulting in an input impedance 
consisting of capacitive reactance. As 
the capacitance is increased, the voltage 
node moves nearer and nearer the output 
end. The result of having a transmission 
line terminated in capacitance is to in- 
crease the effective electrical length. 
This is the same type of change that 
results from end effect on an antenna. 
The effect is equivalent to adding an 
open-end section of line which is less than 
a quarter-wavelength long. 


(6) Terminating the line in an inductance 


results in the standing waves shown in 
Bof figure 67. Compared to the open-end 
termination, the current wave is shifted 
an eighth-wavelength back toward the 
source. This results in an input imped- 
ance consisting of inductive reactance 
(voltage leads current). Placing an in- 
ductance across the output is equivalent 
to adding a closed-end section of line less 
than a quarter-wavelength long. De- 
creasing the inductance moves the volt- 
age node nearer the output end. 


h. Other Line Terminations. 


72 


(1) It is possible to connect either the genera- 


tor or the load at other points along the 
transmission line besides the ends. So 
long as the line is not terminated in a 
resistive load equal to Z,, standing waves 


Se ee I ee 
R, >> Zo 

ears = I -_ Be 
Ri>Zo 

I E 
RL=Zo 

= ao = I 
RL< Zo 

ee I 
RL<< Zo 


TM 666-70 


Figure 66. Varying resistive load from zero to infinity on 
the half-wave line. 


E I I E distance between a quarter- and a half- 


> ae ie wavelength from the load, the input 
i rs x mA impedance consists of inductive react- 
V V ance. Connecting the generator to the 


same point on the shorted line in B of 
figure 68 results in an input impedance 

(~) = consisting of capacitive reactance. 
= (3) If the generator in A of figure 68 is con- 
nected exactly a quarter-wavelength from 
the open end, the input impedance is a 
aan very low resistance. The equivalent 


lumped-constant circuit, however, is not 


B simply a small resistor, but a series- 

TM 666-71 resonant circuit. In other words, the 

Figure 67. Half-wave lines terminated in capacitance and transmission line has resonant lengths 

inductance. like an antenna. If the generator in B 

is connected a quarter-wavelength from 

exist. This results in a line impedance the load, the input impedance consists 

which varies all along the line. The of a very high resistance. The equiva- 

generator then can be connected to work lent circuit in this case is a parallel- 
into different impedances at different resonant circuit. 

points. (4) It is possible to connect the load at differ- 

(2) Assume an open-end half-wavelength line ent points along the line. In figure 69, 

(fig. 68). The impedance curve along the load is connected a sixteenth-wave- 

the line not only changes its value in length from the end of a shorted quarter- 

ohms, but also changes in type of imped- wavelength line. The generator is con- 

ance. If the generator is connected a nected at a point of high voltage and low 


XL XC xc Xt 
Xx Xx Xo Xt 
1 \ 5 { ! i ! ! ! t 
, wr BR SR XR » Zr 3x SR XR 
e oh   a     ; 
A B 
TM 666-72 


Figure 68. Line impedance changes on a half-wave open-end line and on a half-wave closed-end line. 


73 


TM 666-73 


Figure 69. Open and closed lines as step-up and step-down transformers. 


current. The load is connected to a 
point of relatively lower voltage and 
higher current. The equivalent circuit 
for the line, therefore, is a step-down 
transformer. The equivalent of a step-up 
transformer can be obtained by connect- 
ing the load to the same point on an 
open-end quarter-wavelength line, as in 
B of figure 69. 


2. Changing Line Length. 


74 


(1) For open- and closed-end lines, the 


impedance seen by the source is given in 
figure 70. In A, different lengths of 
open-end line are given. These vary 
from less than a quarter-wavelength to 
1 wavelength. The impedance seen by 
the source is repeated in half-wave steps. 
For example, the series-resonant circuit 
seen at 1 quarter-wavelength is seen 
again at 3 quarter-wavelengths. It also 
is to be seen at the fifth and seventh 
quarter-wavelengths, and for every 
length measured in odd quarters. On the 
other hand, the generator sees a parallel- 
resonant circuit at a half-wavelength, 1 
wavelength, and 3 half-wavelengths and 
soon. In other words, the input imped- 


ance consists of a parallel-resonant circuit 
on open-end lines an even number of 
quarter-waves long. 


(2) In B of figure 70 different lengths of 


shorted line are given. For shorted 
lines, series resonance occurs at even 
quarters and parallel resonance at odd 
quarters. This is the reverse of the 
situation with open-end lines. For 
lengths of line shorter and longer than 
even or odd quarters, the input imped- 
ance is indicated as either inductive or 
capacitive. The generator also can be 
inserted at different points along any of 
these lines. The input impedance then 
is simply the line impedance at: that 
point. 


3. Standing-Wave Ratio. 
(1) The actual loads connected to the trans- 


mission line usually have both resistive 
and reactive components. The result is 
the formation of standing waves on the 
line. Considering the standing wave of 
voltage, the ratio of maximum to mini- 
mum voltage along the line is called the 
standing-wave ratio. This ratio also can 
be obtained by measuring maximum and 


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t3 
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spor FC 
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TM 666-74 


Figure 70. Changing line length changes the impedance seen by source. 


75 


minimum current along the line. The 
standing-wave ratio provides a measure 
of the energy reflected. 


(2) When the line is terminated in a resistance 


equal to Z,, the maximum and minimum 
values of current are the same. The 
SWR (standing wave ratio) is 1 to 1, or 1. 
In this condition the load is said to be 
matched to the line. All of the energy is 
absorbed by the load (neglecting line 
losses), and there are no standing waves. 
Such a line is called flat, since the 
impedance is the same value, Z,, all 
along the line. 


(3) If standing waves occur on the line with 


a given load, the SWR is a measure of 
the degree of mismatch between load and 
line. For example, assume that a 
resistive load of 500 ohms is used to 
terminate a line with Z, of 50 ohms. 
If the SWR is measured, it is found to 
be 10. This is the same as dividing 500 
by 50. 


k. Resonance. 


76 


(1) If a load resistance equal to Z, terminates 


the line, then the line is matched, or flat. 
There are no reflections, and the SWR is 
unity. By definition, a matched line 
is nonresonant. This means that there is 
no reflection of energy and there are no 
standing waves, resulting in maximum 
transmission of energy. 


(2) Assume a section of line which is termi- 


nated in a load not the same as Z,. 
This line has standing waves which are 
greater than 1, indicating the degree of 
mismatch. This line is called resonant. 
Depending on the type of load and the 
length of line used, the transmission line 
can be represented by a series- or a 
parallel-resonant circuit. 


(3) The nonresonant, or matched, line is used 


principally in fixed or semifixed opera- 
tion, since its design and construction 
take into consideration a great many fac- 
tors. Even in fixed installations, how- 
ever, only a need for very high efficiency 
warrants the use of a nonresonant line. 
The resonant line, on the other hand, is 
simple in construction and flexible in 
operation, and therefore, is used in most 
field or mobile installations. Although a 
maximum SWR exists on a resonant line, 


it still can be used with relatively high 
efficiency. 

l. Impedance Matching. Assume that a trans- 
mission line has a characteristic impedance of 100 
ohms. This line must be used to feed an antenna 
with 75, ohms of resistance and 30 ohms of induc- 
tive reactance at the operating frequency. Since 
a mismatch occurs if the line is connected directly 
to the antenna, an intermediate element must be 
used between the line and the antenna. Such an 
element is called an impedance-matching device. 
For this purpose, a carefully constructed section 
of transmission line can be used. This is possible 
because a line exhibits an impedance which varies 
with length. If the proper length is selected, this 
length then can serve as the matching element. 

m. Velocity of Propagation. Wave travel on 
the transmission line is retarded in the same man- 
ner as on the antenna. Consequently, the 
electrical length and the physical length are not 
the same. The electrical length depends directly 
on the dielectric medium, the physical dimensions 
of the conductors, and the space between them. 
All the factors on which the electrical length de- 
pends can be reduced to a single constant factor 
for a specific type of line. The electrical length 
then can be expressed as— 


[= 246 k/f 


where J is the electrical length in feet, k is the 
factor for the specific line, and f is the frequency 
of operation in megacycles. Typical values of k 
range from 0.56 to 0.975. 


46. Types of Transmission Line 


Until now, only one type of transmission line 
has been discussed. This is the type using two 
parallel conductors, uniform in every dimension. 
So far as general theory is concerned, the previous 
discussion applies to all types of transmission 
lines. Physically, however, transmission lines 
differ considerably in their construction and 
specific characteristics. The various types are 
discussed below. 

a. Single-Wire Line. This is the simplest type 
of transmission line. A single-wire conductor 
links the transmitter to the antenna. The return 
path completing the circuit is ground. Because 
there is only one metallic conductor, the line is 
unbalanced. This condition leads to large radia- 
tion losses, which is a definite disadvantage. 
Another disadvantage is the lack of a constant 


INSULATING SPACERS 


Zo (OHMS) 


RATIO b/g (TWO-WIRE LINE) 


RRR eRe 
(iat ti ae se 


TM 666-75 


Figure 71. Variation in Z, with changes in b/a ratio, open two-wire line. 


physical relationship between wire and ground, 
which leads to a varying characteristic impedance, 
making the line difficult to match to the antenna. 
Because of these two disadvantages, the single- 
wire line is used rarely. It is found where its 


spreaders, shown in A of figure 71. The 
actual distance used between the con- 
ductors depends on the impedance re- 
quired, the diameter of the wire, and the 
frequency of operation. 


advantage of easy installation outweighs its (2) The characteristic impedance of a two- 


disadvantages. 
b. Open Two-Wire Lane. 

(1) Because it uses two parallel conductors, 
this is called also the parallel-conductor 
line, and because the dielectric medium 
is air, it is known also as an open-wire 
line (fig. 71). The construction and 
installation of the open two-wire line 
are nearly as simple as for the single- 
wire line. Although the balanced con- 
ductors act to reduce radiation loss, the 
balance is critical, and nearby metallic 
objects tend to unbalance the line and 
cause large radiation losses. The two 
wires used in this line are kept at a con- 


wire line is relatively constant. For a 
two-wire line having air as a dielectric 
medium, Z, is given by the formula 


Z4=216 logis 2 


where 6 equals the space between the 
conductors measured from their centers 
and @ equals the radius of the wire used. 
This formula is sufficiently accurate 
provided that the ratio b/a is 4 or greater. 
The graph in B of figure 71, demonstrates 
the variation in Z, produced by changing 
the ratio, b/a. 


stant distance from each other by means (3) Currents flow through the two parallel 


of insulating bars called spacers, or 


conductors in opposite directions. If 
77 


the two currents are exactly 180° out of 
phase, the fields nearly cancel and the 
radiation loss approaches zero. At 
relatively low frequencies, this condition 
can be approached. As the frequency 
of operation is raised, however, the two 
currents tend to be more and more out 
of phase, causing considerable radiation 
loss. The loss can be reduced by moving 
the conductors closer together. Because 
of radiation, the distance between the 
conductors should never exceed 0.01 \, 
where A is 1 wavelength at the operating 
frequency. 

(4) Moving the conductors closer together 
lowers the characteristic impedance of 
the line. This can be seen from the 
equation given above. In order to have 
a relatively high impedance and close 
spacing, it is necessary to reduce the 
size of the conductors. Reduction in 
size, however, decreases the power capa- 
bilities of the conductors. The higher 
the frequency of operation, the more 
difficult these problems become. A 
practical limit to the use of two-wire 
lines having air as the dielectric medium 
is reached at approximately 200 mc. 

c. Insulated Two-Wire Line. 

(1) Instead of having air as a dielectric 
medium, the two-wire line can be in- 
cased in a solid dielectric. This type of 
line has several advantages over the 
open line. Installation is simplified 


considerably because of its flexibility. 
For example, it is difficult to run the 
open-wire line around a corner without 
changing the spacing between the con- 


ie PLASTIC 


RIBBON 


CONDUCTORS cceare 


Figure 72. Insulated two-wire line. 


78 


DIELECTRIC 
MATERIAL 


RUBBER 
COVERING 


BRAID SHIELD 


TM 666-77 
Figure 73. Shielded pair. 


ductors. In the insulated type, the 
dielectric is solid enough to keep the 
conductors evenly spaced, but flexible 
enough to bend easily around corners. 
(2) In one type of insulated line, the two 
conductors are molded into the edges of 
a plastic ribbon called polyethylene 
(fig. 72). The dielectric losses are 


INNER 
CONDUCTOR 


Zq (OHMS) ———> 


RATIO b/d (CONCENTRIC OR COAXIAL LINE) 


B 


TM 666-78 


Figure 74. Variations in Z, with changes in the b/a ratio, 
open coazial line. 


higher than in a comparable open-wire 
line, and the higher dielectric constant 
lowers the characteristic impedance. 

d. Shielded Pair. <A further development of 
the insulated two-wire line is the shielded pair 
(fig. 73). The two parallel conductors are im- 
bedded in a solid dielectric, such as the plastic 
copaline. The insulated pair then is inclosed in a 
tube made of braided copper. The entire assembly 
is given a weatherproof coating. The principal 
advantage of the shielded pair over other types 
of two-wire lines is its low radiation loss. This 
is true because the shield provides a uniform 
ground for both conductors, resulting in a well- 
balanced line. Furthermore, the shield provides 
protection from stray pickup in the presence of 
external fields. 

e. Twisted Pair. If two insulated wires are 
twisted together, a flexible transmission line 
results without the use of spacers. This type is 
limited to use as a short untuned line because of 
its high losses. It should not be used at frequen- 
cies above 15 mc. 

f. Coaxial Lines. 

(1) It is possible to place one conductor 
inside the other to form a transmission 
line. Such a line is called coaxial, or 
concentric. The open line (air dielec- 
tric) is shown in A of figure 74. Usually, 
it consists of a wire conductor placed 
inside a flexible metal tube which serves 
as the second conductor. The inner 
wire is fixed along the central axis of the 
outer tube by spacers, usually plastic 
beads. The open coaxial line is used to 
provide efficient operation at relatively 
high frequencies. There is little radi- 
ation loss from this type of line because 


the outer conductor confines radiation 
to the space inside the line. External 
objects consequently have no effect on 
transmission, making this line definitely 
superior to the two-wire type. Instead 
of air, the line can be filled with a 
flexible, plastic dielectric, forming a solid, 
coaxial line which has the advantage of 
greater flexibility compared with an open 
coaxial line. The use of a solid di- 
electric, however, increases the dielectric 
losses. 

(2) The characteristic impedance of the open 
coaxial line can be calculated from the 
formula, 


Z.= 138 logi b/a 


where 6 equals the inner diameter of the 
outer conductor and a equals the outer 
diameter of the inner conductor. Vari- 
ations in Z, with changes in the ratio 
b/a are given in the graph shown in B, 
figure 74, which includes open coaxial 
lines. The formula for Z, of a solid 
coaxial line is given by 


where ¢ is the dielectric constant of the 
dielectric material used. The other quan- 
tities (6 and a) are the same as for the 
open coaxial line. If ¢€ is equal to 1, 
then the two formulas become identical. 
From both formulas, it can be seen that 
a high ratio of b/a means a high Z,, and 
conversely, a low ratio of b/a means a 
low Zp. 


Section Ill. BASIC FEEDER SYSTEMS 


47. Introduction 


The transmission line used to couple the trans- 
mitter to the antenna sometimes is called a 
feeder. Because two general types of trans- 
mission line are used (resonant and nonresonant), 
methods of feed can be divided into two classes— 
tuned (resonant) and untuned (nonresonant or 
matched). Both types of line involve a trans- 
mitter, means for coupling the transmitter to the 
line, the transmission line, means for coupling the 
line to the antenna (including an impedance 


matching device if necessary), and the antenna 
itself. 


48. Transmitter-to-Line Coupling 


a. Transmitter Coupling to Untuned Lines. 

(1) On the untuned line, the SWR is 1.5 or 
less, and the line is considered properly 
terminated. For a single-wire feeder, 
two types of transmitter coupling are 
shown in A and B of figure 75. In A, 
the matched line is coupled capacitively 


79 


80 


to a tap on the coil in the output circuit 
or the final amplifier. The tap is ad- 
justed for maximum power transfer. 
Although this method has the advantage 
of simplicity, it allows a great deal of 
harmonic radiation from the antenna. 
In B, a link is used to couple the trans- 
mitter output circuit to the feeder input 
circuit. The coils forming the links can 
be connected by a low-impedance section 
of line. This allows the transmission 
line to be moved a distance from the 
transmitter. This method is relatively 
simple and efficient, permitting little 
harmonic radiation. 


(2) The coupling used with two-wire systems 


depends in part on whether the trans- 
LINE 


mitter output circuit is single-ended or 
double-ended. It also depends on the 
input impedance of the two-wire feeder. 
If the impedance is low and the output 
circuit is single-ended (unbalanced), then 
the circuit in C can be used. A more 
flexible coupling arrangement is shown in 
D. This link circuit permits coupling to 
a high- or low-impedance two-wire feeder 
from the single-ended output circuit. 


(3) When the output circuit of the transmitter 


is double-ended (balanced), the two-wire 

feeder can be coupled capacitively to the 

output tank, as in EF. This method 

usually is found with open two-wire 

lines. A link arrangement, as shown in 

F, also is available for balanced output 
LINE 


LINE 


- 
> 
> 
CS 
> 
- 
= 


F 


TM 666-79 


Figure 75. Various methods of coupling the transmitter to untuned transmission lines. 


Od HES Od date: 


B 


TM 666-80 


Figure 76. Two methods of coupling the transmitter to tuned transmission lines. 


circuits. The line taps in both cases are 
placed symmetrically in respect to the 
center of the coil. 

b. Transmitter Coupling to Tuned Lines. 


(1) If a resonant transmission line is used,. 


the type of coupling depends on whether 
the line input impedance is the equivalent 
of a series- or a parallel-resonant circuit. 
The circuit in A of figure 76, is an arrange- 
ment used with a line presenting a low 
impedance to the transmitter. The extra 
link serves to reduce harmonic radiation 
from the antenna. 

(2) An arrangement that can be used for 
either series- or parallel-tuned lines is 
shown in B. In this circuit, the link 
reduces harmonic radiation to a mini- 
mum. Except for the method of employ- 
ing the link, the circuits in A and B are 
almost identical. 

c. Pi-Section Coupling Network. The pi-section 
circuit is a versatile network which can be used 
with both tuned and untuned lines. It also can 
be used with balanced and unbalanced final- 
amplifier circuits over a wide range of line imped- 
ances. A single pi-section is used for coupling to 
a single-wire feeder (A of fig. 77). For a two- 
wire feeder, a double pi-section provides the 
necessary coupling, as in B. 


LINE 


A 


49. Methods of Feed 


a. Line Conditions. 

(1) Between the transmitter coupling network 
and the antenna input terminals, certain 
factors must be taken into consideration 
with regard to the transmission line. 
These factors apply equally to both tuned 
and untuned lines, and they deal with the 
problem of minimizing radiation loss 
from the line. 

(2) A minimum of radiation loss is attained 
when the fields surrounding the two con- 
ductors forming the line are equal and 
opposite in phase, and hence cancel each 
other. In this condition, a transmission 
line is called balanced. If the line is unbal- 
anced, excessive radiation loss occurs. 
The radiation loss is directly proportional 
to the amount of line unbalance. Com- 
mon causes of line unbalance are— 

(a) Unequal size, length, or spacing of the 
conductors. 

(6) Unequal loading of the two conductors. 
This can result either from the antenna, 
or from coupling between one conduc- 
tor and a nearby conducting surface. 

(c) Acute angle in the line. 

(3) Various methods are available for bal- 


LINE 


TM 666-8! 


Figure 77. Pi-section coupling to tuned or untuned lines. 


81 


= B 


TM 666-82 


Figure 78. Devices for balancing transmission lines, 


ancing different types of transmission 
lines. Open-wire and shielded-pair lines 
have constant dimensions. If the line is 
a wavelength long, it usually is balanced. 
If an open-wire line longer than 1 wave- 
length is used, transposition blocks can 
be substituted for spacers. The positions 
of the conductors are reversed at regular 
intervals by means of these blocks (A of 
fig. 78). This serves to balance the line 
to ground and nearby objects. 

(4) The properties of a quarter-wave section 
of line can be utilized to balance unequal 
line currents in the transmission line 
proper. The balancing section used with 
a coaxial line, as in B, is called a bazooka. 
It serves to make the impedance of the 
outer conductor equal to that of the 
inner conductor. If the unbalance is 10 
percent or less, the line can be considered 
balanced for all practical purposes. 

b. Feeding the Antenna. Two important factors 
must be considered in answering the question of 
how to connect the line to the antenna. An 
antenna at resonance has standing waves on it, 
presenting a varying impedance along its length. 
For maximum transfer of energy, the impedance 
at the output end of the line must match the 
antenna input impedance. One factor to consider, 
therefore, is the antenna impedance. Another 
factor is the type of antenna used. Methods of 
feed are divided into two classes, tuned and un- 
tuned, corresponding to the two classes of trans- 
mission line. If it is no longer than 1 wavelength, 
a resonant line works with relative efficiency. If 
it is longer, a matched line should be used. 


50. Tuned Methods of Feed 


a. Although the resonant line can have the same 


82 


physical construction as the nonresonant line, 
standing waves are present on the resonant type. 
Since standing waves are present on the antenna, 
so far as the transmitter is concerned the antenna 
is merely an extension of the transmission line. 

b. For all practical purposes, there are two 
points at which a resonant line can be used to feed 
a half-wave antenna. The point of highest im- 
pedance occurs at either end; the point of lowest 
impedance occurs at the center. If the antenna 
is a half-wavelength at the operating frequency, 
voltage loops occur at its ends and a current loop 
occurs at its center. If this antenna is fed at one 
end, it is being fed at a point of high impedance 
(about 2,500 ohms) and, also, at a voltage loop. 
If it is fed at the center, the connection is to a low- 
impedance point (about 73 ohms), which is also a 
current loop in this case. 

c. An open-end resonant line can be either an 
odd or an even number of quarter-wavelengths. 
If it is an odd number, it acts as an impedance 
transformer. If it is an even number, it has the 
same input and output impedance. Either of 
these types can be connected to the center or the 
end of the half-wave antenna. 

d. The four possible arrangements for feeding 
the half-wave antenna with tuned lines are shown 
in figure 79. In A. the antenna is center-fed. The 
impedance curve for the antenna shows that the 
antenna impedance, Z,. is low at this point. The 
output impedance, Zz, of the line. therefore, must 
be low. Since the line used is an even number of 
quarter-wave lengths, a low output impedance 
results in a low input impedance. This determines 
the type of transmitter-to-line coupling. A series- 
resonant circuit is used to provide the necessary 
low-impedance match. The arrangement in A also 
is called current-fed, since the point of feed occurs 
at a current loop. 

é. In B of figure 79 the antenna is end-fed. The 
antenna therefore is being fed at a point of high Z,. 
In order to obtain a high Z,, the even quarter-wave 
length line is coupled to the transmitter by means 
of a high-impedance, parallel-resonant circuit. 
This type of feed results in an unbalanced line con- 
dition, and little radiation from the line occurs 
provided that the antenna is cut to a resonant 
length. An antenna far from resonance causes 
serious line radiation loss. The end-fed half-wave 
antenna is more common, and sometimes is 
referred to as Zepp-fed. 

jf. By comparison, center feed is a better arrange- 
ment than end or Zepp feed. In the center-fed 


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method, equal lengths of the antenna are added 
to each side of the line. Even if the antenna is 
actually not at resonance, the line remains near a 
balanced condition, and there is little line radia- 
tion loss. The symmetry of the center-fed method 
allows the antenna to be used over a wide fre- 
quency range, since it does not have to be near 
resonance to prevent line radiation loss. 

g. The center-fed antenna using a tuned line an 
odd number of quarter-wavelengths is shown in C 
of figure 79. The distinguishing feature of this 
length of line is its impedance transforming action. 
A low impedance across the output terminals is 
reflected as a high impedance at the input ter- 
minals. The antenna in C is being fed at a point 
of low impedance. The resulting high impedance 
reflected at the input end necessitates the use of a 
high-impedance, parallel-resonant circuit for cou- 
pling to the transmitter. If the same line is used 
to end-feed the antenna, as in D of figure 79, the 
high Z, is reflected as a low input impedance. A 
series-resonant circuit, therefore, is used for cou- 
pling to the transmitter. Asin B, end feed results 
in a condition of line unbalance which must be 
kept below 10 percent. 


51. Untuned Methods of Feed 


a. General. For all practical purposes, a non- 
resonant transmission line is defined as a line with 
SWR of 1.5 or less. To obtain this low standing- 
wave ratio, the lin» must be terminated in an 
impedance very close to its characteristic imped- 
ance. The antenna impedance may vary con- 
siderably from this value. Consequently, an 


a 


Z,= 500 TO 600 OHMS 


Z9= 500 TO 600 OHMS 


A 


impedance matching device sometimes must be 
inserted between the line and the antenna. The 
input impedance of this device matches the charac- 
teristic impedance of the line, and its output 
impedance matches the antenna impedance. 

b. Single-Wire Feed. 

(1) The single-wire feeder can be used as a 
nonresonant line to feed the resonant 
half-wave antenna. For simplicity of 
construction, an impedance-matching de- 
vice generally is not used. The charac- 
teristic impedance of this line ranges from 
500 to 600 ohms. Since the antenna 
impedance varies from 73 ohms at the 
center to 2,500 ohms at the end, by con- 
necting the line to a suitable point 
between the end and the center, an 
impedance match can be made which 
results in a relatively flat line. This type 
of connection is called off-center feed 
(A of fig. 80). 

(2) The impedance point on the antenna 
which matches approximately the char- 
acteristic impedance of the line occurs 
about one-half of a half-wavelength from 
the center of the antenna. A precaution 
to be observed in bringing the feeder to 
the antenna is to keep the two elements 
at right angles to each other for at least 
one-third wavelength. This serves to 
prevent antenna coupling to the line. 

(3) The off-center feed method just described 
is limited in use, despite its simplicity, 
because it requires the presence of a 
highly conductive ground return, which 


— 


Z,=73 OHMS 


<< 


Zo=70 TO 80 OHMS 


B 


TM 666-84 


Figure 80. Single-wire and twisted-pair feed systems. 


84 


serves as the line return to the tank. 
This coupling occurs through the an- 
tenna-to-ground capacitance, and it re- 
quires a well grounded tank circuit. An- 
other disadvantage is the excessive radia- 
tion loss from a single-wire feeder, since 
there is no parallel conductor to cancel its 
radiation field. 

c. Twisted-Pair Feed. An emergency method 
for center-feeding a half-wave antenna (B of fig. 
20) uses a twisted-pair line, the characteristic 
impedance of which is approximately 70 to 80 
ohms. The line in the figure is matched to the 
antenna. If Zo isless than Z,, the ends of the line 
are spread, or fanned, to get the correct match. 
This follows from the principle that increasing the 
space between the conductors increases the an- 
tenna impedance seen between the terrninals. 
This method normally is not used because of the 
high line losses associated with the twisted pair. 
In emergencies, however, the twisted pair forming 
a lamp cord or a field telephone wire can be used 
as a transmission line. 

d. Two-Wire Feed Using Delta Match. 

(1) A common system for feeding the half. 
wave antenna uses a balanced open-wire 
transmission line. Because of construc- 
tional difficulties, the open two-wire line 
usually cannot have a characteristic im- 
pedance to match the antenna input 
impedance. A practical line of this type 
has a Zp of 400 to 700 ohms. If this line is 
used to center-feed a half-wave antenna 
having a 73-ohm input impedance, some 
type of impedance transformation is nec- 
essary. A method similar to fanning the 


ANTENNA 


DELTA 
MATCHING 
SECTION 


OPEN 
TWO-WIRE 
FEEDER 
CENTER 
LINE 


twisted pair is used. In this case, it is 
called a delta match. 

(2) An example of the use of a delta match is 
illustrated in figure 81. The delta match 
is obtained by spreading the transmission 
line as it approaches the antenna. As- 
sume that the line has a characteristic 
impedance of 600 ohms. The antenna 
impedance at its center is 73 ohms. The 
delta section therefore must have an in- 
put impedance of 600 ohms to terminate 
the line properly. Proceeding from the 
center to either end, a point is passed 
where the impedance equals the imped- 
ance at the output terminals of the delta 
section. The delta section then is con- 
nected this distance on either side of the 
center of the antenna. 

(3) Electrically speaking, the delta section is 
actually part of the antenna. The delta, 
therefore, introduces a radiation loss, 
which is one of its disadvantages. An- 
other disadvantage is that cut-and-try 
methods must be used to determine di- 
mensions A and D of the delta section 
(fig. 81). Since both A and D can be 
varied, adjustment is difficult. The ad- 
vantage of the delta section is that it 
permits the use of a balanced transmis- 
sion line. This means that there is a 
minimum of line radiation, which allows 
the mounting of other lines and antennas 
nearby with minimum effect. A group 
of antennas using deltas is shown in B 
of figure 81. Such a group is known as 
an antenna park, or an antenna farm. 


SEPARATE 
TRANSMITTERS 


TM 666-85 


Figure 81. Delta-matched antenna and antenna park. 


85 


e. Two-Wire Feed Using T Match. 

(1) A method of feed having some advantages 
over the delta-section method uses a T 
match (A of fig. 82). The essential dif- 
ference between the delta and the T 1s 
in the shape of the matching section. 
When the antenna consists of a tubular 
conductor, the T-match method is easier 
to construct than the delta section. 
Furthermore, its dimensions are not 
nearly as critical. 


TWO-WIRE LINE 


T MATCHING SECTION 


A 
ADJUSTABLE SHORTING BARS 
_ = 
SUPPORTS 
ANTENNA 
ao 
T SECTION B 
TM 666-86 


Figure 82. T-matched antenna showing T-matching section. 


(2) A sketch of the physical appearance of a 
two-wire line feeding a T-matched an- 
tenna is shown in B of figure 82. In this 
arrangement, insulators can be used to 
support the assembly, and the line can 
be connected to the matching section by 
means of simple soldering lugs. The 
shorting bars permit dimension A to be 
adjusted for the best possible match. 
The radiation loss of the JT section is less 
than that of the delta section. It must 
be borne in mind, however, that the T 
match also is part of the radiating ele- 


86 


ment and not part of the nonresonant 
feeder. 

f. Two-Wire Feed Using J Match. Still another 
method for feeding the half-wave resonant antenna 
with a nonresonant line is by means of the J- 
matched section (fig. 83). The assembly consists 
of a shorted quarter-wave section of transmission 
line end-feeding a half-wave antenna. A shorted 
quarter-wave section of line acts as an impedance 
transformer. A high impedance is seen at the 
open end, and this end accordingly is connected 
to the high-impedance end of the antenna. The 
impedance of the line is relatively low compared 
to the open end of the matching section. Conse- 
quently, the lines are connected near the shorted 
end of the J match, and are made adjustable for 
optimum performance. The J-matched antenna 
is in wide use in mobile installations, where sim- 
plicity and ease of operation are important. 


ADJUSTABLE 


CLAMPS 


4 


\ 


2 ~~ « (ANTENNA) 


Me 


N 


TWO-WIRE LINE J MATCHING SECTION 


TM 666-87 
Figure 88. J-matched antenna. 


g. Two-Wire Feed Using Stub Matching. 

(1) A method of feed which uses sections of 
transmission line to connect a nonreso- 
nant line to the antenna is known as stub 
matching. The stub usually is a quarter- 
wave section of open or shorted line, al- 
though longer stubs can be used. In 
figure 84, two types of stub matching 
are shown. One uses the open stub, in 
A, and the other the shorted stub, in B. 

(2) Assume that a 600-ohm nonresonant line 
is used to center-feed a half-wave antenna 


with input impedance of 70 ohms. The 
stub to be used therefore must have high 
input impedance and low output imped- 
ance, as shown in A of figure 84. One 
end of an open quarter-wave stub is con- 
nected to the low-impedance antenna ter- 
minals. From transmission-line theory, 
it is known that a quarter-wave line acts 
as an impedance transformer. The im- 
pedance along this stub rises to a maxi- 
mum at the open end. At some point 
along the stub, the impedance matches 
that of the line. In the case given, this 
point occurs a short distance from the 
antenna terminals, and the transmission 
line is connected to the stub at this point. 


(3) A shorted quarter-wave stub can be used, 


as in A, to end-feed a half-wave antenna. 
As in B, the line is connected to the stub 
near the low-impedance end. This type 
leads to a certain amount of unbalance in 
loading the transmission line which 
should not exceed 10 percent. 


(4) If the line cannot be brought close enough 


to the antenna to use a quarter-wave 
stub, longer stubs can be used. For ex- 
ample, any open stub an odd number of 
quarter-waves long can be substituted 
for the quarter-wave stub shown in A. 
In B, any shorted stub an odd number of 
quarter-waves long can be substituted. 
The impedance match to the line is made 
in the last quarter-wave section of the 
stub. Other arrangements also are pos- 
sible, as explained previously. 


(5) The stub-matching system has the dis- 


advantage of limiting the frequency of 


operation, and the antenna must be near 
a resonant length to operate properly. 
This is especially true of the center-fed 
antenna, where the current loop present- 
ing a low impedance can become a node 
presenting a high impedance. This must 
be borne in mind when determining what 
type of impedance-matching device is to 
be used. 


h. Two-Wire Feed Using Q Match. 
(1) In the stub-matching system, the line is 


connected to taps on the stub and the 
correct point at which to connect the line 
to obtain an impedance match is deter- 
mined by trial-and-error methods. The 
Q-matching method eliminates the neces- 
sity for finding the correct impedance 
match by means of taps. The Q-match- 
ing device is an open quarter-wave section 
of line placed in series with the untuned 
transmission line. It has an input im- 
pedance matching the characteristic im- 
pedance of the line, and an output 
impedance matching the antenna input 
impedance. 


(2) Since Z, is the characteristic impedance of 


the line and Z, is the terminal impedance 
of the antenna, then 


Zo=VZLa 


where Zg is the characteristic impedance 
of the line used for the matching section. 
For example, if a 600-ohm line is used to 
feed an antenna with input impedance of 
70 ohms, then 


pa ee 1 


ANTENNA 


TWO-WIRE LINE 


OPEN 
QUARTER-WAVE 
STUB A 


SHORTED 
QUARTER - WAVE 
STUB ANTENNA 


TWO-WIRE LINE 


TM 666-88 


Figure 84. Matching with the shorted and open quarter-wave stubs. 


87 


Z.=1(600)(70) 
= 42,000 
=205 ohms 


If a quarter-wave section of line having a 
characteristic impedance of 205 ohms is 
inserted between the transmission line 
and the antenna terminals, a perfect 
match results. 


(3) The Q match is flexible in that any type of 


line can be used for the matching section, 
provided only that it has the character- 
istic impedance necessary. The quarter- 
wave matching section can have either 
air or solid dielectric. The Q match, 
however, loses its effectiveness rapidly as 
the frequency of operation swings away 
from the resonant frequency of the 
antenna. To lessen this effect, the 
impedances can be matched in two steps 


instead of one. This requires two 
quarter-wave sections. 


(4) In the example given above, a 205-ohm 


quarter-wave section is used to match 
a 600-ohm line to a 70-ohm antenna 
impedance. In using two sections, an 
intermediate impedance is selected, and 
the first-section characteristic impedance 
found from the formula. For example, 
the first section matches the 600-ohm line 
to an impedance of 300 ohms. Then 


Za = (600) (300) 
—4180,000 
=425 ohms 


The characteristic impedance of the first 
section is425o0hms. Its input impedance 
is 600 ohms, and its output impedance is 
300 ohms. The second quarter-wave 


D 


TM 666-89 


Figure 85. Artificial-line matching to antennas. 


section then must have an input im- 
pedance of 300 ohms and an output 
impedance of 70 ohms. Its character- 
istic impedance therefore must be 


Zo2= v¥ (300) (70) 
= 21,000 
=145 ohms 


The second section then can be connected 
directly to the antenna terminals. As 
stated previously, there is no limitation 
on the type of line used to form the 
matching section. 

i. Coaxial Line Feed. Coaxial cable using a solid 
dielectric can be constructed with a characteristic 
impedance equal to the input impedance of a 
center-fed antenna. This provides an extremely 
simple method of feed. The inner conductor is 
connected to one leg of the antenna, and the outer 
conductor to the other end. The line is un- 
balanced in this arrangement, and a bazooka sec- 
tion, therefore, is used to restore balance. If the 
coaxial cable is not a direct match for the antenna, 
stub matching can be used in the same manner as 
with the two-wire stubs. This is not practical, 
because the line must be tapped on the stub to 
obtain the correct impedance match. A simple 
method is to use a Q-matching section of coaxial 
line. Open coaxial lines also can be used to feed 
antennas. These are found in special transmitting 
applications. Usually, the line is filled with a gas 
dielectric and sealed to preserve a uniform 
impedance. 

j. Artificial-Line Matching. 

(1) Matching systems are used because a mis- 
match between the line and the antenna 
causes standing waves to appear on the 


line. This condition lowers the ethciency 
of energy transfer from the transmitter to 
the antenna. Thus far in this paragraph, 
the methods evolved for matching a 
nonresonant line to an antenna have 
involved transmission-line sections, such 
as stubs or quarter-wave transformers. 
Since transmission lines have distributed 
constants, it is possible to replace the 
distributed constants of the line section 
with the lumped constants of coils and 
capacitors to obtain impedance matches. 
Methods using lumped constants are 
classified under the heading of artificial- 
line matching. 

(2) The chief advantage of the artificial line 
over the transmission-line section in im- 
impedance matching is the negligible 
amount of space occupied by lumped 
constants. Coils or capacitors in sealed 
weatherproof containers can be mounted 
right at the input terminals of the 
antenna. The main use of this type of 
line is at the lower frequencies, where 
equivalent transmission-line sections 
would have to be of excessive length. 

(3) Several typical feed systems using artifi- 
cial-line matching are shown in figure 85. 
In A and Bf, high impedance lines are 
used to feed a resonant antenna having 
low input impedance. The coil is divided 
equally between the two line conductors 
in order to maintain line balance. In C 
and D, the low-impedance line is used to 
feed a resonant antenna having high 
input impedance. The coils again are 
divided in order to preserve line balance, 
with the capacitor being placed across 
the line. 


Section IV. BASIC RADIATION PATTERNS 


52. Introduction 


The first three sections in chapter 3 covered the 
various circuits necessary to transfer energy from 
the transmitter to the antenna. This energy is 
radiated from the antenna and forms a field having 
a definite pattern, depending on the type of 
antenna used. It is desirable, therefore, to be able 
to put the radiation pattern of an antenna on 
paper where it can be examined. In fact, the 
antenna usually is designed to have a specific 


pattern for use with a particular installation 
The radiation pattern is a measure of the energy 
radiated from an antenna taken at various angles 
and at a constant distance from the antenna. 


53. Radiation Types and Patterns 


a. General. 
(1) A source of radiant energy such as the sun 
radiates light in all directions equally. A 
radiator of this type is known as an 


89 


ALL POSITIONS ARE EQUAL 


DISTANCES FROM THE SUN 


MEASURED RADIATION ————» 


~ND We HOA DM OS 


° 


1 2 3 4 5 6 7 
POSITION ON CIRCLE ————___——- 


TM 666-90 


Figure 86. The sun as an isotropic source of radiation. 


isotropic source of radiation. This sim- 
ply means that the energy coming from 
the source is found to be constant at a 
fixed distance from whatever angle it is 
measured. Assume that a measuring 
device is moved in a circle around the 
sun. At any point along the circle, the 
distance from the measuring device to 
the sun is the same. The measured radi- 
ation also remains the same. 


(2) If the measured radiation is plotted 


against various positions taken along the 
circle around the sun, the result is the 
graph in figure 86. Assume that the 
radiation is measured on a scale of 0 to 
10 units, and that the radiation meas- 


MEASURED RADIATION —»> 


—_ 


~NWSENON DOO 


(°) 


ured is shown to be seven units at each 
position. The graph of the measured 
radiation, therefore, is a straight line 
plotted against positions along the circle. 


(3) The graph of measured radiation just 


described is a form of radiation pattern. 
The straight line represents the radiation 
pattern of an isotropic source taken in 
the plane of the measuring circle. It is 
possible to have a radiator which emits 
stronger radiation in one direction than 
in another. Such sources are called 
anisotropic. An example, shown in figure 
87, is the ordinary flashlight. The beam 
illuminates only a portion of the total 
space surrounding the flashlight. If a 


MAXIMUM RADIATION 


1234567 8 9 1011 1213 14 6 16 


POSITION ON CIRCLE ————————® 


TM 666-91 


Figure 87. Flashlight as anisotropic source of radiation. 


MEASURED RADIATION ———-= 


circle is drawn having the light source as 
center, the radiation can be measured 
at different positions along the circle. 
Each position used for measurement is 
the same distance from the light source. 
In other words, conditions are exactly 
those used in measuring the light radiated 
from the isotropic source. 


(4) At position 0 on the circle, which is 


directly behind the light source, the 
radiation measured is negligible. A zero 
value accordingly is assigned to this 
position on the graph at the right. 
Until position 4 is reached, the radiation 
remains negligible. Between 4 and 6, 
the circle passes from comparative dark- 
ness into the flashlight beam. This is 
an area of sharp transition from darkness 
to brightness, as can be observed easily 
on the graph. Radiation is relatively 
constant moving from positions 6 to 10, 
reaching a maximum at position 8, 
which is directly in the path of the beam. 
Between 10 and 12, the measured radia- 
tion falls off sharply, becoming and 
remaining negligible from 13 to 16. 


(5) Radiation from a light source and radia- 


tion from an antenna are both in the 
form of electromagnetic waves. The 
measurement of radiation from an an- 


tenna, therefore, follows the same basic 
procedure as the one just described for 
the sun and the flashlight. These meas- 
urements can be graphed to obtain a 
radiation pattern for the antenna. 
Before proceeding with the study of 
antenna patterns, however, it is desirable 
to understand in detail the various 
methods used to graph measured values 
of radiation. 


b. Rectangular-Coordinate Pattern. 
(1) In figures 86 and 87, the rectangular- 


coordinate type of graph is used to plot 
the measured value of radiation against 
the position at which the measurement is 
taken. For convenience, the graph of 
figure 86 is reproduced in A of figure 88. 
The numbered positions along the circle 
are laid cut along the horizontal axis of 
the graph from 0 to 7. The units of 
measured radiation are laid out along the 
vertical axis from 0 to 10. Units on both 
axes usually are chosen so that the 

attern occupies a convenient area of 
the graph. 


(2) The horizontal and vertical axes are at 


right angles to each other. The point 
at which the axes cross each other is 
called the origin. In this case, the origin 
has the value of zero on both axes. 


no fan @ © 


NOTE: ——_—~ POSITION 
THE SOURCE OF RADIATION ON 
IS THE SAME FOR BOTH A 2 CIRCLE 
AND 8 
VERTICAL AXIS RADIATION 
a PATTERN 
H i 
XX i 
4 
{ 
. er 
1 a 
H 
H 
ORIGIN HORIZONTAL AXIS ' 
SX   
1 SN t 
K i] 
o” ——+ 
1 2 4 5 6 7 
POSITION ON CIRCLE ——————__» RADIATION 6 
PATTERN 
A B 
TM 666-92 


Figure 88. Comparison of rectangular-coordinate and polar-coordinate graphs for isotropic source. 


+a 


Now, assume that a radiation value of 
seven units is measured at position 2. 
From position 2 on the horizontal axis, a 
line (vertical dashes) is projected running 
parallel to the vertical axis. From 7 on 
the vertical scale, a line (horizontal 
dashes) is projected running parallel to 
the horizontal axis. The point at which 
the two lines intersect represents the 
value of seven radiation units at position 
2. Note that this is the only point on 
the graph that can represent this value. 


(3) The vertical and horizontal axes plus the 


two dashed lines used to plot the point 
inclose an area forming a rectangle 
(shaped area). I is for this reason that 
this type of graph is called a rectangular 
coordinate. A new rectangle is formed 
for each different point plotted. In the 
case given, all the points plotted lie 
along a straight line extending from 
seven units on the vertical scale to the 
projection of position 7 on the horizontal 
scale. The straight line, therefore, is the 
characteristic pattern in rectangular co- 
ordinates of an isotropic source of 
radiation. 


c. Polar-Coordinate Pattern. 


92 


(1) Although the rectangular-coordinate 


method of graphical analysis is used 
widely, another method has proved to be 
of greater use in studying radiation pat- 
terns. This method is the polar-coordt- 
nate type of graphical analysis (B of fig. 
88). Note the great difference in the 
shape of the radiation pattern when it is 
transferred from the rectangular-coordi- 
nate to the polar-coordinate graph. 
The scale of values used in both graphs 
is identical, and the measurements taken 
are both the same. The basic difference, 
which results in the difference in physical 
appearance, is in the type of axes used. 


(2) In the rectangular-coordinate graph, 


points are located by means of projections 
from a pair of axes at right angles to each 
other. These axes remain stationary at 
alltimes. In the polar-coordinate graph, 
one axis consists of concentric circles, and 
the other axis consists of a rotating radius 
extending from the center of the concen- 
tric circles. Recall how radiation was 
measured by traveling in a circle around 


thesun. Assume a radius, R, drawn from 
the sun as center to position 0 on the 
circle. Moving to position 1, the radius 
moves to position 1; moving te position 2, 
the radius also moves to position 2; and 
so on. This moving radius constitutes 
the moving axis of the polar-coordinate 
graph. 


(3) The positions of the radius are marked on 


the polar-coordinate graph for each posi- 
tion at which a measurement is taken. 
Note how the position of the radius indi- 
cates the actual direction from which the 
measurement was taken. This is a dis- 
tinct advantage over the rectangular- 
coordinate system, in which the position 
is indicated along a straight-line axis 
having no physical relation to the position 
on the circle. Having established the 
direction in which the measurement was 
taken by means of the rotating axis, it 
remains to devise means for indicating 
the measured radiation. 


(4) The rotating axis passes from the center 


of the graph to some position marked on 
the edge of the graph. In so doing, it 
intersects a set of concentric circles 
spaced at equal distances from each other. 
Going out from the center, the circles get 
larger and larger. These circles are used 
to indicate the measured radiation. 
They are numbered successively from 
the center outward, the center indicating 
a zero measurement. In the graph in 
B of figure 88, a radiation scale going 
from 0 to 10 units is used. Consequently, 
10 concentric circles go from the center 
to the circumference of the graph. These 
circles are marked 1, 2, 3, and so on, with 
10 designating the largest circle. This 
scale corresponds to the seale marked on 
the vertical axis of the rectangular- 
coordinate graph in A. 


(5) Summing up, the rotating radius of the 


polar-coordinate graph serves the same 
purpose as the stationary horizontal axis 
of the rectangular-coordinate graph. It 
has the advantage of indicating the actual 
direction from which the measurement is 
taken. The concentric circles serve the. 
same purpose as the verticle scale on 
the rectangular-coordinate graph. They 
allow the same scale to be used no matter 


MEASURED RADIATION —> 


-NWAGAN DW O 


what the position of the rotating radius. 
The distance from the source is constant 
for both types of graphs. 

(6) At position 0 in B, the radius extends from 
the center outward to the right. The 
radiation measured is seven units in this 
position. This poirit is recorded by go- 
ing out seven circles along the radius. 
The point is the place where the radius 
intersects the seventh circle. The re- 
cording of the radiation measured in 
position 1 follows the same procedure. 
Since the source is isotropic, the measured 
radiation again is seven units. The ra- 
dius is rotated to position 1, and its 
intersection with the seventh circle is 
marked. 

(7) When all points are recorded through 
position 7, it is found that they all lie on 
the seventh concentric circle. The radia- 
tion pattern of the isotropic source, there- 
fore, is a circle. This contrasts sharply 
with the straightline pattern obtained 
with a rectangular-coordinate-type graph. 
The advantages of the polar-coordinate 
graph are evident immediately. The 
source, which is at the center of the 
observation circle, is at the center of the 
graph. Also, the direction taken by the 
radiated energy can be seen directly from 
the graph. For these reasons, the polar- 


(o) 


1234567 89 101 1213145 16 


MAXIMUM RADIATION 7 


coordinate graph is more useful in 
plotting radiation patterns. 

(8) In figure 87, the radiation pattern of the 
common flashlight was graphed in rec- 
tangular coordinates. This graph is re- 
produced for convenience in A of figure 
89. From the physical picture of the 
flashlight beam, it is evident that the 
light source is anisotropic in nature. 
This is not evident in the radiation pat- 
tern traced on the rectangular-coordinate 
graph. Conversely, the radiation pat- 
tern of the flashlight shown in B of figure 
89 bears some physical resemblance to 
the actual beam. This is the same pat- 
tern, drawn using polar coordinates. 

(9) The positions on the circle marked off on 
the two polar-coordinate graphs given 
have been selected and numbered arbi- 
trarily. It is possible to mark off posi- 
tions around the circle in a standard way 
so that one radiation pattern can be 
compared easily with another. The 
standard method is based on the fact that 
a circle is divided into 360°. The radius 
extending from the center horizontally to 
the right (position 0 in B of fig. 89) is 
designated 0°. Advancing to position 4 
rotates the radius until it is at right angles 
to the 0° radius. This radius position 


accordingly is marked 90°. Position 8 
tas) 9") (67.8%) 
5 3 
(22.5°) 


678910 


mas 
5 


Yi, 
AY 


All 
\\ 


(270°) (292.5°) B 


TM 666-93 


Figure 89. Comparison of rectangular-coordinate and polar-coordinate graphs for anisotropic source. 


93 


is, therefore, 180°, position 12 is 270°, pattern given, there is one lobe and one 

and position 16 is 360°, by the same continuous null. 

reasoning. The various radii drawn on 

the graph all are marked according tothe 54. Dipole Antenna Radiation 

angle each radius makes with the refer- 

- ence radius at 0°. a. Definitions. In the following discussion, the 
(10) In B of figure 89, the polar-coordinate term dipole is used to mean the basic half-wave 

graph shows a definite area inclosed by antenna. The term doublet is used to indicate an 

the radiation pattern, indicating the antenna that is very short compared with the 

general direction of radiation from the wavelength of the operating frequency. Physi- 


source. This area is called a lobe. Out- cally, it has the same shape as the dipole. 

side of this area, no radiation is emitted b. Radiation Pattern of a Doublet. 

in any direction. For example, at an (1) The doublet is the simplest form of prac- 
angle of 45° (position 2), the radiation is tical antenna. Since it is a source of 
zero. Such a point is called a null. radiation, its radiation can be measured 
Practically speaking, there is usually some and a radiation pattern plotted in the 
radiation in every direction. A null, manner in which a flashlight and _ its 
therefore, also is used to indicate direc- beam were shown in figure 87. Figure 
tions of minimum radiation. In the 90 is a perspective view of the radiation 


HORIZONTAL 
POLAR 
PATTERN 


HORIZONTAL 
PLANE 


VERTICAL 
PATTERN 


ANTENNA 
(INSIDE) 


SOLID VERTICAL 
PATTERN PLANE 


Tm 666-94 


Figure 90. Development of vertical- and horizontal-plane polar patterns from solid radiation pattern. 


94 


pattern of a doublet. This is not a picture 
of the radiation, but a three-dimensional 
view of the pattern itself. In three 
dimensions, the pattern resembles a 
doughnut. 


(2) From this perspective view, two types of 


polar-coordinate patterns can be drawn. 
The first is obtained by getting a top 
view of the doughnut in a horizontal 
plane through its center. This plane is 
the same as that of the circle drawn with 
dashes in the solid pattern. Looking 
down on the horizontal plane, the antenna 
axis is seen head on, so that it becomes 
simply a dot in the horizontal polar 
pattern. It can be seen from the hori- 
zontal pattern that the radiation is con- 
stant in any direction along the hori- 
zontal plane. 


(3) A vertical plane view of the doughnut 


pattern can be drawn, from which is 
obtained a vertical polar pattern. To 
obtain this pattern, the doughnut is 
sliced in half along a vertical plane 


through the antenna. This can be seen 
in the figure to the right of the solid 
pattern. Note how the vertical plane 
view of the radiation pattern differs 
sharply from the horizontal plane view. 
The vertical pattern exhibits two lobes 
and two nulls. The difference in the 
vertical pattern is caused by the fact that 
no radiation is emitted from the ends of 
the doublet. Also, there is maximum 
radiation from the doublet in a direction 
perpendicular to the antenna axis. This 
type of radiation pattern is both non- 
directional (in a horizontal plane) and 
directional (in a vertical plane). 


(4) From a practical viewpoint, the antenna 


can be mounted vertically or horizon- 
tally. The doublet shown in figure 90 is 
mounted vertically, and the radiated 
energy spreads out about the antenna 
nondirectionally in the horizontal plane. 
Since this usually is the useful plane, this 
arrangement is termed nondirectional, 
and its directional characteristic in other 


HORIZONTAL. 
PLANE 
PATTERN 


SOLID PATTERN 


VERTICAL 
PLANE 
PATTERN 
180° 
ANTENNA 
AXIS 


TM 666-95 


Figure 91. Radiation pattern of dipole (half-wave) antenna. 


95 


planes is ignored. If the doublet is 
mounted horizontally, it has the effect of 
turning the pattern on edge, reversing the 
patterns given in figure 90. The antenna 
is now directional in the horizontal plane. 
The terms nondirectional, directional, 
and so on are used for convenience in 
describing specific radiation patterns. 
A complete description always involves 
a figure in three dimensions, as in the 
solid pattern of figure 90. 

c. Radiation Pattern of a Dipole. The radiation 
pattern of a dipole is similar to that of the doublet. 
Increasing the length of the doublet until it is a 
half-wavelength has the effect of flattening out the 
doughnut pattern (fig. 91), or forming a flattened 
figure 8. The radiation pattern in the horizontal 
plane is a larger circle than in the doublet. The 
vertical radiaticn-pattern lobes no longer are 
circular. They are flattened out, and the radia- 
tion intensity is relatively greater. The elonga- 
tion of the pattern is greatest perpendicular to the 
antenna axis. On the vertical radiation pattern, 
0° is used to indicate a position off one end of the 
antenna. All angular measurements around the 
graph are made from this point. A position at 
right angles to the source of radiation accordingly 
is designated 90° or 270°. A position off the 
opposite end of the antenna is marked 180°, and 
soon. This method of starting at one end of the 
antenna axis is conventional. 


55. Using Radiation Pattern 


a. Antennas usually are constructed to obtain a 
specific radiation pattern. Actual tests then are 
conducted to discover whether the practical 
antenna radiation pattern conforms to the pattern 
desired. Field tests of this type usually are 
carried out by measuring the relative field strength 
of the antenna in terms of microvolts per meter. 
This measurement utilizes the E field of the 
antenna. Since power is directly proportional to 
the square of voltage (P=E?/R), the measure- 
ments obtained can be used to plot a radiation 
pattern. This is the simplest and most common 
method for taking measurements of antenna field 
strength. Measurements involving actual power 
require elaborate equipment. 

b. Since two types of pattern can be obtained, 
the voltage measurements can be used to plot a 
field-strength pattern, or can be squared to plot a 
power pattern. These patterns indicate relative 


96 


270° 


90° 30° 
4 { 


HALF- POWER 
(+e / POINTS 


» 0° 270° O° 
180° 


180° 
RELATIVE 
POWER 
A B 


TM 666-96 


RELATIVE 
FIELD STRENGTH 


Figure 92. Beam width measured on relative field strength 
and relative power patterns. 


field strength and relative power. In practice, 
there is little difference between the patterns, and 
both are used. Relative field-strength and rela- 
tive power patterns for the same source of radia- 
tion are illustrated in figure 92. Maximum 
radiation is taken to be 1, and radiation in every 
other direction is expressed in terms of fractions of 
the maximum. 

c. Although the radiation pattern consists of 
areas inclosed by curves, it must be remembered 
that the actual radiation streams out from the 
source for great distances. The radiation takes 
the general directions indicated by the radiation- 
pattern lobes. There is little or no radiation in 
the directions indicated by nulls. For convenience 
in indicating the general direction of radiation, the 
term beam width is used. The radiation beam is 
considered to leave the antenna between the points 
where the field strength falls off to 0.707 of maxi- 
mum, or where the power falls off to 0.5 of 
maximum. 

d. In A of figure 92, the field strength is maxi- 
mum at 90° and 180°. There are nulls at 0° and 
270°. Between each null and maximum, the field 
strength rises from zero to one. The angles at 
which the voltage is 0.707 are marked in the 
figure. The beam is assumed to be contained 
within the total angle from 0.707 through a maxi- 
mum to 0.707. This total angle is the beam undth. 
In this case, the beam is 90° wide, as indicated in 
the figure. 

e. The field strength pattern in A is related 


directly to the power pattern in B. This is 
because the power is directly proportional to the 
square of the voltage. The same points can be 
found on the power pattern by taking the square 
of the voltage values used to determine the beam 
width. 

P,: EF? 


:: (0.707) 
Hic0 


where P, is the relative power and E, is the relative 


voltage. The beam width on the relative power 
pattern, therefore, is found by locating the half- 
power points. The beam width in B is also 90°. 
In other words, the beam width is constant, which- 
ever type of graph is used. 

jf. When looking at the plane patterns in figure 
92, bear in mind that they are cross sections of 
solid radiation patterns. Although there are two 
lobes in the plane radiation pattern, there is only 
one lobe in the solid pattern, and only one beam. 
It is possible to have more than one beam, as will 
be shown in chapter 4. 


Section V. PRACTICAL HALF-WAVE ANTENNAS 


56. Introduction 


a. The half-wave antenna has been discussed 
previously without reference to the effect produced 
by the presence of ground on the radiation pattern. 
Since all practical antennas are erected over the 
earth and not out in free space, it is necessary to 
determine just what effect the ground produces. 
The presence of ground may alter completely the 
radiation pattern produced by the antenna, and 
ground also will have an effect on some of the 
electrical characteristics of the antenna. 

b. In general, the ground has the greatest effect 
on those antennas which must be mounted fairly 
close to it in terms of wavelength. For example, 
medium- and high-frequency antennas elevated 
above ground by only a fraction of a wavelength 
will have radiation patterns that are quite different 
from the free-space patterns. 

c. Inaddition to ground effects, several examples 
of practical half-wave antennas are discussed in 
this section. These include the conventional 
single-wire, half-wave dipole, the folded dipole, 
the coaxial antenna, and the conical antenna. 


57. Ground Effects 


a. Assume that a horizontal half-wave antenna 
is erected at a vertical distance, H, from a ground 
plane, as illustrated in figure 93, where B is the end 
view. Some of the energy that leaves the antenna 
travels directly to some distant point, P. This 
energy is referred to as the direct wave in the 
figure. The direction followed by the direct 
wave makes a certain angle, A, in respect to the 
horizontal. 

b. Some of the energy leaving the antenna 
travels downward toward the ground plane. Since 
this ground plane is a good conductor, the down- 


ward traveling wave from the horizontal antenna 
is reflected with practically no loss and a reflected 
wave of energy travels outward toward the distant 
point, P. The angle between the reflected wave 
and the perpendicular is exactly equal to the angle 
between the downward traveling wave from the 
antenna and the perpendicular. 

c. During the actual reflection process, a 180- 
phase shift takes place so that the reflected wave 
is 180° out of phase with the direct wave. The 
highly conducting ground plane then cannot 
sustain the horizontal lines of electric force pro- 
duced by the antennas. In order to produce zero 
voltage along the ground, an electric field is 
assumed to be produced that is equal in amplitude 
but opposite in direction to that produced by the 
antenna. Ifa vertical antenna is used, the electric 
field is vertieal. Under these conditions, no phase 
reversal takes place during the actual reflection. 

d. Regardless of whether a phase shift is pro- 
duced, the distant point, P, is acted on by «wo 
waves. One of these waves is the direct wave and 
the other is the reflected wave. The reflected 
wave travels a greater distance than does the 
direct wave. Therefore, there is an additional 
phase shift so far as the reflected wave is concerned, 
because of the greater distance it must travel. 
For example, if the reflected wave travels a distance 
to point P that is a half-wavelength longer than 
the distance traveled by the direct wave, on 
additional 180° phase shift will result from the 
greater path length. 

e. The signal strength at point P depends on 
the amplitudes and phase relations of the direct 
and reflected waves. If the ground is a good 
conductor so that very little absorption of energy 
occurs during the reflection process, the reflected 
wave has the same amplitude as the direct wave. 


97 


ACTUAL 
ANTENNA 


DIRECT 
WAVE 


RESULTANT WAVE 
AT DISTANT 
POINT P 


REFLECTED 


' 7 
! ra 
oe 
to IMAGE 
ANTENNA B 


TM 666-97 


Figure 98. Reflection produced by ground plane. 


If these two equal-amplitude waves arrive at the 
distant point in phase, the resultant signal strength 
is twice thet of the direct wave alone. On the 
other hand. if these waves arrive 180° out of 
phase, the resultant signal strengch is zero. Inter- 
mediate values of signal strength occur with 
intermediate phase relations between the reflected 
and the direct wave. 

f. Assume that point P is so located that it 
receives twice the signal strength. Now assume 
that a second point, Q, is located slightly below 
point P. The distances to point Q might be such 
that the direct and reflected waves arrive 180° out 
of phase. As a result, cancelation occurs, the 
received signe] strength is zero, and a null is 
produced. Because of ground reflections, then, 
it is possible that the radiation pattern may be 
broken up into a series of lobes. The signal 
strength at the center of the lobes will be about 
twice that which would be received if the antenna 
were not in the vicinity of a ground plane. These 
lobes are separated by nulls where the received 
signal strength is zero. 

g. It is sometimes convenient in making calcu- 
lations to use the idea of an image antenna. This 
is an imaginary antenna assumed to be located 
the same distance, H, below ground as the actual 
antenna is located above ground. The reflected 
wave is assumed to come from the image antenna, 
as shown in B of figure 93. When a horizontal 
antenna is used, to take into account the phase 
reversal that takes place when reflection occurs, 
the current in the image antenna is assumed to be 


98 


180° out of phase with the current in the actual 
antenna. When a vertical antenna is used, the 
current in the image antenna is considered to flow 
in the same direction the current flows in the 
actual antenna. 


58. Ground-Affected Radiation Patterns 


a. Reflection Factor. 

(1) The reflection factor is a term by which 
the free-space radiation pattern of an 
antenna must be multiplied in order to 
determine the radiated field strength of a 
practical antenna at a given vertical 
angle. The maximum value of the 
reflection factor is 2. At those vertical 
angles, the direct and reflected waves are 
in phase, and twice the free-space signal 
strength occurs. The minimum value of 
the reflection factor is 0. At those ver- 
tical angles, the direct and reflected 
waves are of opposite phase, and com- 
plete cancelation occurs. The reflection 
factor then may vary from 0 to 2 at 
vertical angles measured above the plane 
of the ground. Reflection factors are not 
given for angles below the surface of the 
earth. 

(2) The value of the reflection factor depends 
on the height of the antenna above the 
ground plane as well as the orientation. 
The following chart gives the value of 
the factor for horizontal half-wave anten- 


nas at various vertical angles when the 
antenna is located a quarter-wavelength 
above ground: 


Vertical angle Reflection Vertical angle Reflection 
(degrees) factor (degrees) ‘actor 
Oizic sec eotss 0 AS   eee ar 18 
102. 2c aeeeaece 5 60s on seo e ects 1. 95 
20 2cs2o0 Re Ses 1.0 i (  meee cree eet 2.0 
  0 een aee eee ree 1.5 805 cee eee 2.0 
    Pe ee eae 1.75 {  90....---_----- 2.0 


(3) When the horizontal antenna is located 
a half-wavelength above ground, the follow- 
ing chart can be used to obtain the re- 
flection factor: 


Vertical angle Reflection Vertical angle Reflection 
(degrees) factor (degrees) factor 
Qecc toe bid 0 essai hosete 1.4 
102s sete 2 1.0 60___._------- 75 
y    ee ney ds ee   De) eee a 4 
BOL ish cess 2.0 fen 1 
40. cece ciwe 5 1.75    90_..------.-- 0 


(4) When the horizontal antenna is located 
3 quarter-wavelengths above ground, the 
following chart is used to obtain the re- 
flection factor: 


Vertical angle Reflection Vertical] angle Reflection 
(degrees) factor (degrees) factor 
  Pie See 0 905. 2as sce 1. 
De. sw 2 ces eos 15 60. 225-2522. 1.7 
202 essseseees 2.0 Ween wee Seas 2 1.9 
BN taeeewuces 1.5    80....--_.___- 2.0 
, area ee 0   epee a ene 2.0 
(5) When a height of 1 wavelength above ground 
is used, the following chart shows the re- 
flection factor: 
Vertical angle Reflection Vertical] angle Reflection 
(degrees) factor (degrees) factor 
On et 0 $02. ocs sees 1. 95 
$Oe ne ate et 1.8   ee ee 14 
20....-------- 1.6 102 2 ob ee .6 
90. ot Secncecd 0 $0205 .2 oehe 1 
402 sites eke 1.6 90___--__----- 0 


(6) These charts also can be used with a 
half-wave vertical antenna. The height 
above ground is measured from the center 
of the vertical antenna. It is necessary, 
however, to subtract the given values of 
reflection factor from 2. Then, if the 
reflection factor given in the charts for a 
certain height and vertical angle is 1, 
the reflection factor for a vertical antenna 
is 2 minus 1, or 1. If the reflection 
factor for the horizontal antenna is 2, 
the factor for the vertical half-wave 
antenna is 2 minus 2, or 0. If the re- 
flection factor for the horizontal antenna 
is 0, then the vertical antenna reflection 
factor is 2 minus 0, or 2. 

b. Horizontal Half-Wave Antenna. 

(1) When the foregoing reflection factors are 
applied to the free-space radiation pat- 
tern of a horizontal half-wave antenna, 
the patterns shown in figure 94 are pro- 
duced. Patterns A, C, E, and G are the 
vertical radiation patterns in the plane 
of the antenna itself. B, D, F, and H 
are the vertical radiation patterns in the 
plane which is at right angles to the 
antenna. Patterns A and B are for 
antenna heights of a quarter-wavelength; 
C and D are for antenna heights of a 
half-wavelength; # and F are for heights 
of 3 quarter-wavelengths; G and H are 
for heights of 1 wavelength. 

(2) Figure 95 permits a better visualization 
of the radiation pattern produced. Here 
the actual solid radiation pattern is 
shown for a horizontal half-wave antenna 
located a half-wavelength above ground. 
In the vertical plane at right angles to 
the antenna, D of figure 94 shows two 
large lobes the maximum values of which 
occur at an angle of 30° with the hori- 
zontal. This pattern is reproduced in 
perspective at the upper left of figure 95. 
In the vertical plane which included the 
antenna, reference to C of figure 94, 
shows two small lobes with maximum 
values occurring at an angle of about 
40° with the horizontal. This pattern 
is reproduced in perspective at the upper 
right of figure 95. If these two plane 
views are connected smoothly, the solid 
pattern shown in the center of figure 95 
is produced. 


99 


(3) In a similar manner, solid radiation pat- 


terns can be visualized from the plane 
views shown in figure 94. Picture the 
pattern as being produced by the smooth 
transition from one vertical plane view 
shown to the other vertical plane view 
shown as an angle of 90° is covered. 


(4) Although vertical patterns are shown for 


only four specific heights above ground, 
it is not too difficult to predict the pat- 
terns produced at intermediate heights. 
This is true since the patterns do not 
change abruptly as the height of the 
antenna is increased gradually. Instead, 
there must be a smooth transition from 
the pattern shown for a height of a 
quarter-wavelength, to the pattern shown 
for a height of a half-wavelength. 


(5) At heights less than a quarter-wavelength 


above ground, the vertical patterns pro- 
duced by a horizontal half-wave antenna 
are almost perfectly circular. As the 
antenna is raised, the vertical pattern is 
flattened somewhat at its top, at a ver- 
tical angle of 90° (B of fig. 94). As the 
height is increased above a quarter-wave- 
length, a depression begins to appear at 
the top of the pattern, and the pattern 
width increases. The depression grows 
deeper and deeper as the antenna height 


Figure 95. Solid pattern produced by horizontal half-wave antenna located a half-wavelength above ground. 


approaches a half-wavelength. Finally, 
at a height of a half-wavelength, the 
pattern splits into two separate lobes. 
The radiation at a vertical angle of 90° 
(straight up) is zero at this height, as in 
D of figure 94. As the antenna height 
increases still more, a lobe of radiation 
begins to grow out of the center of the 
pattern at a vertical angle of 90°. As this 
lobe increases in amplitude with increas- 
ing antenna height, the two side lobes are 
spread farther apart so that their maxima 
occur at lower vertical angles. This ver- 
tical lobe has its maximum amplitude 
and begins to flatten somewhat (F of fig. 
94) at an antenna height of 3 quarter- 
wavelengths. As the antenna height is 
increased still more, the vertical lobe 
develops a depression that grows deeper 
as the height is increased. Finally, at a 
height of 1 wavelength, the center lobe 
splits into two separate lobes and the 
radiation at a vertical angle of 90° is 
again zero. Now four distinct lobes exist 
(Af of fig. 94). 


(6) The patterns that are produced at antenna 


heights in excess of 1 wavelength also can 
be determined by studying figure 94. 
When the height of the horizontal an- 
tenna is an odd number of quarter-wave- 


101 


102 


lengths above ground, a lobe of maximum 
radiation is produced at a vertical angle 
of 90° straight up. 


(7) Consider an antenna with a height of 1 


quarter-wavelength above ground. As- 
sume that the instantaneous electric field 
immediately around the antenna is maxi- 
mum in a given direction, designated as 
positive. A portion of this field moves 
downward a distance of a quarter-wave- 
length to the ground. Upon being re- 
flected, a 180° phase shift occurs, and the 
instantaneous electric field is now maxi- 
mum in the opposite direction, designated 
as negative. This negative field now 
moves upward from the ground for a 
distance of a quarter-wavelength. By the 
time the reflected field returns to the 
antenna, a total distance of a half-wave- 
length has been covered. Meanwhile, 
since one-half cycle of operation has 
elapsed during the time required for the 
downgoing wave to move from the an- 
tenna to the ground and from the ground 
back to the antenna again, the polarity 
of the energy on the antenna itself has 
reversed. As a result, the reflected wave 
arrives back at the antenna in exactly the 
right phase to reinforce the direct wave. 
The reinforcement occurs not only at 
heights of a quarter-wavelength above 
ground, but also at heights of 3 quarter- 
wavelengths, 5 quarter-wavelengths, 7 
quarter-wavelengths, and so on. Con- 
sequently, a lobe of maximum radiation 
is produced at a 90° vertical angle for all 
antenna heights which are an odd number 
of quarter-wavelengths from ground. 


(8) When the height of the antenna is an 


even number of quarter-wavelengths 
above ground, a null (zero radiated 
energy) occurs at the 90° vertical angle. 
Consider the action of the horizontal 
half-wave antenna that is located at a 
distance of a half-wavelength above 
ground. The portion of the radiated 
field from this antenna which travels 
downward toward the ground must cover 
a total distance of 1 wavelength before 
it arrives back at the antenna. The direc- 
tion of this field is reversed by the reflec- 
tion process. During the time that is 
required for the reflected wave to cover 


this distance, the field immediately sur- 
rounding the antenna has ggne through   
complete cycle and is now back to its 
original direction or polarity. The re- 
flected wave, therefore, with its field 
reversed by the reflection process, be- 
comes 180° out of phase with the direct 
wave from the antenna. As a result, 
cancelation occurs at the vertical angle 
of 90°, and a null is produced. This 
cancelation, as described above, occurs 
not only at heights of a half-wavelength 
above ground, but also at heights of 1 
wavelength, 1% wavelengths, and so on. 
Consequently, null is produced at a 90° 
vertical angle for all antenna heights 
which are an even number of quarter- 
wavelengths from ground. 


(9) One other factor can be observed from 


the patterns in figure 94 which can be 
used to determine the vertical radiation 
pattern of a horizontal half-wave an- 
tenna at heights greater than are shown. 
At a height of 1 quarter-wavelength 
above ground, the radiation pattern is 
seen to consist of one lobe only. Ata 
height of 2 quarter-wavelengths ()/2) 
above ground, the radiation pattern con- 
sists of two lobes. At a height of 3 
quarter-wavelengths, the pattern con- 
sists of three lobes. At a height of 4 
quarter-wavelengths (A) above ground, 
the radiation pattern consists of four 
lobes. Consequently, the number of 
vertical lobes produced is numerically 
equal to the height of the antenna above 
ground in quarter-wavelengths and con- 
tinues for any antenna height. It is pos- 
sible to get a fairly good idea of the 
vertical radiation pattern of a horizontal 
half-wave antenna at any height above 
ground. For example, if the antenna is 
located at a height of 2 wavelengths 
above ground, which is an even number 
of quarter-waves, a null is produced at a 
vertical angle of 90°. Then, since 2 
wavelengths represent 8 quarter-wave- 
lengths, the radiation pattern consists of 
eight lobes. 


c. Vertical Half-Wave Antenna. 
(1) When the proper reflection factors are 


applied to the free-space radiation pat- 
tern of a vertical half-wave antenna, the 


TM 666-100 


Figure 96. Vertical-plane radiation patterns produced by vertical half-wave antennas. 


TM 666-101 


wave antenna located a half-wavelength above ground. 


Figure 97. Solid pattern produced by vertical halj- 


103 


patterns shown in figure 96 are produced. 
Only. a simple plane view need be shown 
here because the vertical half-wave an- 
tenna is nondirectional in the horizontal 
plane. Its free-space horizontal radia- 
tion pattern is a circle. Therefore, the 
effect of the reflection factor is the same 
in all horizontal directions. 

(2) To visualize more clearly the solid radia- 
tion pattern, it is necessary only to 
picture the plane patterns shown in 
figure 96 being rotated. One such solid 
radiation pattern is shown in figure 97, 
where the pattern is produced by a 
vertical half-wave antenna the center of 
which is a half-wavelength above ground. 

(3) In general, two effects are shown when the 
patterns of figure 96 are observed. First, 
there is always a null at the vertical angle 
of 90° because there is no radiation from 
the end of the vertical antenna. There- 
fore, regardless of the value of the reflec- 
tion factor at this angle, noradiation occurs 
directly upward. At all antenna heights, 
then, the vertical half-wave antenna 
produces a null at 90°. The second 
effect noted is that, as the antenna is 
raised above ground, a greater number 
of lobes appear in the pattern. At a 
height of 1 quarter-wavelength, for 
example, two lobes appear (A of fig. 96). 
When the antenna is raised to 1 half- 
wavelength, four lobes appear, as in B. 
The amplitude of the upper lobes is 
much smaller than that of the lobes 
which lie along the ground. At a 
height of 3 quarter-wavelengths, there 
are still four lobes, but the amplitude 
of the upper lobes has increased, as 
shown in C. When the antenna is 
raised to a height of a full wavelength, 
as in D, six lobes appear. 


59. Changes in Radiation Resistance 


a. The radiation resistance measured at the 
center of a half-wave antenna in free space is 
73 ohms. However, the radiation resistance of a 
practical half-wave antenna located over a ground 
plane may have any value of radiation resistance 
from 0 to almost 100 ohms. The exact value 
of radiation resistance depends on the height 
of the antenna above ground. 


104 


b. The change in radiation resistance occurs 
because of the effect of the wave reflected up 
from the ground plane. This reflected wave 
induces a voltage which causes a current to flow 
in the antenna. The phase of this induced 
current in respect to the current in the antenna 
produced bv the transmitter depends on the 
height of the antenna and its orientation. At 
some antenna heights, it is possible for the two 
currents to be in phase so that the total antenna 
current is greater than it would be if no ground 
reflection had taken place. At other antenna 
heights, the two currents may be 180° out of 
phase so that the total antenna current is less 
than it would be if no ground reflection had 
occurred. Intermediate antenna heights result 
in induced currents having different phase rela- 
tions. Therefore, the total antenna current varies 
widely, depending on the antenna height. 

ce. If a given input power is applied to an 
antenna and the antenna current increases. the 
antenna behaves as though its resistance were 
reduced. Since the ohmic resistance of the 
antenna does not change, the radiation resistance 
is lowered effectively. Similarly, if the antenna 
height is such that the total antenna current. 
decreases, the antenna radiation resistance is 
increased. 

d. The actual variation in radiation resistance 
of a half-wave antenna at various heights above 
ground is shown in the graph in figure 98. The 
solid curve shows the radiation resistance of a 
horizontal half-wave antenna, and the dashed 
curve shows the radiation resistance of a vertical 
half-wave antenna. The radiation resistance of 
the horizontal antenna rises steadily to a maxi- 
mum value of 98 ohms at a height of about 
3 eighths-wavelengths. Then the radiation resist- 
ance falls steadily to 58 ohms at a height of about 
5 eighths-wavelengths. The resistance then con- 
tinues to rise and fall around an average value 
of 73 ohms, which is the free-space value. As the 
height is increased, the amount of variation keeps 
decreasing. The curve is similar to a damped 
oscillation. 

e. The variation in: radiation resistance of a ver- 
tical antenna is much less than that of the hori- 
zontal antenna. The radiation resistance is @ 
maximum value of 100 ohms when the center of 
the antenna is a quarter-wavelength above ground. 
The value falls steadily to a minimum value of 70 
ohms at a height of a half-wavelength above 
ground. The value then rises and falls by several 


RADIATION RESISTANCE OF 
FREE-SPACE /2 ANTENNA 


100 
hee 
ea Sa ao a 
z °° PtomizowTar antenmal [ _  
a fer es ee 


1 ie Same as a (a a 


0 A % 3% » oy, 3% ™ 2 


HEIGHT OF X/2 ANTENNA ABOVE GROUND 
(WAVELENGTHS) ————>- 


TM 666-102 
Figure 98. Radiation resistance at various heights. 


ohms about an average value slightly above the 
free-space value of a horizontal half-wave antenna. 

f. Because of the variation in antenna current 
and radiation resistance at various antenna heights, 
the field intensity produced by a given antenna 
also changes. In general, as the radiation re- 
sistance is reduced, the field intensity increases. 
An increase in radiation resistance results in a drop 
in the radiated field intensity. 


60. Effects of Practical Grounds 


a. General. 

(1) Up to this point, all of the effects pro- 
duced have been the result of a ground 
which has a uniform high conductivity. 
In practice, the nature of the ground over 
which the antenna is erected is subject to 
considerable variation. This results not 
only from the ground material itself but 
also the manner in which it is found. 
For example, the antenna may be erected 
over a ground which has high or low con- 
ductivity, and over a ground with uni- 
form or nonuniform conductivity in the 
vicinity of the antenna. All of these 
characteristics of the ground have an 
effect on the radiation patterns and re- 
sistance of the antenna. 

(2) Table VI gives the approximate relative 
conductivities of various surfaces that 
may be found under an antenna. Note 
the wide variation in conductivity that 
occurs. It is not strange then that a 


considerable variation in ground effects 
occurs over different types of surfaces. 


Table VI. Ground Material Conductivity. 


Sea water 
Flat, rich 


Average flat soil. .....-.-.-------------- 
Fresh water lakes__.__------------------ 
Rocky hills.........--.----------------- 
Dry, sandy, flat soil......----.--.------- 
City residential area___...-..------------ 
City industrial area. _-_..-.------------- 


Relative 


Ground material conductivity 


Lusso umebleltewee ene eodastos 4, 500 
0)   a 15 


mB wn nN Oa 


b. Ground Losses. 


(1) 


(2) 


Unless the ground behaves as a nearly 
perfect conductor, the amplitude of the 
ground-reflected wave will be much less 
than the amplitude of the wave before 
reflection. A portion of the wave which 
ordinarily would be reflected is absorbed 
by the resistance of the ground. Such 
absorption by the ground constitutes 
ground , losses. This means that the 
value of the ground reflection factor 
will be reduced considerably. 

The maximum value of the ground 
reflection factor is 2 (par. 58a(1)). 
At those values of vertical angle at 
which the factor is 2, the total signal 
strength (resulting from the direct and 
ground-reflected waves) is tuzce the 
value of the direct wave alone. If the 
ground is a poor conductor, the maximum 
value of the ground reflection factor is 
much less than 2. As a result, the 
maximum value of the lobes never 
rises to twice the value without ground 
reflections. In addition, no nulls are 
produced over an imperfect ground. 
To produce a null, the ground-reflected 
wave must be 180° out of phase with the 
direct wave and must be of equal ampli- 
tude. As a result, complete cancelation 
occurs and a null results. If the ground 
is imperfect, some of the wave that 
would be reflected is absorbed instead. 
Ground losses occur, and the amplitude 
of the ground-reflected wave is reduced. 
Consequently, complete cancelation can- 
not occur at a given vertical angle. 


105 


Therefore, instead of an actual null being 
produced, a reduction in resultant signal 
strength occurs. 


(3) The value of ground reflection factor 


over a perfectly conducting ground 
(that is, one with no ground losses) 
varies from 0 to 2. Nulls are produced 
at those values of vertical angle where 
the factor is 0, and lobes of double 
signal strength occur where the factor is 2. 
Over a moderately conducting ground, 
the factor may increase to a maximum 
value of only 1.5 and may drop to a 
minimum value of 0.5. Asa result, the 
vertical radiation pattern shows a series 
of high and low signal strengths rather 
than a series of double-amplitude lobes 
separated by well defined nulls. When 
the ground acts as a very poor conductor, 
practically all of the energy directed 
down toward the ground is absorbed 
and ground reflections do not occur. 
The ground reflection factor is then 1 
over a wide range of vertical angles, 


when low and medium frequencies are 
used. 


(3) At higher frequencies (3 to 30 mc), the 


depth of penetration of a radio wave into 
the earth is limited to about 5 to 10 feet. 
Unless the antenna is erected over salt 
water or over a very highly conducting 
soil, considerable ground losses occur and 
much absorption of radiated energy oc- 
curs at vertical angles less than about 
10° to 12°. At very low vertical angles 
(approximately 1° to 3°) so much ab- 
sorption occurs because of ground losses 
that the ground reflection factor is re- 
duced to a very low value, and the 
vertical-plane radiation patterns shown 
in figure 96 must be modified to take 
this factor into account. These patterns 
should show little or no radiated field 
intensity at very low vertical angles. 
The large lobe of radiation which lies 
along the ground plane then is reduced 
in amplitude, and a null is produced 
along the ground. 


d. Radiation Resistance Effects. 
(1) The graph in figure 98 shows the variation 
in radiation resistance for half-wave 
(1) From the preceding discussion of the antennas at various heights above 


resulting in a free-space pattern. 


c. Frequency [ffects. 


effects of imperfect grounds and from 
the relatively low conductivities of all 
surfaces (table VI), it would appear 
that the entire previous discussion con- 
cerning ground effects is not too impor- 
tant. However, such is not the case. 


(2) At low and medium frequencies, the 


radio wave that strikes the ground 
causes ground currents to flow which 
penetrate the ground to a depth of 50 
feet or more. In general, a greater 
penetration occurs when the top layer 
of ground has a low conductivity. 
Consequently, even though the actual 
conductivity of the soil itself may not 
be great, the volume of soil in which 
current can flow is considerable. As a 
result, the resistance of the ground is 
low, and, for all practical purposes, most 
types of soil act as rather good reflectors. 
Only a relatively small amount of ground 
loss occurs and the ground reflection 
factors vary from 0 to 2. The vertical 
radiation patterns shown previously in 
this chapter then apply almost exactly 


ground. The curves in this figure have 
been plotted for antennas erected above 
a highly conducting ground. If an im- 
perfectly conducting ground is used, the 
curves shown must be modified. 


(2) In general, the use of an imperfectly 


conducting ground shifts the curves 
shown slightly toward the left. In addi- 
tion, the curves do not rise to as high 
values nor do they fall to as low values 
as when a highly conducting ground is 
used. The effect is to smooth out the 
curves and reduce the amount of change 
in radiation resistance as the antenna 
height is increased above ground. 


e. Antenna Height. 
(1) It is not possible always to answer ac- 


curately the question of what determines 
the exact height of a given antenna above 
ground. lt might be assumed that it is 
necessary simply to measure the distance 
between the antenna itself and the surface 
of the ground. This method, however, 
may not give accurate results so far as 
reflection factors and vertical-plane pat- 


terns are concerned. Instead, several 
feet must be added to the actual meas- 
ured height. It is just as though ground 
reflections take place from a plane located 
a few feet below the surface of the ground. 

(2) If the ground were a perfect conductor, 
no penetration of the radio wave would 
occur. Under these conditions, reflection 
takes place at the surface of the ground, 
and the actual height above ground can 
be used. In an imperfectly conducting 
ground, reflection seems to occur from a 
plane that is located below the surface 
and the actual depth of the reflecting 
plane is determined largely by the nature 
of the ground and the frequency used. 
This depth may be considerably greater 
than the few feet mentioned above. 
Since it is difficult to determine the actual 
depth of the ground reflecting plane, the 
exact effect on the radiation patterns 
and resistance of the antenna cannot be 
determined precisely, but sufficiently ac- 
curate results are obtained for all prac- 
tical purposes. 


61. Ground Screens 


a. A ground screen consists of a fairly large area 
of metal mesh or screen which is laid on the surface 
of the ground under the antenna. Special mesh 
made of copper, Copperweld, or galvanized iron 
is available in large sheets for this purpose. 
Ordinary chicken wire also can be used although it 
will introduce some losses. When sheets of mesh 
are used, they must be bonded together at several 
places to keep the over-all resistance of the ground 
screen low. Although a ground screen simply can 
be laid on the surface of the ground, lower losses 
occur if it is connected to the earth by means of 
ground rods. The rods are driven into the earth to 
a depth of 4 to 8 feet. The metal screen then is 
bonded to the rods. Sometimes a ground screen is 
laid on a wooden framework that is erected 8 to 


12 feet off the ground. .The metal mesh usually is   


stapled to the framework; the grounding wires 
are run from the mesh to ground rods. 

6. The purpose of the ground screen is to simu- 
late to some extent the effect of a perfectly con- 
ducting ground under the antenna. The screen 
should extend for a considerable distance in every 
direction from the antenna. In practice, however, 
the ground screen seldom extends more than a 


half-wavelength or slightly less in all directions. 

c. Two specific advantages are to be gained 
when a ground screen is used. First, the ground 
screen reduces ground absorption losses which 
would occur when the antenna is erected over 
imperfectly conducting ground. Second, by using 
the ground screen, the height of the antenna above 
ground is set accurately. As a result, the radiation 
resistance of the antenna is known and the radia- 
tion patterns of the antenna can be predicted more 
accurately. 

d. For the ground screen to have any effect on 
the very low-angle radiation produced by the 
antenna, it would have to be unreasonably large, 
since ground reflections that effect such radiation 
take place at a considerable distance from the 
antenna. When a ground screen is used which 
extends for only a half-wavelength in every diree- 
tion from the antenna, only the high-angle radia- 
tion is affected. The ground reflections that con- 
tribute to such radiation take place rather close 
to the antenna itself. Therefore, the ground screen 
is effective in such cases. 


62. Polarization 


a. General. 

(1) Polarization of a radiated wave is de- 
termined by the direction of the lines of 
force making up the electric field. If the 
lines of electric force are at right angles 
to the surface of the earth, the wave is 
said to be vertically polarized. If the 
lines of electric force are parallel to the 
surface of the earth, the wave is said to 
be horizontally polarized. 

(2) When a single-wire antenna is used to 
extract energy from a passing radio wave, 
maximum pickup results if the antenna 
is so oriented that it lies in the same 
direction as the electric-field component. 
Thus, a vertical antenna is used for effi- 
cient reception of vertically polarized 
waves and a horizontal antenna is used 
for the reception of horizontally polarized 
waves. In some cases, the orientation of 
the electric field does not remain constant. 
Instead, the field rotates as the wave 
travels through space. Under these con- 
ditions, both horizontal and_ vertical 
components of the field exist and the 
wave is said to have elliptical polariza- 
tion. 


107 


(3) When a half-wave antenna is used for the 


radiation of energy, the electric lines of 
force are built up from one end of the an- 
tenna to the other. Atadistance from the 
antenna, the lines of force have a direc- 
tion that is parallel to the direction of the 
radiating antenna. Therefore, the hori- 
zontal half-wave antenna produces a 
horizontally polarized radio wave and the 
vertical half-wave antenna produces a 
vertically polarized radio wave. 


b. Polarization Requirements for Various Fre- 


quencies. 
(1) At medium and low frequencies, ground- 


108 


wave transmission is used widely, and it 
is necessary to use vertical polarization. 
The lines of electric force are perpen- 
dicular to the ground and the radio wave 
can travel a considerable distance along 
the ground surface with a minimum 
amount of attenuation. Horizontal po- 
larization cannot be used since, under 
these conditions, the electric lines that 
touch the earth do so parallel to it. 
Because the earth acts as a fairly good 
conductor at these low frequencies, the 
horizontal lines of clectric force are 
shorted out, and little useful range can 
be covered with horizontal polarization. 


(2) At high frequencies, with sky-wave trans- 


mission, it makes httle difference whether 
horizontal or vertical polarization is used. 
The sky wave that has been reflected by 
the ionosphere arrives at the receiving 
antenna clliptically polarized. This is 
the result. of the effect of the earth’s 
magnetic field on a wave traveling ob- 
liquely through it and striking the 
ionosphere. The radio wave is given a 
twisting motion and its orientation 
changes continually because of the un- 
stable nature of the ionosphere. The 
relative amplitudes and phase difference 
between the horizontal and vertical 
components of the received wave change 
at random, and the transmitting and 
receiving antennas therefore can be 
mounted either horizontally or vertically. 


(3) One reason for the preferenee for hori- 


zontally polarized antennas in the high- 
frequency range is that less interference 
is experienced because of man-made 
noise source. Vehicular ignition systems, 


various rotating machinery, and many 
electrical zppliances produce vertically 
polarized s:aterference signals. The re- 
sponse to these signals is minimized by 
using horizotal polarization. Supports 
for horizontally polarized antennas are of 
more convenient size. There also is less 
absorption of radiated energy by building 
or wiring when horizontal polarization is 
used, 


(4) With frequencies in the very-high or ultra- 


high range, either horizontal or vertical 
polarization is satisfactory. The radio 
wave travels directly from transmitting 
antenna to receiving antenna and the 
ionosphere is not used. The original 
polarization produced at the transmitting 
antenna is maintained throughout the 
entire travel of the wave to the receiver. 
Therefore, if a horizontal half-wave an- 
tenna is used for transmitting, a hori- 
zontal antenna must be used for receiv- 
ing. If a vertical half-wave antenna is 
used for transmitting, a vertical antenna 
must be used for receiving. 


(5) In some cases, the orientation of the 


receiving antenna peed not be the same 
as the transmitting antenna for vhf and 
uhf signals. For example, when duct 
transmission occurs, as described in 
chapter 2, the orientation of the wave 
may change as the energy travels to the 
receiving antenne tn much the same way 
as when a high-frequency sky wave is 
reflected from the ionosphere. Similar 
antenna orientations are not required 
when a large amount of the received 
energy arrives at the receiving antenna 
through diffraction or by reflection from 
irregular surfaces or from large flat 
oblique surfaces for example, when the 
receiving antenna is located in an urban 
area near large buildings. Since duct 
transmission is an abnormal eondition 
and most nulitary vhf and ubf antennas 
are located in the clear away from large 
reflecting surfaces, the same antenna 
orientation generally is used for the 
receiving antenna as for the transmitting 
antenna. 


ce. Advantages of Vertical Polarization. 
(J) Simple, vertical, half-wave antennas can 


be used to provide omnidirectional (in 


all directions) communication. This is 
advantageous when it is desired to com- 
municate with a moving vehicle. 


(2) When antenna heights are limited to 10 


feet or less over land, as in a vehicular 
installation, vertical polarization results 
in a stronger received signal at frequen- 
cies up to about 50 mc. From approxi- 
mately 50 to 100 mc, there is only a slight 
improvement over horizontal polariza- 
tion with antennas at the same height. 
Above 100 mc, the difference in signal 
strength is negligible. One polarization 
may produce a greater or smaller signal 
strength, depending on local conditions. 


(3) For transmission over sea water, vertical 


polarization is decidedly better than 
horizontal when antennas are below 
approximately 300 feet at 30 mc, but 
only 50 feet at 85 me, and still lower at 
the higher frequencies. Therefore, at 
ordinary antenna mast heights of 40 feet, 
vertical polarization is advantageous for 
frequencies less than about 100 mc. 


(4) Radiation using vertical polarization is 


somewhat less affected by reflections 
from aircraft flying over the transmission 
path. With horizontal polarization, such 
reflections cause variations in received 
signal strength. This factor is important 
in locations where aircraft traffic is heavy. 


(5) When vertical polarization is used, less 


interference is produced or picked up 
because of strong vhf and uhf broadcast 
transmission and reception (television 
and f-m (frequency-modulation)), all of 
which use horizontal pclarizat‘on. This 
factor is important when an antenna 
must be located in an urban area having 
several television and f-m_ broadcast 
stations. 


d. Advantages of Horizontal Polarization. 
(1) A simple horizontal half-wave antenna 


is bidirectional. This characteristic is 
useful if it is desired to minimize inter- 
ference from certain directions. 


(2) Horizontal antennas are less apt to pick 


up man-made interference, which ordin- 
arily is polarized vertically. 


(3) When antennas are located near dense 


forests, horizontally polarized waves suf- 
fer lower losses than vertically polarized 
waves, especially above about 100 me. 


(4) Small changes in antenna location do not 
cause large variations in the field intensity 
of horizontally polarized waves when 
antennas are located among trees or 
buildings. When vertical polarization 
is used, a change of only a few feet in 
the antenna location may have a con- 
siderable effect on the received signal 
strength. This is the result of interfer- 
ence patterns which produce standing 
waves in space when spurious reflections 
from trees or buildings occur. 

(5) Since the interference patterns will vary 
even when the frequency is changed by 
only a small amount, considerable dis- 
tortion may occur when complex types 
of modulation are used, as with tele- 
vision signals or with certain types of 
pulse-modulation systems. Under these 
conditions, horizontal polarization is pre- 
ferred. 

(6) When simple half-wave antennas are 
used, the transmission line, usually ver- 
tical, is less affected by a horizontally 
mounted antenna. By keeping the an- 
tenna at right angles to the transmission 
line and using horizontal polarization, 
the line is kept out of the direct field of 
the antenna. As a result, the radiation 
pattern and electrical characteristics of 
the antenna are practically unaffected by 
the presence of the vertical transmission 
line. 


63. Reciprocity 


a. The half-wave antenna has the property of 
reciprocity since, when it is used for transmitting, 
it has the same characteristics as when used for 
receiving. 

b. The function of a transmitting antenna is 
to convert the output power delivered by a radio 
transmitter into an electromagnetic field that is 
radiated through space. As such, the transmit- 
ting antenna is a transducer which converts energy 
having one form to energy having another form. 
The receiving antenna is also a transducer; how- 
ever, it makes the energy conversion in the 
opposite direction. The function of the receiving 
antenna is to convert the electromagnetic field 
that sweeps by it into energy that is delivered to 
a radio receiver. In transmission, the antenna 
operates as the load for the transmitter; in recep- 


109 


tion, if operates as the power source for the 
receiver, which is the load. 

c. A half-wave antenna used for transmitting 
radiates its maximum energy at right angles to the 
antenna itself and no energy is radiated in the 
direction of the antenna elements. When such an 
antenna is used for reception, it receives maximum 
energy at right angles to the antenna and no energy 
is received in the direction of the antenna elements. 
A vertically mounted half-wave antenna radiates 
energy equally in all horizontal directions. A 
similar antenna used for reception receives energy 
equally in all horizontal directions. Consequently, 
a pattern which shows the radiation of an antenna 
can be used also to show the reception of that an- 
tenna, A radial line drawn at a given angle from 
the center of such a pattern to its edge not only can 
be used to indicate the magnitude of the radiated 
field traveling outward on the pattern from the an- 
tenna but also shows the magnitude of the received 
field traveling inward on the pattern toward the 
antenna. 

d. This reciprocity of radiation and reception 
applies not only to the half-wave antenna but also 
to more complicated antennas and arrays de- 
scribed later in this manual. In all cases, if an 
antenna is highly directive as a transmitting 
antenna, it will have exactly the same directivity 
as @ receiving antenna. 

e. The gain of an antenna is the same regardless 
of whether the antenna is used for transmitting 
or for receiving (par. 82). The impedance and the 
distribution of standing waves of voltage and 
current are identical regardless of whether the 
half-wave antenna is used for transmitting or for 
receiving. 

f. If the reciprocity of an antenna is to be 
realized fully, it is necessary that the nature of the 
wave remain unchanged as it travels from trans- 
mitting antenna to receiving antenna. If it does 
not, two identical antennas similarly oriented may 
not act as though their characteristics were truly 
reciprocal. For example, assume that two such 
antennas, A and B, are used for communication by 
way of the ionosphere. When antenna A is trans- 
mitting to antenna B, the radiated energy follows 
a certain path up toward the ionosphere and then 
down toward antenna B. When antenna B is 
transmitting to antenna A, it is possible that a 
slightly different path is followed by the radiated 
energy in travelling toward antenna A. Under 
these conditions, the received wave at A will arrive 


110 


at a slightly different vertical angle, and a different 
part of the directive pattern will be used. 

g. For complete reciprocity to exist, it is 
necessary that antennas be terminated similarly 
when transmitting and receiving. If proper 
impedance matching is used when an antenna is 
transmitting, a proper match must exist also when 
the antenna is used for receiving. If it does not, 
the antenna will have somewhat different char- 
acteristics when it is used for transmission than 
when it is used for reception. 


64. Single-wire Antenna 


a. General. 

(1) A single-wire, half-wave antenna is one 
constructed of a single conductor of 
proper length. In the high-frequency 
range, the conductor is usually a stranded 
copper-alloy wire which is suspended 
between two upright supports. In the 
vhf and uhf frequency ranges, aluminum 
tubing frequently is used, and the 
antenna length is sufficiently short that 
the tubing need be supported only at the 
center. 

(2) The single-wire antenna can be mounted 
either vertically to produce a vertically 
polarized radio wave, or horizontally, to 
produce a horizontally polarized wave. 
Any of the feeding methods previously 
described can be used, depending on the 
type of transmission line or the nature of 
the output circuit of the transmitter that 
is to be connected to the antenna. Most 
of the figures so far in this manual show 
single-wire, half-wave antennas. Details 
of erection and construction have been 
omitted since only the theory of the 
antenna operation was under discussion. 

b. Typical Military Antennas. 

(1) The typical military half-wave antenna 
in figure 99 is suitable for transmission 
and reception. It can be used in con- 
junction with a transmitter having an 
output power of less than 100 watts. 
All of the component parts required for 
the installation are furnished in kit form. 
When the antenna is disassembled, it is 
highly portable. 

(2) Sufficient antenna wire is provided to 
construct a half-wave antenna resonant 


"  
alld 


! 
My '\ 1 i fi 
o 


ke (ha, be 
Malbec e 


i 


TM 666-103 


Figure 99. Typical military single-wire antenna. 


to a frequency as low as 1.5 me, that is 
312 feet long. If the antenna is to 
operate on a frequency as high as 18 mc, 
the length is shortened to 24.3 feet. In 
actual practice, antenna wire forming 
one-half of the antenna is wound on a 
small reel. The wire is unwound from 
the reel until one-half the required 
antenna length is obtained. Then the 
free end of the wire is attached to an 
insulator at the center of the antenna. 
The reel then is attached to a halyard 
which has a strain insulator in it. The 


halyard is passed through a pulley at the 
top of one of the antenna supports with 
the free end made fast to a guy stake on 
the ground. Both halves of the antenna 
are made up in this way. The insulator 
at the center of the antenna is fitted 
with a female coaxial fitting. This 
accommodates a 72-ohm coaxial line 
which leads to either the transmitter or 
the receiver, providing the correct im- 
pedance for matching to the center of 
the half-wave antenna. 


(3) A single-wire transmission line also can 


11 


12 


Tm 666-104 


Figure 100. Delta-matched military antenna. 


be used with this antenna. Here, the 
center insulator is not used and the two 
portions of the antenna are connected. 
The single-wire line is connected at a 
point 0.18-wave length from one end of 
the antenna, giving it a proper impedance 
match. 


(4) Another common high-frequency, single- 


wire antenna is illustrated in figure 100. 
This delta-matched military antenna 
often is used with transmitters having 
output powers up to several kilowatts 
over distances of 500 miles or less for 
point-to-point, fixed-station communi- 
cation. For transmission up to about 
200 miles, the antenna height should be 
less than a quarter-wavelength in order to 
produce the required high angle of radi- 
ation. For longer distances, the antenna 
height may be as great as a half-wave- 
length to produce lower radiation angles. 


(5) The antenna consists of a single, hori- 


zontal wire of about one half-wavelength. 
The power from the station transmitter is 
transferred from a balanced 600-ohm 
transmission line to the antenna by means 
of a delta-matching section. The ends of 
the wires of the transmission line are 
fanned out and attached to the antenna 
at equal distances from the center. The 
dimensions must be such as to match the 
line to the antenna so that the standing 
waves on the line are minimized. The 
exact dimensions depend on the antenna 
height, ground conditions, frequency, 
and the effect of structures near the 
antenna. 


(6) A delta-matched, half-wave antenna used 


at a frequency of 5 mc would have the 
following dimensions (fig. 100): height, 
H, 70 feet, antenna length, A, 94 feet, 
maximum spread of matching section, B, 
23.6 feet, and length of matching section, 
C, 29.5 feet. 


65. Folded Dipole 


a. Operation. 
(1) The folded-dipole antenna consists of an 


ordinary half-wave antenna (dipole) 
which has one or more additional con- 
ductors connected across the ends of the 
antenna. The additional conductors are 
mounted parallel to the dipole elements 
at a distance that is a very small fraction 
of a wavelength in which spacings of 
several inches are common (fig. 101). In 
A, the two-wire folded dipole is con- 
structed of metal tubing. In #, the 
three-wire folded dipole is made of wire. 
The electrical length of both antennas is 
a half-wave, which is about 95 percent 
of the free-space half-wavelength. 


(2) Consider first the simple, two-wire folded 


dipole. Assume that the additional con- 
ductor is removed at points 1 and 2. 
Assume further that the charge remain- 
ing on the simple half-wave antenna is 
such that the end of the antenna at point 
1 is maximum positive and the end of the 
antenna at point 2 is maximum negative. 
Ordinarily, current then would start to 
flow from point 2 toward point 1. Now, 
if the additional conductor is connected 


TM 666-105 


Figure 101. Folded-dipole antennas. 


as shown in the figure, this current finds 
two paths available. Consequently, the 
current divides so that about half flows 
from right to left in the additional con- 
ductor, and the remaining half flows in 
the same direction in the lower conduc- 
tor making up the simple half-wave 
antenna. This occurs with no change in 
input power. 


(3) Since impedance varies inversely as the 


square of the current (Z=P/J’), a reduc- 
tion in the current flowing in that branch 
of the folded dipole to which the trans- 
mission line is connected results in an in- 
crease in the input impedance of the 
antenna. As the current is reduced to 


larger diameter than the conductor to 
which the transmission line is connected, 
the impedance step-up produced by the 
folded dipole is increased. Under these 
conditions, the spacing between the two 
conductors has considerable effect on the 
impedance step-up. 


(2) Assume that a folded dipole (fig. 102) is 


constructed so that the diameter of con- 
ductor No. 1 is twice the diameter of 
conductor No. 2. The effect of various 
spacings (S) is shown in the following 
chart, which gives the input impedance 
of this particular folded dipole arrange- 
ment: 


one-half its original value, the impedance Ratio of spacing (S)   Input im- Ratio of spacing (S)   Input im- 
of the antenna increases to four times 73 Se kere eh Maen ona 

ohms, or close to 300 ohms. Therefore, = ome 
a 300-ohm transmission line can be con- 9.) 730    12:1........---. 369 
nected to the folded dipole, and a correct 4:1___._._______ #40   BBAx ec cee 330 
impedance match occurs. ee a 365 


(4) If three conductors are used instead of 
two, a given input power will produce 
only one-third the original current in c. Radiation Pattern and Frequency Response. 
each conductor. As a result, the input (1) The radiation pattern produced by the 


impedance of the antenna rises to nine 
times 73 ohms, or about 600 ohms. This 
provides the proper impedance match 
for an ordinary 600-ohm transmission 
line, and the folded dipole antenna pro- 
vides an impedance step-up that can be 
used to affect an impedance match to 
common transmission lines. 


b. Effect of Different Conductor Sizes. 
(1) The folded dipoles discussed previously 


were constructed of conductors of equal 
diameter. If the added conductor has a 


folded dipole is similar to that produced 
by the conventional half-wave antenna. 
Maximum radiation occurs at right 
angles to the antenna itself and mini- 
mum radiation occurs off the antenna 
ends. 


(2) An advantage of the folded dipole is that 


its characteristics do not change with 
frequency as much as do those of an 
ordinary dipole. Therefore, the folded 
dipole has a broader frequency response. 
This increased bandwidth is the result 


113 


CONDUG OR   


CONDUCTOR 2 


oy 
s 
ee § 
TRANSMISSION 
LINE TO 
TRANSMITTER 
TM 666-106 


Figure 102. Folded dipole constructed of different conductor 


Sizes. 


of the greater cross-sectional area of the 
antenna which results from the folding. 
As a result, the folded dipole has greater 
capacitance and a smaller inductance per 
unit of length than does the ordinary 
dipole. The reduction in the L-C (in- 
ductance-capacitance) ratio of the an- 
tenna results in a lowered Q and a reduced 
frequency selectivity, 


(3) The greater bandwith of the folded dipole 


is explained by the fact that it acts not 
only as an antenna but as two short- 
circuited quarter-wave transmission lines 
connected end to end (at the antenna 
center). Since the reactance at the center 
of an antenna varies in the opposite 
direction to the reactance at the end of a 
quarter-wave section of transmission line, 
the result is a reduction in the rate of 
reactance Change which decreases the Q 
of the antenna and increases the fre- 
queney range. 


66. Coaxial Antenna 


a. Deseription and Operation. 


114 


(1) The coaxial or sleeve antenna is a common 


vertical radiator that is used in the vhf 
and uhf bands. In figure 108, the typical 
military couxtal antenna consists of a 
vertical half-wave antenna so constructed 
as to provide a convenient, mechanical 
feed arrangement. The antenna is fed by 
means of flexible coaxial cable which runs 
up through the supporting staff. 

The inner conductor of the coaxial eable 
is connected to the upper portion of the 


antenna, designated as the whip. The 
outer conductor of the cable is connected 
through a shorting ring to the top of an 
outer skirt. This skirt or sleeve is a 
hollow metal cylinder that is mounted 
around the outside of the mounting staff 
which supports the antenna. A small air 
space exists between the skirt and the 
outer surface of the mounting staff except 
at the location of the shorting ring. The 
skirt then acts as the lower portion of 
the antenna. 


(3) The skirt has an additional function. In 


conjunction with the outer surface of the 
metal mounting staff, it forms a quarter- 
wave section of transmission line which is 
short-circuited at one end by the shorting 
ring. The impedance at the bottom end 
of the line so formed is very high. As a 
result, current flow is minimized on the 
mounting staff and on the outer con- 
ductor of the coaxial cable. Such current, 
if allowed to flow, would produce radi- 
ation at a high vertical angle. By reduc- 
ing this current to a minimum value, 
the radiation is reduced. In this way, the 
low-angle, line-of-sight transmission re- 
quired in the vhf and uhf bands is 
produced. 


b. Dimensions. 
(1) The dimensions of the whip and especially 


of the skirt are highly critical. The upper 
radiating portion (whip) (A, fig. 103) is 
made 95 percent of a free-space quarter- 
wavelength. The length of the lower 
radiating portion (skirt) (B) is made 
equal to a free-space quarter-wavelength. 
Actually, the skirt snould be somewhat 
shorter than this value to produce maxi- 
mum efficiency as a radiator. Its length, 
however, is chosen for best operation 
as a quarter-wave line, which produces 
slightly higher radiation efficiency. Ad- 
justing clamps are provided both for the 
skirt and for the whip so that the antenna 
may be adjusted for any frequency in a 
given bank. 

One particular military coaxial antenna 
has a frequency range of from 30 to 40 
me. Another military coaxial antenna 
has a frequency range of 70 to 100 me. 
Markings sometimes are provided on the 
elements themselves to show the correct 


DIMA 


{ 


ao 


Ref 
Ch Sw tia 


[ 


DIM B   
i 


ADJUST’ SLE PORTION 
OF WHIP 


ADJUSTING CLAMP 


FIXED PORTION 
OF WHIP 


WHIP IS SCREWED TO 
SKIRT ASSEMBLY AT 
THIS POINT 


INSULATOR 
HOISTING BRACKET 
SHORTING RING 


FIXED PORTION 


7 
«bos 
IS 
OF SKIRT   


ing 


ADJUSTING CLAMP 


‘ ADJUSTABLE PORTION 
OF SKIRT 


MOUNTING STAFF 


BRACKETS FOR STRAPPING 
ANTENNA TO MAST 


PROTECTING SPRING 


é! 


COAXIAL CABLE 


TM 666-107 


Figure 108. Military coaxial antenna. 


whip and sleeve lengths for various reso- 
nant frequencies. For example, a coaxial 
antenna suitable for 35 me would have a 
whip length of 80 inches and a skirt 
length of 84 inches. 

c. Characteristics. The horizontal radiation 
pattern produced by the coaxial antenna is circular 
and, therefore, provides omnidirectional radiation 
or reception. Maximum radiation occurs at right 
angles to the antenna itself. The input impedance 
of a coaxial antenna is about 50 ohms, and a proper 
impedance match is produced when 50-ohm 
coaxial line is used. 


67. Conical Antenna 


a. Description and Characteristics. 
(1) The conical antenna is one of a large num- 


ber of special antennas that have been 
developed to operate satisfactorily over a 
wide frequency band. One type of coni- 
cal antenna, constructed of two solid 
metal cones, is shown in figure 104. Fre- 
quently the conical antenna is con- 
structed of metal mesh or is simply a 
framework of metal rods that forms the 
required shape. The cones are arranged 


115 


116 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE 


TM 666-108 


Figure 104. Simple conical antenna. 


on a common horizontal or vertical axis, 
depending on whether horizontal or 
vertical polarization is required. 

(2) If the conical antenna is to operate as a 
half-wave antenna, its over-all length 
must be considerably shorter than a 
free-space half-wavelength. This is the 
result of the large end effect produced by 
the bases of the cones forming the an- 
tenna. As the apex angle, A, is increased, 
the length of antenna required is reduced. 
For example, if angle A is 10°, the over- 
all length required is about 75 percent of 
a free-space half-wavelength. With angle 
A at 20°, the length is only about 70 per- 


CROSS ARMS 


ANTENNA 


(3) 


cent of a free-space half-wavelength. 
When such short lengths are used, the 
input impedance is approximately 40 
ohms. When the conical antenna is 
operated as a full-wave antenna, the over- 
all length commonly is made 73 percent 
of a free-space wavelength and the input 
impedance is several hundred ohms. 
When such an antenna has an apex angle 
of 10°, the input impedance is 950 ohms; 
with an apex angle of 20°, the input 
impedance is 600 ohms; with an apex 
angle of 30°, the input impedance is 300 
ohms. The value may be reduced by 
using large apex angles, in excess of 30°. 
The large, cross-sectional area of the 
conical antenna accounts for its wide 
frequency response. Like the folded 
dipole, the conical antenna has a large 
capacitance but a small inductance per 
unit length. This reduces the effective Q 
of the antenna and causes its characteris- 
tics to change more slowly as the fre- 
quency is varied away from resonance. 
As the apex angle, A, increases, the band- 
width of the conical antenna increases. 
The radiation pattern of the conical 
antenna is similar to that produced by an 


ee 
____—__——= TRANSMISSION LINES 


T™™ 666-109 


Figure 105. Typical military conical antenna assembly. 


ordinary half-wave antenna which is 
similarly oriented. 


b. Typical Military Antenna. 


(1) The typical military conical antenna as- 
sembly shown in figure 105 consists of 
two modified conical antennas mounted 
at opposite ends of a cross arm atop a 
mast. The antennas can be mounted 
either as shown for the reception of verti- 
cally polarized signals, or they can be 
rotated through 90° for the reception of 
horizontally polarized signals. Each of 
these antennas has its own transmission 
line. These lines lead to separate input 
circuits of a vhf, ubf receiver. 

(2) One antenna has an over-all length of 
slightly more than 23 inches, with a maxi- 
mum cone diameter of 8% inches. The 
other antenna has a length of about 16% 
inches with a cone diameter of 6% inches. 
The larger antenna operates over a fre- 
quency range from 145 to 300 mc, the 
smaller antenna over a frequency range 
from 300 to 600 mc. Because of the 
large apex angle (about 60°), the varia- 
tion in the input impedance of the an- 
tenna is very small over an extremely 
wide frequency range, and the antenna 
length is not particularly critical. 


(3) The dimensions of the conical antenna 
were computed to maintain an imped- 
ance centered at about 95 ohms over the 
frequency range for which they were de- 
signed. Two shielded, two-wire lines 
having a characteristic impedance of 95 
ohms are used to connect the antennas to 
the two input circuits of the receiver. 


68. Microwave Antenna 


a. The half-wave antenna can be used at any 
operating frequency. When microwave frequen- 
cies (at the upper part of the uhf band and higher) 
are used, the antenna length required is extremely 
small. For example, the microwave frequency of 
5,000 mc has a free-space, half-wavelength of only 
a little more than 1 inch. .The length of the half- 
wave antenna at this frequency would have a 
value somewhat less than this small distance. 

b. The small size of a microwave, half-wave an- 
tenna is both a disadvantage and an advantage. 
The electrical characteristics of the microwave 


antenna are exactly like those of its larger, lower- 
frequency counterpart. It has about the same 
radiation pattern, the same distribution of stand- 
ing waves along its length, and the same radiation 
resistance for similar conditions. However, the 
amount of signal pick-up when such a small an- 
tenna is used for receiving is reduced greatly. Any 
receiving antenna is able to pick up energy from a 
section of an incoming wave front that extends less 
than a quarter-wavelength away from the antenna. 
Therefore, a receiving antenna that is, say, 50 to 
100 feet long is able to pick up a far greater amount 
of energy than can a microwave antenna only 
about an inch in length. So poor is the signal 
pick-up that a simple, half-wave antenna rarely 
is able to pick up enough microwave energy to 
overcome the noises generated within the receiver 
itself. As a result, a simple, half-wave antenna 
seldom is used alone in the microwave range. 

c. The great advantage of the small size of 
microwave, half-wave antennas is that it becomes 
convenient to use a large number of these together 
to form an array of antennas. All antenna arrays 
have two things in common: First, an array 
produces a concentration of radiated energy in 
certain directions; that is, the array is highly 
directional—it has gain. Second, an array occupies 
a greater space than does the single, half-wave 
antenna, since it is made up of a number of half- 
wave antennas, and the greater the number of 
individual antennas that make up the array, the 
greater are the directivity and gain. In the 
microwave range, the construction of very elab- 
orate arrays of half-wave antennas can be ac- 
complished in a reasonably small space. Some 
microwave arrays are made up of as many as 
32, 64, 100, or even 250 individual half-wave 
dipoles. 

d. Other microwave antennas are composed 
of a single half-wave dipole or an array that is 
used in conjunction with specially shaped re- 
flectors. These operate in much the same way 
as the parasitic reflectors (pars. 94 through 109) 
except that these reflectors are much larger than 
the dipole and they are specially shaped. 

e. One commonly used reflector, shown in A 
of figure 106, is the corner-reflector type. The 
reflector is composed of two flat, metal sheets 
which meet at an angle to form a corner. Wire 
mesh or metal tubing sometimes is used instead 
of the solid metal. The half-wave, microwave 
antenna is located so that it bisects the corner 
angle because maximum radiation occurs out of 


117 


MAXIMUM 
RADIATION 


FEEDERS 


DIPOLE 
ANTENNA 


Figure 106. 


the corner. The field strength produced by such 
an arrangement is considerably more than would 
be produced by the antenna alone. 

f. Another commonly used reflector, shown in 
B, is the paraboloidal type. The shape is 
similar to that of reflectors used in searchlights 
that concentrate energy from a light bulb into a 
narrow, well defined beam. The reflector is 
constructed of solid metal or metal mesh. A 
half-wave, microwave antenna is located at the 


Section VI. 
69. Quarter-wave Antenna 


a. The ground is a fairly good conductor for 
medium and low frequencies and acts as a large 
mirror for the radiated energy. This results in 
the ground reflecting a large amount of energy 
that is radiated downward from an antenna 
mounted over it. It is just as though a mirror 
image of the antenna is produced, the image 
being located the same distance below the surface 
of the ground as the actual antenna is located 
above it. Even in the high-frequency range and 
higher, many ground reflections occur, especially 
if the antenna is erected over highly conducting 
earth, salt water, or a ground screen. 

b. Utilizing this characteristic of the ground, 
an antenna only a quarter-wavelength long can 
be made into the equivalent of a half-wave 
antenna. If such an antenna is erected vertically 
and its lower end is connected electrically to the 
ground (fig. 107), the quarter-wave antenna 
behaves like a half-wave antenna. Here, the 


118 


COAXIAL OR 

WAVEGUIDE 
FEED MAXIMUM 
BABISHON 


eee 
FOCUS OF 
PARABOLOID; 
DIPOLE 
ANTENNA 
a 
HEMISPHERICAL 
REFLECTOR 
B 
TM 666-10 


Half-wave antennas used with special reflectors, 


focal point of the paraboloid. Energy arriving 
at any angle from the antenna is reflected by the 
paraboloid in parallel rays. This results in a very 
narrow beam of radio energy in the direction 
shown. A small, metal, hemispherical reflector 
prevents direct radiation from the half-wave 
antenna from interfering with the beam produced 
by the paraboloidal reflector. ‘The small re- 
flector causes all of the encrgy from the antenna 
to be directed back into the paraboloid. 


GROUNDED ANTENNAS 


ground takes the place of the missing quarter- 
wavelength, and the reflections supply that part 
of the radiated energy that normally would be 
supplied by the lower half of an ungrounded 
half-wave antenna. 

c. When the charge on the 
grounded antenna is maximum positive at its upper 
end, the charge at the lower end of the image 
antenna is maximum negative. Current begins to 
flow toward the positive end of the quarter-wave 
antenna, as illustrated by the arrow in the figure. 
Current in the image antenna begins to flow away 
from the negative end of the image. Note that 
the current flow is up in both eases. This is 
similar to conditions in a vertical half-wave 
antenna that has negative polarity at the bottom 
and positive polarity at the top. It is just as 
though the half-wave antenna were driven halfway 
into the earth. 

d. From figure 107, it must not be assumed that 
if a hole were dug into the earth under the antenna 
to a depth of a quarter-wave, conditions of voltage 


quarter-wave 


QUARTER-WAVE 
ANTENNA 


i 
i 
IMAGE Pe ie   


TM 666-111 


Figure 107. Quarter-wave antenna connected to ground. 


and current such as described above would be 
found. Actually, this is not true, since the fields 
produced by the grounded quarter-wave antenna 
terminate only a short distance below the ground 
surface. None of the radiated field from the 
antenna penetrates the earth to any great extent. 
The following assumption with reference to a 
lighted flashlight will help to clarify the concept. 

e. Assume that a soldier is standing before a 
mirror with a lighted flashlight in his hand (fig. 
108). He holds the flashlight in such a way that 
its light is reflected by the mirror into his eyes; 
that is, the head of the actual flashlight is pointed 
away from him, whereas the head of the image 
flashlight is pointed toward him. This is a 180° 
shift in position. The effect is the same as if a 
flashlight were located behind the mirror the same 
distance as the actual flashlight is located before 
the mirror, without the mirror in the way. The 
image flashlight in the mirror is shining directly 
into the eyes of the soldier, although it is not a 
physical object as drawn in the figure, and if he 
looked behind the mirror he wouid find no flash- 
light. If the mirror were removed, there would 
be no reflected ray and the effect would be-as 
though the image flashlight had disappeared. 

J. The idea of an image flashlight can be applied 
to an image antenna formed by the ground. No 
antenna actually is located deep in the ground, 
but, because of the reflection of energy, conditions 
are similar to those that would occur without the 
reflecting surface and with a source of energy 
located as shown by the dashed lines in figures 107 
and 108. Just as the position of the image flash- 
light is reversed, the polarity of charge on the 
image antenna is opposite to that of the actual 
antenna. 

g. At medium and low frequencies, ground-wave 


REFLECTED RAY 


MIRROR 


IMAGE FLASHLIGHT 


TM 666-112 
Figure 108. Formation of image flashlight. 


transmission is used, which requires vertical polar- 
ization, and vertical antennas are necessary. If 
the half-wave antenna were used, an extremely 
tall structure would be required. At 1,900 kc, 
for example, the length of a vertical half-wave 
antenna would be almost 500 feet. When oper- 
ated as a grounded type, the antenna need be only 
half that length, and loading devices make possible 
the use of even shorter lengths. These will be 
described below. Even in the high-frequency or 
very-high-frequency range, where the length of a 
half-wave antenna is much shorter, the use of the 
grounded quarter-wave antenna is common for 
portable and mobile installations. Here, resonant 
antennas of minimum length are required so that 
they can be carried easily by vehicles or by hand. 

h. The term Marconi antenna sometimes is used 
to designate the grounded quarter-wave antenna, 
but this term is being replaced gradually by more 
descriptive terms which relate to specific types of 
grounded quarter-wave antennas. The term 
Hertz antenna, occasionally used to designate the 
ungrounded half-wave antenna, also is being 
replaced by more descriptive terms to designate 
specific antenna types. 


70. Current and Voltage Distribution 


a. The distribution of the standing waves of 
voltage and current on a grounded quarter-wave 
antenna is the same as the distribution on one-half 
of a half-wave antenna. The voltage is maximum 
and the current is zero at the end of the antenna 
farther from ground. As a result, the impedance 
which is the ratio of voltage to current, is highest 
at this point. The voltage and current vary in 
amplitude sinusoidally along the antenna; at the 


119 


grounded end of the antenna, the voltage is zero 
and the current is at its maximum value. As a 
result, the impedance is lowest at this point. The 
distribution of the standing waves of voltage and 
current is shown in A of figure LOG. 


VOLTAGE VOLTAGE 


77 
CURRENT 


? ? 


LOADING COIL 


CURRENT 


“M 666-113 
Figure 109. Distribution of voltage and current on grounded 


quarter-wave antenna. 


b. Frequently, loading coils are used at the base 
of the grounded quarter-wave antenna. The 
added inductance of the leading coil reduces the 
resonant frequency of the antenna. This causes 
the antenna to appear as though it were longer 
electrically than it is physically, and grounded 
antennas which are shorter than a quarter-wave- 
length may be nade to operate as quarter-wave 
antennas. The distribution of voltage and current 
on such an antenna are as shown in B. The 
current is zero at the ungrounded end of the 
antenna and rises sinusoidally along the antenna 
until the position of the loading coil is reached. 
The current then remains relatively uniform 
throughout the Jength of the coil. The voltage is 
at its maximum value at the ungrounded end of 
the antenna, falls sinusoidsliv until the coil is 
reached, and then falls uniformly to zero at the 
ground connection, 

c. If a loading coil having a higher value of 
inductance is used, the length of the antenna can 
be reduced further. However, even though an 
extremely short antenna can be brought to 
resonance by a sufficiently large loading coil, the 
effective radintion of such an antenna is lowered 
and the ratio amount of power 
radiated and the amount of power dissipated in the 
resistance and ground connection of the coil ts 
reduced considerably, 


between the 


120 


71. Polarization 


a. The polarization of the radiated field pro- 
duced by the grounded quarter-wave antenna is 
always vertical. Figure 110 shows the electric 
lines of force existing around the antenna at a 
particular instant of time. 


ELECTRIC pate 


  


TM 666-114 


Figure 11@.  Fllectric field around a grounded quarter-wave 


antenna, 


b. In some grounded antennas, & portion of the 
antenna is mounted horizontally. Even here, 
when short antenna lengths are used, a vertically 
polarized radio wave is produced, since the electric 
field is built up between the antenna and the 
ground rather than between one horizontal portion 
of the antenna and another horizontal portion. 


72. Radiation Characteristics 


a. General. 

(1) The radiation pattern produced by a 
grounded quarter-wave antenna is shown 
in figure }11. It resembles the pattern 
of a vertical half-wave antenna in free 
space except that the latter pattern is cut 
in two horizontally. Maximum radia- 
tion (or rceeption) of energy occurs at 
right angles to the antenna and along the 
surface of the ground. The radiation 
falls off as the vertical angle is increased, 
until directly over the antenna (at a 
vertical angle of 90°), no radiation of 
energy oceurs. A true semicirele is 
shown so that a comparison ean be made 
with the radiation pattern. 

(2) A top view of the radiation pattern shows 
that this pattern is circular. The an- 
tenna, therefore, is omnidirectional in the 


  
  
  
TOP VIEW   
  
  
  
  


S   


\ 


7. 


SIDE VIEW 


Figure 111. Radiation pattern produced by a grounded quarter-wave antenna. 


horizontal plane, and radiates equally 
in all horizontal directions. The solid 
radiation pattern of the grounded 
quarter-wave antenna also is shown. 


ANTENNA 
AXIS 


GROUND-—~ 


wa be TRUE 
SEMICIRCLE 


=— ~—— SOLID PATTERN 


TM 666-15 


more, the intensity of radiation at higher 
vertical angles is increased, as shown in 
C and D. Such antennas are not suit- 
able for ground-wave transmission or for 


b. Other Radiation Patterns. 
(1) Although most grounded vertical an- 
tennas are a quarter-wave length, it is 
common to find grounded antennas used 


transmission of large amounts of energy 
in the horizontal direction. 
c. Radiation Resistance. 
(1) The radiation resistance of a grounded 


with loading coils so that their length can 
be made shorter than a quarter-wave. 
The radiation patterns produced by such 
antennas are similar to the pattern 
shown in the previous illustration except 
that the amount of radiation is reduced 
and the side view of the pattern is 
practically a true semicircle. 


(2) Consider next the vertical-plane radiation 


patterns of vertical antennas which are 
longer than a quarter-wave length. As 
the antenna length is increased to a half- 
wavelength, the amount of radiation is 
increased at very low vertical angles and 


quarter-wave antenna is just half that of 
the ungrounded half-wave antenna. For 
very thin antennas, the value of the 
radiation resistance is 36 ohms. If 
large-diameter tubing or wide towers are 
used, the value is reduced. 


(2) When grounded vertical antennas are 


used that are shorter than a quarter- 
wavelength, the radiation resistance is 
reduced still more. This can be seen in 
the following chart, where the value of 
radiation resistance is shown for vertical 
grounded antennas of various lengths. 


the pattern becomes flatter (A of fig. Antenna lengths   Radiation Antenna lengths   Radiation 

112). As the antenna length is increased avon (ohms) iwanelnet (ohms) 

still more toward 5 eighth-wavelengths, , ; 

even greater radiation occurs at very 0.30---------- 60    0.15.-.------- 8 

low vertical angles. However, small 925---------- 86) O10. cunts a2 « 
: : 0:20 2 ckee eee 20    0.05___.------ 1 

minor lobes begin to appear at vertical 


angles of about 60°, as shown in B. 


(3) If the antenna length is increased still 


(3) When very short antennas are used, it is 


121 


ANTENNA LENGTH 


ANTENNA LENGTH 


Figure 112. 


ANTENNA LENGTH 
3d 
4 


possible that the ohmic resistance of the 
antenna is considerably greater than the 
radiation resistance. For example, the 
ohmic resistance of the loading coil used 
might be several ohms, the resistance of 
the ground connection might be several 
ohms, and the resistance of the antenna 
itself might be 1 or 2 ohms, or more. 
The power that is dissipated in all these 
resistances may be considerably greater 
than the power that is radiated into 
space. If an antenna length used is .1 
wavelength the radiation resistance is 
only 2 ohms, and the total ohmic re- 
sistance is 8 ohms. 


(4) The power that is applied to this antenna 


is applied effectively to two resistances, 
one having a value of 2 ohms and the 
other having a value of 8 ohms. The 


ANTENNA LENGTH 


TM 666-N6 


Vertical-plane radiation paiterns produced by grounded vertical antennas of varrous lengths. 


power usclessly have been reduced to an 
absolute minimum, the amount of energy 
radiated can be increased by increasing 
the radiation resistance of the antenna. 
One method of accomplishing this is to 
increase the length of the antenna toward 
a half-wavelength. At this length, the 
radiation resistance is about 100 ohms. 
The current maximum is no longer at the 
grounded end of the antenna but is 
instead halfway up the antenna. As a 
result, more energy is concentrated along 
the ground level and less energy 1s radi- 
ated at high vertical angles (A of fig. 106). 
In addition, since a greater portion of the 
antenna is carrying high current, a 
greater radiated field strength is  pro- 


duced. 


input’ power is applied to a total re- 73. Types of Grounds 
sistance of 10 ohms. Since the power 
dissipated or radiated is directly propor- 
tional to the resistance, eight-tenths of 


a. General. 
(1) When grounded antennas are used, it is 


122 


the total power applied is used to over- 
come the antenna losses and only two- 
tenths of the total power applied pro- 
duces useful radiation. Therefore, it 
can be seen how important it is to keep 
the ohmic resistance of the antenna as 
low as possible, to use a good ground 
connection, and to use a well designed 
loading coil. 


(5) Once all the resistances that dissipate 


especially important that the ground 
have as high a condnetivity as possible. 
This is necessary to reduce ground losses 
and to provide the best possible reflecting 
surface for the down-going radiated 
energy from the antenna. Since at low 
and medium frequencies the ground acts 
as a sufficiently good conductor, the 
problem is how to make connection to the 
ground in such a way as to introduce the 


least possible amount of resistance in the 
ground connection. At higher frequen- 
cies, artificial grounds constructed of 
large metal surfaces are common. 


(2) The ground connection takes many forms, 


depending on the type of installation and 
the loss that can be tolerated. For fixed 
station installations, very elaborate 
ground systems are used. These fre- 
quently are arranged over very large 
areas so that they operate as part of the 
reflecting surface in addition to making 
the connection to ground itself. In 
many simple field installations, the 
ground connection is made by means of 
one or more metal rods driven into the 
earth. Where more satisfactory arrange- 
ments cannot be made, it may be possible 
to make ground connections to existing 
devices which are themselves grounded. 
Metal structures or underground pipe 
systems (such as water pipes) commonly 
are used as ground connections. In an 
emergency, a ground connection can be 
made by plunging one or more bayonets 
into the earth. 


(3) Sometimes, when an antenna must be 


erected over soil having a very low 
conductivity, it is advisable to treat the 
soil directly to reduce its resistance. 
Occasionally, the soil is mixed with a 
quantity of coal dust for this purpose or 
it can be treated with substances which 
are highly conductive when in solution. 
Some of these substances, listed in order 
of preference, are sodium chloride (com- 
mon salt), calcium chloride, copper 
sulphate (blue vitriol), magnesium sul- 
phate (Epsom salt), and potassium 
nitrate (saltpeter). The amount required 
depends on the type of soil and its 
moisture content. When these sub- 
stances are used, it is important that 
they do not get into nearby drinking 
water supplies. 


b. Radial Grounds. 


(1) The most common ground system used 


with vertical grounded antennas at fixed 
stations is the radial ground. This 
consists of a number of bare conductors 
arranged radially and connected. The 
conductors, which may be from a tenth- 
to a half-wavelength or more, are buried 


a short distance beneath the surface of 
the earth. Sometimes one radial ground 
system serves two vertical antennas 
which operate over different frequency 
ranges (fig. 113). 


(2) Both antennas are constructed of several 


conductors connected to form a cage. 
Antenna A is used over a frequency range 
of 7 to 12 mc; antenna B is used over a 
frequency range of 2.5 to 7 mc. Each 
antenna is connected to the transmitter 
by means of a feed-through insulator 
(mounted on the wall of the transmitter 
house). Horn gaps, mounted on the in- 
sulators and connected to ground rods, 
provide lightning protection for the an- 
tennas and transmitter. The guys and 
horizontal supporting wire are broken 
up by insulators to prevent resonance ef- 
fects which would cause absorption of 
power from the antennas. All of the 
radials forming the ground system are 
bonded together at the center and con- 
nected to the transmitter ground. 


(3) A common military ground system kit 


which is supplied for use with grounded 
vertical radiators consists of 36 radials 
made of #12 Copperweld wire. These 
radials, spaced every 10°, extend out- 
ward for a distance of at least 350 feet 
from a common terminal near the lower 
end of the antenna. The conductors are 
buried in trenches, 6 to 8 inches deep. 
Soldered to the free end of each radial 
conductor a 6-foot ground rod is driven 
into the earth. 


c. Ground Rods. 
(1) With a less elaborate ground system, a 


number of ground rods can be used. 
These rods usually are made of galvanized 
iron, steel, or copperplated steel in 
lengths up to 8 feet. One end of the 
rod is pointed so that it can be driven 
easily into the earth. The other end 
frequently is fitted with some type of 
clamp so that the ground lead can be at- 
tached. Some ground rods are supplied 
with a length of ground lead already 
attached. 


(2) A fairly good ground connection can be 


made by using several ground rods, 6 to 
10 feet apart, connected in parallel. If 
possible, the rods should be located in a 


123 


GUY BROKEN 


GUY BROKEN 


UP WITH p T 
INSULATORS iNsuba TORS 
ANTENNA A 
HORN GAP AND 


FEED-THROUGH POLE 
INSULATOR ————— 


WEIGHT 


SEE SEPARATE VIEW 


TRANSMITTER HOUSE 


a 
ee a 


= mm — Oe POLE 


COPPERWELD WIRE 


a 


GROUND SYSTEM TM 666-117 


Figure 113. Ground system for two verticai antennas. 


124 


moist section of ground or in a depression 
which will collect moisture. Ground re- 
sistance can be reduced considerably by 
treating the soil with any of the sub- 
stances previously mentioned. A trench 
about a foot deep is dug around each 
ground rod and filled with some common 
rock salt, Epsom salt, or any of the other 
materials mentioned. The trench then 
is flooded with water, after which it is 
covered with earth. To remain effec- 
tive, this treatment should be renewed 
every few years. 


(3) For simple installations, a single ground 


rod can be fabricated in the field from 
pipe or conduit. It is important that a 
low resistance connection be made be- 
tween the ground wire and the ground 
rod. The rod should be cleaned thor- 
oughly by scraping and sandpapering at 
the point where the connection is to be 
made, and a clean ground clamp installed. 
A ground wire then can be soldered or 
joined to the clamp. The joint should 
be covered with tape to prevent an in- 
crease in resistance caused by oxidation. 


d. Counter povse. 
(1) When an actual ground connection cannot 


be used because of the high resistance of 
the soil or because a large buried ground 
system is not practicable, a counterpoise 
may replace the usual direct ground 
connection in which current actually 
flows to and from the antenna through 
the ground itself. The counterpoise con- 
sists of a structure made of wire erected 
a short distance off the ground and in- 
sulated from the ground. The size of 
the counterpoise should be at least equal 
to and preferably larger than the size of 
the antenna. 


(2) The counterpoise operates by virtue of 


its capacitance to ground. Because of 
this capacitance, the ground currents 
which flow normally and usually are col- 
lected by conduction now are collected 
in the form of charge and discharge cur- 
rents. The end of the antenna which 
normally is connected directly to ground 
now is connected to ground through the 
large capacitance formed by the counter- 
poise. If the counterpoise is not well in- 
sulated from ground, the effect is much 


the same as that of a leaky capacitor. 
Leakage currents flow between the coun- 
terpoise and ground so that a poorly in- 
sulated counterpoise introduces more 
losses than no counterpoise at all. 


(3) The shape and size of the counterpoise are 


not particularly critical. In some field 
antenna installations, a type of grounded 
antenna is used in which a large portion 
of the antenna is folded into a horizontal 
position. The counterpoise used with 
such an antenna has the same shape 
and approximate dimensions as does 
the antenna itself. This counterpoise is 
mounted directly under the antenna at a 
height of about 8 to 12 feet off the ground. 


(4) When the antenna is mounted vertically, 


the counterpoise is made to have any sim- 
ple geometrical pattern such as those 
shown in figure 114. Although perfect 


ANTENNA 


SUPPORTS 
TM 666-118 


Figure 114. Wire counterpoises. 


symmetry is not necessary, the counter- 
poise should extend for equal distances at 
all angles from the antenna. The area 
covered by the counterpoise should be as 
great as possible, although very little is 
gained by extending the counterpoise 
more than a half-wavelength from the 
lower end of the antenna. The distance 
between parallel adjacent wires making 
up the counterpoise should be about 
equal to the height of the counterpoise 
above ground, because long conductors 
become resonant and absorb power from 
the antennas. To avoid this, the use of 
short jumpers between the conductors 
causes the counterpoise to behave only 
as a capacitance to ground. Smaller 


125 


separations should be used with small 
counterpoises. 


(5) In some vhf antenna installations on 


vehicles, the metal roof of the vehicle 
is used as a counterpoise for the antenna. 
Small counterpoises made of metal mesh 
sometimes are used with special vhf an- 
tennas that must be located a consider- 
able distance off the ground. This 
counterpoise provides an artificial ground 
which helps to produce the required 
radiation pattern. 


74. Bent Antenna 


a. Description and Operation. 


126 


(1) A bent antenna is a grounded antenna 


so constructed that a portion of it is 
mounted horizontally. Such an antenna 
takes the form of an inverted L or T. 
In an inverted-L antenna, a fairly long 
horizontal portion, or flattop, is used, 
and the vertical downlead, which forms 
an important part of the radiating sys- 
tem, is connected to one end of the flat- 
top. The length of the antenna is 
measured from the far end of the flattop 
to the point at which the downlead is 
connected to the transmitter. In the 
T antenna, a horizontal portion, or flat- 
top, also is used. Here the downlead, 
which is a part of the radiating system, 
is connected to the center of the flattop. 
The over-all length of the T antenna is 
equal to the entire length of the down- 
lead plus one-half the length of the 
flattop. 


(2) The purpose of the bent antenna is to 


afford satisfactory operation when it is 
not convenient to erect tall vertical 
antennas. This is particularly necessary 
wken operation at low frequencies is 
required. 


(3) When the lengtl: of the flattop of a bent 


antenna (the entire length of the in- 
verted L or one-half the entire length of 
the T) is 1 quarter-wavelength long, a 
full quarter-wave of current appears as 
a standing wave on the flattop. The 
current is minimum at the far end of the 
flattop and maximum at the point where 
the downlead is connected. Since the 
current. maximum is no longer at the 


ground level (as it is in a grounded an- 
tenna of a quarter-wavelength or less), 
but is elevated above ground by the 
length of the vertical downlead, there 
are several advantages. First, the high- 
angle radiation is reduced and more 
energy is propagated along the surface 
of the earth. This is particularly im- 
portant when ground-wave transmission 
is used. Second, because more of the 
antenna is carrying a high value of cur- 
rent, a greater amount of radiation 
occurs. 


(4) When the vertical downlead of a bent 


antenna is approximately a quarter- 
wavelength, the current in the downlead 
falls to ® minimum value at the end 
connected to the transmitter. Here the 
radiation resistance of the antenna has a 
high value because the ratio between the 
radiation resjstance and the ohmic re- 
sistance of the antenna is a maximum, 
and a large proportion of the power 
applied to the antenna is_ radiated. 
When using a downlead of 1 guarter- 
wave, a parallel resonant circuit should 
be employed for antenna tuning which 
requires high impedance for proper im- 
pedance matching; but if the downlead 
is 1 eighth-wavelength or shorter, series 
tuning is used to provide the required 
low impedance. 


(5) Even when very short vertical downleads 


are used, the addition of a horizontal 
flattop to form a bent antenna produces 
the advantages mentioned above. Bent 
antennas of only a quarter-wavelength 
(including downlead) frequently are used 
in the field. The radiation produced by 
such antennas is considerably greater 
than would be produced by a simple 
vertical antenna having the same length 
as the height of the bent antenna. 


(6) When bent antennas are used at low 


frequencies, it is common to construct 
the flattop of several connected con- 
ductors. This increases considerably the 
capacitance between the flattop and the 
ground. As a result, the resonant fre- 
quency of the antenna is reduced, and 
the antenna operates as a simple vertical 
antenna of much greater height. The 
higher capacitance produced by this type 


Tm 666-119 


Figure 115. Inverted-L military antenna. 


of flattop raises the position of the current 
maximum still higher above the ground, 
with the resultant advantages previously 


This antenna is particularly suitable for 
ground-wave transmission, although it 
is very efficient for sky-wave use. 


pointed out.   (2) Small jumpers are provided at the various 
b. Military Types. insulators so that these may be shorted 
(1) One common military bent antenna used 


at frequencies from about 1.5 to 12.5 me 
(fig. 115) is an inverted-L type with a 
single-wire counterpoise. This antenna 
is designed to operate with a total length 
of about 1 quarter-wavelength at a lower 
portion of its frequency range and 3 
quarter-wavelengths at the upper por- 
tion. It affords a low-impedance load 
on the radio set with which it is used. 


‘7 TO RADIO SET 


out if it is required to increase the length 
of the flattop and counterpoise. Clip 
leads at E and Z connect the counterpoise 
and the flattop to the leads which run to 
the radio set. When operation from 1.5 
to 2 mc or from 4.5 to 6 mc is required, all 
jumpers are connected so that the lengths 
of the antenna and the counterpoise are 
each 100 feet. When operation from 2 
to 3 mc or from 6 to 9 mc is required, the 


Ti 666-120 


Figure 116. Crowfoot antenna. 


127 


connections at A and X are broken. The 
antenna and the counterpoise then are 
each 80 feet long. When operation from 
3 to 4.5 me or from 9 to 12.5 me is re- 
quired, the connections at A, B, C, D, X, 
and Y are broken, making the length of 
the antenna 60 feet and the length of the 
counterpoise 45 feet. 

(3) Another inverted-L antenna used for 
military communication in the frequency 
range below 800 ke consists of a flattop 
constructed of five parallel conductors 
from 250 to 400 feet long and separated 
from each other by about 3 feet. The 
vertical downlead is connected to each 
of the flattop conductors at one end of 
the antenna. An extensive underground 
radial ground system is used with this 
antenna. 

(4) Still another inverted-L antenna used for 
low-frequency military communication 
is shown in figure 116. The flattop is 
seen to consist of three conductors, each 
100 feet long, which are joined at one end 
and fan out at the other end to a maxi- 
mum separation of about 30 feet. A 
counterpoise is used with this antenna, 
which is shaped like the flattop. Because 
of the appearance of this antenna, it 
commonly is referred to as & crowfoot 
antenna. 


75. Folded-top Antenna 


a. A folded-top antenna is a modified bent an- 
tenna in which the flattop is folded in such a way 
that it prevents radiation. If radiation from the 
flattop is prevented, or at least reduced consider- 
ably, more energy can be radiated from the vertical 
downlead of the antenna. The main advantage 
of preventing radiation from the horizontal flattop 
is that this part of the antenna may produce con- 
siderable radiation that is horizontally polarized. 
In addition, this energy is radiated at high vertical 
angles. Since the radiation does not add to the 
vertically polarized ground wave required, its 
elimination will improve the operation of the 
antenna. Another advantage of the folded-top 
antenna is that less horizontal space is required for 
its erection. 

b. The simplest method of preventing radia- 
tion of energy from tke flattop portion of the an- 
tenna is to fold the flattop in such a way that ad- 


128 


jacent sections carry current flowing in opposite 
directions. Jn this way, the field produced around 
one section is opposite in direction to that pro- 
duced around the adjacent section. As a result, 
almost complete cancellation of fields occurs, and 
radiation is largely prevented. Unless an even 
number of sections is used, appreciable cancella- 
tion will not occur. 

c. Two folded-top antennas are shown in figure 
117. In both cases, the quarter-wave flattop 
which is required to bring the current maximum 
to the top of the vertical downlead is folded in 
such a way as to prevent radiation from the flat- 
top. In A, the downlead to the transmitter is 
connected to one end of the folded section. This 
section consists of a quarter-wavelength of wire 
that is doubled back on itself so that the over-all 
length of the folded section is an eighth-wavelength. 
Note that the two wires forming the folded section 
are connected at the left and are not connected at 
the right. At any instant, the current in the two 
wires flows in opposite directions as shown by the 
arrows. Consequently, the field produced by one 
conductor is opposite in direction to that produced 
by the other conductor. Therefore, negligible 
radiation occurs from the folded section. 

d. In B, the downlead is connected to the center 
of the folded flattop. Note that the downlead is 
connected to the left half of one of the two con- 
ductors forming the folded top, and the direction 
of current flow in the folded quarter-wave section 
is as indicated by the arrows. Other arrange- 
ments can be used in addition to those shown. 
For example, the top quarter-wave section can be 
folded into four lengths, each of which is a@ six- 
teenth-wavelength long. 


76. Top-loaded Antenna 


a. Both the bent and folded top antennas oper- 
ate at frequencies that are much lower than the 
length of the vertical portion of the antenna would 
seem to indicate. The length not supplied by the 
vertical downlead is furnished by the bent or 
folded flattop. As a result, the standing wave of 
current appears higher on the vertical section of 
the antenna and its radiation resistance rises. 
Consequently, greater effective radiation occurs 
and at smaller vertical angles. 

b. Another method of increasing the effective 
length of a vertical antenna to obtain these ad- 
vantages is to use top loading. This usually is ac- 
complished by- adding a concentrated amouni of 


FOLDED 


FLATTOP 


VERTICAL 
DOWNLEAD 


TO 
TRANSMITTER 


A 


Figure 117. 


capacitance or inductance at or near the top of the 
vertical antenna. Such an antenna is a top-loaded 
antenna. 

c. When inductance is used, the inductor simply 
is inserted in series with the antenna near the top. 
When capacitance is used, a capacitor cannot be 
inserted in series with the antenna, since this 
would reduce the total capacitance of the antenna, 
making it appear electrically shorter rather than 
longer as is desired. Shunt capacitance must be 
used instead so that the total capacitance be- 
tween the antenna and ground is increased. The 
most common method of producing the required 
shunt capacitance is to use a disk or a hat made of 
shect metal, mesh, or wire skeleton. The disk is 
centered on the top of the antenna and mounted 
at right angles to it. Such an arrangement. pro- 
vides an added capacitance of about 1 puf (micro- 
microfarads) for each inch of disk diameter. 

d, Sometimes both inductance and capacitance 
are used. The hat then must be insulated from 
the top of the vertical antenna and an inductor 
inserted between the hat and the antenna. The 
inductor frequently is made variable so that an 
adjustment of the amount of the top-loading is 
possible. This is more convenient than trying to 
make such an adjustment by varying the amount 
of shunt capacitance, since this would involve 
a change in the size of the top-loading disk. 

é. In some portable or mobile installations 
where top loading is used, the top-loading coil is 
inserted near the top of the antenna and a large 
metal shield is installed around the coil. The 
shield not only affords protection for the coil but 
also provides some shunt capacitance for top- 
loading the antenna. Where the top-loading coil 
and its shield would cause the antenna to be un- 
stable physically because of top-heaviness, the 


cars VERTICAL 


DOWNLEAD 


TO 
TRANSMITTER 


B 


TM 666-121 


Folded-top antennas. 


coil and shield are moved to the center of the 
antenna. Although this is not as effective as 
true top-loading, the radiation produced by such 
a center-loaded antenna is better than would be 
produced by a single loading coil at the base of 
the antenna or in the transmitter itself. 

f. The low-frequency bent antennas already 
discussed actually use some top-loading to incre... - 
the electrical length of the antenna and to produce 
the advantages mentioned above. The antennas 
shown in figure 116 utilize two or more insulators 
as the flattop to provide an increase in shunt 
capacitance. The term top-loaded antenna, how- 
ever, usually refers only to those vertical antennas 
in which the shunt capacitance is supplied by 2 
structure (such as a disk) the size of which is small 
compared with the length of the antenna. Be- 
cause of the small size of the top-loading disk, 
little radiation is produced. 

g. Figure 118 shows the current Wisenbition on. 
top-loaded antennas which are somewhat shorter 
than a quarter-wavelength. The current is the 
same as would be produced if the top-loading disk 
or coil were removed and the actual height of the 
antenna extended as shown. 

h. In general, as the ground resistance is 


 » 


A B 


TM 666-122 


Figure 118. Top-loaded antennas. 


129 


increased, the size of the top-loading disk can be 
reduced. However, large ground resistances re- 
quire top-loading coils with higher inductance 
values. As the size of the top-loading disk is 
increased, the effective length of the antenna is 
increased. For example, the length of the antenna 
shown in A can be reduced further physically if 
the top-loading disk is increased in size. The 
actual size of the top-loading disk or coil required 
has been determined experimentally for a large 
number of special cases. 

i. It is desirable to increase the radiation resist- 
ance of an antenna so that a greater proportion of 
the input power can be radiated. Assume that a 
vertical antenna having a length of 0.2 wavelength, 
used without a top-loading disk, has a radiation 
resistance of 20 ohms. If a small top-loading 
disk is installed which has such a size as to increase 
the effective length of the antennas by about 0.05 
wavelength, the radiation resistance is increased 
to 34 ohms. If tne size of the disk is increased so 
that the effective length of the antenna is increased 
by about 0.1 wavelength, the radiation resistance 
rises to 45 ohms. A further increase in disk size, 
so that the effective antenna length is increased 
by abcut 0.15 wavelength, causes the radiation 
resistance to rise to 50 ohms. 


77. Mast and Tower Radiators 


a. Description. 

(1); Most of the antennas discussed so far 
have been constructed of suitably sup- 
ported wire. Since vertical supports are 
required for such antennas, it seems 
reasonable to consider use of the support 
itself asthe antenna. This support must 
be constructed of metal so that it can be 
used as the antenna. Metal masts are 
used in the field and large metal towers 
are used for fixed-station installation as 
vertical radiators. 

(2) Metal masts usually are made of aluminum 
alloy or steel tubing, sectionalized with 
metal coupling so that they can be taken 
apart for easy portability. Some short 
antenna masts, approximately 25 feet 
high, use a telescoping section construc- 
tion. Masts usually are supported by 
means of guys. 

(3) Metal antenna towers are designed to be 
either self-supporting or guyed. Both 
three-sided (triangular) and four-sided 


130 


(square) construction is common. The 
self-supporting tower has a wide base so 
that no guying is needed. The guyed 
tower, on the other hand, usually has a 
fairly uniform cross section. 


(4) Mast and tower radiators can be sub- 


divided into insulated and noninsulated 
types. An insulated mast or tower uses 
special compression-type base insulators 
that carry the weight of the structure and 
handle the r-f voltage that exists. A 
spark gap is used across the base insulator 
for lightning protection (fig. 119). In 


_____GLEARANGE 
LIGHT 


i 
& 
5 
5 
mT 
5 
ae 
i i RADIATOR 
/ IA \ 
INSUL ATOR—— = 
  
  
Tt 
ie 
eS 
GUY: ie \ 
a 
/ E 
his i 
a 
1] 
Bw = PROTECTIVE 
wi GAP 


/ 


Figure 119, 


BASE 
INSULATOR 


TM 666-123 
Typical insulated guyed-tower radiator. 


noninsulated towers and masts, the base 
of the structure is in direct contact with 
the base support which is in the earth. 
When the insulated tower is used, the 
energy applied to the tower must be 
series-fed. Shunt feeding is used with the 
noninsulated tower. 


b Operation. 
(1) The operation and radiation of a mast or 


tower radiator are similar to the opera- 
tion and radiation of a grounded vertical 


antenna constructed of wire. Because of 
the greater cross-sectional area of these 
radiators, reduction of ohmic resistance 
results in a slight increase in over-all 
efficiency and in electrical length. 

(2) When a self-supporting tower is used, the 
tapering construction of the tower alters 
the current distribution so that it is no 
longer sinusoidal. Instead of the current 
rising sinusoidally at increasing distances 
from the tower top, the current increase is 
somewhat more gradual. Since the elec- 
trical length of the tower is reduced, the 
radiation resistance falls, and increased 
high-angle radiation occurs. This con- 
dition is reduced by adding a top-loading 
disk or hat on top of the tower. 

(3) When insulated masts or towers are used, 
the output of the transmitter is applied 
between the lower end of the structure 
and ground. The transmitter output is, 
in effect, connected directly across the 
base insulator (S), as shown in A of 
figure 120, and is referred to as series 
feeding. 

(4) The output of the transmitter is con- 
nected through a capacitor to point X, 
about one-fifth of the way up the tower. 
The inclined wire usually makes an angle 
of about 45° with respect to ground. The 
exciting voltage from the transmitter is 
developed between point X and ground, 
across the lower section of the tower. 


BASE 
TO INSULATORS 
TRANSMITTER 


UNDERGROUND 
RADIAL GROUND 


SERIES-FED INSULATED 
TOWER A 


This section can be considered to be a 
portion of a one-turn loop made up of the 
inclined wire (with capacitor), the portion 
of the tower between point X and 
ground, and the ground return between 
the bottom of the tower and the trans- 
mission-line ground connection. Since 
the transmission line usually sees an in- 
ductive reactance in the direction of 
point X, a series capacitor is used to 
cancel out this reactance. Noninsulated 
masts or towers using this arrangement 
are shown in B. 
c. Military Types. 

(1) One type of tower radiator used for mili- 
tary communication involving trans- 
mitter powers of several kw (kilowatts) 
is 180 feet high and is guyed for support. 
The tower is an insulated type using a 
single compression insulator at its pointed 
base. The tower consists of nine 20-foot 
sections, triangular in shape and lattice 
braced, with guys at five different levels, 
three guys to each level. 

(2) Another military tower radiator used for 
transmitter powers up to about 1 kw is 
125 feet high and is self-supporting, a 
square construction with insulators being 
used at the tower base. 

(3) Still another military tower radiator used 
for transmitter powers up to about 1 kw 
is 90 feet high and is guyed for support. 
This tower is an insulated type with 


IWr2=_f_—J 


iw San wa fa 
UNDERGROUND 
RADIAL GROUND 


SHUNT-FED NONINSUL ATED 
TOWER B 


TM 666-124 


Figure 120. Sertes- and shunt-fed tower 1adzators. 


131 


triangular, lattice construction, equipped 
with one set of guys located 30 feet from 
the tower top. 


78. Ground-plane Antenna 


a. A ground-plane antenna consists of a quarter- 
wave vertical radiator which, in effect, carries its 
own. artificial ground. The artificial ground or 
ground plane consists of a flat disk of metal or a 
number of metal rods or spokes located at the 
bottom of the radiator and usually at right angles 
to it (A of fig. 121). Since the metal disk or 


INSULATOR 


Tita 
Lar 


QUARTER -WAVE 
GROUND -PLANE RODS 


GROUND-PLANE ANTENNA 


HORIZONTAL PLANE ~ / : 


RADIATION PATTERN 


Figure 121. 


132 


—_——— 


spokes are not connected directly to ground, they 
may be referred to as a counterpoise. This term 
is used rarely, however, this part of the antenna 
usually being called simply an elevated ground 
plane. 

b. The ground-plane antenna is used when 
nondirectional horizontal radiation or reception is 
required. It is particularly useful in the very- 
high-frequency range and higher. At these fre- 
quencies, the length of a vertical quarter-wave 
antenna is not great. Any desire to operate such 
an aritenna in conjunction with the actual ground 
would create high ground losses and would prevent 


QUARTER -WAVE 
VERTICAL RADIATOR 


—_— 


GROUND-PLANE ANTENNA 


B 


TM 666-125 


Typical ground-olane antenna. 


efficient radiation or reception. The ground-plane 
antenna, on the other hand, is usually well elevated 
so that ground losses are minimized. 

c. The elevated ground plane also prevents 
circulating currents from flowing in a vertical 
metal mast that might be used to support the 
antenna. These currents, if not prevented, would 
cause the vertical support itself to radiate in the 
same manner asalong-wire antenna. Asa result, 
undesired high-angle radiation would be produced. 

d. The radiation produced by a vertical quarter- 
wave grounded antenna erected adjacent to the 
earth itself is maximum along the surface of the 
earth (at a vertical angle of 0°). The intensity of 
the radiation falls off at higher vertical angles 
until, at a vertical angle of 90°, no radiation occurs. 
A side view of this radiation pattern is shown 
dashed in B of figure 121. Since this type of 
radiation occurs at all horizontal angles, a top 
view of the pattern would be circular. When a 
ground-plane antenna is used, the limited size of 
the elevated ground plane alters the radiation as 
shown, and maximum radiation is no longer along 
the horizontal plane but occurs at some angle 
above. 

e. When maximum radiation is required in the 
horizontal direction, it is common practice to bend 
down the spokes forming the elevated ground 
plane to an angle of about 50° below the hori- 
zontal. When the solid metal construction is 
used, the elevated ground plane takes the form of 
a cone, and the lobes of maximum radiation, shown 
in B, are pulled downward to a much lower 
vertical angle. 

f. In almost all cases, coaxial line is used to feed 
the ground-plane antenna. The inner conductor 
of the coaxial line is connected to the quarter-wave 
vertical radiator; the outer conductor is connected 
to the elevated ground plane. 

g. The input impedance of a ground-plane 
antenna with elevated ground plane at right angles 
to the radiator is between 20 and 25 ohms. Since 
this is a lower value of impedance than is found in 
most coaxial lines, a quarter-wave matching sec- 
tion sometimes is inserted between the antenna 
and its transmission line. The matching section 
can be constructed of two quarter-wave sections 
of coaxial line connected in parallel to produce 
the required low impedance. In some ground- 
plane antennas, the radiator is folded back on 
itself so that it resembles one-half of a folded 
dipole. Under these conditions, the input imped- 
ance of the antenna is raised to about 80 ohms, so 


that a coaxial transmission line having a charac- 
teristic impedance near this value can be used. 
When the ground-plane rods are bent downward 
below the horizontal, the input impedance is 
raised to about 50 chms. 


79. Whip Antenna 


a. The most common antenna used for tactical 
radio communication when relatively short dis- 
tances are to be covered is the whip antenna (fig. 
122). This term is applied to almost any type of 
flexible radiator used in conjunction with portable 
or mobile radio equipment. Whip antennas rang- 
ing in length up to 25 feet are mounted on vehicles. 
Shorter whip antennas are mounted on small 


hand-held radio sets or portable sets used in the 
field. 


b. Most whip antennas are constructed of tel- 
escoping sections of metal tubing which can be 
collapsed when not in use simply by pushing one 
section into another. In this way, the antenna 
has a minimum length and portability is increased. 
In certain lightweight portable equipment, the 
antenna can be collapsed completely into the 
equipment itself so that none of it is exposed. 

c. Sometimes a whip antenna mounted on a 
vehicle must be left fully extended so that it can 
be used instantly while the vehicle is in motion. 
In such antennas, the base mounting insulator of 
the whip is fitted with a coil spring attached to a 
mounting bracket on the’ vehicle. The spring 
base allows the whip antenna to be held in a 
nearly horizontal position by insulated guy lines 
so that the vehicle can be driven under low 
bridges or obstructions, although the radiation 
produced under these conditions is reduced. An- 
other advantage of the spring base is that even if 
the antenna is vertical and it does hit an obstruc- 
tion, the whip usually will not break or be bent 
since most of the bending occurs at the spring 
base. 


d. One common mobile radio station installed 
in a 2%-ton, 6 by 6 cargo truck uses three such 
whip antennas—two 15-foot whips for receiving 
and a single 25-foot whip for transmitting. The 
truck chassis is used as a ground. 


e. When whip antennas are operated in the 
high-frequency range, their length usually is a 
small fraction of a wavelength. Here, large load- 
ing coils must be used to resonate the whip antenna 
properly. The radiation resistance of a short whip 


133 


FLEXIBLE SECTION 
(MAY BE BENT TO 
ANY DESIRED POSITION) 


COUPLING UNIT 


Figure 122. 


is very low and it is quite possible that the ohmic 
losses which result from the resistance of the load- 
ing coil, antenna connection, and the antenna 
itself may exceed the radiation resistance. The 
radiation efficiency of this antenna is low, being 
approximately 0.5 to 2 percent in the low end of 
the high-frequency range. If large whips or even 
higher frequencies are used, so that the whip length 
is a quarter- or half-wave, the output of the whip 


134 


MAST SECTIONS 
~ 


END CAP 


MAST BASE 


BASE SPRING 


MAST BRACKET 


Tm 666-126 


Typical whip antennas. 


antenna is raised. A 25-foot whip, for example, 
is « half-wavelength long at about 18.5 me. 

}. In the very-high-frequency band (and higher) 
short whip antennas can be a quarter- or a half- 
wavelength long. For example, a 4-foot whip is 
a cuarter-wavelength long at about 60 mc and a 
half-wavelength long at about 120 me. Under 
these conditions high radiation efficiencies are 
possible. 


SECTION VII. SUMMARY AND QUESTIONS 


80. Summary 


a. The presence of an electric field about an 
antenna indicates the presence of a voltage on 
the antenna, resulting from the charge placed 
on the antenna by the transmitter. 

b. The presence of a magnetic field about an 
antenna indicates the presence of a current in 
the antenna. This current is the charge moving 
in the antenna. 

c. The electric and magnetic fields that im- 
mediately surround an antenna, forming the 
induction field, are in space and time quadrature. 

d. Standing waves on an antenna are the result 
of incident and reflected traveling waves moving 
in opposite directions on the same conductor. 

e. The standing wave of voltages on a half- 
wave antenna is so distributed that it has maxi- 
mum amplitude at the antenna ends and minimum 
amplitude at the center of the antenna. 

f. The standing wave of current on a half- 
wave antenna is so distributed that it has maximum 
amplitude at the center of the antenna and 
minimum amplitude at the antenna ends. 

g. The velocity of wave travel on an antenna 
is lower than in free space. As a result, the 
physical length of a half-wave antenna is about 
5 percent shorter than its electrical length. 

h. A current flowing in an antenna must 
contend with radiation resistance, ohmic resis- 
tance, and leakage resistance. 

a1. In the half-wave antenna, the radiation 
resistance is large compared to the other resist- 
ances, so that most of the available energy is 
radiated. 

j. If an antenna is cut to a length of exact 
resonance, the reactance is zero and the impedance 
of the antenna is purely resistive. If the antenna 
is made somewhat shorter, capacitive reactance 
is present; if the antenna is made longer, induc- 
tive reactance is present. 

k. A transmission line is a device for guiding 
electrical energy from one point to another. 
Such a line has electrical constants of inductance, 
capacitance, and resistance distributed along its 
length. 

l. A line terminated in a resistance equal to 
its characteristic impedance is said to be termi- 
nated properly. 

m. The ratio of maximum to minimum voltage 
along a transmission line is called the standing- 


wave ratio. This ratio provides a measure of 
the energy reflected. 

n. A properly matched line is nonresonant. 
It produces no reflection of energy and there are 
no standing waves. As a result, there is maxi- 
mum transmission of energy. 

o. A resonant line is terminated in a load not 
the same as Z,. This line has standing waves 
so that the standing-wave ratio is greater than 1. 
Such a line, when cut to certain lengths, exhibits 
the properties of a resonant circuit. 

p. The transmission line used to couple the 
transmitter to the antenna sometimes is called 
a feeder. 

q. In determining how to connect a feeder line 
to the antenna, it is necessary to consider the 
antenna impedance at the connection point and 
the type of antenna that is used. 

r. A single-wire transmission line must be 
connected to a suitable point on the antenna 
between the end and the center in order to effect 
an impedance match. Two-wire and other lines 
usually are connected at the center or at the 
end of the antenna. 

s. A delta-matching section used with a two- 
wire line is made by fanning out the end of the 
transmission line as it approaches the antenna. 

t. T-matching and J-matching are two com- 
monly used impedance-matching systems with 
two-wire feeders. 

u. Stub matching, which utilizes sections of 
transmission line, frequently is used to connect 
a nonresonant feeder line to an antenna. 

v. The radiation pattern is a measure of the 
energy radiated from an antenna taken at various 
angles and at a constant distance from the 
antenna. 

w. Most radiation patterns are plotted in polar 
coordinates. This system of graphing has the 
advantage over the rectangular coordinate graph 
in that positions are indicated on the graph which 
are directly related to the actual positions at 
which measurements are taken around an antenna. 

z. The radiation pattern of a dipole is circular 
in a plane at right angles to the antenna. Broad- 
side, the pattern resembles a somewhat flattened 
figure 8. 

y. The beam width is measured between the 
points where the field strength falls off to 0.707 
of maximum, or where the power falls off to 0.5 
of maximum. 


135 


z. The presence of ground beneath an antenna 
affects the radiation pattern. 

aa. The energy received at a distant point is 
the sum of the direct wave and the ground- 
reflected wave. 

ab. The reflection factor is a term by which the 
free-space radiation pattern of an antenna must be 
multiplied in order to determine the radiated field 
strength of a practical antenna at a given vertical 
angle. 

ac. In general, ground reflections result in the 
breaking up of the vertical-plane radiation pattern 
into a number of separate lobes. 

ad. The radiation resistance of a practical, half- 
wave antenna located over a ground plane may 
have any value of radiation resistance from 0 to 
almost 100 ohms, depending on the exact height. 

ae. Because the ground has resistance and is not 
a perfect reflector, a portion of the wave which 
ordinarily would be reflected is absorbed in the 
ground resistance. This absorption constitutes 
ground losses. 

af. With an imperfectly conducting ground, the 
vertical radiation pattern shows a series of high 
and low signal strengths rather than a series of 
double-amplitude lobes separated by well defined 
nulls. 

ag. A ground screen can be used to establish 
accurately the location of the reflecting ground 
plane and to minimize ground losses. The ground 
screen consists of a fairly large area of metal mesh 
or screen which is laid on the surface of the ground 
under the antenna. 

ah. The polarization of a radio wave is deter- 
mined by the direction of the electric flux lines 
with respect to the surface of the earth. 

ai. In general, the characteristics of an antenna 
used for transmitting are much the same as when 
the antenna is used for receiving. The antenna 
receives best in those directions in which it radiates 
best. 

aj. A single-wire, half-wave antenna is one 
which is constructed of a single conductor of proper 
length. 

ak. The folded-dipole antenna consists of an 
ordinary, half-wave antenna which has one or 
more additional conductors connected across the 
ends of the antenna. These are mounted parallel 
to the dipole elements at a distance that is a very 
small fraction of a wavelength. 

al. A coaxial or sleeve antenna consists of a 
quarter-wave vertical radiator with a quarter- 
wave sleeve that fits around the antenna support 


136 


mounted just below it. The sleeve acts as the 
lover portion of the antenna. 

am. The conical antenna is a wide-band antenna 
whose elements are constructed in the form of 
cones. 

an. A quarter-wave antenna which operates in 
conjunction with ground operates as a resonant 
antenna. 

ao. The current in a quarter-wave, grounded 
antenna is maximum at the grounded end and the 
voltage isa minimum. The impedance of such an 
antenna is minimum at the grounded end. 

ap. The radiation resistance of a grounded, 
quarter-wave antenna is about 36 ohms. Shorter 
antennas have lower radiation resistance. 

ag. Loading coils are used frequently to increase 
the electrical length of short, grounded, quarter- 
wave antennas. 

ar. Maximum radiation from a grounded, 
quarter-wave antenna occurs at right angles to the 
antenna and along the surface of the ground. No 
radiation occurs directly over the antenna. 

as. With grounded antennas, it is especially 
important that the ground connection be good and 
that the ground conductivity is high. 

at. Large, underground, radial grounds are 
common for fixed-station installations. Ground 
rods also are useful in providing good ground con- 
nection. 

au. A counterpoise is utilized when an actual 
ground connection cannot be used because of the 
high resistance of the soil or because a large buried 
ground system is not practical. 

av. A bent antenna is a grounded antenna which 
is constructed so that a portion of it is horizontally 
mounted. 

aw. The advantages of a bent antenna are the 
reduction in high-angle radiation and an increase 
in the amount of radiation produced. 

ar. A folded-top antenna is a modified bent 
antenna in which the flattop is folded in such a 
way that it prevents radiation. 

ay. Top-loading increases the electrical length 
of the antenna. When top-loading is used, the 
radiation resistance of the antenna is increased and 
the radiation efficiency of the antenna rises. 

az. Metal masts and towers can be used as 
grounded vertical radiators. These are either 
self-supporting or guyed, insulated or noninsu- 
lated. 

ba. A ground-plane antenna consists of a quar- 
ter-wave vertical radiator which carries its own 
ground consisting of a flat, metal disk or a number 


of metal rods or spokes located at the bottom of 
the radiator and at right angles to it. 

bb. The whip antenna, which is a short, flexible, 
vertical radiator, is the most common antenna used 
for tactical radio communication when short 
distances are to be covered. 


81. Review Questions 


a. What is the direction of the electric flux 
lines that surround an antenna? 

b. What is responsible for the magnetic field 
that surrounds an antenna? 

c. Explain the expression, space and time quad- 
rature. 

d. What is meant by a loop, a node? 

e. Describe the distribution of the standing 
waves of voltage and current along a half-wave 
antenna. 

jf. Give several factors that cause the velocity 
of wave travel on an antenna to be lower than in 
free space. 

g. What is the free-space length (in feet) of a 
half-wave at a frequency of 7 mc? 

h. How long is a half-wave antenna which is to 
operate at 7 mc? 

i. What causes radiation resistance? 
resistance? Dielectric resistance? 

j. What is the value of the radiation resistance 
as measured at the center of a half-wave antenna? 

k, Why is it important to minimize the react- 
ance seen by a transmission line that is connected 
to an antenna? 

l. What is the purpose of a transmission line? 

m. Why is it advantageous to terminate a 
transmission line properly? 

n. Give three methods by which transmission 
lines dissipate power. 

o. Describe the current and voltage distribution 
on closed-end lines. On open-end lines. 

p. How does the standing-wave ratio indicate 
the amount of line mismatch? 

q. What is the purpose of an impedance-match- 
ing device? 

r. Describe several types of practical trans- 
mission lines. 

s. What is a tuned line? An untuned line? 

t. What lengths of open-end, resonant, trans- 
mission line are required to cause the line to act 
as an impedance transformer? 

u. Where is a current-fed, half-wave antenna 
fed? 

v. If voltage feeding is required, where should 


Ohmic 


the feeders be connected to the half-wave antenna? 

w. Give some advantages and disadvantages 
of the single-wire feeder. 

2. Give some advantages and disadvantages of 
the delta-matching system. 

y. What are some characteristics of the T- 
matching system? 

z. Describe the J-matching system. 

aa. Give several examples of impedance match- 
ing by the use of stubs. 

ab. Describe the Q-matching system. 

ac. What is an isotropic radiator? Give an 


example. ; 
ad. What constitutes a lobe on a radiatio 
pattern? A null? 


ae. Do radiation patterns actually picture the 
radiation produced by an antenna? 

af. Distinguish between a dipole and a doublet 
as used in this section. 

ag. Why does the presence of ground beneath 
the antenna affect the radiation pattern? 

ah. What is meant by an image antenna? 

ai. What are the minimum and maximum 
values of reflection factor? 

aj. What determines the value of the reflection 
factor? 

ak. Describe the vertical-plane radiation pat- 
tern produced by a horizontal half-wave antenna 
when its height above ground is increased gradu- 
ally. 

al. Why does the. radiation resistance of an 
antenna change at differing heights above ground? 

am. How does the frequency of the radiation 
from an antenna affect the amount of ground 
losses? 

an. What effect does an imperfect ground have 
on the radiation resistance of an antenna? 

ao, Give two specific advantages that are gained 
by the use of a ground screen. 

ap. How does the orientation of an antenna 
affect the polarization of the radiation produced? 

ag. Give some advantages of horizontal polari- 
zation. 

ar. Give some advantages of vertical polariza- 
tion. 

as. What is meant by the reciprocity of an 
antenna? 

at, What is the input impedance of a folded 
dipole antenna? 

au. Explain the greater bandwidth of the folded 
dipole. 

av. What is the function of the sleeve or skirt 
on the coaxial antenna? 


137 


aw. What are the characteristics of a coaxial 
antenna? 

az. Describe some simple microwave antennas. 

ay. What is a Marconi antenna? 

az. What is the current and voltage distribution 
on a grounded, quarter-wave antenna? 

ba. What is the function of a loading coil? 

bb. Describe the radiation pattern produced by 
a vertical, half-wave antenna. 

bc. Compare the radiation resistance of a quar- 
ter-wave antenna with an antenna that is only a 
tenth-wavelength long. 

bd. Describe a radial ground. 

be. What is the purpose of a ground rod, and 
how does chemical treatment affect the operation 
of a ground rod? 

bf. For what purpose is a counterpoise used? 

bg. When are bent antennas used? 

bh. What lengths are desirable for the flattop in 
a bent antenna? 


138 


bi. Why do low-frequency, bent antennas use 
flattops constructed of several connected conduc- 
tors? 

bj. What is the crowfoot antenna? 

bk. Why is it advantageous to minimize radia- 
tion from the flattop of an antenna? 

bl. Describe some devices commonly used for 
top-loading an antenna. 

bm. Distinguish between an insulated and a 
noninsulated tower. 

bn. When is a tower radiator series-fed? Shunt- 
fed? 

bo. What is the radiation pattern produced by 
a ground-plane antenna? 

bp. What advantages occur when the rods form- 
ing the elevated ground plane in a ground-plane 
antenna are bent downward below the horizontal? 

bg. Why do some whip antennas have spring 
bases? 


CHAPTER 4 
LONG-WIRE ANTENNAS 


82. Introduction 


Long-wire antennas are long single wires, 
longer than 1 half-wavelength, in which the 
current in adjacent half-wave sections flows in 
opposite directions. Such antennas have two 
basic advantages over the antennas discussed in 
the previous chapters. These advantages are 
increased gain and directinity. 

a. Antenna Gain. 

(1) All of the antennas discussed so far 
have been basic half- and quarter- 
wave antennas that radiate equally in 
all directions. Greatest amounts of 
power are radiated in directions that 
are broadside to the antenna itself, and 
very little power is radiated off the 
antenna ends. Consequently, the basic 
antennas already discussed have a certain 
degree of directivity, which is the ability 
to radiate and receive energy better in some 
directions than in others. 

(2) An isotropic antenna is one that radiates 
equally in all directions. In actual 
practice, every antenna radiates more 
energy in certain directions than in 
others. The imaginary isotropic an- 
tenna, however, can be used only as a 
standard for comparison. 

(3) Assume that a certain amount of power 
is applied to an isotropic radiator. 
This produces a field having a certain 
strength at a distant receiving antenna. 
If the same amount of power is applied 
to a half-wave antenna that is far 
removed from ground, this antenna will 
produce a field the strength of which is 
greater in certain directions than that 
produced by the isotropic radiator. 
This increase in field strength in some 
directions can be produced only at the 
expense of field strength in other di- 
rections; that is, an increase in field 
strength in certain directions must be 
accompanied by a decrease in field 


strength in other directions. As a 
result, a distant receiving antenna will 
have a greater or lesser amount of 
induced voltage depending on its position 
with respect to the orientation of the 
radiating antenna. The half-wave an- 
tenna produces an increase or gain in 
field strength in the direction at right 
angles to itself, and a decrease or loss in 
field strength in other directions. In 
the direction of maximum radiation, 
the antenna produces an increased field 
strength (field strength gain) that is 
about 1.28 times that produced by the 
isotropic radiator. This is equivalent 
to an increase in power (power gain) 
of 1.64 times that obtained from the 
isotropic radiator. In other words, if 
the power applied to the isotropic 
radiator were increased 1.64 times, ex- 
actly the same field strength would be 
produced for all directions as is obtained 
from the basic half-wave antenna in the 
direction of maximum radiation. 


(4) Gain frequently is expressed in terms of 


Gain 
Gain 


the logarithmic ratio, the decibel. In 
order to convert the figures to decibels, 
it is necessary only to use the formulas 
below: 


(in db) =20 logy x field-strength ratio 
(in db)=10 logis x power ratio. 


When either or both of these formulas are 
solved, it is found that the gain of the 
basic half-wave antenna is 2.15 db over 
that of the isotropic radiator. 


6. Calculation of Gain. 


(1) Since no antenna is truly isotropic, it is 


common practice to use a basic half-wave 
antenna as a standard for reference. 
The reference field strength is the field 
intensity at a fixed point produced by the 
half-wave antenna in the direction of 


139 


140 


its maximum radiation. The reference 
power is the power applied to the stand- 
ard antenna. If any antenna produces 
a greater field strength at the same fixed 
point than does the standard antenna, it 
is said to have gain with respect to the 
standard. Conversely, if the antenna 
produces less field strength at the fixed 
point than does the standard antenna, it 
is said to have loss with respect to the 
standard. 


(2) In actual practice, the procedure is first 


to set up the antenna to be checked. A 
given amount of input power is applied 
and the field strength is measured at a 
distant receiving point. Then, the half- 
wave antenna is set up at the same posi- 
tion and height above the earth, and 
oriented so that a field having the same 
polarization as the original antenna is 
produced. Exactly the same power is 
applied to the half-wave antenna as was 
applied to the other antenna. The field 
strength then is measured at the same 
distant receiving point. Comparison be- 
tween the two field strengths indicates 
whether the antenna being checked pro- 
duces a gain or a loss in field strength 
compared with the reference antenna. 


(3) Another method used to measure the gain 


(or loss) of an antenna involves an actual 
measurement of the input power to the 
antenna. The amount of input power 
applied to the antenna to be checked is 
measured, the field strength at a certain 
distant point is noted, and the half-wave 
antenna is set up as in the preceding 
method. The power applied to this 
reference antenna then is adjusted until 
exactly the same field strength is pro- 
duced at the distant point. If more 
power must be applied to the reference 
antenna to produce the same field 
strength at the point as produced by the 
antenna under test, the antenna under 
test has a gain with respect to the 
reference antenna. On the other hand, 


if less power must be applied to the half- 
wave reference antenna to produce the 
same field strength, the antenna under 
test has a loss with respect to the refer- 
ence antenna. The ratio between the 
two input powers (reference antennas 
divided by tested antennas) gives the 
gain (or loss) of the antenna being tested. 
Because an accurate measurement of dif- 
ferent field strengths cannot be made as 
easily as an accurate measurement of 
different antenna input powers, this 
method is preferred to that described in 
(2) above. 


(4) If the antenna under test produces the 


same field strength at a certain distance 
with exactly the same power applied as is 
produced by the reference half-wave 
antenna, there is neither a gain nor a loss. 
The ratio between the two input powers 
is unity (1 to 1) as is the ratio between 
the two field strengths with the same 
input power. Since the logarithm of 1 is 
zero, the gain in decibels as calculated 
by the formulas previously given is 0 db. 
This is simply another way of saying that 
there is neither a gain nor a loss. The 
reference level of field strength produced 
by the half-wave antenna, or a level 
equal to the reference level, is referred to 
as the zero db level. The standard half- 
wave antenna which produces the refer- 
ence field strength often is referred to as 
the zero db antenna. 


(5) If a certain antenna has a gain of 10 db, it 


produces a field strength that is over 
three times greater than that produced by 
the half-wave antenna with the same 
input power. This same antenna pro- 
duces the same field strength as that 
produced by the half-wave antenna when 
the power applied to the half-wave 
antenna is 10 times greater than that 
applied to the antenna under test. The 
chart given below gives the db gain or loss 
for various field strength and power 
ratios. 


Db gain or loss strength Power ratio 
ratio 
Ossesredccaseesesetee sees 1.0 1.0 
ce tome dese ense ode iS ae 1.12 1. 26 
Don i vacteseeeouk BLU oes 1. 26 1. 56 
SosucSs et eee eee 1. 41 1. 99 
Be ert Sol he Se OBE 1. 68 2. 82 
Goto tee cetacean Boe ess 1,99 3. 98 
Bi oe lobes wddese ates ses 2. 51 6. 31 
1062522425. e eee fae sees 3. 16 10. 0 
13.62 owes ue ves esse Ses 4. 22 17.8 
Vt ose eee See 5. 62 31.6 
20 Sue tebe bh Ble eaes 10.0 100. 0 
>:     a le eer nee ese ee gag ee 31.6 1, 000. 0 
40 eet cole tee steeth ested 100. 0 10, 000. 0 


c. Directivity. 

(1) Since all antennas are directional to a 
certain degree, the term directional usu- 
ally is applied only to those antennas that 
are rather highly directional. The main 
advantage to be gained from the use of 
the long-wire antennas and arrays is in 
their greater directional qualities. These 
antennas all concentrate a larger amount 
of the available radiated energy into a 
smaller sector. 

(2) Some antennas are directional in some 
planes but practically nondirectional in 
others. Consider, for example, the basic 
half-wave antenna that is mounted in a 
vertical position. If a vertical plane is 
passed through the center of the antenna 
and the radiation pattern is drawn on that 
plane, the pattern would take the form of 
a figure 8. Maximum radiation occurs 
in the two directions that are at right 
angles to the antenna itself and no 
radiation occurs off the ends. The 
antenna is said to have two lobes of 
radiated energy and two nulls. Conse- 
quently, this antenna is said to be bi- 
directional (it radiates in two directions) 
in the vertical plane. If the horizontal 
plane is considered, however, it is seen 
that the antenna radiates equally in all 
directions. The antenna therefore is 
nondirectional in the horizontal plane. 
When highly directional antennas are 
used, it is important to know in which 
plane the desired directivity occurs. 

(3) Highly directional antennas are designed 


to produce a large increase in radiated 
(or received) energy in one direction. 
The idea, however, may be to prevent 
radiation (or reception) in a certain direc- 
tion. For example, assume that two 
powerful transmitters are located near 
each other. To prevent these trans- 
mitters from interfering with each other, 
it is necessary to use directional antennas 
with respective nulls pointing toward 
each other. Under these conditions, the 
antennas may be adjusted to produce the 
least amount of radiated energy in the 
direction of each other, rather than the 
greatest amount of energy in any given 
direction. 


83. General Characteristics of Long-wire An- 
tennas 


a. If the length of a long-wire antenna is such 
that two or more half-waves of energy are distrib- 
uted along it, it often is referred to as a harmonic 
antenna. Consider the half-wave antenna shown 
in A of figure 123. Ata given instant, the polarity 
of the r-f generator connected to the center of the 
antenna is positive at its left-hand terminal and 
negative at its right-hand terminal. As a result, 
current in the left half of the antenna flows toward 
the generator, whereas current in the right half of 
the antenna flows away from the generator. In 
both halves of the half-wave antenna, current 
flows in the same direction, from left to right, as 
shown by the wave of current above the antenna 
wire. 

b.. Now assume that the antenna just discussed 
is increased until it is 2 half-wavelengths, as in B. 
With the r-f generator still connected at the center 
and with the same instantaneous polarities as in 
A, current in the left side of the antenna must flow 
toward the generator, and current in the right 
side must flow away from the generator. Since 
the antenna is now 2 half-wavelengths, 2 half- 
waves of current can be accommodated on the 
antenna and the current polarity is the same in 
both halves of the antenna. It is important to 
note that this is not a true long wire or harmoni- 
cally operated antenna since there is no reversal of 
current flow in adjacent half-wave sections. In- 
stead, this arrangement is simply 2 half-wave 
antennas operating in phase at their fundamental 
frequency. Such an arrangement is called a 
driven collinear array (paragraphs 94 through 109) 


141 


TM 666-127 


Figure 128. Harmonic and nonharmonte antennas. 


and has characteristics quite different from those 
to be discussed for the true harmonically operated 
or long-wire antenna. 

c. The antenna in B can be converted into a 
true long-wire, harmonically operated antenna 
simply by moving the generator to a current loop 
as shown in (@. With the r-f generator polarity as 
shown, current flows from left to right in the half- 
wave section of the antenna. The direction of 
current flow then is reversed in the second half- 
wave section. If the generator is moved to the 
extreme end of the antenna as shown in D, the 
antenna is also a long-wire antenna, and the cur- 
rent distribution on the antenna is exactly the 
same as in C. 


142 


d. The harmonically operated antenna, there- 
fore, must be fed either at a current loop or at its 
end for proper operation. [f the antenna is any 
odd number of half-wave lengths (1%, 24%, 3%, and 
so on) so that a current loop occurs at the center 
of the antenna, center feeding can be used. 

e. As the length of an antenna is increased, it is 
natural to expect a change in the radiation pattern 
produced by the antenna. A long-wire antenna 
can be considered to be one made up of a number 
of half-wave sections fed 180° out of phase and 
spaced a half-wavelength apart. As aresult, there 
is no longer zero radiation off the ends of the 
antenna, but considerable radiation occurs in the 
direction of the long wire as a result of the com- 
bined fields produced by the individual half-wave 
sections. In addition, radiation also occurs broad- 
side to the long wire. Consequently, the resultant 
maximum radiation is neither completely at right 
angles to the long wire nor completely along the 
line of the long wire. Instead, the maximum 
radiation occurs at some acute angle in respect to 
the wire, the exact angle being determined by the 
length of the antenna. 

Ff. It will be shown that as the length of a long- 
wire antenna is increased, the following charac- 
teristic changes occur: First, the gain of the 
antenna increases considerably compared with 
that of the basic half-wave antenna, especially 
when the long wire is many wavelengths. Second, 
the direction along which maximum radiation 
occurs makes a smaller angle with respect to the 
wire itself. Consequently, as the antenna is made 
longer, its major Jobe of radiation lies closer to the 
direction of the wire itself. Third, more minor 
lobes are produced as the antenna length is 
increased. 


84. Harmonically Operated Antennas in Free 
Space 


a. Calculation of Length. 

(1) It already has been pointed out (pars. 36 
through 81) that the electrical and physi- 
cal lengths of a half-wave antenna are not 
the same because of the reduction in wave 
velocity on the antenna resulting from 
its thickness and because of end effect. 
The main factor producing end effect is 
the use of insulators at the antenna ends. 
These introduce additional capacitances 
to the antenna which lower its resonant 
frequency and increase the electrical 


length of the antenna. Consequently, b. Standing Waves and Impedances at Various 

the half-wave antenna isforeshortened by Frequencies. 

5 percent to compensate for these effects. (1) As the length of the antenna is increased 
(2) Since, in a long-wire antenna, the insu- so that it operates on higher harmonic 


lators are used at the ends and not 
between adjacent half-wave sections, it 
is only the half-wave sections at the 
antenna ends that are affected by end 
effects. Therefore, a harmonically oper- 
ated antenna of 1 wavelength is fore- 
shortened by only 2% percent over-all, 
one of 2 wavelengths is foreshortened by 
1% percent over-all, and so on. A con- 
venient formula that is used to determine 
the length in feet of a harmonic antenna 
for any given frequency in megacycles is 


492(H—0.05) 


length= frequency 


where H is the number of half-waves on 
the antenna. 


(3) Note that the foreshortening of the long- 


wire antenna is less than for the simple 
half-wave antenna. For this reason, a 
long-wire antenna with, say, 3 half-waves 
on it is slightly longer than three times 
the length of a half-wave antenna. There- 
fore, the length of the half-wave antenna 
is not an exact submultiple of the length 
of the harmonic antenna. 


frequencies, or, as the frequency applied 
to an antenna of fixed length is raised, a 
greater number of half-waves of voltage 
and current occur on the antenna. This 
is shown in figure 124, where antennas 
operating on the second, third, fourth, 
and fifth harmonics appear. The 
standing waves of voltage and current 
are 90° out of phase. 


(2) The impedance of the harmonic antenna 


at any point is determined by the re- 
actance and the resistance of the antenna 
at that point. The impedance often is 
measured at a current loop, because this 
is where the feed line usually is attached. 
When the antenna length is such that 
exact harmonic resonance occurs or if the 
reactance is tuned out otherwise, only 
resistance remains. This resistance is 
largely radiation resistance, since the 
ohmic losses of the antenna usually are 
so low that they can be neglected com- 
pared with the value of radiation resist- 
ance. 


(3) The following chart shows the approxi- 


mate radiation resistance, measured at a 
current loop, of harmonic antennas of 
various lengths. As the antenna length 


4 X FUNDAMENTAL 


5 X FUNDAMENTAL 
TM 666-128 


Figure 124. Standing waves on harmonic antennas. 


143 


, Radiation   Radiation 
“Gwoveloneths)   Tesstance   “Wavelengtnw)   Mastanoe 
= ees : ac = 7 a 
bg eeedeanes   G0) Sc seseeeae. : 138 
Dye be snk eae 00 144 
Ds toket ace 1G, 1 Bieter taite2 ees 154 
  ore ees   1 ae   ae    eee eae   162 
Bitola sae ces 122} Because weed 170 
, ear 130 i 
i   


144 


is increased, the value of radiation 
resistance also increases. 


(4) When the frequency applied to an 


antenna is no longer the resonant fre- 
quency, a considerable reactive com- 
ponent is present. Consider a half-wave 
antenna that is fed at the center. As 
the frequency of the r-f generator is 
increased above the resonant frequency 
of the antenna, the antenna becomes 
inductive with an inductive reactance. 
This inductive reactance reaches a maxi- 
mum value and then begins to fall off as 
the frequency is raised still more. When 
the frequency is such that the antenna 
length is slightly less than a full wave- 
length, the reactance is zero. An in- 
crease in frequency above this value 
causes the antenna to behave as a capac- 
itive reactance. As the frequency is 
raised still higher, the capacitive react- 
ance reaches a maximum value and then 
falls off toward zero. When the fre- 
quency is such that the antenna is 
slightly less than 1% wavelengths, the 
reactance again is zero. An increase in 
frequency above this value causes the 
antenna to behave as a induetive react- 
ance. As the frequency is raised still 
higher, the inductive rex tance reaches 
a maximum value and then falls off 
toward zero. When the frequency is 
such that the antenna is slightly less than 
2 wavelengths, the reactance again is 
zero. An increase in frequency above 
this value causes the antenna to behave 
as a capacitance once more. Conse- 
quently, a complete cycle of reactance 
changes occurs as the frequency is 
increased so that electrically the antenna 
is changed from a half-wavelength to 
1% wavelengths. A similar cycle occurs 


as the antenna is changed from 1% to 
24% wavelengths, from 2% to 3% wave- 
lengths, and so on. 


(5) During the time the reactance is going 


through a cycle, the resistive component 
of the impedance also varies with the 
change in frequency. It is at a mini- 
mum value when the frequency is such 
that the antenna is about a half-wave- 
length and reaches & maximum value 
when the antenna is about 1 wavelength, 
and back to a minimum value when the 
antenna length is approximately 11% 
wavelength. These cyclic variations in 
reactance and resistance are shown in 
figure 125. As a result of these varia- 
tions, the impedance of the antenna also 
has a cyclic variation as the frequency 
is raised from one harmonic to another. 


(6) The rate at which the impedance varies 


is increased at the higher frequencies. 
The impedance at the center of an an- 
tenna varies from minimum to maximum 
when the frequency applied increases 
from the fundamental to the second 
harmonic. A similar variation must take 
place when the frequency applied in- 
creases from the fifth to the sixth har- 
monic. From the fundamental to the 
second harmonic, however, a frequency 
increase of 100 percent occurs, and from 
the fifth to the sixth harmonic, there is a 
frequency increase of only 20 percent. 
Therefore, the impedance must change 
five times faster in the vicinity of the 
fifth harmonic than in the vicinity of the 
fundamental. 


(7) As the frequency applied to a given an- 


tenna or as the length of an antenna is 
increased, the resistive component of 
its impedance rises, and as the radiation 
resistance of an antenna rises, the length 
and losses increase. As a result, as the 
antenna varies from a half-wavelength 
to 114 wavelengths, and the resistance 
does not drop to as low a value at 1% 
wavelengths as at a half-wavelength, 
nor does it rise to as high a value at 2 
wavelengths as at 1 wavelength (fig. 125). 
This is true also as the frequency in- 
creases to 5. 6, or more times the funda- 
mental, or as the antenna increases to 3 
wavelengths, 4 wavelengths, and so on. 


~<— OHMS —~ 


Zs ; 
REACTANCE 
FREQUENCY —> F 2F 3F 4F 5F 
LENGTH ——> ¥% x tr 2 2'br 


TM 666-129 


Figure 125. Cyclic variations of reactance and resistance 


at center of antenna. 


Although cyclic changes in impedance 
still occur at long antenna lengths or at 
high applied frequencies, the impedance 
does not rise to as high a value nor does 
it fall to as low a value as occurs at low 
harmonic frequencies or short antenna 
lengths. 


c. Directivity and Gain. 
(1) The maximum radiation from a har- 


monic antenna forms a lobe which covers 
a smaller and smaller sector as the an- 
tenna length is increased. Since a 
greater amount of power is concentrated 
into a smaller sector, the harmonic an- 
tenna has a power gain with respect to 
the half-wave antenna. 


(2) The approximate power gain of harmonic 


antennas of various lengths is shown in 
the following chart: 


ends of the antenna. Instead, the maxi- 
mum radiation forms lobes which lie 
closer and closer to the direction of the 
antenna itself as the length of the 
antenna increases. The angle of maxi- 
mum radiation is the angle between the 
line running through the center of the 
lobe and the antenna wire. 


(5) The approximate angles of maximum 


radiation for harmonic antennas of vari- 
ous lengths are given in the following 
chart: 


Antenna length 
(wavelengths) 


Angle of maxi- Angle of maxi- 
pee Antenna length ae 

mum radiation mum radiation 
(degrees) (wavelengths) (degrees). 

54 th Blew co ess 18 

> Ee ee re 36  } 10........__-- 17 

aase ait oeede 7   a en 16 

estes ge oe ete 20 


Antenna length   power guin    Autenns length   power gun 
Pca ck ate So Fe 2  Bicwettasadaee 2c 4.3 
Ooesteuseetesekt L4 bh eee eee 5.6 
Bisa BE Soe Bis ok 2.1 ) eee re ere eee 7.2 
G22cce hess se 3. 1 


(3) Very little gain occurs when the antenna 


is only a few wavelengths. When the 
length becomes appreciable, however, 
considerable power gains result, and 
increased power gain is accompanied by 
greater directivity. This is true since 
an increase of power in certain directions 
is attained by reduction of power in other 
directions. 


(4) The radiation produced by a harmonic 


antenna is neither completely at right 
angles to the antenna itself nor off the 


d. Radiation Patterns. 
(1) Figure 126 shows the radiation patterns 


of harmonic antennas up to 3 wave- 
lengths. ‘The field strength produced by 
the half-wave antenna is shown for com- 
parison. Note that as the antenna 
length is increased, more lobes are pro- 
duced. The 1%-wavelength antenna, 
which operates on the third harmonic, 
has three lobes—two major lobes and 
one minor lobe, the latter lying at right 
angles to the antenna. The 3-wave- 
length antenna, which operates on the 
sixth harmonic, has six lobes—two major 
lobes and four minor lobes. 


(2) The harmonic antennas which operate on 


the even harmonics (2d, 4th, and so on) 
have an even number of half-wave pat- 
terns distributed along their length. 
Since the adjacent half-wave sections 
have currents of opposite phase, a distant 
point in space located equidistant from 
the ends of the antenna is acted on by 
equal and opposite fields. Cancellation 
of fields occurs and 9 null is produced on 
a plane at right angles to the antenna, 
cutting it at the center. On the other 
hand, harmonic antennas which operate 
on the odd harmonics have an odd 
number of half-wave sections. Complete 
cancellation of radiated fields does not 


145 


Yor 
30 HARMONIC 


20 HARMONIG 


Figure 126. 


occur at points equidistant from the ends 
of the antenna because of the odd half- 
wave section. This results in a minor 
lobe being produced in a direction that is 
perpendicular to the antenna, and com- 
ing from its center. 


85. Effects of Ground 


a. The radiation patterns of a harmonic antenna 
are modified considerably by the presence of the 
earth under the antenna. Some of the energy 
radiated from the antenna travels downward 
toward the earth, where it is reflected. If the 
reflected energy arrives at some distant point in 
phase with the direct energy from the antenna, 
then reinforcement of the signal strength occurs. 
On the other hand, if the reflected energy arrives 
180° out of phase with the direct energy, a reduc- 
tion or cancellation of signal strength takes place. 

b. Energy reflected from ground will induce a 
voltage into the harmonic antenna. This causes 
a current to flow which combines with the original 
antenna current. The total antenna current then 
will be greater or less than the original antenna 
current, depending on the height of the antenna. 
Consequently, the radiation resistance of the 
harmonic antenna varies, depending on the height 
above ground. In this respect, the behavior of 


146 


4TH HARMONIC 


2¥or 
5TH HARMONIC 


3% 
6TH HARMONIC 


TM 666-130 


Radiation patierns of harmonic antennas. 


the harmonic antenna is the same as the half-wave 
antenna. 

c. Some horizontal radiation patterns at various 
vertical angles above harmonic antennas parallel to 
the ground are shown in figure 127. As the 
vertical angle is reduced—-that is, approaching a 
horizontal plane which includes the antenna—the 
pattern resembles those shown previously in 
figure 126. However, as the vertical angle in- 
creases toward the angle of the lobe maximum, the 
patterns become filled in. The nulls in the direc- 
tion of the antenna itself disappear. 

d. The shapes of the patterns are not altered by 
the earth. The effect of the earth is to change the 
relative amplitude of a pattern, which can be seen 
by comparing the 10° pattern with a 15° pattern, 
on A, B,orC.  Itis possible for the maximum lobe 
which occurs at one vertical angle to be reduced to 
zero, whereas the maximum lobe which occurs at 
another vertical angle can be increased to twice its 
normal free-space value. In order to note the 
effect of the ground on the radiation pattern, it is 
necessary to alter the patterns produced at various 
angles by taking into account the antenna height. 


86. Feeding Long-wire Antennas 


a. Both resonant and nonresonant lines can be 
used to feed long-wire antennas. The same 


15° L\ 
as 


SiN 
< LA Ss 


Vs aa 


DI) * 
be 
L=2x Cc 

TM 666-131 

Figure 127. Horizontal patterns of harmonic antennas at 

various vertical angles. 


general principles apply here as in the half-wave 
antenna. Since a point on the antenna which is a 
current loop becomes a current node on the next 
higher harmonic, a current-fed antenna behaves 
as a true long wire only at odd harmonics of the 
original frequency. Therefore, for operation on 
all harmonics, end feeding is preferred. However, 
with end feeding, unbalanced transmission-line 
currents result and a nonsymmetrical radiation 
pattern is produced. The intensity of the lobes 
in the direction off the feeder end of the long wire 
is reduced, snd the intensity of the lobes in the 
direction away from the feeder end is increased. 
When matching sections of line are used with 
nonresonant feeders, it must be realized that these 
operate over only a narrow band of frequencies. 
b. An end-fed long-wire antenna with a reso- 
nant feeder line is shown in figure 128. Operation 
on all harmonic frequencies is possible with this 
arrangement, provided the tuning unit at the 
input end of the resonant line has sufficient 
range to match the input impedance to the trans- 
mitter. Arrangements for using nonresonant 
lines are shown in B and C. In both, quarter- 
wave matching sections are used to match the 
nonresonant line to the long-wire antenna. In B, 
the feeder is tapped on the matching section. at 
a point where an impedance match occurs. 


LONG-WIRE ANTENNA 


RESONANT 
LINE 


LONG-WIRE ANTENNA 


> MATCHING 
SECTION 


NONRESONANT 
LINE 
B 


CURRENT 
LONG-WIRE ANTENNA i LOOP 


>» MATCHING 
SECTION 


NONRESONANT 
LINE 


C 


TM 666-132 
Figure 128. Feeding long-wire antennas. 


147 


In C, the feeder is connected to a Q-matching 
section the characteristic impedance of which is 
made equal to the square root of the product of 
the radiation resistance of the long-wire antenna 
and the impedance of the nonresonant line. 


87. Resonant and Nonresonant Antennas 


a. Only resonant antennas have been discussed 
heretofore in this manual. These have standing 
waves of voltage and current distributed along 
their length which are set up by the reflection of 
waves at the ends of the antenna. If one end of 
an antenna is terminated in a resistance that is 
equal to the characteristic impedance of the 
antenna, waves can travel in one direction only. 
As a result, no standing waves are set up. Instead, 
the current and voltage are distributed uniformly 
along the length of the antenna. Such an antenna 
is known as a nonresonant antenna. 

b. The radiation pattern of a nonresonant 
antenna is quite different from the pattern pro- 
duced by a resonant antenna. Consider the 
radiation patterns shown in figure 126. Assume 
that all these resonant antennas are made non- 
resonant by connecting a terminating resistor 
between the right end of each antenna and 
ground. All of the antennas then radiate only 
in the direction of the terminating resistor, or 
toward the right in the figure. The lobes of 
energy to the left are largely attenuated. Conse- 
quently, the major lobe takes the form of a 
single cone of radiation surrounding the antenna 
in the direction of the terminating resistor. The 
antennas are converted from bidirectional types 
(which produce maximum radiation in two di- 
rections) to unidirectional types (which produce 
maximum radiation in only one direction). If a 
radiation pattern were drawn to show the radi- 
ation at the vertical angle at which maximum 
radiation occurs, a single major lobe of radiation 
appears in the direction of the antenna itself 
and toward the terminating resistor. 

c. An important characteristic of a nonreso- 
nant antenna is that it radiates efficiently over a 
very wide frequency range. Therefore, it is not 
necessary to cut the antenna for any exact length 
so long as it is at least several wavelengths. 


88. Beverage or Wave Antennas 


a. Description and Design. 
(1) One type of nonresonant, long-wire an- 


148 


tenna is the Beverage or wave antenna 
which consists of a single wire preferably 
of 2 or more wavelengths, parallel with 
the earth and supported on poles at a 
height of 10 to 20 feet above ground. The 
far end of the wire is connected to ground 
through a noninductive resistor of about 
500 ohms. This resistor must be able 
to dissipate about one-third of the power 
fed into the antenna. This is about the 
characteristic impedance of a single-wire 
transmission line with a ground return. 
A wave antenna is shown in figure 129. 
A reasonably good ground, such as a 
number of ground rods or a counter- 
poise, should be used at both ends of 
the antenna. 


(2) Sometuumes two or more antenna wires 


are used in parallel instead of a single 
wire. This reduces the characteristic 
impedance of the antenna and ground- 
return circuit and permits a lower value 
of terminating resistance to be used. 
The input impedance of the antenna is 
reasonably constant with frequency, and 
the antenna may be used over a wide 
frequency range without changing its 
length. 


(3) The wave antenna is directional and is 


used primarily for either transmitting or 
receiving low-frequency signals. Maxi- 
mum reception or radiation is in line with 
the wire and off the terminated end. 
There is a minimum of radiation in the 
opposite direction if the antenna is ter- 
minated properly. The forward lobe 
may be made narrower and the gain in- 
creased by using a longer antenna wire. 
However, if extremely long-wave anten- 
nas are used, the forward gain falls off. 


(4) At frequencies below 800 kilocycles, a 


properly located wave antenna should 
give results equivalent to a vertical an- 
tenna several hundred feet high. One 
particular military wave antenna (fig. 
130) consists of three conductors ar- 
ranged in the form of an equilateral 
triangle 5 feet on a side, erected about 
15 feet above ground on short telephone 
poles, and usually of 2 wavelengths. At 
a frequency of 500 kilocycles, such an 
antenna would be almost 4,000 feet long. 
If ground space limitations prevent the 


DIRECTION OF TRANSMISSION 


WAVE FRONTS 
ee ak a 


\ 


TERMINATING 
RESISTANCE 


HIGH RESISTANCE GROUND 


Tw 5005-18 
Figure 129. Beverage or wave antenna. 

use of such a long antenna, an antenna pends on a process known as wave tilt. 

under 1 wavelength can be used. A re- When a vertically polarized radio wave 
duction of forward gain will result under travels over the surface of an imperfect 

these conditions. conductor, such as the earth, the wave 

6. Wave Tilt. fronts lean forward in the direction of 
(1) The operation of the wave antenna de- propagation. This is caused by the 


TM 5005-16 


Figure 1380. Three-wire wave antenna. 


149 


slower propagation constant of the earth. 
The amount of forward tilt depends on 
the frequency of the r-f wave and the 
characteristics of the surface over which 
the wave is traveling. At the lower 
frequencies at which the wave antenna 
is used, the wave tilt is approximately 
proportional to the square root of the 
product of frequency and soil resistivity. 
As the resistance of the surfsce is in- 
creased, the wave travel along the sur- 
face is reduced and a greater wave tilt 
results. Consequently, over rocky and 
sandy soil, a considerable forward tilt re- 
sults, whereas over salt marshes and sea 
water, almost no tilt occurs. This means 
that wave antennas, which depend on 
wave tilt for proper operation, should 
not be installed over highly conducting 
surfaces, but, instead, should be installed 
only over poor or medium soil. Wave 
antennas also give good results when in- 
stalled over ground which has a perma- 
nent layer of ice (such as permafrost) a 
short distance below the surface, or over 
certain types of ground found in northern 
or polar regions which are very moist in 
the summer and have poor conductivity 
because of lack of mineral content. Ac- 
tually, it is the average ground conduc- 
tivity for a considerable distance below 
the surface that is important rather thau 
the character of a thin top-soil layer. 

(2) The wave antenna operates in conjunc- 
tion with ground, so that a vertically 
polarized radio wave is radiated. How- 
ever, because of the forward wave tilt, 
there is a horizontal component of the 
electrical field. The vertical and hori- 
zontal components are not exactly in 
phase, and the resultant polarization of 
the radiated wave, therefore, is elliptical. 
The wave is radiated in the direction of 
the tilt which is off the end of the antenna 
that is terminated in the resistance load. 

e. Transmitting Antennas. When the wave an- 
tenna is used for transmitting, the r-f output of 
the transmitter is connected between the wire con- 
ductor of the antenna and ground (fig. 129). 
Ground can be considered as one conductor of a 
transmission line and the antenna wire as the 
other conductor. As the r-f energy travels down 
the line, the distance traveled by the energy along 


150 


the ground is less than the distance traveled by 
the energy along the wire, because of the lower 
velocity of propagation of the earth wave. This 
effect produces an out-of-phase relationship be- 
tween the wire wave and the ground wave. As a 
result, the wave front is caused to tilt forward 
(fig. 129) and the traveling wave off the end of the 
antenna contains both vertical and horizontal 
components of wave energy with respect to a path 
of travel parallel to the ground. The radiated 
energy then is considered as elliptically polarized. 
At a distance from the transmitter, however, the 
predominant component of polarization is ver- 
tical, as a result of normal ground-wave propaga- 
tion effects. 

(1) Generally, the forward or desired radia- 
tion increases as the antenna is length- 
ened. As an example of the effect of 
difference in length on efficiency, data 
taken on 1,200-foot and 3,600-foot wave 
antennas at 250 ke and 500 ke erected 
Over poor ground are indicated in the 
following chart: 


250 ke 500 ke 


Length (ft) - oe TK 
(wavelength) Gain Gieveingeh Gain 
1,200__...___. 0. 306 0 db 0. 612 0 db 
3,600... ___- . 918 8 db 1. 826 9 db 
Note. Gain of the 1,200-foot antenna is taken 


as 0 db at each frequency. 


(2) Experimental data indicate that a wave 
antenna having a wire length equivalent 
to 2 wavelengths and erected over poor 
ground has a radiation efficiency in the 
forward direction equivalent to the radia- 
tion of a quarter-wave vertical antenna. 
A wave antenna having a wire length 
equivalent to 4 electrical wavelengths 
under the same conditions shows a radia- 
tion efficiency in the forward direction 
equivalent to a half-wave vertical an- 
tenna. Experiments in the range of 100 
to 200 ke with wave antennas of 0.6 to 
1.5 wavelengths, compared with stan- 
dard-type flat-top antennas mounted on 
180-foot towers, showed gains of approx- 
imately 10 db for the wave antenna. 
Highest gains were noted with the longer 


wave antennas erected over poor ground. 

(3) The efficiency of the. wave antenna in- 
creases rapidly as the height is increased 
from 0 to the range of 12 to 15 feet. 
Above 15 feet, there is little increase in 
efficiency. 

d. Receiving Antennas. Wave antennas also 
are used for receiving and, in this application, 
their performance also depends on wave tilt. 
However, when receiving, the radio waves ap- 
proaching the antenna already are tilted because 
of their propagation over poor soil in the locality 
of the antenna. 

(1) As the tilted wave moves in a direction 
from the terminating resistor toward the 
receiver, energy is induced along both the 
antenna wire and the ground. The effect 
of this induced energy is cumulative, 
since energy from the traveling wave is 
absorbed by the antenna, and a large cur- 
rent is produced at the input to the re- 
ceiver. Actually, the induction of energy 
along the ground is a continuing process 
throughout the entire travel of the wave 
and not only at the antenna location. 
When so regarded, the antenna wire can 
be considered as the medium of extracting 
energy from the space surrounding it, 
and guiding this energy to the receiver 
with the proper phasing with respect to 
the receiver ground, so that a high level 
input is obtained. 

(2) The polar pattern of the antenna is the 
same for transmitting and receiving, with 
maximum antenna gain in a direction 
from terminating resistor to receiver. 
When maximum gain is desired in the 
opposite direction, a special circuit ar- 
rangement can be used. This arrange- 
ment consists of using reflection trans- 
formers at each end of the antenna and 
placing the terminating resistor at the 
receiver location. 

(3) When bidirectional reception is desired, 
the normal antenna circuit is used except 
for omission of the terminating resistor. 

e. Feeding Methods. 

(1) Since the wave antenna is a grounded an- 
tenna with a wide frequency range, it 
usually is fed by means of an unbalanced, 
nonresonant transmission line. The in- 
put impedance of the single-wire antenna 
is approximately 500 ohms, so that the 


characteristic impedance of the line also 
must be 500 ohms. 


(2) The most common feeding arrangement 
is @ single-wire transmission line con- 
nected to the end of the antenna. If co- 
axial line is to be used, an impedance- 
matching transformer is inserted between 
the transmission line and the antenna. 


89. V Antenna 


a. General Description. The V antenna con- 
sists of two horizontal, long wires arranged to 
form a V, and fed at the apex with currents of 
opposite polarity. Major lobes from each wire 
combine in such a way that maximum radiation 
occurs in the direction of a line that bisects the 
angle between the two wires. Figure 131 shows a 
V antenna with the individual radiation patterns 
of each of the wires. The shaded lobes produced 
by each individual leg of the V lie in exactly the 
same direction. These lobes combine to form the 
shaded lobes in the resultant pattern. Most of 
the other lobes are more or less attenuated. The 
pattern is bidirectional, and radiation occurs 
along a line that bisects the apex angle in both 
directions. 

b. Design. 

(1) As with other long-wire antennas, the 
greater the leg length the higher the gain 
and directivity of the antenna. The 
gain of the V antenna is about twice that 
of a single long-wire antenna, since the 
radiation from the lobes of two wires 
combines to produce the radiation pat- 
tern of the V antenna. In actual prac- 
tice, the gain may be even higher than 
this value because of the effects of one 
leg of the V on the other. 

(2) The following chart shows the approxi- 
mate power gains of V antennas for 
various leg lengths, using the optimum 
value of apex angle in all cases. 


Antenna length 


A length 

(wavelengths) Power gain (wavelengths) Power gain 
  ene ee eee QT Oia seee see eS 8.0 
Disc keseha tess 2.95) Bnet at sole 11.9 
Sieceetecessoesl 3.8    10_...---------- 17.8 
Peco ea 5. 0 


151 


(3) The optimum apex angle for the V an- 
tenna is, ordinarily, twice the angle be- 
tween the lobe of maximum radiation and 
the wire itself when the wire is used as a 
conventional long-wire antenna. Here, 
the lobes of maximum radiation from the 
two long wires making up the V antenna 
are in the same direction so that they 
combine as shown in figure 131. In prac- 
tice, a somewhat smaller angle than this 
value is used when the V-antenna legs 
are shorter than about 3 wavelengths. 
This increases slightly the gain of the 
antenna. 

(4) The following chart shows the optimum 
apex angle for V antennas with equal legs 
of various lengths: 


Antenna length Optimum apex Antenna tength  Optimum apex 

(wavelengths) angle (degrees) (wavelengths) angle (degrees) 
Dies Se Pee O05) -Gecseckceonsec tl 40 
Dot A ill es Sate TOP Me Bien 22 pa An ot 35 
oe ee 58  } 10......--__.- 33 
Ao ae Nae sas 50 


(5) When the V antenna is to be operated 
over a wide frequency range, an average 
optimum apex angle should be used. 
Reasonably good results are obtained by 
noting the optimum apex angle for the 
antenna at its lowest operating frequency 
and the angle for its highest operating 
frequency, and then using the average of 
these two values. 

(6) The V antenna does not radiate the major 
portion of its energy along the surface of 
the earth. Instead, the energy is radi- 
ated upward at a certain vertical angle 
in respect to the earth. The size of this 
angle depends on the length of the an- 
tenna legs and the height of the antenna 
above ground. In general, as the an- 
tenna length is increased or as the height 
above ground is increased, the vertical 
angle at which maximum radiation oc- 
curs gradually becomes smaller. The 
vertical angle is measured in respect to 
the horizontal antenna wires. 

(7) The following chart gives the approximate 
value of the vertical angle at which maxi- 
mum radiation occurs for V antennas of 


152 


various lengths. A height above ground 
of a half-wavelength is assumed. 


sh : sees 
Antenna length   Verticalangle ; Antenna length   Verticte angle 


(wavelengths:   (degrees)   (wavelengths)   (degrees) 
A ccnnatsetell a. rer   16 
  27 Biicsess eee 14 
fs a eR 23 i 10. ___- oad 13 
20     


c. Feeding Methods. Balanced lines are used to 
feed the V antenna. Resonant lines are used if a 
wide frequency range is to be covered. Nonreso- 
nant feeders can be used in conjunction with 
quarter-wave matching sections at the apex of the 
V antenna, but only a fairly narrow frequency 
band can be accommodated. 

d. Unidirectional V Antenna. 

(1) The V antenna can be made unidirec- 
tional by making the antenna non- 
resonant. This is accomplished by con- 
necting noninductive resistors of about 
500 ohms between the far end of each 
leg of the V antenna and ground (A of 
fig. 132). The resistors must be able to 
dissipate about one-third the power ap- 
plied to the antenna and must go to a 
good ground. Since no standing waves 
exist on the antenna, the length of the 
legs need not be a multiple of the half- 
wave. In a nonresonant antenna, maxi- 
mum radiation occurs in the direction of 
the terminating resistor. The lobe of 
maximum radiation then is directed 
toward the open mouth of the V antenna, 
whereas the radiation in the opposite 
direction is largely suppressed. 

(2) A unidirectional ¥V antenna is shown in 
figure 132. The exact values for the 
terminating resistors can be found by a 
cut-and-try method in which various 
values of resistance are used until mini- 
mum standing waves appear on the an- 
tenna. The proper value should be in 
the vicinity of 500 ohms. A nonresonant 
open-wire Jine is used to feed the antenna. 
The unidirectional radiation pattern pro- 
duced by this antenna is shown in # of 
figure 132. 

e. Obtuse-Angle V Antenna. 

(1) If the angle between the legs of the V 
antenna is greater than 90°, the antenna 


INDIVIDUAL 


APEX ANGLE PATTERNS 


Figure 181. 


TERMINATING 
RESISTORS 


RADIATION PATTERN B 


TM 666-136 


Figure 182. Unidirectional V antenna. 


is an obtuse-angle V antenna (fig. 133). 
The value of the obtuse angle is obtained 
by subtracting from 180° the value of 
apex angle for the conventional V antenna 
with the same leg length. 

(2) The following chart shows the correct 
angle for obtuse-angle V antennas of 
various leg lengths: 


MME LLN\ EE MHD 


KY pstsvE CLL 


RESULTANT PATTERN 
AND DIRECTIVITY 


TM 666-135 


Formation of radiation pattern of V antenna. 


Antenna length   Angle between Antenna length / Angle between 


(wavelengths) legs (degrees) (wavelengths) legs (degrees) 
Veosei ee Peres Ue   [a 140 
Qo ceoceweceud 1   ee ee 145 
bs ee eee 122  } 10....___----- 147 
Bae octets 130 


(3) The obtuse-angle V antenna has the ad- 
vantage of maintaining the same direc- 
tivity over a wide frequency range. This 
is so because when the frequency is 
changed, the major lobe of radiation pro- 
duced by one leg shifts in one direction 
and the major lobe produced by the other 
leg shifts in the opposite direction. Al- 

MAXIMUM 
RADIATION 


TM 666-137 


Figure 133. Obtuse-angle V antenna. 
153 


though a broadened lobe occurs and the 
gain is reduced somewhat, the directivity 
is exactly the same. Obtuse-angle V an- 
tennas frequently are terminated by a 
resistor, however, which makes the an- 
tenna nonresonant and unidirectional. 
Such obtuse-angle V antennas are known 
as half-rhombic antennas. 


(4) The obtuse-angle V is objectionable be- 


cause it requires twice the distance of an 
ordinary V antenna and produces less 
gain. For this reason, this antenna is not 
too popular. 


f. Combination V Antennas. 


154 


(1) A single unterminated V antenna radiates 


energy in two directions that are opposite 
toeach other. Combinations of V antennas 
can be used if it is desired to cover more 
directions. For example, nine 6-wave- 
length antenna wires can be erected radi- 
ally with angles of 40° between them 
like the spokes in a wheel. ‘This forms 
nine V antennas, with all apexes meeting 
at a common point. Each one of the 
radial wires serves as a leg for two ad- 
jacent V antennas. Separate feeder lines 
are used for each V antenna. Any one 
of nine different directions can be covered 
by selecting the proper feeder lines 


(2) The radiated power produced by a V an- 


tenna can be doubled approximately by 
the use of two V antennas operating si- 
multaneously. There are, in general, 
three methods of arranging these two an- 
tennas. First, they can be erected paral- 
lel to each other in such a manner that 
one of the V's is a half-wavelength above 
the other. They now are said to be 
stacked. When the antennas are fed in 
phase, approximately twice the radiated 
power is produced. The vertical angle 
of maximum radiation is reduced. Sec- 
ond, the antennas can be erected in such 
a way that a W is formed. The two V’s 
making up the W must be fed in phase. 
Third, the two antennas may be at the 
same height above ground, but one V is 
located a quarter-wavelength in front of 
the other. When the antennas are fed 
so that their currents are 90° out of phase, 
unidirectional radiation occurs. The 
maximum radiation is in the direction of 
the antenna with the lagging current. 


These are called V beams. The same 
principles apply to combinations of V 
antennas to produce beams as apply to 
combinations of other antennas for the 
same purpose (pars. 94 through 109). 


90. Half-rhombic Antenna 


a. General Description. 


The half-rhombic an- 


tenna is a terminated vertical antenna which 


resembles the obtuse-angle V antenna. 


With the 


obtuse-angle V, a balanced transmission line is used 
and ground does not form part of the radiating 


system. 


With the half-rhombic antenna, how- 


ever, an unbalanced transmission line is used and 
ground or a counterpoise is utilized. As a result, 
a vertically polarized radio wave is produced. 

b. Directional Characteristics. 


Q) 


(2) 


(3) 


The development of the radiation pattern 
produced by the half-rhombic antenna is 
shown in figure 134. In A, the half- 
rhombic antenna has not been termi- 
nated. Assume that each leg is 2 wave- 
lengths and that the angle between the 
two legs is correct. A transmitter is con- 
nected between the end of the antenna 
and a good ground. A single-wire count- 
erpoise frequently is used which extends 
for the entire projection of the antenna 
length on the ground. Current from the 
transmitter flows toward the untermi- 
nated end of the antenna where it is re- 
flected back along the antenna, as shown 
by the arrows. As a result of this re- 
flection, standing waves are set up on the 
antenna and lobes of radiation appear as 
shown. 

Lobe 2 combines with lobe 5 to produce 
strong forward radiation from left to 
right. Lobe 4 combines with lobe 7 to 
produce strong rear radiation from right 
to left. These lobes exhibit bidirectional 
directivity along the direction of the 
antenna self. The remaining lobes 
combine in various ways to produce 
several minor lobes in other directions. 
As a transmitting antenna, maximum 
energy is radiated in the directions shown 
by the large two-headed arrow, and as a 
receiving antenna best reception occurs 
an these same directions. 

When a terminating resistor of about 500 
ohms is connected between the far end of 


OIRECTIVITY 


UUM 


INF Hay = 


WU 


TRANSMITTER 


TANALNG aR GROUND OR COUNTERPOISE 71,7 


Wir 


ETNG N= GROUND OR GOUNTERPOISE WATSY 


Llp 


TERMINATING 
RESISTOR 


ao 


TM 666-136 


Figure 134. Development of radiation pattern of half-rhombic antenna. 


the antenna and ground (or counter- 
poise), conditions become different. Cur- 
rent from the transmitter can flow only 
toward the resistor, as shown in B. This 
resistor absorbs any energy that is not 
radiated, and, in so doing, prevents any 
reflection of energy back along the an- 
tenna. Asa result of using the termi- 
nating resistor, lobes 3, 4, 7, and 8 dis- 
appear and only the forward lobes re- 
main. Lobes 2 and 5 combine to produce 
intense radiation in the forward direction, 
from left to right, whereas lobes 1 and 6 
produce minor lobes. Consequently, 
when this half-rhombic antenna is used 


for transmission, it is unidirectional, and 
radiates maximum energy along the 
antenna in the direction of the terminat- 
ing resistor, as shown by the large arrow 
in B. 

(4) When the antenna is used for receiving, 
the antenna current will flow from the 
terminating resistor toward the receiver. 
Signals originating from the direction of 
the resistor will produce maximum effect 
on the receiver. Under these conditions, 
all arrows in B would be shown reversed. 
This is in accordance with the usual 
reciprocity of antennas. 

(5) Two important angles are illustrated. 


155 


T, commonly known as the tilt angle, is 
half the apex angle between the two legs 
of the antenna. It is made to have a 
certain value which is determined by the 
leg length. The wave angle, W, is be- 
tween either maximum lobe of radiation 
and the antenna wire itself. The same 
value for this angle is obtained if meas- 
urement is made between lobe 5 and its 
antenna leg or between lobe 2 and its 
antenna leg. 


c. Design Information. 


156 


(1) Assume that a unidirectional half-rhom- 


bic antenna using a single-wire counter- 
poise is to be designed. It is desirable 
that the legs of the antenna be many 
wavelengths in order to provide maxi- 
mum gain and directivity. For satis- 
factory performance, each leg of a half- 
rhombic antenna must be at least, 1 wave- 
Jength at the lowest. frequency of oper- 
ation. In practice, a leg of at least 2 
wavelengths at the lowest frequency gen- 
erally is used, and some half-rhombic 
antennas use legs of 10 or 12 wave- 
lengths. The leg length usually is limited 
by the size of the available site and the 
directivity required. 


(2) The half-rhombic antenna maintains its 


characteristics over a wide frequency 
range. Frequeney ranges of 2 to 1 and 
4 to 1 are common in practice. For 
example, a half-rhombie antenna de- 
digned for a frequency of 10 me would 
operate satisfactorily to 20 me and would 
be useful to 40 me. Depending on the 
amount of change in gain and directivity 
that can be tolerated, an even greater 
frequeney range can be accommodated. 
In general, as the frequency is raised, 
greater gain and directivity occur. 


(3) Once the leg length has been decided, it 


is necessary to determine the tilt angle 
required for that leg length. The op- 
timum value of tilt angle is a compromise 
between two sets of conditions. First, 
the tilt angle must have such a value that 
the lobes of maximum radiation from 
both legs are in exactly the same direc- 
tion. This is necessary so that the two 
forward lobes can combine properly to 
produce the unidirectional pattern. This 
value of tilt angle is simply 90° less than 


the wave angle. Second, the tilt angle 
must have such a value that the radiation 
in the forward lobe of one leg of the half- 
rhombic antenna combines in phase with 
the radiation in the forward lobe of the 
other leg. This usually requires the pro- 
jection of either leg of the half-rhombic 
antenna on the ground to be a half- 
wavelength shorter than the actual length 
of the leg. When this condition is met, 
the tilt angle will be somewhat smaller 
than the first value obtained. In prac- 
tice, the actual size of the tilt angle is a 
compromise between these two values. 


(4) The following chart gives the value of tilt 


angle to be used in half-rhombic antennas 
of various leg lengths. As in most of the 
charts given so far, antenna length is ex- 
pressed in wavelengths. In order to 
convert these lengths to feet, the formula 
given previously can be used. The 
formula is: 

492(17—0.05) 
frequency (mc) 
where H is the number of half-waves on 
the antenne. A somewhat more con- 
venient form is: 


length (feet)== 


_ 984 (N—0.025) 


length (feet) = iq ne) 
where N is the number of full waves on 
the antenna. Because the length is not 
especially critical and the end effect is so 
small for long antennas, the factor 0.025 
may be neglected in practice. If the 
value of the angle between the two legs 
of the half-rhombic antenna is desired, 
simply double the value of the tilt angle. 


Anter.na ler 
(wavelengt 


ngth =} Tilt angle Antenna length Tilt angle 
its) (degrees) (wavelengths)   (degrees) 
ail 30% 7 °6s., veces ao 67 
ae 50 4 Beco ecco 70 
Sate: BE MOM aeons cee! 71 
i 


eo 62) 12......__.2--   73 


(5) Once the tilt angle and leg lengths are 


known, the height of the apex of the an- 
tenna above ground and the required 
counterpoise length can be calculated. 
In figure 135, a right triangle is formed 
by one of the legs of the antenna, L, 


the height of the apex above ground, ¥CO 


H, and one-half the length of the counter- eae fa 
poise, 4 C. The tilt angle, 7, is one of 

the angles in the right triangle. The sin 50°22 
ratio of the height to the leg length, 2 
H/L, is equal to the cosine of the tilt %0 
angle, cos JT. Assuming that the leg is 0.766=~5— 


2 wavelengths and the tilt angle is 50°, 
as shown in the preceding chart, the 
following relation can be written and 


¥% C=1.532 or 1.5 


solved: C=3. 

econ H eatuals: the counterpoise required is 3 
a wavelengths. 
(7) The following chart gives the height of 
pone 50° att the apex and the length of the counter- 
2 poise required, both in terms of wave- 
H lengths at the operating frequency, for 
0.643=—> half-rhombic antennas of various leg 
lengths. 
H=1.,286 or 1.8. 
Counterpoi: 

Hence, the height of the apex is 1.3 deem teneth: (warclengiay) (wavobecgtin) length (wave. 
wavelengths above ground. To convert §£—————--—---—--—_- eee 
this height into feet, itis necessary only =, 0. 87 1 
to use the same formula ((4) above) for 92 = ss 1.3 3 
converting lengths in wavelengths to feet,  3----------------------------- 1.6 5 
except that end effect need not be con- 4----------------------------- 1.9 7 
sidered. Simplified, the formula is: te ee es a - 
eco eu “AG 19 
length (=, ee ee 3.5 23 


frequency (mc) 


where N is the number of full wave- 


lengths. ad. Practical Antennas. 


(1) The factor that most frequently limits 

the size of the half-rhombic antenna is 

Y the height of the apex above ground. 

& If a very tall support is available for the 

Pry apex, a large antenna, can be erected. 

By’ It is necessary that :the single support 

required, be: made of wood, or other non- 

conductor, so that the operation of the 

antenna is not affected. Steel masts, or 

wooden masts using metal guy wires, 
should not be used. 

(2) The typical military half-rhombic an- 

tenna shown in figure 136 consists of 


£65 


COUNTERPOISE C 
TM 666-139 


Figure 185. Right triangle formed by half-rhombic antenna. 


(6) The ratio between one-half the length of 


of the counterpoise, % C, and the leg 
length, Z, is equal to the sine of the tilt 
angle, sin 7,. Using this relation, the 
length of the counterpoise ean be cal- 
culated for the example given above as 
follows: 


a 100-foot antenna wire erected over a 
single 30-foot wooden mast (supported 
by three rope guys) and an 85-foot 
counterpoise wire laid along the ground. 
The antenna and counterpoise are termi- 
nated in a 500-ohm resistor contained 


157 


158 


Figure 1386. 


in a small terminal box at the far end 
of the antenna. 


(3) The antenna shown can be used with 


low-power transmitters or receivers oper- 
ating at frequencies from 30 te 70 mc 
and equipped with either an r-f output 
impedance of 500 ohms or a suitable 
antenna-matching network, At 30 me, 
the leg is 1% wavelengths, and at 70 
me it is 3% wavelengths. A power gain 
of 4 or 5 occurs at the lowest frequency, 
and a power gain of about iG oecurs at 
the highest operating frequency. 


(4) Since the transmitter or receiver used 


with the half-rhombiec antenna generally 
is located at the end of the antenna, 
direct connections can be made to the 
antenna. If a transmission line must 
be used between the antenna and the 
radio set, a two-wire line with a char- 
acteristic impedance of 500 ohms can 
be used. 


(5) A large half-rhombic antenna. designed 


for frequencies from 3 to 18 ime, has a 
ground-projected length of 625 feet and 
an apex height of 225 feet. The antenna 
is supported by a hydrogen-filied balloon 
in low winds or by a kite in high winds. 
A ballon- or kite-supported helf-rhombic 
antenna, designed for frequencies of   


Typical military half-rhombie antenna. 


to 8 me, has a ground-projected length 
of 1,600 feet and an apex height of 560 
feet. 


91. Rhombic Antenna 


a. General Description. 
(1) The highest development of the long- 


(2 


\ 
} 


wire antenna is the rhombic antenna 
(fig. 137). It consists of four conductors 
joined to form a rhombus, or diamond. 
Ail sides of the antenna have the same 
length and the opposite corner angles 
are equal. The antenna can be con- 
sidered as being made up of two V 
antennas placed end to end and termi- 
nated by a noninductive resistor to 
produce a unidirectional pattern. A 
rhombic antenna can be made of two 
obtuse-angle V antennas which are 
placed side by side, erected in a hori- 
zontal plane, and so terminated as to 
be made nonresonant and unidirectional. 
In common with previous nonresonant 
antennas, the rhombic antenna radiates 
best in the direction of the terminating 
resistor and receives best from the direc- 
tion of the resistor. Maximum radiation 
does not occur in the same direction as 
the plane of the antenna, that is, hori- 


TRANSMISSION 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE 


MAXIMUM RADIATION 


WUD 


MAXIMUM RECEPTION 


SIDE VIEW 


SUPPORT POLE 


INSULATOR 


TERMINATING 
RESISTOR 


TM 666-14! 


Figure 187. Basic rhombic antenna. 


zontally. Instead, it occurs at some 
vertical angle above the horizontal plane, 
as shown by the wave angle, W. The 
tilt angle, 7, is one-half the angle between 
the two legs making up one side of the 
antenna. 

b. Advantages. The rhombic antenna is used 
widely for long-distance high-frequency transmis- 
sion and reception, for reasons explained below. 
It is one of the most popular fixed-station anten- 
nas, being very useful in point-to-point work. 

(1) The rhombic antenna is useful over a 
wide frequency range, a range of 2 to 1 
being covered easily with excellent re- 
sults. Although it is true that some 
changes in gain, directivity, and charac- 
teristic impedance do occur with change 
in operating frequency, these changes are 
small enough to be neglected. A fre- 
quency range of 4 to 1 can be covered by 
a typical rhombic antenna with good 


results, and standard military rhombics 
cover a frequency range of 5 to 1 or 6 to 
1 satisfactorily. 


(2) Another advantage of the rhombic anten- 


(3) 


na is that it is much easier to construct 
and maintain than other antennas of 
comparable gain and directivity. Only 
four supporting poles of common heights 
from 50 to 75 feet are needed for the 
antenna, which has a simple form, being 
made up of four straight lengths of wire. 
The rhombic antenna also has the advan- 
tage of being noncritical so far as opera- 
tion and adjustment are concerned. 
This follows from the broad frequency 
characteristics of the antenna. 


(4) Still another advantage is that the volt- 


ages present on the antenna are much 
lower than those that would be produced 
by the same input power on a resonant 
antenna. This is particularly important 


159 


when high transmitter powers are used or 
when high-altitude operation is required. 
The lower voltages mean less possibility 
of corona loss. 


c. Disadvantages. 
(1) The rhombic antenna is not without its 


disadvantages, probably the principal 
one being that a fairly large antenna site 
is required for its erection. Each leg is 
made at least 1 or 2 wavelengths at the 
lowest operating frequency, and when 
increased gain and directivity are re- 
quired, legs of from 8 to 12 wavelengths 
are used. Such requirements mean that 
high-frequency rhombic antennas have 
leg lengths of several hundred feet, and 
they are used then only when a large plot 
of land is available. 


(2) Another disadvantage is that the hori- 


zontal and vertical patterns depend on 
each other. Ifa rhombic antenna is made 
to have a narrow horizontal beam, the 
beam is also lower in the vertical direc- 
tion. Therefore, it is impossible to 
obtain high vertical-angle radiation ex- 
cept with a very broad horizontal pat- 
tern and low gain. Rhombic antennas 
are used, however, for long-distance sky- 
wave coverage at the high frequencies. 
Under these conditions, low vertical 
angles of radiation (less than 20°) are 
desirable. With the rhombic antenna, 


INDIVIDUAL RADIATION 
PATTERNS 


A 


Figure 138. 


a considerable amount of the input 
power is dissipated uselessly in the ter- 
minating resistor. However, this resistor 
is required in order to make the antenna 
unidirectional, and the great gain of the 
antenna more than makes up for this 
loss. 


d. Operation. 


(1) Figure 138 shows the individual radia- 


(2) 


tion patterns produced by the four legs 
of the rhombic antenna and the resultant 
radiation pattern. If the tilt angle, 7, 
is properly chosen for the length of the 
legs used, the shaded lobes all add to- 
gether to form an intense forward lobe 
in the direction of the terminating re- 
sistor. The principle of operation is the 
same as for the V and the half-rhombic 
antennas. 

Practically all rhombic antennas are 
erected in the horizontal plane. The 
two sides of the antenna are fed with 
currents of opposite polarity. As a 
result, the vertical electric field com- 
ponent of the radiated energy produced 
by one side of the antenna is largely can- 
celled by an equal and opposite electric 
field produced by the other side of the 
antenna. Lines of electric force are pro- 
duced from one side of the antenna to the 
other. Therefore, the polarization of the 


VA set Uy Ly 


MOO LD 


YS 


\ 
q) 


RESULTANT RADIATION 
PATTERN 


B 


TM 666-142 


Formation of rhombic antenna beam. 


radiated field produced by a horizontal 
rhombic antenna is mainly horizontal. 


(3) Very small rhombic antennas can be used 


at the very-high or ultrahigh frequencies. 
These antennas are erected in a vertical 
plane and a vertically polarized wave is 
radiated. Since the greatest percentage 
of rhombic antennas are used at high 
frequencies where the lengths of the legs 
are several hundred feet, most rhombics 
are horizontal. Therefore, the horizon- 
tal polarization is most common. 


e. Directivity and Gain. 
(1) Typical radiation patterns produced by 


rhombic antennas having various leg 
lengths are shown in figure 139. These 
radiation patterns clearly show an in- 
crease in gain and a reduction in the 
beam width of the main lobe as the 
lengths of the legs are increased. The 
wave angle, W, also is reduced as the 
leg lengths are increased. Information 
concerning the exact dimensions for 
optimum output from a rhombic antenna 
is given in paragraph 911 (4). 


(2) The gain of the rhombic antenna for a 


given leg length is considerably greater 
than for any of the other long-wire 
antennas discussed previously. The ap- 
proximate power gains of rhombic an- 
tennas of various leg lengths are shown 
in the following chart, which takes into 


Leg lengt! 
(wavelengt 


account the power lost in the terminating 
resistor. 


aN Power gain Fie Bn Sine) Power gain 
7   ee ae 17.0 
f pendeh eich o sh 7 Hee: ae   Me 5 eo 22. 4 
8.3  } 10..----._---- 28, 2 
wehaoweteised 11.2 


f. Terminating Devices. 


(1) To operate properly, the rhombic antenna 


must be terminated correctly by correct 
value of resistance, which will make it 
unidirectional and nonresonant. The 
input impedance of the rhombic antenna 
then remains constant over a wide fre- 
quency range, and antenna coupling 
circuits need not be readjusted when the 
frequency applied to the antenna is 
changed. The proper value for the 
termination is about 800 ohms. When 
this is used at the far end of the antenna, 
the input impedance of the antenna is 
approximately 700 to 800 ohms. Thus, 
the terminating resistor is slightly higher 
in value than the input impedance of the 
antenna, because of the loss of energy by 
radiation as the traveling wave from the 
transmitter moves toward the terminat- 
ing resistor. 


{> KF &— 


LENGTH OF LEG = 2> 


TN 


N 


WY NPBA 


LENGTH OF LEG = 3% 


DY 


LENGTH OF LEG = 4\ 


= —x\ 
AW 


TM 666-143 


Figure 139. Radiation patterns produced by various rhombig, antennas. 


161 


(2) The termination used with the rhombic 


antenna must be a pure resistance at all 
frequencies at which the antenna is to 
operate. If any reactance is associated 
with the termination, some reflection of 
energy occurs and standing waves are set 
up on the antenna, causing variations in 
characteristics and radiation pattern 
when the frequency applied to the an- 
tenna is changed. 


(3) The terminating resistance must dissipate 


a little less than one-half the power ap- 
plied to the input terminals of the an- 
tenna. For transmitter powers up to 
1,000 watts, noninductive carbon re- 
sistors generally are used. These re- 
sistors are available in power ratings up 
to approximately 100 or 200 watts each. 
Frequently, several resistors are paralled 
to provide for adequate power rating. 
The total rated wattage of the resistors 
should equal one-half the transmitter 
wattage. For example, five 150-watt, 
3,000-ohm carbon resistors connected 
in parallel provide a 600-ohm load (re- 
quired for special types of rhombics) 
which will handle a transmitter power of 
1,000 watts with a 50-percent safety 
factor. To reduce capacitance in the 
terminating load, several resistors some- 


TOP VIEW 


times are connected in series, and t. 

capacitances across each resistor thet. 
are in series so that a reduction in ter- 
mination capacitance results. The ter- 
minating resistors frequently are mount- 
ed within a weatherproofed wooden box 
located atop the pole which supports the 
terminated end of the antenna. Con- 
necting leads to the terminating re- 
sistors are made as short as possible to 
minimize the amount of added reactance. 


(4) The insulators used with the rhombic 


antenna, and the supporting wires and 
fittings, sometimes introduce enough 
reactance to require precise adjustment 
of the terminating load to balance it out. 
It is more convenient, then, to mount 
the terminating resistors in a box that 
is near the ground rather than at the top 
of a pole. When this is done, the far 
end of the rhombic antenna is connected 
to the terminating resistors by means of 
an 800-ohm nonresonant transmission 
line. 


(5) For powers in excess of 1,000 watts, car- 


bon resistors are not available that will 
dissipate the necessary power. Lengths 
of transmission line constructed to have 
the proper impedance value, and made 
of wire that is a poor conductor, are used. 


0 er 
ee ere oe wep bai 


LEAD TO END OF 
RHOMBIC ANTENNA 


1,3° 


SIDE VIEW 


DISSIPATION LINE 


TM 666-144 


Figure 140. Dissipation line used with standard military rhombic antenna. 
162 


Most of these dissipation lines are made 
of #14 AWG solid, annealed, stainless- 
steel wire, and take two general forms: 
(a) One, a two-wire stainless-steel trans- 
mission line, is spaced properly to pro- 
vide a correct termination for the 
rhombic antenna. The spacing is 
uniform along the entire length of the 
line. If sufficient length is provided, 
the energy is so attenuated by the high 
resistance of the wire that the far end 
can be grounded directly for lightning 
protection. One such dissipation line 
is 1,000 feet long and is run back and 
fourth four times between supporting 
poles, 250 feet apart. The entire dis- 
sipation line is mounted beneath the 
rhombic antenna which it terminates. 
(6) A more common dissipation line which 
requires less than one-third as much 
steel wire is shown in figure 140. This 
line is used with standard military 
rhombic antennas. 


(6) The dissipation line includes, all in..one 


length, the downlead from the end of the 


rhombic antenna. The downlead portion 
is made up as a two-wire line with each 
wire being made of two strands of the 
steel wire twisted together. The spacing 
between the two wires is 12 inches so that 
the characteristic impedance produced 
is about 650 ohms. The downlead be- 
comes part of the horizontal portion of 
the dissipation line by a right-angle bend, 
and at this point a modified exponential 
line begins (fig. 141). 


(7) The two-wire downlead is transformed 


into a four-wire dissipation line without 
the necessity of joining or splicing. The 
12-inch spacing starts diminishing and 
the two strands making up each line of 
the two-wire line now become separate 
spaced lines. In this manner, in a line 
length of 62.5 feet, the 12-inch spacing 
tapers down to a 5.5-inch spacing as the 
side members spread apart to 1.3 inches 
at the dissipation-line spreader insulator. 
From this point on, in a line length of an 
additional 62.5 feet, the 5.5-inch spacing 
tapers down to 1.3 inches, whereas the 


TM 666-145 


Figure 141. Dissipation line detatl showing terminating assembly. 


163 


164 


36° WIRE ROPE 


3;g WIRE ROPE 


#14 
STAINLESS STEEL WIRE 


3 STRAND, # 12 
COPPERWELD WIRE ~-—~-N4 
TO GROUND 


TM 666-1466 


Figure 142. Dissipation line detail showing terminating assembly. 


side members remain spaced 1.3 inches 
apart. Then, the line continues as a 
1.3-inch, square-spaced, four-wire line. 
The modified exponential portion of the 
dissipation line transforms the approxi- 
mately 650-ohm impedance of the down- 
lead to about 200 ohms. 


(8) The equally spaced four-wire portion of 


the dissipation line is fundamentally two 
400-ohm lines in parallel, one terminated 
in an open circuit and the other ter- 
minated in a short circuit. Such an 
arrangement improves the electrical 
balance and symmetry of the termination. 
The short-circuited end can be connected 
to ground (fig. 142) to provide for 
lightning protection. The three small 
pulleys shown are used to equalize the 
tension on the individual wires making 
up the line. A wire rope at the end of 
the assembly is passed through the large 
pulley and made fast to a concrete 
weight which maintains tension on the 
line, preventing excessive sagging. 


g. Checking Termination. 
(1) Unless the correct value of termination 


for the rhombic antenna is used, unde- 
sired resonance effects occur. This 
makes the antenna coupling critical, and 
adjustments must be made when the 
applied frequency is changed. Lack of 
symmetry from improper termination 
causes an undesirable shift in the 
directivity pattern of the antenna, and 
the resultant unbalanced reactance may 
introduce undesirable resonance effects. 


(2) In checking the rhombic antenna for 


proper termination, advantage is taken of 
the fact that a properly terminated an- 
tenna has an input impedance that is 
purely resistive. With a perfectly bal- 
anced antenna having the correct value of 
terminating resistance, no reflection of 
energy occurs on the antenna and no re- 
actance appears at the input terminals. 
Therefore, if a balanced oscillator is con- 
nected to the input terminals of a prop- 
erly terminated rhombic antenna, no 


change in oscillator frequency should 
occur. 

(3) The balanced (push-pull) oscillator used 
should have a high L-C ratio-tank circuit 
so that small values of reactance, which 
are usually capacitive with improperly 
terminated rhombic antennas, may have 
considerable effect on the oscillator fre- 
quency. To insure that the oscillator is 
not too heavily loaded, the correct tap 
points on the oscillator tank coil can be 
predetermined with an 800-ohm nonin- 
ductive resistor as load. 

(4) The oscillator first is set at a frequency 
within the operating range of the rhombic 
antenna. The oscillator frequency then 
is carefully measured with a heterodyne 
frequency meter or with a stable com- 
munication receiver having a beat-fre- 
quency oscillator, and the antenna is 
connected to the oscillator. If the rhom- 
bic antenna is perfectly terminated, the 
frequency meter or the receiver should 
indicate no change in oscillator frequency. 
In actual practice, since a perfect termi- 
nation is difficult to produce, a very small 
frequency shift can be tolerated. A 
possibility exists in which little or no 
change in oscillator frequency occurs, 
with the antenna not properly terminated. 
This happens if the antenna is resonant 
at the particular frequency used for the 
check. To eliminate this possibility, 
the frequency shift should be measured 
at a different oscillator frequency. If 
considerable frequency shift occurs when 
the antenna is connected to the oscillator, 
a recheck should be done with the value of 
the terminating resistor changed about 5 
or 10 percent, and this procedure should 
be continued until a resistance value is 
found that produces the least effect on 
the oscillator frequency when the antenna 
is connected. When a rhombic antenna 
is to be used over a wide frequency range, 
this procedure should be repeated for 
several frequencies within the desired 
frequency range. Then an average value 
for the proper terminating resistance can 
be used. 

(5) To use the procedure explained above, it 
is necessary that the test oscillator be 
battery-operated and portable, so that 


the oscillator can be carried up the pole 
which supports the input end of the 
antenna to permit direct connections at 
the input terminals. If the oscillator 
must be used on the ground below the 
rhombic antenna, a length of two-wire 
line is used to connect it to the input 
terminals of the antenna. This line 
must be a half-wavelength at the fre- 
quency at which the rhombic termination 
is to be checked. The frequency of the 
oscillator should be adjusted so that 
there is no change in oscillator frequency 
when the connecting line is connected or 
disconnected from the oscillator. Sev- 
eral separate half-wave connecting lines 
must be used to check the antenna ter- 
mination at several frequencies within 
the operating range. 
h. Design Information. 

(1) In. designing a rhombic antenna, the 
first consideration is usually a determi- 
nation of the wave angle, W, needed to 
cover the required distance when a given 
frequency is used at a certain time of the 
day. Such information can be obtained 
from charts and information given in 
TM 11-499, Radio Propagation Hand- 
book. 

(2) The following chart shows some typical 
wave angles required to provide sky- 
wave communication over various great- 
circle distances. The wave angles used 
are invariably less than 30°. 


Wave angle (degrees) 


Great-circle distance (miles) 
1-hop E 1-hop F 2-hop F 
transmission   transmission   transmission 


71,   ea ea eR D1 OR ee eh eee 
BOO ope vewaves! 1G ieecscendll easetaees 
(  ee eee 7 7) eee ene: 
1,000 _....--------- 4 cs eee eee 
1 BOO" nk th tgs Jal San Sates 9 25 
9000 vo weet aaleineen se 4 17 
71 ene Sterne Ne “tema reet 12 


(3) For a given vertical wave angle, a rhombic 
antenna produces maximum power out- 
put when its leg length, L, tilt angle, 7, 
and height above ground, H, have 
certain definite values. These values 
are all interdependent and any change 


165 


Wave angle (degrees) 


(4) 


from the optimum value results in a 
reduction in power at the desired wave 
angle. 


The following chart gives the proper 
values for these factors at various wave 
angles. Wave angles less than 10° are 
not shown. This does not mean that 
such angles are not required but rather 
that the rhombic antenna designed for 
maximum output at such low angles is 
prohibitively large. 


Optimum 
Optimum 
leg length height above 


ground 
(wavelengths) (wavelengths) 


Optimum 
tilt angle 
(degrees) 


— 
o 
, 
3 
i 
' 
1 
' 
' 
‘ 
‘ 
' 
' 
' 
' 
1 
' 
1 
' 
(o.4] 
o 
ht 


166 


(6) 


Frequently, a sufficiently large antenna 
site is not available for the erection of a 
rhombic antenna of proper size to pro- 
duce maximum output. For example, 
according to the chart above, a leg of 
17 wavelengths is required for a wave 
angle of 10°. If such an antenna is to 
operate on a frequency of 8 .mc, for 
example, each leg would have to be 
over 2,000 feet long. This antenna 
would require over a mile and a half 
of antenna wire for its construction, and 
the installation would prove difficult. 
Therefore, rhombic antenna dimensions 
are chosen which represent a compro- 
mise design. 

When a rhombic antenna is designed 
with leg length definitely limited, the 
gain of the antenna is less than if the 
dimensions shown in the preceding chart 
are used. All of the advantages of the 
antenna given previously still apply, 
however, and rhombic antennas of a 
compromise design are used widely. 


(7) The following chart shows the dimensions 


to be used when constructing a rhombic 
antenna limited to legs of 2 wavelengths. 


Tit 1 Height above 
Wave angle (degrees)   (deeren). Gear asnathss 
Doe hee Omion de Se BS eee fe   52 3. 00 
1Qo 2222 ssag. codon nce neseuee Se   52.5 1. 45 
DO ae i a eg he 54 1. 00 
?   ee PO ee   55 . 75 
1; a   57.5 . 60 
BOF eee ce SP aie Bee as ng   60 . 50 
(8) When the limit is 3 wavelengths, the 
dimensions in the following chart apply. 
The required heights above ground are 
the same as given in the previous table 
for similar wave angles. 
1 aT >, 

Wave angle Tilt angle   Wave angle Tilt angle 

(degrees (degrees) (degrees) (degrees) 
Baanen enone] 59   20......-2.2... 63. 5 

10_..--.------  60    25...-...-.-..-- 65 
ere ee   G2. S0iors sea cee et eceon a 

  


A tilt angle is not given when a wave angie of 30° is required. No com- 
promise in design is needed, since a rhombic antenna with leg limited to only 
2 wavelengths and with a tilt angle of 60° can be used to produce maximum 
output. 


(9) When the leg is limited to 4 wavelengths, 
the dimensions given in the following 
chart apply. Here again the required 
heights above ground are the same as 
those given in the previous charts for 
similar wave angles. Where no tilt 
angle is given, no compromise in dimen- 
sions is required. 


Wave angle Tilt angle Wave angle Tilt angle 
(degrees) (degrees) (degrees) (degrees) 
  eee 63.5    20..-_.._-.-- 68. 5 
192222 55262522 64.5 20226824 Sew he So eee ales 
162.2222 50252   66. 5 OO see ee lcee th eee ae 
  i 


i. Standard Designs. 
(1) Most rhombic antennas used for military 
applications are based on certain stand- 
ardized dimensions which make satisfac- 

tory operation possible over a frequency 

range of from 4 to 22 mc. This range 
includes the frequencies that commonly 

are used for long-distance point-to-point 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE TO 
TRANSMITTER 


sky-wave communication between fixed 
stations. 


(2) The seven standard sizes used are desig- 


nated as rhombic antennas A through 
G, inclusive. Antenna A is the largest 
rhombic and it is used when communica- 
tion is required between points over 
3,000 miles apart. The leg of this 
antenna is about 1% wavelengths at the 
lowest operating frequency (4 mc) and 
about 8 wavelengths .at the highest 
operating frequency (22 mc). Antenna 
G, the smallest rhombic, is used when 
communication is required between points 
that are from 200 to 400 miles apart. 
The leg of this antenna is somewhat less 
than 1 wavelength at the lowest operating 
frequency and about 5 wavelengths at the 
highest operating frequency. Rhombic 


PLAN VIEW 
Figure 148. Standard military rhombic antennas. 


TERMINATING 


antennas B through F inclusive have 
intermediate ranges and leg lengths. 


(3) Complete kits are available which include 


FRONT 
j POLE 


ISOMETRIC 
VIEW 


all necessary material for the construction 
of standard military rhombic antennas. 
The four large poles or metal supports 
used are designated as side poles, front 
pole, and rear pole in the isometric view 
of the rhombic antenna (fig. 143). 
Terminating resistors, or a dissipation 
line, are connected at the corner of the 
antenna supported by the front pole. 
The transmission line which connects 
the transmitter or receiver to the antenna 
is attached to the corner supported by 
the rear pole. As shown in the plan 
view, the side poles and the front pole 
are located 3 feet from the corners of the 
antenna which they support, and the 


2.5° 
MILES 


TM 666-147 


167 


rear pole is located 8 inches from the cor- 
ner which it supports. These distances 
permit the installation of strain insulators 
and supporting harnesses which attach 
the antenna to the poles. 


(4) The chart given below indicates the essen- 


tial dimensions used in the seven standard 
rhombic antennas, along with the useful 
ranges of these antennas. The various 
letters designate dimensions that are indi- 
cated in the plan view of figure 143. All 
linear dimensions are given in feet. ZL 
refers to the leg length measured from 
corner tocorner. This includes the length 
of the strain insulators used at the front 


and rear poles. TJ refers to the size of the 
tilt angle in degrees, as previously defined. 
His the average height of the antenna 
above average ground level. The harness 
which ties the antenna corners to the 
poles usually is attached to the noles at a 
height 1 to 2 feet above H. Wéis the pole 
spacing along the minor axis of the an- 
tenna. X is the distance between the 
rear pole and the point at which the axes 
cross as measured along the major axis, 
and Y is the distance between the front 
pole and the point at which the axes cross 
as measured along the major axis. 


  Range L T H w x Y 
Type (miles) (feet) (degrees) (feet) (feet) (feet) (feet) 
p ; Came eee nage ee ES 3, 000 + 375 70 65 262. 4 352. 7 355 
Bo seieces eet Coke e eet ee] 2, 000-3, 000 350 70 60 245. 6   329. 6 331. 8 
Cit 2 eee neve ee eet 1, 500-2, 000 315 70 57 221.6 296. 7 299 
Di re i Se i ete 1, 000-1, 500 290 67.5 55 228 268. 7 271 
pe en ee Cane ee Pee 2 600-1, 000 270 65 53 234 245. 4 247.7 
Bie Sh Sah ee tees SS eee a 400-600 245 62.5 51 232 219 221. 3 
Geek acd eel aesess ses 200-400 225 60 50   231 195. 7 198 
i 


j. Multiwire Rhombics. 


168 


(1) A rhombic antenna will improve in per- 


formance if more than a single conductor 
is used to form each leg. The most com- 
mon of the multiwire rhombics is the 
three-wire type (fig. 144). The spacing 
between the three wires forming this an- 
tenna increases continuously as the side 
poles are approached. At this point, a 
separation of 6 feet exists between 
adjacent conductors. 


(2) When this type is used, the capacitance 


of the antenna per unit length increases 
as the separation between the two sides 
increases. Along the minor axis where 
the two sides of the antenna are spread 
farthest apart, the three conductors have 
their maximum capacitance, and the 
characteristic impedance of the antenna, 
therefore, does not vary along its length 
as it, does in a single conductor. 


(3) Two advantages occur with the multi- 


wire rhombic. First, the input im- 
pedance of the antenna is held at a more 
constant value over a given range of 
frequencies. Second, the value of input 


impedance is reduced somewhat so that 
a better impedance match to ordinary 
two-wire line is possible. An ordinary 
single-wire rhombic antenna designed to 
operate over a frequency range from 4 
to 22 mc may have an input resistance of 
850 ohms at 4 mc, 700 ohms at 14 me, 
and 625 ohms at 22 me. If a three- 
wire rhombic is used instead, it will have 
an input resistance of 600 ohms plus or 
minus 50 ohms over this same frequency 
range. At the samne time, a conventional 
600-ohm two-wire line can provide prac- 
tically an ideal impedance match. In 
addition, the three-wire rhombic has a 
slight gain (about   db) over the single- 
wire type. 


k. Methods of Feeding. 
(1) The most common method of feeding a 


rhombic antenna is by means of a non- 
resonant two-wire line. With this line, 
the wide frequency range of the rhombic 
antenna is not restricted by transmission- 
line limitations. 


(2) When a single-wire rhombic is used, the 


transmission-line impedance required is 


DuURUD sIQuoYs osinanpY “FYT 24nbrg 


169 


approximately 700 to 800 ohms. A two- 
wire line having such a high value of 
characteristic impedance would have a 
fairly wide spacing. As a result of the 
wide spacing, considerable radiation loss 
occurs from the line. To avoid this loss, 
two alternatives are possible. First, a long 
tapering section of transmission can be 
used as an impedance-matching section. 
The spacing between the two conductors 
is greatest at the end of the section con- 
nected to the antenna; therefore the im- 
pedance is high enough to match the 
antenna. The spacing at the other end 
of the tapered section is least, resulting 
in a low value of impedance. If the 
tapered section, known as an exponential 
matching section, is designed to have an 
impedance of 600 ohms at its small end, 
ordinary 600-ohm two-wire line can be 
used between the low-impedance end of 
the matching section and the transmitter 
or receiver that is to be connected to the 
antenna. If the exponential matching 
section is designed to have a low im- 
pedance of 200 to 300 ohms, ordinary 
four-wire line can be used The second 
alternative involves the use of 600-ohm 
two-wire line directly connected to the 
end of the rhombic antenna. Since the 
standing-wave ratio is so small, the 
added loss resulting from a slight mis- 
match may be low enough to neglect in 
all cases except those in which peak 
efficiencies are required. In this method, 
the coupling to the transmitter may 
have to be readjusted slightly as the 
frequency is changed. 


(3) When a three-wire rhombic antenna is 


used, the transmission line impedance 
required is 600 ohms. It is then neces- 
sary only to connect an ordinary two- 
wire open line having a 600-ohm imped- 
ance between the antenna and the trans- 
mitter. 


l. Lobe Alinement. 


170 


(1) When a rhombic antenna is designed 


according to the information given in the 
previous charts, it produces maximum 
output at the supposedly desired vertical 
wave angle. If the vertical radiation 
pattern of such an antenna is examined, 
it will be noted that the maximum output. 


power actually is produced at a vertical 
angle which is a few degrees less than the 
desired wave angle. The peak of the 
maximum radiation lobe falls slightly be- 
low the wave angle for which the antenna 
is designed, as illustrated by lobe A in 
the vertical pattern of figure 145. 


Mtb bp 


HORIZONTAL PATTERN 


TM 666-149 
Figure 146. Lobe alinement patterns. 


(2) Since no other combination of leg length, 


tilt angle, and height above ground will 
produce a rhombic antenna having a 
greater radiation at the desired wave 
angle, changing any of these factors 
would serve to reduce the gain of the 
antenna at the desired wavelength. It 
is entirely normal then for the peak of the 
lobe to occur at & vertical angle that is a 
few degrees less than the wave angle for 
which the antenna is designed. 


(3) When a rhombic antenna is designed so 


that the peak of the lobe occurs just at 
the desired wave angle, the radiation 
pattern produced is illustrated by lobe 
B. This may be desirable if a somewhat 
sharper vertical radiation pattern is re- 
quired along with a somewhat broader 
horizontal radiation pattern. Some 
rhombic receiving antennas are designed 
that produce this type of pattern in order 
to minimize noise originating near the 
ground level, and to improve the signal- 
to-noise ratio of the antenna. 


(4) When the pattern illustrated by lobe B 


is required, the lobe alinement method is 
used in designing the antenna. The 
dimensions given in the previous charts 


can be used in the lobe alinement design, 
except that the length of each leg of the 
antenna is shortened to three-quarters of 
the leg length required to produce maxi- 
mum output. When the lobe alinement 
method is used, there is a reduction in 
gain of about 1 or 2 db at the desired 
wave angle. 


m. Ground Effects. 


ANTENNA HEIGHT ABOVE GROUND 
(IN WAVELENGTHS) 


(1) The effect of ground reflections on the 


radiation pattern of the rhombic antenna 
is exactly the same as with any horizontal 
antenna. There is one optimum height 
above ground at which reflection of 
radiated energy from the ground acts to 
produce maximum radiation at a given 
wave angle. This is the height which 
has been given in the preceding charts 
that show rhombic antenna dimensions. 


(2) As the height of the antenna above 


ground is increased, the wave angle at 
which maximum radiation occurs is 
reduced (fig. 146). 


5 10 15 20 25 30 


WAVE ANGLE (IN DEGREES) 
TM 666-150 


Figure 146. Graph showing variation in wave angle for 


different antenna heights. 


(3) The ground above which the rhombic 


antenna is installed should be flat and 
free from obstructions, and it should 
have a uniform conductivity. If these 
precautions are not observed, the actual 
required height of the antenna will be 
difficult to determine because the actual 
height required above ground may be 


considerably different for a given wave 
angle than is shown in the graph. If a 
rhombic antenna must be installed above 
uniformly sloping ground, it is possible 
to design the antenna in such a way that 
it compensates for the ground slope. 
For example, assume that a rhombic 
antenna is to be designed with a wave 
angle of 15°, to be erected over ground 
which has a 5° downward slope toward 
the front pole of the antenna. The 
required wave angle can be produced by 
designing the rhombic to produce a 20° 
wave angle and mounting the antenna 
parallel to the ground. 


n. Resonant Rhombics. 
(1) All of the rhombic antennas discussed so 


far have been terminated properly so 
that a unidirectional radiation pattern is 
produced. In practically every case 
where a rhombic antenna is referred to, 
this is the type used. If, however, the 
terminating resistance is removed from 
the antenna, a resonant rhombic is 
produced. 


(2) Since the resonant rhombic antenna is 


unterminated, energy traveling from the 
transmission line to the far end of the 
antenna is reflected back, and standing 
waves of voltage and current are set up 
along the conductors making up the 
antenna. 


(3) The input impedance of such an antenna 


is no longer in the vicinity of 800 ohms, 
but instead, is a much higher value. 
This means that it must be fed by resonant 
transmission lines, or that impedance- 
matching sections are necessary. As a 
result, the antenna cannot be used over a 
wide frequency range unless extensive 
retuning of the coupling system occurs 
along with considerable readjustment of 
the impedance-matching sections. 


(4) The radiation pattern of a resonant 


rhombic antenna is bidirectional slong 
the major axis of the antenna. [If it is 
desired to transmit or receive in only one 
direction, the resonant rhombic should 
not be used. This may interfere with 
other communication when the antenna 
is used for reception, since undesired 
signals and noise will be received from 


171 


the direction that is opposite to the 
desired direction of reception. This low- 
ers the signal-to-noise ratio. 

(5) In addition to the undesired major lobe 
that is produced to the rear of the anten- 
na, the radiation pattern of the resonant 
rhombic antenna changes considerably 
when the applied frequency is changed. 
For example, a certain lobe pattern is 
produced when the antenna leg is 2 
wavelengths, and another pattern is 
produced when the frequency is raised 
so that the leg is 24 wavelengths. 

(6) The gain of a resonant rhombic antenna is 
less than that of a nonresonant terminated 
rhombic. In the terminated antenna, 
less than one-half the input power is dis- 
sipated by the terminating resistance so 
that more than one-half the input power 
is radiated into space. In the unterm- 
inated or resonant rhombic antenna, the 
radiation divides equally; one-half the 
available input power is radiated toward 
the front and one-balf toward the rear. 


92. Summary 


a. Antenna directivity is the ability of an 
antenna to radiate or receive energy better in 
some directions than in others. 

b. An antenna is said to have gain when it pro- 
duces a greater field strength at a given distant 
receiving point than does a standard half-wave 
antenna. The standard antenna is assumed to be 
at the same position and height above the earth 
and is oriented to produce the same polarization. 

c. A long-wire or harmonic antenna is one with 
length greater than a half-wavelength and with 
current distribution such that there is a reversal 
of current flow in adjacent half-wave sections. 

d. As the length of a long-wire antenna is in- 
creased, the gain increases, the lobes of maximum 
radiation lie closer to the antenna itself, and a 
greater number of minor lobes is produced. 

e. In general, the effects of ground on long-wire 
antennas are the same as with the basic half-wave 
antenna. 

jf. A nonresonant antenna is terminated in a 
resistance equal to its characteristic impedance. 
As a result, standing waves no longer exist on the 
antenna and the radiation pattern becomes 
unidirectional. 

g. The Beverage or wave antenna is a single 


172 


terminated wire of 2 or more wavelengths, sup- 
ported on poles a short distance above ground. 
It is used to transmit or receive vertically polar- 
ized ground waves, particularly at low radio 
frequencies. The operation depends on a process 
known as wave tilt. 

h. The V antenns consists of two horizontal 
long wires arranged to form a VY, and fed at the 
apex with currents of opposite phase. The radia- 
tion pattern is bidirectional along a line which 
bisects the apex angle. 

1, The V antenna can be made unidirectional by 
connecting 500-ohm noninductive resistors be- 
tween the far ends of the legs of the V antenna and 
ground. 

j. The half-rhombic antenna is a terminated 
vertical antenna which has the form of an obtuse- 
angle V. This antenna works in conjunction with 
a ground or a counterpoise. An unbalanced 
transmission line is used to feed the antenna. 

k. The radiation from a half-rhombic antenna 
is unidirectional in the direction of the terminating 
resistor. A vertically polarized radio wave is 
produced by this antenna. 

l. The rhombic antenna is the highest develop- 
ment of the long-wire antenna. It is used widely 
for long-distance high-frequency point-to-point 
communication. 

m. The rhombic antenna is useful over a wide 
frequency range. It is easier to construct and 
maintain than are other antennas of comparable 
gain and directivity. The antenna is noncritical 
so far as operation and adjustment are concerned. 

n. Noninductive resistors are used to terminate 
the rhombic antenna used for receiving or for 
low transmitter powers. Dissipation lines are 
used for termination when high transmitter powers 
are applied to the rhombic antenna. 

o. A balanced oscillator can be used to check a 
rhombic antenna for correct termination. If the 
oscillator frequency does not change when it is 
connected to the antenna, no reactance is present 
at the input terminals of the antenna, and proper 
termination exists. 

p. Standard military rhombic antennas are 
designed for frequencies from about 4 to 22 me 
at ranges from 200 to over 3,000 miles. 

gq. A multiwire rhombic antenna has a lower 
and a more constant value of input impedance 
over a given frequency range than does the single- 
wire type. 

r. Resonant rhombic antennas have _ bidirec- 
tional radiation patterns, high input impedances, 


varying characteristics over a given frequency 
range, and slightly less gain than do the conven- 
tional terminated rhombic antennas. 


93. Review Questions 


a. What is meant by antenna directivity? 

b. How is antenna gain measured and in what 
units is it expressed? 

c. Describe a long-wire antenna. 

d. In general, what happens to the radiation 
pattern of an antenna as its length is increased? 

e. Calculate the length in feet of a long-wire 
antenna which is to have two full waves of current 
distributed along its length at 4 mc. 

jf. How is radiation resistance affected as the 
length of a long-wire antenna is increased? 

g. How can long-wire antennas be fed? 

h. Distinguish between resonant and nonreso- 
nant antennas. 

i. What is the wave antenna? 

7. What value of terminating resistance is 
required for the Beverage antenna? 

k. What is meant by the term wave tilt? 

l. Describe the V antenna. 

m. Discuss the radiation pattern of the V 


antenna and describe in general how such a pattern 
is produced. 

n. Distinguish between the angles known as 
the tilt angle and the wave angle. 

o. Describe the half-rhombic antenna. 

p. What is the radiation pattern of the half- 
rhombic antenna? 

q. Distinguish between the half-rhombic an- 
tenng and the obtuse-angle V antenna. 

r. Give several methods of supporting the 
apex of the half-rhombic antenna. 

s. Give several advantages of a rhombic 
antenna. 

t. Give some disadvantages of a rhombic 
antenna. 

u, What is the polarization of a radiated wave 
transmitted by a rhombic antenna? How is this 
polarization produced? 

v. What is the purpose of a dissipation line? 

w. How can the termination of a rhombic 
antenna be checked? 

z. Describe the multiwire rhombic antenna 
and give some advantages of this type over the 
single-wire antenna. 

y. How can rhombic antennas be fed? 

z. Give some characteristics of the resonant 
rhombic antenna. 


173 


CHAPTER 5 
DRIVEN AND PARASITIC ARRAYS 


Section I. 


94. Multielement Arrays 


One means of attaining increased antenna gain 
and directivity is by use of the multielement 
array. The long wire, regardless of its length, is 
looked upon as a single radiating or receiving ele- 
ment; the array is a combination of elements 
which, considered separately, could be individual 
antennas. These elements act together or upon 
each other to produce a given radiation pattern. 
Various factors influence the choice of methods 
used to produce high directivity. Whereas the 
long-wire antenna often is preferred where recep- 
tion or transmission on more than one frequency 
is required and where gain or directivity require- 
ments are moderate, the more exact phasing and 
determination of element lengths in the array 
make for a more regular radiation pattern. Since 
fewer minor lobes are developed, available power 
is concentrated in the major lobe or lobes, and 
therefore there is greater gain and sharper direc- 
tivity in the favored direction. In a given avail- 
able space, the elements of an array can be so 
arranged as to provide greater gain than a long- 
wire antenna confined to the same space. 


95. Definitions 


a. Types of Elements. 

(1) As a special arrangement involving new 
factors and concepts, the array requires 
special terminology. It is made up of 
more than one element, but the basic 
element is, generally, the half-wave dipole. 
Sometimes it is made to have more or 
less than this length, but the deviation 
usually is not great. 

(2) A driven element is connected directly to 
the transmission line. It obtains its 
power directly from the transmitter or, 
in reception, it applies the received 
energy directly to the receiver. A para- 
sitic element, on the other hand, derives 


174 


INTRODUCTION 


its power from another element in the 
same array. It is placed close enough to 
the other element to permit coupling and 
it is excited in this way. 

(3) If all of the elements in a given array are 
driven, the array is called a driven array. 
The term connected array. sometimes is 
used to described this type. If one or 
more elements are parasitic, the entire 
system usually is considered to be a 
parasitic array. 

(4) A parasitic element sometimes is placed so 
that it will produce maximum radiation 
(in transmission) from its associated 
driver, and it operates to reinforce energy 
going from the driver toward itself. When 
so used, the parasitic element is referred 
to as a director. If a parasitic element is 
placed on the other side of the driven 
element ‘and causes maximum energy 
radiation in the direction from itself to- 
ward the driven element, it is called a 
reflector. 

b. Directwity. Multielement arrays frequently 
are classified as-to their directivity. A bidzrectional 
array radiates in both opposite directions along the 
line of maximum radiation. A unidirectional arra 
radiates in only one direction. 


c. Types of Arrays. 

(1) Arrays have been described above with 
respect to their radiation patterns and 
the types of elements which comprise 
them. It is useful, however, to identify 
them by the physical placement of the 
elements and the direction of radiation in 
respect to these elements. Generally 
speaking, the term broadside array desig- 
nates any one in which the direction of 
maximum radiation is perpendicular to 
the plane containing the elements. In 
practice, however, this term is confined 
to those arrays in which the elements 


themselves are also broadside or parallel 
in respect to each other. 

(2) A collinear array is one in which all the 
elements lie in the same straight line. 
The direction of propagation is broadside 
to the array. 

(3) An end-fire array is one in which the 
principal direction of radiation is along 
the plane of the array itself. 

(4) Sometimes a system is used incorporating 
characteristics of more than one of the 
three types mentioned above. For 
instance, some of the elements may be 
collinear, others may be parallel. Such 
an arrangement often is referred to as a 
combination array or an array of arrays, 
although, since maximum radiation 
occurs at right angles to the plane of the 
array, the term broadside array could be 
used. 

d. Front-To-Back Ratio. The front-to-back ratio 
is the proportion between energy radiated in 
the principal direction to the energy radiated in 
the opposite direction. 


96. Phasing 


a. Coupling in Space. 

(1) Various reflected and refracted compo- 
nents of the propagated wave create cer- 
tain effects of reinforcement and cancela- 
tion. At certain points distant from the 
transmitter, some of these components 
meetin space. Reception at these points 
is either impaired or improved. If the 
different components arrive at a given 
point in the same phase, they add, mak- 
ing a stronger signal available, and if they 
arrive out of phase, they cancel. 

(2) Effects of this kind are caused by factors 
operating some distance from the point 
of transmission. It is possible to cause 
somewhat similar effects to occur at the 
transmitting point itself. Consider an- 
tennas A and B, figure 147. They are 
two dipoles perpendicular to the plane of 
the page and are, therefore, shown as 
points. They are spaced a quarter- 
wavelength apart at the operating fre- 
quency. The radiation from either an- 
tenna, operating alone, is uniform in all 
directions in this plane. Consequently, 
the pattern produced by each antenna is 


a circle with the antenna at its center. 
Suppose, however, that current is being 
fed to both antennas from the same 
transmitter, but in such a way that the 
current fed to antenna B lags the current 
in antenna A by 90°, or the time required 
for a quarter of a cycle. Energy radiat- 
ing from antenna A toward receiving 
location X reaches antenna B after \% 
cycle of operation. When it reaches an- 
tenna B, it meets the radiation from that 
antenna toward X in exactly the same 
phase. Therefore, radiation from both 
antennas add, and propagation toward 
X is strong. Radiation from antenna B 
toward receiving location Y reaches an- 
tenna A after 4 cycle. Since the energy 
in antenna A was \ cycle behind that of 
antenna B to begin with, the radiation 
from both antennas toward receiving 
point Y are exactly 180° out of phase 
when they join. Asa result, they cancel 
and no radiation occurs toward Y. At 
receiving points away from the line of 
radiation, indicated by the broken ar- 
rows, there are phase differences not 
quite so pronounced as to produce com- 
plete addition or outright cancelation. 
The over-all effect is indicated by the 
radiation pattern shown. The physical 
phase relationship caused by the quarter- 
wave spacing between the two elements, 


t 


TM 666-15) 


Figure 147. Phasing of antennas in space. 


175 


as well as the phase of the currents in 
them, has acted to change the radiation 
pattern. 


b. Stub Phasing. 


176 


FEEDER 
LINE 


(1) In the case just discussed, it was men- 


tioned that the currents fed to both an- 
tennas from the same transmitter were 
90° out of phase. No explanation was 
given of the manner in which this is done. 
Sections of transmission line, called 
stubs, frequently are used for this pur- 
pose. These can be adjusted to produce 
any desired phase relationship between 
connected elements. 


(2) When two collinear half-wave elements 


are connected directly so that their cur- 
rents are in the same phase, the effect is 
that of a full-wave antenna (A of fig. 
148). The current in the first half-wave- 
length is exactly 180° out of phase with 
that in the second half-wavelength, as 
shown. This is the opposite of the 
desired condition. (In addition to the 
current waveform, arrows are used to 
indicate the direction of current flow 
which is more convenient for determining 
the phase of current on more complicated 
arrays.) 


nly 


ve 


A 


™ 666-152 


Figure 148. Phasing of connected elements. 


(3) When the elements are connected by a 


quarter-wave stub as in B, current travels 
down one side of the stub and up the 
other. It travels a distance of a half- 
wavelength in the stub itself, and, as a 
result, it moves through } cycle of change. 


When the current reaches the next 
element, it is in the desired phase. Since 
the current in one side of the stub is equal 
and opposite to current on the other 
side, the fields produced cancel, and, 
consequently, there is no radiation from 
the stub itself. 


97. Mutual impedance 


a. Definition. 


(1) The impedance of an antenna at any 
point can be calculated by Ohm’s law 
from the current and voltage at that 
point, but, in an isolated antenna element 
this impedance is known as self imped- 
ance. When another element is nearby 
the impedance is changed. Suppose that 
in figure 147, driven element A is parallel 
to and near unconnected (parasitic) ele- 
ment B. During operation, radiation from 
antenna A reaches antenna B, inducing 
current in the latter. The field asso- 
ciated with this current in turn influences 
antenna A. In other words, in addition 
to the current supplied to antenna A 
from the source, current is induced by 
antenna B. The current and voltage 
relationship at a given point on antenna 
A now will be different from the relation- 
ships that exist when no other element is 
nearby. Therefore, the impedance, cal- 
culated from current and voltage, will be 
different also. 

(2) When an antenna element is operating in 
association with other elements, a differ- 
ent value of impedance is measured 
which is referred to as its actual imped- 
ance. Mutual impedance is the imped- 
ance that results from the coupling 
between the two elements which is 
responsible for the difference between the 
self impedance and the actual impedance 
of a given element. 

b. Current Amplitude. When two parallel an- 
tenna elements are close together, the current 
induced in one by the other will be great. If one 
of these elements is driven and the other is not, 
the current in the driven element then is the cur- 
rent supplied by the transmitter simply added to 
that induced by the parasitic element, if there is 
no phase difference. Mutual impedance permits 


greater gain in the array than in a single antenna, 
although there is no actual increase in transmitter 
power, and mutual impedance acts to decrease the 
actual impedance, since the current in the driven 
element has increased. As the parasitic element 
is moved farther from the connected element, 
there is less coupling. As a result, less current is 
induced in the driven element, and less gain is 
produced. The effect of mutual impedance de- 
creases and the actual impedance of the driven 
element approaches its self impedance. 
c. Current Phase. 

(1) The amplitude of the induced current is 
not the sole factor determining gain. In 
practice, antenna gain can be reduced to 
a smaller value even as the amplitude of 
the induced current becomes greater. 
This occurs when the induced and origi- 
nal currents are 180° out of phase, at 
which time mutual impedance acts to 
increase the actual impedance, since the 
current in the driven element is reduced. 

(2) The distance between two elements in 
terms of wavelength at the operating fre- 
quency determines the relative phase 
between them. Then, cancelation and 
reinforcement of signal resulting from 
phase difference are particularly notice- 
able when the distance between the two 
elements is a fraction of a wavelength. 

(3) Consider an antenna that is cut to reso- 
nance at a given frequency. Since the re- 
active components cancel out, its self im- 
pedance is purely resistive. When this 


antenha works with another element 
(parasitic) so that the current induced 
back into the former is exactly in phase 
with the original, there is increased ampli- 
tude with no change in phase. Although 
the actual impedance has decreased, it 
still is purely resistive. When the in- 
duced current is exactly 180° out of phase 
with the original, there is decreased am- 
plitude but still no change in phase. 
Again, the actual impedance remains re- 
sistive, although it is now greater than 
the self impedance. When the induced 
current is not exactly in phase or 180° 
out of phase with the original current, 
the phase of the total current shifts in 
respect to voltage. This change of rela- 
tive phase between current and voltage 
indicates that a reactive effect is present. 
As a result of this reactive effect, the an- 
tenna can be tuned off resonance by the 
presence of another element. It is cor- 
rect, therefore, to say that mutual im- 
pedance may contain both reactive and 
resistive components. 


(4) If a resonant antenna associated with a 


parasitic element is tuned off resonance, 
the phase of the current induced in the 
parasitic element is shifted. Therefore, 
the phase of the current induced back 
into the resonant antenna also is shifted. 
In other words, the tuning of a parasitic 
element also affects the reactive com- 
ponent of mutual impedance. 


Section Il. DRIVEN ARRAYS 


98. General 


a. Description. 

(1) Driven arrays form a major subdivision 
of multielement arrays. The distinc- 
tive property of the driven array is the 
fact that ali of the elements used derive 
their power from the same source, the 
transmitter. This property differenti- 
ates this group from the other major 
class of multielement systems, the para- 
sitic arrays, in which one or more ele- 
ments are driven directly whereas others 
are excited by these driven elements. 

(2) The driven array is preferred when 
high-power transmission is desired in 


addition to high directivity, because 
the driven array introduces less over-all 
power loss than occurs in other multiele- 
ment systems where loss of energy is 
caused by insufficient coupling between 
elements. 


b. Problems of Feeding. 
(1) Special attention must be given to 


certain factors involved in feeding driven 
arrays. Current distribution is one of 
these, and phasing is another. For 
example, in an array consisting of four 
elements, the same amount of power 
must be fed to each element, and the cur- 
rent in each element must be in phase 
with the current in each of the other 


177 


three. Care must be exercised to main- 
tain these conditions as exactly as possi- 
ble. If deviations exist, undesired 
cancelations and reinforcements occur. 
As a result, undesired lobes can be intro- 
duced into the radiation pattern. De- 
sired lobes can be emphasized or deem- 
phasized, but beam width and directivity 
are affected and the advantages sought in 
the use of a given array can be nullified 
in this way. 

(2) Care must be taken in interconnect: 
ing the elements of an array since radia~ 
tion from sections of transmission line 
used for interconnecting can reduce 
effectiveness. Pick-up by these sections 
when the array is used for receiving may 
cause interference. 


99. Directivity 


a. Directivity and Gain. The directivity of an 
antenna or an array can be determined by exam- 
ining its radiation pattern. In an array propa- 
gating a given amount of energy, greater radiation 
takes place in certain directions than in others. 
The elements in the array can be manipulated in 
such a way that they change this pattern and 
distribute it more uniformly in all directions. 
They can be considered as a group of antennas, 
fed from a common source, facing in different 
directions. On the other hand, the elements can 
be disposed in such a manner that the radiation 
will be focused or concentrated in a single direc- 
tion. With no increase in power, the amount of 
radiation in a given direction is greater. Since 
there is no increase in the input power, this is 
achieved at the expense of gain in other directions. 

b. Directivity and Interference. 

(1) There are many applications in which 
sharp directivity is desirable although 
there is no need for added gain. Examine 
the physical disposition of the units 
shown in figure 149. A,r and Bp are 
transmitters. It is desired that they send 
information to receivers Ap and Ba, re- 
spectively, along the paths shown by the 
solid arrows. The distance between A,r 
and Ap, or between A; and Br, is not so 
great as to require high-power trans- 
mission. Jf the antennas of Ar and B; 
propagate well in all directions, however, 
there is some pick-up of A; at Bp and 


178 


of By ai Ax, as shown by the broken 
arrows. ‘This effect is emphasized if the 
receiving antennas intercept energy well 
in all directions. 


jar  } =~ - nana naa +[ eR] 


Pa 
LEA eRe EEE —~[ an   


TM 666-153 
Figure 149. Directinity and interference. 


(2) The use of highly directional arrays as 


radiators from A; and Br, beamed along 
the paths of the solid arrows and with 
low radiation along the paths of the 
broken arrows, tends to solve the prob- 
lem. With this arrangement, consider- 
able power is available from the desired 
sources at the respective receiving points, 
and little power is available from the 
unwanted sources. Further improve- 
ment along these lines is obtained by the 
use of narrowly directed arrays as receiv- 
ing antennas at locations Ag and Bg. 


(3) The effect of this arrangement is to select 


a desired signal while discriminating 
against an interfering signal. The same 
approach can be used to overcome types 
of radiated interference other than un- 
wanted transmissions. In such cases, it 
is more important to prevent radiation in 
certain directions than it is to produce 
greater gain in other directions. 


(4) The differences between the single-ele- 


ment antenna and the array are illus- 
trated m figure 150, in which A gives the 
relative field strength pattern for a hori- 
zontal polarized single antenna, and B 
shows the horizontal radiation pattern 
for one particular array. The antenna 
at A radiates fairly well in the desired 
direction, toward receiving point 1 

It radiates equally well, however toward 


point 2, although no radiation is de- 
sired in this direction. If the antenna at 
B is used in the same situation, it radiates 
strongly to point 1 but very little in 
the direction of point 2 Conse- 
quently, more satisfactory operation re- 
sults, 


(2) (2] 


MINOR 


~~. LOBE 


ANTENNA 


ANTENNA 


' 
' 
  
  
  
\ 
{ 
0 i 
A B 
TM -666-154 
Figure 150. Single antenna versus array. 
c. Major and Minor Lobes. The pattern shown 


in B has radiation concentrated in two lobes. 
The radiation intensity in the B 1 lobe is 


considerably stronger than in the B 2 lobe. 
B 1 is called a major lobe, B 2 a minor 
lobe. Since the complex radiation patterns 


associated with arrays frequently contain several 
lobes of varying intensity, it is convenient to 
adopt appropriate terminology. In _ general, 
major lobes are those in which the greatest 
amount of radiation occurs. Minor lobes are 
those in which the radiation intensity is less. 


100. Main Systems 


Within the family of driven arrays, there are 
three basic types—collinear, broadside, and end- 
fire. Any driven array is one of these types or 
represents a combination of more than one of them. 

a. Collinear Arrays. 

(1) Radiation from a half-wave antenna is 
represented by two broad lobes in 
opposite directions. A method of con- 
necting two such elements arranged in a 
straight line to operate in the same 
phase is shown in B of figure 148. 
Basically, the pattern radiated by this 
latter combination is similar to that 


produced by the single dipole. The 
addition of another radiator, however, 
tends to intensify the pattern. A 
comparison of the two patterns in 
figure 151 shows that each consists of 
two major lobes in opposite directions 
along the same axis, Q to Q/. Along 
this line of maximum propagation, radi- 
ation is stronger with the added element. 
Moving toward the PPI axis, this 
reinforcing effect falls off. The pattern 
in B is sharper or more directive. This 
is the same as saying that gain along 
the line of maximum energy propa- 
gation is increased, whereas the beam 
width is reduced. As more elements 
are added, the effect is heightened, 
although unimportant minor lobes are 


added. 
Q Q 
P Pi oP PA 
Qi A Qi B 


TM 666-155 


Figure 151. Single half-wave anienna versus two half-wave 
antennas in phase. 


(2) If all of the elements in a driven array lie 
in a single straight line, the array is 
known as a collinear array. The cur- 
rents in the various elements are always 
in the same phase. The elements are 
connected to each other by stubs adjusted 
to assure proper phasing. These ele- 
ments usually are a half-wavelength, but 
greater lengths also are used. To assure 
proper phasing, the connecting sections 
are a quarter-wavelength. However, 
when the length of the elements is in- 
creased, the length of the connecting sec- 
tions must be decreased. 

(3) A method using four collinear elements is 
shown in figure 152. The arrows in A 
(side view) illustrate the distribution and 


179 


relative phase of current in the array. 
At the frequency for which it is designed 
to operate, any collinear array regard- 
less of the number of elements, produces 
a bidirectional pattern (top view in B) 
with axis perpendicular or broadside to 
the line of the elements. 


FEEDER 
LINE 


SIDE VIEW A 


T™ 656-154 


Figure 152. Typical collinear array. 


b. Broadside Arrays. 


180 


(1) Figure 153 shows an end view of two par- 


allel half-wave antennas, A and B, oper- 
ating in the same phase and located a 
half-wavelength apart. Ata given point, 
P, far removed from the antennas, they 
appear as a single point. Energy radi- 
ating toward P from antenna 4 starts 
out in phase with energy radiat ng from 
antenna # in the same direction. Prop- 
agation from each travels over the same 
distance te point P, arriving there in the 
same phase. In other words, the an- 
tennas reinforce each other in this direc- 
tion, making a strong signal available at 
P. Field strength measured at that 
point is greater than it would be if the 
total power supplied to both entennas 


(3 


\ 
} 


f 


Xue 


had been fed to a single half-wave dipole. 
Radiation toward point P/ is built up in 
the same manner. 


Q 
e 


Cc» 


73 


e 
Qi TM 666-157 


Figure 183. Parallel elements in phase. 


Consider next a wavefront traveling 
toward point Q from antenna B. By 
the time it reaches antenna A, a half- 
wavelength away, half a cycle has 
elapsed. Therefore, energy from B meets 
the energy from antenna A 180° out of 
phase, with the result that energy from 
the two sources moving toward point Q 
cancels. In hke manner, radiation from 
antenna A traveling toward point QI 
meets and cancels the radiation from 
antenna B in the same direction. As a 
result, there is little propagation in either 
direction along the Q to Q/ axis, most of 
it being concentrated in both directions 
along the P to Pi axis. When both 
antenna elements are fed from the same 
source, the result is the basic broadside 
array. 

When more than two elements are used 
in a broadside arrangement, they are all 
parallel and in the same plane, as shown 
in figure 154. Current phase, indicated 
by the arrows in A, must be the same 
for all elements. The radiation pattern, 
shown in B, is always bidirectional. 
This pattern is sharper than the one 
shown in the previous illustration be- 


nly 


SIDE VIEW OF ARRAY A 


TOP VIEW OF ARRAY 
(END VIEW OF ELEMENTS) 


B 


TM 666-158 
Figure 164. Typical broadside array. 


cause of the addition of two elements. 
Directivity and gain depend on the 


END VIEW A 


number of elements and on the spacing 
between them. 


c. End-Fire Arrays. 
(1) The radiation pattern for a pair of parallel 


half-wave elements is shown in A of 
figure 155, fed 180° out of phase. The 
elements shown are spaced a half-wave- 
length apart, but, in practice, smaller 
spacings are used, for reasons to be dis- 
cussed later. Radiation from elements 

A and B traveling toward point 
P starts out with the 180° phase differ- 
ence. Moving the same distance over 
approximately parallel paths, the respec- 
tive wave fronts from these elements 
maintain the 180° phase difference. In 
other words, there is maximum cance- 
lation in the direction of P. The same 
condition holds true for the opposite 
direction. The P to P1 axis, which is 
the line of propagation in the case of the 
broadside array, becomes the line of least 
radiation in figure 156, where the end- 
fire principle is used. 


(2). Consider what happens along the Q to 


Q! axis. Energy radiating from element 

B_ toward Q reaches antenna A about 
half a cycle or 180° after it leaves its 
source. Since radiation from element 


SIDE VIEW B 


TM 666-159 


Figure 155. Parallel elements 180° out of phase. 


181 


182 


(4) In A, figure 155, elements 


A is originally 180° out of phase, the 
wave fronts are now approximately in 
the same phase moving toward Q, and 
they reinforce. Similar reinforcement 
occurs along the same axis toward Q!. 


(3) In the example above, a bidirectional 


pattern is developed, which is not always 
true in end-fire operation. Figure 147 
is another application of the end-fire 
principle where elements are spaced a 
quarter-wavelength apart and phased 90° 
from each other to produce a unidirec- 
tional pattern. The importance of spac- 
ing and current phasing is apparent. 

A and B 
are seen perpendicular to the plane 
represented by the paper and, therefore, 
only the ends of the antennas appear. 
If the antennas are rotated a quarter of 
a circle in space around the Q to Q7 axis 
so that they are seen in the plane of the 
elements themselves, as shown in B, 
the P to Pi axis, now perpendicular to 
the page, is not seen asaline. The axis, 
R to R1, now seen as a line, is perpen- 
dicular to P to P1 as well as to Q to QI. 
The end-fire array is directional in this 
plane also, although not quite so sharply. 
The reason for the greater broadness of 
the lobes can be seen by following the 
path of energy radiating from the mid- 
point of element B toward point S. 
This energy passes the A element at 
one end after traveling slightly more 
than the perpendicular distance between 
the dipoles. Energy from these, there- 
fore, does not combine in exact phase 
toward point S. Although maximum 
radiation cannot take place in this direc- 
tion, energy from the two sources com- 
bines closely enough in phase to produce 
considerable reinforcement. A_ similar 
situation exists for wave fronts traveling 
toward 7, but the wider angle accounts 
for a greater phase difference with a 
resulting decrease in the strength of the 
combined wave. 


(5) To sum up, end-fire arrays consist of 


half-wave elements in which the currents 
are 180° out of phase. Directivity is 
off either or both ends of the array 
(along the axis of the array), as shown 
by the broken arrows in figure 156; hence 


the term end-fire is used. The pattern 
may be dibirectional or unidirectional, 
depending on the distance between 
elements and the relative phase of the 
currents flowing in them. Gain also 
depends on these two factors. Direc- 
tivity is achieved in two planes, but is 
sharper in one than in the other. The 
pattern in the plane shown in A is 
sharper than that for the plane in B. 


-_— _—— — oe —— ~~ 
TOP VIEW OF ARRAY 
A 
+—-+9O-----—-5)-- —-~- -0- -—----06--- 
SIDE VIEW OF ARRAY 
(END ViEW OF ELEMENTS) 
B 
TM 666-160 


Figure 156. Typical end-fire array. 


101. Collinear Arrays 


a. General Description. 
(1) The simplest type of collinear array is 


the center-fed ‘‘two half-waves in phase’’ 
arrangement shown in A, figure 157. 
The array in B also consists of two 
dipoles, but end feeding is used here, 
making necessary the use of a phase- 
reversing quarter-wave connecting stub 
between the elements. For purposes of 
feeding, notice that both arrangements 
mentioned so far are fed at voltage 
loops. In this connection, the terms end- 
fed and center-fed are likely to be mis- 
leading. In C, a three-element array is 
used. In D, the three-element array is 
center-fed with feed being introduced at 
the midpoint of one element. This is an 
instance of current feed. The system 
shown in # is the frequently used, 
balanced four-element collinear array. 


(2) More than four elements seldom are used, 


because. as more elements are added 
farther from the point of feeding, accu- 
mulated losses cause the farthest ele- 


t 8 t 3 2 3 2 
Tore ape 
/ / / 


FEEDER FEEDER FEEDER 
LINE A LINE B LINE C 
X x 
> Rd} > 2 2 } 
U Uj UU U 
4 / 
FEEDER FEEDER 
LINE D LINE e 


TM 666-161 


Figure 1567. Representative collinear arrays. 


ments to have less current than the 
nearest ones. This introduces an un- 
balanced condition in the system, which 
impairs its efficiency. Space limitations 
often provide another reason for limiting 
the number of elements. Since this type 
of array is in a single line, rather than in a 
stacked arrangement, the use of too many 
elements results in an antenna of several 
wavelengths. 


(3) The characteristic radiation pattern of a 


given array is obtained at the frequency 
or band of frequencies at which the sys- 
tem is made resonant; but the desired 
gain and directivity characteristics are 
lost when the antenna is not used at or 
near this frequency. The array then 
tunes sharply and acts as a simple long- 
wire antenna. However, it will be shown 
later that collinear arrays have higher 
radiation resistances than other types. 
If the resistance is higher, the Q is lower, 
and the antenna does not tune as sharply. 
A collinear antenna, then, is more effec- 
tive when used off its tuned frequency 
than an end-fire array. This feature is 
considered when transmission or recep- 
tion is to be over a wide frequency band. 
When more than two elements are used, 
this advantage largely disappears. 


for the collinear element, greater lengths 
often are used. Effective arrays of this 
type have been constructed in which the 
elements are 0.7 and even 0.8 wavelength 
which provides efficient operation at 
more than one frequency or over a wider 
frequency range. One frequent varia- 
tion uses elements cut to 0.64 wavelength. 
Whatever length is decided on, it is 
important that all of the elements in a. 
particular array closely adhere to it. 
If elements of different lengths are com- 
bined, current phasing and distribution 
are changed, throwing the system out of 
balance and seriously affecting the radia- 
tion pattern. 


(2) When the elements are made longer, it is 


necessary to decrease the size of the 
connecting stubs in order to maintain 
proper current phase (A of fig. 158). 
The arrows indicate the phase reversal 
at every half-wavelength. The first ele- 
ment, at the left, has current flowing in 
one direction for a quarter-wavelength 
and current flowing in the opposite 
direction for the remaining half-wave- 
length. The eighth-wavelength stub does 
not allow for a complete reversal of 
current flow. Instead, the change in 
direction takes place a quarter-wave- 


b. Length and Phasing. 
(1) Although the half-wavelength is the basis 


length along the length of the second 
element, making the distribution in this 


183 


length exactly like that in the first 
element. The current wave forms are 
shown to make this clear. In 8, another 
possible distribution is shown for the 
same two elements. In each case, there 
are half-wave sections of both elements 
in the same phase. The distance be- 
tween one half-wave section as it exists 
on one element in the array and the 
corresponding similarly phased half-wave 
section on the adjacent element (the 
distance from 1 to 2) is greater in each 
of thes@ examples than it is.when the 
elements themselves are exactly 1 half- 
wavelength long and are separated by 
quarter-wave connecting stubs. This 
affords an advantage, which will be 
discussed later. 


TM 666-162 


Figure 158. Collinear elements longer than a half-wavelength 


184 


(3) The length of the basic half-wave ele- 


ment used in this type of array and all 
driven arrays is determined from the 
following corrected formula: 


_ 468 
bs 


where L is the length in feet, and f is the 
frequency in megacycles. The same 
formula applies whether the elements are 
of rigid construction or are made up of 
lengths of wire. For wire arrangements, 
the formula takes into account the ca- 


L 


pacitive effects of spacers and support- 
ing insulators. When rigid elements are 
used, the greater thickness of these ele- 
ments can be considered to have much 
the same effect. 


c. Gain and Directivity. 
(1) Number of elements. As a general prin- 


ciple, increasing the number of elements 
in a collinear array also increases gain 
and directivity. Figure 159 shows the 
change in shape of the radiation patterns 
of various collinear arrays. The increase 
in gain produced is not shown in these 
patterns. Parts A, B, and C represent 
respectively the radiation patterns of 
typical two-, three-, and four-element 
arrays, all patterns being shown broad- 
side to the line of the elements. There 
is a practical limit, however, to the num- 
ber of elements. Availability of space is 
one limiting factor, the danger of unbal- 
ancing the array is another, and the third 
is a nonlinear gain over one array element 
less, which is shown in the chart below. 
The figures are for collinear arrays using 
half-wave dipoles with negligible spacing 
between the elements. Adding a third 
dipole to the basic two-element array 
provides an additional gain of 1.5 db. 
A fourth dipole affords another 1.2 db of 
gain; a fifth element provides only 0.8 
db of additional gain. As the number 
of elements is increased, the added gain 
thus achieved does not go up proportion- 
ally. When greater gain is important 
in a particular installation, good practice 
indicates the use of some type of array 
other than the collinear. The addition 
of elements to a collinear array increases 
loss resistance, both in the phase- 
reversing connecting stubs and in the 
elements themselves. Power consumed 
by this resistance is not radiated. The 
addition of dipole sections tends to un- 
balance, because some of the energy fed 
to the array is radiated by the elements 
nearest the point of feed before it can 
reach the sections farthest from this 
point. Consequently, the end elements 
radiate less than the center segments. 


Number of elements (ab) using ons oo 
aR ths ee on eh le es 15 8 foes eens 
Bie a Seas thine atts aml ga! ame Ae 3. 3 1.5 
ie oloe eek ee Bee St 4.5 1.2 
etree ee ee he 5.3 0.8 

(2) Spacing. 


(a) The lower relative efficiency of collinear 
arrays of many elements compared 
with other multielement arrays relates 
directly to spacing and mutual im- 
pedance effects. Mutual impedance 
is an important factor to be consider- 
ed when any two elements are parallel 
and are spaced so that there is consid- 
erable coupling between them. Be- 
tween collinear sections there is very 
little mutual impedance, but, where it 
does exist, it is caused by the coupling 
between the ends of adjacent elements. 

(6) Constructional problems, especially 
where long lengths of wire are involved, 
frequently make it necessary to place 
the ends of the elements close together. 
Another limit on -the spacing is the 
physical construction of the connecting 
stub. If the width of the stub is made 
too great or if the stub is not connected 
properly between the segments, un- 
desired radiation results. When rigid 
elements are used at the higher fre- 
quencies and correspondingly shorter 
wavelengths, the advantages of opti- 
mum spacing can be realized in a 
practical way. The graph of figure 
160 shows the relationship of spacing 
between adjacent ends and gain for two 
half-wave collinear elements. 

(c) Spacing often is referred to as the dis- 
tance between the center points of ad- 
jacent elements rather than the ab- 
solute distance between their ends. 
If the spacing is given as 3 quarter- 
wavelengths, center to center, where 
half-wave dipoles are involved it is the 
same as saying that the space between 
their ends is slightly greater than a 
quarter-wavelength. It is slightly 
greater because end effect accounts for Figure 159. Free-space patterns for collinear arrays. 


185 


TM 666-163 


db (GAIN) 


ra 


the dipoles being shorter than a half- 
wavelength. 


(d) The effects of spacing, and the advan- 


tages of proper spacing, can be demon- 
strated by some practical examples. 


RADIATION RESISTANCE (IN OHMS) 


Ree Seee iam 
Ee ee oan se 
1.2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 
SPACING BETWEEN ENOS OF 
ELEMENTS (IN WAVELENGTHS) 

T™ 666-164 


Figure 160. Spacing and gain for collinear elements. 


186 


A collinear array consisting of two 
half-wave elements with half-wave- 
length spacing between centers has a 
gain of 1.8 db. If the ends of these 
same dipoles are separated so that the 
distance from center to center is 3 
quarter-wavelengths, and they are 
driven from the same source, the gain 
increases to ¢.2 db. Reference to the 
chart above shows that a three- 
dipole array with negligible spacing be- 
tween elements gives a gain of 3.3 db. 
In other words, when two elements are 
used with wider spacing, the gain thus 
obtained is approximately equal to the 
gain obtainable from three elements 
with close spacing. The spaced array 
permits simpler construction, since 
only two dipoles are used, and occupies 
less space. Reference to the graph of 
figure 160 shows that maximum gain 
is reached when spacing between the 
elements is in the vicinity of 0.4 or 0.5 
wavelength. However, constructional 


problems usually dictate smaller prac- 
tical spacing. 


(e) Optimum spacing is difficult to arrange 


in general, and it is particularly a 
problem when wire elements rather 
than rigid elements are used at fre- 
quencies having fairly long wave- 
lengths. The only spacing between 
wire elements generally is provided by 
the insulator between lengths of wire. 
There is a practical way, however, of 
achieving the desired effects of in- 
creased spacing without actually in- 
creasing the physical distance between 
the ends of the elements. This is done 
by making the elements themselves 
longer, which, although it gives the 
effect of increased spacing, simplifies 
construction. 


d. Feeding Methods and Adjustment. 
(1) Feeding. Collinear systems usually are 


fed at an end point between half-wave 
elements. Since there is a voltage loop 
and a current null at such a point, the 
impedance is relatively high, generally 
around 1,500 ohms. This impedance, 
together with the low Q of collinear 
arrays resulting from the relatively high 
radiation resistance and consequently 
lower standing-wave ratio, permits a 
certain amount of mismatch between the 
feed line and the antenna. For this 
reason, flat or nonresonant lines are used 
widely. The use of the flat line provides 
another advantage if operation is to be 
on more than one frequency. The per- 
missible degree of mismatch makes it 
possible to feed a conventional collinear 
array with open-wire 600-ohm line in 
which the standing-wave ratio is 2 to 1 or 
less. In the less frequently encountered 
case of the current-fed collinear array 
(when feed is introduced at the center of 
one clement as it sometimes is with the 
three-element arrangement to maintain 
balance), impedance at the feed point 
closely matches 300-ohm line. The use 
of 600 ohm line also is permissible here, 
since the standing-wave ratio is still low. 
Conventional matching devices can be 
used, however, if it is desired to connect 
line and antenna. 


(2) Adjustment. When only two elements are 


used with center feed (between the ele- 
ments), both lengths must be the same 
and no great problem exists. When more 
than two elements are involved, adjust- 
ment to resonance should begin with the 
two connected directly to the feed line 
and with a constant input to the antenna. 
The length thus obtained may not cor- 
respond exactly to the calculated length. 
It is important, however, that all elements 
be of the same length to maintain balance. 
Once this measurement is determined, 
cut all elements to be used to the same 
size. The length of the phasing stubs 
must be determined by formula for the 
particular type of line used. Cut them 
slightly longer than calculation indicates. 
Effective adjustment for proper phasing 
can be made only during actual assembly. 
One additional element with its associated 
stub is added to one side of the basic 
two-element array. Next, using 2 
shorting bar, determine the point along 
the stub at which current is maximum. 
Cutting at this point makes the length of 
the stub correct. If the array is not to 
be fed at its center (with respect to all its 
elements), add one element at a time 
with its associated stub. If the array is 
balanced, add two elements at a time, 
one to either end. In either case, the 
procedure just mentioned for phasing the 
stub or stubs is repeated. After the 
addition of each new element or pair of 
elements, the entire system must be 
checked to make certain that it is tuned 
properly. If a matching stub is used 
between antenna and line, it must be 
adjusted for maximum current also, but 
only after all elements have been con- 
nected and phased properly. 


102. Broadside Arrays 


a. General Description. Physically, a broadside 
array looks like a ladder. When the array and the 
elements in it are polarized horizontally, it looks 
like an upright ladder. When the array is polar- 
ized vertically, it looks like a ladder lying on one 
side. Horizontally polarized arrays using more than 
two elements are common, since the requirement 
that the bottom of the array be an appreciable 
distance above the earth presents constructional 


problems. Compared with collinear systems, 
arrays of this kind tune sharply, and therefore, 
lose efficiency rapidly when not operated on 
the frequencies for which they are designed. The 
higher Q resulting from the lower radiation resist- 
ance is responsible for this. 

b. Gain and Directinity. 

(1) Spacing. The physical disposition of di- 
poles operated broadside to each other 
allows for much greater coupling between 
them than can occur between collinear 
elements. Moving the parallel antenna 
elements closer together or farther apart 
materially affects the actual impedance 
of the entire array and the over-all 
radiation resistance as well. ‘This critical 
effect of spacing may be seen from the 
graph of figure 161, in which the gain 
of two broadside elements is plotted 
against the spacing between them. 
Compare this with a similar graph for 
two collinear dipoles (fig. 160). Both 
curves follow the same general path, 
but the one for broadside elements is 
much sharper. For collinear elements, 
since spacing is varied between 0 and 
1.0 wavelength, there is a variation in 
gain of about 1.5 db. For broadside 
dipoles, the range of variation in gain 
is nearly 5 db over the same range of 
spacings. In addition, the optimum 
spacing as far as gain alone is concerned 
occurs at a slightly greater spacing 
than is the case for collinear dipoles, 
approximately 0.65 wavelength. How- 
ever, to simplify phasing and feeding, 
half-wave spacing generally is used. 
Less than 1 db of gain is sacrificed by 
this expedient. Where more elements 
are used, the gain sacrificed is even 
greater. However, it can be recovered 
easily since the space saved can be 
used to accommodate one or more 
additional elements. As the spacing 
between broadside elements is increased, 
the effect on the radiation pattern is to 
sharpen the major lobes. When the 
array consists of only two dipoles exactly 
a half-wavelength apart, there are no 
minor lobes at all. Increasing the dis- 
tance between the elements beyond that 
point, however, tends to throw off the 
phase relationship between the original 


187 


db (GAIN) 


188 


current in one element and the current 
induced in it by the other element. The 
result is that, although the major lobes 
are sharpened, minor lobes are introduced 
even with two elements. These, how- 
ever, are not large enough to be of 


consequence. 


A 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 


SPACING BETWEEN ELEMENTS 
(IN WAVELENGTHS) 


T™ 666-165 


Figure 161. Spacing and gain, broadside elements. 


(2) Number of elements. The increase in 


gain of a broadside array as more 
elements are added is-marked as com- 
pared to the increase with a collinear 
system. Reduced radiation resistance 
resulting from the efficient coupling 
between dipoles accounts for most of 
this. However, certain practical factors 
limit the number of elements that 
may be used. The constructional prob- 
lem increases with the number of ele- 
ments, especially when they are polarized 
horizontally (upright ladder). The fol- 
lowing chart shows the effect on gain 
by adding elements. With 3-quarter- 
wavelength spacing, the combined effects 
of optimum coupling and additional 
elements act to increase gain still fur- 
ther, and whenever more than two 
elements are used, minor lobes are 
developed regardless of the spacing. 
These lobes are greater than those 
developed by collinear arrays using 
the same number of elements. 


Number of elements agers (n/2 toni 
Oo 2, Sa at eee Poe at 4.0 4.5 
Diao ine Lo on nea Oe eo ie 2 5. 0-5. 5 7.0 
Beata ih Spel eds a Tote 6. 0-7. 0 8.5 
OF eye a Bate tenon ara 7. 0-8. 0 10.0 
Git eo le te hate eng a aes ee 8. 0-9. 0 11.0 


(3) Radiation patterns. A representative pat- 
tern for a broadside array with four 
elements is shown in figure 154. The 
pattern is taken in free space in the 
plane perpendicular to the elements. 
Since the elements are vertical, the 
characteristic broadside pattern is devel- 
oped horizontally; the vertical pattern 
is that of the ordinary half-wave antenna, 
The characteristic pattern varies slightly 
from the illustrated free-space pattern 
when the elements are horizontal or 
stacked. This variation is a function 
of ground reflection. The resulting pat- 
tern can be developed by applying the 
reflection factor discussed in paragraph 
58. For this purpose, the height above 
the earth of the center element, (or the 
average height of the entire array) is 
considered to be the height from ground. 
The resultant low angle of radiation is 
a feature of this type of polarization. 

c. Variations. When an antenna system con- 
sists of purely broadside, in-phase elements, 
there is little difference between one and another 
aside from the number of elements and _ the 
spacing, both of which have been discussed, and 
the means of feeding. The lazy H, Sterba 
curtain, and Bruce array all represent systems 
using collinear as well as broadside elements. 
There is also a popular four-element arrangement 
combining broadside with end-fire elements. 

d. Phasing and Feeding. 

(1) Phasing. 

(a) One frequently used means of supplying 
currents in the same phase to broadside 
elements is shown in figure 162. In 
A, the feed line is connected directly to 
the center of the phasing section 
(vertical) between the dipoles. Con- 
sider that leg of the vertical section 
connected directly to the dipoles and 
its associated side of the feed line. 


The two halves of this side of the 
section are parallel with respect to the 
feed point. Current traveling up this 
side of the feed line continues to move 
in exactly the same phase up one 
side of the section and down the other. 
Phase reversal in either portion of 
this line occurs at exactly the same 
distance away from the point of feed. 
Electrically, the driven elements are 
merely series extensions of these ex- 
actly phased portions of line. There- 
fore, current in them must be also 
in the same phase. 


(b) Although the elements are represented 


as being exactly a half-wavelength 
apart, this need not be considered a rule 
when only two sections are involved. 
If the feed is introduced at the exact 
midpoint, correct phase is maintained 
regardless of the length of the phasing 
line. Advantage then may be taken 
of the larger optimum spacing, as indi- 
cated in the graph of figure 161. In 
B (fig. 162), where the array consists 
of more than two elements, adherence 
to half-wavelength spacing becomes 
necessary. The phasing of the two 
center dipoles is the same as in A. 
However, current traveling up the 
half-wavelength phasing section feed- 
ing the upper dipole undergoes a half- 
cycle of phase reversal. At the point 
where the section joins the top element, 
the current is 180° different from the 
desired phase. Connecting the ele- 
ment to the opposite side of the line, 
however, puts it exactly in the correct 
phase. The bottom element is driven 
in the same way. For the sake of 
clarity in showing the connections, the 
top and bottom dipoles have been made 
to appear slightly out of line with 
respect to the two in the center. In 
practice this is not. necessary. The 
phasing lines may be transposed or 
dressed to accommodate the position- 
ing of the dipoles. Here, spacings 
greater than a half-wavelength are not 
possible since the phasing lines must 
be exactly that long. 


(c) Energy also can be introduced at the 


junction between the feed line (or 


TM 666-166 


Figure 162. Phasing broadside arrays, first method. 


matching device) and one of the ele- 
ments (A of fig. 163). Current phase 
in the lower element, shown by the 
arrow, is determined by the feed. At 
the other end of the vertical phasing 
line (180° or 1 half-wavelength away), 
the upper dipole is connected to the 
opposite side of the line. Phase re- 
versal in the line is canceled out, and 
the elements are kept in the same phase 
as desired. In B, phase is established 
for the upper element in the same way 
as for the upper dipole in A. The 
center dipole in B is connected just as 
is the lower elementin A. The bottom 
element in B is connected and phased 
exactly as is the top dipole in the same 
array. Since they are exactly 1 wave- 
length apart, and exactly the same 
distance from the point of feed, they 
must be in the same phase. When 
three or any other odd number of 
broadside elements is used, this method 
of applying signal to the center of the 
array is desirable because it makes for 
better balance. If more elements are 
added to either side of the array, they 
are connected to alternating sides of 
the phasing line. In this way, every 
even dipole is connected to one side 
of the phasing line; every odd dipole is 


189 


> 


Tm 666-167 


Figure 163. Phasing broadside arrays, second method. 


connected to the other side. The same 
spacing restrictions are applied. 


(d) The widely used method of feeding a 


190 


half-wave dipole at its current loop 
(center of the dipole) also can be ap- 
plied to the broadside array. In A of 
figure 164, the elements are a pair of 
dipoles, fed at their center points, and 
connected in parallel. At any spacing 
the elements are always in phase pro- 
vided that energy is introduced at the 
center of the line between them. If 


FEED LINE 


Serene tiene ood 


A 


i 
FEED LINE~ 


additional elements are added to this 
basic arrangement, the array assumes 
the appearance shown in C, and the 
extreme dipoles must be connected to 
that side of the phasing section which 
is opposite to the side feeding the cen- 
ter elements. Another method for 
center-feeding the elements is shown in 
B. Energy is introduced to one of the 
extreme dipoles as though it were an 
ordinary, center-fed, half-wavelength 
section. All additional elements are 
joined at their centers to the continu- 
ous phasing line; the sides of the feed- 
ing line to which the respective halves 
of the elements connect are alternated 
throughout. The half-wavelength 
spacing restriction limits all of the ar- 
rays shown here just as it limits all of 
the multielement broadside arrays 
presented up to this point. 


(e) When space permits, full advantage of 


the gain attainable with 0.6- to 0.7- 
wavelength spacing can be taken. 
Phasing sections a full wavelength long 
are inserted between one dipole and 
another. These connecting lengths are 
bent or dressed as shown in figure 165, 
or in some similar fashion. The space 


The 


‘FEED LINE 


Tid 666-168 


Figure i64. Phasing broadside elements, third method. 


between elements in this example is 3 
quarter-wavelengths. Current moving 
in any phasing section undergoes a 
full, 360° cycle of change so that it is 
fed to an element at the same phase 
point. With full-wave connecting 
lengths, all dipoles connect to the same 
side of the line. Any spacing up to 1 
wavelength is made possible by this 
method. The feed line or matching 
device usually is connected where the 
phasing section joins an element. 


case where the transmission line is intro- 
duced at the end of one element, the im- 
pedance is approximately 1,000 ohms, 
When the transmission line is introduced 
as shown in A of figure 164, the input im- 
pedance is about 3,000 ohms. Where 
more elements are used with open-wire 
line as in C, the input impedance is 
about 1,500 ohms. Matching to the in- 
put of broadside arrays has to be worked 
out for individual cases. 


Feeding at the center section gives the 103. End-fire Arrays 
best balance. 
a. General Description. 
(1) In appearance, an end-fire system does 


not look very different from a broadside 
array, the ladder-like appearance being 
characteristic of both. The currents in 
the elements, however, are 180° out of 
phase with each other. Because the 
plane in which the maximum radiation 
develops is in the plane of the elements, 
however, a vertically stacked arrange- 
ment is not likely to be operating as an 
end-fire array. Instead, the end-fire 
array is more likely to be constructed like 
a ladder lying on its side (elements 
vertical) or like one lying flat (elements 
horizontal). Moreover, the dipoles in 
an end-fire system are closer together 
(eighth-wavelength to quarter-wave- 
length spacing) than they are for broad- 


reco.” side radiation. 
LINE (2) Closer spacing between elements permits 


TM 666-169 . . 
compactness of construction. For this 

Pigure 165. Phasing broadside elements, fourth method. P : 
reason, an end-fire system is preferred 


(2) Feeding. Broadside arrays may be fed by to other types when high gain or sharp 


either resonant feeders or flat lines with 
matching devices. A two-element array 
phased by the resonant feeders presents 
an impedance of less than 100 ohms at 
the point of feed. Although the phas- 
ing line between the elements may be 
longer than a half-wavelength, it is only 
with an exact half-wavelength that the 
feed impedance is purely resistive. With 
other lengths, there is a reactive compo- 
nent that must be tuned out. When an 
array phased in this manner has four 
elements (B of fig. 162), the impedance 
at the point of input is about 250 ohms 
with open-wire phasing line. In any 


directivity is desired in a confined space. 
However, the close coupling creates 
certain disadvantages. Radiation re- 
sistance is extremely low, sometimes in 
the order of 10 ohms, making the 
possibility of antenna losses greater. 
Furthermore, this lower resistance is 
responsible for a higher Q, with the result 
that end-fire antennas are narrowly tuned 
affairs. This confines the array closely 
to a single frequency and introduces the 
danger of detuning with changes in 
climatic or atmospheric conditions. 


(3) The major lobe or lobes occur along the 


axis of the array. The pattern is sharper 


19% 


db (GAIN) 


0 41 2 3 4 8 6 7 


SPACING BETWEEN ELEMENTS 
(IN WAVELENGTHS) 


A 


8 3 10 


RADIATION RESISTANCE (IN OHMS) 


oO 1 2 3 


4 5 6 F 8 99 10 


SPACING BETWEEN ELEMENTS 
(IN: WAVELENGTHS) 


B 


™ 666-170 


Figure 166. Spacing, gain, and radiation resistance with end-fire elements. 


in the plane which is at right angles to 
the plane containing the elements. If 
the elements are not exact half-wave- 
length dipoles, operation is not affected 
materially. However, the required bal- 
ance of phase relationships and critical 
feeding makes it important that the 
array be symmetrical. Folded dipoles 
are used frequently because the im- 
pedance at their terminals is higher. 
This is an effective way of reducing Q and 
avoiding excessive antenna losses. 
Another expedient to reduce losses is the 
use of tubular elements of wide diameter. 


b. Gain and Directinty. 
(1) The gain available from a pair of dipoles 


192 


phased 180° apart at different spacings 
is graphed in A of figure 166. A com- 
parison with a similar graph for the same 
pair of elements operated in phase, or as 
a broadside array (fig. 161) shows an 
inverse relationship between the two. 
This is caused by the inverse phase 
relationship. In 8, the relationship 
between spacing and radiation resistance 
is shown. 


(2) In end-fire arrays, directivity increases 


with the addition of more elements and 
with spacings approaching the optimum. 
The directive pattern for a two-element, 


bidirectional system is illustrated in 
figure 155, where A shows radiation 
along the array axis in a plane perpen- 
dicular to the dipoles, and B shows 
radiation along the array axis in the 
plane of the elements. These patterns 
were developed with 180° phase differ- 
ence between the elements. Additional 
elements introduce small, minor lobes. 


(3) With 90° phase difference in the energy 


fed to a pair of end-fire elements spaced 
approximately a quarter-wavelength 
apart, unidirectional radiation can be 
obtained. The pattern perpendicular 
to the plane of two elements is shown in 
A of figure 167. The pattern shown in B, 
taken in the same plane, is for a six- 
element array with 90° phasing between 
adjacent elements. Since both patterns 
show relative gain only, the increase in gain 
produced by the six-element array is not 
evident. End-fire arrays are the only ones 
wholly made up of driven elements that 
can be unidirectional. 


c. Variations. 


(1) End-fire elements are used frequently in 


combination with other types of elements 
to procure a particular kind of radiation 
pattern or to obtain extra gain. In figure 
168, a four-element antenna, arrows 


Tm 666-171 


Figure 167. Unidirectional end-fire arrays. 


indicate the directions in which bidirec- 
tional radiation develops. This antenna 
system can be regarded as a pair of two- 
element end-fire arrays, operating broad- 
side to each other. The two top ele- 
ments can be considered as one end-fire 
array, the bottom pair as another. The 
radiation pattern developed in the plane 
shown in A is similar to that shown in 
A of figure 155, except that the lobes are 
sharper and the entire pattern is rotated 


ot 
Oo-+F 


Ula > tip 


o'o =a 
END VIEW FRONT VIEW 
A B 


SS 


NS 


TOP VIEW C SS 


PICTORIAL 
D 


TM 666-I72 


Figure 188. Combination end-fire and broadside elements. 


90°. The pattern shown in C is like that 
of B, figure 155. 


(2) The dipoles in figure 168 are fed at their 


centers, the main feed line branching into 
four legs, one feeding each element. The 
top and bottom elements on the right, in 
A, are in the same phase, or broadside. 
The two elements to the left are also in 
the same phase, but they are 180° out of 
phase with the elements on the right, as 
indicated by the arrows in D. The ele- 
ments on the left are connected directly 
to the phasing section of the transmission 
line without transposition. Connections 
to the right-hand elements are trans- 
posed. Spacing between the left and 
right elements, shown a8 eighth-wave- 
length in the figure, actually can vary 
from that measurement up to a quarter- 
wavelength. Spacing between top and 
bottom elements, shown as 3 quarter- 


193 


d. 


194 


wavelengths, can vary from 3 eighth- 
wavelengths to 3 quarter-wavelengths. 
Depending on spacing, gain for this 
combination array varies from about 6.5 
db to about 9 db. The 9-db gain is 
obtained with the spacing indicated in 
A. Gain for any combination of spac- 
ings is obtained by adding the gain as 
read from the graph of figure 161 for the 
broadside spacing used to the reading 
from the graph of A of figure 166, for the 
end-fire spacing used. 

Phasing and Feeding. 

(1) Phasing. 

(a) Principal methods of operating parallel 
elements 180° out of phase are shown 
in figure 169. The method shown in 
A is acceptable when spacing is no 
more than an_ eighth-wavelength. 
Here, either side of the single-leg 
phasing section is no greater than a 
sixteenth-wavelength, and very little 
radiation takes place from these short 
lengths. The methods used in B and 
C appear similar to broadside phasing 
techniques. Two fundamental differ- 
ences, however, account for the 180° 
phase difference here as contrasted to 
to the in-phase relationship of broad- 
side elements. The phasing sections 
and spacing are always considerably 
less than a half-wavelength, and the 
point of feed can be different. The 
arrows indicate the direction of current 
flow at a given instant. In D, a 
method for center-feeding many ele- 
ments is shown. Whatever the spac- 
ing between elements, the lengths of 
the phasing lines between one element 
and the next must be exactly 1 half- 
wavelength to maintain the phase 
difference desired. Energy always 
must be applied at the junction of the 
phasing line with one of the elements. 

(6) Phasing of unidirectional end-fire arrays 
requires a 90° difference and must be 
arranged in a different manner. 
Quarter-wavelengths of phasing line 
can be used to provide the quarter- 
cycle phase difference required. 
Another popular method for a two- 
element array involves two separate 
transmission lines, one for each ele- 


=  a 
regp _/” {  2 


Figure 169. Phasing end-fire elements. 


ment. The transmission lines are 
matched individually to the elements, 
and one of the lines is exactly a quarter- 
wavelength shorter or longer to produce 
the desired phase relationship. Both 
lines are of the same type and are fed 
simultaneously from a coupling circuit 
at the transmitter. The advantage of 
this method is that it provides control 
at the transmitter of the amount of 
current fed to each element. In this 
mode of operation, mutual coupling is 
not the same for both elements, with 


the result that each has a different 
radiation resistance. 


(2) Feeding. With eighth-wavelength spacing 


of center-fed elements, radiation resist- 
ance falls as low as 8 ohms, and the 
standing-wave ratio becomes very high. 
The ratio can be in the order of 30 to 1 or 
higher, and this accounts for the critical 
tuning of such arrays. If the array is 
reasonably close to the transmitter, a 
tuned, open-wire line can be used, but 
when longer transmission lines are used, 
they should be matched carefully at the 
operating frequency to reduce the high 
standing wave ratio (SWR). Folded 
dipoles as end-fire elements are used to 
take advantage of the higher impedance 
at their terminals. The folded elements 
are fed and matched individually through 
quarter-wave stubs to increase impedance 
still further. It then is possible to reduce 
the SWR to no more than 2 to 1. 


wires carrying in-phase currents results in 
an increase in gain of slightly more than 
1 db over the gain of the basic collinear 
array with two half-wave dipoles. Un- 
desired radiation is small from the 
center of the array in which current flows 
in the opposite direction, because of the 
short sections of wire used (0.64 minus 
0.5 is only 0.14 wavelength). 


(3) The radiation from this array is bidirec- 


tional in a plane containing the two 
elements. A circular radiation pattern is 
produced in a plane that is at right angles 
to the elements. 


b. Lazy-H Antenna Array. 
(1) The lazy-H antenna array consists of two 


collinear arrays connected in parallel as 
shown in 5 of figure 170. Each collinear 
array, consisting of two half-wave ele- 
ments, usually is spaced a half-wave- 
length from its neighbor. The current 
in each of the four half-wave elements is 
in phase, so that maximum radiation 


104. Other Driven Arrays occurs at right angles to the plane of 
the array. 

The lazy-H array shown in B has a gain 
of about 6 db. Although smaller spac- 
ing between the two collinear portions 
can be used, a reduction in gain results. 
Larger spacing can be used also, which 
results in a slight increase in gain; how- 
ever, the input impedance is no longer 
purely resistive as it would be with 
half-wave spacing. 

With the half-wave spacing, the input 
impedance is about 100 ohms (resistive). 
When a high input impedance is required 


— 


All of the driven arrays discussed so far have (2 
been basic collinear, broadside, and end-fire types. 
Some. special combination driven arrays are 
discussed in the following paragraphs. 
a, Extended Double-Zepp. 
(1) A of figure 170, shows a two-element 
collinear array, with wide spacing, in 
which each element is longer than a 
half-wavelength, the optimum length 
usually being 0.64 wavelength. (3) 
(2) The greater than normal spacing between 
the half-wave sections at the ends of the 


es 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE 


EXTENDED DOUBLE-ZEPP ARRAY 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE 


LAZY-H ARRAY 
B 


TM 666-174 
Figure 170. Extended double-Zepp and lazy-H arrays. 


195 


c, 


RESP 4 
as l 


that is also resistive, the transmission 
line is connected directly at the lower 
center insulator, and the connecting line 
to the upper elements is transposed once. 
This is required to put the currents in the 
upper elements in phase with the cur- 
rents in the lower elements. The input 
impedance then is in the vicinity of 
2,000 ohms. 

(4) The radiation pattern produced by this 
array is bidirectional in both horizontal 
and vertical planes. The beam width 
is not as broad as in the horizontal plane. 

Sterba Curtain. 

(1) The Sterba curtain, shown in A of figure 
171, consists of two collinear arrays, 
usually made up of a large number of 
elements stacked one above the other. 
The spacing between the two collinear 
arrays is a half-wavelength. 

(2) When the array is arranged as shown, 
only the horizontal elements produce 
useful radiation. The three twisted ver- 
tical sections of line do not radiate since 
one conductor of each pair carries current 
in one direction and the other conductor 
carries current in the opposite direction, 
and their fields, therefore, cancel. Also, 
the two single vertical half-wave con- 
ductors at either end of the array pro- 
duce little radiation since the current 
flow in the upper half is in the opposite 
direction to that flowing in the lower half. 

(3) Although the array shown in A consists 
of only three half-wave elements as the 


eo 


196 


STERBA CURTAIN A 


top section and a similar number as the 
bottom section (actually two half-wave 
elements in the center and two quarter- 
wave elements at the ends) it can be 
extended to include many more elements. 

(4) The gain of the array is increased as it 
is lengthened to include more collinear 
elements. In the array shown, the 
equivalent of three collinear elements 
provides a gain of over 3 db. To this 
must be added the gain provided by 
operating the additional set of collinear 
elements beneath the first. This pro- 
vides an additional gain of about 4 db, 
so that the total gain of the array is 
about 7 db. 

(5) When the Sterba curtain is fed as illus- 
trated, the impedance is about 600 ohms. 
This permits the use of a 600-ohm non- 
resonant two-wire line. Another com- 
mon feeding point is at the exact center 
of the lower collinear array between the 
two half-wave sections. At this point, 
the input impedance of the array is 
about 1,000 ohms. 

(6) A unique advantage of the Sterba curtain 
is that it provides a closed circuit for 
power-frequency alternating current or 
direct current. Such current sometimes 


is used to heat the elements to prevent 

ice formation. 

d. Bruce Array. 

(1) The Bruce array consists of a single wire 
folded as shown in B of figure 171. All 
vertical and horizontal lengths are a 


TRANSMISSION 
LINE 


al, 


BRUCE ARRAY B 


TM 666-175 


Figure 171. Sterba curtain and Bruce array. 


quarter-wavelength with the exception 
of two at the ends of the array which are 
only 1 eighth-wavelength. 


(2) The distance from the extreme left end 


of the array to point 1 represents a total 
distance of a half-wavelength (an eighth- 
wavelength plus a quarter-wavelength 
plus an eighth-wavelength). In this 
section of the array, current flows in the 
direction toward point 1 which is indi- 
cated by the current wave and the small 
arrows. In the next half-wave section, 
between points 1 and 2, a current re- 
versal occurs. The current now flows 
from point 2 toward point 1. In the next 
half-wave section, between points 2 and 
3, another current reversal occurs. The 
current now flows from point 2 to point 3. 
This portion of the array is unfolded in 
the dotted view so that the directions of 
current flow are made clear. Similar 
reversals occur throughout the length of 
the array. 


(3) Because of the folding of the wire, the 


direction of current flow is the same (that 
is, down) in each of the six vertical 
quarter-wave sections comprising the 
antenna. On the other hand, half of the 
small amount of current that flows in the 
horizontal sections of the array flows in 
one direction and half flows in the oppo- 
site direction. 


(4) As a result of the current distribution de- 


scribed above, the radiation produced by 
the vertical sections adds _ together, 
whereas the radiation produced by the 
horizontal sections is canceled out. Con- 
sequently, strong vertically polarized 
radiation results. 


(5) The Bruce array functions are similar to 


those of a simple broadside array made 
up of six vertical elements. However, 
since the vertical elements are only a 
quarter-wavelength instead of the usual 
half-wavelength, considerably less gain 
is obtained than from an ordinary six- 
element broadside array. As a result, 
the array must be made at least several 
wavelengths in order to produce a worth- 
while gain. The Bruce array usually is 
fed at a current loop as in the illustration. 


of two pairs of collinear elements, each a 
half-wavelength, mounted in a horizontal 
plane and separated from each other by 
1 quarter- to 1 eighth-wavelength. Be- 
cause of the transposed transmission line 
connecting these pairs, the direction of 
current flow in one pair of collinear 
elements is opposite to that in the other 
pair. This is indicated by the small 
arrows in A. The array is not only 
collinear but is also end-fire, as indicated 
by the two large arrows which represent 
the directions of maximum radiation. 
These directions are in the plane of the 
elements. 


SOLID PATTERN 


B 


TM 666-176 


Figure 172. Flat-top array. 


(2) The gain of the array shown is under 6 db 


when 1-quarter-wavelength spacing is 
used. With eighth-wave spacing, the 
gain increases slightly. The radiation 
pattern produced by this array is bi- 
directional in both horizontal and vertical 
planes. The beam width is narrower in 


e. Flat-Top Array. 
(1) The flat-top array (A of fig. 172) consists 


the horizontal plane, as shown by the 
solid radiation pattern in B. 


197 


(3) The input impedance of the array is 


several thousand ohms. Therefore, reso- 
nant feeders generally are used. If a 
nonresonant line is to be used, a matching 
is required and the feeder must be con- 
nected properly on the matching section. 


(4) The flat-top array can be constructed also 


of two half-wave elements instead of four. 
Here the array is not collinear, but is 
merely a close-spaced end-fire array. The 
gain is about 3 to 4 db and the input 
impedance is a low value. 


Section lil. PARASITIC ARRAYS 


105. Parasitic Elements 
a. General. 


(1) Parasitic arrays represent another method 


of achieving high antenna gains. A par- 
asitic array consists of one or more para- 
sitic elements placed in parallel with each 
other and, in most cases, in the same 
line-of-sight level. The parasitic ele- 
ment is fed inductively by radiated 
energy coming from the driven element 
connected to the transmitter. It is in 
no way connected directly to the driven 
element. 


(2) When the parasitic element is placed so 


that radiation is in the direction shown 
in A of figure 173, the element is a 
director. When the parasitic element is 
placed so that radiation is in the direction 
shown in B, the element is a reflector. 


(3) The directivity pattern resulting from the 


action of parasitic elements depends on 
two factors. These are the tuning, 
determined by the length of the parasitic 
element and the spacing between the 
parasitic and driven elements. To a 
lesser degree, it also depends on the 
diameter of the parasitic element, since 
diameter has an effect on tuning. 


b. Operation. 


198 


(1) When a parasitic element is placed a 


fraction of a wavelength away from the 
driven element and is of approximately 
resonant length, it will reradiate the 
radiated energy it intercepts. The par- 
asitic element is effectively a tuned 
circuit coupled to the driven element 
much as the two windings of a trans- 
former are coupled together. The radi- 
ated energy from the driven element 
causes a voltage to be developed in the 
parasitic element which, in turn, sets up 
a magnetic field. This magnetic field 
extends over to the driven element, 


which then has a voltage induced in it. 
The magnitude and phase of the induced 
voltage depend on the length of the 
parasitic element and the spacing be- 
tween the elements. In actual practice, 
the length and spacing are arranged so 


RADIATED 
  SIGNAL 
4 


ye 


i a are ae 


i ri 7 DRIVEN 
  ELEMENT 
FEEDER A 
RADIATED 
SIGNAL 
Y 4 
/ 


  
  y DRIVEN 
ee ELEMENT 


3 REFLECTOR 
{ FEEDER ra 


TM 666-177 


Figure 178. Position of the director and reflector with reference 


to the driven element. 


that the phase and magnitude of the 
induced voltage cause a unidirectional, 
horizontal radiation pattern, with an 
increase in gain. 


(2) In the parasitic array in B of figure 173, 


the reflector and driven elements are 
spaced a quarter-wavelength apart. The 
radiated signal coming from the driven 
element strikes the reflector after a 
quarter-cycle. The voltage developed in 


the reflector is 180° out of phase with the 
driven element voltage. The magnetic 
field set up by the reflector induces a 
voltage in the driven element a quarter 
of a cycle later, since the spacing between 
the elements is a quarter-wavelength. 
The induced voltage is in phase with the 
driven element voltage, causing an in- 
crease in voltage in the direction of the 
radiated signal indicated. This forms 
the horizontal pattern in B of figure 174. 


(3) Because the voltage induced in the para-. 


sitic element is 180° out of phase with 
the signal produced by the driven ele- 
ment, there is a substantial reduction in 
signal strength behind the reflector. In 
practice, since the magnitude of an in- 
duced voltage never quite equals that of 
the inducing voltage even in very closely 
coupled circuits, the energy in the minor 
lobe is not reduced to zero. In addition, 
very little radiation is produced in the 


HORIZONTAL PATTERNS 


SIGNAL 


RADIATED 


(4) 


(5) 


direction at right angles to the plane of 
the elements. 

It can be shown also that when the para- 
sitic element is a director, the horizontal 
and vertical radiation patterns will be 
as in A, figure 174. 

The radiation patterns shown have several 
advantages and disadvantages. The two 
main advantages of a parasitic array are 
increased gain and unidirectivity. There 
is a reduction of transmitted energy in 
all but the desired direction. This makes 
the parasitic array useful in antenna 
systems that can be rotated to a given 
direction. These are known as rotary 
arrays. Size for size, the gain and 
directivity of a parasitic array are 
greater than for a driven array. The 
disadvantages of these arrays are that 
their adjustment is critical and they do 
not operate over a wide frequency range. 


VERTICAL PATTERNS 


RADIATED 
SIGNAL 


PATTERNS OBTAINED USING DIRECTOR A 
RADIATED RADIATED 
SIGNAL SIGNAL 


PATTERNS OBTAINED USING REFLECTOR B 


TM 666-178 


Figure 174. Patterns obtained using a parasitic element. 


199 


c. Relative Power Gain. 


(1) Figure 175 is a graph of the relative power 


gain for various element spacings. The 
curve was plotted under the special con- 
dition that both elements are a half- 
wavelength long. The dotted curve 
shows the power gain when a reflector 
is used as the parasitic element. The 
zero reference line shows the power gain 
from the driven element alone. 


MAXIMUM 
POWER 


(3) The gain of a parasitic array depends on 


the length of the parasitic element as 
well as the spacing between elements. 
Figure 176 shows the gain when the 
length of the parasitic element is ad- 
justed to obtain the most possible gain 
at any given spacing. There is, then, 
an increase in gain at any spacing be- 
tween elements. 


+4 Gi 
weit ITA NT eet & 
'   REFLECTOR=+— 2 
er a el A ae: 
"TTA IAIN ITT ¢ 
zt LI TL [Xe pomecton    3 
$ a w 
‘ : 
zB ° 5 
uw 
eo, s . 
1 see eee eee 
Ww 
x 


ELEMENT SPACING (WAVELENGTHS) 


™ 666-180 


Figure 176. Relative gains of a parasitic array for various 
spacing between elements when the parasitic element is 
adjusted for greatest gain. 


wales ee Paha 
° 05 A AS 2 -25 3 3 


ELEMENT SPACING (WAVELENGTHS) 


5 

(4) In figure 176, it can be seen that the maxi- 
mum gain with a director is almost 6 db 
at a spacing of slightly more than 0.1 
wavelength. With a reflector, the maxi- 
mum gain is 5.5 db at a spacing of 0.15 
wavelength. The same power gain is 


T™™ 666-179 


Figure 178. Relative gain for various spacings between 
elements. 


(2) From the curves, it is seen that when the 


director is placed about 0.1 wavelength, 
or when the reflector is placed about 0.2 
wavelength from the driven element there 
is power gain of 3 to 4. db. The curves 
also show that the director provides a 
greater power gain with less spacing be- 
tween elements than does a reflector. 
However, the curves show that the gain 
does not change as rapidly when the 
spacing of a reflector is changed. Con- 
sequently, with only a single parasitic 
element the reflector is used, since its 
spacing is not so critical. 


obtained when the director is placed 0.15 
wavelength from the driven element. 
Comparison of figures 175 and 176 indi- 
cates that more gain is obtained at any 
spacing when the length of the parasitic 
element is changed by tuning. 


d. Front-to-Back Ratio. 
(1) The front-to-back ratio of an array is the 


proportion of energy radiated in the 
principle direction of radiation (or re- 
ception) to the energy radiated (or re- 
ceived) in the opposite direction. It is 
desirable to have a high value of front-to- 


back ratio because this means that the 
minimum amount of energy is radiated 
in the undesired direction. Since it is 
impossible to suppress all such radiation 
completely, an infinite ratio cannot be 
achieved, but rather high values can be 
attained in practice. It is usual to 
adjust the length and spacing of the 
parasitic element so that a maximum 
front-to-back ratio is obtained rather 
than maximum gain in the desired direc- 
tion. 


(2) In general, as the length of the parasitic 


element is reduced from a_half-wave- 
length, it has a greater capacitive react- 
ance. As the length is increased from a 
half-wavelength, it has a greater induc- 
tive reactance. The variation of the 
front-to-back ratio for different reactance 
values of parasitic elements is shown in 
figure 177. Here the front direction is 
assumed to be in a line from the parasitic 
element to the driven element. The 
spacing between elements in this partic- 
ular case is held constant at 0.1 wave- 
length. At all negative reactance values 
(capacitive reactance) and at low values 
of positive reactance up to about +8 
ohms, the parasitic element acts as a 
director with this value of spacing. When 
the inductive reactance increases beyond 
+8 ohms, as the parasitic element length 
is increased, this element acts as a re- 
flector and the front-to-back ratio is 0.5. 
When the length of the parasitic element 
equals that of the driven element—that 
is, when both are tuned to the resonant 
frequency—the parasitic element is purely 
resistive and its reactance is zero. The 
parasitic element then behaves as a direc- 
tor and only half as much energy is 
radiated from the parasitic element 
toward the driven element as is radiated 
in the opposite direction. When the 
reactance of the parasitic element is +8 
ohms, the front-to-back ratio is 1. This 
means that there is equal radiation in 
both directions and the parasitic element 
behaves neither as a director nor as a 
reflector. 


(3) Tuning a parasitic element for a maxi- 


mum front-to-back ratio does not mean, 
necessarily, that the array provides a 


FRONT -TO-BACK RATIO 


maximum power gain. With the director 
that is tuned for maximum power gain 
(6 db, fig. 176), the resonant length of 
the director can be changed by experi- 
menting so that the front-to-back ratio 
is increased 10 times with a reduction in 
the power gain of less than 1 db. 


RERERER ARE 


DIRECTOR: 1 REFLECTOR 


ite oa eee 


0 
-~60 -40 ~-20 0 +20 +40 +60 


CAPACITIVE INDUCTIVE 
EACTANCE REACTANCE 


(OHMS) (OHMS) 


TM 666-18} 


Figure 177. The fronj-to-back ratio of a parasitic array with 


varying reactance of the parasitic element. 


e. Radiation Resistance. 


(1) The elements of a parasitic array must 


be spaced a fraction of a wavelength 
from each other to obtain high power 
gain and high front-to-back ratio. When 
this is done, however, the radiation re- 
sistance of the driven element is altered 
considerably. The closer the spacing 
between elements, the smaller the radia- 
tion resistance becomes; the greater the 
spacing, the larger the radiation resist- 
ance (approaching the free-space value). 
The resulting low values of radiation 
resistance in parasitic arrays have sev- 
eral effects, not only limiting the number 
and type of feeding systems that can be 
used, but also reducing the radiation 
efficiency of the array. 


(2) The reason for the low values of radiation 


resistance in parasitic arrays is explained 
as follows: Since both elements are 
placed extremely close to one another, 
the voltage induced back in the driven 


201 


element as a result of the parasitic ele- 72 
ment is almost equal in magnitude to the 
original driven element voltage. Since 
these voltages are out of phase with each 
other, a cancelation effect exists at the 
driven element. This reduces the voltage 
at the driven element which, therefore, 
causes a reduction in its feed-point re- 
sistance with the same input power. The 
closer the elements, the greater is the 
cancelation effect, and the lower is the 
radiation resistance. 

(3) The manner in which radiation resistance 
varies with different element spacings is 
shown in figure 178, where both driven 
and parasitic elements are resonant. 
Note from the curve that the radiation 
resistance increases as either the reflector 
or the director is moved farther away 
from the driven element. The lowest 
radiation resistance is slightly greater 
than about 8 ohms when the elements 
are very close together. For spacings as 
great as 0.3 wavelength, when a reflector su @eaias 
° used, the radiation FESIB Lene goes a8 Figure 178. Curve showing radiation resistance al the driven 
high as 66 ohms. When a director is used element for various spacings of driven and parasitic 
at this spacing, the resistance is about elements. 

56 ohms. This indicates that larger 
radiation resistance values can be ac- 


FDIRECTOR— 
Bpaeehaeer 


ELEMENT SPACING (WAVELENGTH) 


f. Radiation Patterns. 
(1) The radiation patterns of a parasitic 


202 


quired when using the parasitic element 
as a reflector. 


(4) The maximum power gain with a reflector 


and a director occurs at element spacing 
of 0.2 and 0.1 wavelength, and the para- 
sitic elements are the same length as the 
driven element. At these spacings, the 
radiation resistance values with the re- 
flector and director are 36 ohms and 14 
ohms, respectively. These values are 
very small compared with a radiation re- 
sistance of about 73 ohms for the driven 
element alone. So, although the power 
gain of a parasitic array is large, the 
radiation efficiency may be low. In the 
selection of the type of array that is to be 
used for an antenna system, it first must 
be determined whether maximum power 
gain or radiation efficiency is desired. 
For maximum radiation efficiency, the 
driven array is used, and for maximum 
power gain the parasitic array is used. 


array depend on the spacing between 
elements and the length of the parasitic 
element. The reactance reflected by the 
parasitic element is a direct function of 
its length. When the parasitic element 
is longer than a half-wavelength, it be- 
haves as an inductive reactance. The 
induced parasitic voltage leads the in- 
duced current, and the parasitic phase 
angle is positive. When the parasitic 
element is shorter than a half-wavelength, 
it behaves as a capacitive reactance. 
The induced parasitic voltage lags the 
induced current, and the parasitic phase. 
angle is negative. These angles are indi- 
cated in figure 179, which shows several 
radiation patterns in the horizontal (zz) 
plane for various element spacings and 
parasitic phase angles. The power input 
to the driven element is the same in each 
case. The radiation resistance is shown 
above each pattern. 


ELEMEN 
RADIATED 


SIGNAL * 


REFLECTOR 


Ta 
—-X 


11.7 OHMS 


een ee 


23.8 OHMS 


41.6 OHMS 25.6 OHMS 


64 OHMS 


80.6 OHMS 70.9 OHMS 


ELEMENT SPACING (WAVELENGTHS) 


14.9 OHMS 
z z * r 4 
ie 5 OHMS 


“Gor RE OO 


37 sau 


‘So ED PB 


58.8 OHMS 


DIRECTOR 


ELEMENT 
pay Sen » RADIATED 
! 


SIGNAL 
1 
Zz 
31.6 OHMS 54.3 OHMS 
O- > 
z z 
25.6 OHMS 41.6 OHMS 


DIRECTOR 


33.3, OHMS 40 OHMS 


49. > ad 48.7 OHMS 


eee AS 


+40° 20° a 
ANGLE BY WHICH INDUCED PARASITIC VOLTAGE LEADS OR LAGS INDUCED CURRENT 


TM 666-183 


Figure 179. Radiation patterns of a parasitic array for various element spacings and phase angles. 


(2) At 0.15-wavelength element spacing and a 


phase angle of 0° (with parasitic element 
resonant), the radiation pattern is bi- 
directional. When the spacing is 0.15 
wavelength and the angle is +20°, the 
parasitic element acts as a reflector, but 
at a spacing of 0.15 wavelength and an 
angle of —20°, the parasitic element acts 
as a director. The diagonal dotted line 
indicates the dividing line between re- 
flector and director action. If the spac- 
ing between elements is other than 0.15 
wavelength, making the length of a para- 
sitic element shorter than a half-wave- 
length (resonant length) does not neces- 
sarily make it behave as a director, as 
shown by the pattern obtained at a spac- 
ing of 0.25 wavelength and a phase angle 
of —20°. Since the angle is negative, 


the parasitic element is shorter than its 
resonant length which ordinarily makes 
it appear as a director. However, the 
radiation pattern indicates that it ac- 
tually behaves as a reflector. 


g. Frequency Response. 
(1) As mentioned previously, the parasitic 


array has a comparatively narrow fre- 
quency range. Well outside this range, 
the effect of the parasitic element is small 
and the driven element alone controls 
the over-all characteristics. Figure 180 
shows the frequency response of a driven 
element alone contrasted with a parasitic 
array using a director and a reflector. 
The reflector curve is that obtained when 
the length of the reflector produces max- 
imum power gain with a spacing between 
elements of 0.2 wavelength. The di- 


203 


RELATIVE POWER GAIN (db). 


FREQUENCY RATIO (fA) 


rector curve is that obtained when the 
physical length of the director produces 
maximum power gain, with the spacing 
between elements 0.1 wavelength. The 
diameter of the elements is about 0.006 
wavelength. Ratio f,/f, is the frequency 
applied to the array compared with the 
resonant frequency of the driven element. 


(2) In the curve showing the frequency range 


of the driven element alone, a maximum 
power gain of 0 db (reference gain) is 
obtained when f,/f, equals 1; that is, 
when the frequency of the radiated signal 
equals the resonant frequency of the 
driven element. As the frequency of the 
applied signal decreases, the f,/f, ratio 
decreases, and the relative power gain 
decreases. As the frequency of the 
applied signal increases, the f,/f, ratio 
increases, and the relative power gain 
decreases. In other words, a decrease 
or an increase in the applied frequency 
causes a decrease in the power gain. 
This curve tapers off gradually as the 
frequency is changed, which indicates 
that the frequency response of the driven 
element alone is fairly broad. 


(3) Consider the reflector curve. Maximum 


power gain (+5 db) results when the 
applied frequency equals the resonant 
frequency of the driven element. How- 
ever, the power gain decreases sharply 
as the applied frequency is increased or 
decreased. Thisindicatesthe narrow fre- 


TOR 


Syeprecron       tt 

ee. Ceeeeee 
a ea fe Ne 

paeYi i   tty     PN   1 

laser EEE 
7 event   


TM 666-184 


Figure 180. Frequency coverage of a driven element contrasted with an array using a director and a reflector. 


quency response. When the applied fre- 
quency is increased by only 10 percent 
(f2/f.=1.1), the power gain drops 2 db— 
that is, from +5 to +3 db. When the 
applied frequency is decreased 10 percent 
(f,/f.==0.9), the power gain drops 4.5 db, 
from +5 to +0.5 db. At the f,/f, ratios 
of 0.88 and 1.23, there is a no-power gain 
compared with that of the driven ele- 
ment acting alone. The points where 
the driven element curve and the reflector 
curve mtersect (f,/f.=0.84 and 1.45) in- 
dicate that the same power gain results 
at this frequency ratio regardless of 
whether the reflector is used in the array. 
At all ratios lower than /,/f,=0.84, a 
greater power gain is obtained when using 
the driven element alone. 


(4) In the director curve, a similar action 


results. When /,/f, ratio equals 1, max- 
imum power gained is obtained. As the 
frequency ratio increases or decreases, 
the curve drops off rapidly, showing a 
sharp decrease in power gain. The direc- 
tor curve tapers off much more rapidly 
for ratios greater than 1 compared to the 
reflector curve. With ratios less than 1, 
the curve tapers off slightly less rapidly 
than the reflector curve. Therefore, the 
frequency response of the array with a 
director is very much narrower than that 
of the array with a reflector. 


106. Multiparasitic Arrays 


a. A multiparasitic array is one which contains 
two or more parasitic elements with the driven ele- 
ment. Ifthe array contains two parasitic elements 
(a driven element, a reflector, and a director), it 
usually is known as a three-element beam. If three 
parasitic elements are used, the array then is 
known as a four-element beam, and so on. Gen- 
erally speaking, if more parasitic elements are 
added to a three-element beam, each added ele- 
ment is a director. For example, a five-element 
beam contains one driven element, one reflector, 
and three directors. Most parasitic arrays do not 
use a greater number of elements than this. 

b. The parasitic elements of a multiparasitic 
array usually are positioned as shown in figure 181. 
A shows a three-element beam, B a four-element 
beam, and C a five-element beam. Although the 
spacing between elements is typical of those nor- 
mally encountered, many variations may be found. 
Frequently, the best spacings are found experi- 
mentally. In a three-element beam, the director 
usually is made slightly shorter and the reflector 
is made slightly longer than the driven element. 
The length ofthe second director in a four-element 
beam usually is shorter than the one nearest the 
driven element, and each additional director is 
made shorter than the previous one. A folded 
dipole can be used as the driven element to obtain 
greater values of radiation resistance. 

c. The reason for using a multiparasitic array is 
to obtain greater power gain and unidirectivity. 
In addition, a larger front-to-back ratio can be ob- 
tained with proper parasitic tuning. In general, 
the more parasitic elements used, the greater is the 
power gain. However, a greater number of such 
elements causes the array to have a narrower 
frequency response characteristic and become 
critical to adjust. The gain of parasitic array 
does not increase directly with the number of 
elements used. For example, the three-element 
beam shown in the figure has a relative power gain 
of 5db. Adding another director results in only a 
2-db increase, or a total gain of about 7 db. If 
another director is added to the array, an increase 
of less than 1 db results, making the total gain less 
than 8 db. It is seen that the director closest to 
the driven element has the greatest effect on the 


gain; the one farthest away has the least effect. 
Consequently, as more directors are added, the 
effect on radiation resistance becomes smaller and 
smaller. Regardless of how many directors are 
added to the array, only a single reflector is used, 
because very little radiation goes behind this 
reflector. 


Wisp 


RAOIATEO SIGNAL 


ORIVEN 
PEELEETOR ELEMENT DIRECTOR 
OR 
ee— 1 ) —_Poe— 1-15 — Po 
A 
R OR oi 
oe——_; . —_veot—-1 y—eent-.152—oe 
B 
R OR OL o2 
ee-——._   }——__ 90a —.   1. ——_ 0a —21 —_ ee 1-151 
Cc 
TM 666-185 


Figure 181. Examples of spacing between elements of multi- 
parasitic arrays. 


d. When there are two or more parasitic ele- 
ments in a multiparasitic array, it sometimes is 
referred to as a yagi array. A typical yagi array 
used for receiving and transmitting radio energy 
is shown in figure 182. This antenna, used by the 
military services, operates at frequencies from 12 to 
50 mc and consists of two separate yagi arrays 
mounted on one frame (one high-frequency and 
one low-frequency antenna array.) The various 
elements are indicated in the figure. The high- 
frequency array consists of one reflector, one 
driven element and two directors; the low-fre- 
quency array has the same arrangement with one 
less director. The lengths of the elements in the 
high-frequency array are shorter than those in the 
low-frequency array. The physical lengths of the 
elements in the individual arrays are equal, but 
the electrical lengths can be varied by means of 
the tuning stubs at the center of the elements. 
The array can be rotated in any desired direction 
by a remotely controlled, electrically driven, an- 
tenna rotator. Some of the characteristics of this 
array are given in the chart below. 


205 


Number 


Range of ele: pang Rated Feeding of driven element 
I-f_....- 3 7db   25db   52- to 600-ohm trans- 
mission line fed 
directly to T-match- 
ing section of driven 

element. 
h-f_.__- 4 9 db 30 db   52- to 600-ohm trans- 


mission line using 
inductive. coupling 
to driven element. 


(2) A simple field intensity meter or high- 
input impedance vacuum-tube voltmeter 
may be used as the adjustment indicator. 

(3) No transmitter adjustments are necessary. 

(4) The r-f voltage induced in the antenna 
elements is of such low magnitude that 
the elements, including stubs and T- 
match sections, may be touched and 
handled without endangering personnel 
with r-f burns. 

(5) Fewer personnel are needed to make the 
adjustments. 


Figure 182. A typical parasitic array used for receiving and transmitting. 


107. Tuning, Adjusting, and Feeding 


a. There are many methods of tuning and 
adjusting parasitic arrays. Regardless of which 
method is used, and whether it is to be used for 
transmitting or receiving, the perasitic array 
usually is set up as a receiving array when it is 
adjusted. Some of the reasons for doing this are 
given below. 

(1) The parasitic array is immersed in a 
radiated field of constant intensity which, 
in turn, gives truer indications. 


b. In many instances, the elements of a para- 
sitic array contain telescopic sections which permit 
the physical length of the elements to be length- 
ened or shortened. It is customary first to adjust 
physical lengths approximately before attempting 
final adjustments. The following formulas can be 
used: 


length (in feet) of driven clement="— 
length (in feet) of reflector="— 


length (in feet) of director=“> 


where f is in megacycles in all cases. As an exam- 
ple, if a three-element beam is to operate at a 
frequency of 100 mc, the approximate physical 
lengths of its driven element, reflector, and di- 
rector, respectively, are 468/100 or 4.68 feet, 492/ 
100 or 4.9 feet, and 450/100 or 4.5 feet. 

ce. The method by which the driven element of a 
parasitic array is fed determines the method used 
in adjusting it. 

d. A typical arrangement used for tuning and 
adjusting the elements of a four-element beam is 
shown in figure 183. A half-wave exciting dipole 
is fed by a low-power transmitter. This dipole 
radiates energy to the parasitic array. The power 
output of the transmitter must be held constant 
during the procedure. The spacing between the 
parasitic array and the exciting dipole is 2 or more 
wavelengths. The driven element of the parasitic 
array is connected through a 600-ohm balanced 
line to a field intensity meter or a high-impedance 
vacuum-tube voltmeter by means of a T-matching 
section. These meters need not be calibrated, 
since only relative values of r-f voltage are required 
to be measured. The lengths of all of the elements 
are adjusted electrically (tuned) by the adjustable 


tuning stubs. 


e. The method and points to remember in tuning 
and sdjusting the array are as follows: 

(1) The height of the array should be a rea- 
sonable distance from the ground so that 
the element adjustments may be made 
conveniently. Very large arrays should 
be placed as much as 10 to 12 feet off the 
ground. In this case, the adjustments 
can be reached by a ladder. 

(2) The height of the exciting array must be 
the same as the parasitic array so that a 
constant large amount of radiated energy 
may be received by the array. 

(3) The low-power transmitter must be as 
close to the exciting dipole as possible. 
This means that the transmission line 
connecting the two must be as short as 
possible. In this way, it is less likely 
that the parasitic array will pick up radi- 
ation from the transmission line or from 
the transmitter directly. 

(4) The spacing between the exciting dipole 
and parasitic array must be 2 or more 
wavelengths for the reason given above. 
If the distance is made too great, on the 
other hand, the parasitic array might not 
pick up sufficient energy to actuate the 
meter. 


EXCITING 
DIPOLE 


—Qr, 


2 OR MORE WAVELENGTHS 


DIRECTOR 
REFLECTOR ’ 


DRIVEN V4 


DIRECTOR 


_ 2 
Nk TUNING STUBS 


\ 


T-MATCHED SECTION 


LOW- POWER 
TRANSMITTER 
10 TO 50 WATTS 


FIELD INTENSITY METER 


——<—<—_—_——. 


OR 
HIGH-IMPEDANCE VTVM 


TM 666-187 


Figure 188. Typical arrangement for tuning and adjusting a four-element beam. 


207 


(5) The T-matching section and the tuning 
stub of the driven element are adjusted 
for a maximum meter reading, and the 
stub of the director element closest to the 
driven element is adjusted for maximum 
meter reading. The stub of director No. 
2 then is adjusted for a maximum reading. 


(6) The antenna is rotated 180° so that the 
reflector element is closest to the exciting 
dipole. The stub of the reflector then is 
adjusted for a minimum meter reading, 
to insure that the reflector produces a 
maximum attenuation in the unwanted 
direction of radiation. 


Section IV. SUMMARY AND REVIEW QUESTIONS 


108. Summary 


a. An array is a combination of half-wave ele- 
ments operating together as a single antenna. 
Arrays provide more gain and greater directivity 
than single-element antennas. 

b. In a driven array, all elements derive their 
power directly from the source. In a parasitic 
array, one or more (parasitic) elements derive 
power by coupling from another element or other 
elements. 

c. Arrays can be bidirectional or. unidirectional. 
A bidirectional array radiates. equally in two 
opposing directions along a line of maximum 
radiation. A unidirectional array radiates well 
in a single direction. 

d, The elements in a collinear array lie in the 
same straight line, and maximum radiation occurs 
at right angles to this line. The currents in all 
elements must be in the same phase. 

e. The elements in a broadside array are all 
parallel and in the same plane. Maximum radia- 
tion develops in the plane at right angles to the 
plane of the elements. The currents in all ele- 
ments are in the same phase. 

f. The elements in an end-fire array also are 
parallel to each other and in the same plane, but 
maximum radiation occurs along the axis of 
the array. Currents in adjacent elements are 
never in the same phase. A 180° phase difference 
from element to element is most common and 
produces bidirectional radiation. A 90° phase 
difference results in a unidirectional pattern. 

g. At points distant from the array, radiation 
is either stronger or weaker than from a single 
element, depending on the direction of the point 
with respect to the array. At some angles, com- 
bined radiation from the various elements results 
in reinforcement; at other angles, combined 
radiation results in cancelation. The degree of 
cancelation of reinforcement is a function of the 
relative phase of radiation from different elements 
combining in space. 


208 


h. Matching stubs or sections are used between 
elements to maintain current in the desired phase. 

i. The impedence of an antenna element acting 
alone (selfimpedance) differs from its impedance 
when it is acting with other elements in an array. 
Mutual impedance accounts for the difference 
between these two. 

j. When collinear elements are a half-wave- 
length, the length of the stub between them is a 
quarter-wavelength. When the elements are 
longer, the length of the stubs is reduced cor- 
respondingly. In any one array, all elements 
must be of the same length. 

k. The gain of a collinear array depends on the 
number of elements used and the space between 
elements. Gain is greatest when this spacing 
is 0.4 to 0.5 wavelength. Gain also increases as 
the number of elements is increased. 

l. Collinear antennas can be fed adequately 
by resonant lines. Feed usually is introduced 
at a point between the ends of two elements, 
where the impedance is in the order of 1,500 ohms. 
Feed also can be introduced at the center of one 
of the elements. For best balance, the trans- 
mission line is introduced at the center of the 
array. 

m. Optimum gain is obtained from broadside 
arrays when the elements are spaced 0.65 wave- 
length apart. However, half-wave spacing, which 
provides good gain, simplifies phasing. 

n. When a broadside array is stacked vertically, 
height requirements usually limit the number of 
elements used; when the dipoles are vertical, 
more than six elements rarely are used. 

o. There are two principal means for bringing 
currents into broadside elements in the same 
phase. When the phasing line between dipoles 
is a half-wavelength, alternate elements are con- 
nected to opposite sides of the line. When the 
lengths are 1 wavelength, all elements are con- 
nected to similar sides of the line. 


p. The optimum spacing between end-fire 
elements is an eight-wavelength. 

q. The radiation resistance of end-fire arrays is 
very low. 

r. Radiation resistance can be increased and 
feeding can be simplified by the use of folded 
dipoles and impedance step-up matching devices. 

s. The extended double-Zepp antenna consists 
of a two-element collinear array in which the 
length of each element is somewhat longer than 
a half-wavelength. 

t. The lazy-H antenna array consists of two 
collinear arrays connected in parallel and spaced 
a half-wavelength apart in the vertical plane. 

u. The Sterba curtain consists of two collinear 
arrays, usually made up of a large number of 
elements, stacked one above the other at a spac- 
ing of a half-wavelength. The form of the array 
is such that a closed loop is formed by the con- 
ductors making up the array. 

v. The Bruce array consists of a single wire 
folded into horizontal and vertical quarter-wave 
sections. 

w. The flat-top array consists of two pairs of 
collinear elements, mounted in a horizontal plane 
and separated from each other by a small spacing 
(approximately an eighth- to a quarter-wave- 
length). 

z. A parasitic array consists of one or more 
parasitic elements along with a driven element. 

y. The director usually is made shorter and the 
reflector usually is made longer than the driven 
element to obtain a large power gain. 

z. The amount of power gain and directivity 
of a parasitic array depends on the lengths of the 
parasitic elements and the spacing between 
elements. 

aa. When the length of a parasitic element 
equals that of the driven element, a maximum 
power gain exists when the parasitic element is 
used as a director and is placed 0.1 wavelength 
from the driven element, or when it is used as a 
reflector and placed 0.2 wavelength from the 
driven element. 

ab. When the length of a parasitic element is 
tuned for a maximum power gain at any given 
spacing between elements, it is found that maxi- 
mum power gain for the director results at 0.1 
wavelength spacing and for the reflector at 
0.15 wavelength spacing. 

ac. Some power gain must be sacrificed when a 
parasitic array is tuned to obtain a maximum 
front-to-back ratio. 


ad. The radiation resistance of the driven ele- 
ment of @ parasitic array is very much less than 
that of a driven array. This, in turn, reduces its 
radiation efficiency. 

ae. The parasitic array has a comparatively 
narrow frequency range of optimum operation. 

af. The frequency response of a parasitic array 
using a reflector is wider than the frequency re- 
sponse of an array using a director. 

ag. Multiparasitic arrays are used to obtain 
greater power gain, directivity, and front-to-back 
ratios. 

ah. When tuning and adjusting a parasitic 
array, it usually is set up as a receiving array. 

ai. The approximate physical lengths of the 
elements of a parasitic array are as follows: 


length (driven element)=468 
af 
length (reflector) =492 


f 
length (director)=450 
f 


where the length is in feet and f is in mc. 

aj. When tuning a parasitic array, the elements 
are tuned in this order: the driven element, the 
director nearest the driven element, all other 
directors, and the reflector. 


109. Review Questions 


a. What is an array? 
parasitic array? 

b. What are the advantages and disadvantages 
of arrays as compared with other antennas? 

c. Describe a collinear array, with special atten- 
tion to the following features: arrangement and 
number of elements, phase relationship, radiation 
pattern. 

d. In what ways is a broadside array likely to 
differ from an end-fire array in appearance? 

e. Explain the difference in operation between 
broadside and end-fire arrays. Compare them as 
to the following features: plane of directivity, 
radiation resistance, phase relationship, spacing, 
feeding. 

f. What is mutual impedance? 


g. What is the gain of three collinear elements 
with negligible spacing between the elements? 

h. What is the gain of two collinear elements 
with 3-quarter-wavelength center-to-center spac- 
ing? 


A driven array? A 


209 


i. What is the radiation resistance of two col- 
linear elements with 0.35-wavelength spacing 
between their adjacent ends? 

3. What is the best point in a collinear array at 
which to introduce the feed? Why? 

k. For purposes of calculating reflection effects, 
what is considered to be the height of a broadside 
array above ground? 

l. Two parallel elements, half a wave apart, 
must be phased for broadside operation. Describe 
two methods by which this can be done. At what 
points can the transmission line be introduced? 

m. Three parallel elements with half-wavelength 
spacing must be phased for broadside operation. 
Describe one method by which this is done. Do 
not use a method explained in answer to the 
previous question. 

nm. Explain how four parallel elements must be 
phased for broadside operation when full-wave 
spacing is used. 

o. With what spacing will a broadside array be 
most efficient? 

p. Explain two methods for phasing a pair of 
parallel elements for bidirectional end-fire opera- 
tion. Choose one method using center feed. 

q. At what spacing do end-fire elements provide 
the greatest gain? What problems arise at this 
spacing and how can they be overcome? 

r. What is the input resistance of a pair of end- 
fire elements operated 180° apart with quarter- 
wavelength spacing? 

s. What is the optimum length of the elements 
in the extended double-Zepp antenna? 

t. Why is the lazy-H antenna array so named? 


210 


u. To what use can the closed-loop structure of 
the Sterba curtain be placed? 

v. Why does the Bruce array illustrated in 
figure 171 produce a vertically polarized radio 
wave? 

w. Describe the radiation pattern produced by 
the flat-top array. 

z. What is a parasitic array? 

y. Why is the physical length of a director 
shorter, and that of a reflector longer than the 
length of the driven element? 

z. Name three factors that the gain and direc- 
tivity of a parasitic array depend upon. 

aa. Compare the characteristics of a parasitic 
array with those of a driven array. 

ab. When a parasitic array is tuned for maxi- 
mum power gain, is the front-to-back ratio also a 
maximum? 

ac. Why is the radiation resistance of a parasitic 
array always lower than that of a driven array? 

ad. What is a two-element beam? A _ three- 
element beam? A four-element beam? 

ae. What are the advantages of using multi- 
parasitic arrays? 

af. Name the common methods for varying the 
length of parasitic elements. 

ag. Why are parasitic arrays operated usually 
as recewing arrays when they are adjusted? 

ah. What are the formulas used to determine the 
approximate physical lengths of a director, a 
reflector, and a driven element? 

ai. Give the order in which the elements of a 
five-element beam are tuned. 


CHAPTER 6 
RADIO DIRECTION FINDING ANTENNAS 


110. Directional Reception 


Since the early days of radio, it has been known 
that a radio wave, when traveling between a 
transmitter and:a receiver, almost always follows 
the shortest line along the surface of the earth, 
the Great Circle Path. For example, if a radio 
station located in New York City is radiating 
energy, that portion of the energy picked up by a 
receiver in Los Angeles, Calif., will travel diago- 
nally across the United States. Thus, the problem 
of radio direction finding is reduced to that of 
determining the direction of arrival of a radio 
wave at the receiver. This determination is ac- 
complished by using a directional receiving anten- 
na, such as a loop or an Adcock antenna. 


111. Loop Antenna 


a. General. A loop antenna consists of one or 
more turns of conductor, either self-supporting or 
wound on an insulated frame. The most com- 
monly used styles are diamond-shaped, square 
(fig. 184), or circular loops. These antennas all 
have a figure-8 response pattern. Thus, if a small 
transmitter is moved about a loop, unequal 
responses will be obtained at equal transmitter 
distances. Conversely, if a loop is rotated about 
its central vertical axis and the transmitter is held 
in one position, unequal responses will be obtained 
at different loop positions. 

(1) The output voltage of these antennas is 
the result of phase differences between 
the voltages induced in opposite sides of 
the antenna. Consider that the single- 
turn loop of figure 185 is placed in the 
path of a vertically polarized wave. 
When the plane of the loop is in line with 
the direction of wave travel, as indicated, 
the wave front (fig. 11) reaches the sides 
of the loop at slightly different times 
(one side of loop is nearer the transmitter 
than the other side), producing a phase 


difference between the voltages induced 
in the two sides and giving rise to a 
resultant voltage across the antenna 
coupling coil. The resultant voltage is 
maximum when the plane of the loop is 
in line with the direction of wave travel. 
No voltage is induced in the horizontal 
sides of the loop because the vertically 
polarized wave travels parallel to them. 

(2) If the loop then is rotated about its 
central vertical axis until the plane of the 
loop is perpendicular to the direction of 
wave travel, the wave front will reach the 
sides of the loop at the same time, the 
voltages induced in the two sides will be 
equal in magnitude and of the same 
phase, and, being directed in opposition 
through the coupling impedance, will 
cancel, thus resulting in a minimum 
output. The point of minimum response 
is called a null. 

b. Pattern with Normal Polarization. When the 
incoming radio waves have vertical polarization, 
which is the normal condition under which a 
vertical loop would be used for direction finding, 
the loop antenna has a figure-8 response pattern 
(fig. 186). In this illustration, the loop appears 
in the 90° to 270° position; any signal received 
from either of these directions will induce maxi- 
mum signal into the receiver. As the loop is 
turned away from the direction from which the 
wave is arriving (90° to 270° position), the 
received signal decreases, reaching a minimum 
when the loop is in either the 0° or the 180° 
position. The line of direction of a transmitter 
can be determined by rotating the loop about its 
vertical axis until either a null or a maximum 
signal is produced. Then the transmitter direc- 
tion is broadside to the loop at the null, or edge- 
wise to the loop at the maximum, and the appro- 
priate direction (azimuth) can be indicated by a 
pointer attached to the loop. It is customary to 


211 


TM 666-189 


Figure 184. Loop antenna. 


use the minimum rather than the maximum output 
of a loop when finding an azimuth. This permits 
a sharply defined indication and greater accuracy. 
The response pattern in figure 187 shows why this 
is so; maximum response of 100 microvolts is 
obtained with the loop edgewise to direction A 
(toward the transmitter). With the loop pointing 
toward B, a 10° rotation, there is only a 1.5-micro- 


212 


voli: change in signal strength; this difference is 
not noticeable in the output. But with the loop 
broadside to a transmitter at D, a null position, a 
similar 10° rotation of the loop causes a 17.4- 
microvolt change in signal intensity. 

c. Pattern with Abnormal Polarization. Since 
vertical polarization is considered normal for loop 
operation, any wave containing a horizontally 


DIRECTION OF 
WAVE TRAVEL 


ANTENNA 
COUPLING COIL 


TO RECEIVER 
INPUT CIRCUIT 


T 666-190 


fP-AxIS OF 
ROTATION 


Figure 185. Simple loop antenna circuit, schematic diagram. 


polarized component is considered as being abnor- 
mally polarized. A horizontally polarized wave 
has no effect on vertical conductors, but it will 
induce, voltage in horizontal conductors such as 
those at the top and bottom of a loop. The 
response pattern of a loop for horizontal polarization 
is a figure 8, with maximum broadside and null 
endwise to the horizontal conductors. If the wave 
travels exactly horizontally, voltages induced in 
the top and bottom conductors will be equal and 
in phase; they will cancel each other in the loop 
output, just as do the voltages induced in the two 
sides by a (vertically polarized) wave arriving 
from the normal null direction (broadside). Thus, 
the horizontally polarized component of a wave 
produces little or no loop output when arriving at 
a low angle, but its effect becomes important when 
the wave is steeply downcoming (or upcoming). 
There will be an error of +90° in the azimuth 
determined by a simple loop direction finder if the 
polarization is assumed to be vertical when it 


o 

MINIMUM 

VOLTAGE 
(NULL) 


TL 9710 


Figure 186. Loop antenna, figure-8 response pattern. 


actually is horizontal. If the incoming wave has 
both vertically and horizontally polarized com- 
ponents, the figure-8 responses to the two compo- 
nents may combine to produce a figure 8 with 
sharp nulls, rotated in azimuth by some angle less 
than 90° from the normal position; this happens 
when the two components produce output voltages 
either in phase or 180° out of phase. When the 
two components produce voltages having other 
phase relations, the resulting response pattern 
may have its nulls filled in so that they become 
broad minima rather than zeros. In the special 
case where the two components produce equal 
output voltages 90° out of phase, the resulting 
response pattern becomes a perfect circle. 

d. Ambiguity. Unless the general direction of 
the transmitter is known, a direction finder 
equipped with a simple loop antenna cannot 
determine whether a transmitter lies forward or to 
the rear of the direction finder. This 180° 


7 
-~— 
- 
-- 


TL 97 


Figure 187. Change in loop position versus change in signal 


voliage. 


ambiguity is caused by the two null positions of 
the loop, both of which indicate the same line of 
direction. There is no indication as to which of 
the two is the correct azimuth. 


112. Loop and Sense Antennas 


a. Purpose. The sense antenna is usually a 
vertical whip or monopole placed at the vertical 
axis of the loop. It is omnidirectional in azimuth. 
Both the circular response pattern of the sense 
antenna and the figure 8 pattern of the loop are 
symmetrical; but, when properly combined, the 
two antennas produce a lopsided or unidirectional 
pattern (cardioid pattern in fig. 188). The big 
end of this pattern lies to the right of one maxima, 
and to the left of the other maxima of the figure 8 


213 


RESULTANT 
CARDIO!IO PATTERN 


SENSE 
PATTERN 


PATTERN 


TM 666-191 


Figure 188. Cardioid response pattern obtained by com- 
bination of circular and figure & voltages. 


pattern. By observing the relative positions of 
the unidirectional pattern, the two nulls can be 
distinguished, thus resolving the 180° ambiguity 
of the simple loop. One null is designated arbi- 
trarily the front or direction null; the other is 
called the back or reciprocal null. 

b. Application. After the loop has been rotated 
to a null, the direction it faces may be read from 
an azimuth scale or observed directly. Then the 
sense antenna is placed in operation, changing the 
response pattern from figure 8 to unidirectional. 
The null vanishes because of this change, and, 
upon turning the loop 90° to either side from the 
former null position, the response is found to be 
greater on one side than on the other. Which side 
is greater depends on whether the loop originally 
has its direct null facing toward or away from the 
transmitter. - As a rule, if the response increases 
as the loop is turned clockwise, which increases 
the azimuth scale reading, or if the response 
decreases as the azimuth reading decreases, the 
direct null was toward the transmitter; if the re- 
sponse changes in the opposite direction, the 
reciprocal null was toward the transmitter. This 
relation is not always used. It can be reversed 
by transposing connections in the antenna circuit, 
to reverse the relative polarity of loop and sense 
antennas, or by a 180° shift in position of azimuth 
scale or pointer relative to the loop, and there are 
cases in which such a reversal has been made 
intentionally. 


214 


113. Cardioid Theory 


When the voltages from loop and sense antennas 
are combined with the proper phase and amplitude 
the resulting pattern is a heart-shaped curve known 
to mathematicians as a cardioid. A tvpical case 
is illustrated in figures 189 and 190, and is ex- 
plained, step by step, as follows: 

a. A radio wave, traveling past the loop, as 
indicated in A of figure 189, strikes leg No. 1 a 
short time before it strikes leg No. 2. 

6. The voltages induced in the two vertical legs 
are connected in series opposition, so that the net 
output of the loop depends on their difference. 


c, As shown in B of figure 189, the voltage in 
leg No. 1 is starting to rise at time zero (ty); the 
voltage induced in leg No. 2 starts to rise a short 
time later (t,). However, so far as the output of 
the loop is concerned, the voltage induced in leg 
No. 2 is out of phase and begins to subtract from 
the voltage in leg No. 1 at this time (é). 

d. Resultant voltage Z, is developed across the 
output of the loop. This voltage is directly pro- 
portional to the time delay (phase shift) between 
the voltages induced in the legs of the loop. The 
greater the separation between ft) and ¢, in B of 
figure 189, the greater the resultant loop voltage. 

e. It is apparent in B of figure 189, that the 
resultant voltage leads the voltage induced in leg 
No. 1 approximately 90° and lags the voltage 
induced in leg No. 2 by the same amount. 

f. Voltage EZ, induced in the vertical sense an- 
tenna is intermediate in phase between the voltage 
induced in the two legs of the loop, and therefore 
lags the resultant loop voltage, £,, by 90°. To 
compensate for this phase difference (to have either 
an in-phase or an out-of-phase relation between 
resultant loop voltage Z, and sense voltage &,), it 
is necessary to advance or retard the phase of the 
loop voltage by 90° with a phase shifter. Re- 
tarded loop voltage E, is shown in C of figure 189. 
If the loop voltage had been advanced, it would be 
shifted 180° in phase from that shown in C of 
figure 189. 

g. Notice that retarded loop voltage E, and 
sense voltage H;, beginning at the same instant 
(t;), are in phase. These two voltages add in the 
input transformer; the receiver voltage Hp is maxi- 
mum (E of fig. 189). 

h. If the antenna is rotated on its vertical axis 
through 180°, the electromagnetic wave strikes 
leg No. 2 before it strikes leg No. 1 (fig. 190). 


OIRECTION OF 


WAVE TRAVEL 


PHASE SHIFTER 


: RECEIVER 
R (NPUT 


LOOP VOLTAGES 


aa PHASE SHIFTER 


oe VOLTAGE 
R 


TM 666-192 


Figure 189 Loop and sense antenna system, relationship of voltages. 


1. The voltages across both legs are induced in 
the same manner, producing a resultant again pro- 
portional to the separation between the legs. 
However, because of the loop rotation, the volt- 
ages of the two legs are interchanged, and resultant 
output voltage E, is shifted 180° in phase (B of 
fig. 190). 

j. Retarded loop voltage Ez is, therefore, out of 
phase with the sense voltage, and minimum signal 
E is applied to the receiver (C, D, and E of fig. 
190). 

k. At intermediate points between the maximum 
and minimum positions of the loop, the following 
conditions exist. Assume that the transmitter 
azimuth is 0° as shown in figure 191. 


(1) When the loop is rotated from 0° to 90°, 


loop voltage gradually decreases (dis- 
tance between loop legs along the direc- 
tion of wave travel becomes less). Sense 
voltage is constant and in phase with the 
loop voltage. Resultant receiver volt- 
age is decreasing. 


(2) When the loop is rotated from 90° to 


180°, loop voltage gradually increases 
(distance between loop legs along the 
direction of wave travel becomes greater). 
Sense voltage is constant and 180° out 
of phase with the loop voltage. Result- 
ant receiver voltage decreases because of 
the out-of-phase condition. 


215 


OIRECTION OF 
WAVE TRAVEL 


RECEIVER 
ER INPUT 
A 
PHASE SHIFTER 
INDUCED INDUCED 
VOLTAGE VOLTAGE 
LEG 2 LEG   RESULTANT 
/ LOOP VOLTAGE 
LOOP VOLTAGES B 


a -90° PHASE SHIFTER © 
Eo 
en SENSE VOLTAGE D 


Lt 3 
tt 
Hit 
hy 
tt 
—+— RECEIVER VOLTAGE E 
ER TM 666-193 


Figure 190. Relationship of voltages in loop and sense antenna system when 
loop has been rotated 180° from position shown in figure 189. 


(3) When the loop is rotated from 180° to Sense voltage is constant and in phase 
270°, loop voltage gradually decreases. with the loop voltage. Resultant re- 
Sense voltage is constant and 180° out ceiver voltage increases. 
of phase with the loop voltage. Result- l. Sense Voltage. In practice, sense circuits sel- 
ant receiver voltage increases. dom are adjusted to the ideal condition just de- 


(4) When the loop is rotated from 270° to scribed, and the resulting unidirectional pattern is 


216 


360°, loop voltage gradually increases. not a perfect cardioid. If the sense voltage is too 


TRANSMITTER 


DIRECTION OF 
WAVE TRAVEL 


RESULTING 
PATTERN 


(CARDIONID) 


SENSE PATTERN 
(CIRCLE) 


270° —— —— 


! 
( 
I 
  
180° TL 13823 


Figure 191. Cardioid response patiern. 


small, the resultant pattern is a slightly lopsided 
figure 8. Increasing the sense voltage then makes 
the figure 8 more and more lopsided (fig. 192), until 
the sense voltage equals the maximum loop volt- 
age; then one lobe disappears completely, making 
the pattern a perfect cardioid (fig. 191). Further 
increase of sense voltage increases both maximum 
and minimum of the resultant pattern (fig. 193), 
making it more and more like a circle. Either too 
little or too much sense voltage makes sense de- 
termination difficult, but any of the patterns just 
mentioned would be usable. The lopsidedness 
of the resultant pattern is readily distinguishable 
so long as the sense voltage is within +50 percent 
of the maximum loop voltage. If the sense volt- 
age is a little out of phase with the loop voltage, 
the resultant pattern becomes nearly circular, and 
the amplitude relation must be kept closer to the 
ideal for satisfactory operation. Figure 194 shows 
@ case in which both amplitude and phase relation 
are far from the ideal. Here, the sense voltage has 
about half the amplitude shown in figure 192, and 
is 40° or 50° out of phase with the loop voltage. 
The lopsidedness of the resulting pattern could be 
detected by comparing its two maxima on a visual 
indicator, but the difference is too small to be 


~ 
as LOOP PATTERN- 
\ 


a a PATTERN 
\ 
  


TLISOTIS 


Figure 192. Response patiern, low sense voltage and correct 
phase relation. 


SENSE 


CATT acs) a i 
7 “7 ~ a 


7 ¢ BS \ 


LOOP 
PATTERN 7p \ ‘s 


COMBINED LOOP 
AND SENSE 
PATTERN 


TM 666-194 


Figure 198. Response pattern, high sense voltage and correct 
phase relation. 


detected by listening. If necessary (for example, 
if part of the sense antenna is lost), such a pattern 
can be used by observing which way the null shifts 
when the sense switch is operated; both nulls shift 
toward the small end of the lopsided figure 8 
pattern. 


217 


AZIMUTH INDICATED 


TRUE AZIMUTH 


TM 666-198 


Figure 194. Response pattern, low sense voltage and incorrect 
phase relation. 


114. Loop Construction 


a. Balance. The most important single factor 
in the physical construction of a loop is its sym- 
metry. When the loop is symmetrical physically, 
electrical balance is obtained, and if the balance is 
good enough, antenna effect (stray pick-up of sense 
voltage) is reduced toa minimum. Any conduct- 
ing material near the loop, such as the top of the 
radio receiver case, should be placed symmetri- 
cally; otherwise the loop might be balanced at 
some positions but unbalanced at others. In the 
case of a square loop, it is preferable to place a 
corner rather than a side at the bottom; this 
arrangement keeps the body of the loop farther 
away from the ground so that any irregularities 
there (including metal items worn by the operator) 
are less likely to affect the loop balance. 

b. Electrostatic Shield. Multiturn loops often 
are inclosed in an electrostatic shield. This is a 
metal case, or a film of metal on a case of some 
other material which surrounds the loop winding 
almost completely (fig. 195). At one point (the 
top) there is a gap in the metal, and opposite sides 
of the gap are insulated from each other to prevent 
the shield from forming a closed (short-circuited) 
loop. The shield is grounded near the loop termi- 
nals as far as possible from the insulated gap. Asa 
vertical antenna, therefore, the shield is short-cir- 
cuited. Consider the voltages induced by a pass- 
ing radio wave as made up of two components, one 
corresponding to the desired loop voltage, the 
other to antenna effect. The former can produce 
very little current in the shield because of the in- 
sulated gap, but is fully effective in the loop which 
does have conductors crossing that gap. The 
latter component causes a flow of current over the 
shield to ground. Since the ground connection is a 
short circuit, this current produces in the shield 
counter electromotive force just equal to the origi- 


218 


INSULATOR 


~ 
aE ELECTROSTATIC 
\ SHIELD 


Loop 
CONDUCTOR 


TL 97ISA 


Figure 195. Shielded loop. 


nal induced voltage, and it induces in each loop 
conductor a voltage which very nearly cancels the 
original antenna-effect voltage induced there by 
the radio wave. The reduction ratio is substan- 
tially the same as the reactance/resistance ratio 
which the shield would have if connected as a loop; 
since the Q is seldom less than 10, the residual 
antenna effect is seldom more than one-tenth the 
antenna effect with no shield. In addition to re- 
ducing antenna effect directly, the shield helps in- 
directly; unless very close to the gap in the shield, 
en external object cannot affect the capacitance 
from loop to ground and thus cannot change the 
capacitive balance of the loop. However, the 
shield affords no protection against inductive un- 
balance, such as might be caused by a scrap of 
metal placed too close to one side of the loop. The 
shield eliminates precipitation static of the type 
caused by electrically charged raindrops striking 
the antenna, and it provides mechanical protection 
for the loop. 

c. Loop Size. Except in some special vhf 
loops, which resemble groups of dipoles more than 
they do ordinary loops, the largest dimension of a 
loop antenna is usually a very small fraction of a 
wavelength (.1 wavelength at most). The voltage 
picked up by such a small loop is proportional to 
the total area inclosed by its turns; that is, to the 


product of the number of turns by the average 
areas of each turn. For maximum pick-up, the 
turns should be as large as possible, subject to 
mechanical limitations, such as portability. The 
number of turns should be as large as possible, sub- 
ject to electrical limitations. Most receivers will 
not operate efficiently from a loop which is self- 
resonant at any point within the operating fre- 
quency range; consequently, the number of turns 
must be small enough to keep the natural resonance 
higher than the highest operating frequency. 


Y 


SIGHT BLADE 


SNSULATOR 
ANTENNA 


ANTENNA 
ROTATING 
HANDLE 


AZIMUTH DIAL 


TM 666-195 
Figure 196. Simple Adcock antenna. 


115. Adcock Antenna 


a. General. An Adcock antenna (fig. 196) con- 
sists of two spaced vertical antennas connected in 
opposition. Theoretically, it responds only to the 
vertically polarized component of an incoming 
radio wave, and therefore is not subject to polari- 
zation error. In practice, some polarization error 
is caused by various imperfections, but usually 
much less than in a loop receiving the same signal. 
The Adcock antenna is preferable to a loop in 
radio D/F (direction finding) when medium- or 
high-frequency signals must be received at a point 
beyond ground-wave range. 


MAGNETIC COMPONENT OF 
VERTICALLY POLARIZED 
E 


TM 666-196 


Figure 197. Adcock antenna, effects of vertically polarized 
wave. 


b. Principle. The action of an Adcock antenna, 
as far as vertically polarized waves are concerned, 
is identical with that of the loop antenna. A re- 
sultant current in output coil Z is proportional to 
the vector difference of the voltages induced in the 
vertical members, exactly as in the case of the loop. 
Horizontally polarized components of radio waves 
do not affect the antenna because of the absence of 
the upper and lower horizontal members, and be- 
cause the crossed arrangement of the center mem- 
bers effectively cancels the voltages induced in 
them. The response pattern of an Adcock an- 
tenna is the same figure 8 pattern typical of the 
loop antenna. Minimum and maximum response 
points are present in the Adcock pattern in the 
same respective positions as in the loop pattern. 
Thus, the directional properfies of the Adcock and 
loop antennas are the same with respect to verti- 
cally polarized waves. The effect of various types 
of wave polarization on the Adcock circuit are as 
follows: 

(1) Vertical polarization. The horizontal mag- 
netic lines of the vertically polarized 
wave cut the two vertical antenna ele- 
ments. Induced currents, although they 
are induced in phase in the vertical 
elements, oppose each other in the an- 
tenna coupling coil, producing a resultant 
voltage which leads the radiation field by 
90°. If the wave strikes both vertical 
elements simultaneously (antenna ele- 
ments broadside to direction of wave 


219 


220 


travel as shown in fig. 197), the resultant 
voltage is a minimum. At other angles 
of arrival, the resultant voltage is pro- 
portional to the separation between the 
two antenna elements along the direction 
of wave travel. Thus, the action of the 
Adcock antenna system is identical with 
the action of the loop system and can be 
used in conjunction with a sense antenna 
to obtain a unidirectional pattern. 


(2) Horizontal polarization. As shown in 


figure 198, only the horizontal members 
(transmission lines) are in a position to 
respond to horizontally polarized waves. 
In a well designed radio direction finder, 
efficient use is made of shielding and 
balancing to prevent any voltages in- 
duced in the horizontal members from 
reaching the input tube of the receiver. 
The residue is small in comparison with 
the response of a loop under similar cir- 
cumstances, but has the same directivity 
pattern. 


(3) Elliptical polarization. Radio waves usu- 


ally contain both vertical and horizontal 
components of polarization which, in com- 
bination, produce an elliptically polarized 
wave. Although the vertical and hori- 
zontal components can be viewed as 
acting independently, their effect on the 
antenna results from the combined action 
of both components. Because the re- 
sponse of an Adcock antenna is relatively 


small for the horizontally polarized com- 
ponent, its polarization error is likewise 
smaller than that of a loop antenna. 
This is true as long as the vertically 
polarized component does not entirely dis- 
appear; when the vertically polarized 
component predominates, the Adcock 
antenna has scarcely any polarization 




Canto I. Nárad.7

OM.8
To sainted Nárad, prince of those
Whose lore in words of wisdom flows.
Whose constant care and chief delight
Were Scripture and ascetic rite,
The good Válmíki, first and best
[pg 002]
Of hermit saints, these words addressed:9
“In all this world, I pray thee, who
Is virtuous, heroic, true?
Firm in his vows, of grateful mind,
To every creature good and kind?
Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise,
Alone most fair to all men's eyes?
Devoid of envy, firm, and sage,
Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage?
Whom, when his warrior wrath is high,
Do Gods embattled fear and fly?
Whose noble might and gentle skill
The triple world can guard from ill?
Who is the best of princes, he
Who loves his people's good to see?
The store of bliss, the living mine
Where brightest joys and virtues shine?
Queen Fortune's10 best and dearest friend,
Whose steps her choicest gifts attend?
Who may with Sun and Moon compare,
With Indra,11 Vishṇu,12 Fire, and Air?
Grant, Saint divine,13 the boon I ask,
For thee, I ween, an easy task,
To whom the power is given to know
If such a man breathe here below.”
Then Nárad, clear before whose eye
The present, past, and future lie,14
Made ready answer: “Hermit, where
Are graces found so high and rare?
Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell
In whom alone these virtues dwell.
From old Ikshváku's15 line he came,
Known to the world by Ráma's name:
With soul subdued, a chief of might,
In Scripture versed, in glory bright,
His steps in virtue's paths are bent,
Obedient, pure, and eloquent.
In each emprise he wins success,
And dying foes his power confess.
Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb,
Fortune has set her mark on him.
Graced with a conch-shell's triple line,
His throat displays the auspicious sign.16
[pg 003]
High destiny is clear impressed
On massive jaw and ample chest,
His mighty shafts he truly aims,
And foemen in the battle tames.
Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown,
Embedded lies his collar-bone.
His lordly steps are firm and free,
His strong arms reach below his knee;17
All fairest graces join to deck
His head, his brow, his stately neck,
And limbs in fair proportion set:
The manliest form e'er fashioned yet.
Graced with each high imperial mark,
His skin is soft and lustrous dark.
Large are his eyes that sweetly shine
With majesty almost divine.
His plighted word he ne'er forgets;
On erring sense a watch he sets.
By nature wise, his teacher's skill
Has trained him to subdue his will.
Good, resolute and pure, and strong,
He guards mankind from scathe and wrong,
And lends his aid, and ne'er in vain,
The cause of justice to maintain.
Well has he studied o'er and o'er
The Vedas18and their kindred lore.
Well skilled is he the bow to draw,19
Well trained in arts and versed in law;
High-souled and meet for happy fate,
Most tender and compassionate;
The noblest of all lordly givers,
Whom good men follow, as the rivers
Follow the King of Floods, the sea:
So liberal, so just is he.
The joy of Queen Kauśalyá's20heart,
In every virtue he has part:
Firm as Himálaya's21 snowy steep,
Unfathomed like the mighty deep:
The peer of Vishṇu's power and might,
And lovely as the Lord of Night;22
Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire,
Fierce as the world-destroying fire;
In bounty like the Lord of Gold,23
And Justice self in human mould.
With him, his best and eldest son,
By all his princely virtues won
King Daśaratha24 willed to share
His kingdom as the Regent Heir.
But when Kaikeyí, youngest queen,
With eyes of envious hate had seen
The solemn pomp and regal state
Prepared the prince to consecrate,
She bade the hapless king bestow
Two gifts he promised long ago,
That Ráma to the woods should flee,
And that her child the heir should be.
By chains of duty firmly tied,
The wretched king perforce complied.
[pg 004]
Ráma, to please Kaikeyí went
Obedient forth to banishment.
Then Lakshmaṇ's truth was nobly shown,
Then were his love and courage known,
When for his brother's sake he dared
All perils, and his exile shared.
And Sítá, Ráma's darling wife,
Loved even as he loved his life,
Whom happy marks combined to bless,
A miracle of loveliness,
Of Janak's royal lineage sprung,
Most excellent of women, clung
To her dear lord, like Rohiṇí
Rejoicing with the Moon to be.25
The King and people, sad of mood,
The hero's car awhile pursued.
But when Prince Ráma lighted down
At Śringavera's pleasant town,
Where Gangá's holy waters flow,
He bade his driver turn and go.
Guha, Nishádas' king, he met,
And on the farther bank was set.
Then on from wood to wood they strayed,
O'er many a stream, through constant shade,
As Bharadvája bade them, till
They came to Chitrakúṭa's hill.
And Ráma there, with Lakshmaṇ's aid,
A pleasant little cottage made,
And spent his days with Sítá, dressed
In coat of bark and deerskin vest.26
And Chitrakúṭa grew to be
As bright with those illustrious three
As Meru's27 sacred peaks that shine
With glory, when the Gods recline
Beneath them: Śiva's28 self between
The Lord of Gold and Beauty's Queen.
The aged king for Ráma pined,
And for the skies the earth resigned.
Bharat, his son, refused to reign,
Though urged by all the twice-born29 train.
Forth to the woods he fared to meet
His brother, fell before his feet,
And cried, “Thy claim all men allow:
O come, our lord and king be thou.”
But Ráma nobly chose to be
Observant of his sire's decree.
He placed his sandals30 in his hand
A pledge that he would rule the land:
And bade his brother turn again.
Then Bharat, finding prayer was vain,
The sandals took and went away;
Nor in Ayodhyá would he stay.
But turned to Nandigráma, where
He ruled the realm with watchful care,
Still longing eagerly to learn
Tidings of Ráma's safe return.
Then lest the people should repeat
Their visit to his calm retreat,
Away from Chitrakúṭa's hill
Fared Ráma ever onward till
[pg 005]
Beneath the shady trees he stood
Of Daṇḍaká's primeval wood,
Virádha, giant fiend, he slew,
And then Agastya's friendship knew.
Counselled by him he gained the sword
And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:
A pair of quivers too, that bore
Of arrows an exhaustless store.
While there he dwelt in greenwood shade
The trembling hermits sought his aid,
And bade him with his sword and bow
Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:
To come like Indra strong and brave,
A guardian God to help and save.
And Ráma's falchion left its trace
Deep cut on Śúrpaṇakhá's face:
A hideous giantess who came
Burning for him with lawless flame.
Their sister's cries the giants heard.
And vengeance in each bosom stirred:
The monster of the triple head.
And Dúshaṇ to the contest sped.
But they and myriad fiends beside
Beneath the might of Ráma died.
When Rávaṇ, dreaded warrior, knew
The slaughter of his giant crew:
Rávaṇ, the king, whose name of fear
Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear:
He bade the fiend Márícha aid
The vengeful plot his fury laid.
In vain the wise Márícha tried
To turn him from his course aside:
Not Rávaṇ's self, he said, might hope
With Ráma and his strength to cope.
Impelled by fate and blind with rage
He came to Ráma's hermitage.
There, by Márícha's magic art,
He wiled the princely youths apart,
The vulture31 slew, and bore away
The wife of Ráma as his prey.
The son of Raghu32 came and found
Jaṭáyu slain upon the ground.
He rushed within his leafy cot;
He sought his wife, but found her not.
Then, then the hero's senses failed;
In mad despair he wept and wailed.
Upon the pile that bird he laid,
And still in quest of Sítá strayed.
A hideous giant then he saw,
Kabandha named, a shape of awe.
The monstrous fiend he smote and slew,
And in the flame the body threw;
When straight from out the funeral flame
In lovely form Kabandha came,
And bade him seek in his distress
A wise and holy hermitess.
By counsel of this saintly dame
To Pampá's pleasant flood he came,
And there the steadfast friendship won
Of Hanumán the Wind-God's son.
Counselled by him he told his grief
To great Sugríva, Vánar chief,
Who, knowing all the tale, before
The sacred flame alliance swore.
Sugríva to his new-found friend
Told his own story to the end:
His hate of Báli for the wrong
And insult he had borne so long.
And Ráma lent a willing ear
And promised to allay his fear.
Sugríva warned him of the might
Of Báli, matchless in the fight,
And, credence for his tale to gain,
Showed the huge fiend33 by Báli slain.
The prostrate corse of mountain size
Seemed nothing in the hero's eyes;
He lightly kicked it, as it lay,
And cast it twenty leagues34 away.
To prove his might his arrows through
Seven palms in line, uninjured, flew.
He cleft a mighty hill apart,
And down to hell he hurled his dart.
Then high Sugríva's spirit rose,
Assured of conquest o'er his foes.
With his new champion by his side
To vast Kishkindhá's cave he hied.
Then, summoned by his awful shout,
King Báli came in fury out,
First comforted his trembling wife,
Then sought Sugríva in the strife.
One shaft from Ráma's deadly bow
The monarch in the dust laid low.
Then Ráma bade Sugríva reign
In place of royal Báli slain.
Then speedy envoys hurried forth
Eastward and westward, south and north,
Commanded by the grateful king
Tidings of Ráma's spouse to bring.
Then by Sampáti's counsel led,
Brave Hanumán, who mocked at dread,
Sprang at one wild tremendous leap
Two hundred leagues across the deep.
To Lanká's35 town he urged his way,
Where Rávaṇ held his royal sway.
[pg 006]
There pensive 'neath Aśoka36 boughs
He found poor Sítá, Ráma's spouse.
He gave the hapless girl a ring,
A token from her lord and king.
A pledge from her fair hand he bore;
Then battered down the garden door.
Five captains of the host he slew,
Seven sons of councillors o'erthrew;
Crushed youthful Aksha on the field,
Then to his captors chose to yield.
Soon from their bonds his limbs were free,
But honouring the high decree
Which Brahmá37 had pronounced of yore,
He calmly all their insults bore.
The town he burnt with hostile flame,
And spoke again with Ráma's dame,
Then swiftly back to Ráma flew
With tidings of the interview.
Then with Sugríva for his guide,
Came Ráma to the ocean side.
He smote the sea with shafts as bright
As sunbeams in their summer height,
And quick appeared the Rivers' King38
Obedient to the summoning.
A bridge was thrown by Nala o'er
The narrow sea from shore to shore.39
They crossed to Lanká's golden town,
Where Ráma's hand smote Rávaṇ down.
Vibhishaṇ there was left to reign
Over his brother's wide domain.
To meet her husband Sítá came;
But Ráma, stung with ire and shame,
With bitter words his wife addressed
Before the crowd that round her pressed.
But Sítá, touched with noble ire,
Gave her fair body to the fire.
Then straight the God of Wind appeared,
And words from heaven her honour cleared.
And Ráma clasped his wife again,
Uninjured, pure from spot and stain,
Obedient to the Lord of Fire
And the high mandate of his sire.
Led by the Lord who rules the sky,
The Gods and heavenly saints drew nigh,
And honoured him with worthy meed,
Rejoicing in each glorious deed.
His task achieved, his foe removed,
He triumphed, by the Gods approved.
By grace of Heaven he raised to life
The chieftains slain in mortal strife;
Then in the magic chariot through
The clouds to Nandigráma flew.
Met by his faithful brothers there,
He loosed his votive coil of hair:
Thence fair Ayodhyá's town he gained,
And o'er his father's kingdom reigned.
Disease or famine ne'er oppressed
His happy people, richly blest
With all the joys of ample wealth,
Of sweet content and perfect health.
No widow mourned her well-loved mate,
No sire his son's untimely fate.
They feared not storm or robber's hand;
No fire or flood laid waste the land:
The Golden Age40 had come again
To bless the days of Ráma's reign.
From him, the great and glorious king,
Shall many a princely scion spring.
And he shall rule, beloved by men,
Ten thousand years and hundreds ten,41
And when his life on earth is past
To Brahmá's world shall go at last.”
Whoe'er this noble poem reads
That tells the tale of Ráma's deeds,
Good as the Scriptures, he shall be
From every sin and blemish free.
Whoever reads the saving strain,
With all his kin the heavens shall gain.
Bráhmans who read shall gather hence
The highest praise for eloquence.
The warrior, o'er the land shall reign,
The merchant, luck in trade obtain;
And Śúdras listening42 ne'er shall fail
To reap advantage from the tale.43
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Canto II. Brahmá's Visit

Válmíki, graceful speaker, heard,
To highest admiration stirred.
To him whose fame the tale rehearsed
He paid his mental worship first;
Then with his pupil humbly bent
Before the saint most eloquent.
Thus honoured and dismissed the seer
Departed to his heavenly sphere.
Then from his cot Válmíki hied
To Tamasá's44 sequestered side,
Not far remote from Gangá's tide.
He stood and saw the ripples roll
Pellucid o'er a pebbly shoal.
To Bharadvája45 by his side
He turned in ecstasy, and cried:
“See, pupil dear, this lovely sight,
The smooth-floored shallow, pure and bright,
With not a speck or shade to mar,
And clear as good men's bosoms are.
Here on the brink thy pitcher lay,
And bring my zone of bark, I pray.
Here will I bathe: the rill has not,
To lave the limbs, a fairer spot.
Do quickly as I bid, nor waste
The precious time; away, and haste.”
Obedient to his master's hest
Quick from the cot he brought the vest;
The hermit took it from his hand,
And tightened round his waist the band;
Then duly dipped and bathed him there,
And muttered low his secret prayer.
To spirits and to Gods he made
Libation of the stream, and strayed
Viewing the forest deep and wide
That spread its shade on every side.
Close by the bank he saw a pair
Of curlews sporting fearless there.
But suddenly with evil mind
An outcast fowler stole behind,
And, with an aim too sure and true,
The male bird near the hermit slew.
The wretched hen in wild despair
With fluttering pinions beat the air,
And shrieked a long and bitter cry
When low on earth she saw him lie,
Her loved companion, quivering, dead,
His dear wings with his lifeblood red;
And for her golden crested mate
She mourned, and was disconsolate.
The hermit saw the slaughtered bird,
And all his heart with ruth was stirred.
The fowler's impious deed distressed
His gentle sympathetic breast,
And while the curlew's sad cries rang
Within his ears, the hermit sang:
“No fame be thine for endless time,
Because, base outcast, of thy crime,
Whose cruel hand was fain to slay
One of this gentle pair at play!”
E'en as he spoke his bosom wrought
And laboured with the wondering thought
What was the speech his ready tongue
Had uttered when his heart was wrung.
He pondered long upon the speech,
Recalled the words and measured each,
And thus exclaimed the saintly guide
To Bharadvája by his side:
“With equal lines of even feet,
With rhythm and time and tone complete,
The measured form of words I spoke
In shock of grief be termed a śloke.”46
And Bharadvája, nothing slow
His faithful love and zeal to show,
Answered those words of wisdom, “Be
The name, my lord, as pleases thee.”
As rules prescribe the hermit took
Some lustral water from the brook.
But still on this his constant thought
Kept brooding, as his home he sought;
While Bharadvája paced behind,
A pupil sage of lowly mind,
And in his hand a pitcher bore
With pure fresh water brimming o'er.
Soon as they reached their calm retreat
The holy hermit took his seat;
His mind from worldly cares recalled,
And mused in deepest thought enthralled.
Then glorious Brahmá,47 Lord Most High,
Creator of the earth and sky,
[pg 008]
The four-faced God, to meet the sage
Came to Válmíki's hermitage.
Soon as the mighty God he saw,
Up sprang the saint in wondering awe.
Mute, with clasped hands, his head he bent,
And stood before him reverent.
His honoured guest he greeted well,
Who bade him of his welfare tell;
Gave water for his blessed feet,
Brought offerings,48 and prepared a seat.
In honoured place the God Most High
Sate down, and bade the saint sit nigh.
There sate before Válmíki's eyes
The Father of the earth and skies;
But still the hermit's thoughts were bent
On one thing only, all intent
On that poor curlew's mournful fate
Lamenting for her slaughtered mate;
And still his lips, in absent mood,
The verse that told his grief, renewed:
“Woe to the fowler's impious hand
That did the deed that folly planned;
That could to needless death devote
The curlew of the tuneful throat!”
The heavenly Father smiled in glee,
And said, “O best of hermits, see,
A verse, unconscious, thou hast made;
No longer be the task delayed.
Seek not to trace, with labour vain,
The unpremeditated strain.
The tuneful lines thy lips rehearsed
Spontaneous from thy bosom burst.
Then come, O best of seers, relate
The life of Ráma good and great,
The tale that saintly Nárad told,
In all its glorious length unfold.
Of all the deeds his arm has done
Upon this earth, omit not one,
And thus the noble life record
Of that wise, brave, and virtuous lord.
His every act to day displayed,
His secret life to none betrayed:
How Lakshmaṇ, how the giants fought;
With high emprise and hidden thought:
And all that Janak's child49 befell
Where all could see, where none could tell.
The whole of this shall truly be
Made known, O best of saints, to thee.
In all thy poem, through my grace,
No word of falsehood shall have place.
Begin the story, and rehearse
The tale divine in charming verse.
As long as in this firm-set land
The streams shall flow, the mountains stand,
So long throughout the world, be sure,
The great Rámáyan shall endure.50
While the Rámáyan's ancient strain
Shall glorious in the earth remain,
To higher spheres shalt thou arise
And dwell with me above the skies.”
He spoke, and vanished into air,
And left Válmíki wondering there.
The pupils of the holy man,
Moved by their love of him, began
To chant that verse, and ever more
They marvelled as they sang it o'er:
“Behold, the four-lined balanced rime,
Repeated over many a time,
In words that from the hermit broke
In shock of grief, becomes a śloke.”
This measure now Válmíki chose
Wherein his story to compose.
In hundreds of such verses, sweet
With equal lines and even feet,
The saintly poet, lofty-souled,
The glorious deeds of Ráma told.
Canto III. The Argument.

The hermit thus with watchful heed
Received the poem's pregnant seed,
And looked with eager thought around
If fuller knowledge might be found.
[pg 009]
His lips with water first bedewed,51
He sate, in reverent attitude
On holy grass,52 the points all bent
Together toward the orient;53
And thus in meditation he
Entered the path of poesy.
Then clearly, through his virtue's might,
All lay discovered to his sight,
Whate'er befell, through all their life,
Ráma, his brother, and his wife:
And Daśaratha and each queen
At every time, in every scene:
His people too, of every sort;
The nobles of his princely court:
Whate'er was said, whate'er decreed,
Each time they sate each plan and deed:
For holy thought and fervent rite
Had so refined his keener sight
That by his sanctity his view
The present, past, and future knew,
And he with mental eye could grasp,
Like fruit within his fingers clasp,
The life of Ráma, great and good,
Roaming with Sítá in the wood.
He told, with secret-piercing eyes,
The tale of Ráma's high emprise,
Each listening ear that shall entice,
A sea of pearls of highest price.
Thus good Válmíki, sage divine,
Rehearsed the tale of Raghu's line,
As Nárad, heavenly saint, before
Had traced the story's outline o'er.
He sang of Ráma's princely birth,
His kindness and heroic worth;
His love for all, his patient youth,
His gentleness and constant truth,
And many a tale and legend old
By holy Viśvámitra told.
How Janak's child he wooed and won,
And broke the bow that bent to none.
How he with every virtue fraught
His namesake Ráma54 met and fought.
The choice of Ráma for the throne;
The malice by Kaikeyí shown,
Whose evil counsel marred the plan
And drove him forth a banisht man.
How the king grieved and groaned, and cried,
And swooned away and pining died.
The subjects' woe when thus bereft;
And how the following crowds he left:
With Guha talked, and firmly stern
Ordered his driver to return.
How Gangá's farther shore he gained;
By Bharadvája entertained,
By whose advice he journeyed still
And came to Chitrakúṭa's hill.
How there he dwelt and built a cot;
How Bharat journeyed to the spot;
His earnest supplication made;
Drink-offerings to their father paid;
The sandals given by Ráma's hand,
As emblems of his right, to stand:
How from his presence Bharat went
And years in Nandigráma spent.
How Ráma entered Daṇḍak wood
And in Sutíkhṇa's presence stood.
The favour Anasúyá showed,
The wondrous balsam she bestowed.
How Śarabhanga's dwelling-place
They sought; saw Indra face to face;
The meeting with Agastya gained;
The heavenly bow from him obtained.
How Ráma with Virádha met;
Their home in Panchavaṭa set.
How Śúrpaṇakhá underwent
The mockery and disfigurement.
Of Triśirá's and Khara's fall,
Of Rávaṇ roused at vengeance call,
Márícha doomed, without escape;
The fair Videhan55 lady's rape.
How Ráma wept and raved in vain,
And how the Vulture-king was slain.
How Ráma fierce Kabandha slew;
Then to the side of Pampá drew,
Met Hanumán, and her whose vows
Were kept beneath the greenwood boughs.
How Raghu's son, the lofty-souled,
On Pampá's bank wept uncontrolled,
Then journeyed, Rishyamúk to reach,
And of Sugríva then had speech.
The friendship made, which both had sought:
How Báli and Sugríva fought.
How Báli in the strife was slain,
And how Sugríva came to reign.
The treaty, Tára's wild lament;
The rainy nights in watching spent.
The wrath of Raghu's lion son;
The gathering of the hosts in one.
The sending of the spies about,
And all the regions pointed out.
The ring by Ráma's hand bestowed;
The cave wherein the bear abode.
The fast proposed, their lives to end;
Sampati gained to be their friend.
[pg 010]
The scaling of the hill, the leap
Of Hanumán across the deep.
Ocean's command that bade them seek
Maináka of the lofty peak.
The death of Sinhiká, the sight
Of Lanká with her palace bright
How Hanumán stole in at eve;
His plan the giants to deceive.
How through the square he made his way
To chambers where the women lay,
Within the Aśoka garden came
And there found Ráma's captive dame.
His colloquy with her he sought,
And giving of the ring he brought.
How Sítá gave a gem o'erjoyed;
How Hanumán the grove destroyed.
How giantesses trembling fled,
And servant fiends were smitten dead.
How Hanumán was seized; their ire
When Lanká blazed with hostile fire.
His leap across the sea once more;
The eating of the honey store.
How Ráma he consoled, and how
He showed the gem from Sítá's brow.
With Ocean, Ráma's interview;
The bridge that Nala o'er it threw.
The crossing, and the sitting down
At night round Lanká's royal town.
The treaty with Vibhíshaṇ made:
The plan for Rávaṇ's slaughter laid.
How Kumbhakarṇa in his pride
And Meghanáda fought and died.
How Rávaṇ in the fight was slain,
And captive Sítá brought again.
Vibhíshaṇ set upon the throne;
The flying chariot Pushpak shown.
How Brahmá and the Gods appeared,
And Sítá's doubted honour cleared.
How in the flying car they rode
To Bharadvája's cabin abode.
The Wind-God's son sent on afar;
How Bharat met the flying car.
How Ráma then was king ordained;
The legions their discharge obtained.
How Ráma cast his queen away;
How grew the people's love each day.
Thus did the saint Válmíki tell
Whate'er in Ráma's life befell,
And in the closing verses all
That yet to come will once befall.
Canto IV. The Rhapsodists.

When to the end the tale was brought,
Rose in the sage's mind the thought;
“Now who throughout this earth will go,
And tell it forth that all may know?”
As thus he mused with anxious breast,
Behold, in hermit's raiment dressed,
Kuśá and Lava56 came to greet
Their master and embrace his feet.
The twins he saw, that princely pair
Sweet-voiced, who dwelt beside him there
None for the task could be more fit,
For skilled were they in Holy Writ;
And so the great Rámáyan, fraught
With lore divine, to these he taught:
The lay whose verses sweet and clear
Take with delight the listening ear,
That tell of Sítá's noble life
And Rávaṇ's fall in battle strife.
Great joy to all who hear they bring,
Sweet to recite and sweet to sing.
For music's sevenfold notes are there,
And triple measure,57 wrought with care
With melody and tone and time,
And flavours58 that enhance the rime;
Heroic might has ample place,
And loathing of the false and base,
With anger, mirth, and terror, blent
With tenderness, surprise, content.
When, half the hermit's grace to gain,
And half because they loved the strain,
The youth within their hearts had stored
The poem that his lips outpoured,
Válmíki kissed them on the head,
As at his feet they bowed, and said;
“Recite ye this heroic song
In tranquil shades where sages throng:
Recite it where the good resort,
In lowly home and royal court.”
The hermit ceased. The tuneful pair,
Like heavenly minstrels sweet and fair,
In music's art divinely skilled,
Their saintly master's word fulfilled.
Like Ráma's self, from whom they came,
They showed their sire in face and frame,
[pg 011]
As though from some fair sculptured stone
Two selfsame images had grown.
Sometimes the pair rose up to sing,
Surrounded by a holy ring,
Where seated on the grass had met
Full many a musing anchoret.
Then tears bedimmed those gentle eyes,
As transport took them and surprise,
And as they listened every one
Cried in delight, Well done! Well done!
Those sages versed in holy lore
Praised the sweet minstrels more and more:
And wondered at the singers' skill,
And the bard's verses sweeter still,
Which laid so clear before the eye
The glorious deeds of days gone by.
Thus by the virtuous hermits praised,
Inspirited their voice they raised.
Pleased with the song this holy man
Would give the youths a water-can;
One gave a fair ascetic dress,
Or sweet fruit from the wilderness.
One saint a black-deer's hide would bring,
And one a sacrificial string:
One, a clay pitcher from his hoard,
And one, a twisted munja cord.59
One in his joy an axe would find,
One braid, their plaited locks to bind.
One gave a sacrificial cup,
One rope to tie their fagots up;
While fuel at their feet was laid,
Or hermit's stool of fig-tree made.
All gave, or if they gave not, none
Forgot at least a benison.
Some saints, delighted with their lays,
Would promise health and length of days;
Others with surest words would add
Some boon to make their spirit glad.
In such degree of honour then
That song was held by holy men:
That living song which life can give,
By which shall many a minstrel live.
In seat of kings, in crowded hall,
They sang the poem, praised of all.
And Ráma chanced to hear their lay,
While he the votive steed60 would slay,
And sent fit messengers to bring
The minstrel pair before the king.
They came, and found the monarch high
Enthroned in gold, his brothers nigh;
While many a minister below,
And noble, sate in lengthened row.
The youthful pair awhile he viewed
Graceful in modest attitude,
And then in words like these addressed
His brother Lakshmaṇ and the rest:
“Come, listen to the wondrous strain
Recited by these godlike twain,
Sweet singers of a story fraught
With melody and lofty thought.”
The pair, with voices sweet and strong,
Rolled the full tide of noble song,
With tone and accent deftly blent
To suit the changing argument.
Mid that assembly loud and clear
Rang forth that lay so sweet to hear,
That universal rapture stole
Through each man's frame and heart and soul.
“These minstrels, blest with every sign
That marks a high and princely line,
In holy shades who dwell,
Enshrined in Saint Válmíki's lay,
A monument to live for aye,
My deeds in song shall tell.”
Thus Ráma spoke: their breasts were fired,
And the great tale, as if inspired,
The youths began to sing,
While every heart with transport swelled,
And mute and rapt attention held
The concourse and the king.
Canto V. Ayodhyá.

“Ikshváku's sons from days of old
Were ever brave and mighty-souled.
The land their arms had made their own
Was bounded by the sea alone.
Their holy works have won them praise,
Through countless years, from Manu's days.
Their ancient sire was Sagar, he
Whose high command dug out the sea:61
With sixty thousand sons to throng
Around him as he marched along.
From them this glorious tale proceeds:
The great Rámáyan tells their deeds.
This noble song whose lines contain
Lessons of duty, love, and gain,
We two will now at length recite,
While good men listen with delight.
On Sarjú's62 bank, of ample size,
The happy realm of Kośal lies,
[pg 012]
With fertile length of fair champaign
And flocks and herds and wealth of grain.
There, famous in her old renown,
Ayodhyá63 stands, the royal town,
In bygone ages built and planned
By sainted Manu's64 princely hand.
Imperial seat! her walls extend
Twelve measured leagues from end to end,
And three in width from side to side,
With square and palace beautified.
Her gates at even distance stand;
Her ample roads are wisely planned.
Right glorious is her royal street
Where streams allay the dust and heat.
On level ground in even row
Her houses rise in goodly show:
Terrace and palace, arch and gate
The queenly city decorate.
High are her ramparts, strong and vast,
By ways at even distance passed,
With circling moat, both deep and wide,
And store of weapons fortified.
King Daśaratha, lofty-souled,
That city guarded and controlled,
With towering Sál trees belted round,65
And many a grove and pleasure ground,
As royal Indra, throned on high,
Rules his fair city in the sky.66
She seems a painted city, fair
With chess-board line and even square.67
And cool boughs shade the lovely lake
Where weary men their thirst may slake.
There gilded chariots gleam and shine,
And stately piles the Gods enshrine.
There gay sleek people ever throng
To festival and dance and song.
A mine is she of gems and sheen,
The darling home of Fortune's Queen.
With noblest sort of drink and meat,
The fairest rice and golden wheat,
And fragrant with the chaplet's scent
With holy oil and incense blent.
With many an elephant and steed,
And wains for draught and cars for speed.
With envoys sent by distant kings,
And merchants with their precious things
With banners o'er her roofs that play,
And weapons that a hundred slay;68
All warlike engines framed by man,
And every class of artisan.
A city rich beyond compare
With bards and minstrels gathered there,
And men and damsels who entrance
The soul with play and song and dance.
In every street is heard the lute,
The drum, the tabret, and the flute,
The Veda chanted soft and low,
The ringing of the archer's bow;
With bands of godlike heroes skilled
In every warlike weapon, filled,
And kept by warriors from the foe,
As Nágas guard their home below.69
There wisest Bráhmans evermore
The flame of worship feed,
And versed in all the Vedas' lore,
Their lives of virtue lead.
Truthful and pure, they freely give;
They keep each sense controlled,
And in their holy fervour live
Like the great saints of old.
Canto VI. The King.

There reigned a king of name revered,
To country and to town endeared,
Great Daśaratha, good and sage,
Well read in Scripture's holy page:
[pg 013]
Upon his kingdom's weal intent,
Mighty and brave and provident;
The pride of old Ikshváku's seed
For lofty thought and righteous deed.
Peer of the saints, for virtues famed,
For foes subdued and passions tamed:
A rival in his wealth untold
Of Indra and the Lord of Gold.
Like Manu first of kings, he reigned,
And worthily his state maintained.
For firm and just and ever true
Love, duty, gain he kept in view,
And ruled his city rich and free,
Like Indra's Amarávatí.
And worthy of so fair a place
There dwelt a just and happy race
With troops of children blest.
Each man contented sought no more,
Nor longed with envy for the store
By richer friends possessed.
For poverty was there unknown,
And each man counted as his own
Kine, steeds, and gold, and grain.
All dressed in raiment bright and clean,
And every townsman might be seen
With earrings, wreath, or chain.
None deigned to feed on broken fare,
And none was false or stingy there.
A piece of gold, the smallest pay,
Was earned by labour for a day.
On every arm were bracelets worn,
And none was faithless or forsworn,
A braggart or unkind.
None lived upon another's wealth,
None pined with dread or broken health,
Or dark disease of mind.
High-souled were all. The slanderous word,
The boastful lie, were never heard.
Each man was constant to his vows,
And lived devoted to his spouse.
No other love his fancy knew,
And she was tender, kind, and true.
Her dames were fair of form and face,
With charm of wit and gentle grace,
With modest raiment simply neat,
And winning manners soft and sweet.
The twice-born sages, whose delight
Was Scripture's page and holy rite,
Their calm and settled course pursued,
Nor sought the menial multitude.
In many a Scripture each was versed,
And each the flame of worship nursed,
And gave with lavish hand.
Each paid to Heaven the offerings due,
And none was godless or untrue
In all that holy band.
To Bráhmans, as the laws ordain,
The Warrior caste were ever fain
The reverence due to pay;
And these the Vaiśyas' peaceful crowd,
Who trade and toil for gain, were proud
To honour and obey;
And all were by the Śúdras70 served,
Who never from their duty swerved,
Their proper worship all addressed
To Bráhman, spirits, God, and guest.
Pure and unmixt their rites remained,
Their race's honour ne'er was stained.71
Cheered by his grandsons, sons, and wife,
Each passed a long and happy life.
Thus was that famous city held
By one who all his race excelled,
Blest in his gentle reign,
As the whole land aforetime swayed
By Manu, prince of men, obeyed
Her king from main to main.
And heroes kept her, strong and brave,
As lions guard their mountain cave:
Fierce as devouring flame they burned,
And fought till death, but never turned.
Horses had she of noblest breed,
Like Indra's for their form and speed,
From Váhlí's72 hills and Sindhu's73 sand,
Vanáyu74 and Kámboja's land.75
[pg 014]
Her noble elephants had strayed
Through Vindhyan and Himálayan shade,
Gigantic in their bulk and height,
Yet gentle in their matchless might.
They rivalled well the world-spread fame
Of the great stock from which they came,
Of Váman, vast of size,
Of Mahápadma's glorious line,
Thine, Anjan, and, Airávat, thine.76
Upholders of the skies.
With those, enrolled in fourfold class,
Who all their mighty kin surpass,
Whom men Matangas name,
And Mrigas spotted black and white,
And Bhadras of unwearied might,
And Mandras hard to tame.77
Thus, worthy of the name she bore,78
Ayodhyá for a league or more
Cast a bright glory round,
Where Daśaratha wise and great
Governed his fair ancestral state,
With every virtue crowned.
Like Indra in the skies he reigned
In that good town whose wall contained
High domes and turrets proud,
With gates and arcs of triumph decked,
And sturdy barriers to protect
Her gay and countless crowd.
Canto VII. The Ministers.

Two sages, holy saints, had he,
His ministers and priests to be:
Vaśishṭha, faithful to advise,
And Vámadeva, Scripture-wise.
Eight other lords around him stood,
All skilled to counsel, wise and good:
Jayanta, Vijay, Dhrishṭi bold
In fight, affairs of war controlled:
Siddhárth and Arthasádhak true
Watched o'er expense and revenue,
And Dharmapál and wise Aśok
Of right and law and justice spoke.
With these the sage Sumantra, skilled
To urge the car, high station filled.
All these in knowledge duly trained
Each passion and each sense restrained:
With modest manners, nobly bred
Each plan and nod and look they read,
Upon their neighbours' good intent,
Most active and benevolent:
As sit the Vasus79 round their king,
They sate around him counselling.
They ne'er in virtue's loftier pride
Another's lowly gifts decried.
In fair and seemly garb arrayed,
No weak uncertain plans they made.
Well skilled in business, fair and just,
They gained the people's love and trust,
And thus without oppression stored
The swelling treasury of their lord.
Bound in sweet friendship each to each,
They spoke kind thoughts in gentle speech.
They looked alike with equal eye
On every caste, on low and high.
Devoted to their king, they sought,
Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought,
And knew, as each occasion rose,
To hide their counsel or disclose.
In foreign lands or in their own
Whatever passed, to them was known.
By secret spies they timely knew
What men were doing or would do.
Skilled in the grounds of war and peace
They saw the monarch's state increase,
Watching his weal with conquering eye
That never let occasion by,
While nature lent her aid to bless
Their labours with unbought success.
Never for anger, lust, or gain,
Would they their lips with falsehood stain.
Inclined to mercy they could scan
The weakness and the strength of man.
They fairly judged both high and low,
And ne'er would wrong a guiltless foe;
Yet if a fault were proved, each one
Would punish e'en his own dear son.
But there and in the kingdom's bound
No thief or man impure was found:
None of loose life or evil fame,
No tempter of another's dame.
Contented with their lot each caste
[pg 015]
Calm days in blissful quiet passed;
And, all in fitting tasks employed,
Country and town deep rest enjoyed,
With these wise lords around his throne
The monarch justly reigned,
And making every heart his own
The love of all men gained.
With trusty agents, as beseems,
Each distant realm he scanned,
As the sun visits with his beams
Each corner of the land.
Ne'er would he on a mightier foe
With hostile troops advance,
Nor at an equal strike a blow
In war's delusive chance.
These lords in council bore their part
With ready brain and faithful heart,
With skill and knowledge, sense and tact,
Good to advise and bold to act.
And high and endless fame he won
With these to guide his schemes,
As, risen in his might, the sun
Wins glory with his beams.
Canto VIII. Sumantra's Speech.

But splendid, just, and great of mind,
The childless king for offspring pined.
No son had he his name to grace,
Transmitter of his royal race.
Long had his anxious bosom wrought,
And as he pondered rose the thought:
“A votive steed 'twere good to slay,
So might a son the gift repay.”
Before his lords his plan he laid,
And bade them with their wisdom aid:
Then with these words Sumantra, best
Of royal counsellors, addressed:
“Hither, Vaśishṭha at their head,
Let all my priestly guides be led.”
To him Sumantra made reply:
“Hear, Sire, a tale of days gone by.
To many a sage in time of old,
Sanatkumár, the saint, foretold
How from thine ancient line, O King,
A son, when years came round, should spring.
“Here dwells,” 'twas thus the seer began,
“Of Kaśyap's80 race, a holy man,
Vibháṇdak named: to him shall spring
A son, the famous Rishyaśring.
Bred with the deer that round him roam,
The wood shall be that hermit's home.
To him no mortal shall be known
Except his holy sire alone.
Still by those laws shall he abide
Which lives of youthful Bráhmans guide,
Obedient to the strictest rule
That forms the young ascetic's school:
And all the wondering world shall hear
Of his stern life and penance drear;
His care to nurse the holy fire
And do the bidding of his sire.
Then, seated on the Angas'81 throne,
Shall Lomapád to fame be known.
But folly wrought by that great king
A plague upon the land shall bring;
No rain for many a year shall fall
And grievous drought shall ruin all.
The troubled king with many a prayer
Shall bid the priests some cure declare:
“The lore of Heaven 'tis yours to know,
Nor are ye blind to things below:
Declare, O holy men, the way
This plague to expiate and stay.”
Those best of Bráhmans shall reply:
“By every art, O Monarch, try
Hither to bring Vibháṇdak's child,
Persuaded, captured, or beguiled.
And when the boy is hither led
To him thy daughter duly wed.”
But how to bring that wondrous boy
His troubled thoughts will long employ,
And hopeless to achieve the task
He counsel of his lords will ask,
And bid his priests and servants bring
With honour saintly Rishyaśring.
But when they hear the monarch's speech,
All these their master will beseech,
With trembling hearts and looks of woe,
To spare them, for they fear to go.
And many a plan will they declare
And crafty plots will frame,
And promise fair to show him there,
Unforced, with none to blame.
On every word his lords shall say,
The king will meditate,
And on the third returning day
Recall them to debate.
Then this shall be the plan agreed,
That damsels shall be sent
Attired in holy hermits' weed,
And skilled in blandishment,
That they the hermit may beguile
With every art and amorous wile
[pg 016]
Whose use they know so well,
And by their witcheries seduce
The unsuspecting young recluse
To leave his father's cell.
Then when the boy with willing feet
Shall wander from his calm retreat
And in that city stand,
The troubles of the king shall end,
And streams of blessed rain descend
Upon the thirsty land.
Thus shall the holy Rishyaśring
To Lomapád, the mighty king,
By wedlock be allied;
For Śántá, fairest of the fair,
In mind and grace beyond compare,
Shall be his royal bride.
He, at the Offering of the Steed,
The flames with holy oil shall feed,
And for King Daśaratha gain
Sons whom his prayers have begged in vain.”
“I have repeated, Sire, thus far,
The words of old Sanatkumár,
In order as he spoke them then
Amid the crowd of holy men.”
Then Daśaratha cried with joy,
“Say how they brought the hermit boy.”
Canto IX. Rishyasring.

The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,
Unfolded at the king's behest
The plan the lords in council laid
To draw the hermit from the shade:
“The priest, amid the lordly crowd,
To Lomapád thus spoke aloud:
“Hear, King, the plot our thoughts have framed,
A harmless trick by all unblamed.
Far from the world that hermit's child
Lives lonely in the distant wild:
A stranger to the joys of sense,
His bliss is pain and abstinence;
And all unknown are women yet
To him, a holy anchoret.
The gentle passions we will wake
That with resistless influence shake
The hearts of men; and he
Drawn by enchantment strong and sweet
Shall follow from his lone retreat,
And come and visit thee.
Let ships be formed with utmost care
That artificial trees may bear,
And sweet fruit deftly made;
Let goodly raiment, rich and rare,
And flowers, and many a bird be there
Beneath the leafy shade.
Upon the ships thus decked a band
Of young and lovely girls shall stand,
Rich in each charm that wakes desire,
And eyes that burn with amorous fire;
Well skilled to sing, and play, and dance
And ply their trade with smile and glance
Let these, attired in hermits' dress,
Betake them to the wilderness,
And bring the boy of life austere
A voluntary captive here.”
He ended; and the king agreed,
By the priest's counsel won.
And all the ministers took heed
To see his bidding done.
In ships with wondrous art prepared
Away the lovely women fared,
And soon beneath the shade they stood
Of the wild, lonely, dreary wood.
And there the leafy cot they found
Where dwelt the devotee,
And looked with eager eyes around
The hermit's son to see.
Still, of Vibháṇdak sore afraid,
They hid behind the creepers' shade.
But when by careful watch they knew
The elder saint was far from view,
With bolder steps they ventured nigh
To catch the youthful hermit's eye.
Then all the damsels, blithe and gay,
At various games began to play.
They tossed the flying ball about
With dance and song and merry shout,
And moved, their scented tresses bound
With wreaths, in mazy motion round.
Some girls as if by love possessed,
Sank to the earth in feigned unrest,
Up starting quickly to pursue
Their intermitted game anew.
It was a lovely sight to see
Those fair ones, as they played,
While fragrant robes were floating free,
And bracelets clashing in their glee
A pleasant tinkling made.
The anklet's chime, the Koïl's82 cry
With music filled the place
As 'twere some city in the sky
Which heavenly minstrels grace.
With each voluptuous art they strove
To win the tenant of the grove,
And with their graceful forms inspire
His modest soul with soft desire.
With arch of brow, with beck and smile,
With every passion-waking wile
[pg 017]
Of glance and lotus hand,
With all enticements that excite
The longing for unknown delight
Which boys in vain withstand.
Forth came the hermit's son to view
The wondrous sight to him so new,
And gazed in rapt surprise,
For from his natal hour till then
On woman or the sons of men
He ne'er had cast his eyes.
He saw them with their waists so slim,
With fairest shape and faultless limb,
In variegated robes arrayed,
And sweetly singing as they played.
Near and more near the hermit drew,
And watched them at their game,
And stronger still the impulse grew
To question whence they came.
They marked the young ascetic gaze
With curious eye and wild amaze,
And sweet the long-eyed damsels sang,
And shrill their merry laughter rang.
Then came they nearer to his side,
And languishing with passion cried:
“Whose son, O youth, and who art thou,
Come suddenly to join us now?
And why dost thou all lonely dwell
In the wild wood? We pray thee, tell,
We wish to know thee, gentle youth;
Come, tell us, if thou wilt, the truth.”
He gazed upon that sight he ne'er
Had seen before, of girls so fair,
And out of love a longing rose
His sire and lineage to disclose:
“My father,” thus he made reply,
“Is Kaśyap's son, a saint most high,
Vibháṇdak styled; from him I came,
And Rishyaśring he calls my name.
Our hermit cot is near this place:
Come thither, O ye fair of face;
There be it mine, with honour due,
Ye gentle youths, to welcome you.”
They heard his speech, and gave consent,
And gladly to his cottage went.
Vibháṇdak's son received them well
Beneath the shelter of his cell
With guest-gift, water for their feet,
And woodland fruit and roots to eat,
They smiled, and spoke sweet words like these,
Delighted with his courtesies:
“We too have goodly fruit in store,
Grown on the trees that shade our door;
Come, if thou wilt, kind Hermit, haste
The produce of our grove to taste;
And let, O good Ascetic, first
This holy water quench thy thirst.”
They spoke, and gave him comfits sweet
Prepared ripe fruits to counterfeit;
And many a dainty cate beside
And luscious mead their stores supplied.
The seeming fruits, in taste and look,
The unsuspecting hermit took,
For, strange to him, their form beguiled
The dweller in the lonely wild.
Then round his neck fair arms were flung,
And there the laughing damsels clung,
And pressing nearer and more near
With sweet lips whispered at his ear;
While rounded limb and swelling breast
The youthful hermit softly pressed.
The pleasing charm of that strange bowl,
The touch of a tender limb,
Over his yielding spirit stole
And sweetly vanquished him.
But vows, they said, must now be paid;
They bade the boy farewell,
And, of the aged saint afraid,
Prepared to leave the dell.
With ready guile they told him where
Their hermit dwelling lay:
Then, lest the sire should find them there,
Sped by wild paths away.
They fled and left him there alone
By longing love possessed;
And with a heart no more his own
He roamed about distressed.
The aged saint came home, to find
The hermit boy distraught,
Revolving in his troubled mind
One solitary thought.
“Why dost thou not, my son,” he cried,
“Thy due obeisance pay?
Why do I see thee in the tide
Of whelming thought to-day?
A devotee should never wear
A mien so sad and strange.
Come, quickly, dearest child, declare
The reason of the change.”
And Rishyaśring, when questioned thus,
Made answer in this wise:
“O sire, there came to visit us
Some men with lovely eyes.
About my neck soft arms they wound
And kept me tightly held
To tender breasts so soft and round,
That strangely heaved and swelled.
They sing more sweetly as they dance
Than e'er I heard till now,
And play with many a sidelong glance
And arching of the brow.”
“My son,” said he, “thus giants roam
Where holy hermits are,
And wander round their peaceful home
Their rites austere to mar.
I charge thee, thou must never lay
Thy trust in them, dear boy:
They seek thee only to betray,
And woo but to destroy.”
Thus having warned him of his foes
That night at home he spent.
And when the morrow's sun arose
[pg 018]
Forth to the forest went.
But Rishyaśring with eager pace
Sped forth and hurried to the place
Where he those visitants had seen
Of daintly waist and charming mien.
When from afar they saw the son
Of Saint Vibháṇdak toward them run,
To meet the hermit boy they hied,
And hailed him with a smile, and cried:
“O come, we pray, dear lord, behold
Our lovely home of which we told
Due honour there to thee we'll pay,
And speed thee on thy homeward way.”
Pleased with the gracious words they said
He followed where the damsels led.
As with his guides his steps he bent,
That Bráhman high of worth,
A flood of rain from heaven was sent
That gladdened all the earth.
Vibháṇdak took his homeward road,
And wearied by the heavy load
Of roots and woodland fruit he bore
Entered at last his cottage door.
Fain for his son he looked around,
But desolate the cell he found.
He stayed not then to bathe his feet,
Though fainting with the toil and heat,
But hurried forth and roamed about
Calling the boy with cry and shout,
He searched the wood, but all in vain;
Nor tidings of his son could gain.
One day beyond the forest's bound
The wandering saint a village found,
And asked the swains and neatherds there
Who owned the land so rich and fair,
With all the hamlets of the plain,
And herds of kine and fields of grain.
They listened to the hermit's words,
And all the guardians of the herds,
With suppliant hands together pressed,
This answer to the saint addressed:
“The Angas' lord who bears the name
Of Lomapád, renowned by fame,
Bestowed these hamlets with their kine
And all their riches, as a sign
Of grace, on Rishyaśring: and he
Vibháṇdak's son is said to be.”
The hermit with exulting breast
The mighty will of fate confessed,
By meditation's eye discerned;
And cheerful to his home returned.
A stately ship, at early morn,
The hermit's son away had borne.
Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped,
The sky grew blacker overhead;
Till, as he reached the royal town,
A mighty flood of rain came down.
By the great rain the monarch's mind
The coming of his guest divined.
To meet the honoured youth he went,
And low to earth his head he bent.
With his own priest to lead the train,
He gave the gift high guests obtain.
And sought, with all who dwelt within
The city walls, his grace to win.
He fed him with the daintiest fare,
He served him with unceasing care,
And ministered with anxious eyes
Lest anger in his breast should rise;
And gave to be the Bráhman's bride
His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed.
Thus loved and honoured by the king,
The glorious Bráhman Rishyaśring
Passed in that royal town his life
With Śántá his beloved wife.”
Canto X. Rishyasring Invited.

“Again, O best of kings, give ear:
My saving words attentive hear,
And listen to the tale of old
By that illustrious Bráhman told.
“Of famed Ikshváku's line shall spring
('Twas thus he spoke) a pious king,
Named Daśaratha, good and great,
True to his word and fortunate.
He with the Angas' mighty lord
Shall ever live in sweet accord,
And his a daughter fair shall be,
Śántá of happy destiny.
But Lomapád, the Angas' chief,
Still pining in his childless grief,
To Daśaratha thus shall say:
“Give me thy daughter, friend, I pray,
Thy Śántá of the tranquil mind,
The noblest one of womankind.”
The father, swift to feel for woe,
Shall on his friend his child bestow;
And he shall take her and depart
To his own town with joyous heart.
The maiden home in triumph led,
To Rishyaśring the king shall wed.
And he with loving joy and pride
Shall take her for his honoured bride.
And Daśaratha to a rite
That best of Bráhmans shall invite
With supplicating prayer,
To celebrate the sacrifice
To win him sons and Paradise,83
That he will fain prepare.
[pg 019]
From him the lord of men at length
The boon he seeks shall gain,
And see four sons of boundless strength
His royal line maintain.”
“Thus did the godlike saint of old
The will of fate declare,
And all that should befall unfold
Amid the sages there.
O Prince supreme of men, go thou,
Consult thy holy guide,
And win, to aid thee in thy vow,
This Bráhman to thy side.”
Sumantra's counsel, wise and good,
King Daśaratha heard,
Then by Vaśishṭha's side he stood
And thus with him conferred:
“Sumantra counsels thus: do thou
My priestly guide, the plan allow.”
Vaśishṭha gave his glad consent,
And forth the happy monarch went
With lords and servants on the road
That led to Rishyaśring's abode.
Forests and rivers duly past,
He reached the distant town at last
Of Lomapád the Angas' king,
And entered it with welcoming.
On through the crowded streets he came,
And, radiant as the kindled flame,
He saw within the monarch's house
The hermit's son most glorious.
There Lomapád, with joyful breast,
To him all honour paid,
For friendship for his royal guest
His faithful bosom swayed.
Thus entertained with utmost care
Seven days, or eight, he tarried there,
And then that best of men thus broke
His purpose to the king, and spoke:
“O King of men, mine ancient friend,
(Thus Daśaratha prayed)
Thy Śántá with her husband send
My sacrifice to aid.”
Said he who ruled the Angas, Yea,
And his consent was won:
And then at once he turned away
To warn the hermit's son.
He told him of their ties beyond
Their old affection's faithful bond:
“This king,” he said, “from days of old
A well beloved friend I hold.
To me this pearl of dames he gave
From childless woe mine age to save,
The daughter whom he loved so much,
Moved by compassion's gentle touch.
In him thy Śántás father see:
As I am even so is he.
For sons the childless monarch yearns:
To thee alone for help he turns.
Go thou, the sacred rite ordain
To win the sons he prays to gain:
Go, with thy wife thy succour lend,
And give his vows a blissful end.”
The hermit's son with quick accord
Obeyed the Angas' mighty lord,
And with fair Śántá at his side
To Daśaratha's city hied.
Each king, with suppliant hands upheld,
Gazed on the other's face:
And then by mutual love impelled
Met in a close embrace.
Then Daśaratha's thoughtful care,
Before he parted thence,
Bade trusty servants homeward bear
The glad intelligence:
“Let all the town be bright and gay
With burning incense sweet;
Let banners wave, and water lay
The dust in every street.”
Glad were the citizens to learn
The tidings of their lord's return,
And through the city every man
Obediently his task began.
And fair and bright Ayodhyá showed,
As following his guest he rode
Through the full streets where shell and drum
Proclaimed aloud the king was come.
And all the people with delight
Kept gazing on their king,
Attended by that youth so bright,
The glorious Rishyaśring.
When to his home the king had brought
The hermit's saintly son,
He deemed that all his task was wrought,
And all he prayed for won.
And lords who saw that stranger dame
So beautiful to view,
Rejoiced within their hearts, and came
And paid her honour too.
There Rishyaśring passed blissful days,
Graced like the king with love and praise
And shone in glorious light with her,
Sweet Śántá, for his minister,
As Brahmá's son Vaśishṭha, he
Who wedded Saint Arundhatí.84
Canto XI. The Sacrifice Decreed.

The Dewy Season85 came and went;
The spring returned again:
Then would the king, with mind intent,
His sacrifice ordain.
[pg 020]
He came to Rishyaśring, and bowed
To him of look divine,
And bade him aid his offering vowed
For heirs, to save his line.
Nor would the youth his aid deny:
He spake the monarch fair,
And prayed him for that rite so high
All requisites prepare.
The king to wise Sumantra cried
Who stood aye ready near;
“Go summon quick each holy guide,
To counsel and to hear.”
Obedient to his lord's behest
Away Sumantra sped,
And brought Vaśishṭha and the rest,
In Scripture deeply read.
Suyajǹa, Vámadeva came,
Jávali, Kaśyap's son,
And old Vaśishṭha, dear to fame,
Obedient every one.
King Daśaratha met them there
And duly honoured each,
And spoke in pleasant words his fair
And salutary speech:
“In childless longing doomed to pine,
No happiness, O lords, is mine.
So have I for this cause decreed
To slay the sacrificial steed.
Fain would I pay that offering high
Wherein the horse is doomed to die,
With Rishyaśring his aid to lend,
And with your glory to befriend.”
With loud applause each holy man
Received his speech, approved the plan,
And, by the wise Vaśishṭha led,
Gave praises to the king, and said:
“The sons thou cravest shalt thou see,
Of fairest glory, born to thee,
Whose holy feelings bid thee take
This righteous course for offspring's sake.”
Cheered by the ready praise of those
Whose aid he sought, his spirits rose,
And thus the king his speech renewed
With looks of joy and gratitude:
“Let what the coming rites require
Be ready as the priests desire,
And let the horse, ordained to bleed,
With fitting guard and priest, be freed,86
Yonder on Sarjú's northern side
The sacrificial ground provide;
And let the saving rites, that naught
Ill-omened may occur, be wrought.
The offering I announce to-day
Each lord of earth may claim to pay,
Provided that his care can guard
The holy rite by flaws unmarred.
For wandering fiends, whose watchful spite
Waits eagerly to spoil each rite,
Hunting with keenest eye detect
The slightest slip, the least neglect;
And when the sacred work is crossed
The workman is that moment lost.
Let preparation due be made:
Your powers the charge can meet:
That so the noble rite be paid
In every point complete.”
And all the Bráhmans answered, Yea,
His mandate honouring,
And gladly promised to obey
The order of the king.
They cried with voices raised aloud:
“Success attend thine aim!”
Then bade farewell, and lowly bowed,
And hastened whence they came.
King Daśaratha went within,
His well loved wives to see:
And said: “Your lustral rites begin,
For these shall prosper me.
A glorious offering I prepare
That precious fruit of sons may bear.”
Their lily faces brightened fast
Those pleasant words to hear,
As lilies, when the winter's past,
In lovelier hues appear.
Canto XII. The Sacrifice Begun.

Again the spring with genial heat
Returning made the year complete.
To win him sons, without delay
His vow the king resolved to pay:
And to Vaśishṭha, saintly man,
In modest words this speech began:
“Prepare the rite with all things fit
As is ordained in Holy Writ,
And keep with utmost care afar
Whate'er its sacred forms might mar.
Thou art, my lord, my trustiest guide,
Kind-hearted, and my friend beside;
So is it meet thou undertake
This heavy task for duty's sake.”
Then he, of twice-born men the best,
His glad assent at once expressed:
“Fain will I do whate'er may be
Desired, O honoured King, by thee.”
To ancient priests he spoke, who, trained
In holy rites, deep skill had gained:
“Here guards be stationed, good and sage
Religious men of trusted age.
And various workmen send and call,
Who frame the door and build the wall:
With men of every art and trade,
Who read the stars and ply the spade,
[pg 021]
And mimes and minstrels hither bring,
And damsels trained to dance and sing.”
Then to the learned men he said,
In many a page of Scripture read:
“Be yours each rite performed to see
According to the king's decree.
And stranger Bráhmans quickly call
To this great rite that welcomes all.
Pavilions for the princes, decked
With art and ornament, erect,
And handsome booths by thousands made
The Bráhman visitors to shade,
Arranged in order side by side,
With meat and drink and all supplied.
And ample stables we shall need
For many an elephant and steed:
And chambers where the men may lie,
And vast apartments, broad and high,
Fit to receive the countless bands
Of warriors come from distant lands.
For our own people too provide
Sufficient tents, extended wide,
And stores of meat and drink prepare,
And all that can be needed there.
And food in plenty must be found
For guests from all the country round.
Of various viands presents make,
For honour, not for pity's sake,
That fit regard and worship be
Paid to each caste in due degree.
And let not wish or wrath excite
Your hearts the meanest guest to slight;
But still observe with special grace
Those who obtain the foremost place,
Whether for happier skill in art
Or bearing in the rite their part.
Do you, I pray, with friendly mind
Perform the task to you assigned,
And work the rite, as bids the law,
Without omission, slip, or flaw”
They answered: “As thou seest fit
So will we do and naught omit.”
The sage Vaśiṣṭha then addressed
Sumantra called at his behest:
“The princes of the earth invite,
And famous lords who guard the rite,
Priest, Warrior, Merchant, lowly thrall,
In countless thousands summon all.
Where'er their home be, far or near,
Gather the good with honour here,
And Janak, whose imperial sway
The men of Míthilá87 obey.
The firm of vow, the dread of foes,
Who all the lore of Scripture knows,
Invite him here with honour high,
King Daśaratha's old ally.
And Káśi's88 lord of gentle speech,
Who finds a pleasant word for each,
In length of days our monarch's peer,
Illustrious king, invite him here.
The father of our ruler's bride,
Known for his virtues far and wide,
The king whom Kekaya's89 realms obey,
Him with his son invite, I pray.
And Lomapád the Angas' king,
True to his vows and godlike, bring.
For be thine invitations sent
To west and south and orient.
Call those who rule Suráshṭra's90 land,
Suvíra's91 realm and Sindhu's strand,
And all the kings of earth beside
In friendship's bonds with us allied:
Invite them all to hasten in
With retinue and kith and kin.”
Vaśishṭha's speech without delay
Sumantra bent him to obey.
And sent his trusty envoys forth
Eastward and westward, south and north.
Obedient to the saint's request
Himself he hurried forth, and pressed
Each nobler chief and lord and king
To hasten to the gathering.
Before the saint Vaśishṭha stood
All those who wrought with stone and wood,
And showed the work which every one
In furtherance of the rite had done,
Rejoiced their ready zeal to see,
Thus to the craftsmen all said he:
“I charge ye, masters, see to this,
That there be nothing done amiss,
And this, I pray, in mind be borne,
That not one gift ye give in scorn:
Whenever scorn a gift attends
Great sin is his who thus offends.”
And now some days and nights had past,
And kings began to gather fast,
And precious gems in liberal store
As gifts to Daśaratha bore.
Then joy thrilled through Vaśishṭha's breast
As thus the monarch he addressed:
“Obedient to thy high decree
The kings, my lord, are come to thee.
[pg 022]
And it has been my care to greet
And honour all with reverence meet.
Thy servants' task is ended quite,
And all is ready for the rite.
Come forth then to the sacred ground
Where all in order will be found.”
Then Rishyaśring confirmed the tale:
Nor did their words to move him fail.
The stars propitious influence lent
When forth the world's great ruler went.
Then by the sage Vaśishṭha led
The priest begun to speed
Those glorious rites wherein is shed
The lifeblood of the steed.
Canto XIII. The Sacrifice Finished.

The circling year had filled its course,
And back was brought the wandering horse:
Then upon Sarjú's northern strand
Began the rite the king had planned.
With Rishyaśring the forms to guide,
The Bráhmans to their task applied,
At that great offering of the steed
Their lofty-minded king decreed.
The priests, who all the Scripture knew,
Performed their part in order due,
And circled round in solemn train
As precepts of the law ordain.
Pravargya rites92 were duly sped:
For Upasads93 the flames were fed.
Then from the plant94 the juice was squeezed,
And those high saints with minds well pleased
Performed the mystic rites begun
With bathing ere the rise of sun
They gave the portion Indra's claim,
And hymned the King whom none can blame.
The mid-day bathing followed next,
Observed as bids the holy text.
Then the good priests with utmost care,
In form that Scripture's rules declare,
For the third time pure water shed
On high souled Daśaratha's head.
Then Rishyaśring and all the rest
To Indra and the Gods addressed
Their sweet-toned hymn of praise and prayer,
And called them in the rite to share.
With sweetest song and hymn entoned
They gave the Gods in heaven enthroned,
As duty bids, the gifts they claim,
The holy oil that feeds the flame.
And many an offering there was paid,
And not one slip in all was made.
For with most careful heed they saw
That all was done by Veda law.
None, all those days, was seen oppressed
By hunger or by toil distressed.
Why speak of human kind? No beast
Was there that lacked an ample feast.
For there was store for all who came,
For orphan child and lonely dame;
The old and young were well supplied,
The poor and hungry satisfied.
Throughout the day ascetics fed,
And those who roam to beg their bread:
While all around the cry was still,
“Give forth, give forth,” and “Eat your fill.”
“Give forth with liberal hand the meal,
And various robes in largess deal.”
Urged by these cries on every side
Unweariedly their task they plied:
And heaps of food like hills in size
In boundless plenty met the eyes:
And lakes of sauce, each day renewed,
Refreshed the weary multitude.
And strangers there from distant lands,
And women folk in crowded bands
The best of food and drink obtained
At the great rite the king ordained.
Apart from all, the Bráhmans there,
Thousands on thousands, took their share
Of various dainties sweet to taste,
On plates of gold and silver placed,
All ready set, as, when they willed,
The twice-born men their places filled.
And servants in fair garments dressed
Waited upon each Bráhman guest.
Of cheerful mind and mien were they,
With gold and jewelled earrings gay.
The best of Bráhmans praised the fare
Of countless sorts, of flavour rare:
And thus to Raghu's son they cried:
“We bless thee, and are satisfied.”
Between the rites some Bráhmans spent
The time in learned argument,
[pg 023]
With ready flow of speech, sedate,
And keen to vanquish in debate.95
There day by day the holy train
Performed all rites as rules ordain.
No priest in all that host was found
But kept the vows that held him bound:
None, but the holy Vedas knew,
And all their six-fold science96 too.
No Bráhman there was found unfit
To speak with eloquence and wit.
And now the appointed time came near
The sacrificial posts to rear.
They brought them, and prepared to fix
Of Bel97 and Khádir98 six and six;
Six, made of the Paláśa99 tree,
Of Fig-wood one, apart to be:
Of Sleshmát100 and of Devadár101
One column each, the mightiest far:
So thick the two, the arms of man
Their ample girth would fail to span.
All these with utmost care were wrought
By hand of priests in Scripture taught,
And all with gold were gilded bright
To add new splendour to the rite:
Twenty-and-one those stakes in all,
Each one-and-twenty cubits tall:
And one-and-twenty ribbons there
Hung on the pillars, bright and fair.
Firm in the earth they stood at last,
Where cunning craftsmen fixed them fast;
And there unshaken each remained,
Octagonal and smoothly planed.
Then ribbons over all were hung,
And flowers and scent around them flung.
Thus decked they cast a glory forth
Like the great saints who star the north.102
The sacrificial altar then
Was raised by skilful twice-born men,
In shape and figure to behold
An eagle with his wings of gold,
With twice nine pits and formed three-fold
Each for some special God, beside
The pillars were the victims tied;
The birds that roam the wood, the air,
The water, and the land were there,
And snakes and things of reptile birth,
And healing herbs that spring from earth:
As texts prescribe, in Scripture found,
Three hundred victims there were bound.
The steed devoted to the host
Of Gods, the gem they honour most,
Was duly sprinkled. Then the Queen
Kauśalyá, with delighted mien,
With reverent steps around him paced,
And with sweet wreaths the victim graced;
Then with three swords in order due
She smote the steed with joy, and slew.
That night the queen, a son to gain,
With calm and steady heart was fain
By the dead charger's side to stay
From evening till the break of day.
Then came three priests, their care to lead
The other queens to touch the steed,
Upon Kauśalyá to attend,
Their company and aid to lend.
As by the horse she still reclined,
With happy mien and cheerful mind,
With Rishyaśring the twice-born came
And praised and blessed the royal dame.
The priest who well his duty knew,
And every sense could well subdue,
From out the bony chambers freed
And boiled the marrow of the steed.
Above the steam the monarch bent,
And, as he smelt the fragrant scent,
In time and order drove afar
All error that his hopes could mar.
Then sixteen priests together came
And cast into the sacred flame
The severed members of the horse,
Made ready all in ordered course.
On piles of holy Fig-tree raised
[pg 024]
The meaner victims' bodies blazed:
The steed, of all the creatures slain,
Alone required a pile of cane.
Three days, as is by law decreed,
Lasted that Offering of the Steed.
The Chatushṭom began the rite,
And when the sun renewed his light,
The Ukthya followed: after came
The Atirátra's holy flame.
These were the rites, and many more
Arranged by light of holy lore,
The Aptoryám of mighty power,
And, each performed in proper hour,
The Abhijit and Viśvajit
With every form and service fit;
And with the sacrifice at night
The Jyotishṭom and Áyus rite.103
The task was done, as laws prescribe:
The monarch, glory of his tribe,
Bestowed the land in liberal grants
Upon the sacred ministrants.
He gave the region of the east,
His conquest, to the Hotri priest.
The west, the celebrant obtained:
The south, the priest presiding gained:
The northern region was the share
Of him who chanted forth the prayer,104
Thus did each priest obtain his meed
At the great Slaughter of the Steed,
Ordained, the best of all to be,
By self-existent deity.
Ikshváku's son with joyful mind
This noble fee to each assigned,
But all the priests with one accord
Addressed that unpolluted lord:
“Tis thine alone to keep the whole
Of this broad earth in firm control.
[pg 025]
No gift of lands from thee we seek:
To guard these realms our hands were weak.
On sacred lore our days are spent:
Let other gifts our wants content.”
The chief of old Ikshváku's line
Gave them ten hundred thousand kine,
A hundred millions of fine gold,
The same in silver four times told.
But every priest in presence there
With one accord resigned his share.
To Saint Vaśishṭha, high of soul,
And Rishyaśring they gave the whole.
That largess pleased those Bráhmans well,
Who bade the prince his wishes tell.
Then Daśaratha, mighty king,
Made answer thus to Rishyaśring:
“O holy Hermit, of thy grace,
Vouchsafe the increase of my race.”
He spoke; nor was his prayer denied:
The best of Bráhmans thus replied:
“Four sons, O Monarch, shall be thine,
Upholders of thy royal line.”
Canto XIV. Rávan Doomed.

The saint, well read in holy lore,
Pondered awhile his answer o'er,
And thus again addressed the king,
His wandering thoughts regathering:
“Another rite will I begin
Which shall the sons thou cravest win,
Where all things shall be duly sped
And first Atharva texts be read.”
Then by Vibháṇdak's gentle son
Was that high sacrifice begun,
The king's advantage seeking still
And zealous to perform his will.
Now all the Gods had gathered there,
Each one for his allotted share:
Brahmá, the ruler of the sky,
Stháṇu, Náráyaṇ, Lord most high,
And holy Indra men might view
With Maruts105 for his retinue;
The heavenly chorister, and saint,
And spirit pure from earthly taint,
With one accord had sought the place
The high-souled monarch's rite to grace.
Then to the Gods who came to take
Their proper share the hermit spake:
“For you has Daśaratha slain
The votive steed, a son to gain;
Stern penance-rites the king has tried,
And in firm faith on you relied,
And now with undiminished care
A second rite would fain prepare.
But, O ye Gods, consent to grant
The longing of your supplicant.
For him beseeching hands I lift,
And pray you all to grant the gift,
That four fair sons of high renown
The offerings of the king may crown.”
They to the hermit's son replied:
“His longing shall be gratified.
For, Bráhman, in most high degree
We love the king and honour thee.”
These words the Gods in answer said,
And vanished thence by Indra led.
Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made,
The Immortals all assembled prayed:
“O Brahmá, mighty by thy grace,
Rávaṇ, who rules the giant race,
Torments us in his senseless pride,
And penance-loving saints beside.
For thou well pleased in days of old
Gavest the boon that makes him bold,
That God nor demon e'er should kill
His charmed life, for so thy will.
We, honouring that high behest,
Bear all his rage though sore distressed.
That lord of giants fierce and fell
Scourges the earth and heaven and hell.
Mad with thy boon, his impious rage
Smites saint and bard and God and sage.
The sun himself withholds his glow,
The wind in fear forbears to blow;
The fire restrains his wonted heat
Where stand the dreaded Rávaṇ's feet,
And, necklaced with the wandering wave,
The sea before him fears to rave.
Kuvera's self in sad defeat
Is driven from his blissful seat.
We see, we feel the giant's might,
And woe comes o'er us and affright.
To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray
To find some cure this plague to stay.”
Thus by the gathered Gods addressed
He pondered in his secret breast,
And said: “One only way I find
To slay this fiend of evil mind.
He prayed me once his life to guard
From demon, God, and heavenly bard,
And spirits of the earth and air,
And I consenting heard his prayer.
But the proud giant in his scorn
Recked not of man of woman born.
None else may take his life away,
But only man the fiend may slay.”
The Gods, with Indra at their head,
Rejoiced to hear the words he said.
Then crowned with glory like a flame,
Lord Vishṇu to the council came;
His hands shell, mace, and discus bore,
And saffron were the robes he wore.
[pg 026]
Riding his eagle through the crowd,
As the sun rides upon a cloud,
With bracelets of fine gold, he came
Loud welcomed by the Gods' acclaim.
His praise they sang with one consent,
And cried, in lowly reverence bent:
“O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu106 slew,
Be thou our refuge, firm and true;
Friend of the suffering worlds art thou,
We pray thee help thy suppliants now.”
Then Vishṇu spake: “Ye Gods, declare,
What may I do to grant your prayer?”
“King Daśaratha,” thus cried they,
“Fervent in penance many a day,
The sacrificial steed has slain,
Longing for sons, but all in vain.
Now, at the cry of us forlorn,
Incarnate as his seed be born.
Three queens has he: each lovely dame
Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame.
Divide thyself in four, and be
His offspring by these noble three.
Man's nature take, and slay in fight
Rávaṇ who laughs at heavenly might:
This common scourge, this rankling thorn
Whom the three worlds too long have borne
For Rávaṇ in the senseless pride
Of might unequalled has defied
The host of heaven, and plagues with woe
Angel and bard and saint below,
Crushing each spirit and each maid
Who plays in Nandan's107 heavenly shade.
O conquering Lord, to thee we bow;
Our surest hope and trust art thou.
Regard the world of men below,
And slay the Gods' tremendous foe.”
When thus the suppliant Gods had prayed,
His wise reply Náráyaṇ108 made:
“What task demands my presence there,
And whence this dread, ye Gods declare.”
The Gods replied: “We fear, O Lord,
Fierce Rávaṇ, ravener abhorred.
Be thine the glorious task, we pray,
In human form this fiend to slay.
By thee of all the Blest alone
This sinner may be overthrown.
He gained by penance long and dire
The favour of the mighty Sire.
Then He who every gift bestows
Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes,
And gave a pledge his life that kept
From all things living, man except.
On him thus armed no other foe
Than man may deal the deadly blow.
Assume, O King, a mortal birth,
And strike the demon to the earth.”
Then Vishṇu, God of Gods, the Lord
Supreme by all the worlds adored,
To Brahmá and the suppliants spake:
“Dismiss your fear: for your dear sake
In battle will I smite him dead,
The cruel fiend, the Immortal's dread.
And lords and ministers and all
His kith and kin with him shall fall.
Then, in the world of mortal men,
Ten thousand years and hundreds ten
I as a human king will reign,
And guard the earth as my domain.”
God, saint, and nymph, and minstrel throng
With heavenly voices raised their song
In hymns of triumph to the God
Whose conquering feet on Madhu trod:
“Champion of Gods, as man appear,
This cruel Rávaṇ slay,
The thorn that saints and hermits fear,
The plague that none can stay.
In savage fury uncontrolled
His pride for ever grows:
He dares the Lord of Gods to hold
Among his deadly foes.”
Canto XV. The Nectar.

When wisest Vishṇu thus had given
His promise to the Gods of heaven,
He pondered in his secret mind
A suited place of birth to find,
Then he decreed, the lotus-eyed,
In four his being to divide,
And Daśaratha, gracious king,
He chose as sire from whom to spring.
That childless prince of high renown,
Who smote in war his foemen down,
At that same time with utmost care
Prepared the rite that wins an heir.109
Then Vishṇu, fain on earth to dwell,
Bade the Almighty Sire farewell,
And vanished while a reverent crowd
Of Gods and saints in worship bowed.
The monarch watched the sacred rite,
When a vast form of awful might,
Of matchless splendour, strength, and size
Was manifest before his eyes.
[pg 027]
From forth the sacrificial flame,
Dark, robed in red, the being came.
His voice was drumlike, loud and low,
His face suffused with rosy glow.
Like a huge lion's mane appeared
The long locks of his hair and beard.
He shone with many a lucky sign,
And many an ornament divine;
A towering mountain in his height,
A tiger in his gait and might.
No precious mine more rich could be,
No burning flame more bright than he.
His arms embraced in loving hold,
Like a dear wife, a vase of gold
Whose silver lining held a draught
Of nectar as in heaven is quaffed:
A vase so vast, so bright to view,
They scarce could count the vision true.
Upon the king his eyes he bent,
And said: “The Lord of life has sent
His servant down, O Prince, to be
A messenger from heaven to thee.”
The king with all his nobles by
Raised reverent hands and made reply:
“Welcome, O glorious being! Say
How can my care thy grace repay.”
Envoy of Him whom all adore
Thus to the king he spake once more:
“The Gods accept thy worship: they
Give thee the blessed fruit to-day.
Approach and take, O glorious King,
This heavenly nectar which I bring,
For it shall give thee sons and wealth,
And bless thee with a store of health.
Give it to those fair queens of thine,
And bid them quaff the drink divine:
And they the princely sons shall bear
Long sought by sacrifice and prayer.”
“Yea, O my lord,” the monarch said,
And took the vase upon his head,
The gift of Gods, of fine gold wrought,
With store of heavenly liquor fraught.
He honoured, filled with transport new,
That wondrous being, fair to view,
As round the envoy of the God
With reverential steps he trod.110
His errand done, that form of light
Arose and vanished from the sight.
High rapture filled the monarch's soul,
Possessed of that celestial bowl,
As when a man by want distressed
With unexpected wealth is blest.
And rays of transport seemed to fall
Illuminating bower and hall,
As when the autumn moon rides high,
And floods with lovely light the sky.
Quick to the ladies' bower he sped,
And thus to Queen Kauśalyá said:
“This genial nectar take and quaff,”
He spoke, and gave the lady half.
Part of the nectar that remained
Sumitrá from his hand obtained.
He gave, to make her fruitful too,
Kaikeyí half the residue.
A portion yet remaining there,
He paused awhile to think.
Then gave Sumitrá, with her share.
The remnant of the drink.
Thus on each queen of those fair three
A part the king bestowed,
And with sweet hope a child to see
Their yearning bosoms glowed.
The heavenly bowl the king supplied
Their longing souls relieved,
And soon, with rapture and with pride,
Each royal dame conceived.
He gazed upon each lady's face,
And triumphed as he gazed,
As Indra in his royal place
By Gods and spirits praised.
Canto XVI. The Vánars.

When Vishṇu thus had gone on earth,
From the great king to take his birth,
The self-existent Lord of all
Addressed the Gods who heard his call:
“For Vishṇu's sake, the strong and true,
Who seeks the good of all of you,
Make helps, in war to lend him aid,
In forms that change at will, arrayed,
Of wizard skill and hero might,
Outstrippers of the wind in flight,
Skilled in the arts of counsel, wise,
And Vishṇu's peers in bold emprise;
With heavenly arts and prudence fraught,
By no devices to be caught;
Skilled in all weapon's lore and use
As they who drink the immortal juice.111
[pg 028]
And let the nymphs supreme in grace,
And maidens of the minstrel race,
Monkeys and snakes, and those who rove
Free spirits of the hill and grove,
And wandering Daughters of the Air,
In monkey form brave children bear.
So erst the lord of bears I shaped,
Born from my mouth as wide I gaped.”
Thus by the mighty Sire addressed
They all obeyed his high behest,
And thus begot in countless swarms
Brave sons disguised in sylvan forms.
Each God, each sage became a sire,
Each minstrel of the heavenly quire,112
Each faun,113 of children strong and good
Whose feet should roam the hill and wood.
Snakes, bards,114 and spirits,115 serpents bold
Had sons too numerous to be told.
Báli, the woodland hosts who led,
High as Mahendra's116 lofty head,
Was Indra's child. That noblest fire,
The Sun, was great Sugríva's sire,
Tára, the mighty monkey, he
Was offspring of Vṛihaspati:117
Tára the matchless chieftain, boast
For wisdom of the Vánar host.
Of Gandhamádan brave and bold
The father was the Lord of Gold.
Nala the mighty, dear to fame,
Of skilful Viśvakarmá118 came.
From Agni,119 Nila bright as flame,
Who in his splendour, might, and worth,
Surpassed the sire who gave him birth.
The heavenly Aśvins,120 swift and fair,
Were fathers of a noble pair,
Who, Dwivida and Mainda named,
For beauty like their sires were famed,
Varuṇ121 was father of Susheṇ,
Of Sarabh, he who sends the rain,122
Hanúmán, best of monkey kind,
Was son of him who breathes the wind:
Like thunderbolt in frame was he,
And swift as Garuḍ's123 self could flee.
These thousands did the Gods create
Endowed with might that none could mate,
In monkey forms that changed at will;
So strong their wish the fiend to kill.
In mountain size, like lions thewed,
Up sprang the wondrous multitude,
Auxiliar hosts in every shape,
Monkey and bear and highland ape.
In each the strength, the might, the mien
Of his own parent God were seen.
Some chiefs of Vánar mothers came,
Some of she-bear and minstrel dame,
Skilled in all arms in battle's shock;
The brandished tree, the loosened rock;
And prompt, should other weapons fail,
To fight and slay with tooth and nail.
Their strength could shake the hills amain,
And rend the rooted trees in twain,
Disturb with their impetuous sweep
The Rivers' Lord, the Ocean deep,
Rend with their feet the seated ground,
And pass wide floods with airy bound,
Or forcing through the sky their way
The very clouds by force could stay.
Mad elephants that wander through
The forest wilds, could they subdue,
And with their furious shout could scare
Dead upon earth the birds of air.
So were the sylvan chieftains formed;
Thousands on thousands still they swarmed.
These were the leaders honoured most,
The captains of the Vánar host,
And to each lord and chief and guide
Was monkey offspring born beside.
Then by the bears' great monarch stood
The other roamers of the wood,
[pg 029]
And turned, their pathless homes to seek,
To forest and to mountain peak.
The leaders of the monkey band
By the two brothers took their stand,
Sugríva, offspring of the Sun
And Báli, Indra's mighty one.
They both endowed with Garuḍ's might,
And skilled in all the arts of fight,
Wandered in arms the forest through,
And lions, snakes, and tigers, slew.
But every monkey, ape, and bear
Ever was Báli's special care;
With his vast strength and mighty arm
He kept them from all scathe and harm.
And so the earth with hill, wood, seas,
Was filled with mighty ones like these,
Of various shape and race and kind,
With proper homes to each assigned,
With Ráma's champions fierce and strong
The earth was overspread,
High as the hills and clouds, a throng
With bodies vast and dread.124
Canto XVII. Rishyasring's Return.

Now when the high-souled monarch's rite,
The Aśvamedh, was finished quite,
Their sacrificial dues obtained,
The Gods their heavenly homes regained.
The lofty-minded saints withdrew,
Each to his place, with honour due,
And kings and chieftains, one and all,
Who came to grace the festival.
And Daśaratha, ere they went,
Addressed them thus benevolent:
“Now may you, each with joyful heart,
To your own realms, O Kings, depart.
Peace and good luck attend you there,
And blessing, is my friendly prayer;
Let cares of state each mind engage
To guard his royal heritage.
A monarch from his throne expelled
No better than the dead is held.
So he who cares for power and might
Must guard his realm and royal right.
Such care a meed in heaven will bring
Better than rites and offering.
Such care a king his country owes
As man upon himself bestows,
When for his body he provides
Raiment and every need besides.
For future days should kings foresee,
And keep the present error-free.”
Thus did the king the kings exhort:
They heard, and turned them from the court
And, each to each in friendship bound,
Went forth to all the realms around.
The rites were o'er, the guests were sped:
The train the best of Bráhmans led,
In which the king with joyful soul,
With his dear wives, and with the whole
Of his imperial host and train
Of cars and servants turned again,
And, as a monarch dear to fame,
Within his royal city came.
Next, Rishyaśring, well-honoured sage,
And Śántá, sought their hermitage.
The king himself, of prudent mind,
Attended him, with troops behind.
And all her men the town outpoured
With Saint Vaśishṭha and their lord.
High mounted on a car of state,
O'er canopied fair Śántá sate.
Drawn by white oxen, while a band
Of servants marched on either hand.
Great gifts of countless price she bore,
With sheep and goats and gems in store.
Like Beauty's self the lady shone
With all the jewels she had on,
As, happy in her sweet content,
Peerless amid the fair she went.
Not Queen Paulomí's125 self could be
More loving to her lord than she.
She who had lived in happy ease,
Honoured with all her heart could please,
While dames and kinsfolk ever vied
To see her wishes gratified,
Soon as she knew her husband's will
Again to seek the forest, still
Was ready for the hermit's cot,
Nor murmured at her altered lot.
The king attended to the wild
That hermit and his own dear child,
And in the centre of a throng
Of noble courtiers rode along.
The sage's son had let prepare
A lodge within the wood, and there
While they lingered blithe and gay.
Then, duly honoured, went their way.
The glorious hermit Rishyaśring
Drew near and thus besought the king:
[pg 030]
“Return, my honoured lord, I pray,
Return, upon thy homeward way.”
The monarch, with the waiting crowd,
Lifted his voice and wept aloud,
And with eyes dripping still to each
Of his good queens he spake this speech:
“Kauśalyá and Sumitrá dear,
And thou, my sweet Kaikeyí, hear.
All upon Śántá feast your gaze,
The last time for a length of days.”
To Śántá's arms the ladies leapt,
And hung about her neck and wept,
And cried, “O, happy be the life
Of this great Bráhman and his wife.
The Wind, the Fire, the Moon on high,
The Earth, the Streams, the circling Sky,
Preserve thee in the wood, true spouse,
Devoted to thy husband's vows.
And O dear Śántá, ne'er neglect
To pay the dues of meek respect
To the great saint, thy husband's sire,
With all observance and with fire.
And, sweet one, pure of spot and blame,
Forget not thou thy husband's claim;
In every change, in good and ill,
Let thy sweet words delight him still,
And let thy worship constant be:
Her lord is woman's deity.
To learn thy welfare, dearest friend,
The king will many a Bráhman send.
Let happy thoughts thy spirit cheer,
And be not troubled, daughter dear.”
These soothing words the ladies said.
And pressed their lips upon her head.
Each gave with sighs her last adieu,
Then at the king's command withdrew.
The king around the hermit went
With circling footsteps reverent,
And placed at Rishyaśring's command
Some soldiers of his royal band.
The Bráhman bowed in turn and cried,
“May fortune never leave thy side.
O mighty King, with justice reign,
And still thy people's love retain.”
He spoke, and turned away his face,
And, as the hermit went,
The monarch, rooted to the place,
Pursued with eyes intent.
But when the sage had past from view
King Daśaratha turned him too,
Still fixing on his friend each thought.
With such deep love his breast was fraught.
Amid his people's loud acclaim
Home to his royal seat he came,
And lived delighted there,
Expecting when each queenly dame,
Upholder of his ancient fame,
Her promised son should bear.
The glorious sage his way pursued
Till close before his eyes he viewed
Sweet Champá, Lomapád's fair town,
Wreathed with her Champacs'126 leafy crown.
Soon as the saint's approach he knew,
The king, to yield him honour due,
Went forth to meet him with a band
Of priests and nobles of the land:
“Hail, Sage,” he cried, “O joy to me!
What bliss it is, my lord, to see
Thee with thy wife and all thy train
Returning to my town again.
Thy father, honoured Sage, is well,
Who hither from his woodland cell
Has sent full many a messenger
For tidings both of thee and her.”
Then joyfully, for due respect,
The monarch bade the town be decked.
The king and Rishyaśring elate
Entered the royal city's gate:
In front the chaplain rode.
Then, loved and honoured with all care
By monarch and by courtier, there
The glorious saint abode.
Canto XVIII. Rishyasring's Departure.

The monarch called a Bráhman near
And said, “Now speed away
To Kaśyap's son,127 the mighty seer,
And with all reverence say
The holy child he holds so dear,
The hermit of the noble mind,
Whose equal it were hard to find,
Returned, is dwelling here.
Go, and instead of me do thou
Before that best of hermits bow,
That still he may, for his dear son,
Show me the favour I have won.”
Soon as the king these words had said,
To Kaśyap's son the Bráhman sped.
Before the hermit low he bent
And did obeisance, reverent;
Then with meek words his grace to crave
The message of his lord he gave:
“The high-souled father of his bride
Had called thy son his rites to guide:
Those rites are o'er, the steed is slain;
Thy noble child is come again.”
Soon as the saint that speech had heard
His spirit with desire was stirred
To seek the city of the king
And to his cot his son to bring.
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With young disciples at his side
Forth on his way the hermit hied,
While peasants from their hamlets ran
To reverence the holy man.
Each with his little gift of food,
Forth came the village multitude,
And, as they humbly bowed the head,
“What may we do for thee?” they said.
Then he, of Bráhmans first and best,
The gathered people thus addressed:
“Now tell me for I fain would know,
Why is it I am honoured so?”
They to the high-souled saint replied:
“Our ruler is with thee allied.
Our master's order we fulfil;
O Bráhman, let thy mind be still.”
With joy the saintly hermit heard
Each pleasant and delightful word,
And poured a benediction down
On king and ministers and town.
Glad at the words of that high saint
Some servants hastened to acquaint
Their king, rejoicing to impart
The tidings that would cheer his heart.
Soon as the joyful tale he knew
To meet the saint the monarch flew,
The guest-gift in his hand he brought,
And bowed before him and besought:
“This day by seeing thee I gain
Not to have lived my life in vain,
Now be not wroth with me, I pray,
“Because I wiled thy son away.128
The best of Bráhmans answer made:
“Be not, great lord of kings, afraid.
Thy virtues have not failed to win
My favour, O thou pure of sin.”
Then in the front the saint was placed,
The king came next in joyous haste,
And with him entered his abode,
Mid glad acclaim as on they rode.
To greet the sage the reverent crowd
Raised suppliant hands and humbly bowed.
Then from the palace many a dame
Following well-dressed Śántá came,
Stood by the mighty saint and cried:
“See, honour's source, thy son's dear bride.”
The saint, who every virtue knew,
His arms around his daughter threw,
And with a father's rapture pressed
The lady to his wondering breast.
Arising from the saint's embrace
She bowed her low before his face,
And then, with palm to palm applied,
Stood by her hermit father's side.
He for his son, as laws ordain,
Performed the rite that frees from stain,129
And, honoured by the wise and good,
With him departed to the wood.
Canto XIX. The Birth Of The Princes.

The seasons six in rapid flight
Had circled since that glorious rite.
Eleven months had passed away;
'Twas Chaitra's ninth returning day.130
The moon within that mansion shone
Which Aditi looks kindly on.
Raised to their apex in the sky
Five brilliant planets beamed on high.
Shone with the moon, in Cancer's sign,
Vṛihaspati131 with light divine.
Kauśalyá bore an infant blest
With heavenly marks of grace impressed;
Ráma, the universe's lord,
A prince by all the worlds adored.
New glory Queen Kauśalyá won
Reflected from her splendid son.
So Aditi shone more and more,
The Mother of the Gods, when she
The King of the Immortals132 bore,
The thunder-wielding deity.
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The lotus-eyed, the beauteous boy,
He came fierce Rávaṇ to destroy;
From half of Vishṇu's vigour born,
He came to help the worlds forlorn.
And Queen Kaikeyí bore a child
Of truest valour, Bharat styled,
With every princely virtue blest,
One fourth of Vishṇu manifest.
Sumitrá too a noble pair,
Called Lakshmaṇ and Śatrughna, bare,
Of high emprise, devoted, true,
Sharers in Vishṇu's essence too.
'Neath Pushya's133 mansion, Mina's134 sign,
Was Bharat born, of soul benign.
The sun had reached the Crab at morn
When Queen Sumitrá's babes were born,
What time the moon had gone to make
His nightly dwelling with the Snake.
The high-souled monarch's consorts bore
At different times those glorious four,
Like to himself and virtuous, bright
As Proshṭhapadá's135 four-fold light.
Then danced the nymphs' celestial throng,
The minstrels raised their strain;
The drums of heaven pealed loud and long,
And flowers came down in rain.
Within Ayodhyá, blithe and gay,
All kept the joyous holiday.
The spacious square, the ample road
With mimes and dancers overflowed,
And with the voice of music rang
Where minstrels played and singers sang,
And shone, a wonder to behold,
With dazzling show of gems and gold.
Nor did the king his largess spare,
For minstrel, driver, bard, to share;
Much wealth the Bráhmans bore away,
And many thousand dine that day.
Soon as each babe was twelve days old
'Twas time the naming rite to hold.
When Saint Vaśishṭha, rapt with joy,
Assigned a name to every boy.
Ráma, to him the high-souled heir,
Bharat, to him Kaikeyí bare:
Of Queen Sumitrá one fair son
Was Lakshmaṇ, and Śatrughna136 one
Ráma, his sire's supreme delight,
Like some proud banner cheered his sight,
And to all creatures seemed to be
The self-existent deity.
All heroes, versed in holy lore,
To all mankind great love they bore.
Fair stores of wisdom all possessed,
With princely graces all were blest.
But mid those youths of high descent,
With lordly light preëminent.
Like the full moon unclouded, shone
Ráma, the world's dear paragon.
He best the elephant could guide.137
Urge the fleet car, the charger ride:
A master he of bowman's skill,
Joying to do his father's will.
The world's delight and darling, he
Loved Lakshmaṇ best from infancy
And Lakshmaṇ, lord of lofty fate,
Upon his elder joyed to wait,
Striving his second self to please
With friendship's sweet observances.
His limbs the hero ne'er would rest
Unless the couch his brother pressed;
Except beloved Ráma shared
He could not taste the meal prepared.
When Ráma, pride of Reghu's race,
Sprang on his steed to urge the chase,
Behind him Lakshmaṇ loved to go
And guard him with his trusty bow.
As Ráma was to Lakshmaṇ dear
More than his life and ever near,
So fond Śatrughna prized above
His very life his Bharat's love.
Illustrious heroes, nobly kind
In mutual love they all combined,
And gave their royal sire delight
With modest grace and warrior might:
Supported by the glorious four
Shone Daśaratha more and more,
As though, with every guardian God
Who keeps the land and skies,
The Father of all creatures trod
The earth before men's eyes.
Canto XX. Visvámitra's Visit.

Now Daśaratha's pious mind
Meet wedlock for his sons designed;
[pg 033]
With priests and friends the king began
To counsel and prepare his plan.
Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when,
To see Ayodhyá's lord of men,
A mighty saint of glorious fame,
The hermit Viśvámitra138 came.
For evil fiends that roam by night
Disturbed him in each holy rite,
And in their strength and frantic rage
Assailed with witcheries the sage.
He came to seek the monarch's aid
To guard the rites the demons stayed,
Unable to a close to bring
One unpolluted offering.
Seeking the king in this dire strait
He said to those who kept the gate:
“Haste, warders, to your master run,
And say that here stands Gádhi's son.”
Soon as they heard the holy man,
To the king's chamber swift they ran
With minds disordered all, and spurred
To wildest zeal by what they heard.
On to the royal hall they sped,
There stood and lowly bowed the head,
And made the lord of men aware
That the great saint was waiting there.
The king with priest and peer arose
And ran the sage to meet,
As Indra from his palace goes
Lord Brahmá's self to greet.
When glowing with celestial light
The pious hermit was in sight,
The king, whose mien his transport showed,
The honoured gift for guests bestowed.
Nor did the saint that gift despise,
Offered as holy texts advise;
He kindly asked the earth's great king
How all with him was prospering.
The son of Kuśik139 bade him tell
If all in town and field were well,
All well with friends, and kith and kin,
And royal treasure stored within:
“Do all thy neighbours own thy sway?
Thy foes confess thee yet?
Dost thou continue still to pay
To Gods and men each debt?”
Then he, of hermits first and best,
Vaśishṭha with a smile140 addressed,
And asked him of his welfare too,
Showing him honour as was due.
Then with the sainted hermit all
Went joyous to the monarch's hall,
And sate them down by due degree,
Each one, of rank and dignity.
Joy filled the noble prince's breast
Who thus bespoke the honoured guest:
“As amrit141 by a mortal found,
As rain upon the thirsty ground,
As to an heirless man a son
Born to him of his precious one,
As gain of what we sorely miss,
As sudden dawn of mighty bliss,
So is thy coming here to me:
All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee.
What wish within thy heart hast thou?
If I can please thee, tell me how.
Hail, Saint, from whom all honours flow,
Worthy of all I can bestow.
Blest is my birth with fruit to-day,
Nor has my life been thrown away.
I see the best of Bráhman race
And night to glorious morn gives place.
Thou, holy Sage, in days of old
Among the royal saints enrolled,
Didst, penance-glorified, within
The Bráhman caste high station win.
'Tis meet and right in many a way
That I to thee should honour pay.
This seems a marvel to mine eyes:
All sin thy visit purifies;
And I by seeing thee, O Sage,
Have reaped the fruit of pilgrimage.
Then say what thou wouldst have me do,
That thou hast sought this interview.
Favoured by thee, my wish is still,
O Hermit, to perform thy will.
Nor needest thou at length explain
The object that thy heart would gain.
Without reserve I grant it now:
My deity, O Lord, art thou.”
The glorious hermit, far renowned,
With highest fame and virtue crowned,
Rejoiced these modest words to hear
Delightful to the mind and ear.
Canto XXI. Visvámitra's Speech.

The hermit heard with high content
That speech so wondrous eloquent,
And while each hair with joy arose,142
[pg 034]
He thus made answer at the close:
“Good is thy speech O noble King,
And like thyself in everything.
So should their lips be wisdom-fraught
Whom kings begot, Vaśishṭha taught.
The favour which I came to seek
Thou grantest ere my tongue can speak.
But let my tale attention claim,
And hear the need for which I came.
O King, as Scripture texts allow,
A holy rite employs me now.
Two fiends who change their forms at will
Impede that rite with cursed skill.143
Oft when the task is nigh complete,
These worst of fiends my toil defeat,
Throw bits of bleeding flesh, and o'er
The altar shed a stream of gore.
When thus the rite is mocked and stayed,
And all my pious hopes delayed,
Cast down in heart the spot I leave,
And spent with fruitless labour grieve.
Nor can I, checked by prudence, dare
Let loose my fury on them there:
The muttered curse, the threatening word,
In such a rite must ne'er be heard.
Thy grace the rite from check can free.
And yield the fruit I long to see.
Thy duty bids thee, King, defend
The suffering guest, the suppliant friend.
Give me thy son, thine eldest born,
Whom locks like raven's wings adorn.
That hero youth, the truly brave,
Of thee, O glorious King, I crave.
For he can lay those demons low
Who mar my rites and work me woe:
My power shall shield the youth from harm,
And heavenly might shall nerve his arm.
And on my champion will I shower
Unnumbered gifts of varied power,
Such gifts as shall ensure his fame
And spread through all the worlds his name.
Be sure those fiends can never stand
Before the might of Ráma's hand,
And mid the best and bravest none
Can slay that pair but Raghu's son.
Entangled in the toils of Fate
Those sinners, proud and obstinate,
Are, in their fury overbold,
No match for Ráma mighty-souled.
Nor let a father's breast give way
Too far to fond affection's sway.
Count thou the fiends already slain:
My word is pledged, nor pledged in vain.
I know the hero Ráma well
In whom high thoughts and valour dwell;
So does Vaśishṭha, so do these
Engaged in long austerities.
If thou would do the righteous deed,
And win high fame, thy virtue's meed,
Fame that on earth shall last and live,
To me, great King, thy Ráma give.
If to the words that I have said,
With Saint Vaśishṭha at their head
Thy holy men, O King, agree,
Then let thy Ráma go with me.
Ten nights my sacrifice will last,
And ere the stated time be past
Those wicked fiends, those impious twain,
Must fall by wondrous Ráma slain.
Let not the hours, I warn thee, fly,
Fixt for the rite, unheeded by;
Good luck have thou, O royal Chief,
Nor give thy heart to needless grief.”
Thus in fair words with virtue fraught
The pious glorious saint besought.
But the good speech with poignant sting
Pierced ear and bosom of the king,
Who, stabbed with pangs too sharp to bear,
Fell prostrate and lay fainting there.
Canto XXII. Dasaratha's Speech.

His tortured senses all astray,
While the hapless monarch lay,
Then slowly gathering thought and strength
To Viśvámitra spoke at length:
“My son is but a child, I ween;
This year he will be just sixteen.
How is he fit for such emprise,
My darling with the lotus eyes?
A mighty army will I bring
That calls me master, lord, and king,
And with its countless squadrons fight
Against these rovers of the night.
My faithful heroes skilled to wield
The arms of war will take the field;
Their skill the demons' might may break:
Ráma, my child, thou must not take.
I, even I, my bow in hand,
Will in the van of battle stand,
And, while my soul is left alive,
With the night-roaming demons strive.
Thy guarded sacrifice shall be
Completed, from all hindrance free.
Thither will I my journey make:
Ráma, my child, thou must not take.
A boy unskilled, he knows not yet
The bounds to strength and weakness set.
No match is he for demon foes
Who magic arts to arms oppose.
[pg 035]
O chief of saints, I have no power,
Of Ráma reft, to live one hour:
Mine aged heart at once would break:
Ráma, my child, thou must not take.
Nine thousand circling years have fled
With all their seasons o'er my head,
And as a hard-won boon, O sage,
These sons have come to cheer mine age.
My dearest love amid the four
Is he whom first his mother bore,
Still dearer for his virtues' sake:
Ráma, my child, thou must not take.
But if, unmoved by all I say,
Thou needs must bear my son away,
Let me lead with him, I entreat,
A four-fold army144 all complete.
What is the demons' might, O Sage?
Who are they? What their parentage?
What is their size? What beings lend
Their power to guard them and befriend?
How can my son their arts withstand?
Or I or all my armed band?
Tell me the whole that I may know
To meet in war each evil foe
Whom conscious might inspires with pride.”
And Viśvámitra thus replied:
“Sprung from Pulastya's race there came
A giant known by Rávaṇ's name.
Once favoured by the Eternal Sire
He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire,
For peerless power and might renowned,
By giant bands encompassed round.
Viśravas for his sire they hold,
His brother is the Lord of Gold.
King of the giant hosts is he,
And worst of all in cruelty.
This Rávaṇ's dread commands impel
Two demons who in might excel,
Márícha and Suváhu hight,
To trouble and impede the rite.”
Then thus the king addressed the sage:
“No power have I, my lord, to wage
War with this evil-minded foe;
Now pity on my darling show,
And upon me of hapless fate,
For thee as God I venerate.
Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth,145
The birds of air, the snakes of earth
Before the might of Rávaṇ quail,
Much less can mortal man avail.
He draws, I hear, from out the breast
The valour of the mightiest.
No, ne'er can I with him contend,
Or with the forces he may send.
How can I then my darling lend,
Godlike, unskilled in battle? No,
I will not let my young child go.
Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones,
Sunda and Upasunda's sons,
Are fierce as Fate to overthrow:
I will not let my young child go.
Márícha and Suváhu fell
Are valiant and instructed well.
One of the twain I might attack.
With all my friends their lord to back.”
Canto XXIII. Vasishtha's Speech.

While thus the hapless monarch spoke,
Paternal love his utterance broke.
Then words like these the saint returned,
And fury in his bosom burned:
“Didst thou, O King, a promise make,
And wishest now thy word to break?
A son of Raghu's line should scorn
To fail in faith, a man forsworn.
But if thy soul can bear the shame
I will return e'en as I came.
Live with thy sons, and joy be thine,
False scion of Kakutstha's line.”
As Viśvámitra, mighty sage,
Was moved with this tempestuous rage,
Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame,
And fear upon the Immortals came.
But Saint Vaśishṭha, wisest seer,
Observant of his vows austere,
Saw the whole world convulsed with dread,
And thus unto the monarch said:
“Thou, born of old Ikshváku's seed,
Art Justice' self in mortal weed.
Constant and pious, blest by fate,
The right thou must not violate.
Thou, Raghu's son, so famous through
The triple world as just and true,
Perform thy bounden duty still,
Nor stain thy race by deed of ill.
If thou have sworn and now refuse
Thou must thy store of merit lose.
Then, Monarch, let thy Ráma go,
Nor fear for him the demon foe.
The fiends shall have no power to hurt
Him trained to war or inexpert,
Nor vanquish him in battle field,
For Kuśik's son the youth will shield.
He is incarnate Justice, he
The best of men for bravery.
Embodied love of penance drear,
Among the wise without a peer.
[pg 036]
Full well he knows, great Kuśik's son,
The arms celestial, every one,
Arms from the Gods themselves concealed,
Far less to other men revealed.
These arms to him, when earth he swayed,
Mighty Kriśáśva, pleased, conveyed.
Kriśáśva's sons they are indeed,
Brought forth by Daksha's lovely seed,146
Heralds of conquest, strong and bold,
Brilliant, of semblance manifold.
Jayá and Vijayá, most fair,
And hundred splendid weapons bare.
Of Jayá, glorious as the morn,
First fifty noble sons were born,
Boundless in size yet viewless too,
They came the demons to subdue.
And fifty children also came
Of Vijayá the beauteous dame,
Sanháras named, of mighty force,
Hard to assail or check in course.
Of these the hermit knows the use,
And weapons new can he produce.
All these the mighty saint will yield
To Ráma's hand, to own and wield;
And armed with these, beyond a doubt
Shall Ráma put those fiends to rout.
For Ráma and the people's sake,
For thine own good my counsel take,
Nor seek, O King, with fond delay,
The parting of thy son to stay.”
Canto XXIV. The Spells.

Vaśishṭha thus was speaking still:
The monarch, of his own free will,
Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ hasten near.
Mother and sire in loving care
Sped their dear son with rite and prayer:
Vaśishṭha blessed him ere he went;
O'er his loved head the father bent,
And then to Kuśik's son resigned
Ráma with Lakshmaṇ close behind.
Standing by Viśvámitra's side,
The youthful hero, lotus-eyed,
The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze
Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees.
There fell from heaven a flowery rain,
And with the song and dance the strain
Of shell and tambour sweetly blent
As forth the son of Raghu went.
The hermit led: behind him came
The bow-armed Ráma, dear to fame,
Whose locks were like the raven's wing:147
Then Lakshmaṇ, closely following.
The Gods and Indra, filled with joy,
Looked down upon the royal boy,
And much they longed the death to see
Of their ten-headed enemy.148
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ paced behind
That hermit of the lofty mind,
As the young Aśvins,149 heavenly pair,
Follow Lord Indra through the air.
On arm and hand the guard they wore,
Quiver and bow and sword they bore;
Two fire-born Gods of War seemed they.150
He, Śiva's self who led the way.
Upon fair Sarjú's southern shore
They now had walked a league and more,
When thus the sage in accents mild
To Ráma said: “Beloved child,
This lustral water duly touch:
My counsel will avail thee much.
Forget not all the words I say,
Nor let the occasion slip away.
Lo, with two spells I thee invest,
The mighty and the mightiest.
O'er thee fatigue shall ne'er prevail,
Nor age or change thy limbs assail.
Thee powers of darkness ne'er shall smite
In tranquil sleep or wild delight.
No one is there in all the land
Thine equal for the vigorous hand.
[pg 037]
Thou, when thy lips pronounce the spell,
Shalt have no peer in heaven or hell.
None in the world with thee shall vie,
O sinless one, in apt reply,
In fortune, knowledge, wit, and tact,
Wisdom to plan and skill to act.
This double science take, and gain
Glory that shall for aye remain.
Wisdom and judgment spring from each
Of these fair spells whose use I teach.
Hunger and thirst unknown to thee,
High in the worlds thy rank shall be.
For these two spells with might endued,
Are the Great Father's heavenly brood,
And thee, O Chief, may fitly grace,
Thou glory of Kakutstha's race.
Virtues which none can match are thine,
Lord, from thy birth, of gifts divine,
And now these spells of might shall cast
Fresh radiance o'er the gifts thou hast.”
Then Ráma duly touched the wave,
Raised suppliant hands, bowed low his head,
And took the spells the hermit gave,
Whose soul on contemplation fed.
From him whose might these gifts enhanced,
A brighter beam of glory glanced:
So shines in all his autumn blaze
The Day-God of the thousand rays.
The hermit's wants those youths supplied,
As pupils use to holy guide.
And then the night in sweet content
On Sarjú's pleasant bank they spent.
Canto XXV. The Hermitage Of Love.

Soon as appeared the morning light
Up rose the mighty anchorite,
And thus to youthful Ráma said,
Who lay upon his leafy bed:
“High fate is hers who calls thee son:
Arise, 'tis break of day;
Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done
Due at the morning's ray.”151
At that great sage's high behest
Up sprang the princely pair,
To bathing rites themselves addressed,
And breathed the holiest prayer.
Their morning task completed, they
To Viśvámitra came
That store of holy works, to pay
The worship saints may claim.
Then to the hallowed spot they went
Along fair Sarjú's side
Where mix her waters confluent
With three-pathed Gangá's tide.152
There was a sacred hermitage
Where saints devout of mind
Their lives through many a lengthened age
To penance had resigned.
That pure abode the princes eyed
With unrestrained delight,
And thus unto the saint they cried,
Rejoicing at the sight:
“Whose is that hermitage we see?
Who makes his dwelling there?
Full of desire to hear are we:
O Saint, the truth declare.”
The hermit smiling made reply
To the two boys' request:
“Hear, Ráma, who in days gone by
This calm retreat possessed.
Kandarpa in apparent form,
Called Káma153 by the wise,
Dared Umá's154 new-wed lord to storm
And make the God his prize.
'Gainst Stháṇu's155 self, on rites austere
And vows intent,156 they say,
His bold rash hand he dared to rear,
Though Stháṇu cried, Away!
But the God's eye with scornful glare
Fell terrible on him.
Dissolved the shape that was so fair
[pg 038]
And burnt up every limb.
Since the great God's terrific rage
Destroyed his form and frame,
Káma in each succeeding age
Has borne Ananga's157 name.
So, where his lovely form decayed,
This land is Anga styled:
Sacred to him of old this shade,
And hermits undefiled.
Here Scripture-talking elders sway
Each sense with firm control,
And penance-rites have washed away
All sin from every soul.
One night, fair boy, we here will spend,
A pure stream on each hand,
And with to-morrow's light will bend
Our steps to yonder strand.
Here let us bathe, and free from stain
To that pure grove repair,
Sacred to Káma, and remain
One night in comfort there.”
With penance' far-discerning eye
The saintly men beheld
Their coming, and with transport high
Each holy bosom swelled.
To Kuśik's son the gift they gave
That honoured guest should greet,
Water they brought his feet to lave,
And showed him honor meet.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ next obtained
In due degree their share.
Then with sweet talk the guests remained,
And charmed each listener there.
The evening prayers were duly said
With voices calm and low:
Then on the ground each laid his head
And slept till morning's glow.
Canto XXVI. The Forest Of Tádaká.

When the fair light of morning rose
The princely tamers of their foes
Followed, his morning worship o'er,
The hermit to the river's shore.
The high-souled men with thoughtful care
A pretty barge had stationed there.
All cried, “O lord, this barge ascend,
And with thy princely followers bend
To yonder side thy prosperous way
With naught to check thee or delay.”
Nor did the saint their rede reject:
He bade farewell with due respect,
And crossed, attended by the twain,
That river rushing to the main.
When now the bark was half way o'er,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ heard the roar,
That louder grew and louder yet,
Of waves by dashing waters met.
Then Ráma asked the mighty seer:
“What is the tumult that I hear
Of waters cleft in mid career?”
Soon as the speech of Ráma, stirred
By deep desire to know, he heard,
The pious saint began to tell
What paused the waters' roar and swell:
“On high Kailása's distant hill
There lies a noble lake
Whose waters, born from Brahmá's will,
The name of Mánas158 take.
Thence, hallowing where'er they flow,
The streams of Sarjú fall,
And wandering through the plains below
Embrace Ayodhyá's wall.
Still, still preserved in Sarjú's name
Sarovar's159 fame we trace.
The flood of Brahma whence she came
To run her holy race.
To meet great Gangá here she hies
With tributary wave:
Hence the loud roar ye hear arise,
Of floods that swell and rave.
Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou
In humble adoration bow.”
He spoke. The princes both obeyed,
And reverence to each river paid.160
They reached the southern shore at last,
And gaily on their journey passed.
A little space beyond there stood
A gloomy awe-inspiring wood.
The monarch's noble son began
To question thus the holy man:
“Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye
Like some vast cloud that fills the sky?
Pathless and dark it seems to be,
Where birds in thousands wander free;
Where shrill cicadas' cries resound,
[pg 039]
And fowl of dismal note abound.
Lion, rhinoceros, and bear,
Boar, tiger, elephant, are there,
There shrubs and thorns run wild:
Dháo, Sál, Bignonia, Bel,161 are found,
And every tree that grows on ground.
How is the forest styled?”
The glorious saint this answer made:
“Dear child of Raghu, hear
Who dwells within the horrid shade
That looks so dark and drear.
Where now is wood, long ere this day
Two broad and fertile lands,
Malaja and Karúsha lay,
Adorned by heavenly hands.
Here, mourning friendship's broken ties,
Lord Indra of the thousand eyes
Hungered and sorrowed many a day,
His brightness soiled with mud and clay,
When in a storm of passion he
Had slain his dear friend Namuchi.
Then came the Gods and saints who bore
Their golden pitchers brimming o'er
With holy streams that banish stain,
And bathed Lord Indra pure again.
When in this land the God was freed
From spot and stain of impious deed
For that his own dear friend he slew,
High transport thrilled his bosom through.
Then in his joy the lands he blessed,
And gave a boon they long possessed:
“Because these fertile lands retain
The washings of the blot and stain,”
'Twas thus Lord Indra sware,
“Malaja and Karúsha's name
Shall celebrate with deathless fame
My malady and care.”162
“So be it,” all the Immortals cried,
When Indra's speech they heard,
And with acclaim they ratified
The names his lips conferred.
Long time, O victor of thy foes,
These happy lands had sweet repose,
And higher still in fortune rose.
At length a spirit, loving ill,
Táḍaká, wearing shapes at will,
Whose mighty strength, exceeding vast,
A thousand elephants, surpassed,
Was to fierce Sunda, lord and head
Of all the demon armies, wed.
From her, Lord Indra's peer in might
Giant Márícha sprang to light:
And she, a constant plague and pest,
These two fair realms has long distressed.
Now dwelling in her dark abode
A league away she bars the road:
And we, O Ráma, hence must go
Where lies the forest of the foe.
Now on thine own right arm rely,
And my command obey:
Smite the foul monster that she die,
And take the plague away.
To reach this country none may dare
Fallen from its old estate,
Which she, whose fury naught can bear,
Has left so desolate.
And now my truthful tale is told
How with accursed sway
The spirit plagued this wood of old,
And ceases not to-day.”
Canto XXVII. The Birth Of Tádaká.

When thus the sage without a peer
Had closed that story strange to hear,
Ráma again the saint addressed
To set one lingering doubt at rest:
“O holy man, 'tis said by all
That spirits' strength is weak and small:
How can she match, of power so slight,
A thousand elephants in might?”
And Viśvámitra thus replied
To Raghu's son the glorified:
“Listen, and I will tell thee how
She gained the strength that arms her now.
A mighty spirit lived of yore;
Suketu was the name he bore.
Childless was he, and free from crime
In rites austere he passed his time.
The mighty Sire was pleased to show
His favour, and a child bestow.
Táḍaká named, most fair to see,
A pearl among the maids was she,
And matched, for such was Brahmá's dower,
A thousand elephants in power.
Nor would the Eternal Sire, although
The spirit longed, a son bestow
That maid in beauty's youthful pride
Was given to Sunda for a bride.
Her son, Márícha was his name,
A giant, through a curse, became.
She, widowed, dared with him molest
[pg 040]
Agastya,163 of all saints the best.
Inflamed with hunger's wildest rage,
Roaring she rushed upon the sage.
When the great hermit saw her near,
On speeding in her fierce career,
He thus pronounced Márícha's doom:
“A giant's form and shape assume.”
And then, by mighty anger swayed,
On Táḍaká this curse he laid:
“Thy present form and semblance quit,
And wear a shape thy mood to fit;
Changed form and feature by my ban,
A fearful thing that feeds on man.”
She, by his awful curse possessed,
And mad with rage that fills her breast,
Has on this land her fury dealt
Where once the saint Agastya dwelt.
Go, Ráma, smite this monster dead,
The wicked plague, of power so dread,
And further by this deed of thine
The good of Bráhmans and of kine.
Thy hand alone can overthrow,
In all the worlds, this impious foe.
Nor let compassion lead thy mind
To shrink from blood of womankind;
A monarch's son must ever count
The people's welfare paramount,
And whether pain or joy he deal
Dare all things for his subjects' weal;
Yea, if the deed bring praise or guilt,
If life be saved or blood be spilt:
Such, through all time, should be the care
Of those a kingdom's weight who bear.
Slay, Ráma, slay this impious fiend,
For by no law her life is screened.
So Manthará, as bards have told,
Virochan's child, was slain of old
By Indra, when in furious hate
She longed the earth to devastate.
So Kávya's mother, Bhrigu's wife,
Who loved her husband as her life,
When Indra's throne she sought to gain,
By Vishṇu's hand of yore was slain.
By these and high-souled kings beside,
Struck down, have lawless women died.”
Canto XXVIII. The Death Of Tádaká.

Thus spoke the saint. Each vigorous word
The noble monarch's offspring heard,
And, reverent hands together laid,
His answer to the hermit made:
“My sire and mother bade me aye
Thy word, O mighty Saint, obey
So will I, O most glorious, kill
This Táḍaká who joys in ill,
For such my sire's, and such thy will.
To aid with mine avenging hand
The Bráhmans, kine, and all the land,
Obedient, heart and soul, I stand.”
Thus spoke the tamer of the foe,
And by the middle grasped his bow.
Strongly he drew the sounding string
That made the distant welkin ring.
Scared by the mighty clang the deer
That roamed the forest shook with fear,
And Táḍaká the echo heard,
And rose in haste from slumber stirred.
In wild amaze, her soul aflame
With fury toward the spot she came.
When that foul shape of evil mien
And stature vast as e'er was seen
The wrathful son of Raghu eyed,
He thus unto his brother cried:
“Her dreadful shape, O Lakshmaṇ, see,
A form to shudder at and flee.
The hideous monster's very view
Would cleave a timid heart in two.
Behold the demon hard to smite,
Defended by her magic might.
My hand shall stay her course to-day,
And shear her nose and ears away.
No heart have I her life to take:
I spare it for her sex's sake.
My will is but, with minished force,
To check her in her evil course.”
While thus he spoke, by rage impelled
Roaring as she came nigh,
The fiend her course at Ráma held
With huge arms tossed on high.
Her, rushing on, the seer assailed
With a loud cry of hate;
And thus the sons of Raghu hailed:
“Fight, and be fortunate.”
Then from the earth a horrid cloud
Of dust the demon raised,
And for awhile in darkling shroud
Wrapt Raghu's sons amazed.
Then calling on her magic power
The fearful fight to wage,
She smote him with a stony shower,
Till Ráma burned with rage.
Then pouring forth his arrowy rain
That stony flood to stay,
[pg 041]
With winged darts, as she charged amain,
He shore her hands away.
As Táḍaká still thundered near
Thus maimed by Ráma's blows,
Lakshmaṇ in fury severed sheer
The monster's ears and nose.
Assuming by her magic skill
A fresh and fresh disguise,
She tried a thousand shapes at will,
Then vanished from their eyes.
When Gádhi's son of high renown
Still saw the stony rain pour down
Upon each princely warrior's head,
With words of wisdom thus he said:
“Enough of mercy, Ráma, lest
This sinful evil-working pest,
Disturber of each holy rite,
Repair by magic arts her might.
Without delay the fiend should die,
For, see, the twilight hour is nigh.
And at the joints of night and day
Such giant foes are hard to slay.”
Then Ráma, skilful to direct
His arrow to the sound,
With shafts the mighty demon checked
Who rained her stones around.
She sore impeded and beset
By Ráma and his arrowy net,
Though skilled in guile and magic lore,
Rushed on the brothers with a roar.
Deformed, terrific, murderous, dread,
Swift as the levin on she sped,
Like cloudy pile in autumn's sky,
Lifting her two vast arms on high,
When Ráma smote her with a dart,
Shaped like a crescent, to the heart.
Sore wounded by the shaft that came
With lightning speed and surest aim,
Blood spouting from her mouth and side,
She fell upon the earth and died.
Soon as the Lord who rules the sky
Saw the dread monster lifeless lie,
He called aloud, Well done! well done!
And the Gods honoured Raghu's son.
Standing in heaven the Thousand-eyed,
With all the Immortals, joying cried:
“Lift up thine eyes, O Saint, and see
The Gods and Indra nigh to thee.
This deed of Ráma's boundless might
Has filled our bosoms with delight,
Now, for our will would have it so,
To Raghu's son some favour show.
Invest him with the power which naught
But penance gains and holy thought,
Those heavenly arms on him bestow
To thee entrusted long ago
By great Kriśáśva best of kings,
Son of the Lord of living things.
More fit recipient none can be
Than he who joys it following thee;
And for our sakes the monarch's seed
Has yet to do a mighty deed.”
He spoke; and all the heavenly train
Rejoicing sought their homes again,
While honour to the saint they paid.
Then came the evening's twilight shade,
The best of hermits overjoyed
To know the monstrous fiend destroyed,
His lips on Ráma's forehead pressed,
And thus the conquering chief addressed:
“O Ráma gracious to the sight.
Here will we pass the present night,
And with the morrow's earliest ray
Bend to my hermitage our way.”
The son of Daśaratha heard,
Delighted, Viśvámitra's word,
And as he bade, that night he spent
In Táḍaká's wild wood, content.
And the grove shone that happy day,
Freed from the curse that on it lay,
Like Chaitraratha164 fair and gay.
Canto XXIX. The Celestial Arms.

That night they slept and took their rest;
And then the mighty saint addressed,
With pleasant smile and accents mild
These words to Raghu's princely child:
“Well pleased am I. High fate be thine,
Thou scion of a royal line.
Now will I, for I love thee so,
All heavenly arms on thee bestow.
Victor with these, whoe'er oppose,
Thy hand shall conquer all thy foes,
Though Gods and spirits of the air,
Serpents and fiends, the conflict dare.
I'll give thee as a pledge of love
The mystic arms they use above,
For worthy thou to have revealed
The weapons I have learnt to wield.165
[pg 042]
First, son of Raghu, shall be thine
The arm of Vengeance, strong, divine:
The arm of Fate, the arm of Right,
And Vishṇu's arm of awful might:
That, before which no foe can stand,
The thunderbolt of Indra's hand;
And Śiva's trident, sharp and dread,
And that dire weapon Brahmá's Head.
And two fair clubs, O royal child,
One Charmer and one Pointed styled
With flame of lambent fire aglow,
On thee, O Chieftain, I bestow.
And Fate's dread net and Justice' noose
That none may conquer, for thy use:
And the great cord, renowned of old,
Which Varuṇ ever loves to hold.
Take these two thunderbolts, which I
Have got for thee, the Moist and Dry.
Here Śiva's dart to thee I yield,
And that which Vishṇu wont to wield.
I give to thee the arm of Fire,
Desired by all and named the Spire.
To thee I grant the Wind-God's dart,
Named Crusher, O thou pure of heart,
This arm, the Horse's Head, accept,
And this, the Curlew's Bill yclept,
And these two spears, the best e'er flew,
Named the Invincible and True.
And arms of fiends I make thine own,
Skull-wreath and mace that smashes bone.
And Joyous, which the spirits bear,
Great weapon of the sons of air.
Brave offspring of the best of lords,
I give thee now the Gem of swords,
And offer next, thine hand to arm,
The heavenly bards' beloved charm.
Now with two arms I thee invest
Of never-ending Sleep and Rest,
With weapons of the Sun and Rain,
And those that dry and burn amain;
And strong Desire with conquering touch,
The dart that Káma prizes much.
I give the arm of shadowy powers
That bleeding flesh of men devours.
I give the arms the God of Gold
And giant fiends exult to hold.
This smites the foe in battle-strife,
And takes his fortune, strength, and life.
I give the arms called False and True,
And great Illusion give I too;
The hero's arm called Strong and Bright
That spoils the foeman's strength in fight.
I give thee as a priceless boon
The Dew, the weapon of the Moon,
And add the weapon, deftly planned,
That strengthens Viśvakarmá's hand.
The Mortal dart whose point is chill,
And Slaughter, ever sure to kill;
All these and other arms, for thou
Art very dear, I give thee now.
Receive these weapons from my hand,
Son of the noblest in the land.”
Facing the east, the glorious saint
Pure from all spot of earthly taint,
To Ráma, with delighted mind,
That noble host of spells consigned.
He taught the arms, whose lore is won
Hardly by Gods, to Raghu's son.
He muttered low the spell whose call
Summons those arms and rules them all
And, each in visible form and frame,
Before the monarch's son they came.
They stood and spoke in reverent guise
To Ráma with exulting cries:
“O noblest child of Raghu, see,
Thy ministers and thralls are we.”
With joyful heart and eager hand
Ráma received the wondrous band,
And thus with words of welcome cried:
“Aye present to my will abide.”
Then hasted to the saint to pay
Due reverence, and pursued his way.
Canto XXX. The Mysterious Powers.166

Pure, with glad cheer and joyful breast,
Of those mysterious arms possessed,
Ráma, now passing on his way,
Thus to the saint began to say:
“Lord of these mighty weapons, I
Can scarce be harmed by Gods on high;
Now, best of saints, I long to gain
The powers that can these arms restrain.”
Thus spoke the prince. The sage austere,
True to his vows, from evil clear,
Called forth the names of those great charms
Whose powers restrain the deadly arms.
“Receive thou True and Truly famed,
And Bold and Fleet: the weapons named
[pg 043]
Warder and Progress, swift of pace,
Averted-head and Drooping-face;
The Seen, and that which Secret flies;
The weapon of the thousand eyes;
Ten-headed, and the Hundred-faced,
Star-gazer and the Layer-waste:
The Omen-bird, the Pure-from-spot,
The pair that wake and slumber not:
The Fiendish, that which shakes amain,
The Strong-of-Hand, the Rich-in-Gain:
The Guardian, and the Close-allied,
The Gaper, Love, and Golden-side:
O Raghu's son receive all these,
Bright ones that wear what forms they please;
Kriśáśva's mystic sons are they,
And worthy thou their might to sway.”
With joy the pride of Raghu's race
Received the hermit's proffered grace,
Mysterious arms, to check and stay,
Or smite the foeman in the fray.
Then, all with heavenly forms endued,
Nigh came the wondrous multitude.
Celestial in their bright attire
Some shone like coals of burning fire;
Some were like clouds of dusky smoke;
And suppliant thus they sweetly spoke:
“Thy thralls, O Ráma, here we stand:
Command, we pray, thy faithful band”
“Depart,” he cried, “where each may list,
But when I call you to assist,
Be present to my mind with speed,
And aid me in the hour of need.”
To Ráma then they lowly bent,
And round him in due reverence went,
To his command, they answered, Yea,
And as they came so went away.
When thus the arms had homeward flown,
With pleasant words and modest tone,
E'en as he walked, the prince began
To question thus the holy man:
“What cloudlike wood is that which near
The mountain's side I see appear?
O tell me, for I long to know;
Its pleasant aspect charms me so.
Its glades are full of deer at play,
And sweet birds sing on every spray,
Past is the hideous wild; I feel
So sweet a tremor o'er me steal,
And hail with transport fresh and new
A land that is so fair to view.
Then tell me all, thou holy Sage,
And whose this pleasant hermitage
In which those wicked ones delight
To mar and kill each holy rite.
And with foul heart and evil deed
Thy sacrifice, great Saint, impede.
To whom, O Sage, belongs this land
In which thine altars ready stand!
'Tis mine to guard them, and to slay
The giants who the rites would stay.
All this, O best of saints, I burn
From thine own lips, my lord, to learn.”
Canto XXXI. The Perfect Hermitage.

Thus spoke the prince of boundless might,
And thus replied the anchorite:
“Chief of the mighty arm, of yore
Lord Vishṇu whom the Gods adore,
For holy thought and rites austere
Of penance made his dwelling here.
This ancient wood was called of old
Grove of the Dwarf, the mighty-souled,
And when perfection he attained
The grove the name of Perfect gained.
Bali of yore, Virochan's son,
Dominion over Indra won,
And when with power his proud heart swelled,
O'er the three worlds his empire held.
When Bali then began a rite,
The Gods and Indra in affright
Sought Vishṇu in this place of rest,
And thus with prayers the God addressed:
“Bali. Virochan's mighty son,
His sacrifice has now begun:
Of boundless wealth, that demon king
Is bounteous to each living thing.
Though suppliants flock from every side
The suit of none is e'er denied.
Whate'er, where'er howe'er the call,
He hears the suit and gives to all.
Now with thine own illusive art
Perform, O Lord, the helper's part:
Assume a dwarfish form, and thus
From fear and danger rescue us.”167
Thus in their dread the Immortals sued:
The God a dwarflike shape indued:168
Before Virochan's son he came,
Three steps of land his only claim.
The boon obtained, in wondrous wise
Lord Vishṇu's form increased in size;
Through all the worlds, tremendous, vast,
God of the Triple Step, he passed.169
The whole broad earth from side to side
He measured with one mighty stride,
Spanned with the next the firmament,
And with the third through heaven he went.
[pg 044]
Thus was the king of demons hurled
By Vishṇu to the nether world,
And thus the universe restored
To Indra's rule, its ancient lord.
And now because the immortal God
This spot in dwarflike semblance trod,
The grove has aye been loved by me
For reverence of the devotee.
But demons haunt it, prompt to stay
Each holy offering I would pay.
Be thine, O lion-lord, to kill
These giants that delight in ill.
This day, beloved child, our feet
Shall rest within the calm retreat:
And know, thou chief of Raghu's line,
My hermitage is also thine.”
He spoke; and soon the anchorite,
With joyous looks that beamed delight,
With Ráma and his brother stood
Within the consecrated wood.
Soon as they saw the holy man,
With one accord together ran
The dwellers in the sacred shade,
And to the saint their reverence paid,
And offered water for his feet,
The gift of honour and a seat;
And next with hospitable care
They entertained the princely pair.
The royal tamers of their foes
Rested awhile in sweet repose:
Then to the chief of hermits sued
Standing in suppliant attitude:
“Begin, O best of saints, we pray,
Initiatory rites to-day.
This Perfect Grove shall be anew
Made perfect, and thy words be true.”
Then, thus addressed, the holy man,
The very glorious sage, began
The high preliminary rite.
Restraining sense and appetite.
Calmly the youths that night reposed,
And rose when morn her light disclosed,
Their morning worship paid, and took
Of lustral water from the brook.
Thus purified they breathed the prayer,
Then greeted Viśvámitra where
As celebrant he sate beside
The flame with sacred oil supplied.
Canto XXXII. Visvámitra's Sacrifice.

That conquering pair, of royal race,
Skilled to observe due time and place,
To Kuśik's hermit son addressed,
In timely words, their meet request:
“When must we, lord, we pray thee tell,
Those Rovers of the Night repel?
Speak, lest we let the moment fly,
And pass the due occasion by.”
Thus longing for the strife, they prayed,
And thus the hermits answer made:
“Till the fifth day be come and past,
O Raghu's sons, your watch must last.
The saint his Dikshá170 has begun,
And all that time will speak to none.”
Soon as the steadfast devotees
Had made reply in words like these,
The youths began, disdaining sleep,
Six days and nights their watch to keep.
The warrior pair who tamed the foe,
Unrivalled benders of the bow,
Kept watch and ward unwearied still
To guard the saint from scathe and ill.
'Twas now the sixth returning day,
The hour foretold had past away.
Then Ráma cried: “O Lakshmaṇ, now
Firm, watchful, resolute be thou.
The fiends as yet have kept afar
From the pure grove in which we are:
Yet waits us, ere the day shall close,
Dire battle with the demon foes.”
While thus spoke Ráma borne away
By longing for the deadly fray,
See! bursting from the altar came
The sudden glory of the flame.
Round priest and deacon, and upon
Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendour shone,
And the high rite, in order due,
With sacred texts began anew.
But then a loud and fearful roar
Re-echoed through the sky;
And like vast clouds that shadow o'er
The heavens in dark July,
Involved in gloom of magic might
Two fiends rushed on amain,
Márícha, Rover of the Night,
Suváhu, and their train.
As on they came in wild career
Thick blood in rain they shed;
And Ráma saw those things of fear
Impending overhead.
Then soon as those accursed two
Who showered down blood be spied,
Thus to his brother brave and true
Spoke Ráma lotus-eyed:
“Now, Lakshmaṇ, thou these fiends shalt see,
Man-eaters, foul of mind,
Before my mortal weapon flee
Like clouds before the wind.”
He spoke. An arrow, swift as thought,
Upon his bow he pressed,
And smote, to utmost fury wrought,
Márícha on the breast.
Deep in his flesh the weapon lay
Winged by the mystic spell,
[pg 045]
And, hurled a hundred leagues away,
In ocean's flood he fell.
Then Ráma, when he saw the foe
Convulsed and mad with pain
Neath the chill-pointed weapon's blow,
To Lakshmaṇ spoke again:
“See, Lakshmaṇ, see! this mortal dart
That strikes a numbing chill,
Hath struck him senseless with the smart,
But left him breathing still.
But these who love the evil way,
And drink the blood they spill,
Rejoicing holy rites to stay,
Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill.”
He seized another shaft, the best,
Aglow with living flame;
It struck Suváhu on the chest,
And dead to earth he came.
Again a dart, the Wind-God's own,
Upon his string he laid,
And all the demons were o'erthrown,
The saints no more afraid.
When thus the fiends were slain in fight,
Disturbers of each holy rite,
Due honour by the saints was paid
To Ráma for his wondrous aid:
So Indra is adored when he
Has won some glorious victory.
Success at last the rite had crowned,
And Viśvámitra gazed around,
And seeing every side at rest,
The son of Raghu thus addressed:
“My joy, O Prince, is now complete:
Thou hast obeyed my will:
Perfect before, this calm retreat
Is now more perfect still.”
Canto XXXIII. The Sone.

Their task achieved, the princes spent
That night with joy and full content.
Ere yet the dawn was well displayed
Their morning rites they duly paid,
And sought, while yet the light was faint,
The hermits and the mighty saint.
They greeted first that holy sire
Resplendent like the burning fire,
And then with noble words began
Their sweet speech to the sainted man:
“Here stand, O Lord, thy servants true:
Command what thou wouldst have us do.”
The saints, by Viśvámitra led,
To Ráma thus in answer said:
“Janak the king who rules the land
Of fertile Míthilá has planned
A noble sacrifice, and we
Will thither go the rite to see.
Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go,
And there behold the wondrous bow,
Terrific, vast, of matchless might,
Which, splendid at the famous rite,
The Gods assembled gave the king.
No giant, fiend, or God can string
That gem of bows, no heavenly bard:
Then, sure, for man the task were hard.
When lords of earth have longed to know
The virtue of that wondrous bow,
The strongest sons of kings in vain
Have tried the mighty cord to strain.
This famous bow thou there shalt view,
And wondrous rites shalt witness too.
The high-souled king who lords it o'er
The realm of Míthilá of yore
Gained from the Gods this bow, the price
Of his imperial sacrifice.
Won by the rite the glorious prize
Still in the royal palace lies,
Laid up in oil of precious scent
With aloe-wood and incense blent.”
Then Ráma answering, Be it so,
Made ready with the rest to go.
The saint himself was now prepared,
But ere beyond the grove he fared,
He turned him and in words like these
Addressed the sylvan deities:
“Farewell! each holy rite complete,
I leave the hermits' perfect seat:
To Gangá's northern shore I go
Beneath Himálaya's peaks of snow.”
With reverent steps he paced around
The limits of the holy ground,
And then the mighty saint set forth
And took his journey to the north.
His pupils, deep in Scripture's page,
Followed behind the holy sage,
And servants from the sacred grove
A hundred wains for convoy drove.
The very birds that winged that air,
The very deer that harboured there,
Forsook the glade and leafy brake
And followed for the hermit's sake.
They travelled far, till in the west
The sun was speeding to his rest,
And made, their portioned journey o'er,
Their halt on Śona's171 distant shore.
The hermits bathed when sank the sun,
And every rite was duly done,
Oblations paid to Fire, and then
Sate round their chief the holy men.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ lowly bowed
In reverence to the hermit crowd,
And Ráma, having sate him down
Before the saint of pure renown,
[pg 046]
With humble palms together laid
His eager supplication made:
“What country, O my lord, is this,
Fair-smiling in her wealth and bliss?
Deign fully, O thou mighty Seer,
To tell me, for I long to hear.”
Moved by the prayer of Ráma, he
Told forth the country's history.
Canto XXXIV. Brahmadatta.

“A king of Brahmá's seed who bore
The name of Kuśa reigned of yore.
Just, faithful to his vows, and true,
He held the good in honour due.
His bride, a queen of noble name,
Of old Vidarbha's172 monarchs came.
Like their own father, children four,
All valiant boys, the lady bore.
In glorious deeds each nerve they strained,
And well their Warrior part sustained.
To them most just, and true, and brave,
Their father thus his counsel gave:
“Beloved children, ne'er forget
Protection is a prince's debt:
The noble work at once begin,
High virtue and her fruits to win.”
The youths, to all the people dear,
Received his speech with willing ear;
And each went forth his several way,
Foundations of a town to lay.
Kuśámba, prince of high renown,
Was builder of Kauśámbí's town,
And Kuśanábha, just and wise,
Bade high Mahodaya's towers arise.
Amúrtarajas chose to dwell
In Dharmáraṇya's citadel,
And Vasu bade his city fair
The name of Girivraja bear.173
This fertile spot whereon we stand
Was once the high-souled Vasu's land.
Behold! as round we turn our eyes,
Five lofty mountain peaks arise.
See! bursting from her parent hill,
Sumágadhí, a lovely rill,
Bright gleaming as she flows between
The mountains, like a wreath is seen,
And then through Magadh's plains and groves
With many a fair mæander roves.
And this was Vasu's old domain,
The fertile Magadh's broad champaign,
Which smiling fields of tilth adorn
And diadem with golden corn.
The queen Ghritáchí, nymph most fair,
Married to Kuśanábha, bare
A hundred daughters, lovely-faced,
With every charm and beauty graced.
It chanced the maidens, bright and gay
As lightning-flashes on a day
Of rain time, to the garden went
With song and play and merriment,
And there in gay attire they strayed,
And danced, and laughed, and sang, and played.
The God of Wind who roves at will
All places, as he lists, to fill,
Saw the young maidens dancing there,
Of faultless shape and mien most fair.
“I love you all, sweet girls,” he cried,
“And each shall be my darling bride.
Forsake, forsake your mortal lot,
And gain a life that withers not.
A fickle thing is youth's brief span,
And more than all in mortal man.
Receive unending youth, and be
Immortal, O my loves, with me.”
The hundred girls, to wonder stirred,
The wooing of the Wind-God heard,
Laughed, as a jest, his suit aside,
And with one voice they thus replied:
“O mighty Wind, free spirit who
All life pervadest, through and through,
Thy wondrous power we maidens know;
Then wherefore wilt thou mock us so?
Our sire is Kuśanábha, King;
And we, forsooth, have charms to bring
A God to woo us from the skies;
But honour first we maidens prize.
Far may the hour, we pray, be hence,
When we, O thou of little sense,
Our truthful father's choice refuse,
And for ourselves our husbands choose.
Our honoured sire our lord we deem,
He is to us a God supreme,
And they to whom his high decree
May give us shall our husbands be.”
He heard the answer they returned,
And mighty rage within him burned.
On each fair maid a blast he sent:
Each stately form he bowed and bent.
Bent double by the Wind-God's ire
They sought the palace of their sire,
[pg 047]
There fell upon the ground with sighs,
While tears and shame were in their eyes.
The king himself, with troubled brow,
Saw his dear girls so fair but now,
A mournful sight all bent and bowed,
And grieving thus he cried aloud:
“What fate is this, and what the cause?
What wretch has scorned all heavenly laws?
Who thus your forms could curve and break?
You struggle, but no answer make.”
They heard the speech of that wise king
Of their misfortune questioning.
Again the hundred maidens sighed,
Touched with their heads his feet, and cried:
“The God of Wind, pervading space,
Would bring on us a foul disgrace,
And choosing folly's evil way
From virtue's path in scorn would stray.
But we in words like these reproved
The God of Wind whom passion moved:
“Farewell, O Lord! A sire have we,
No women uncontrolled and free.
Go, and our sire's consent obtain
If thou our maiden hands wouldst gain.
No self-dependent life we live:
If we offend, our fault forgive.”
But led by folly as a slave,
He would not hear the rede we gave,
And even as we gently spoke
We felt the Wind-God's crushing stroke.”
The pious king, with grief distressed,
The noble hundred thus addressed:
“With patience, daughters, bear your fate,
Yours was a deed supremely great
When with one mind you kept from shame
The honour of your father's name.
Patience, when men their anger vent,
Is woman's praise and ornament;
Yet when the Gods inflict the blow
Hard is it to support the woe.
Patience, my girls, exceeds all price:
'Tis alms, and truth, and sacrifice.
Patience is virtue, patience fame:
Patience upholds this earthly frame.
And now, I think, is come the time
To wed you in your maiden prime.
Now, daughters, go where'er you will:
Thoughts for your good my mind shall fill.”
The maidens went, consoled, away:
The best of kings, that very day,
Summoned his ministers of state
About their marriage to debate.
Since then, because the Wind-God bent
The damsels' forms for punishment,
That royal town is known to fame
By Kanyákubja's174 borrowed name.
There lived a sage called Chúli then,
Devoutest of the sons of men;
His days in penance rites he spent,
A glorious saint, most continent.
To him absorbed in tasks austere
The child of Urmilá drew near,
Sweet Somadá, the heavenly maid
And lent the saint her pious aid.
Long time near him the maiden spent,
And served him meek and reverent,
Till the great hermit, pleased with her,
Thus spoke unto his minister:
“Grateful am I for all thy care:
Blest maiden, speak, thy wish declare.”
The sweet-voiced nymph rejoiced to see
The favour of the devotee,
And to that eloquent old man,
Most eloquent she thus began:
“Thou hast, by heavenly grace sustained,
Close union with the Godhead gained.
I long, O Saint, to see a son
By force of holy penance won.
Unwed, a maiden life I live:
A son to me, thy suppliant, give.”
The saint with favour heard her prayer,
And gave a son exceeding fair.
Him, Chúli's spiritual child,
His mother Brahmadatta175 styled.
King Brahmadatta, rich and great,
In Kámpilí maintained his state,
Ruling, like Indra in his bliss,
His fortunate metropolis.
King Kuśanábha planned that he
His hundred daughters' lord should be.
To him, obedient to his call,
The happy monarch gave them all.
Like Indra then he took the hand
Of every maiden of the band.
Soon as the hand of each young maid
In Brahmadatta's palm was laid,
Deformity and cares away,
She shone in beauty bright and gay.
Their freedom from the Wind-God's might
Saw Kuśanábha with delight.
Each glance that on their forms he threw
Filled him with raptures ever new.
Then when the rites were all complete,
With highest marks of honour meet
The bridegroom with his brides he sent
To his great seat of government.
The nymph received with pleasant speech
Her daughters; and, embracing each,
Upon their forms she fondly gazed,
And royal Kuśanábha praised.
[pg 048]
Canto XXXV. Visvámitra's Lineage.

“The rites were o'er, the maids were wed,
The bridegroom to his home was sped.
The sonless monarch bade prepare
A sacrifice to gain an heir.
Then Kuśa, Brahmá's son, appeared,
And thus King Kuśanábha cheered:
“Thou shalt, my child, obtain a son
Like thine own self, O holy one.
Through him for ever, Gádhi named,
Shalt thou in all the worlds be famed.”
He spoke, and vanished from the sight
To Brahmá's world of endless light.
Time fled, and, as the saint foretold,
Gádhi was born, the holy-souled.
My sire was he; through him I trace
My line from royal Kuśa's race.
My sister—elder-born was she—
The pure and good Satyavatí,176
Was to the great Richíka wed.
Still faithful to her husband dead,
She followed him, most noble dame,
And, raised to heaven in human frame,
A pure celestial stream became.
Down from Himálaya's snowy height,
In floods for ever fair and bright,
My sister's holy waves are hurled
To purify and glad the world.
Now on Himálaya's side I dwell
Because I love my sister well.
She, for her faith and truth renowned,
Most loving to her husband found,
High-fated, firm in each pure vow,
Is queen of all the rivers now.
Bound by a vow I left her side
And to the Perfect convent hied.
There, by the aid 'twas thine to lend,
Made perfect, all my labours end.
Thus, mighty Prince, I now have told
My race and lineage, high and old,
And local tales of long ago
Which thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst know.
As I have sate rehearsing thus
The midnight hour is come on us.
Now, Ráma, sleep, that nothing may
Our journey of to-morrow stay.
No leaf on any tree is stirred:
Hushed in repose are beast and bird:
Where'er you turn, on every side,
Dense shades of night the landscape hide,
The light of eve is fled: the skies,
Thick-studded with their host of eyes,
Seem a star-forest overhead,
Where signs and constellations spread.
Now rises, with his pure cold ray,
The moon that drives the shades away,
And with his gentle influence brings
Joy to the hearts of living things.
Now, stealing from their lairs, appear
The beasts to whom the night is dear.
Now spirits walk, and every power
That revels in the midnight hour.”
The mighty hermit's tale was o'er,
He closed his lips and spoke no more.
The holy men on every side,
“Well done! well done,” with reverence cried;
“The mighty men of Kuśa's seed
Were ever famed for righteous deed.
Like Brahmá's self in glory shine
The high-souled lords of Kuśa's line,
And thy great name is sounded most,
O Saint, amid the noble host.
And thy dear sister—fairest she
Of streams, the high-born Kauśikí—
Diffusing virtue where she flows,
New splendour on thy lineage throws.”
Thus by the chief of saints addressed
The son of Gádhi turned to rest;
So, when his daily course is done,
Sinks to his rest the beaming sun.
Ráma with Lakshmaṇ, somewhat stirred
To marvel by the tales they heard,
Turned also to his couch, to close
His eyelids in desired repose.
Canto XXXVI. The Birth Of Gangá.

The hours of night now waning fast
On Śona's pleasant shore they passed.
Then, when the dawn began to break,
To Ráma thus the hermit spake:
“The light of dawn is breaking clear,
The hour of morning rites is near.
Rise, Ráma, rise, dear son, I pray,
And make thee ready for the way.”
Then Ráma rose, and finished all
His duties at the hermit's call,
Prepared with joy the road to take,
And thus again in question spake:
“Here fair and deep the Śona flows,
And many an isle its bosom shows:
What way, O Saint, will lead us o'er
And land us on the farther shore?”
The saint replied: “The way I choose
Is that which pious hermits use.”
[pg 049]
For many a league they journeyed on
Till, when the sun of mid-day shone,
The hermit-haunted flood was seen
Of Jáhnaví,177 the Rivers' Queen.
Soon as the holy stream they viewed,
Thronged with a white-winged multitude
Of sárases178 and swans,179 delight
Possessed them at the lovely sight;
And then prepared the hermit band
To halt upon that holy strand.
They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid
Oblations due to God and shade.
To Fire they burnt the offerings meet,
And sipped the oil, like Amrit sweet.
Then pure and pleased they sate around
Saint Viśvámitra on the ground.
The holy men of lesser note,
In due degree, sate more remote,
While Raghu's sons took nearer place
By virtue of their rank and race.
Then Ráma said: “O Saint, I yearn
The three-pathed Gangá's tale to learn.”
Thus urged, the sage recounted both
The birth of Gangá and her growth:
“The mighty hill with metals stored,
Himálaya, is the mountains' lord,
The father of a lovely pair
Of daughters fairest of the fair:
Their mother, offspring of the will
Of Meru, everlasting hill,
Mená, Himálaya's darling, graced
With beauty of her dainty waist.
Gangá was elder-born: then came
The fair one known by Umá's name.
Then all the Gods of heaven, in need
Of Gangá's help their vows to speed,
To great Himálaya came and prayed
The mountain King to yield the maid.
He, not regardless of the weal
Of the three worlds, with holy zeal
His daughter to the Immortals gave,
Gangá whose waters cleanse and save,
Who roams at pleasure, fair and free,
Purging all sinners, to the sea.
The three-pathed Gangá thus obtained,
The Gods their heavenly homes regained.
Long time the sister Umá passed
In vows austere and rigid fast,
And the king gave the devotee
Immortal Rudra's180 bride to be,
Matching with that unequalled Lord
His Umá through the worlds adored.
So now a glorious station fills
Each daughter of the King of Hills:
One honoured as the noblest stream,
One mid the Goddesses supreme.
Thus Gangá, King Himálaya's child,
The heavenly river, undefiled,
Rose bearing with her to the sky
Her waves that bless and purify.”
[I am compelled to omit Cantos XXXVII and XXXVIII, The Glory of Umá, and the Birth of Kártikeya, as both in subject and language offensive to modern taste. They will be found in Schlegel's Latin translation.]

Canto XXXIX. The Sons Of Sagar.

The saint in accents sweet and clear
Thus told his tale for Ráma's ear,
And thus anew the holy man
A legend to the prince began:
“There reigned a pious monarch o'er
Ayodhyá in the days of yore:
Sagar his name: no child had he,
And children much he longed to see.
His honoured consort, fair of face,
Sprang from Vidarbha's royal race,
Keśini, famed from early youth
For piety and love of truth.
Aríshṭanemi's daughter fair,
With whom no maiden might compare
In beauty, though the earth is wide,
Sumati, was his second bride.
With his two queens afar he went,
And weary days in penance spent,
Fervent, upon Himálaya's hill
Where springs the stream called Bhrigu' rill.
Nor did he fail that saint to please
With his devout austerities.
And, when a hundred years had fled,
Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said:
“From thee, O Sagar, blameless King,
A mighty host of sons shall spring,
And thou shalt win a glorious name
Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim.
One of thy queens a son shall bear,
Maintainer of thy race and heir;
And of the other there shall be
Sons sixty thousand born to thee.”
Thus as he spake, with one accord,
To win the grace of that high lord,
The queens, with palms together laid,
In humble supplication prayed:
“Which queen, O Bráhman, of the pair,
The many, or the one shall bear?
Most eager, Lord, are we to know,
And as thou sayest be it so.”
[pg 050]
With his sweet speech the saint replied:
“Yourselves, O Queens, the choice decide.
Your own discretion freely use
Which shall the one or many choose:
One shall the race and name uphold,
The host be famous, strong, and bold.
Which will have which?” Then Keśini
The mother of one heir would be.
Sumati, sister of the king181
Of all the birds that ply the wing,
To that illustrious Bráhman sued
That she might bear the multitude
Whose fame throughout the world should sound
For mighty enterprise renowned.
Around the saint the monarch went,
Bowing his head, most reverent.
Then with his wives, with willing feet,
Resought his own imperial seat.
Time passed. The elder consort bare
A son called Asamanj, the heir.
Then Sumati, the younger, gave
Birth to a gourd,182 O hero brave,
Whose rind, when burst and cleft in two,
Gave sixty thousand babes to view.
All these with care the nurses laid
In jars of oil; and there they stayed,
Till, youthful age and strength complete,
Forth speeding from each dark retreat,
All peers in valour, years, and might,
The sixty thousand came to light.
Prince Asamanj, brought up with care,
Scourge of his foes, was made the heir.
But liegemen's boys he used to cast
To Sarjú's waves that hurried past,
Laughing the while in cruel glee
Their dying agonies to see.
This wicked prince who aye withstood
The counsel of the wise and good,
Who plagued the people in his hate,
His father banished from the state.
His son, kind-spoken, brave, and tall,
Was Anśumán, beloved of all.
Long years flew by. The king decreed
To slay a sacrificial steed.
Consulting with his priestly band
He vowed the rite his soul had planned,
And, Veda skilled, by their advice
Made ready for the sacrifice.
Canto XL. The Cleaving Of The Earth.

The hermit ceased: the tale was done:
Then in a transport Raghu's son
Again addressed the ancient sire
Resplendent as a burning fire:
“O holy man, I fain would hear
The tale repeated full and clear
How he from whom my sires descend
Brought the great rite to happy end.”
The hermit answered with a smile:
“Then listen, son of Raghu, while
My legendary tale proceeds
To tell of high-souled Sagar's deeds.
Within the spacious plain that lies
From where Himálaya's heights arise
To where proud Vindhya's rival chain
Looks down upon the subject plain—
A land the best for rites declared183—
His sacrifice the king prepared.
And Anśumán the prince—for so
Sagar advised—with ready bow
Was borne upon a mighty car
To watch the steed who roamed afar.
But Indra, monarch of the skies,
Veiling his form in demon guise,
Came down upon the appointed day
And drove the victim horse away.
Reft of the steed the priests, distressed,
The master of the rite addressed:
“Upon the sacred day by force
A robber takes the victim horse.
Haste, King! now let the thief be slain;
Bring thou the charger back again:
The sacred rite prevented thus
Brings scathe and woe to all of us.
Rise, monarch, and provide with speed
That naught its happy course impede.”
King Sagar in his crowded court
Gave ear unto the priests' report.
He summoned straightway to his side
His sixty thousand sons, and cried:
“Brave sons of mine, I knew not how
These demons are so mighty now:
The priests began the rite so well
All sanctified with prayer and spell.
If in the depths of earth he hide,
Or lurk beneath the ocean's tide,
[pg 051]
Pursue, dear sons, the robber's track;
Slay him and bring the charger back.
The whole of this broad earth explore,
Sea-garlanded, from shore to shore:
Yea, dig her up with might and main
Until you see the horse again.
Deep let your searching labour reach,
A league in depth dug out by each.
The robber of our horse pursue,
And please your sire who orders you.
My grandson, I, this priestly train,
Till the steed comes, will here remain.”
Their eager hearts with transport burned
As to their task the heroes turned.
Obedient to their father, they
Through earth's recesses forced their way.
With iron arms' unflinching toil
Each dug a league beneath the soil.
Earth, cleft asunder, groaned in pain,
As emulous they plied amain
Sharp-pointed coulter, pick, and bar,
Hard as the bolts of Indra are.
Then loud the horrid clamour rose
Of monsters dying neath their blows,
Giant and demon, fiend and snake,
That in earth's core their dwelling make.
They dug, in ire that naught could stay,
Through sixty thousand leagues their way,
Cleaving the earth with matchless strength
Till hell itself they reached at length.
Thus digging searched they Jambudvip184
With all its hills and mountains steep.
Then a great fear began to shake
The heart of God, bard, fiend, and snake,
And all distressed in spirit went
Before the Sire Omnipotent.
With signs of woe in every face
They sought the mighty Father's grace,
And trembling still and ill at ease
Addressed their Lord in words like these:
“The sons of Sagar, Sire benign,
Pierce the whole earth with mine on mine,
And as their ruthless work they ply
Innumerable creatures die.
“This is the thief,” the princes say,
“Who stole our victim steed away.
This marred the rite, and caused us ill,
And so their guiltless blood they spill.”
Canto XLI. Kapil.

The father lent a gracious ear
And listened to their tale of fear,
And kindly to the Gods replied
Whom woe and death had terrified:
“The wisest Vásudeva,185 who
The Immortals' foe, fierce Madhu, slew,
Regards broad Earth with love and pride
And guards, in Kapil's form, his bride.186
His kindled wrath will quickly fall
On the king's sons and burn them all.
This cleaving of the earth his eye
Foresaw in ages long gone by:
He knew with prescient soul the fate
That Sagar's children should await.”
The Three-and-thirty,187 freed from fear,
Sought their bright homes with hopeful cheer.
Still rose the great tempestuous sound
As Sagar's children pierced the ground.
When thus the whole broad earth was cleft,
And not a spot unsearched was left,
Back to their home the princes sped,
And thus unto their father said:
“We searched the earth from side to side,
While countless hosts of creatures died.
Our conquering feet in triumph trod
On snake and demon, fiend and God;
But yet we failed, with all our toil,
To find the robber and the spoil.
What can we more? If more we can,
Devise, O King, and tell thy plan.”
His children's speech King Sagar heard,
And answered thus, to anger stirred:
“Dig on, and ne'er your labour stay
Till through earth's depths you force your way.
Then smite the robber dead, and bring
The charger back with triumphing.”
[pg 052]
The sixty thousand chiefs obeyed:
Deep through the earth their way they made.
Deep as they dug and deeper yet
The immortal elephant they met,
Famed Vírúpáksha188 vast of size,
Upon whose head the broad earth lies:
The mighty beast who earth sustains
With shaggy hills and wooded plains.
When, with the changing moon, distressed,
And longing for a moment's rest,
His mighty head the monster shakes,
Earth to the bottom reels and quakes.
Around that warder strong and vast
With reverential steps they passed.
Nor, when the honour due was paid,
Their downward search through earth delayed.
But turning from the east aside
Southward again their task they plied.
There Mahápadma held his place,
The best of all his mighty race,
Like some huge hill, of monstrous girth,
Upholding on his head the earth.
When the vast beast the princes saw,
They marvelled and were filled with awe.
The sons of high-souled Sagar round
That elephant in reverence wound.
Then in the western region they
With might unwearied cleft their way.
There saw they with astonisht eyes
Saumanas, beast of mountain size.
Round him with circling steps they went
With greetings kind and reverent.
On, on—no thought of rest or stay—
They reached the seat of Soma's sway.
There saw they Bhadra, white as snow,
With lucky marks that fortune show,
Bearing the earth upon his head.
Round him they paced with solemn tread,
And honoured him with greetings kind,
Then downward yet their way they mined.
They gained the tract 'twixt east and north
Whose fame is ever blazoned forth,189
And by a storm of rage impelled,
Digging through earth their course they held.
Then all the princes, lofty-souled,
Of wondrous vigour, strong and bold,
Saw Vásudeva190 standing there
In Kapil's form he loved to wear,
And near the everlasting God
The victim charger cropped the sod.
They saw with joy and eager eyes
The fancied robber and the prize,
And on him rushed the furious band
Crying aloud, Stand, villain! stand!
“Avaunt! avaunt!” great Kapil cried,
His bosom flusht with passion's tide;
Then by his might that proud array
All scorcht to heaps of ashes lay.191
Canto XLII. Sagar's Sacrifice.

Then to the prince his grandson, bright
With his own fame's unborrowed light,
King Sagar thus began to say,
Marvelling at his sons' delay:
“Thou art a warrior skilled and bold,
Match for the mighty men of old.
Now follow on thine uncles' course
And track the robber of the horse.
[pg 053]
To guard thee take thy sword and bow,
for huge and strong are beasts below.
There to the reverend reverence pay,
And kill the foes who check thy way;
Then turn successful home and see
My sacrifice complete through thee.”
Obedient to the high-souled lord
Grasped Anśumán his bow and sword,
And hurried forth the way to trace
With youth and valour's eager pace.
On sped he by the path he found
Dug by his uncles underground.
The warder elephant he saw
Whose size and strength pass Nature's law,
Who bears the world's tremendous weight,
Whom God, fiend, giant venerate,
Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade,
To him the honour meet he paid
With circling steps and greeting due,
And further prayed him, if he knew,
To tell him of his uncles' weal,
And who had dared the horse to steal.
To him in war and council tried
The warder elephant replied:
“Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead
In triumph back the rescued steed.”
As to each warder beast he came
And questioned all, his words the same,
The honoured youth with gentle speech
Drew eloquent reply from each,
That fortune should his steps attend,
And with the horse he home should wend.
Cheered with the grateful answer, he
Passed on with step more light and free,
And reached with careless heart the place
Where lay in ashes Sagar's race.
Then sank the spirit of the chief
Beneath that shock of sudden grief,
And with a bitter cry of woe
He mourned his kinsmen fallen so.
He saw, weighed down by woe and care,
The victim charger roaming there.
Yet would the pious chieftain fain
Oblations offer to the slain:
But, needing water for the rite,
He looked and there was none in sight
His quick eye searching all around
The uncle of his kinsmen found,
King Garuḍ, best beyond compare
Of birds who wing the fields of air.
Then thus unto the weeping man
The son of Vinatá192 began:
“Grieve not, O hero, for their fall
Who died a death approved of all.
Of mighty strength, they met their fate
By Kapil's hand whom none can mate.
Pour forth for them no earthly wave,
A holier flood their spirits crave.
If, daughter of the Lord of Snow,
Gangá would turn her stream below,
Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain
Would wash their ashes pure again.
Yea, when her flood whom all revere
Rolls o'er the dust that moulders here,
The sixty thousand, freed from sin,
A home in Indra's heaven shall win.
Go, and with ceaseless labour try
To draw the Goddess from the sky.
Return, and with thee take the steed;
So shall thy grandsire's rite succeed.”
Prince Anśumán the strong and brave
Followed the rede Suparṇa193 gave.
The glorious hero took the horse,
And homeward quickly bent his course.
Straight to the anxious king he hied,
Whom lustral rites had purified,
The mournful story to unfold
And all the king of birds had told.
The tale of woe the monarch heard,
Nor longer was the rite deferred:
With care and just observance he
Accomplished all, as texts decree.
The rites performed, with brighter fame,
Mighty in counsel, home he came.
He longed to bring the river down,
But found no plan his wish to crown.
He pondered long with anxious thought
But saw no way to what he sought.
Thus thirty thousand years he spent,
And then to heaven the monarch went.
Canto XLIII. Bhagírath.

When Sagar thus had bowed to fate,
The lords and commons of the state
Approved with ready heart and will
Prince Anśumán his throne to fill.
He ruled, a mighty king, unblamed,
Sire of Dilípa justly famed.
To him, his child and worthy heir,
The king resigned his kingdom's care,
And on Himálaya's pleasant side
His task austere of penance plied.
Bright as a God in clear renown
He planned to bring pure Gangá down.
There on his fruitless hope intent
Twice sixteen thousand years he spent,
And in the grove of hermits stayed
Till bliss in heaven his rites repaid.
Dilípa then, the good and great,
Soon as he learnt his kinsmen's fate,
Bowed down by woe, with troubled mind,
[pg 054]
Pondering long no cure could find.
“How can I bring,” the mourner sighed,
“To cleanse their dust, the heavenly tide?
How can I give them rest, and save
Their spirits with the offered wave?”
Long with this thought his bosom skilled
In holy discipline was filled.
A son was born, Bhagírath named,
Above all men for virtue famed.
Dilípa many a rite ordained,
And thirty thousand seasons reigned.
But when no hope the king could see
His kinsmen from their woe to free,
The lord of men, by sickness tried,
Obeyed the law of fate, and died;
He left the kingdom to his son,
And gained the heaven his deeds had won.
The good Bhagírath, royal sage,
Had no fair son to cheer his age.
He, great in glory, pure in will,
Longing for sons was childless still.
Then on one wish, one thought intent,
Planning the heavenly stream's descent,
Leaving his ministers the care
And burden of his state to bear,
Dwelling in far Gokarna194 he
Engaged in long austerity.
With senses checked, with arms upraised,
Five fires195 around and o'er him blazed.
Each weary month the hermit passed
Breaking but once his awful fast.
In winter's chill the brook his bed,
In rain, the clouds to screen his head.
Thousands of years he thus endured
Till Brahmá's favour was assured,
And the high Lord of living things
Looked kindly on his sufferings.
With trooping Gods the Sire came near
The king who plied his task austere:
“Blest Monarch, of a glorious race,
Thy fervent rites have won my grace.
Well hast thou wrought thine awful task:
Some boon in turn, O Hermit, ask.”
Bhagírath, rich in glory's light,
The hero with the arm of might,
Thus to the Lord of earth and sky
Raised suppliant hands and made reply:
“If the great God his favour deigns,
And my long toil its fruit obtains,
Let Sagar's sons receive from me
Libations that they long to see.
Let Gangá with her holy wave
The ashes of the heroes lave,
That so my kinsmen may ascend
To heavenly bliss that ne'er shall end.
And give, I pray, O God, a son,
Nor let my house be all undone.
Sire of the worlds! be this the grace
Bestowed upon Ikshváku's race.”
The Sire, when thus the king had prayed,
In sweet kind words his answer made.
“High, high thy thought and wishes are,
Bhagírath of the mighty car!
Ikshváku's line is blest in thee,
And as thou prayest it shall be.
Gangá, whose waves in Swarga196 flow,
Is daughter of the Lord of Snow.
Win Śiva that his aid be lent
To hold her in her mid descent,
For earth alone will never bear
Those torrents hurled from upper air;
And none may hold her weight but He,
The Trident wielding deity.”
Thus having said, the Lord supreme
Addressed him to the heavenly stream;
And then with Gods and Maruts197 went
To heaven above the firmament.
Canto XLIV. The Descent Of Gangá.

The Lord of life the skies regained:
The fervent king a year remained
With arms upraised, refusing rest
While with one toe the earth he pressed,
Still as a post, with sleepless eye,
The air his food, his roof the sky.
The year had past. Then Umá's lord,198
King of creation, world adored,
Thus spoke to great Bhagírath: “I,
Well pleased thy wish will gratify,
And on my head her waves shall fling
The daughter of the Mountains' King!”
He stood upon the lofty crest
That crowns the Lord of Snow,
And bade the river of the Blest
Descend on earth below.
Himálaya's child, adored of all,
The haughty mandate heard,
And her proud bosom, at the call,
With furious wrath was stirred.
Down from her channel in the skies
With awful might she sped
With a giant's rush, in a giant's size,
On Śiva's holy head.
“He calls me,” in her wrath she cried,
“And all my flood shall sweep
And whirl him in its whelming tide
To hell's profoundest deep.”
He held the river on his head,
And kept her wandering, where,
Dense as Himálaya's woods, were spread
The tangles of his hair.
[pg 055]
No way to earth she found, ashamed,
Though long and sore she strove,
Condemned, until her pride were tamed,
Amid his locks to rove.
There, many lengthening seasons through,
The wildered river ran:
Bhagírath saw it, and anew
His penance dire began.
Then Śiva, for the hermit's sake,
Bade her long wanderings end,
And sinking into Vindu's lake
Her weary waves descend.
From Gangá, by the God set free,
Seven noble rivers came;
Hládiní, Pávaní, and she
Called Naliní by name:
These rolled their lucid waves along
And sought the eastern side.
Suchakshu, Sítá fair and strong,
And Sindhu's mighty tide—199
These to the region of the west
With joyful waters sped:
The seventh, the brightest and the best,
Flowed where Bhagírath led.
On Śiva's head descending first
A rest the torrents found:
Then down in all their might they burst
And roared along the ground.
On countless glittering scales the beam
Of rosy morning flashed,
Where fish and dolphins through the stream
Fallen and falling dashed.
Then bards who chant celestial lays
And nymphs of heavenly birth
Flocked round upon that flood to gaze
That streamed from sky to earth.
The Gods themselves from every sphere,
Incomparably bright,
Borne in their golden cars drew near
To see the wondrous sight.
The cloudless sky was all aflame
With the light of a hundred suns
Where'er the shining chariots came
That bore those holy ones.
So flashed the air with crested snakes
And fish of every hue
As when the lightning's glory breaks
Through fields of summer blue.
And white foam-clouds and silver spray
Were wildly tossed on high,
Like swans that urge their homeward way
Across the autumn sky.
Now ran the river calm and clear
With current strong and deep:
Now slowly broadened to a mere,
Or scarcely seemed to creep.
Now o'er a length of sandy plain
Her tranquil course she held;
Now rose her waves and sank again,
By refluent waves repelled.
So falling first on Śiva's head,
Thence rushing to their earthly bed,
In ceaseless fall the waters streamed,
And pure with holy lustre gleamed.
Then every spirit, sage, and bard,
Condemned to earth by sentence hard,
Pressed eagerly around the tide
That Śiva's touch had sanctified.
Then they whom heavenly doom had hurled,
Accursed, to this lower world,
Touched the pure wave, and freed from sin
Resought the skies and entered in.
And all the world was glad, whereon
The glorious water flowed and shone,
For sin and stain were banished thence
By the sweet river's influence.
First, in a car of heavenly frame,
The royal saint of deathless name,
Bhagírath, very glorious rode,
And after him fair Gangá flowed.
God, sage, and bard, the chief in place
Of spirits and the Nága race,
Nymph, giant, fiend, in long array
Sped where Bhagírath led the way;
And all the hosts the flood that swim
Followed the stream that followed him.
Where'er the great Bhagírath led,
There ever glorious Gangá fled,
The best of floods, the rivers' queen,
Whose waters wash the wicked clean.
It chanced that Jahnu, great and good,
Engaged with holy offerings stood;
The river spread her waves around
Flooding his sacrificial ground.
The saint in anger marked her pride,
And at one draught her stream he dried.
Then God, and sage, and bard, afraid,
To noble high-souled Jahnu prayed,
And begged that he would kindly deem
His own dear child that holy stream.
Moved by their suit, he soothed their fears
And loosed her waters from his ears.
Hence Gangá through the world is styled
Both Jáhnavi and Jahnu's child.
Then onward still she followed fast,
And reached the great sea bank at last.
Thence deep below her way she made
To end those rites so long delayed.
The monarch reached the Ocean's side,
And still behind him Gangá hied.
He sought the depths which open lay
Where Sagar's sons had dug their way.
So leading through earth's nether caves
The river's purifying waves,
[pg 056]
Over his kinsmen's dust the lord
His funeral libation poured.
Soon as the flood their dust bedewed,
Their spirits gained beatitude,
And all in heavenly bodies dressed
Rose to the skies' eternal rest.
Then thus to King Bhagírath said
Brahmá, when, coming at the head
Of all his bright celestial train,
He saw those spirits freed from stain:
“Well done! great Prince of men, well done!
Thy kinsmen bliss and heaven have won.
The sons of Sagar mighty-souled,
Are with the Blest, as Gods, enrolled,
Long as the Ocean's flood shall stand
Upon the border of the land,
So long shall Sagar's sons remain,
And, godlike, rank in heaven retain.
Gangá thine eldest child shall be,
Called from thy name Bhágirathí;
Named also—for her waters fell
From heaven and flow through earth and hell—
Tripathagá, stream of the skies,
Because three paths she glorifies.
And, mighty King, 'tis given thee now
To free thee and perform thy vow.
No longer, happy Prince, delay
Drink-offerings to thy kin to pay.
For this the holiest Sagar sighed,
But mourned the boon he sought denied.
Then Anśumán, dear Prince! although
No brighter name the world could show,
Strove long the heavenly flood to gain
To visit earth, but strove in vain.
Nor was she by the sages' peer,
Blest with all virtues, most austere,
Thy sire Dilípa, hither brought,
Though with fierce prayers the boon he sought.
But thou, O King, earned success,
And won high fame which God will bless.
Through thee, O victor of thy foes,
On earth this heavenly Gangá flows,
And thou hast gained the meed divine
That waits on virtue such as thine.
Now in her ever holy wave
Thyself, O best of heroes, lave:
So shalt thou, pure from every sin,
The blessed fruit of merit win.
Now for thy kin who died of yore
The meet libations duly pour.
Above the heavens I now ascend:
Depart, and bliss thy steps attend.”
Thus to the mighty king who broke
His foemens' might, Lord Brahmá spoke,
And with his Gods around him rose
To his own heaven of blest repose.
The royal sage no more delayed,
But, the libation duly paid,
Home to his regal city hied
With water cleansed and purified.
There ruled he his ancestral state,
Best of all men, most fortunate.
And all the people joyed again
In good Bhagírath's gentle reign.
Rich, prosperous, and blest were they,
And grief and sickness fled away.
Thus, Ráma, I at length have told
How Gangá came from heaven of old.
Now, for the evening passes swift,
I wish thee each auspicious gift.
This story of the flood's descent
Will give—for 'tis most excellent—
Wealth, purity, fame, length of days,
And to the skies its hearers raise”
Canto XLV. The Quest Of The Amrit.

High and more high their wonder rose
As the strange story reached its close,
And thus, with Lakshmaṇ, Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, the saint addressed:
“Most wondrous is the tale which thou
Hast told of heavenly Gangá, how
From realms above descending she
Flowed through the land and filled the sea.
In thinking o'er what thou hast said
The night has like a moment fled,
Whose hours in musing have been spent
Upon thy words most excellent:
So much, O holy Sage, thy lore
Has charmed us with this tale of yore.”
Day dawned. The morning rites were done
And the victorious Raghu's son
Addressed the sage in words like these,
Rich in his long austerities:
“The night is past: the morn is clear;
Told is the tale so good to hear:
Now o'er that river let us go,
Three-pathed, the best of all that flow.
This boat stands ready on the shore
To bear the holy hermits o'er,
Who of thy coming warned, in haste,
The barge upon the bank have placed.”
And Kuśik's son approved his speech,
And moving to the sandy beach,
Placed in the boat the hermit band,
And reached the river's further strand.
On the north bank their feet they set,
And greeted all the saints they met.
On Gangá's shore they lighted down,
And saw Viśálá's lovely town.
Thither, the princes by his side,
The best of holy hermits hied.
It was a town exceeding fair
[pg 057]
That might with heaven itself compare.
Then, suppliant palm to palm applied,
Famed Ráma asked his holy guide:
“O best of hermits, say what race
Of monarchs rules this lovely place.
Dear master, let my prayer prevail,
For much I long to hear the tale.”
Moved by his words, the saintly man
Viśálá's ancient tale began:
“List, Ráma, list, with closest heed
The tale of Indra's wondrous deed,
And mark me as I truly tell
What here in ancient days befell.
Ere Krita's famous Age200 had fled,
Strong were the sons of Diti201 bred;
And Aditi's brave children too
Were very mighty, good, and true.
The rival brothers fierce and bold
Were sons of Kaśyap lofty-souled.
Of sister mothers born, they vied,
Brood against brood, in jealous pride.
Once, as they say, band met with band,
And, joined in awful council, planned
To live, unharmed by age and time,
Immortal in their youthful prime.
Then this was, after due debate,
The counsel of the wise and great,
To churn with might the milky sea202
The life-bestowing drink to free.
This planned, they seized the Serpent King,
Vásuki, for their churning-string,
And Mandar's mountain for their pole,
And churned with all their heart and soul.
As thus, a thousand seasons through,
This way and that the snake they drew,
Biting the rocks, each tortured head,
A very deadly venom shed.
Thence, bursting like a mighty flame,
A pestilential poison came,
Consuming, as it onward ran,
The home of God, and fiend, and man.
Then all the suppliant Gods in fear
To Śankar,203 mighty lord, drew near.
To Rudra, King of Herds, dismayed,
“Save us, O save us, Lord!” they prayed.
Then Vishṇu, bearing shell, and mace,
And discus, showed his radiant face,
And thus addressed in smiling glee
The Trident wielding deity:
“What treasure first the Gods upturn
From troubled Ocean, as they churn,
Should—for thou art the eldest—be
Conferred, O best of Gods, on thee.
Then come, and for thy birthright's sake,
This venom as thy first fruits take.”
He spoke, and vanished from their sight,
When Śiva saw their wild affright,
And heard his speech by whom is borne
The mighty bow of bending horn,204
The poisoned flood at once he quaffed
As 'twere the Amrit's heavenly draught.
Then from the Gods departing went
Śiva, the Lord pre-eminent.
The host of Gods and Asurs still
Kept churning with one heart and will.
But Mandar's mountain, whirling round,
Pierced to the depths below the ground.
Then Gods and bards in terror flew
To him who mighty Madhu slew.
“Help of all beings! more than all,
The Gods on thee for aid may call.
Ward off, O mighty-armed! our fate,
And bear up Mandar's threatening weight.”
Then Vishṇu, as their need was sore,
The semblance of a tortoise wore,
And in the bed of Ocean lay
The mountain on his back to stay.
Then he, the soul pervading all,
Whose locks in radiant tresses fall,
One mighty arm extended still,
And grasped the summit of the hill.
So ranged among the Immortals, he
Joined in the churning of the sea.
A thousand years had reached their close,
When calmly from the ocean rose
The gentle sage205 with staff and can,
Lord of the art of healing man.
Then as the waters foamed and boiled,
As churning still the Immortals toiled,
Of winning face and lovely frame,
Forth sixty million fair ones came.
Born of the foam and water, these
Were aptly named Apsarases.206
[pg 058]
Each had her maids. The tongue would fail—
So vast the throng—to count the tale.
But when no God or Titan wooed
A wife from all that multitude,
Refused by all, they gave their love
In common to the Gods above.
Then from the sea still vext and wild
Rose Surá,207 Varuṇ's maiden child.
A fitting match she sought to find:
But Diti's sons her love declined,
Their kinsmen of the rival brood
To the pure maid in honour sued.
Hence those who loved that nymph so fair
The hallowed name of Suras bear.
And Asurs are the Titan crowd
Her gentle claims who disallowed.
Then from the foamy sea was freed
Uchchaihśravas,208 the generous steed,
And Kaustubha, of gems the gem,209
And Soma, Moon God, after them.
At length when many a year had fled,
Up floated, on her lotus bed,
A maiden fair and tender-eyed,
In the young flush of beauty's pride.
She shone with pearl and golden sheen,
And seals of glory stamped her queen,
On each round arm glowed many a gem,
On her smooth brows, a diadem.
Rolling in waves beneath her crown
The glory of her hair flowed down,
Pearls on her neck of price untold,
The lady shone like burnisht gold.
Queen of the Gods, she leapt to land,
A lotus in her perfect hand,
And fondly, of the lotus-sprung,
To lotus-bearing Vishṇu clung.
Her Gods above and men below
As Beauty's Queen and Fortune know.210
Gods, Titans, and the minstrel train
Still churned and wrought the troubled main.
At length the prize so madly sought,
The Amrit, to their sight was brought.
For the rich spoil, 'twixt these and those
A fratricidal war arose,
And, host 'gainst host in battle, set,
Aditi's sons and Diti's met.
United, with the giants' aid,
Their fierce attack the Titans made,
And wildly raged for many a day
That universe-astounding fray.
When wearied arms were faint to strike,
And ruin threatened all alike,
Vishṇu, with art's illusive aid,
The Amrit from their sight conveyed.
That Best of Beings smote his foes
Who dared his deathless arm oppose:
Yea, Vishṇu, all-pervading God,
Beneath his feet the Titans trod
Aditi's race, the sons of light,
slew Diti's brood in cruel fight.
Then town-destroying211 Indra gained
His empire, and in glory reigned
O'er the three worlds with bard and sage
Rejoicing in his heritage.
Canto XLVI. Diti's Hope.

But Diti, when her sons were slain,
Wild with a childless mother's pain,
To Kaśyap spake, Marícha's son,
Her husband: “O thou glorious one!
[pg 059]
Dead are the children, mine no more,
The mighty sons to thee I bore.
Long fervour's meed, I crave a boy
Whose arm may Indra's life destroy.
The toil and pain my care shall be:
To bless my hope depends on thee.
Give me a mighty son to slay
Fierce Indra, gracious lord! I pray.”
Then glorious Kaśyap thus replied
To Diti, as she wept and sighed:
“Thy prayer is heard, dear saint! Remain
Pure from all spot, and thou shalt gain
A son whose arm shall take the life
Of Indra in the battle strife.
For full a thousand years endure
Free from all stain, supremely pure;
Then shall thy son and mine appear,
Whom the three worlds shall serve with fear.”
These words the glorious Kaśyap said,
Then gently stroked his consort's head,
Blessed her, and bade a kind adieu,
And turned him to his rites anew.
Soon as her lord had left her side,
Her bosom swelled with joy and pride.
She sought the shade of holy boughs,
And there began her awful vows.
While yet she wrought her rites austere,
Indra, unbidden, hastened near,
With sweet observance tending her,
A reverential minister.
Wood, water, fire, and grass he brought,
Sweet roots and woodland fruit he sought,
And all her wants, the Thousand-eyed,
With never-failing care, supplied,
With tender love and soft caress
Removing pain and weariness.
When, of the thousand years ordained,
Ten only unfulfilled remained,
Thus to her son, the Thousand-eyed,
The Goddess in her triumph cried:
“Best of the mighty! there remain
But ten short years of toil and pain;
These years of penance soon will flee,
And a new brother thou shalt see.
Him for thy sake I'll nobly breed,
And lust of war his soul shall feed;
Then free from care and sorrow thou
Shalt see the worlds before him bow.”212
Canto XLVII. Sumati.

Thus to Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed,
Softly beseeching Diti sighed.
When but a blighted bud was left,
Which Indra's hand in seven had cleft:213
“No fault, O Lord of Gods, is thine;
The blame herein is only mine.
But for one grace I fain would pray,
As thou hast reft this hope away.
This bud, O Indra, which a blight
Has withered ere it saw the light—
From this may seven fair spirits rise
To rule the regions of the skies.
Be theirs through heaven's unbounded space
On shoulders of the winds to race,
My children, drest in heavenly forms,
Far-famed as Maruts, Gods of storms.
One God to Brahmá's sphere assign,
Let one, O Indra, watch o'er thine;
And ranging through the lower air,
The third the name of Váyu214 bear.
Gods let the four remaining be,
And roam through space, obeying thee.”
The Town-destroyer, Thousand-eyed,
Who smote fierce Bali till he died,
Joined suppliant hands, and thus replied:
“Thy children heavenly forms shall wear;
The names devised by thee shall bear,
And, Maruts called by my decree,
Shall Amrit drink and wait on me.
From fear and age and sickness freed,
Through the three worlds their wings shall speed.”
Thus in the hermits' holy shade
Mother and son their compact made,
And then, as fame relates, content,
Home to the happy skies they went.
This is the spot—so men have told—
Where Lord Mahendra215 dwelt of old,
This is the blessed region where
His votaress mother claimed his care.
Here gentle Alambúshá bare
To old Ikshváku, king and sage,
Viśála, glory of his age,
By whom, a monarch void of guilt,
Was this fair town Viśálá built.
[pg 060]
His son was Hemachandra, still
Renowned for might and warlike skill.
From him the great Suchandra came;
His son, Dhúmráśva, dear to fame.
Next followed royal Srinjay; then
Famed Sahadeva, lord of men.
Next came Kuśáśva, good and mild,
Whose son was Somadatta styled,
And Sumati, his heir, the peer
Of Gods above, now governs here.
And ever through Ikshváku's grace,
Viśálá's kings, his noble race,
Are lofty-souled, and blest with length
Of days, with virtue, and with strength.
This night, O prince, we here will sleep;
And when the day begins to peep,
Our onward way will take with thee,
The king of Míthilá to see.”
Then Sumati, the king, aware
Of Viśvámitra's advent there,
Came quickly forth with honour meet
The lofty-minded sage to greet.
Girt with his priest and lords the king
Did low obeisance, worshipping,
With suppliant hands, with head inclined,
Thus spoke he after question kind;
“Since thou hast deigned to bless my sight,
And grace awhile thy servant's seat,
High fate is mine, great Anchorite,
And none may with my bliss compete.”
Canto XLVIII. Indra And Ahalyá

When mutual courtesies had past,
Viśálá's ruler spoke at last:
“These princely youths, O Sage, who vie
In might with children of the sky,
Heroic, born for happy fate,
With elephants' or lions' gait,
Bold as the tiger or the bull,
With lotus eyes so large and full,
Armed with the quiver, sword, and bow,
Whose figures like the Aśvins216 show,
Like children of the deathless Powers,
Come freely to these shades of ours,217—
How have they reached on foot this place?
What do they seek, and what their race?
As sun and moon adorn the sky,
This spot the heroes glorify.
Alike in stature, port, and mien,
The same fair form in each is seen,”
He spoke; and at the monarch's call
The best of hermits told him all,
How in the grove with him they dwelt,
And slaughter to the demons dealt.
Then wonder filled the monarch's breast,
Who tended well each royal guest.
Thus entertained, the princely pair
Remained that night and rested there,
And with the morn's returning ray
To Mithilá pursued their way.
When Janak's lovely city first
Upon their sight, yet distant, burst,
The hermits all with joyful cries
Hailed the fair town that met their eyes.
Then Ráma saw a holy wood,
Close, in the city's neighbourhood,
O'ergrown, deserted, marked by age,
And thus addressed the mighty sage:
“O reverend lord. I long to know
What hermit dwelt here long ago.”
Then to the prince his holy guide,
Most eloquent of men, replied:
“O Ráma, listen while I tell
Whose was this grove, and what befell
When in the fury of his rage
The high saint cursed the hermitage.
This was the grove—most lovely then—
Of Gautam, O thou best of men,
Like heaven itself, most honoured by
The Gods who dwell above the sky.
Here with Ahalyá at his side
His fervid task the ascetic plied.
Years fled in thousands. On a day
It chanced the saint had gone away,
When Town-destroying Indra came,
And saw the beauty of the dame.
The sage's form the God endued,
And thus the fair Ahalyá wooed:
“Love, sweet! should brook no dull delay
But snatch the moments when he may.”
She knew him in the saint's disguise,
Lord Indra of the Thousand Eyes,
But touched by love's unholy fire,
She yielded to the God's desire.
“Now, Lord of Gods!” she whispered, “flee,
From Gautam save thyself and me.”
Trembling with doubt and wild with dread
Lord Indra from the cottage fled;
But fleeing in the grove he met
The home-returning anchoret,
Whose wrath the Gods and fiends would shun,
Such power his fervent rites had won.
Fresh from the lustral flood he came,
In splendour like the burning flame,
With fuel for his sacred rites,
And grass, the best of eremites.
The Lord of Gods was sad of cheer
To see the mighty saint so near,
And when the holy hermit spied
In hermit's garb the Thousand-eyed,
[pg 061]
He knew the whole, his fury broke
Forth on the sinner as he spoke:
“Because my form thou hast assumed,
And wrought this folly, thou art doomed,
For this my curse to thee shall cling,
Henceforth a sad and sexless thing.”
No empty threat that sentence came,
It chilled his soul and marred his frame,
His might and godlike vigour fled,
And every nerve was cold and dead.
Then on his wife his fury burst,
And thus the guilty dame he cursed:
“For countless years, disloyal spouse,
Devoted to severest vows,
Thy bed the ashes, air thy food,
Here shalt thou live in solitude.
This lonely grove thy home shall be,
And not an eye thy form shall see.
When Ráma, Daśaratha's child,
Shall seek these shades then drear and wild,
His coming shall remove thy stain,
And make the sinner pure again.
Due honour paid to him, thy guest,
Shall cleanse thy fond and erring breast,
Thee to my side in bliss restore,
And give thy proper shape once more.”218
Thus to his guilty wife he said,
Then far the holy Gautam fled,
And on Himálaya's lovely heights
Spent the long years in sternest rites.”
Canto XLIX. Ahalyá Freed.

Then Ráma, following still his guide,
Within the grove, with Lakshmaṇ, hied,
Her vows a wondrous light had lent
To that illustrious penitent.
He saw the glorious lady, screened
From eye of man, and God, and fiend,
Like some bright portent which the care
Of Brahmá launches through the air,
Designed by his illusive art
To flash a moment and depart:
Or like the flame that leaps on high
To sink involved in smoke and die:
Or like the full moon shining through
The wintry mist, then lost to view:
Or like the sun's reflection, cast
Upon the flood, too bright to last:
So was the glorious dame till then
Removed from Gods' and mortals' ken,
Till—such was Gautam's high decree—
Prince Ráma came to set her free.
Then, with great joy that dame to meet,
The sons of Raghu clapped her feet;
And she, remembering Gautam's oath,
With gentle grace received them both;
Then water for their feet she gave,
Guest-gift, and all that strangers crave.
The prince, of courteous rule aware,
Received, as meet, the lady's care.
Then flowers came down in copious rain,
And moving to the heavenly strain
Of music in the skies that rang,
The nymphs and minstrels danced and sang:
And all the Gods with one glad voice
Praised the great dame, and cried, “Rejoice!
Through fervid rites no more defiled,
But with thy husband reconciled.”
Gautam, the holy hermit knew—
For naught escaped his godlike view—
That Ráma lodged beneath that shade,
And hasting there his homage paid.
He took Ahalyá to his side,
From sin and folly purified,
And let his new-found consort bear
In his austerities a share.
Then Ráma, pride of Raghu's race,
Welcomed by Gautam, face to face,
Who every highest honour showed,
To Mithilá pursued his road.
Canto L. Janak.

The sons of Raghu journeyed forth,
Bending their steps 'twixt east and north.
Soon, guided by the sage, they found,
Enclosed, a sacrificial ground.
Then to the best of saints, his guide,
In admiration Ráma cried:
“The high-souled king no toil has spared,
But nobly for his rite prepared,
How many thousand Bráhmans here,
From every region, far and near,
Well read in holy lore, appear!
How many tents, that sages screen,
With wains in hundreds, here are seen!
Great Bráhman, let us find a place
Where we may stay and rest a space.”
The hermit did as Ráma prayed,
And in a spot his lodging made,
[pg 062]
Far from the crowd, sequestered, clear,
With copious water flowing near.
Then Janak, best of kings, aware
Of Viśvámitra lodging there,
With Śatánanda for his guide—
The priest on whom he most relied,
His chaplain void of guile and stain—
And others of his priestly train,
Bearing the gift that greets the guest,
To meet him with all honour pressed.
The saint received with gladsome mind
Each honour and observance kind:
Then of his health he asked the king,
And how his rites were prospering,
Janak, with chaplain and with priest,
Addressed the hermits, chief and least,
Accosting all, in due degree,
With proper words of courtesy.
Then, with his palms together laid,
The king his supplication made:
“Deign, reverend lord, to sit thee down
With these good saints of high renown.”
Then sate the chief of hermits there,
Obedient to the monarch's prayer.
Chaplain and priest, and king and peer,
Sate in their order, far or near.
Then thus the king began to say:
“The Gods have blest my rite to-day,
And with the sight of thee repaid
The preparations I have made.
Grateful am I, so highly blest,
That thou, of saints the holiest,
Hast come, O Bráhman, here with all
These hermits to the festival.
Twelve days, O Bráhman Sage, remain—
For so the learned priests ordain—
And then, O heir of Kuśik's name,
The Gods will come their dues to claim.”
With looks that testified delight
Thus spake he to the anchorite,
Then with his suppliant hands upraised,
He asked, as earnestly he gazed:
“These princely youths, O Sage, who vie
In might with children of the sky,
Heroic, born for happy fate,
With elephants' or lions' gait,
Bold as the tiger and the bull,
With lotus eyes so large and full,
Armed with the quiver, sword and bow,
Whose figures like the Aśvins show,
Like children of the heavenly Powers,
Come freely to these shades of ours,—
How have they reached on foot this place?
What do they seek, and what their race?
As sun and moon adorn the sky,
This spot the heroes glorify:
Alike in stature, port, and mien,
The same fair form in each is seen.”219
Thus spoke the monarch, lofty-souled,
The saint, of heart unfathomed, told
How, sons of Daśaratha, they
Accompanied his homeward way,
How in the hermitage they dwelt,
And slaughter to the demons dealt:
Their journey till the spot they neared
Whence fair Viśálá's towers appeared:
Ahalyá seen and freed from taint;
Their meeting with her lord the saint;
And how they thither came, to know
The virtue of the famous bow.
Thus Viśvámitra spoke the whole
To royal Janak, great of soul,
And when this wondrous tale was o'er,
The glorious hermit said no more.
Canto LI. Visvámitra.

Wise Viśvámitra's tale was done:
Then sainted Gautam's eldest son,
Great Śatánanda, far-renowned,
Whom long austerities had crowned
With glory—as the news he heard
The down upon his body stirred,—
Filled full of wonder at the sight
Of Ráma, felt supreme delight.
When Śatánanda saw the pair
Of youthful princes seated there,
He turned him to the holy man
Who sate at ease, and thus began:
“And didst thou, mighty Sage, in truth
Show clearly to this royal youth
My mother, glorious far and wide,
Whom penance-rites have sanctified?
And did my glorious mother—she,
Heiress of noble destiny—
Serve her great guest with woodland store,
Whom all should honour evermore?
Didst thou the tale to Ráma tell
Of what in ancient days befell,
The sin, the misery, and the shame
Of guilty God and faithless dame?
And, O thou best of hermits, say,
Did Ráma's healing presence stay
Her trial? was the wife restored
Again to him, my sire and lord?
Say, Hermit, did that sire of mine
Receive her with a soul benign,
When long austerities in time
Had cleansed her from the taint of crime?
[pg 063]
And, son of Kuśik, let me know,
Did my great-minded father show
Honour to Ráma, and regard,
Before he journeyed hitherward?”
The hermit with attentive ear
Marked all the questions of the seer:
To him for eloquence far-famed,
His eloquent reply he framed:
“Yea, 'twas my care no task to shun,
And all I had to do was done;
As Reṇuká and Bhrigu's child,
The saint and dame were reconciled.”
When the great sage had thus replied,
To Ráma Śatánanda cried:
“A welcome visit, Prince, is thine,
Thou scion of King Raghu's line.
With him to guide thy way aright,
This sage invincible in might,
This Bráhman sage, most glorious-bright,
By long austerities has wrought
A wondrous deed, exceeding thought:
Thou knowest well, O strong of arm,
This sure defence from scathe and harm.
None, Ráma, none is living now
In all the earth more blest than thou,
That thou hast won a saint so tried
In fervid rites thy life to guide.
Now listen, Prince, while I relate
His lofty deeds and wondrous fate.
He was a monarch pious-souled.
His foemen in the dust he rolled;
Most learned, prompt at duty's claim,
His people's good his joy and aim.
Of old the Lord of Life gave birth
To mighty Kuśa, king of earth.
His son was Kuśanábha, strong,
Friend of the right, the foe of wrong.
Gádhi, whose fame no time shall dim,
Heir of his throne was born to him,
And Viśvámitra, Gádhi's heir,
Governed the land with kingly care.
While years unnumbered rolled away
The monarch reigned with equal sway.
At length, assembling many a band,
He led his warriors round the land—
Complete in tale, a mighty force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse.
Through cities, groves, and floods he passed,
O'er lofty hills, through regions vast.
He reached Vaśishṭha's pure abode,
Where trees, and flowers, and creepers glowed,
Where troops of sylvan creatures fed;
Which saints and angels visited.
Gods, fauns, and bards of heavenly race,
And spirits, glorified the place;
The deer their timid ways forgot,
And holy Bráhmans thronged the spot.
Bright in their souls, like fire, were these,
Made pure by long austerities,
Bound by the rule of vows severe,
And each in glory Brahmá's peer.
Some fed on water, some on air,
Some on the leaves that withered there.
Roots and wild fruit were others' food;
All rage was checked, each sense subdued,
There Bálakhilyas220 went and came,
Now breathed the prayer, now fed the flame:
These, and ascetic bands beside,
The sweet retirement beautified.
Such was Vaśishṭha's blest retreat,
Like Brahmá's own celestial seat,
Which gladdened Viśvámitra's eyes,
Peerless for warlike enterprise.
Canto LII. Vasishtha's Feast.

Right glad was Viśvámitra when
He saw the prince of saintly men.
Low at his feet the hero bent,
And did obeisance, reverent.
The king was welcomed in, and shown
A seat beside the hermit's own,
Who offered him, when resting there,
Fruit in due course, and woodland fare.
And Viśvámitra, noblest king,
Received Vaśishṭha's welcoming,
Turned to his host, and prayed him tell
That he and all with him were well.
Vaśishṭha to the king replied
That all was well on every side,
That fire, and vows, and pupils throve,
And all the trees within the grove.
And then the son of Brahmá, best
Of all who pray with voice suppressed,
Questioned with pleasant words like these
The mighty king who sate at ease:
“And is it well with thee? I pray;
And dost thou win by virtuous sway
Thy people's love, discharging all
The duties on a king that fall?
Are all thy servants fostered well?
Do all obey, and none rebel?
Hast thou, destroyer of the foe,
No enemies to overthrow?
Does fortune, conqueror! still attend
Thy treasure, host, and every friend?
Is it all well? Does happy fate
On sons and children's children wait?”
He spoke. The modest king replied
That all was prosperous far and wide.
[pg 064]
Thus for awhile the two conversed,
As each to each his tale rehearsed,
And as the happy moments flew,
Their joy and friendship stronger grew.
When such discourse had reached an end,
Thus spoke the saint most reverend
To royal Viśvámitra, while
His features brightened with a smile:
“O mighty lord of men. I fain
Would banquet thee and all thy train
In mode that suits thy station high:
And do not thou my prayer deny.
Let my good lord with favour take
The offering that I fain would make,
And let me honour, ere we part,
My royal guest with loving heart.”
Him Viśvámitra thus addressed:
“Why make, O Saint, this new request?
Thy welcome and each gracious word
Sufficient honour have conferred.
Thou gavest roots and fruit to eat,
The treasures of this pure retreat,
And water for my mouth and feet;
And—boon I prize above the rest—
Thy presence has mine eyesight blest.
Honoured by thee in every way,
To whom all honour all should pay,
I now will go. My lord, Good-bye!
Regard me with a friendly eye.”
Him speaking thus Vaśishṭha stayed,
And still to share his banquet prayed.
The will of Gádhi's son he bent,
And won the monarch to consent,
Who spoke in answer. “Let it be,
Great Hermit, as it pleases thee.”
When, best of those who breathe the prayer,
He heard the king his will declare,
He called the cow of spotted skin,
All spot without, all pure within.
“Come, Dapple-skin,” he cried, “with speed;
Hear thou my words and help at need.
My heart is set to entertain
This monarch and his mighty train
With sumptuous meal and worthy fare;
Be thine the banquet to prepare.
Each dainty cate, each goodly dish,
Of six-fold taste221 as each may wish—
All these, O cow of heavenly power,
Rain down for me in copious shower:
Viands and drink for tooth and lip,
To eat, to suck, to quaff, to sip—
Of these sufficient, and to spare,
O plenty-giving cow, prepare.”
Canto LIII. Visvámitra's Request.

Thus charged, O slayer of thy foes,
The cow from whom all plenty flows,
Obedient to her saintly lord,
Viands to suit each taste, outpoured.
Honey she gave, and roasted grain,
Mead sweet with flowers, and sugar-cane.
Each beverage of flavour rare,
An food of every sort, were there:
Hills of hot rice, and sweetened cakes,
And curdled milk and soup in lakes.
Vast beakers foaming to the brim
With sugared drink prepared for him,
And dainty sweetmeats, deftly made,
Before the hermit's guests were laid.
So well regaled, so nobly fed,
The mighty army banqueted,
And all the train, from chief to least,
Delighted in Vaśishṭha's feast.
Then Viśvámitra, royal sage,
Surrounded by his vassalage,
Prince, peer, and counsellor, and all
From highest lord to lowest thrall,
Thus feasted, to Vaśishṭha cried
With joy, supremely gratified:
“Rich honour I, thus entertained,
Most honourable lord, have gained:
Now hear, before I journey hence,
My words, O skilled in eloquence.
Bought for a hundred thousand kine,
Let Dapple-skin, O Saint, be mine.
A wondrous jewel is thy cow,
And gems are for the monarch's brow.222
To me her rightful lord resign
This Dapple-skin thou callest thine.”
The great Vaśishṭha, thus addressed,
Arch-hermit of the holy breast,
To Viśvámitra answer made,
The king whom all the land obeyed:
“Not for a hundred thousand,—nay,
Not if ten million thou wouldst pay,
With silver heaps the price to swell,—
Will I my cow, O Monarch, sell.
Unmeet for her is such a fate.
That I my friend should alienate.
As glory with the virtuous, she
For ever makes her home with me.
On her mine offerings which ascend
To Gods and spirits all depend:
My very life is due to her,
My guardian, friend, and minister.
[pg 065]
The feeding of the sacred flame,223
The dole which living creatures claim.224
The mighty sacrifice by fire,
Each formula the rites require,225
And various saving lore beside,
Are by her aid, in sooth, supplied.
The banquet which thy host has shared,
Believe it, was by her prepared,
In her mine only treasures lie,
She cheers mine heart and charms mine eye.
And reasons more could I assign
Why Dapple-skin can ne'er be thine.”
The royal sage, his suit denied,
With eloquence more earnest cried:
“Tusked elephants, a goodly train,
Each with a golden girth and chain,
Whose goads with gold well fashioned shine—
Of these be twice seven thousand thine.
And four-horse cars with gold made bright,
With steeds most beautifully white,
Whose bells make music as they go,
Eight hundred, Saint, will I bestow.
Eleven thousand mettled steeds
From famous lands, of noble breeds—
These will I gladly give, O thou
Devoted to each holy vow.
Ten million heifers, fair to view,
Whose sides are marked with every hue—
These in exchange will I assign;
But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.
Ask what thou wilt, and piles untold
Of priceless gems and gleaming gold,
O best of Bráhmans, shall be thine;
But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.”
The great Vaśishṭha, thus addressed,
Made answer to the king's request:
“Ne'er will I give my cow away,
My gem, my wealth, my life and stay.
My worship at the moon's first show,
And at the full, to her I owe;
And sacrifices small and great,
Which largess due and gifts await.
From her alone, their root, O King,
My rites and holy service spring.
What boots it further words to say?
I will not give my cow away
Who yields me what I ask each day.”
Canto LIV. The Battle.

As Saint Vaśishṭha answered so,
Nor let the cow of plenty go,
The monarch, as a last resource,
Began to drag her off by force.
While the king's servants tore away
Their moaning, miserable prey,
Sad, sick at heart, and sore distressed,
She pondered thus within her breast:
“Why am I thus forsaken? why
Betrayed by him of soul most high.
Vaśishṭha, ravished by the hands
Of soldiers of the monarch's bands?
Ah me! what evil have I done
Against the lofty-minded one,
That he, so pious, can expose
The innocent whose love he knows?”
In her sad breast as thus she thought,
And heaved deep sighs with anguish fraught,
With wondrous speed away she fled,
And back to Saint Vaśishṭha sped.
She hurled by hundreds to the ground
The menial crew that hemmed her round,
And flying swifter than the blast
Before the saint herself she cast.
There Dapple-skin before the saint
Stood moaning forth her sad complaint,
And wept and lowed: such tones as come
From wandering cloud or distant drum.
“O son of Brahmá,” thus cried she,
“Why hast thou thus forsaken me,
That the king's men, before thy face,
Bear off thy servant from her place?”
Then thus the Bráhman saint replied
To her whose heart with woe was tried,
And grieving for his favourite's sake,
As to a suffering sister spake:
“I leave thee not: dismiss the thought;
Nor, duteous, hast thou failed in aught.
This king, o'erweening in the pride
Of power, has reft thee from my side.
Little, I ween, my strength could do
'Gainst him, a mighty warrior too.
Strong, as a soldier born and bred,—
Great, as a king whom regions dread.
See! what a host the conqueror leads,
With elephants, and cars, and steeds.
O'er countless bands his pennons fly;
So is he mightier far than I.”
[pg 066]
He spoke. Then she, in lowly mood,
To that high saint her speech renewed:
“So judge not they who wisest are:
The Bráhman's might is mightier far.
For Bráhmans strength from Heaven derive,
And warriors bow when Bráhmans strive.
A boundless power 'tis thine to wield:
To such a king thou shouldst not yield,
Who, very mighty though he be,—
So fierce thy strength,—must bow to thee.
Command me, Saint. Thy power divine
Has brought me here and made me thine;
And I, howe'er the tyrant boast,
Will tame his pride and slay his host.”
Then cried the glorious sage: “Create
A mighty force the foe to mate.”
She lowed, and quickened into life,
Pahlavas,226 burning for the strife,
King Viśvámitra's army slew
Before the very leader's view.
The monarch in excessive ire,
His eyes with fury darting fire,
Rained every missile on the foe
Till all the Pahlavas were low.
She, seeing all her champions slain,
Lying by thousands on the plain.
Created, by her mere desire,
Yavans and Śakas, fierce and dire.
And all the ground was overspread
With Yavans and with Śakas dread:
A host of warriors bright and strong,
And numberless in closest throng:
The threads within the lotus stem,
So densely packed, might equal them.
In gold-hued mail 'against war's attacks,
Each bore a sword and battle-axe,
The royal host, where'er these came,
Fell as if burnt with ravening flame.
The monarch, famous through the world
Again his fearful weapons hurled,
That made Kámbojas,227 Barbars,228 all,
With Yavans, troubled, flee and fall.
Canto LV. The Hermitage Burnt.

So o'er the field that host lay strown,
By Viśvámitra's darts o'erthrown.
Then thus Vaśishṭha charged the cow:
“Create with all thy vigour now.”
Forth sprang Kámbojas, as she lowed;
Bright as the sun their faces glowed,
Forth from her udder Barbars poured,—
Soldiers who brandished spear and sword,—
And Yavans with their shafts and darts,
And Śakas from her hinder parts.
And every pore upon her fell,
And every hair-producing cell,
With Mlechchhas229 and Kirátas230 teemed,
And forth with them Hárítas streamed.
And Viśvámitra's mighty force,
Car, elephant, and foot, and horse,
Fell in a moment's time, subdued
By that tremendous multitude.
The monarch's hundred sons, whose eyes
Beheld the rout in wild surprise,
Armed with all weapons, mad with rage,
Rushed fiercely on the holy sage.
One cry he raised, one glance he shot,
And all fell scorched upon the spot:
Burnt by the sage to ashes, they
With horse, and foot, and chariot, lay.
The monarch mourned, with shame and pain,
His army lost, his children slain,
Like Ocean when his roar is hushed,
Or some great snake whose fangs are crushed:
[pg 067]
Or as in swift eclipse the Sun
Dark with the doom he cannot shun:
Or a poor bird with mangled wing—
So, reft of sons and host, the king
No longer, by ambition fired,
The pride of war his breast inspired.
He gave his empire to his son—
Of all he had, the only one:
And bade him rule as kings are taught
Then straight a hermit-grove he sought.
Far to Himálaya's side he fled,
Which bards and Nágas visited,
And, Mahádeva's231 grace to earn,
He gave his life to penance stern.
A lengthened season thus passed by,
When Śiva's self, the Lord most High,
Whose banner shows the pictured bull,232
Appeared, the God most bountiful:
“Why fervent thus in toil and pain?
What brings thee here? what boon to gain?
Thy heart's desire, O Monarch, speak:
I grant the boons which mortals seek.”
The king, his adoration paid,
To Mahádeva answer made:
“If thou hast deemed me fit to win
Thy favour, O thou void of sin,
On me, O mighty God, bestow
The wondrous science of the bow,
All mine, complete in every part,
With secret spell and mystic art.
To me be all the arms revealed
That Gods, and saints, and Titans wield,
And every dart that arms the hands
Of spirits, fiends and minstrel bands,
Be mine, O Lord supreme in place,
This token of thy boundless grace.”
The Lord of Gods then gave consent,
And to his heavenly mansion went.
Triumphant in the arms he held,
The monarch's breast with glory swelled.
So swells the ocean, when upon
His breast the full moon's beams have shone.
Already in his mind he viewed
Vaśishṭha at his feet subdued.
He sought that hermit's grove, and there
Launched his dire weapons through the air,
Till scorched by might that none could stay
The hermitage in ashes lay.
Where'er the inmates saw, aghast,
The dart that Viśvámitra cast,
To every side they turned and fled
In hundreds forth disquieted.
Vaśishṭha's pupils caught the fear,
And every bird and every deer,
And fled in wild confusion forth
Eastward and westward, south and north,
And so Vaśishṭha's holy shade
A solitary wild was made,
Silent awhile, for not a sound
Disturbed the hush that was around.
Vaśishṭha then, with eager cry,
Called, “Fear not, friends, nor seek to fly.
This son of Gádhi dies to-day,
Like hoar-frost in the morning's ray.”
Thus having said, the glorious sage
Spoke to the king in words of rage:
“Because thou hast destroyed this grove
Which long in holy quiet throve,
By folly urged to senseless crime,
Now shalt thou die before thy time.”
Canto LVI. Visvámitra's Vow.

But Viśvámitra, at the threat
Of that illustrious anchoret,
Cried, as he launched with ready hand
A fiery weapon, “Stand, O Stand!”
Vaśishṭha, wild with rage and hate,
Raising, as 'twere the Rod of Fate,
His mighty Bráhman wand on high,
To Viśvámitra made reply:
“Nay, stand, O Warrior thou, and show
What soldier can, 'gainst Bráhman foe.
O Gádhi's son, thy days are told;
Thy pride is tamed, thy dart is cold.
How shall a warrior's puissance dare
With Bráhman's awful strength compare?
To-day, base Warrior, shall thou feel
That God-sent might is more than steel.”
He raised his Bráhman staff, nor missed
The fiery dart that near him hissed:
And quenched the fearful weapon fell,
As flame beneath the billow's swell.
Then Gádhi's son in fury threw
Lord Varuṇ's arm and Rudra's too:
Indra's fierce bolt that all destroys;
That which the Lord of Herds employs:
The Human, that which minstrels keep,
The deadly Lure, the endless Sleep:
The Yawner, and the dart which charms;
Lament and Torture, fearful arms:
The Terrible, the dart which dries,
The Thunderbolt which quenchless flies,
And Fate's dread net, and Brahmá's noose,
And that which waits for Varuṇ's use:
The dart he loves who wields the bow
Pináka, and twin bolts that glow
With fury as they flash and fly,
The quenchless Liquid and the Dry:
The dart of Vengeance, swift to kill:
The Goblins' dart, the Curlew's Bill:
[pg 068]
The discus both of Fate and Right,
And Vishṇu's, of unerring flight:
The Wind-God's dart, the Troubler dread,
The weapon named the Horse's Head.
From his fierce hand two spears were thrown,
And the great mace that smashes bone;
The dart of spirits of the air,
And that which Fate exults to bear:
The Trident dart which slaughters foes,
And that which hanging skulls compose:233
These fearful darts in fiery rain
He hurled upon the saint amain,
An awful miracle to view.
But as the ceaseless tempest flew,
The sage with wand of God-sent power
Still swallowed up that fiery shower.
Then Gádhi's son, when these had failed,
With Brahmá's dart his foe assailed.
The Gods, with Indra at their head,
And Nágas, quailed disquieted,
And saints and minstrels, when they saw
The king that awful weapon draw;
And the three worlds were filled with dread,
And trembled as the missile sped.
The saint, with Bráhman wand, empowered
By lore divine that dart devoured.
Nor could the triple world withdraw
Rapt gazes from that sight of awe;
For as he swallowed down the dart
Of Brahmá, sparks from every part,
From finest pore and hair-cell, broke
Enveloped in a veil of smoke.
The staff he waved was all aglow
Like Yáma's sceptre, King below,
Or like the lurid fire of Fate
Whose rage the worlds will desolate.
The hermits, whom that sight had awed,
Extolled the saint, with hymn and laud:
“Thy power, O Sage, is ne'er in vain:
Now with thy might thy might restrain.
Be gracious, Master, and allow
The worlds to rest from trouble now;
For Viśvámitra, strong and dread,
By thee has been discomfited.”
Then, thus addressed, the saint, well pleased,
The fury of his wrath appeased.
The king, o'erpowered and ashamed,
With many a deep-drawn sigh exclaimed:
“Ah! Warriors' strength is poor and slight;
A Bráhman's power is truly might.
This Bráhman staff the hermit held
The fury of my darts has quelled.
This truth within my heart impressed,
With senses ruled and tranquil breast
My task austere will I begin,
And Bráhmanhood will strive to win.”
Canto LVII. Trisanku.

Then with his heart consumed with woe,
Still brooding on his overthrow
By the great saint he had defied,
At every breath the monarch sighed.
Forth from his home his queen he led,
And to a land far southward fled.
There, fruit and roots his only food,
He practised penance, sense-subdued,
And in that solitary spot
Four virtuous sons the king begot:
Havishyand, from the offering named,
And Madhushyand, for sweetness famed,
Mahárath, chariot-borne in fight,
And Driḍhanetra strong of sight.
A thousand years had passed away,
When Brahmá, Sire whom all obey,
Addressed in pleasant words like these
Him rich in long austerities:
“Thou by the penance, Kuśik's son,
A place 'mid royal saints hast won.
Pleased with thy constant penance, we
This lofty rank assign to thee.”
Thus spoke the glorious Lord most High
Father of earth and air and sky,
And with the Gods around him spread
Home to his changeless sphere he sped.
But Viśvámitra scorned the grace,
And bent in shame his angry face.
Burning with rage, o'erwhelmed with grief,
Thus in his heart exclaimed the chief:
“No fruit, I ween, have I secured
By strictest penance long endured,
If Gods and all the saints decree
To make but royal saint of me.”
Thus pondering, he with sense subdued,
With sternest zeal his vows renewed.
[pg 069]
Then reigned a monarch, true of soul,
Who kept each sense in firm control;
Of old Ikshváku's line he came,
That glories in Triśanku's234 name.
Within his breast, O Raghu's child,
Arose a longing, strong and wild,
Great offerings to the Gods to pay,
And win, alive, to heaven his way.
His priest Vaśishṭha's aid he sought,
And told him of his secret thought.
But wise Vaśishṭha showed the hope
Was far beyond the monarch's scope.
Triśanku then, his suit denied,
Far to the southern region hied,
To beg Vaśishṭha's sons to aid
The mighty plan his soul had made.
There King Triśanku, far renowned,
Vaśishṭha's hundred children found,
Each on his fervent vows intent,
For mind and fame preëminent.
To these the famous king applied,
Wise children of his holy guide.
Saluting each in order due.
His eyes, for shame, he downward threw,
And reverent hands together pressed,
The glorious company addressed:
“I as a humble suppliant seek
Succour of you who aid the weak.
A mighty offering I would pay,
But sage Vaśishṭha answered, Nay.
Be yours permission to accord,
And to my rites your help afford.
Sons of my guide, to each of you
With lowly reverence here I sue;
To each, intent on penance-vow,
O Bráhmans, low my head I bow,
And pray you each with ready heart
In my great rite to bear a part,
That in the body I may rise
And dwell with Gods within the skies.
Sons of my guide, none else I see
Can give what he refuses me.
Ikshváku's children still depend
Upon their guide most reverend;
And you, as nearest in degree
To him, my deities shall be!”
Canto LVIII. Trisanku Cursed.

Triśanku's speech the hundred heard,
And thus replied, to anger stirred:
“Why foolish King, by him denied,
Whose truthful lips have never lied,
Dost thou transgress his prudent rule,
And seek, for aid, another school?235
Ikshváku's sons have aye relied
Most surely on their holy guide:
Then how dost thou, fond Monarch, dare
Transgress the rule his lips declare?
“Thy wish is vain,” the saint replied,
And bade thee cast the plan aside.
Then how can we, his sons, pretend
In such a rite our aid to lend?
O Monarch, of the childish heart,
Home to thy royal town depart.
That mighty saint, thy priest and guide,
At noblest rites may well preside:
The worlds for sacrifice combined
A worthier priest could never find.”
Such speech of theirs the monarch heard,
Though rage distorted every word,
And to the hermits made reply:
“You, like your sire, my suit deny.
For other aid I turn from you:
So, rich in penance, Saints, adieu!”
Vaśishṭha's children heard, and guessed
His evil purpose scarce expressed,
And cried, while rage their bosoms burned,
“Be to a vile Chaṇḍála236 turned!”
[pg 070]
This said, with lofty thoughts inspired,
Each to his own retreat retired.
That night Triśanku underwent
Sad change in shape and lineament.
Next morn, an outcast swart of hue,
His dusky cloth he round him drew.
His hair had fallen from his head,
And roughness o'er his skin was spread.
Such wreaths adorned him as are found
To flourish on the funeral ground.
Each armlet was an iron ring:
Such was the figure of the king,
That every counsellor and peer,
And following townsman, fled in fear.
Alone, unyielding to dismay,
Though burnt by anguish night and day,
Great Viśvámitra's side he sought,
Whose treasures were by penance bought.
The hermit with his tender eyes
Looked on Triśanku's altered guise,
And grieving at his ruined state
Addressed him thus, compassionate:
“Great King,” the pious hermit said,
“What cause thy steps has hither led,
Ayodhyá's mighty Sovereign, whom
A curse has plagued with outcast's doom?”
In vile Chaṇḍála237 shape, the king
Heard Viśvámitra's questioning,
And, suppliant palm to palm applied,
With answering eloquence he cried:
“My priest and all his sons refused
To aid the plan on which I mused.
Failing to win the boon I sought,
To this condition I was brought.
I, in the body, Saint, would fain
A mansion in the skies obtain.
I planned a hundred rites for this,
But still was doomed the fruit to miss.
Pure are my lips from falsehood's stain,
And pure they ever shall remain,—
Yea, by a Warrior's faith I swear,—
Though I be tried with grief and care.
Unnumbered rites to Heaven I paid,
With righteous care the sceptre swayed;
And holy priest and high-souled guide
My modest conduct gratified.
But, O thou best of hermits, they
Oppose my wish these rites to pay;
They one and all refuse consent,
Nor aid me in my high intent.
Fate is, I ween, the power supreme,
Man's effort but an idle dream,
Fate whirls our plans, our all away;
Fate is our only hope and stay;
Now deign, O blessed Saint, to aid
Me, even me by Fate betrayed,
Who come, a suppliant, sore distressed,
One grace, O Hermit, to request.
No other hope or way I see:
No other refuge waits for me.
Oh, aid me in my fallen state,
And human will shall conquer Fate.”
Canto LIX. The Sons Of Vasishtha.

Then Kuśik's son, by pity warmed,
Spoke sweetly to the king transformed:
“Hail! glory of Ikshváku's line:
I know how bright thy virtues shine.
Dismiss thy fear, O noblest Chief,
For I myself will bring relief.
The holiest saints will I invite
To celebrate thy purposed rite:
So shall thy vow, O King, succeed,
And from thy cares shalt thou be freed.
Thou in the form which now thou hast,
Transfigured by the curse they cast,—
Yea, in the body, King, shalt flee,
Transported, where thou fain wouldst be.
O Lord of men, I ween that thou
Hast heaven within thy hand e'en now,
For very wisely hast thou done,
And refuge sought with Kuśik's son.”
Thus having said, the sage addressed
His sons, of men the holiest,
And bade the prudent saints whate'er
Was needed for the rite prepare.
The pupils he was wont to teach
He summoned next, and spoke this speech:
“Go bid Vaśishṭha'a sons appear,
And all the saints be gathered here.
And what they one and all reply
When summoned by this mandate high,
To me with faithful care report,
Omit no word and none distort.”
The pupils heard, and prompt obeyed,
To every side their way they made.
Then swift from every quarter sped
The sages in the Vedas read.
Back to that saint the envoys came,
Whose glory shone like burning flame,
And told him in their faithful speech
The answer that they bore from each:
“Submissive to thy word, O Seer,
The holy men are gathering here.
By all was meet obedience shown:
Mahodaya238 refused alone.
[pg 071]
And now, O Chief of hermits, hear
What answer, chilling us with fear,
Vaśishṭha's hundred sons returned,
Thick-speaking as with rage they burned:
“How will the Gods and saints partake
The offerings that the prince would make,
And he a vile and outcast thing,
His ministrant one born a king?
Can we, great Bráhmans, eat his food,
And think to win beatitude,
By Viśvámitra purified?”
Thus sire and sons in scorn replied,
And as these bitter words they said,
Wild fury made their eyeballs red.
Their answer when the arch-hermit heard,
His tranquil eyes with rage were blurred;
Great fury in his bosom woke,
And thus unto the youths he spoke:
“Me, blameless me they dare to blame,
And disallow the righteous claim
My fierce austerities have earned:
To ashes be the sinners turned.
Caught in the noose of Fate shall they
To Yáma's kingdom sink to-day.
Seven hundred times shall they be born
To wear the clothes the dead have worn.
Dregs of the dregs, too vile to hate,
The flesh of dogs their maws shall sate.
In hideous form, in loathsome weed,
A sad existence each shall lead.
Mahodaya too, the fool who fain
My stainless life would try to stain,
Stained in the world with long disgrace
Shall sink into a fowler's place.
Rejoicing guiltless blood to spill,
No pity through his breast shall thrill.
Cursed by my wrath for many a day,
His wretched life for sin shall pay.”
Thus, girt with hermit, saint, and priest,
Great Viśvámitra spoke—and ceased.
Canto LX. Trisanku's Ascension.

So with ascetic might, in ire,
He smote the children and the sire.
Then Viśvámitra, far-renowned,
Addressed the saints who gathered round:
“See by my side Triśanku stand,
Ikshváku's son, of liberal hand.
Most virtuous and gentle, he
Seeks refuge in his woe with me.
Now, holy men, with me unite,
And order so his purposed rite
That in the body he may rise
And win a mansion in the skies.”
They heard his speech with ready ear
And, every bosom filled with fear
Of Viśvámitra, wise and great,
Spoke each to each in brief debate:
“The breast of Kuśik's son, we know,
With furious wrath is quick to glow.
Whate'er the words he wills to say,
We must, be very sure, obey.
Fierce is our lord as fire, and straight
May curse us all infuriate.
So let us in these rites engage,
As ordered by the holy sage.
And with our best endeavour strive
That King Ikshváku's son, alive,
In body to the skies may go
By his great might who wills it so.”
Then was the rite begun with care:
All requisites and means were there:
And glorious Viśvámitra lent
His willing aid as president.
And all the sacred rites were done
By rule and use, omitting none.
By chaplain-priest, the hymns who knew,
In decent form and order due.
Some time in sacrifice had past,
And Viśvámitra made, at last,
The solemn offering with the prayer
That all the Gods might come and share.
But the Immortals, one and all,
Refused to hear the hermit's call.
Then red with rage his eyeballs blazed:
The sacred ladle high he raised,
And cried to King Ikshváku's son:
“Behold my power, by penance won:
Now by the might my merits lend,
Ikshváku's child, to heaven ascend.
In living frame the skies attain,
Which mortals thus can scarcely gain.
My vows austere, so long endured,
Have, as I ween, some fruit assured.
Upon its virtue, King, rely,
And in thy body reach the sky.”
His speech had scarcely reached its close,
When, as he stood, the sovereign rose,
And mounted swiftly to the skies
Before the wondering hermits' eyes.
But Indra, when he saw the king
His blissful regions entering,
With all the army of the Blest
Thus cried unto the unbidden guest:
“With thy best speed, Triśanku, flee:
Here is no home prepared for thee.
By thy great master's curse brought low,
Go, falling headlong, earthward go.”
Thus by the Lord of Gods addressed,
Triśanku fell from fancied rest,
And screaming in his swift descent,
“O, save me, Hermit!” down he went.
And Viśvámitra heard his cry,
And marked him falling from the sky,
And giving all his passion sway,
Cried out in fury, “Stay, O stay!”
[pg 072]
By penance-power and holy lore,
Like Him who framed the worlds of yore,
Seven other saints he fixed on high
To star with light the southern sky.
Girt with his sages forth he went,
And southward in the firmament
New wreathed stars prepared to set
In many a sparkling coronet.
He threatened, blind with rage and hate,
Another Indra to create,
Or, from his throne the ruler hurled,
All Indraless to leave the world.
Yea, borne away by passion's storm,
The sage began new Gods to form.
But then each Titan, God, and saint,
Confused with terror, sick and faint,
To high souled Viśvámitra hied,
And with soft words to soothe him tried:
“Lord of high destiny, this king,
To whom his master's curses cling,
No heavenly home deserves to gain,
Unpurified from curse and stain.”
The son of Kuśik, undeterred,
The pleading of the Immortals heard,
And thus in haughty words expressed
The changeless purpose of his breast:
“Content ye, Gods: I soothly sware
Triśanku to the skies to bear
Clothed in his body, nor can I
My promise cancel or deny.
Embodied let the king ascend
To life in heaven that ne'er shall end.
And let these new-made stars of mine
Firm and secure for ever shine.
Let these, my work, remain secure
Long as the earth and heaven endure.
This, all ye Gods, I crave: do you
Allow the boon for which I sue.”
Then all the Gods their answer made:
“So be it, Saint, as thou hast prayed.
Beyond the sun's diurnal way
Thy countless stars in heaven shall stay:
And 'mid them hung, as one divine,
Head downward shall Triśanku shine;
And all thy stars shall ever fling
Their rays attendant on the king.”239
The mighty saint, with glory crowned,
With all the sages compassed round,
Praised by the Gods, gave full assent,
And Gods and sages homeward went.
Canto LXI. Sunahsepha.

Then Viśvámitra, when the Blest
Had sought their homes of heavenly rest,
Thus, mighty Prince, his counsel laid
Before the dwellers of the shade:
“The southern land where now we are
Offers this check our rites to bar:240
To other regions let us speed,
And ply our tasks from trouble freed.
Now turn we to the distant west.
To Pushkar's241 wood where hermits rest,
And there to rites austere apply,
For not a grove with that can vie.”
The saint, in glory's light arrayed,
In Pushkar's wood his dwelling made,
And living there on roots and fruit
Did penance stern and resolute.
The king who filled Ayodhyá's throne,
By Ambarísha's name far known,
At that same time, it chanced, began
A sacrificial rite to plan.
But Indra took by force away
The charger that the king would slay.
The victim lost, the Bráhman sped
To Ambarísha's side, and said:
“Gone is the steed, O King, and this
Is due to thee, in care remiss.
[pg 073]
Such heedless faults will kings destroy
Who fail to guard what they enjoy.
The flaw is desperate: we need
The charger, or a man to bleed.
Quick! bring a man if not the horse,
That so the rite may have its course.”
The glory of Ikshváku's line
Made offer of a thousand kine,
And sought to buy at lordly price
A victim for the sacrifice.
To many a distant land he drove,
To many a people, town, and grove,
And holy shades where hermits rest,
Pursuing still his eager quest.
At length on Bhrigu's sacred height
The saint Richíka met his sight
Sitting beneath the holy boughs.
His children near him, and his spouse.
The mighty lord drew near, assayed
To win his grace, and reverence paid;
And then the sainted king addressed
The Bráhman saint with this request:
“Bought with a hundred thousand kine,
Give me, O Sage, a son of thine
To be a victim in the rite,
And thanks the favour shall requite.
For I have roamed all countries round,
Nor sacrificial victim found.
Then, gentle Hermit, deign to spare
One child amid the number there.”
Then to the monarch's speech replied
The hermit, penance-glorified:
“For countless kine, for hills of gold,
Mine eldest son shall ne'er be sold.”
But, when she heard the saint's reply,
The children's mother, standing nigh,
Words such as these in answer said
To Ambarísha, monarch dread:
“My lord, the saint, has spoken well:
His eldest child he will not sell.
And know, great Monarch, that above
The rest my youngest born I love.
'Tis ever thus: the father's joy
Is centred in his eldest boy.
The mother loves her darling best
Whom last she rocked upon her breast:
My youngest I will ne'er forsake.”
As thus the sire and mother spake,
Young Śunahśepha, of the three
The midmost, cried unurged and free:
“My sire withholds his eldest son,
My mother keeps her youngest one:
Then take me with thee, King: I ween
The son is sold who comes between.”
The king with joy his home resought,
And took the prize his kine had bought.
He bade the youth his car ascend,
And hastened back the rites to end.242
Canto LXII. Ambarísha's Sacrifice.

As thus the king that youth conveyed,
His weary steeds at length he stayed
At height of noon their rest to take
Upon the bank of Pushkar's lake.
There while the king enjoyed repose
The captive Śunahśepha rose,
And hasting to the water's side
His uncle Viśvámitra spied,
With many a hermit 'neath the trees
Engaged in stern austerities.
Distracted with the toil and thirst,
With woeful mien, away he burst,
Swift to the hermit's breast he flew,
And weeping thus began to sue:
“No sire have I, no mother dear,
No kith or kin my heart to cheer:
As justice bids, O Hermit, deign
To save me from the threatened pain.
O thou to whom the wretched flee,
And find a saviour, Saint, in thee,
Now let the king obtain his will,
And me my length of days fulfil,
That rites austere I too may share,
May rise to heaven and rest me there.
With tender soul and gentle brow
Be guardian of the orphan thou,
And as a father pities, so
Preserve me from my fear and woe.”
When Viśvámitra, glorious saint,
Had heard the boy's heart-rending plaint.
He soothed his grief, his tears he dried,
[pg 074]
Then called his sons to him, and cried:
“The time is come for you to show
The duty and the aid bestow
For which, regarding future life,
A man gives children to his wife.
This hermit's son, whom here you see
A suppliant, refuge seeks with me.
O sons, the friendless youth befriend,
And, pleasing me, his life defend.
For holy works you all have wrought,
True to the virtuous life I taught.
Go, and as victims doomed to bleed,
Die, and Lord Agni's hunger feed.
So shall the rite completed end,
This orphan gain a saving friend,
Due offerings to the Gods be paid,
And your own father's voice obeyed.”
Then Madhushyand and all the rest
Answered their sire with scorn and jest:
“What! aid to others' sons afford,
And leave thine own to die, my lord!
To us it seems a horrid deed,
As 'twere on one's own flesh to feed.”
The hermit heard his sons' reply,
And burning rage inflamed his eye.
Then forth his words of fury burst:
“Audacious speech, by virtue cursed!
It lifts on end each shuddering hair—
My charge to scorn! my wrath to dare!
You, like Vaśishṭha's evil brood,
Shall make the flesh of dogs your food
A thousand years in many a birth,
And punished thus shall dwell on earth.”
Thus on his sons his curse he laid.
Then calmed again that youth dismayed,
And blessed him with his saving aid:
“When in the sacred fetters bound,
And with a purple garland crowned,
At Vishṇu's post thou standest tied,
With lauds be Agni glorified.
And these two hymns of holy praise
Forget not, Hermit's son, to raise
In the king's rite, and thou shalt be
Lord of thy wish, preserved, and free.”
He learnt the hymns with mind intent,
And from the hermit's presence went.
To Ambarísha thus he spake:
“Let us our onward journey take.
Haste to thy home, O King, nor stay
The lustral rites with slow delay.”
The boy's address the monarch cheered,
And soon the sacred ground he neared.
The convocation's high decree
Declared the youth from blemish free;
Clothed in red raiment he was tied
A victim at the pillar's side.
There bound, the Fire-God's hymn he raised,
And Indra and Upendra praised.
Thousand-eyed Vishṇu, pleased to hear
The mystic laud, inclined his ear,
And won by worship, swift to save,
Long life to Śunahśepha gave.
The king in bounteous measure gained
The fruit of sacrifice ordained,
By grace of Him who rules the skies,
Lord Indra of the thousand eyes.
And Viśvámitra evermore.
Pursued his task on Pushkar's shore
Until a thousand years had past
In fierce austerity and fast.
Canto LXIII. Menaká.

A thousand years had thus flown by
When all the Gods within the sky,
Eager that he the fruit might gain
Of fervent rite and holy pain,
Approached the great ascetic, now
Bathed after toil and ended vow.
Then Brahmá speaking for the rest
With sweetest words the sage addressed:
“Hail, Saint! This high and holy name
Thy rites have won, thy merits claim.”
Thus spoke the Lord whom Gods revere,
And sought again his heavenly sphere.
But Viśvámitra, more intent,
His mind to sterner penance bent.
So many a season rolled away,
When Menaká, fair nymph, one day
Came down from Paradise to lave
Her perfect limbs in Pushkar's wave,
The glorious son of Kuśik saw
That peerless shape without a flaw
Flash through the flood's translucent shroud
Like lightning gleaming through a cloud.
He saw her in that lone retreat,
Most beautiful from head to feet,
And by Kandarpa's243 might subdued
He thus addressed her as he viewed:
“Welcome, sweet nymph! O deign, I pray,
In these calm shades awhile to stay.
To me some gracious favour show,
For love has set my breast aglow.”
He spoke. The fairest of the fair
Made for awhile her dwelling there,
While day by day the wild delight
Stayed vow austere and fervent rite
There as the winsome charmer wove
Her spells around him in the grove,
And bound him in a golden chain,
Five sweet years fled, and five again.
Then Viśvámitra woke to shame,
And, fraught with anguish, memory came
For quick he knew, with anger fired,
That all the Immortals had conspired
[pg 075]
To lap his careless soul in ease,
And mar his long austerities.
“Ten years have past, each day and night
Unheeded in delusive flight.
So long my fervent rites were stayed,
While thus I lay by love betrayed.”
As thus long sighs the hermit heaved,
And, touched with deep repentance, grieved,
He saw the fair one standing nigh
With suppliant hands and trembling eye.
With gentle words he bade her go,
Then sought the northern hills of snow.
With firm resolve he vowed to beat
The might of love beneath his feet.
Still northward to the distant side
Of Kauśikí244, the hermit hide,
And gave his life to penance there
With rites austere most hard to bear.
A thousand years went by, and still
He laboured on the northern hill
With pains so terrible and drear
That all the Gods were chilled with fear,
And Gods and saints, for swift advice,
Met in the halls of Paradise.
“Let Kuśik's son,” they counselled, “be
A Mighty saint by just decree.”
His ear to hear their counsel lent
The Sire of worlds, omnipotent.
To him enriched by rites severe
He spoke in accents sweet to hear:
“Hail, Mighty Saint! dear son, all hail!
Thy fervour wins, thy toils prevail.
Won by thy vows and zeal intense
I give this high preëminence.”
He to the General Sire replied,
Not sad, nor wholly satisfied:
“When thou, O Brahmá, shalt declare
The title, great beyond compare,
Of Bráhman saint my worthy meed,
Hard earned by many a holy deed,
Then may I deem in sooth I hold
Each sense of body well controlled.”
Then Brahmá cried, “Not yet, not yet:
Toil on awhile O Anchoret!”
Thus having said to heaven he went,
The saint, upon his task intent,
Began his labours to renew,
Which sterner yet and fiercer grew.
His arms upraised, without a rest,
With but one foot the earth he pressed;
The air his food, the hermit stood
Still as a pillar hewn from wood.
Around him in the summer days
Five mighty fires combined to blaze.
In floods of rain no veil was spread
Save clouds, to canopy his head.
In the dank dews both night and day
Couched in the stream the hermit lay.
Thus, till a thousand years had fled,
He plied his task of penance dread.
Then Vishṇu and the Gods with awe
The labours of the hermit saw,
And Śakra, in his troubled breast,
Lord of the skies, his fear confessed.
And brooded on a plan to spoil
The merits of the hermit's toil.
Encompassed by his Gods of Storm
He summoned Rambhá, fair of form,
And spoke a speech for woe and weal,
The saint to mar, the God to heal.
Canto LXIV. Rambhá.

“A great emprise, O lovely maid,
To save the Gods, awaits thine aid:
To bind the son of Kuśik sure,
And take his soul with love's sweet lure.”
Thus order'd by the Thousand-eyed
The suppliant nymph in fear replied:
“O Lord of Gods, this mighty sage
Is very fierce and swift to rage.
I doubt not, he so dread and stern
On me his scorching wrath will turn.
Of this, my lord, am I afraid:
Have mercy on a timid maid.”
Her suppliant hands began to shake,
When thus again Lord Indra spake:
“O Rambhá, drive thy fears away,
And as I bid do thou obey.
In Koïl's form, who takes the heart
When trees in spring to blossom start,
I, with Kandarpa for my friend,
Close to thy side mine aid will lend.
[pg 076]
Do thou thy beauteous splendour arm
With every grace and winsome charm,
And from his awful rites seduce
This Kuśik's son, the stern recluse.”
Lord Indra ceased. The nymph obeyed:
In all her loveliest charms arrayed,
With winning ways and witching smile
She sought the hermit to beguile.
The sweet note of that tuneful bird
The saint with ravished bosom heard,
And on his heart a rapture passed
As on the nymph a look he cast.
But when he heard the bird prolong
His sweet incomparable song,
And saw the nymph with winning smile,
The hermit's heart perceived the wile.
And straight he knew the Thousand-eyed
A plot against his peace had tried.
Then Kuśik's son indignant laid
His curse upon the heavenly maid:
“Because thou wouldst my soul engage
Who fight to conquer love and rage,
Stand, till ten thousand years have flown,
Ill-fated maid, transformed to stone.
A Bráhman then, in glory strong,
Mighty through penance stern and long,
Shall free thee from thine altered shape;
Thou from my curse shalt then escape.”
But when the saint had cursed her so,
His breast was burnt with fires of woe,
Grieved that long effort to restrain
His mighty wrath was all in vain.
Cursed by the angry sage's power,
She stood in stone that selfsame hour.
Kandarpa heard the words he said,
And quickly from his presence fled.
His fall beneath his passion's sway
Had reft the hermit's meed away.
Unconquered yet his secret foes,
The humbled saint refused repose:
“No more shall rage my bosom till,
Sealed be my lips, my tongue be still.
My very breath henceforth I hold
Until a thousand years are told:
Victorious o'er each erring sense,
I'll dry my frame with abstinence,
Until by penance duly done
A Bráhman's rank be bought and won.
For countless years, as still as death,
I taste no food, I draw no breath,
And as I toil my frame shall stand
Unharmed by time's destroying hand.”
Canto LXV. Visvámitra's Triumph

Then from Himálaya's heights of snow,
The glorious saint prepared to go,
And dwelling in the distant east
His penance and his toil increased.
A thousand years his lips he held
Closed by a vow unparalleled,
And other marvels passing thought,
Unrivalled in the world, he wrought.
In all the thousand years his frame
Dry as a log of wood became.
By many a cross and check beset,
Rage had not stormed his bosom yet.
With iron will that naught could bend
He plied his labour till the end.
So when the weary years were o'er,
Freed from his vow so stern and sore,
The hermit, all his penance sped,
Sate down to eat his meal of bread.
Then Indra, clad in Bráhman guise,
Asked him for food with hungry eyes.
The mighty saint, with steadfast soul,
To the false Bráhman gave the whole,
And when no scrap for him remained,
Fasting and faint, from speech refrained.
His silent vow he would not break:
No breath he heaved, no word he spake,
Then as he checked his breath, behold!
Around his brow thick smoke-clouds rolled
And the three worlds, as if o'erspread
With ravening flames, were filled with dread.
Then God and saint and bard, convened,
And Nága lord, and snake, and fiend,
Thus to the General Father cried,
Distracted, sad, and terrified:
“Against the hermit, sore assailed,
Lure, scathe, and scorn have naught availed,
Proof against rage and treacherous art
He keeps his vow with constant heart.
Now if his toils assist him naught
To gain the boon his soul has sought,
He through the worlds will ruin send
That fixt and moving things shall end,
The regions now are dark with doom,
No friendly ray relieves the gloom.
Each ocean foams with maddened tide,
The shrinking hills in fear subside.
Trembles the earth with feverous throe
The wind in fitful tempest blows.
No cure we see with troubled eyes:
And atheist brood on earth may rise.
The triple world is wild with care,
Or spiritless in dull despair.
Before that saint the sun is dim,
His blessed light eclipsed by him.
Now ere the saint resolve to bring
Destruction on each living thing,
Let us appease, while yet we may,
Him bright as fire, like fire to slay.
Yea, as the fiery flood of Fate
Lays all creation desolate,
He o'er the conquered Gods may reign:
O, grant him what he longs to gain.”
[pg 077]
Then all the Blest, by Brahmá led,
Approached the saint and sweetly said:
“Hail, Bráhman Saint! for such thy place:
Thy vows austere have won our grace.
A Bráhman's rank thy penance stern
And ceaseless labour richly earn.
I with the Gods of Storm decree
Long life, O Bráhman Saint, to thee.
May peace and joy thy soul possess:
Go where thou wilt in happiness.”
Thus by the General Sire addressed,
Joy and high triumph filled his breast.
His head in adoration bowed,
Thus spoke he to the Immortal crowd:
“If I, ye Gods, have gained at last
Both length of days and Bráhman caste,
Grant that the high mysterious name,
And holy Vedas, own my claim,
And that the formula to bless
The sacrifice, its lord confess.
And let Vaśishṭha, who excels
In Warriors' art and mystic spells,
In love of God without a peer,
Confirm the boon you promise here.”
With Brahmá's son Vaśishṭha, best
Of those who pray with voice repressed,
The Gods by earnest prayer prevailed,
And thus his new-made friend he hailed:
“Thy title now is sure and good
To rights of saintly Bráhmanhood.”
Thus spake the sage. The Gods, content,
Back to their heavenly mansions went.
And Viśvámitra, pious-souled,
Among the Bráhman saints enrolled,
On reverend Vaśishṭha pressed
The honours due to holy guest.
Successful in his high pursuit,
The sage, in penance resolute,
Walked in his pilgrim wanderings o'er
The whole broad land from shore to shore.
'Twas thus the saint, O Raghu's son,
His rank among the Bráhmans won.
Best of all hermits, Prince, is he;
In him incarnate Penance see.
Friend of the right, who shrinks from ill,
Heroic powers attend him still.”
The Bráhman, versed in ancient lore,
Thus closed his tale, and said no more,
To Śatánanda Kuśik's son
Cried in delight, Well done! well done!
Then Janak, at the tale amazed,
Spoke thus with suppliant hands upraised:
“High fate is mine, O Sage, I deem,
And thanks I owe for bliss supreme,
That thou and Raghu's children too
Have come my sacrifice to view.
To look on thee with blessed eyes
Exalts my soul and purifies.
Yea, thus to see thee face to face
Enriches me with store of grace.
Thy holy labours wrought of old,
And mighty penance, fully told,
Ráma and I with great delight
Have heard, O glorious Anchorite.
Unrivalled thine ascetic deeds:
Thy might, O Saint, all might exceeds.
No thought may scan, no limit bound
The virtues that in thee are found.
The story of thy wondrous fate
My thirsty ears can never sate.
The hour of evening rites is near:
The sun declines in swift career.
At early dawn, O Hermit, deign
To let me see thy face again.
Best of ascetics, part in bliss:
Do thou thy servant now dismiss.”
The saint approved, and glad and kind
Dismissed the king with joyful mind
Around the sage King Janak went
With priests and kinsmen reverent.
Then Viśvámitra, honoured so,
By those high-minded, rose to go,
And with the princes took his way
To seek the lodging where they lay.
Canto LXVI. Janak's Speech.

With cloudless lustre rose the sun;
The king, his morning worship done,
Ordered his heralds to invite
The princes and the anchorite.
With honour, as the laws decree,
The monarch entertained the three.
Then to the youths and saintly man
Videha's lord this speech began:
“O blameless Saint, most welcome thou!
If I may please thee tell me how.
Speak, mighty lord, whom all revere,
'Tis thine to order, mine to hear.”
Thus he on mighty thoughts intent;
Then thus the sage most eloquent:
“King Daśaratha's sons, this pair
Of warriors famous everywhere,
Are come that best of bows to see
That lies a treasure stored by thee.
This, mighty Janak, deign to show,
That they may look upon the bow,
And then, contented, homeward go.”
Then royal Janak spoke in turn:
“O best of Saints, the story learn
Why this famed bow, a noble prize,
A treasure in my palace lies.
A monarch, Devarát by name,
Who sixth from ancient Nimi came,
Held it as ruler of the land,
A pledge in his successive hand.
This bow the mighty Rudra bore
[pg 078]
At Daksha's245 sacrifice of yore,
When carnage of the Immortals stained
The rite that Daksha had ordained.
Then as the Gods sore wounded fled,
Victorious Rudra, mocking, said:
“Because, O Gods, ye gave me naught
When I my rightful portion sought,
Your dearest parts I will not spare,
But with my bow your frames will tear.”
The Sons of Heaven, in wild alarm,
Soft flatteries tried his rage to charm.
Then Bhava, Lord whom Gods adore,
Grew kind and friendly as before,
And every torn and mangled limb
Was safe and sound restored by him.
Thenceforth this bow, the gem of bows,
That freed the God of Gods from foes,
Stored by our great forefathers lay
A treasure and a pride for aye.
Once, as it chanced, I ploughed the ground,
When sudden, 'neath the share was found
An infant springing from the earth,
Named Sítá from her secret birth.246
In strength and grace the maiden grew,
My cherished daughter, fair to view.
I vowed her, of no mortal birth,
Meet prize for noblest hero's worth.
In strength and grace the maiden grew,
And many a monarch came to woo.
To all the princely suitors I
Gave, mighty Saint, the same reply:
“I give not thus my daughter, she
Prize of heroic worth shall be.247
To Míthilá the suitors pressed
Their power and might to manifest.
To all who came with hearts aglow
I offered Śiva's wondrous bow.
Not one of all the royal band
Could raise or take the bow in hand.
The suitors' puny might I spurned,
And back the feeble princes turned.
Enraged thereat, the warriors met,
With force combined my town beset.
Stung to the heart with scorn and shame,
With war and threats they madly came,
Besieged my peaceful walls, and long
To Míthilá did grievous wrong.
There, wasting all, a year they lay,
And brought my treasures to decay,
Filling my soul, O Hermit chief,
With bitter woe and hopeless grief.
At last by long-wrought penance I
Won favour with the Gods on high,
Who with my labours well content
A four-fold host to aid me sent.
Then swift the baffled heroes fled
To all the winds discomfited—
Wrong-doers, with their lords and host,
And all their valour's idle boast.
This heavenly bow, exceeding bright,
These youths shall see, O Anchorite.
Then if young Ráma's hand can string
The bow that baffled lord and king,
To him I give, as I have sworn,
My Sítá, not of woman born.”
Canto LXVII. The Breaking Of The Bow.

Then spoke again the great recluse:
“This mighty bow, O King, produce.”
King Janak, at the saint's request,
This order to his train addressed:
“Let the great bow be hither borne,
Which flowery wreaths and scents adorn.”
Soon as the monarch's words were said,
His servants to the city sped,
Five thousand youths in number, all
Of manly strength and stature tall,
The ponderous eight-wheeled chest that held
The heavenly bow, with toil propelled.
At length they brought that iron chest,
And thus the godlike king addressed:
“This best of bows, O lord, we bring,
Respected by each chief and king,
And place it for these youths to see,
If, Sovereign, such thy pleasure be.”
With suppliant palm to palm applied
King Janak to the strangers cried:
“This gem of bows, O Bráhman Sage,
Our race has prized from age to age,
Too strong for those who yet have reigned,
Though great in might each nerve they strained.
[pg 079]
Titan and fiend its strength defies,
God, spirit, minstrel of the skies.
And bard above and snake below
Are baffled by this glorious bow.
Then how may human prowess hope
With such a bow as this to cope?
What man with valour's choicest gift
This bow can draw, or string, or lift?
Yet let the princes, holy Seer,
Behold it: it is present here.”
Then spoke the hermit pious-souled:
“Ráma, dear son, the bow behold.”
Then Ráma at his word unclosed
The chest wherein its might reposed,
Thus crying, as he viewed it: “Lo!
I lay mine hand upon the bow:
May happy luck my hope attend
Its heavenly strength to lift or bend.”
“Good luck be thine,” the hermit cried:
“Assay the task!” the king replied.
Then Raghu's son, as if in sport,
Before the thousands of the court,
The weapon by the middle raised
That all the crowd in wonder gazed.
With steady arm the string he drew
Till burst the mighty bow in two.
As snapped the bow, an awful clang,
Loud as the shriek of tempests, rang.
The earth, affrighted, shook amain
As when a hill is rent in twain.
Then, senseless at the fearful sound,
The people fell upon the ground:
None save the king, the princely pair,
And the great saint, the shock could bear.
When woke to sense the stricken train,
And Janak's soul was calm again,
With suppliant hands and reverent head,
These words, most eloquent, he said:
“O Saint, Prince Ráma stands alone:
His peerless might he well has shown.
A marvel has the hero wrought
Beyond belief, surpassing thought.
My child, to royal Ráma wed,
New glory on our line will shed:
And true my promise will remain
That hero's worth the bride should gain.
Dearer to me than light and life,
My Sítá shall be Ráma's wife.
If thou, O Bráhman, leave concede,
My counsellors, with eager speed,
Borne in their flying cars, to fair
Ayodhyá's town the news shall bear,
With courteous message to entreat
The king to grace my royal seat.
This to the monarch shall they tell,
The bride is his who won her well:
And his two sons are resting here
Protected by the holy seer.
So, at his pleasure, let them lead
The sovereign to my town with speed.”
The hermit to his prayer inclined
And Janak, lord of virtuous mind,
With charges, to Ayodhyá sent
His ministers: and forth they went.
Canto LXVIII. The Envoys' Speech.

Three nights upon the road they passed
To rest the steeds that bore them fast,
And reached Ayodhyá's town at last.
Then straight at Daśaratha's call
They stood within the royal hall,
Where, like a God, inspiring awe,
The venerable king they saw.
With suppliant palm to palm applied,
And all their terror laid aside,
They spoke to him upon the throne
With modest words, in gentle tone:
“Janak, Videha's king, O Sire,
Has sent us hither to inquire
The health of thee his friend most dear,
Of all thy priests and every peer.
Next Kuśik's son consenting, thus
King Janak speaks, dread liege, by us:
“I made a promise and decree
That valour's prize my child should be.
Kings, worthless found in worth's assay,
With mien dejected turned away.
Thy sons, by Viśvámitra led,
Unurged, my city visited,
And peerless in their might have gained
My daughter, as my vow ordained.
Full in a vast assembly's view
Thy hero Ráma broke in two
The gem of bows, of monstrous size,
That came a treasure from the skies.
Ordained the prize of hero's might,
Sítá my child is his by right.
Fain would I keep my promise made,
If thou, O King, approve and aid.
Come to my town thy son to see:
Bring holy guide and priest with thee.
O lord of kings, my suit allow,
And let me keep my promised vow.
So joying for thy children's sake
Their triumph too shalt thou partake,
With Viśvámitra's high consent.”
Such words with friendship eloquent
Spoke Janak, fair Videha's king,
By Śatánanda's counselling.”
The envoys thus the king addressed,
And mighty joy his heart possessed.
To Vámadeva quick he cried,
Vaśishṭha, and his lords beside:
“Lakshmaṇ, and he, my princely boy
Who fills Kauśalyá's soul with joy,
By Viśvámitra guarded well
Among the good Videhans dwell.
[pg 080]
Their ruler Janak, prompt to own
The peerless might my child has shown,
To him would knit in holy ties
His daughter, valour's lovely prize.
If Janak's plan seem good to you,
Come, speed we to his city too,
Nor let occasion idly by.”
He ceased. There came a glad reply
From priest and mighty saint and all
The councillors who thronged the hall.
Then cried the king with joyous heart:
“To-morrow let us all depart.”
That night the envoys entertained
With honour and all care remained.
Canto LXIX. Dasaratha's Visit.

Soon as the shades of night had fled,
Thus to the wise Sumantra said
The happy king, while priest and peer,
Each in his place, were standing near:
“Let all my treasurers to-day,
Set foremost in the long array,
With gold and precious gems supplied
In bounteous store, together ride.
And send you out a mighty force,
Foot, chariot, elephant, and horse.
Besides, let many a car of state,
And noblest steeds, my will await.
Vaśishṭha, Vámadeva sage,
And Márkaṇdeya's reverend age,
Jáváli, Kaśyap's godlike seed,
And wise Kátyáyana, shall lead.
Thy care, Sumantra, let it be
To yoke a chariot now for me,
That so we part without delay:
These envoys hasten me away.”
So fared he forth. That host, with speed,
Quadruple, as the king decreed,
With priests to head the bright array,
Followed the monarch on his way.
Four days they travelled on the road,
And eve Videha's kingdom showed.
Janak had left his royal seat
The venerable king to greet,
And, noblest, with these words addressed
That noblest lord, his happy guest:
“Hail, best of kings: a blessed fate
Has led thee, Monarch, to my state.
Thy sons, supreme in high emprise,
Will gladden now their father's eyes.
And high my fate, that hither leads
Vaśishṭha, bright with holy deeds,
Girt with these sages far-renowned,
Like Indra with the Gods around.
Joy! joy! for vanquished are my foes:
Joy! for my house in glory grows,
With Raghu's noblest sons allied,
Supreme in strength and valour's pride.
To-morrow with its early light
Will shine on my completed rite.
Then, sanctioned by the saints and thee,
The marriage of thy Ráma see.”
Then Daśaratha, best of those
Whose speech in graceful order flows,
With gathered saints on every side,
Thus to the lord of earth replied:
“A truth is this I long have known,
A favour is the giver's own.
What thou shalt bid, O good and true,
We, as our power permits, will do.”
That answer of the truthful lord,
With virtuous worth and honour stored,
Janak, Videha's noble king,
Heard gladly, greatly marvelling.
With bosoms filled with pleasure met
Long-parted saint and anchoret,
And linked in friendship's tie they spent
The peaceful night in great content.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ thither sped,
By sainted Viśvámitra led,
And bent in filial love to greet
Their father, and embraced his feet.
The aged king, rejoiced to hear
And see again his children dear,
Honoured by Janak's thoughtful care,
With great enjoyment rested there.
King Janak, with attentive heed,
Consulted first his daughters' need,
And ordered all to speed the rite;
Then rested also for the night.
Canto LXX. The Maidens Sought.

Then with the morn's returning sun.
King Janak, when his rites were done,
Skilled all the charms of speech to know,
Spoke to wise Śatánanda so:
“My brother, lord of glorious fame,
My younger, Kuśadhwaj by name,
Whose virtuous life has won renown,
Has settled in a lovely town,
Sánkáśyá, decked with grace divine,
Whose glories bright as Pushpak's shine,
While Ikshumatí rolls her wave
Her lofty rampart's foot to lave.
Him, holy priest, I long to see:
The guardian of my rite is he:
That my dear brother may not miss
A share of mine expected bliss.”
Thus in the presence of the priest
The royal Janak spoke, and ceased.
Then came his henchmen, prompt and brave,
[pg 081]
To whom his charge the monarch gave.
Soon as they heard his will, in haste
With fleetest steeds away they raced,
To lead with them that lord of kings,
As Indra's call Lord Vishṇu brings.
Sánkáśyá's walls they duly gained,
And audience of the king obtained.
To him they told the news they brought
Of marvels past and Janak's thought.
Soon as the king the story knew
From those good envoys swift and true,
To Janak's wish he gave assent,
And swift to Míthilá he went.
He paid to Janak reverence due,
And holy Śatánanda too,
Then sate him on a glorious seat
For kings or Gods celestial meet.
Soon as the brothers, noble pair
Peerless in might, were seated there,
They gave the wise Sudáman, best
Of councillors, their high behest:
“Go, noble councillor,” they cried,
“And hither to our presence guide
Ikshváku's son, Ayodhyá's lord,
Invincible by foeman's sword,
With both his sons, each holy seer,
And every minister and peer.”
Sudáman to the palace flew,
And saw the mighty king who threw
Splendour on Raghu's splendid race,
Then bowed his head with seemly grace:
“O King, whose hand Ayodhyá sways,
My lord, whom Míthilá obeys,
Yearns with desire, if thou agree,
Thee with thy guide and priest to see.”
Soon as the councillor had ceased,
The king, with saint and peer and priest,
Sought, speeding through the palace gate,
The hall where Janak held his state.
There, with his nobles round him spread,
Thus to Videha's lord be said:
“Thou knowest, King, whose aid divine
Protects Ikshváku's royal line.
In every need, whate'er befall,
The saint Vaśishṭha speaks for all.
If Viśvámitra so allow,
And all the saints around me now,
The sage will speak, at my desire,
As order and the truth require.”
Soon as the king his lips had stilled,
Up rose Vaśishṭha, speaker skilled.
And to Videha's lord began
In flowing words that holy man:
“From viewless Nature Brahmá rose,
No change, no end, no waste he knows.
A son had he Maríchi styled,
And Kaśyap was Maríchi's child.
From him Vivasvat sprang: from him
Manu whose fame shall ne'er be dim.
Manu, who life to mortals gave,
Begot Ikshváku good and brave.
First of Ayodhyá's kings was he,
Pride of her famous dynasty.
From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,
Whose fame through all the regions rang.
Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame,
His heir, the great Vikukshi, came,
His son was Váṇa, lord of might;
His Anaraṇya, strong to fight.
His son was Prithu, glorious name;
From him the good Triśanku came.
He left a son renowned afar,
Known by the name of Dhundhumár.
His son, who drove the mighty car,
Was Yuvanáśva, feared in war.
He passed away. Him followed then
His son Mándhátá, king of men.
His son was blest in high emprise,
Susandhi, fortunate and wise.
Two noble sons had he, to wit
Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit.
Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son,
And glorious fame that monarch won.
The warrior Asit he begot.
Asit had warfare, fierce and hot,
With rival kings in many a spot,
Haihayas, Tálajanghas styled,
And Śaśivindus, strong and wild.
Long time he strove, but forced to yield
Fled from his kingdom and the field.
With his two wives away he fled
Where high Himálaya lifts his head,
And, all his wealth and glory past,
He paid the dues of Fate at last.
The wives he left had both conceived—
So is the ancient tale believed—
One, of her rival's hopes afraid
Fell poison in her viands laid.
It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child,
Had wandered to that pathless wild,
And there Himálaya's lovely height
Detained him with a strange delight.
There came the other widowed queen,
With lotus eyes and beauteous mien,
Longing a noble son to bear,
And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.
When thus Kálindi,248 fairest dame,
With reverent supplication came,
To her the holy sage replied:
“Born with the poison from thy side,
O happy Queen, shall spring ere long
An infant fortunate and strong.
Then weep no more, and check thy sighs,
Sweet lady of the lotus eyes.”
The queen, who loved her perished lord,
For meet reply, the saint adored,
And, of her husband long bereaved,
She bore a son by him conceived.
Because her rival mixed the bane
[pg 082]
To render her conception vain,
And fruit unripened to destroy,
Sagar249 she called her darling boy.
To Sagar Asamanj was heir:
Bright Anśumán his consort bare.
Anśumán's son, Dilípa famed,
Begot a son Bhagírath named.
From him the great Kakutstha rose:
From him came Raghu, feared by foes,
Of him sprang Purushádak bold,
Fierce hero of gigantic mould:
Kalmáshapáda's name he bore,
Because his feet were spotted o'er.250
From him came Śankaṇ, and from him
Sudarśan, fair in face and limb.
From beautiful Sudarśan came
Prince Agnivarṇa, bright as flame.
His son was Śíghraga, for speed
Unmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Praśuśruka was Maru's child;
His son was Ambarísha styled.
Nahush was Ambarísha's heir,
The mighty lord of regions fair:
Nahush begot Yayáti: he,
Nábhág of happy destiny.
Son of Nábhág was Aja: his,
The glorious Daśaratha is,
Whose noble children boast to be
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, whom we see.
Thus do those kings of purest race
Their lineage from Ikshváku trace:
Their hero lives the right maintained,
Their lips with falsehood ne'er were stained.
In Ráma's and in Lakshmaṇ's name
Thy daughters as their wives I claim,
So shall in equal bands be tied
Each peerless youth with peerless bride.”
Canto LXXI. Janak's Pedigree.

Then to the saint supremely wise
King Janak spoke in suppliant guise:
“Deign, Hermit, with attentive ear,
Mv race's origin to hear.
When kings a daughter's hand bestow,
'Tis right their line and fame to show.
There was a king whose deeds and worth
Spread wide his name through heaven and earth,
Nimi, most virtuous e'en from youth,
The best of all who love the truth.
His son and heir was Mithi, and
His Janak, first who ruled this land.
He left a son Udávasu,
Blest with all virtues, good and true.
His son was Nandivardhan, dear
For pious heart and worth sincere.
His son Suketu, hero brave,
To Devarát, existence gave.
King Devarát, a royal sage,
For virtue, glory of the age,
Begot Vrihadratha; and he
Begot, his worthy heir to be,
The splendid hero Mahábír
Who long in glory governed here.
His son was Sudhriti, a youth
Firm in his purpose, brave in sooth,
His son was Dhrisṭaketu, blest
With pious will and holy breast.
The fame of royal saint he won:
Haryaśva was his princely son.
Haryaśva's son was Maru, who
Begot Pratíndhak, wise and true.
Next Kírtiratha held the throne,
His son, for gentle virtues known.
Then followed Devamidha, then
Vibudh, Mahándhrak, kings of men.
Mahándhrak's son, of boundless might,
Was Kírtirát, who loved the right.
He passed away, a sainted king,
And Maháromá following
To Swarṇaromá left the state.
Then Hraśvaromá, good and great,
Succeeded, and to him a pair
Of sons his royal consort bare,
Elder of these I boast to be:
Brave Kuśadhwaj is next to me.251
Me then, the elder of the twain,
My sire anointed here to reign.
He bade me tend my brother well,
Then to the forest went to dwell.
He sought the heavens, and I sustained
The burden as by law ordained,
And noble Kuśadhwaj, the peer
Of Gods, I ever held most dear.
Then came Sánkáśyá's mighty lord,
Sudhanvá, threatening siege and sword,
And bade me swift on him bestow
Śiva's incomparable bow,
[pg 083]
And Sítá of the lotus eyes:
But I refused each peerless prize.
Then, host to host, we met the foes,
And fierce the din of battle rose,
Sudhanvá, foremost of his band,
Fell smitten by my single hand.
When thus Sánkáśyá's lord was slain,
I sanctified, as laws ordain,
My brother in his stead to reign,
Thus are we brothers, Saint most high
The younger he, the elder I.
Now, mighty Sage, my spirit joys
To give these maidens to the boys.
Let Sítá be to Ráma tied.
And Urmilá be Lakshmaṇ's bride.
First give, O King, the gift of cows,
As dowry of each royal spouse,
Due offerings to the spirits pay,
And solemnize the wedding-day.
The moon tonight, O royal Sage,
In Maghá's252 House takes harbourage;
On the third night his rays benign
In second Phálguni253 will shine:
Be that the day, with prosperous fate,
The nuptial rites to celebrate.”
Canto LXXII. The Gift Of Kine.

When royal Janak's words were done,
Joined with Vaśishṭha Kuśik's son,
The mighty sage began his speech:
“No mind may soar, no thought can reach
The glories of Ikshváku's line,
Or, great Videha's King, of thine:
None in the whole wide world may vie
With them in fame and honours high.
Well matched, I ween, in holy bands,
These peerless pairs will join their hands.
But hear me as I speak once more;
Thy brother, skilled in duty's lore,
Has at his home a royal pair
Of daughters most divinely fair.
I for the hands of these sweet two
For Bharat and Śatrughna sue,
Both princes of heroic mould,
Wise, fair of form, and lofty-souled.
All Daśaratha's sons, I ween,
Own each young grace of form and mien:
Brave as the Gods are they, nor yield
To the great Lords the worlds who shield.
By these, good Prince of merits high,
Ikshváku's house with thine ally.”
The suit the holy sage preferred,
With willing ear the monarch heard:
Vaśishṭha's lips the counsel praised:
Then spake the king with hands upraised:
“Now blest indeed my race I deem,
Which your high will, O Saints supreme,
With Daśaratha's house unites
In bonds of love and marriage rites.
So be it done. My nieces twain
Let Bharat and Śatrughna gain,
And the four youths the selfsame day
Four maiden hands in theirs shall lay.
No day so lucky may compare,
For marriage—so the wise declare—
With the last day of Phálguni
Ruled by the genial deity.”
Then with raised hands in reverence due
To those arch-saints he spoke anew:
“I am your pupil, ever true:
To me high favour have ye shown;
Come, sit ye on my royal throne,
For Daśaratha rules these towers
E'en as Ayodhyá now is ours.
Do with your own whate'er ye choose:
Your lordship here will none refuse.”
He spoke, and to Videha's king
Thus Daśaratha, answering:
“Boundless your virtues, lords, whose sway
The realms of Mithilá obey.
With honouring care you entertain.
Both holy sage and royal train.
Now to my house my steps I bend—
May blessings still on you at end—
Due offerings to the shades to pay.”
Thus spoke the king, and turned away:
To Janak first he bade adieu,
Then followed fast those holy two.
The monarch reached his palace where
The rites were paid with solemn care.
When the next sun began to shine
He rose and made his gift of kine.
A hundred thousand cows prepared
For each young prince the Bráhmans shared.
Each had her horns adorned with gold;
And duly was the number told,
Four hundred thousand perfect tale:
Each brought a calf, each filled a pail.
And when that glorious task was o'er,
The monarch with his children four,
Showed like the Lord of Life divine
When the worlds' guardians round him shine.
[pg 084]
Canto LXXIII. The Nuptials.

On that same day that saw the king
His gift of kine distributing,
The lord of Kekaya's son, by name
Yudhájit, Bharat's uncle, came,
Asked of the monarch's health, and then
Addressed the reverend king of men:
“The lord of Kekaya's realm by me
Sends greeting, noble King, to thee:
Asks if the friends thy prayers would bless
Uninterrupted health possess.
Right anxious, mighty King, is he
My sister's princely boy to see.
For this I sought Ayodhyá fair
The message of my sire to bear.
There learning, O my liege, that thou
With sons and noble kinsmen now
Wast resting here, I sought the place
Longing to see my nephew's face.”
The king with kind observance cheered
His friend by tender ties endeared,
And every choicest honour pressed
Upon his honourable guest.
That night with all his children spent,
At morn King Daśaratha went,
Behind Vaśishṭha and the rest,
To the fair ground for rites addressed.
Then when the lucky hour was nigh
Called Victory, of omen high,
Came Ráma, after vow and prayer
For nuptial bliss and fortune fair,
With the three youths in bright attire,
And stood beside his royal sire.
To Janak then Vaśishṭha sped,
And to Videha's monarch said:
“O King, Ayodhyá's ruler now
Has breathed the prayer and vowed the vow,
And with his sons expecting stands
The giver of the maidens' hands.
The giver and the taker both
Must ratify a mutual oath.
Perform the part for which we wait,
And rites of marriage celebrate.”
Skilled in the laws which Scriptures teach,
He answered thus Vaśishṭha's speech:
“O Saint, what warder bars the gate?
Whose bidding can the king await?
In one's own house what doubt is shown?
This kingdom, Sage, is all thine own.
E'en now the maidens may be found
Within the sacrificial ground:
Each vow is vowed and prayed each prayer,
And they, like fire, are shining there.
Here by the shrine my place I took
Expecting thee with eager look,
No bar the nuptial rites should stay:
What cause have we for more delay?”
When Janak's speech the monarch heard,
To sons and saints he gave the word,
And set them in the holy ring,
Then to Vaśishṭha spoke the king
Of Mithilá: “O mighty Sage,
Now let this task thy care engage,
And lend thine aid and counsel wise
The nuptial rites to solemnize.”
The saint Vaśishṭha gave assent,
And quickly to the task he went,
With Viśvámitra, nothing loth,
And Śatánanda aiding both.
Then, as the rules prescribe, they made
An altar in the midst, and laid
Fresh wreaths of fragrant flowers thereon.
The golden ladles round it shone;
And many a vase, which branches hid
Fixed in the perforated lid,
And sprays, and cups, and censers there
Stood filled with incense rich and rare;
Shell-bowls, and spoons, and salvers dressed
With gifts that greet the honoured guest;
Piles of parched rice some dishes bore,
Others with corn prepared ran o'er;
And holy grass was duly spread
In equal lengths, while prayers were said.
Next chief of saints, Vaśishṭha came
And laid the offering in the flame.
Then by the hand King Janak drew
His Sítá, beautiful to view,
And placed her, bright in rich attire,
Ráma to face, before the fire,
Thus speaking to the royal boy
Who filled Kauśalyá's heart with joy:
“Here Sítá stands, my daughter fair,
The duties of thy life to share.
Take from her father, take thy bride;
Join hand to hand, and bliss betide!
A faithful wife, most blest is she,
And as thy shade will follow thee.”
Thus as he spoke the monarch threw
O'er her young limbs the holy dew,
While Gods and saints were heard to swell
The joyous cry, 'Tis well! 'Tis well!
His daughter Sítá thus bestowed,
O'er whom the sacred drops had flowed.
King Janak's heart with rapture glowed.
Then to Prince Lakshmaṇ thus he cried:
“Take Urmilá thine offered bride,
And clasp her hand within thine own
Ere yet the lucky hour be flown.”
Then to Prince Bharat thus cried he;
“Come, take the hand of Mándavi.”
Then to Śatrughna: “In thy grasp
The hand of Srutakírti clasp.
Now, Raghu's sons, may all of you
Be gentle to your wives and true;
[pg 085]
Keep well the vows you make to-day,
Nor let occasion slip away.”
King Janak's word the youths obeyed;
The maidens' hands in theirs they laid.
Then with their brides the princes went
With ordered steps and reverent
Round both the fire and Janak, round
The sages and the sacred ground.
A flowery flood of lucid dyes
In rain descended from the skies,
While with celestial voices blent
Sweet strains from many an instrument,
And the nymphs danced in joyous throng
Responsive to the minstrel's song.
Such signs of exultation they
Saw on the princes' wedding day.
Still rang the heavenly music's sound
When Raghu's sons thrice circled round
The fire, each one with reverent head,
And homeward then their brides they led.
They to the sumptuous palace hied
That Janak's care had seen supplied.
The monarch girt with saint and peer
Still fondly gazing followed near.
Canto LXXIV. Ráma With The Axe.254

Soon as the night had reached its close
The hermit Viśvámitra rose;
To both the kings he bade adieu
And to the northern hill withdrew.
Ayodhyá's lord of high renown
Received farewell, and sought his town.
Then as each daughter left her bower
King Janak gave a splendid dower,
Rugs, precious silks, a warrior force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,
Divine to see and well arrayed;
And many a skilful tiring-maid,
And many a young and trusty slave
The father of the ladies gave.
Silver and coral, gold and pearls
He gave to his beloved girls.
These precious gifts the king bestowed
And sped his guest upon his road.
The lord of Mithilá's sweet town
Rode to his court and lighted down.
Ayodhyá's monarch, glad and gay,
Led by the seers pursued his way
With his dear sons of lofty mind:
The royal army marched behind.
As on he fared the voice he heard
Around of many a dismal bird,
And every beast in wild affright
Began to hurry to the right.
The monarch to Vaśishṭha cried:
“What strange misfortune will betide?
Why do the beasts in terror fly,
And birds of evil omen cry?
What is it shakes my heart with dread?
Why is my soul disquieted?”
Soon as he heard, the mighty saint
Thus answered Daśaratha's plaint
In sweetest tone: “Now, Monarch, mark,
And learn from me the meaning dark.
The voices of the birds of air
Great peril to the host declare:
The moving beasts the dread allay,
So drive thy whelming fear away,”
As he and Daśaratha spoke
A tempest from the welkin broke,
That shook the spacious earth amain
And hurled high trees upon the plain.
The sun grew dark with murky cloud,
And o'er the skies was cast a shroud,
While o'er the army, faint with dread,
A veil of dust and ashes spread.
King, princes, saints their sense retained,
Fear-stupefied the rest remained.
At length, their wits returning, all
Beneath the gloom and ashy pall
Saw Jamadagni's son with dread,
His long hair twisted round his head,
Who, sprung from Bhrigu, loved to beat
The proudest kings beneath his feet.
Firm as Kailása's hill he showed,
Fierce as the fire of doom he glowed.
His axe upon his shoulder lay,
His bow was ready for the fray,
With thirsty arrows wont to fly
Like Lightnings from the angry sky.
A long keen arrow forth he drew,
Invincible like those which flew
From Śiva's ever-conquering bow
And Tripura in death laid low.
When his wild form, that struck with awe,
Fearful as ravening flame, they saw,
Vaśishṭha and the saints whose care
Was sacrifice and muttered prayer,
Drew close together, each to each,
And questioned thus with bated speech:
“Indignant at his father's fate
Will he on warriors vent his hate,
The slayers of his father slay,
And sweep the loathed race away?
But when of old his fury raged
Seas of their blood his wrath assuaged:
[pg 086]
So doubtless now he has not planned
To slay all warriors in the land.”
Then with a gift the saints drew near
To Bhrigu's son whose look was fear,
And Ráma! Ráma! soft they cried.
The gift he took, no word replied.
Then Bhrigu's son his silence broke
And thus to Ráma Ráma spoke:
Canto LXXV. The Parle.

“Heroic Ráma, men proclaim
The marvels of thy matchless fame,
And I from loud-voiced rumour know
The exploit of the broken bow,
Yea, bent and broken, mighty Chief,
A feat most wondrous, past belief.
Stirred by thy fame thy face I sought:
A peerless bow I too have brought.
This mighty weapon, strong and dire,
Great Jamadagni owned, my sire.
Draw with its shaft my father's bow,
And thus thy might, O Ráma, show.
This proof of prowess let me see—
The weapon bent and drawn by thee;
Then single fight our strength shall try,
And this shall raise thy glory high.”
King Daśaratha heard with dread
The boastful speech, and thus he said;
Raising his hands in suppliant guise,
With pallid cheek and timid eyes:
“Forgetful of the bloody feud
Ascetic toils hast thou pursued;
Then, Bráhman, let thy children be
Untroubled and from danger free.
Sprung of the race of Bhrigu, who
Read holy lore, to vows most true,
Thou swarest to the Thousand-eyed
And thy fierce axe was cast aside.
Thou turnedst to thy rites away
Leaving the earth to Kaśyap's sway,
And wentest far a grove to seek
Beneath Mahendra's255 mountain peak.
Now, mighty Hermit, art thou here
To slay us all with doom severe?
For if alone my Ráma fall,
We share his fate and perish all.”
As thus the aged sire complained
The mighty chief no answer deigned.
To Ráma only thus he cried:
“Two bows, the Heavenly Artist's pride,
Celestial, peerless, vast, and strong,
By all the worlds were honoured long.
One to the Three-eyed God256 was given,
By glory to the conflict driven,
Thus armed fierce Tripura he slew:
And then by thee 'twas burst in two.
The second bow, which few may brave,
The highest Gods to Vishṇu gave.
This bow I hold; before it fall
The foeman's fenced tower and wall.
Then prayed the Gods the Sire Most High
By some unerring proof to try
Were praise for might Lord Vishṇu's due,
Or his whose Neck is stained with Blue.257
The mighty Sire their wishes knew,
And he whose lips are ever true
Caused the two Gods to meet as foes.
Then fierce the rage of battle rose:
Bristled in dread each starting hair
As Śiva strove with Vishṇu there.
But Vishṇu raised his voice amain.
And Śiva's bowstring twanged in vain;
Its master of the Three bright Eyes
Stood fixt in fury and surprise.
Then all the dwellers in the sky,
Minstrel, and saint, and God drew nigh,
And prayed them that the strife might cease,
And the great rivals met in peace.
'Twas seen how Śiva's bow has failed
Unnerved, when Vishṇu's might assailed,
And Gods and heavenly sages thence
To Vishnu gave preëminence.
Then glorious Śiva in his rage
Gave it to Devarát the sage
Who ruled Videha's fertile land,
To pass it down from hand to hand.
But this my bow, whose shafts smite down
The foeman's fenced tower and town,
To great Richíka Vishṇu lent
To be a pledge and ornament,
Then Jamadagni, Bráhman dread,
My sire, the bow inherited.
But Arjun stooped to treachery vile
And slew my noble sire by guile,
Whose penance awful strength had gained,
Whose hand the God-given bow retained.
[pg 087]
I heard indignant how he fell
By mournful fate, too sad to tell.
My vengeful fury since that time
Scourges all Warriors for the crime.
As generations spring to life
I war them down in endless strife.
All earth I brought beneath my sway,
And gave it for his meed and pay
To holy Kaśyap, when of yore
The rites performed by him were o'er.
Then to Mahendra's hill I turned
Strong in the strength that penance earned,
And toiled upon his lofty head
By Gods immortal visited.
The breaking of the bow I knew
From startled Gods conversing, through
The airy regions, of thy deed,
And hither came with swiftest speed.
Now, for thy Warrior's honour sake,
This best of bows, O Ráma, take:
This, owned by Vishṇu's self of old,
My sire and grandsire loved to hold.
Drawn to its head upon the string,
One town-destroying arrow bring;
If this thou can, O hero, I
In single fight thy strength will try.”
Canto LXXVI. Debarred From Heaven.

The haughty challenge, undeterred
The son of Daśaratha heard,
And cried, while reverence for his sire
Checked the full torrent of his ire:
“Before this day have I been told
The deed that stained thy hands of old.
But pity bids my soul forget:
Thy father, murdered, claimed the debt.
My strength, O Chief, thou deemest slight,
Too feeble for a Warrior's might.
Now will I show thy wondering eyes
The prowess which they dare despise.”
He hastened then with graceful ease
That mighty bow and shaft to seize.
His hand the weapon strung and swayed:
The arrow on the string was laid.
Then Jamadagni's son he eyed,
And thus in words of fury cried:
“Thou art a Bráhman, still to be
Most highly honoured, Chief, by me.
For Viśvámitra's sake beside
Shall reverence due be ne'er denied.
Though mine the power, I would not send
A dart at thee thy life to end.
But thy great power to wander free,
Which penance-rites have won for thee,
Or glorious worlds from thee to wrest,
Is the firm purpose of my breast,
And Vishṇu's dart which now I strain
Can ne'er be shot to fall in vain:
It strikes the mighty, and it stuns
The madness of the haughty ones.”
Then Gods, and saints and heavenly choir
Preceded by the General Sire,
Met in the air and gazed below
On Ráma with that wondrous bow.
Nymph, minstrel, angel, all were there,
Snake-God, and spirit of the air,
Giant, and bard, and gryphon, met,
Their eyes upon the marvel set.
In senseless hush the world was chained
While Ráma's hand the bow retained,
And Jamadagni's son amazed
And powerless on the hero gazed.
Then when his swelling heart had shrunk,
And his proud strength in torpor sunk,
Scarce his voice ventured, low and weak,
To Ráma lotus-eyed, to speak:
“When long ago I gave away
The whole broad land to Kaśyap's sway
He charged me never to remain
Within the limits of his reign.
Obedient to my guide's behest
On earth by night I never rest.
My choice is made, I will not dim
Mine honour and be false to him.
So, son of Raghu, leave me still
The power to wander where I will,
And swifter than the thought my flight
Shall place me on Mahendra's height.
My mansions of eternal joy,
By penance won, thou mayst destroy,
My path to these thy shaft may stay.
Now to the work! No more delay!
I know thee Lord of Gods; I know
Thy changeless might laid Madhu low.
All other hands would surely fail
To bend this bow. All hail! all hail!
See! all the Gods have left the skies
To bend on thee their eager eyes,
With whose achievements none compete,
Whose arm in war no God can meet.
No shame is mine, I ween, for thou,
Lord of the Worlds, hast dimmed my brow.
Now, pious Ráma, 'tis thy part
To shoot afar that glorious dart:
I, when the fatal shaft is shot,
Will seek that hill and tarry not.”
He ceased. The wondrous arrow flew,
And Jamadagni's offspring knew
Those glorious worlds to him were barred,
Once gained by penance long and hard.
Then straight the airy quarters cleared,
And the mid regions bright appeared,
While Gods and saints unnumbered praised
Ráma, the mighty bow who raised.
And Jamadagni's son, o'erawed.
Extolled his name with highest laud,
[pg 088]
With reverent steps around him strode,
Then hastened on his airy road.
Far from the sight of all he fled,
And rested on Mahendra's head.
Canto LXXVII. Bharat's Departure.

Then Ráma with a cheerful mind
The bow to Varuṇ's hand resigned.
Due reverence to the saints he paid,
And thus addressed his sire dismayed:
“As Bhrigu's son is far from view,
Now let the host its march pursue,
And to Ayodhyá's town proceed
In four-fold bands, with thee to lead.”
King Daśaratha thus addressed
His lips to Ráma's forehead pressed,
And held him to his aged breast.
Rejoiced in sooth was he to know
That Bhrigu's son had parted so,
And hailed a second life begun
For him and his victorious son.
He urged the host to speed renewed,
And soon Ayodhyá's gates he viewed.
High o'er the roofs gay pennons played;
Tabour and drum loud music made;
Fresh water cooled the royal road,
And flowers in bright profusion glowed.
Glad crowds with garlands thronged the ways
Rejoicing on their king to gaze
And all the town was bright and gay
Exalting in the festive day.
People and Bráhmans flocked to meet
Their monarch ere he gained the street.
The glorious king amid the throng
Rode with his glorious sons along,
And passed within his dear abode
That like Himálaya's mountain showed.
And there Kauśalyá, noble queen,
Sumitrá with her lovely mien,
Kaikeyí of the dainty waist,
And other dames his bowers who graced,
Stood in the palace side by side
And welcomed home each youthful bride:
Fair Sítá, lofty-fated dame,
Urmilá of the glorious fame,
And Kuśadhwaj's children fair,
With joyous greeting and with prayer,
As all in linen robes arrayed
With offerings at the altars prayed.
Due reverence paid to God above,
Each princess gave her soul to love,
And hidden in her inmost bower
Passed with her lord each blissful hour.
The royal youths, of spirit high,
With whom in valor none could vie,
Lived each within his palace bounds
Bright as Kuvera's pleasure-grounds,
With riches, troops of faithful friends,
And bliss that wedded life attends:
Brave princes trained in warlike skill,
And duteous to their father's will.
At length the monarch called one morn
Prince Bharat, of Kaikeyí born,
And cried: “My son, within our gates
Lord Yudhájit thine uncle waits.
The son of Kekaya's king is he,
And came, my child, to summon thee.”
Then Bharat for the road prepared,
And with Śatrughna forth he fared.
First to his sire he bade adieu,
Brave Ráma, and his mothers too.
Lord Yudhájit with joyful pride
Went forth, the brothers by his side,
And reached the city where he dwelt:
And mighty joy his father felt.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ honoured still
Their godlike sire with duteous will.
Two constant guides for Ráma stood,
His father's wish, the people's good.
Attentive to the general weal
He thought and wrought to please and heal.
His mothers too he strove to please
With love and sonly courtesies.
At every time, in every spot,
His holy guides he ne'er forgot.
So for his virtues kind and true
Dearer and dearer Ráma grew
To Daśaratha, Bráhmans, all
In town and country, great and small.
And Ráma by his darling's side
Saw many a blissful season glide,
Lodged in her soul, each thought on her,
Lover, and friend, and worshipper.
He loved her for his father's voice
Had given her and approved the choice:
He loved her for each charm she wore
And her sweet virtues more and more.
So he her lord and second life
Dwelt in the bosom of his wife,
In double form, that, e'en apart,
Each heart could commune free with heart.
Still grew that child of Janak's race,
More goddess-fair in form and face,
The loveliest wife that e'er was seen,
In mortal mould sweet Beauty's Queen.
Then shone the son Kauśalyá bore,
With this bright dame allied,
Like Vishṇu whom the Gods adore,
With Lakshmi by his side.
[pg 089]
BOOK II.

Canto I. The Heir Apparent.

So Bharat to his grandsire went
Obedient to the message sent,
And for his fond companion chose
Śatrughna slayer of his foes.258
There Bharat for a time remained
With love and honour entertained,
King Aśvapati's constant care,
Beloved as a son and heir.
Yet ever, as they lived at ease,
While all around combined to please,
The aged sire they left behind
Was present to each hero's mind.
Nor could the king's fond memory stray
From his brave children far away,
Dear Bharat and Śatrughna dear,
Each Varuṇ's match or Indra's peer.
To all the princes, young and brave,
His soul with fond affection clave;
Around his loving heart they clung
Like arms from his own body sprung.259
But best and noblest of the four,
Good as the God whom all adore,
Lord of all virtues, undefiled,
His darling was his eldest child.
For he was beautiful and strong,
From envy free, the foe of wrong,
With all his father's virtues blest,
And peerless in the world confessed.
With placid soul he softly spoke:
No harsh reply could taunts provoke.
He ever loved the good and sage
Revered for virtue and for age,
And when his martial tasks were o'er
Sate listening to their peaceful lore.
Wise, modest, pure, he honoured eld,
His lips from lying tales withheld;
Due reverence to the Bráhmans gave,
And ruled each passion like a slave.
Most tender, prompt at duty's call,
Loved by all men he loved them all.
Proud of the duties of his race,
With spirit meet for Warrior's place.
He strove to win by glorious deed,
Throned with the Gods, a priceless meed.
With him in speech and quick reply
Vrihaspati might hardly vie,
But never would his accents flow
For evil or for empty show.
In art and science duly trained,
His student vow he well maintained;
He learnt the lore for princes fit,
The Vedas and their Holy Writ,
And with his well-drawn bow at last
His mighty father's fame surpassed.
Of birth exalted, truthful, just,
With vigorous hand, with noble trust,
Well taught by aged twice-born men
Who gain and right could clearly ken,
Full well the claims and bounds he knew
Of duty, gain, and pleasure too:
Of memory keen, of ready tact,
In civil business prompt to act.
Reserved, his features ne'er disclosed
What counsel in his heart reposed.
All idle rage and mirth controlled,
He knew the times to give and hold,
Firm in his faith, of steadfast will,
He sought no wrong, he spoke no ill:
Not rashly swift, not idly slow,
His faults and others' keen to know.
Each merit, by his subtle sense;
He matched with proper recompense.
He knew the means that wealth provide,
And with keen eye expense could guide.
Wild elephants could he reclaim,
And mettled steeds could mount and tame.
No arm like his the bow could wield,
Or drive the chariot to the field.
Skilled to attack, to deal the blow,
Or lead a host against the foe:
Yea, e'en infuriate Gods would fear
To meet his arm in full career.
As the great sun in noontide blaze
Is glorious with his world of rays,
So Ráma with these virtues shone
Which all men loved to gaze upon.
The aged monarch fain would rest,
And said within his weary breast,
“Oh that I might, while living yet,
My Ráma o'er the kingdom set.
And see, before my course be run,
The hallowed drops anoint my son;
See all this spacious land obey,
From side to side, my first-born's sway,
And then, my life and joy complete,
Obtain in heaven a blissful seat!”
In him the monarch saw combined
The fairest form, the noblest mind,
And counselled how his son might share,
The throne with him as Regent Heir.
For fearful signs in earth and sky,
And weakness warned him death was nigh:
But Ráma to the world endeared
By every grace his bosom cheered,
[pg 090]
The moon of every eye, whose ray
Drove all his grief and fear away.
So duty urged that hour to seize,
Himself, his realm, to bless and please.
From town and country, far and near,
He summoned people, prince, and peer.
To each he gave a meet abode,
And honoured all and gifts bestowed.
Then, splendid in his king's attire,
He viewed them, as the general Sire,
In glory of a God arrayed,
Looks on the creatures he has made.
But Kekaya's king he called not then
For haste, nor Janak, lord of men;
For after to each royal friend
The joyful tidings he would send.
Mid crowds from distant countries met
The king upon his throne was set;
Then honoured by the people, all
The rulers thronged into the hall.
On thrones assigned, each king in place
Looked silent on the monarch's face.
Then girt by lords of high renown
And throngs from hamlet and from town
He showed in regal pride,
As, honoured by the radiant band
Of blessed Gods that round him stand,
Lord Indra, Thousand-eyed.
Canto II. The People's Speech.

Then to the full assembly bowed
The monarch, and addressed the crowd
With gracious speech, in accents loud
As heavenly drum or thunder-cloud:
“Needs not to you who know declare
How ever with paternal care
My fathers of Ikshváku's line
Have ruled the realm which now is mine.
I too have taught my feet to tread
The pathway of the mighty dead,
And with fond care that never slept
Have, as I could, my people kept.
So toiling still, and ne'er remiss
For all my people's weal and bliss,
Beneath the white umbrella's260 shade.
Old age is come and strength decayed.
Thousands of years have o'er me flown,
And generations round me grown
And passed away. I crave at length
Repose and ease for broken strength.
Feeble and worn I scarce can bear
The ruler's toil, the judge's care,
With royal dignity, a weight
That tries the young and temperate.
I long to rest, my labour done,
And in my place to set my son,
If to the twice-born gathered here
My counsel wise and good appear.
For greater gifts than mine adorn
Ráma my son, my eldest-born.
Like Indra brave, before him fall
The foeman's cities, tower and wall.
Him prince of men for power and might,
The best maintainer of the right,
Fair as the moon when nothing bars
His glory close to Pushya's stars,
Him with to-morrow's light I fain
Would throne the consort of my reign.
A worthy lord for you, I ween,
Marked as her own by Fortune's Queen.
The triple world itself would be
Well ruled by such a king as he.
To such high bliss and happy fate
Will I the country dedicate,
And my sad heart will cease to grieve
If he the precious charge receive.
Thus is my careful plan matured,
Thus for myself is rest secured;
Lieges, approve the words I say,
Or point ye out some wiser way.
Devise your prudent plan. My mind
Is fondly to this thought inclined,
But men by keen debating move
Some middle course which all approve.”
The monarch ceased. In answer came
The joyous princes' glad acclaim.
So peacocks in the rain rejoice
And hail the cloud with lifted voice.
Murmurs of joy from thousands round
Shook the high palace with the sound.
Then when the gathered throng had learned
His will who right and gain discerned,
Peasant and townsman, priest and chief,
All met in consultation brief,
And soon agreed with one accord
Gave answer to their sovereign lord:
“King of the land, we know thee old:
Thousands of years have o'er thee rolled,
Ráma thy son, we pray, anoint,
And at thy side his place appoint
Our gallant prince, so brave and strong,
Riding in royal state along,
Our eyes with joyful pride will see
Screened by the shade that shelters thee.”
Then spake the king again, as though
Their hearts' true wish he sought to know:
“These prayers for Ráma's rule suggest
One question to my doubting breast.
This thing, I pray, with truth explain:
Why would ye, while I justly reign,
That he, mine eldest son, should bear
His part with me as ruling heir?”
Then all the people made reply,
Peasant and townsman, low and high:
“Each noblest gift of form and mind,
[pg 091]
O Monarch, in thy son we find.
Do thou the godlike virtues hear
Which Ráma to our hearts endear.
So richly blest with graces, none
In all the earth excels thy son:
Nay, who to match with him may claim
In truth, in justice, and in fame?
True to his promise, gentle, kind,
Unenvious, of grateful mind,
Versed in the law and firm of soul,
He keeps each sense with strict control.
With duteous care he loves to sit
By Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.
Hence brightest glory, ne'er to end,
And matchless fame his youth attend.
Skilled in the use of spear and shield,
And arms which heavenly warriors wield,
Supreme in war, unconquered yet
By man, fiend, God in battle met,
Whene'er in pomp of war he goes
'Gainst town or city of the foes,
He ever comes with Lakshmaṇ back
Victorious from the fierce attack.
Returning homeward from afar
Borne on his elephant or car,
He ever to the townsmen bends
And greets them as beloved friends,
Asks how each son, each servant thrives,
How fare our pupils, offerings, wives;
And like a father bids us tell,
Each for himself, that all is well.
If pain or grief the city tries
His heart is swift to sympathize.
When festive scenes our thoughts employ
He like a father shares the joy.
High is the fate, O King, that gave
Thy Ráma born to bless and save,
With filial virtues fair and mild
Like Kaśyap old Maríchi's child.
Hence to the kingdom's distant ends
One general prayer for him ascends.
Each man in town and country prays
For Ráma's strength, health, length of days.
With hearts sincere, their wish the same,
The tender girl, the aged dame,
Subject and stranger, peasant, hind,
One thought impressed on every mind,
At evening and at dawning day
To all the Gods for Ráma pray.
Do thou, O King, of grace comply,
And hear the people's longing cry,
And let us on the throne by thee
The lotus-tinted Ráma see.
O thou who givest boons, attend;
A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend
And for our weal install,
Consenting to our earnest prayer,
Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir,
Who seeks the good of all.”
Canto III. Dasaratha's Precepts.

The monarch with the prayer complied
Of suppliant hands, on every side
Uplifted like a lotus-bed:
And then these gracious words he said:
“Great joy and mighty fame are mine
Because your loving hearts incline,
In full assembly clearly shown
To place my Ráma on the throne.”
Then to Vaśishṭha, standing near,
And Vámadeva loud and clear
The monarch spoke that all might hear:
“'Tis pure and lovely Chaitra now
When flowers are sweet on every bough;
All needful things with haste prepare
That Ráma be appointed heir.”
Then burst the people's rapture out
In loud acclaim and joyful shout;
And when the tumult slowly ceased
The king addressed the holy priest:
“Give order, Saint, with watchful heed
For what the coming rite will need.
This day let all things ready wait
Mine eldest son to consecrate.”
Best of all men of second birth
Vaśishṭha heard the lord of earth,
And gave commandment to the bands
Of servitors with lifted hands
Who waited on their master's eye:
“Now by to-morrow's dawn supply
Rich gold and herbs and gems of price
And offerings for the sacrifice,
Wreaths of white flowers and roasted rice,
And oil and honey, separate;
New garments and a car of state,
An elephant with lucky signs,
A fourfold host in ordered lines,
The white umbrella, and a pair
Of chowries,261 and a banner fair;
A hundred vases, row on row,
To shine like fire in splendid glow,
A tiger's mighty skin, a bull
With gilded horns most beautiful.
All these, at dawn of coming day,
Around the royal shrine array,
Where burns the fire's undying ray.
Each palace door, each city gate
With wreaths of sandal decorate.
And with the garlands' fragrant scent
Let clouds of incense-smoke be blent.
Let food of noble kind and taste
Be for a hundred thousand placed;
Fresh curds with streams of milk bedewed
To feed the Bráhman multitude.
[pg 092]
With care be all their wants supplied.
And mid the twice-born chiefs divide
Rich largess, with the early morn,
And oil and curds and roasted corn.
Soon as the sun has shown his light
Pronounce the prayer to bless the rite,
And then be all the Bráhmans called
And in their ordered seats installed.
Let all musicians skilled to play,
And dancing-girls in bright array
Stand ready in the second ring
Within the palace of the king.
Each honoured tree, each holy shrine
With leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,
And here and there beneath the shade
Be food prepared and presents laid.
Then brightly clad, in warlike guise,
With long swords girt upon their thighs,
Let soldiers of the nobler sort
March to the monarch's splendid court.”
Thus gave command the twice-born pair
To active servants stationed there.
Then hastened to the king and said
That all their task was duly sped,
The king to wise Sumantra spake:
“Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,
And hither with thy swiftest speed
My son, my noble Ráma lead.”
Sumantra, ere the word was given,
His chariot from the court had driven,
And Ráma, best of all who ride
In cars, came sitting by his side.
The lords of men had hastened forth
From east and west and south and north,
Áryan and stranger, those who dwell
In the wild wood and on the fell,
And as the Gods to Indra, they
Showed honour to the king that day.
Like Vásav, when his glorious form
Is circled by the Gods of storm,
Girt in his hall by kings he saw
His car-borne Ráma near him draw,
Like him who rules the minstrel band
Of heaven;262 whose valour filled the land,
Of mighty arm and stately pride
Like a wild elephant in stride,
As fair in face as that fair stone
Dear to the moon, of moonbeams grown,263
With noble gifts and grace that took
The hearts of all, and chained each look,
World-cheering as the Lord of Rain
When floods relieve the parching plain.
The father, as the son came nigh,
Gazed with an ever-thirstier eye.
Sumantra helped the prince alight
From the good chariot passing bright,
And as to meet his sire he went
Followed behind him reverent.
Then Ráma clomb, the king to seek
That terrace like Kailása's peak,
And reached the presence of the king,
Sumantra closely following.
Before his father's face he came,
Raised suppliant hands and named his name,264
And bowing lowly as is meet
Paid reverence to the monarch's feet.
But soon as Daśaratha viewed
The prince in humble attitude,
He raised him by the hand in haste
And his beloved son embraced,
Then signed him to a glorious throne,
Gem-decked and golden, near his own.
Then Ráma, best of Raghu's line,
Made the fair seat with lustre shine
As when the orient sun upsprings
And his pure beam on Meru flings.
The glory flashed on roof and wall,
And with strange sheen suffused the hall,
As when the moon's pure rays are sent
Through autumn's star-lit firmament.
Then swelled his breast with joy and pride
As his dear son the father eyed,
E'en as himself more fair arrayed
In some clear mirror's face displayed.
The aged monarch gazed awhile,
Then thus addressed him with a smile,
As Kaśyap, whom the worlds revere,
Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:
“O thou of all my sons most dear,
In virtue best, thy father's peer,
Child of my consort first in place,
Mine equal in her pride of race,
Because the people's hearts are bound
To thee by graces in thee found,
Be thou in Pushya's favouring hour
Made partner of my royal power.
I know that thou by nature's bent
Both modest art and excellent,
But though thy gifts no counsel need
My love suggests the friendly rede.
Mine own dear son, be modest still,
And rule each sense with earnest will.
Keep thou the evils far away
That spring from love and anger's sway.
Thy noble course alike pursue
In secret as in open view,
And every nerve, the love to gain
Of ministers and subjects, strain.
The happy prince who sees with pride
His thriving people satisfied;
Whose arsenals with arms are stored,
And treasury with golden hoard,—
[pg 093]
His friends rejoice as joyed the Blest
When Amrit crowned their eager quest.
So well, my child, thy course maintain,
And from all ill thy soul refrain.”
The friends of Ráma, gathered nigh,
Longing their lord to gratify,
Ran to Kauśalyá's bower to tell
The tidings that would please her well.
She, host of dames, with many a gem,
And gold, and kine rewarded them.
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,
Mounted the chariot, and withdrew,
And to his splendid dwelling drove
While crowds to show him honour strove.
The people, when the monarch's speech
Their willing ears had heard,
Were wild with joy as though on each
Great gifts had been conferred.
With meek and low salute each man
Turned to his home away,
And there with happy heart began
To all the Gods to pray.
Canto IV. Ráma Summoned.

The crowd dismissed, to high debate
The monarch called his peers of state,
And, counsel from their lips obtained,
Firm in his will his will explained:
“To-morrow with auspicious ray
The moon in Pushya's sign will stay;
Be that the time with happy fate
Mine eldest son to consecrate,
And let my Ráma, lotus-eyed,
As Regent o'er the state preside.”
He sought, within, his charioteer,
And cried “Again bring Ráma here.”
To Ráma's home Sumantra hied
Again to be the prince's guide.
His coming, told to Ráma's ear,
Suggested anxious doubt and fear.
He bade the messenger be led
That instant in, and thus he said:
“Tell me the cause, omitting naught,
Why thou again my house hast sought.”
The envoy answered: “Prince, thy sire
Has sent thy presence to require.
My sender known, 'tis thine to say
If thou wilt go or answer nay.”
Then Ráma, when he heard his speech,
Made haste the royal court to reach.
Soon as the monarch was aware
His dearest son was waiting there,
Eager the parley to begin
He bade them lead the prince within,
Soon as he passed the chamber door
The hero bent him to the floor,
And at a distance from his seat
Raised his joined hands his sire to greet.
The monarch raised him from the ground,
And loving arms about him wound,
Then pointed to a seat that shone
With gold for him to rest upon.
“Aged am I,” he said, “and worn;
In life's best joys my share have borne;
Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid,
With gifts of corn and largess made.
I yearned for sons: my life is blest
With them and thee of sons the best.
No debt to saints or Bráhmans, no,
Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe.
One duty now remains alone,
To set thee on thy father's throne.
Now therefore, Ráma, hear my rede,
And mark my words with duteous heed:
This day the peoples' general voice,
Elects thee king of love and choice,
And I, consenting to the prayer,
Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir.
Dread visions, each returning night,
With evil omens scare my sight.
Red meteors with a fearful sound
Shoot wildly downward to the ground,
While tempests lash the troubled air;
And they who read the stars declare
That, leagued against my natal sign,
Ráhu,265 the Sun,266 and Mars combine.
When portents dire as these appear,
A monarch's death or woe is near.
Then while my senses yet are spared,
And thought and will are unimpaired,
Be thou, my son, anointed king:
Men's fancy is a fickle thing.
To-day the moon, in order due,
Entered the sign Punarvasu,267
To-morrow, as the wise foretell,
In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell:
Then on the throne shalt thou be placed.
My soul, prophetic, counsels haste:
Thee, O my son, to-morrow I
As Regent Heir will sanctify.
So till the coming night be passed
Do thou and Sítá strictly fast:
From worldly thoughts thy soul refrain,
And couched on holy grass remain.
[pg 094]
And let thy trusted lords attend
In careful watch upon their friend,
For, unexpected, check and bar
Our weightiest counsels often mar.
While Bharat too is far away
Making with royal kin his stay,
I deem the fittest time of all
Thee, chosen Regent, to install.
It may be Bharat still has stood
True to the counsels of the good,
Faithful to thee with tender trust,
With governed senses, pure and just.
But human minds, too well I know,
Will sudden changes undergo,
And by their constant deeds alone
The virtue of the good is shown.
Now, Ráma, go. My son, good night!
Fixt is to-morrow for the rite.”
Then Ráma paid the reverence due,
And quickly to his home withdrew.
He passed within, nor lingered there,
But sought his mother's mansion, where
The dame in linen robes arrayed
Devoutly in the chapel prayed
To Fortune's Queen, with utterance checked,
That she her Ráma would protect.
There was Sumitrá too, and there
Was Lakshmaṇ led by loving care:
And when the royal choice they knew
Sítá in haste was summoned too.
Absorbed, with half-shut eyes, the queen
Attended by the three was seen.
She knew that Pushya's lucky hour
Would raise her son to royal power,
So fixed with bated breath each thought
On God supreme, by all men sought.
To her, as thus she knelt and prayed,
Ráma drew near, due reverence paid,
And then to swell his mother's joy,
Thus spoke her own beloved boy;
“O mother dear, my sire's decree
Entrusts the people's weal to me.
To-morrow I, for so his will,
Anointed king, the throne shall fill.
The few last hours till night shall end
Sítá with me must fasting spend,
For so my father has decreed,
And holy priests with him agreed.
What vows soever thou mayst deem
My consecration's eve beseem,
Do thou, sweet mother, for my sake
And for beloved Sítá's make.”
When the glad news Kauśalyá heard,
So long desired, so long deferred,
While tears of joy her utterance broke,
In answer to her son she spoke:
“Long be thy life, my darling: now
Thy prostrate foes before thee bow.
Live long and with thy bright success
My friends and dear Sumitrá's bless.
Surely the stars were wondrous fair
When thee, sweet son, thy mother bare,
That thy good gifts such love inspire
And win the favour of thy sire.
With thee I travailed not in vain;
Those lotus eyes reward my pain,
And all the glory of the line
Of old Ikshváku will be thine.”
He smiled, and on his brother gazed
Who sate with reverent hands upraised,
And said: “My brother, thou must be
Joint-ruler of this land with me.
My second self thou, Lakshmaṇ, art,
And in my fortune bearest part.
Be thine, Sumitrá's son, to know
The joys from regal power that flow.
My life itself, the monarch's seat,
For thy dear sake to me are sweet.”
Thus Ráma to his brother said,
To both his mothers268 bowed his head,
And then with Sítá by his side
To his own house the hero hied.
Canto V. Ráma's Fast.

Then Saint Vaśishṭha to the king
Came ready at his summoning.
“Now go,” exclaimed the monarch, “thou
Enriched by fervent rite and vow,
For Ráma and his wife ordain
The fast, that joy may bless his reign.”
The best of those who Scripture know
Said to the king, “My lord, I go.”
To Ráma's house Vaśishṭha hied,
The hero's fast by rule to guide,
And skilled in sacred texts to tell
Each step to him instructed well.
Straight to Prince Ráma's high abode,
That like a cloud pale-tinted showed,
Borne in his priestly car he rode.
Two courts he passed, and in the third
He stayed his car. Then Ráma heard
The holy sage was come, and flew
To honour him with honour due.
He hastened to the car and lent
His hand to aid the priest's descent.
Then spoke Vaśishṭha words like these,
Pleased with his reverent courtesies,
With pleasant things his heart to cheer
Who best deserved glad news to hear:
“Prince, thou hast won thy father's grace,
And thine will be the Regent's place:
Now with thy Sítá, as is right,
In strictest fasting spend the night,
[pg 095]
For when the morrow's dawn is fair
The king will consecrate his heir:
So Nahush,269 as the wise relate,
Yayáti joyed to consecrate.”
Thus having said, Vaśishṭha next
Ordained the fast by rule and text,
For Ráma faithful to his vows
And the Videhan dame his spouse.
Then from the prince's house he hied
With courteous honours gratified.
Round Ráma gathered every friend
In pleasant talk a while to spend.
He bade good night to all at last,
And to his inner chamber passed.
Then Ráma's house shone bright and gay
With men and maids in glad array,
As in the morning some fair lake
When all her lotuses awake,
And every bird that loves the flood
Flits joyous round each opening bud.
Forth from the house Vaśishṭha drove,
That with the king's in splendour strove,
And all the royal street he viewed
Filled with a mighty multitude
The eager concourse blocked each square,
Each road and lane and thoroughfare,
And joyous shouts on every side
Rose like the roar of Ocean's tide,
As streams of men together came
With loud huzza and glad acclaim.
The ways were watered, swept and clean,
And decked with flowers and garlands green
And all Ayodhyá shone arrayed
With banners on the roofs that played.
Men, women, boys with eager eyes,
Expecting when the sun should rise,
Stood longing for the herald ray
Of Ráma's consecration day,
To see, a source of joy to all,
The people-honoured festival.
The priest advancing slowly through
The mighty crowd he cleft in two,
Near to the monarch's palace drew.
He sought the terrace, by the stair,
Like a white cloud-peak high in air,
The reverend king of men to meet
Who sate upon his splendid seat:
Thus will Vṛihaspati arise
To meet the monarch of the skies.
But when the king his coming knew,
He left his throne and near him drew
Questioned by him Vaśishṭha said
That all his task was duly sped.
Then all who sate there, honouring
Vaśishṭha, rose as rose the king.
Vaśishṭha bade his lord adieu,
And all the peers, dismissed, withdrew.
Then as a royal lion seeks
His cave beneath the rocky peaks,
So to the chambers where abode
His consorts Daśaratha strode.
Full-thronged were those delightful bowers
With women richly dressed,
And splendid as the radiant towers
Where Indra loves to rest.
Then brighter flashed a thousand eyes
With the light his presence lent,
As, when the moon begins to rise
The star thronged firmament.
Canto VI. The City Decorated.

Then Ráma bathed in order due,
His mind from worldly thoughts withdrew,
And with his large-eyed wife besought
Náráyaṇ, as a votary ought.
Upon his head the brimming cup
Of holy oil he lifted up,
Then placed within the kindled fire
The offering to that heavenly Sire,
And as he sipped the remnant prayed
To Him for blessing and for aid.
Then with still lips and tranquil mind
With his Videhan he reclined,
In Vishṇu's chapel, on a bed
Where holy grass was duly spread,
While still the prince's every thought
The God supreme, Náráyaṇ, sought.
One watch remained the night to close
When Ráma from his couch arose,
And bade the men and maids adorn
His palace for the solemn morn.
He heard the bards and heralds raise
Auspicious strains of joy and praise;
And breathed devout, with voice restrained,
The hymn for morning rites ordained;
Then, with his head in reverence bowed,
Praised Madhu's conquering foe aloud,
And, in pure linen robes arrayed,
The priests to raise their voices prayed.
Obedient to the summons they
Proclaimed to all the festal day.
The Bráhmans' voices, deep and sweet,
Resounded through the crowded street,
And echoed through Ayodhyá went
By many a loud-toned instrument.
Then all the people joyed to hear
That Ráma with his consort dear
Had fasted till the morning light
In preparation for the rite.
Swiftly the joyful tidings through
Ayodhyá's crowded city flew,
And soon as dawn appeared, each man
To decorate the town began.
[pg 096]
In all the temples bright and fair
As white clouds towering in the air,
In streets, and where the cross-ways met,
Where holy fig-trees had been set,
In open square, in sacred shade,
Where merchants' shops their wealth displayed,
On all the mansions of the great,
And householders of wealth and state,
Where'er the people loved to meet,
Where'er a tree adorned the street,
Gay banners floated to the wind,
And ribands round the staves were twined.
Then clear the singers' voices rang,
As, charming mind and ear, they sang.
Here players shone in bright attire,
There dancing women swelled the quire.
Each with his friend had much to say
Of Ráma's consecration-day:
Yea, even children, as they played
At cottage doors beneath the shade.
The royal street with flowers was strown
Which loving hands in heaps had thrown,
And here and there rich incense lent
Its fragrance to the garland's scent;
And all was fresh and fair and bright
In honour of the coming rite.
With careful foresight to illume
With borrowed blaze the midnight gloom,
The crowds erected here and there
Trees in each street gay lamps to bear.
The city thus from side to side
In festal guise was beautified.
The people of the town who longed
To view the rite together thronged,
And filling every court and square
Praised the good king in converse there:
“Our high-souled king! He throws a grace
On old Ikshváku's royal race.
He feels his years' increasing weight,
And makes his son associate.
Great joy to us the choice will bring
Of Ráma for our lord and king.
The good and bad to him are known,
And long will he protect his own.
No pride his prudent breast may swell,
Most just, he loves his brothers well,
And to us all that love extends,
Cherished as brothers and as friends.
Long may our lord in life remain,
Good Daśaratha, free from stain,
By whose most gracious favour we
Ráma anointed king shall see.”
Such were the words the townsmen spoke
Heard by the gathering countryfolk,
Who from the south, north, east, and west,
Stirred by the joyful tidings, pressed.
For by their eager longing led
To Ráma's consecration sped
The villagers from every side,
And filled Ayodhyá's city wide.
This way and that way strayed the crowd,
While rose a murmur long and loud,
As when the full moon floods the skies
And Ocean's waves with thunder rise.
That town, like Indra's city fair,
While peasants thronged her ways,
Tumultuous roared like Ocean, where
Each flood-born monster plays.
Canto VII. Manthará's Lament.

It chanced a slave-born handmaid, bred
With Queen Kaikeyí, fancy-led,
Mounted the stair and stood upon
The terrace like the moon that shone.
Thence Manthará at ease surveyed
Ayodhyá to her eyes displayed,
Where water cooled the royal street,
Where heaps of flowers were fresh and sweet,
And costly flags and pennons hung
On roof and tower their shadow flung;
With covered ways prepared in haste,
And many an awning newly placed;
With sandal-scented streams bedewed,
Thronged by a new bathed multitude:
Whose streets were full of Bráhman bands
With wreaths and sweetmeats in their hands.
Loud instruments their music raised,
And through the town, where'er she gazed,
The doors of temples glittered white,
And the maid marvelled at the sight.
Of Ráma's nurse who, standing by,
Gazed with a joy-expanded eye,
In robes of purest white attired,
The wondering damsel thus inquired:
“Does Ráma's mother give away
Rich largess to the crowds to-day,
On some dear object fondly bent,
Or blest with measureless content?
What mean these signs of rare delight
On every side that meet my sight?
Say, will the king with joy elate
Some happy triumph celebrate?”
The nurse, with transport uncontrolled,
Her glad tale to the hump-back told:
“Our lord the king to-morrow morn
Will consecrate his eldest-born,
And raise, in Pushya's favouring hour,
Prince Ráma to the royal power.”
As thus the nurse her tidings spoke,
Rage in the hump-back's breast awoke.
Down from the terrace, like the head
Of high Kailása's hill, she sped.
Sin in her thoughts, her soul aflame,
Where Queen Kaikeyí slept, she came:
[pg 097]
“Why sleepest thou?” she cried, “arise,
Peril is near, unclose thine eyes.
Ah, heedless Queen, too blind to know
What floods of sin above thee flow!
Thy boasts of love and grace are o'er:
Thine is the show and nothing more.
His favour is an empty cheat,
A torrent dried by summer's heat.”
Thus by the artful maid addressed
In cruel words from raging breast,
The queen, sore troubled, spoke in turn;
“What evil news have I to learn?
That mournful eye, that altered cheek
Of sudden woe or danger speak.”
Such were the words Kaikeyí said:
Then Manthará, her eyeballs red
With fury, skilled with treacherous art
To grieve yet more her lady's heart,
From Ráma, in her wicked hate,
Kaikeyí's love to alienate,
Upon her evil purpose bent
Began again most eloquent:
“Peril awaits thee swift and sure,
And utter woe defying cure;
King Daśaratha will create
Prince Ráma Heir Associate.
Plunged in the depths of wild despair,
My soul a prey to pain and care,
As though the flames consumed me, zeal
Has brought me for my lady's weal,
Thy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:
Thy gain my greatest gain would be.
Proud daughter of a princely line,
The rights of consort queen are thine.
How art thou, born of royal race,
Blind to the crimes that kings debase?
Thy lord is gracious, to deceive,
And flatters, but thy soul to grieve,
While thy pure heart that thinks no sin
Knows not the snares that hem thee in.
Thy husband's lips on thee bestow
Soft soothing word, an empty show:
The wealth, the substance, and the power
This day will be Kauśalyá's dower.
With crafty soul thy child he sends
To dwell among thy distant friends,
And, every rival far from sight,
To Ráma gives the power and might.
Ah me! for thou, unhappy dame,
Deluded by a husband's name,
With more than mother's love hast pressed
A serpent to thy heedless breast,
And cherished him who works thee woe,
No husband but a deadly foe.
For like a snake, unconscious Queen,
Or enemy who stabs unseen,
King Daśaratha all untrue
Has dealt with thee and Bharat too.
Ah, simple lady, long beguiled
By his soft words who falsely smiled!
Poor victim of the guileless breast,
A happier fate thou meritest.
For thee and thine destruction waits
When he Prince Ráma consecrates.
Up, lady, while there yet is time;
Preserve thyself, prevent the crime.
Up, from thy careless ease, and free
Thyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!”
Delighted at the words she said,
Kaikeyí lifted from the bed,
Like autumn's moon, her radiant head,
And joyous at the tidings gave
A jewel to the hump-back slave;
And as she gave the precious toy
She cried in her exceeding joy:
“Take this, dear maiden, for thy news
Most grateful to mine ear, and choose
What grace beside most fitly may
The welcome messenger repay.
I joy that Ráma gains the throne:
Kauśalyá's son is as mine own.”
Canto VIII. Manthará's Speech.

The damsel's breast with fury burned:
She answered, as the gift she spurned:
“What time, O simple Queen, is this
For idle dreams of fancied bliss?
Hast thou not sense thy state to know,
Engulfed in seas of whelming woe;
Sick as I am with grief and pain
My lips can scarce a laugh restrain
To see thee hail with ill-timed joy
A peril mighty to destroy.
I mourn for one so fondly blind:
What woman of a prudent mind
Would welcome, e'en as thou hast done,
The lordship of a rival's son,
Rejoiced to find her secret foe
Empowered, like death, to launch the blow;
I see that Ráma still must fear
Thy Bharat, to his throne too near.
Hence is my heart disquieted,
For those who fear are those we dread.
Lakshmaṇ, the mighty bow who draws,
With all his soul serves Ráma's cause;
And chains as strong to Bharat bind
Śatrughna, with his heart and mind,
Now next to Ráma, lady fair,
Thy Bharat is the lawful heir:
And far remote, I ween, the chance
That might the younger two advance.
Yes, Queen, 'tis Ráma that I dread,
Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred;
And oh, I tremble when I think
Of thy dear child on ruin's brink.
[pg 098]
Blest with a lofty fate is she,
Kauśalyá; for her son will be
Placed, when the moon and Pushya meet,
By Bráhmans on the royal seat,
Thou as a slave in suppliant guise
Must wait upon Kauśalyá's eyes,
With all her wealth and bliss secured
And glorious from her foes assured.
Her slave with us who serve thee, thou
Wilt see thy son to Ráma bow,
And Sítá's friends exult o'er all,
While Bharat's wife shares Bharat's fall.”
As thus the maid in wrath complained,
Kaikeyí saw her heart was pained,
And answered eager in defence
Of Ráma's worth and excellence:
“Nay, Ráma, born the monarch's heir,
By holy fathers trained with care,
Virtuous, grateful, pure, and true,
Claims royal sway as rightly due.
He, like a sire, will long defend
Each brother, minister, and friend.
Then why, O hump-back, art thou pained
To hear that he the throne has gained?
Be sure when Ráma's empire ends,
The kingdom to my son descends,
Who, when a hundred years are flown,
Shall sit upon his fathers' throne.
Why is thine heart thus sad to see
The joy that is and long shall be,
This fortune by possession sure
And hopes which we may count secure?
Dear as the darling son I bore
Is Ráma, yea, or even more.
Most duteous to Kauśalyá, he
Is yet more dutiful to me.
What though he rule, we need not fear:
His brethren to his soul are dear.
And if the throne Prince Ráma fill
Bharat will share the empire still.”
She ceased. The troubled damsel sighed
Sighs long and hot, and thus replied:
“What madness has possessed thy mind,
To warnings deaf, to dangers blind?
Canst thou not see the floods of woe
That threaten o'er thine head to flow:
First Ráma will the throne acquire,
Then Ráma's son succeed his sire,
While Bharat will neglected pine
Excluded from the royal line.
Not all his sons, O lady fair,
The kingdom of a monarch share:
All ruling when a sovereign dies
Wild tumult in the state would rise.
The eldest, be he good or ill,
Is ruler by the father's will.
Know, tender mother, that thy son
Without a friend and all undone,
Far from the joyous ease of home
An alien from his race will roam.
I sped to thee for whom I feel,
But thy fond heart mistakes my zeal,
Thy hand a present would bestow
Because thy rival triumphs so.
When Ráma once begins his sway
Without a foe his will to stay,
Thy darling Bharat he will drive
To distant lands if left alive.
By thee the child was sent away
Beneath his grandsire's roof to stay.
Even in stocks and stones perforce
Will friendship spring from intercourse.
The young Śatrughna too would go
With Bharat, for he loved him so.
As Lakshmaṇ still to Ráma cleaves,
He his dear Bharat never leaves.
There is an ancient tale they tell:
A tree the foresters would fell
Was saved by reeds that round it stood,
For love that sprang of neighbourhood.
So Lakshmaṇ Ráma will defend,
And each on each for aid depend.
Such fame on earth their friendship wins
As that which binds the Heavenly Twins.
And Ráma ne'er will purpose wrong
To Lakshmaṇ, for their love is strong.
But Bharat, Oh, of this be sure,
Must evil at his hands endure.
Come, Ráma from his home expel
An exile in the woods to dwell.
The plan, O Queen, which I advise
Secures thy weal if thou be wise.
So we and all thy kith and kin
Advantage from thy gain shall win.
Shall Bharat, meet for happier fate,
Born to endure his rival's hate,
With all his fortune ruined cower
And dread his brother's mightier power!
Up, Queen, to save thy son, arise;
Prostrate at Ráma's feet he lies.
So the proud elephant who leads
His trooping consorts through the reeds
Falls in the forest shade beneath
The lion's spring and murderous teeth.
Scorned by thee in thy bliss and pride
Kauśalyá was of old defied,
And will she now forbear to show
The vengeful rancour of a foe?
O Queen, thy darling is undone
When Ráma's hand has once begun
Ayodhyá's realm to sway,
Come, win the kingdom for thy child
And drive the alien to the wild
In banishment to-day.”
Canto IX. The Plot.

As fury lit Kaikeyí's eyes
She spoke with long and burning sighs:
[pg 099]
“This day my son enthroned shall see,
And Ráma to the woods shall flee.
But tell me, damsel, if thou can,
A certain way, a skilful plan
That Bharat may the empire gain,
And Ráma's hopes be nursed in vain.”
The lady ceased. The wicked maid
The mandate of her queen obeyed,
And darkly plotting Ráma's fall
Responded to Kaikeyí's call.
“I will declare, do thou attend,
How Bharat may his throne ascend.
Dost thou forget what things befell?
Or dost thou feign, remembering well?
Or wouldst thou hear my tongue repeat
A story for thy need so meet?
Gay lady, if thy will be so,
Now hear the tale of long ago,
And when my tongue has done its part
Ponder the story in thine heart.
When Gods and demons fought of old,
Thy lord, with royal saints enrolled,
Sped to the war with thee to bring
His might to aid the Immortals' King.
Far to the southern land he sped
Where Daṇḍak's mighty wilds are spread,
To Vaijayanta's city swayed
By Śambara, whose flag displayd
The hugest monster of the sea.
Lord of a hundred wiles was be;
With might which Gods could never blame
Against the King of Heaven he came.
Then raged the battle wild and dread,
And mortal warriors fought and bled;
The fiends by night with strength renewed
Charged, slew the sleeping multitude.
Thy lord, King Daśaratha, long
Stood fighting with the demon throng,
But long of arm, unmatched in strength,
Fell wounded by their darts at length.
Thy husband, senseless, by thine aid
Was from the battle field conveyed,
And wounded nigh to death thy lord
Was by thy care to health restored.
Well pleased the grateful monarch sware
To grant thy first and second prayer.
Thou for no favour then wouldst sue,
The gifts reserved for season due;
And he, thy high-souled lord, agreed
To give the boons when thou shouldst need.
Myself I knew not what befell,
But oft the tale have heard thee tell,
And close to thee in friendship knit
Deep in my heart have treasured it.
Remind thy husband of his oath,
Recall the boons and claim them both,
That Bharat on the throne be placed
With rites of consecration graced,
And Ráma to the woods be sent
For twice seven years of banishment.
Go, Queen, the mourner's chamber270 seek,
With angry eye and burning cheek;
And with disordered robes and hair
On the cold earth lie prostrate there.
When the king comes still mournful lie,
Speak not a word nor meet his eye,
But let thy tears in torrent flow,
And lie enamoured of thy woe.
Well do I know thou long hast been,
And ever art, his darling queen.
For thy dear sake, O well-loved dame,
The mighty king would brave the flame,
But ne'er would anger thee, or brook
To meet his favourite's wrathful look.
Thy loving lord would even die
Thy fancy, Queen, to gratify,
And never could he arm his breast
To answer nay to thy request.
Listen and learn, O dull of sense,
Thine all-resistless influence.
Gems he will offer, pearls and gold:
Refuse his gifts, be stern and cold.
Those proffered boons at length recall,
And claim them till he grants thee all.
And O my lady, high in bliss,
With heedful thought forget not this.
When from the ground his queen he lifts
And grants again the promised gifts,
Bind him with oaths he cannot break
And thy demands unflnching, make.
That Ráma travel to the wild
Five years and nine from home exiled,
And Bharat, best of all who reign,
The empire of the land obtain.
For when this term of years has fled
Over the banished Ráma's head,
Thy royal son to vigour grown
And rooted firm will stand alone.
The king, I know, is well inclined,
And this the hour to move his mind.
Be bold: the threatened rite prevent,
And force the king from his intent.”
She ceased. So counselled to her bane
Disguised beneath a show of gain,
Kaikeyí in her joy and pride
To Manthará again replied:
“Thy sense I envy, prudent maid;
With sagest lore thy lids persuade.
No hump-back maid in all the earth,
For wise resolve, can match thy worth.
Thou art alone with constant zeal
Devoted to thy lady's weal.
Dear girl, without thy faithful aid
I had not marked the plot he laid.
[pg 100]
Full of all guile and sin and spite
Misshapen hump-backs shock the sight:
But thou art fair and formed to please,
Bent like a lily by the breeze.
I look thee o'er with watchful eye,
And in thy frame no fault can spy;
The chest so deep, the waist so trim,
So round the lines of breast and limb.271
Thy cheeks with moonlike beauty shine,
And the warm wealth of youth is thine.
Thy legs, my girl, are long and neat,
And somewhat long thy dainty feet,
While stepping out before my face
Thou seemest like a crane to pace.
The thousand wiles are in thy breast
Which Śambara the fiend possessed,
And countless others all thine own,
O damsel sage, to thee are known.
Thy very hump becomes thee too,
O thou whose face is fair to view,
For there reside in endless store
Plots, wizard wiles, and warrior lore.
A golden chain I'll round it fling
When Ráma's flight makes Bharat king:
Yea, polished links of finest gold,
When once the wished for prize I hold
With naught to fear and none to hate,
Thy hump, dear maid, shall decorate.
A golden frontlet wrought with care,
And precious jewels shalt thou wear:
Two lovely robes around thee fold,
And walk a Goddess to behold,
Bidding the moon himself compare
His beauty with a face so fair.
With scent of precious sandal sweet
Down to the nails upon thy feet,
First of the household thou shalt go
And pay with scorn each battled foe.”
Kaikeyí's praise the damsel heard,
And thus again her lady stirred,
Who lay upon her beauteous bed
Like fire upon the altar fed:
“Dear Queen, they build the bridge in vain
When swollen streams are dry again.
Arise, thy glorious task complete,
And draw the king to thy retreat.”
The large-eyed lady left her bower
Exulting in her pride of power,
And with the hump-back sought the gloom
And silence of the mourner's room.
The string of priceless pearls that hung
Around her neck to earth she flung,
With all the wealth and lustre lent
By precious gem and ornament.
Then, listening to her slave's advice,
Lay, like a nymph from Paradise.
As on the ground her limbs she laid
Once more she cried unto the maid:
“Soon must thou to the monarch say
Kaikeyí's soul has past away,
Or, Ráma banished as we planned,
My son made king shall rule the land.
No more for gold and gems I care,
For brave attire or dainty fare.
If Ráma should the throne ascend,
That very hour my life will end.”
The royal lady wounded through
The bosom with the darts that flew
Launched from the hump-back's tongue
Pressed both her hands upon her side,
And o'er and o'er again she cried
With wildering fury stung:
“Yes, it shall be thy task to tell
That I have hurried hence to dwell
In Yáma's realms of woe,
Or happy Bharat shall be king,
And doomed to years of wandering
Kauśalyá's son shall go.
I heed not dainty viands now
Fair wreaths of flowers to twine my brow,
Soft balm or precious scent:
My very life I count as naught,
Nothing on earth can claim my thought
But Ráma's banishment.”
She spoke these words of cruel ire;
Then stripping off her gay attire,
The cold bare floor she pressed.
So, falling from her home on high,
Some lovely daughter of the sky
Upon the ground might rest.
With darkened brow and furious mien,
Stripped of her gems and wreath, the queen
In spotless beauty lay,
Like heaven obscured with gathering cloud,
When shades of midnight darkness shroud
Each star's expiring ray.
Canto X. Dasaratha's Speech.

As Queen Kaikeyí thus obeyed
The sinful counsel of her maid
She sank upon the chamber floor,
As sinks in anguish, wounded sore,
An elephant beneath the smart
Of the wild hunter's venomed dart.
The lovely lady in her mind
Revolved the plot her maid designed,
And prompt the gain and risk to scan
She step by step approved the plan.
Misguided by the hump-back's guile
She pondered her resolve awhile,
As the fair path that bliss secured
The miserable lady lured,
[pg 101]
Devoted to her queen, and swayed
By hopes of gain and bliss, the maid
Rejoiced, her lady's purpose known,
And deemed the prize she sought her own.
Then bent upon her purpose dire,
Kaikeyí with her soul on fire,
Upon the floor lay, languid, down,
Her brows contracted in a frown.
The bright-hued wreath that bound her hair,
Chains, necklets, jewels rich and rare,
Stripped off by her own fingers lay
Spread on the ground in disarray,
And to the floor a lustre lent
As stars light up the firmament.
Thus prostrate in the mourner's cell,
In garb of woe the lady fell,
Her long hair in a single braid,
Like some fair nymph of heaven dismayed.272
The monarch, Ráma to install,
With thoughtful care had ordered all,
And now within his home withdrew,
Dismissing first his retinue.
Now all the town has heard, thought he,
What joyful rite the morn will see.
So turned he to her bower to cheer
With the glad news his darling's ear.
Majestic, as the Lord of Night,
When threatened by the Dragon's might,
Bursts radiant on the evening sky
Pale with the clouds that wander by,
So Daśaratha, great in fame,
To Queen Kaikeyí's palace came.
There parrots flew from tree to tree,
And gorgeous peacocks wandered free,
While ever and anon was heard
The note of some glad water-bird.
Here loitered dwarf and hump-backed maid,
There lute and lyre sweet music played.
Here, rich in blossom, creepers twined
O'er grots with wondrous art designed,
There Champac and Aśoka flowers
Hung glorious o'er the summer bowers,
And mid the waving verdure rose
Gold, silver, ivory porticoes.
Through all the months in ceaseless store
The trees both fruit and blossom bore.
With many a lake the grounds were graced;
Seats gold and silver, here were placed;
Here every viand wooed the taste,
It was a garden meet to vie
E'en with the home of Gods on high.
Within the mansion rich and vast
The mighty Daśaratha passed:
Not there was his beloved queen
On her fair couch reclining seen.
With love his eager pulses beat
For the dear wife he came to meet,
And in his blissful hopes deceived,
He sought his absent love and grieved.
For never had she missed the hour
Of meeting in her sumptuous bower,
And never had the king of men
Entered the empty room till then.
Still urged by love and anxious thought
News of his favourite queen he sought,
For never had his loving eyes
Found her or selfish or unwise.
Then spoke at length the warder maid,
With hands upraised and sore afraid:
“My Lord and King, the queen has sought
The mourner's cell with rage distraught.”
The words the warder maiden said
He heard with soul disquieted,
And thus as fiercer grief assailed,
His troubled senses wellnigh failed.
Consumed by torturing fires of grief
The king, the world's imperial chief,
His lady lying on the ground
In most unqueenly posture, found.
The aged king, all pure within,
Saw the young queen resolved on sin,
Low on the ground, his own sweet wife,
To him far dearer than his life,
Like some fair creeping plant uptorn,
Or like a maid of heaven forlorn,
A nymph of air or Goddess sent
From Swarga down in banishment.
As some wild elephant who tries
To soothe his consort as she lies
Struck by the hunter's venomed dart,
So the great king disturbed in heart,
Strove with soft hand and fond caress
To soothe his darling queen's distress,
And in his love addressed with sighs
The lady of the lotus eyes:
“I know not, Queen, why thou shouldst be
Thus angered to the heart with me.
Say, who has slighted thee, or whence
Has come the cause of such offence
That in the dust thou liest low,
And rendest my fond heart with woe,
As if some goblin of the night
Had struck thee with a deadly blight,
And cast foul influence on her
Whose spells my loving bosom stir?
I have Physicians famed for skill,
Each trained to cure some special ill:
My sweetest lady, tell thy pain,
And they shall make thee well again.
Whom, darling, wouldst thou punished see?
Or whom enriched with lordly fee?
[pg 102]
Weep not, my lovely Queen, and stay
This grief that wears thy frame away;
Speak, and the guilty shall be freed.
The guiltless be condemned to bleed,
The poor enriched, the rich abased,
The low set high, the proud disgraced.
My lords and I thy will obey,
All slaves who own thy sovereign sway;
And I can ne'er my heart incline
To check in aught one wish of thine.
Now by my life I pray thee tell
The thoughts that in thy bosom dwell.
The power and might thou knowest well,
Should from thy breast all doubt expel.
I swear by all my merit won,
Speak, and thy pleasure shall be done.
Far as the world's wide bounds extend
My glorious empire knows no end.
Mine are the tribes in eastern lands,
And those who dwell on Sindhu's sands:
Mine is Suráshṭra, far away,
Suvíra's realm admits my sway.
My best the southern nations fear,
The Angas and the Vangas hear.
And as lord paramount I reign
O'er Magadh and the Matsyas' plain,
Kośal, and Káśi's wide domain:273
All rich in treasures of the mine,
In golden corn, sheep, goats, and kine.
Choose what thou wilt. Kaikeyí, thence:
But tell me, O my darling, whence
Arose thy grief, and it shall fly
Like hoar-frost when the sun is high.”
She, by his loving words consoled,
Longed her dire purpose to unfold,
And sought with sharper pangs to wring
The bosom of her lord the king.
Canto XI. The Queen's Demand.

To him enthralled by love, and blind,
Pierced by his darts who shakes the mind,274
Kaikeyí with remorseless breast
Her grand purpose thus expressed:
“O King, no insult or neglect
Have I endured, or disrespect.
One wish I have, and faith would see
That longing granted, lord, by thee.
Now pledge thy word if thou incline
To listen to this prayer of mine,
Then I with confidence will speak,
And thou shalt hear the boon I seek.”
Ere she had ceased, the monarch fell,
A victim to the lady's spell,
And to the deadly snare she set
Sprang, like a roebuck to the net.
Her lover raised her drooping head,
Smiled, playing with her hair, and said:
“Hast thou not learnt, wild dame, till now
That there is none so dear as thou
To me thy loving husband, save
My Ráma bravest of the brave?
By him my race's high-souled heir,
By him whom none can match, I swear,
Now speak the wish that on thee weighs:
By him whose right is length of days,
Whom if my fond paternal eye
Saw not one hour I needs must die,—
I swear by Ráma my dear son,
Speak, and thy bidding shall be done.
Speak, darling; if thou choose, request
To have the heart from out my breast;
Regard my words, sweet love, and name
The wish thy mind thinks fit to frame.
Nor let thy soul give way to doubt:
My power should drive suspicion out.
Yea, by my merits won I swear,
Speak, darling, I will grant thy prayer.”
The queen, ambitious, overjoyed
To see him by her plot decoyed,
More eager still her aims to reach,
Spoke her abominable speech:
“A boon thou grantest, nothing loth,
And swearest with repeated oath.
Now let the thirty Gods and three
My witnesses, with Indra, be.
Let sun and moon and planets hear,
Heaven, quarters, day and night, give ear.
The mighty world, the earth outspread,
With bards of heaven and demons dread;
The ghosts that walk in midnight shade,
And household Gods, our present aid,
A every being great and small
To hear and mark the oath I call.”
When thus the archer king was bound,
With treacherous arts and oaths enwound,
She to her bounteous lord subdued
By blinding love, her speech renewed:
“Remember, King, that long-past day
Of Gods' and demons' battle fray.
And how thy foe in doubtful strife
Had nigh bereft thee of thy life.
Remember, it was only I
Preserved thee when about to die,
And thou for watchful love and care
Wouldst grant my first and second prayer.
Those offered boons, pledged with thee then,
I now demand, O King of men,
[pg 103]
Of thee, O Monarch, good and just,
Whose righteous soul observes each trust.
If thou refuse thy promise sworn,
I die, despised, before the morn.
These rites in Ráma's name begun—
Transfer them, and enthrone my son.
The time is come to claim at last
The double boon of days long-past,
When Gods and demons met in fight,
And thou wouldst fain my care requite.
Now forth to Daṇḍak's forest drive
Thy Ráma for nine years and five,
And let him dwell a hermit there
With deerskin coat and matted hair.
Without a rival let my boy
The empire of the land enjoy,
And let mine eyes ere morning see
Thy Ráma to the forest flee.”
Canto XII. Dasaratha's Lament.

The monarch, as Kaikeyí pressed
With cruel words her dire request,
Stood for a time absorbed in thought
While anguish in his bosom wrought.
“Does some wild dream my heart assail?
Or do my troubled senses fail?
Does some dire portent scare my view?
Or frenzy's stroke my soul subdue?”
Thus as he thought, his troubled mind
In doubt and dread no rest could find,
Distressed and trembling like a deer
Who sees the dreaded tigress near.
On the bare ground his limbs he threw,
And many a long deep sigh he drew,
Like a wild snake, with fury blind,
By charms within a ring confined.
Once as the monarch's fury woke,
“Shame on thee!” from his bosom broke,
And then in sense-bewildering pain
He fainted on the ground again.
At length, when slowly strength returned,
He answered as his eyeballs burned
With the wild fury of his ire
Consuming her, as 'twere, with fire:
“Fell traitress, thou whose thoughts design
The utter ruin of my line,
What wrong have I or Ráma done?
Speak murderess, speak thou wicked one,
Seeks he not evermore to please
Thee with all sonlike courtesies?
By what persuasion art thou led
To bring this ruin on his head?
Ah me, that fondly unaware
I brought thee home my life to share,
Called daughter of a king, in truth
A serpent with a venomed tooth!
What fault can I pretend to find
In Ráma praised by all mankind,
That I my darling should forsake?
No, take my life, my glory take:
Let either queen be from me torn,
But not my well-loved eldest-born.
Him but to see is highest bliss,
And death itself his face to miss.
The world may sunless stand, the grain
May thrive without the genial rain,
But if my Ráma be not nigh
My spirit from its frame will fly.
Enough, thine impious plan forgo,
O thou who plottest sin and woe.
My head before thy feet, I kneel,
And pray thee some compassion feel.
O wicked dame, what can have led
Thy heart to dare a plot so dread?
Perchance thy purpose is to sound
The grace thy son with me has found;
Perchance the words that, all these days,
Thou still hast said in Ráma's praise,
Were only feigned, designed to cheer
With flatteries a father's ear.
Soon as thy grief, my Queen, I knew,
My bosom felt the anguish too.
In empty halls art thou possessed,
And subject to anothers' hest?
Now on Ikshváku's ancient race
Falls foul disorder and disgrace,
If thou, O Queen, whose heart so long
Has loved the good should choose the wrong.
Not once, O large-eyed dame, hast thou
Been guilty of offence till now,
Nor said a word to make me grieve,
Now will I now thy sin believe.
With thee my Ráma used to hold
Like place with Bharat lofty-souled.
As thou so often, when the pair
Were children yet, wouldst fain declare.
And can thy righteous soul endure
That Ráma glorious, pious, pure,
Should to the distant wilds be sent
For fourteen years of banishment?
Yea, Ráma Bharat's self exceeds
In love to thee and sonlike deeds,
And, for deserving love of thee,
As Bharat, even so is he.
Who better than that chieftain may
Obedience, love, and honour pay,
Thy dignity with care protect,
Thy slightest word and wish respect?
Of all his countless followers none
Can breathe a word against my son;
Of many thousands not a dame
Can hint reproach or whisper blame.
All creatures feel the sweet control
Of Ráma's pure and gentle soul.
The pride of Manu's race he binds
To him the people's grateful minds.
He wins the subjects with his truth,
[pg 104]
The poor with gifts and gentle ruth,
His teachers with his docile will,
The foemen with his archer skill.
Truth, purity, religious zeal,
The hand to give, the heart to feel,
The love that ne'er betrays a friend,
The rectitude that naught can bend,
Knowledge, and meek obedience grace
My Ráma pride of Raghu's race.
Canst thou thine impious plot design
'Gainst him in whom these virtues shine,
Whose glory with the sages vies,
Peer of the Gods who rule the skies!
From him no harsh or bitter word
To pain one creature have I heard,
And how can I my son address,
For thee, with words of bitterness?
Have mercy, Queen: some pity show
To see my tears of anguish flow,
And listen to my mournful cry,
A poor old man who soon must die.
Whate'er this sea-girt land can boast
Of rich and rare from coast to coast,
To thee, my Queen, I give it all:
But O, thy deadly words recall:
O see, my suppliant hands entreat,
Again my lips are on thy feet:
Save Ráma, save my darling child,
Nor kill me with this sin defiled.”
He grovelled on the ground, and lay
To burning grief a senseless prey,
And ever and anon, assailed
By floods of woe he wept and wailed,
Striving with eager speed to gain
The margent of his sea of pain.
With fiercer words she fiercer yet
The hapless father's pleading met:
“O Monarch, if thy soul repent
The promise and thy free consent,
How wilt thou in the world maintain
Thy fame for truth unsmirched with stain?
When gathered kings with thee converse,
And bid thee all the tale rehearse,
What wilt thou say, O truthful King,
In answer to their questioning?
“She to whose love my life I owe,
Who saved me smitten by the foe,
Kaikeyí, for her tender care,
Was cheated of the oath I sware.”
Thus wilt thou answer, and forsworn
Wilt draw on thee the princes' scorn.
Learn from that tale, the Hawk and Dove,275
How strong for truth was Saivya's love.
Pledged by his word the monarch gave
His flesh the suppliant bird to save.
So King Alarka gave his eyes,
And gained a mansion in the skies.
The Sea himself his promise keeps,
And ne'er beyond his limit sweeps.
My deeds of old again recall,
Nor let thy bond dishonoured fall.
The rights of truth thou wouldst forget,
Thy Ráma on the throne to set,
And let thy days in pleasure glide,
Fond King, Kauśalyá by thy side.
Now call it by what name thou wilt,
Justice, injustice, virtue, guilt,
Thy word and oath remain the same,
And thou must yield what thus I claim.
If Ráma be anointed, I
This very day will surely die,
Before thy face will poison drink,
And lifeless at thy feet will sink.
Yea, better far to die than stay
Alive to see one single day
The crowds before Kauśalyá stand
And hail her queen with reverent hand.
Now by my son, myself, I swear,
No gift, no promise whatsoe'er
My steadfast soul shall now content,
But only Ráma's banishment.”
So far she spake by rage impelled,
And then the queen deep silence held.
He heard her speech full fraught with ill,
But spoke no word bewildered still,
Gazed on his love once held so dear
Who spoke unlovely rede to hear;
Then as he slowly pondered o'er
The queen's resolve and oath she swore.
Once sighing forth, Ah Ráma! he
Fell prone as falls a smitten tree.
His senses lost like one insane,
Faint as a sick man weak with pain,
Or like a wounded snake dismayed,
So lay the king whom earth obeyed.
Long burning sighs he slowly heaved,
As, conquered by his woe, he grieved,
And thus with tears and sobs between
His sad faint words addressed the queen:
“By whom, Kaikeyí, wast thou taught
This flattering hope with ruin fraught?
Have goblins seized thy soul, O dame,
Who thus canst speak and feel no shame?
Thy mind with sin is sicklied o'er,
From thy first youth ne'er seen before.
A good and loving wife wast thou,
But all, alas! is altered now.
What terror can have seized thy breast
To make thee frame this dire request,
That Bharat o'er the land may reign,
And Ráma in the woods remain?
Turn from thine evil ways, O turn,
And thy perfidious counsel spurn,
If thou would fain a favour do
To people, lord, and Bharat too.
O wicked traitress, fierce and vile,
Who lovest deeds of sin and guile,
[pg 105]
What crime or grievance dost thou see,
What fault in Ráma or in me?
Thy son will ne'er the throne accept
If Ráma from his rights be kept,
For Bharat's heart more firmly yet
Than Ráma's is on justice set.
How shall I say, Go forth, and brook
Upon my Ráma's face to look,
See his pale cheek and ashy lips
Dimmed like the moon in sad eclipse?
How see the plan so well prepared
When prudent friends my counsels shared,
All ruined, like a host laid low
Beneath some foeman's murderous blow.
What will these gathered princes say,
From regions near and far away?
“O'erlong endures the monarch's reign,
or now he is a child again.”
When many a good and holy sage
In Scripture versed, revered for age,
Shall ask for Ráma, what shall I
Unhappy, what shall I reply?
“By Queen Kaikeyí long distressed
I drove him forth and dispossessed.”
Although herein the truth I speak,
They all will hold me false and weak.
What will Kauśalyá say when she
Demands her son exiled by me?
Alas! what answer shall I frame,
Or how console the injured dame?
She like a slave on me attends,
And with a sister's care she blends
A mother's love, a wife's, a friend's.
In spite of all her tender care,
Her noble son, her face most fair,
Another queen I could prefer
And for thy sake neglected her,
But now, O Queen, my heart is grieved
For love and care by thee received,
E'en as the sickening wretch repents
His dainty meal and condiments.
And how will Queen Sumitrá trust
The husband whom she finds unjust,
Seeing my Ráma driven hence
Dishonoured, and for no offence?
Ah! the Videhan bride will hear
A double woe, a double fear,
Two whelming sorrows at one breath,
Her lord's disgrace, his father's death.
Mine aged bosom she will wring
And kill me with her sorrowing,
Sad as a fair nymph left to weep
Deserted on Himálaya's steep.
For short will be my days, I ween,
When I with mournful eyes have seen
My Ráma wandering forth alone
And heard dear Sítá sob and moan.
Ah me! my fond belief I rue.
Vile traitress, loved as good and true,
As one who in his thirst has quaffed,
Deceived by looks, a deadly draught.
Ah! thou hast slain me, murderess, while
Soothing my soul with words of guile,
As the wild hunter kills the deer
Lured from the brake his song to hear.
Soon every honest tongue will fling
Reproach on the dishonest king;
The people's scorn in every street
The seller of his child will meet,
And such dishonour will be mine
As whelms a Bráhman drunk with wine.
Ah me, for my unhappy fate,
Compelled thy words to tolerate!
Such woe is sent to scourge a crime
Committed in some distant time.
For many a day with sinful care
I cherished thee, thou sin and snare,
Kept thee, unwitting, like a cord
Destined to bind its hapless lord.
Mine hours of ease I spent with thee,
Nor deemed my love my death would be,
While like a heedless child I played,
On a black snake my hand I laid.
A cry from every mouth will burst
And all the world will hold me curst,
Because I saw my high-souled son
Unkinged, unfathered, and undone;
“The king by power of love beguiled
Is weaker than a foolish child,
His own beloved son to make
An exile for a woman's sake.
By chaste and holy vows restrained,
By reverend teachers duly trained.
When he his virtue's fruit should taste
He falls by sin and woe disgraced.”
Two words will all his answer be
When I pronounce the stern decree,
“Hence, Ráma, to the woods away,”
All he will say is, I obey.
O, if he would my will withstand
When banished from his home and land,
This were a comfort in my woe;
But he will ne'er do this, I know.
My Ráma to the forest fled,
And curses thick upon my head,
Grim Death will bear me hence away,
His world-abominated prey.
When I am gone and Ráma too.
How wilt thou those I love pursue?
What vengeful sin will be designed
Against the queens I leave behind?
When thou hast slain her son and me
Kauśalyá soon will follow: she
Will sink beneath her sorrows' weight,
And die like me disconsolate.
Exist, Kaikeyí, in thy pride,
And let thy heart be gratified,
When thou my queens and me hast hurled,
And children, to the under world.
Soon wilt thou rule as empress o'er
My noble house unvext before.
But then to wild confusion left,
[pg 106]
Of Ráma and of me bereft.
If Bharat to thy plan consent
And long for Ráma's banishment,
Ne'er let his hands presume to pay
The funeral honours to my clay.
Vile foe, thou cause of all mine ill,
Obtain at last thy cursed will.
A widow soon shalt thou enjoy
The sweets of empire with thy boy.
O Princess, sure some evil fate
First brought thee here to devastate,
In whom the night of ruin lies
Veiled in a consort's fair disguise.
The scorn of all and deepest shame
Will long pursue my hated name,
And dire disgrace on me will press,
Misled by thee to wickedness.
How shall my Ráma, whom, before,
His elephant or chariot bore,
Now with his feet, a wanderer, tread
The forest wilds around him spread?
How shall my son, to please whose taste,
The deftest cooks, with earrings graced,
With rivalry and jealous care
The dainty meal and cates prepare—
How shall he now his life sustain
With acid fruit and woodland grain?
He spends his time unvext by cares,
And robes of precious texture wears:
How shall he, with one garment round
His limbs recline upon the ground?
Whose was this plan, this cruel thought
Unheard till now, with ruin fraught,
To make thy son Ayodhyá's king,
And send my Ráma wandering?
Shame, shame on women! Vile, untrue,
Their selfish ends they still pursue.
Not all of womankind I mean.
But more than all this wicked queen.
O worthless, cruel, selfish dame,
I brought thee home, my plague and woe.
What fault in me hast thou to blame,
Or in my son who loves thee so?
Fond wives may from their husbands flee,
And fathers may their sons desert,
But all the world would rave to see
My Ráma touched with deadly hurt.
I joy his very step to hear,
As though his godlike form I viewed;
And when I see my Ráma near
I feel my youth again renewed.
There might be life without the sun,
Yea, e'en if Indra sent no rain,
But, were my Ráma banished, none
Would, so I think, alive remain.
A foe that longs my life to take,
I brought thee here my death to be,
Caressed thee long, a venomed snake,
And through my folly die. Ah me!
Ráma and me and Lakshmaṇ slay,
And then with Bharat rule the state;
So bring the kingdom to decay,
And fawn on those thy lord who hate,
Plotter of woe, for evil bred,
For such a speech why do not all
Thy teeth from out thy wicked head
Split in a thousand pieces fall?
My Ráma's words are ever kind,
He knows not how to speak in ire:
Then how canst thou presume to find
A fault in him whom all admire?
Yield to despair, go mad, or die,
Or sink within the rifted earth;
Thy fell request will I deny,
Thou shamer of thy royal birth.
Thy longer life I scarce can bear,
Thou ruin of my home and race,
Who wouldst my heart and heartstrings tear,
Keen as a razor, false and base.
My life is gone, why speak of joy?
For what, without my son, were sweet?
Spare, lady, him thou canst destroy;
I pray thee as I touch thy feet.”
He fell and wept with wild complaint,
Heart-struck by her presumptuous speech,
But could not touch, so weak and faint,
The cruel feet he strove to reach.
Canto XIII. Dasaratha's Distress.

Unworthy of his mournful fate,
The mighty king, unfortunate,
Lay prostrate in unseemly guise,
As, banished from the blissful skies,
Yayáti, in his evil day.
His merit all exhausted, lay.276
The queen, triumphant in the power
Won by her beauty's fatal dower,
Still terrible and unsubdued,
Her dire demand again renewed:
“Great Monarch, 'twas thy boast till now
To love the truth and keep the vow;
Then wherefore would thy lips refuse
The promised boon 'tis mine to choose?”
King Daśaratha, thus addressed,
With anger raging in his breast,
Sank for a while beneath the pain,
Then to Kaikeyí spoke again:
[pg 107]
“Childless so long, at length I won,
With mighty toil, from Heaven a son,
Ráma, the mighty-armed; and how
Shall I desert my darling now?
A scholar wise, a hero bold,
Of patient mood, with wrath controlled,
How can I bid my Ráma fly,
My darling of the lotus eye?
In heaven itself I scarce could bear,
When asking of my Ráma there,
To hear the Gods his griefs declare,
And O, that death would take me hence
Before I wrong his innocence!”
As thus the monarch wept and wailed,
And maddening grief his heart assailed,
The sun had sought his resting-place,
And night was closing round apace.
But yet the moon-crowned night could bring
No comfort to the wretched king.
As still he mourned with burning sighs
And fixed his gaze upon the skies:
“O Night whom starry fires adorn,
I long not for the coming morn.
Be kind and show some mercy: see,
My suppliant hands are raised to thee.
Nay, rather fly with swifter pace;
No longer would I see the face
Of Queen Kaikeyí, cruel, dread,
Who brings this woe upon mine head.”
Again with suppliant hands he tried
To move the queen, and wept and sighed:
“To me, unhappy me, inclined
To good, sweet dame, thou shouldst be kind;
Whose life is well-nigh fled, who cling
To thee for succour, me thy king.
This, only this, is all my claim:
Have mercy, O my lovely dame.
None else have I to take my part,
Have mercy: thou art good at heart.
Hear, lady of the soft black eye,
And win a name that ne'er shall die:
Let Ráma rule this glorious land,
The gift of thine imperial hand.
O lady of the dainty waist,
With eyes and lips of beauty graced,
Please Ráma, me, each saintly priest,
Bharat, and all from chief to least.”
She heard his wild and mournful cry,
She saw the tears his speech that broke,
Saw her good husband's reddened eye,
But, cruel still, no word she spoke.
His eyes upon her face he bent,
And sought for mercy, but in vain:
She claimed his darling's banishment,
He swooned upon the ground again.
Canto XIV. Ráma Summoned.

The wicked queen her speech renewed,
When rolling on the earth she viewed
Ikshváku's son, Ayodhyá's king,
For his dear Ráma sorrowing:
“Why, by a simple promise bound,
Liest thou prostrate on the ground,
As though a grievous sin dismayed
Thy spirit! Why so sore afraid?
Keep still thy word. The righteous deem
That truth, mid duties, is supreme:
And now in truth and honour's name
I bid thee own the binding claim.
Śaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,
Once to a hawk a promise made,
Gave to the bird his flesh and bone,
And by his truth made heaven his own.277
Alarka, when a Bráhman famed
For Scripture lore his promise claimed,
Tore from his head his bleeding eyes
And unreluctant gave the prize.
His narrow bounds prescribed restrain
The Rivers' Lord, the mighty main,
Who, though his waters boil and rave,
Keeps faithful to the word he gave.
Truth all religion comprehends,
Through all the world its might extends:
In truth alone is justice placed,
On truth the words of God are based:
A life in truth unchanging past
Will bring the highest bliss at last.
If thou the right would still pursue,
Be constant to thy word and true:
Let me thy promise fruitful see,
For boons, O King, proceed from thee.
Now to preserve thy righteous fame,
And yielding to my earnest claim—
Thrice I repeat it—send thy child,
Thy Ráma, to the forest wild.
But if the boon thou still deny,
Before thy face, forlorn, I die.”
Thus was the helpless monarch stung
By Queen Kaikeyí's fearless tongue,
As Bali strove in vain to loose
His limbs from Indra's fatal noose.
Dismayed in soul and pale with fear,
The monarch, like a trembling steer
Between the chariot's wheel and yoke,
Again to Queen Kaikeyí spoke,
With sad eyes fixt in vacant stare,
Gathering courage from despair:
“That hand I took, thou sinful dame,
With texts, before the sacred flame,
Thee and thy son, I scorn and hate,
And all at once repudiate.
[pg 108]
The night is fled: the dawn is near:
Soon will the holy priests be here
To bid me for the rite prepare
That with my son the throne will share,
The preparation made to grace
My Ráma in his royal place—
With this, e'en this, my darling for
My death the funeral flood shall pour.
Thou and thy son at least forbear
In offerings to my shade to share,
For by the plot thy guile has laid
His consecration will be stayed.
This very day how shall I brook
To meet each subject's altered look?
To mark each gloomy joyless brow
That was so bright and glad but now?”
While thus the high-souled monarch spoke
To the stern queen, the Morning broke,
And holy night had slowly fled,
With moon and stars engarlanded.
Yet once again the cruel queen
Spoke words in answer fierce and keen,
Still on her evil purpose bent,
Wild with her rage and eloquent:
“What speech is this? Such words as these
Seem sprung from poison-sown disease.
Quick to thy noble Ráma send
And bid him on his sire attend.
When to my son the rule is given;
When Ráma to the woods is driven;
When not a rival copes with me,
From chains of duty thou art free.”
Thus goaded, like a generous steed
Urged by sharp spurs to double speed,
“My senses are astray,” he cried,
“And duty's bonds my hands have tied.
I long to see mine eldest son,
My virtuous, my beloved one.”
And now the night had past away;
Out shone the Maker of the Day,
Bringing the planetary hour
And moment of auspicious power.
Vaśishṭha, virtuous, far renowned,
Whose young disciples girt him round,
With sacred things without delay
Through the fair city took his way.
He traversed, where the people thronged,
And all for Ráma's coming longed,
The town as fair in festive show
As his who lays proud cities low.278
He reached the palace where he heard
The mingled notes of many a bird,
Where crowded thick high-honoured bands
Of guards with truncheons in their hands.
Begirt by many a sage, elate,
Vaśishṭha reached the royal gate,
And standing by the door he found
Sumantra, for his form renowned,
The king's illustrious charioteer
And noble counsellor and peer.
To him well skilled in every part
Of his hereditary art
Vaśishṭha said: “O charioteer,
Inform the king that I am here,
Here ready by my side behold
These sacred vessels made of gold,
Which water for the rite contain
From Gangá and each distant main.
Here for installing I have brought
The seat prescribed of fig-wood wrought,
All kinds of seed and precious scent
And many a gem and ornament;
Grain, sacred grass, the garden's spoil,
Honey and curds and milk and oil;
Eight radiant maids, the best of all
War elephants that feed in stall;
A four-horse car, a bow and sword.
A litter, men to bear their lord;
A white umbrella bright and fair
That with the moon may well compare;
Two chouries of the whitest hair;
A golden beaker rich and rare;
A bull high-humped and fair to view,
Girt with gold bands and white of hue;
A four-toothed steed with flowing mane,
A throne which lions carved sustain;
A tiger's skin, the sacred fire,
Fresh kindled, which the rites require;
The best musicians skilled to play,
And dancing-girls in raiment gay;
Kine, Bráhmans, teachers fill the court,
And bird and beast of purest sort.
From town and village, far and near,
The noblest men are gathered here;
Here merchants with their followers crowd,
And men in joyful converse loud,
And kings from many a distant land
To view the consecration stand.
The dawn is come, the lucky day;
Go bid the monarch haste away,
That now Prince Ráma may obtain
The empire, and begin his reign.”
Soon as he heard the high behest
The driver of the chariot pressed
Within the chambers of the king,
His lord with praises honouring.
And none of all the warders checked
His entrance for their great respect
Of him well known, in place so high,
Still fain their king to gratify.
He stood beside the royal chief,
Unwitting of his deadly grief,
And with sweet words began to sing
The praises of his lord and king:
“As, when the sun begins to rise,
The sparkling sea delights our eyes,
Wake, calm with gentle soul, and thus
[pg 109]
Give rapture, mighty King, to us.
As Mátali279 this selfsame hour
Sang lauds of old to Indra's power,
When he the Titan hosts o'erthrew,
So hymn I thee with praises due.
The Vedas, with their kindred lore,
Brahmá their soul-born Lord adore,
With all the doctrines of the wise,
And bid him, as I bid thee, rise.
As, with the moon, the Lord of Day
Wakes with the splendour of his ray
Prolific Earth, who neath him lies,
So, mighty King, I bid thee rise.
With blissful words, O Lord of men,
Rise, radiant in thy form, as when
The sun ascending darts his light
From Meru's everlasting height.
May Śiva, Agni, Sun, and Moon
Bestow on thee each choicest boon,
Kuvera, Varuṇa, Indra bless
Kakutstha's son with all success.
Awake, the holy night is fled,
The happy light abroad is spread;
Awake, O best of kings, and share
The glorious task that claims thy care.
The holy sage Vaśishṭha waits,
With all his Bráhmans, at the gate.
Give thy decree, without delay,
To consecrate thy son today.
As armies, by no captain led,
As flocks that feed unshepherded,
Such is the fortune of a state
Without a king and desolate.”
Such were the words the bard addressed,
With weight of sage advice impressed;
And, as he heard, the hapless king
Felt deeper yet his sorrow's sting.
At length, all joy and comfort fled,
He raised his eyes with weeping red,
And, mournful for his Ráma's sake,
The good and glorious monarch spake:
“Why seek with idle praise to greet
The wretch for whom no praise is meet?
Thy words mine aching bosom tear,
And plunge me deeper in despair.”
Sumantra heard the sad reply,
And saw his master's tearful eye.
With reverent palm to palm applied
He drew a little space aside.
Then, as the king, with misery weak,
With vain endeavour strove to speak,
Kaikeyí, skilled in plot and plan,
To sage Sumantra thus began:
“The king, absorbed in joyful thought
For his dear son, no rest has sought:
Sleepless to him the night has past,
And now o'erwatched he sinks at last.
Then go, Sumantra, and with speed
The glorious Ráma hither lead:
Go, as I pray, nor longer wait;
No time is this to hesitate.”
“How can I go, O Lady fair,
Unless my lord his will declare?”
“Fain would I see him,” cried the king,
“Quick, quick, my beauteous Ráma bring.”
Then rose the happy thought to cheer
The bosom of the charioteer,
“The king, I ween, of pious mind,
The consecration has designed.”
Sumantra for his wisdom famed,
Delighted with the thought he framed,
From the calm chamber, like a bay
Of crowded ocean, took his way.
He turned his face to neither side,
But forth he hurried straight;
Only a little while he eyed
The guards who kept the gate.
He saw in front a gathered crowd
Of men of every class,
Who, parting as he came, allowed
The charioteer to pass.
Canto XV. The Preparations.

There slept the Bráhmans, deeply read
In Scripture, till the night had fled;
Then, with the royal chaplains, they
Took each his place in long array.
There gathered fast the chiefs of trade,
Nor peer nor captain long delayed,
Assembling all in order due
The consecrating rite to view.
The morning dawned with cloudless ray
On Pushya's high auspicious day,
And Cancer with benignant power
Looked down on Ráma's natal hour.
The twice-born chiefs, with zealous heed,
Made ready what the rite would need.
The well-wrought throne of holy wood
And golden urns in order stood.
There was the royal car whereon
A tiger's skin resplendent shone;
There water, brought for sprinkling thence
Where, in their sacred confluence,
Blend Jumná's waves with Gangá's tide,
From many a holy flood beside,
From brook and fountain far and near,
From pool and river, sea and mere.
And there were honey, curd, and oil,
Parched rice and grass, the garden's spoil,
Fresh milk, eight girls in bright attire,
An elephant with eyes of fire;
And urns of gold and silver made,
With milky branches overlaid,
All brimming from each sacred flood,
And decked with many a lotus bud.
[pg 110]
And dancing-women fair and free,
Gay with their gems, were there to see,
Who stood in bright apparel by
With lovely brow and witching eye.
White flashed the jewelled chouri there,
And shone like moonbeams through the air;
The white umbrella overhead
A pale and moonlike lustre shed,
Wont in pure splendour to precede,
And in such rites the pomp to lead.
There stood the charger by the side
Of the great bull of snow-white hide;
There was all music soft and loud,
And bards and minstrels swelled the crowd.
For now the monarch bade combine
Each custom of his ancient line
With every rite Ayodhyá's state
Observed, her kings to consecrate.
Then, summoned by the king's behest,
The multitudes together pressed,
And, missing still the royal sire,
Began, impatient, to inquire:
“Who to our lord will tidings bear
That all his people throng the square?
Where is the king? the sun is bright,
And all is ready for the rite.”
As thus they spoke, Sumantra, tried
In counsel, to the chiefs replied,
Gathered from lands on every side:
“To Ráma's house I swiftly drave,
For so the king his mandate gave.
Our aged lord and Ráma too
In honour high hold all of you:
I in your words (be long your days!)
Will ask him why he thus delays.”
Thus spoke the peer in Scripture read,
And to the ladies' bower he sped.
Quick through the gates Sumantra hied,
Which access ne'er to him denied.
Behind the curtained screen he drew,
Which veiled the chamber from the view.
In benediction loud he raised
His voice, and thus the monarch praised:
“Sun, Moon, Kuvera, Śiva bless
Kakutstha's son with high success!
The Lords of air, flood, fire decree
The victory, my King, to thee!
The holy night has past away,
Auspicious shines the morning's ray.
Rise, Lord of men, thy part to take
In the great rite. Awake! awake!
Bráhmans and captains, chiefs of trade,
All wait in festive garb arrayed;
For thee they look with eager eyes:
O Raghu's son, awake! arise.”
To him in holy Scripture read,
Who hailed him thus, the monarch said,
Upraising from his sleep his head:
“Go, Ráma, hither lead as thou
Wast ordered by the queen but now.
Come, tell me why my mandate laid
Upon thee thus is disobeyed.
Away! and Ráma hither bring;
I sleep not: make no tarrying.”
Thus gave the king command anew:
Sumantra from his lord withdrew;
With head in lowly reverence bent,
And filled with thoughts of joy, he went.
The royal street he traversed, where
Waved flag and pennon to the air,
And, as with joy the car he drove,
He let his eyes delighted rove.
On every side, where'er he came,
He heard glad words, their theme the same,
As in their joy the gathered folk
Of Ráma and the throning spoke.
Then saw he Ráma's palace bright
And vast as Mount Kailása's height,
That glorious in its beauty showed
As Indra's own supreme abode:
With folding doors both high and wide;
With hundred porches beautified:
Where golden statues towering rose
O'er gemmed and coralled porticoes.
Bright like a cave in Meru's side,
Or clouds through Autumn's sky that ride:
Festooned with length of bloomy twine,
Flashing with pearls and jewels' shine,
While sandal-wood and aloe lent
The mingled riches of their scent;
With all the odorous sweets that fill
The breezy heights of Dardar's hill.
There by the gate the Sáras screamed,
And shrill-toned peacocks' plumage gleamed.
Its floors with deftest art inlaid,
Its sculptured wolves in gold arrayed,
With its bright sheen the palace took
The mind of man and chained the look,
For like the sun and moon it glowed,
And mocked Kuvera's loved abode.
Circling the walls a crowd he viewed
Who stood in reverent attitude,
With throngs of countrymen who sought
Acceptance of the gifts they brought.
The elephant was stationed there,
Appointed Ráma's self to bear;
Adorned with pearls, his brow and cheek
Were sandal-dyed in many a streak,
While he, in stature, bulk, and pride,
With Indra's own Airávat280 vied.
Sumantra, borne by coursers fleet,
Flashing a radiance o'er the street,
To Ráma's palace flew,
And all who lined the royal road,
Or thronged the prince's rich abode,
Rejoiced as near he drew.
And with delight his bosom swelled
As onward still his course he held
[pg 111]
Through many a sumptuous court
Like Indra's palace nobly made,
Where peacocks revelled in the shade,
And beasts of silvan sort.
Through many a hall and chamber wide,
That with Kailása's splendour vied.
Or mansions of the Blest,
While Ráma's friends, beloved and tried,
Before his coming stepped aside,
Still on Sumantra pressed.
He reached the chamber door, where stood
Around his followers young and good,
Bard, minstrel, charioteer,
Well skilled the tuneful chords to sweep,
With soothing strain to lull to sleep,
Or laud their master dear.
Then, like a dolphin darting through
Unfathomed depths of ocean's blue
With store of jewels decked,
Through crowded halls that rock-like rose,
Or as proud hills where clouds repose,
Sumantra sped unchecked—
Halls like the glittering domes on high
Reared for the dwellers of the sky
By heavenly architect.
Canto XVI. Ráma Summoned.

So through the crowded inner door
Sumantra, skilled in ancient lore,
On to the private chambers pressed
Which stood apart from all the rest.
There youthful warriors, true and bold,
Whose ears were ringed with polished gold,
All armed with trusty bows and darts,
Watched with devoted eyes and hearts.
And hoary men, a faithful train,
Whose aged hands held staves of cane,
The ladies' guard, apparelled fair
In red attire, were stationed there.
Soon as they saw Sumantra nigh,
Each longed his lord to gratify,
And from his seat beside the door
Up sprang each ancient servitor.
Then to the warders quickly cried
The skilled Sumantra, void of pride:
“Tell Ráma that the charioteer
Sumantra waits for audience here.”
The ancient men with one accord
Seeking the pleasure of their lord,
Passing with speed the chamber door
To Ráma's ear the message bore.
Forthwith the prince with duteous heed
Called in the messenger with speed,
For 'twas his sire's command, he knew,
That sent him for the interview.
Like Lord Kuvera, well arrayed,
He pressed a couch of gold,
Wherefrom a covering of brocade
Hung down in many a fold.
Oil and the sandal's fragrant dust
Had tinged his body o'er
Dark as the stream the spearman's thrust
Drains from the wounded boar.
Him Sítá watched with tender care,
A chouri in her hand,
As Chitrá,281 ever fond in fair,
Beside the Moon will stand.
Him glorious with unborrowed light,
A liberal lord, of sunlike might,
Sumantra hailed in words like these,
Well skilled in gentle courtesies,
As, with joined hands in reverence raised,
Upon the beauteous prince he gazed:
“Happy Kauśalyá! Blest is she,
The Mother of a son like thee.
Now rise, O Ráma, speed away.
Go to thy sire without delay:
For he and Queen Kaikeyí seek
An interview with thee to speak.”
The lion-lord of men, the best
Of splendid heroes, thus addressed,
To Sítá spake with joyful cheer:
“The king and queen, my lady dear,
Touching the throning, for my sake
Some salutary counsel take.
The lady of the full black eye
Would fain her husband gratify,
And, all his purpose understood,
Counsels the monarch to my good.
A happy fate is mine, I ween,
When he, consulting with his queen,
Sumantra on this charge, intent
Upon my gain and good, has sent.
An envoy of so noble sort
Well suits the splendour of the court.
The consecration rite this day
Will join me in imperial sway.
To meet the lord of earth, for so
His order bids me, I will go.
Thou, lady, here in comfort stay,
And with thy maidens rest or play.”
Thus Ráma spake. For meet reply
The lady of the large black eye
Attended to the door her lord,
And blessings on his head implored:
“The majesty and royal state
Which holy Bráhmans venerate,
The consecration and the rite
Which sanctifies the ruler's might,
And all imperial powers should be
Thine by thy father's high decree,
As He, the worlds who formed and planned,
The kingship gave to Indra's hand.
[pg 112]
Then shall mine eyes my king adore
When lustral rites and fast are o'er,
And black deer's skin and roebuck's horn
Thy lordly limbs and hand adorn.
May He whose hands the thunder wield
Be in the east thy guard and shield;
May Yáma's care the south befriend,
And Varuṇ's arm the west defend;
And let Kuvera, Lord of Gold,
The north with firm protection hold.”
Then Ráma spoke a kind farewell,
And hailed the blessings as they fell
From Sítá's gentle lips; and then,
As a young lion from his den
Descends the mountain's stony side,
So from the hall the hero hied.
First Lakshmaṇ at the door he viewed
Who stood in reverent attitude,
Then to the central court he pressed
Where watched the friends who loved him best.
To all his dear companions there
He gave kind looks and greeting fair.
On to the lofty car that glowed
Like fire the royal tiger strode.
Bright as himself its silver shone:
A tiger's skin was laid thereon.
With cloudlike thunder, as it rolled,
It flashed with gems and burnished gold,
And, like the sun's meridian blaze,
Blinded the eye that none could gaze.
Like youthful elephants, tall and strong,
Fleet coursers whirled the car along:
In such a car the Thousand-eyed
Borne by swift horses loves to ride.
So like Parjanya,282 when he flies
Thundering through the autumn skies,
The hero from the palace sped,
As leaves the moon some cloud o'erhead.
Still close to Ráma Lakshmaṇ kept,
Behind him to the car he leapt,
And, watching with fraternal care,
Waved the long chouri's silver hair,
As from the palace gate he came
Up rose the tumult of acclaim.
While loud huzza and jubilant shout
Pealed from the gathered myriads out.
Then elephants, like mountains vast,
And steeds who all their kind surpassed,
Followed their lord by hundreds, nay
By thousands, led in long array.
First marched a band of warriors trained,
With sandal dust and aloe stained;
Well armed was each with sword and bow,
And every breast with hope aglow,
And ever, as they onward went,
Shouts from the warrior train,
And every sweet-toned instrument
Prolonged the minstrel strain.
On passed the tamer of his foes,
While well clad dames, in crowded rows,
Each chamber lattice thronged to view,
And chaplets on the hero threw.
Then all, of peerless face and limb,
Sang Ráma's praise for love of him,
And blent their voices, soft and sweet,
From palace high and crowded street:
“Now, sure, Kauśalyá's heart must swell
To see the son she loves so well,
Thee Ráma, thee, her joy and pride,
Triumphant o'er the realm preside.”
Then—for they knew his bride most fair
Of all who part the soft dark hair,
His love, his life, possessed the whole
Of her young hero's heart and soul:—
“Be sure the lady's fate repays
Some mighty vow of ancient days,283
For blest with Ráma's love is she
As, with the Moon's, sweet Rohiní.”284
Such were the witching words that came
From lips of many a peerless dame
Crowding the palace roofs to greet
The hero as he gained the street.
Canto XVII. Ráma's Approach.

As Ráma, rendering blithe and gay
His loving friends, pursued his way,
He saw on either hand a press
Of mingled people numberless.
The royal street he traversed, where
Incense of aloe filled the air,
Where rose high palaces, that vied
With paly clouds, on either side;
With flowers of myriad colours graced.
And food for every varied taste,
Bright as the glowing path o'erhead
Which feet of Gods celestial tread,
Loud benedictions, sweet to hear,
From countless voices soothed his ear.
While he to each gave due salute
His place and dignity to suit:
“Be thou,” the joyful people cried,
“Be thou our guardian, lord and guide.
Throned and anointed king to-day,
Thy feet set forth upon the way
Wherein, each honoured as a God,
Thy fathers and forefathers trod.
Thy sire and his have graced the throne,
And loving care to us have shown:
Thus blest shall we and ours remain,
Yea still more blest in Ráma's reign.
[pg 113]
No more of dainty fare we need,
And but one cherished object heed,
That we may see our prince today
Invested with imperial sway.”
Such were the words and pleasant speech
That Ráma heard, unmoved, from each
Of the dear friends around him spread,
As onward through the street he sped,
For none could turn his eye or thought
From the dear form his glances sought,
With fruitless ardour forward cast
Even when Raghu's son had past.
And he who saw not Ráma nigh,
Nor caught a look from Ráma's eye,
A mark for scorn and general blame,
Reproached himself in bitter shame.
For to each class his equal mind
With sympathy and love inclined
Most fully of the princely four,
So greatest love to him they bore.
His circling course the hero bent
Round shrine and altar, reverent,
Round homes of Gods, where cross-roads met,
Where many a sacred tree was set.
Near to his father's house he drew
Like Indra's beautiful to view,
And with the light his glory gave
Within the royal palace drave.
Through three broad courts, where bowmen kept
Their watch and ward, his coursers swept,
Then through the two remaining went
On foot the prince preëminent.
Through all the courts the hero passed,
And gained the ladies' bower at last;
Then through the door alone withdrew,
And left without his retinue.
When thus the monarch's noble boy
Had gone his sire to meet,
The multitude, elate with joy,
Stood watching in the street,
And his return with eager eyes
Expected at the gates,
As for his darling moon to rise
The King of Rivers285 waits.
Canto XVIII. The Sentence.

With hopeless eye and pallid mien
There sat the monarch with the queen.
His father's feet with reverence due
He clasped, and touched Kaikeyí's too.
The king, with eyes still brimming o'er,
Cried Ráma! and could do no more.
His voice was choked, his eye was dim,
He could not speak or look on him.
Then sudden fear made Ráma shake
As though his foot had roused a snake,
Soon as his eyes had seen the change
So mournful, terrible, and strange.
For there his reason well-nigh fled,
Sighing, with soul disquieted,
To torturing pangs a prey,
Dismayed, despairing, and distraught,
In a fierce whirl of wildering thought
The hapless monarch lay,
Like Ocean wave-engarlanded
Storm-driven from his tranquil bed,
The Sun-God in eclipse,
Or like a holy seer, heart-stirred
With anguish, when a lying word
Has passed his heedless lips.
The sight of his dear father, pained
With woe and misery unexplained
Filled Ráma with unrest,
As Ocean's pulses rise and swell
When the great moon he loves so well
Shines full upon his breast.
So grieving for his father's sake,
To his own heart the hero spake:
“Why will the king my sire to-day
No kindly word of greeting say?
At other times, though wroth he be,
His eyes grow calm that look on me.
Then why does anguish wring his brow
To see his well-beloved now?”
Sick and perplexed, distraught with woe,
To Queen Kaikeyí bowing low,
While pallor o'er his bright cheek spread,
With humble reverence he said:
“What have I done, unknown, amiss
To make my father wroth like this?
Declare it, O dear Queen, and win
His pardon for my heedless sin.
Why is the sire I ever find
Filled with all love to-day unkind?
With eyes cast down and pallid cheek
This day alone he will not speak.
Or lies he prostrate neath the blow
Of fierce disease or sudden woe?
For all our bliss is dashed with pain,
And joy unmixt is hard to gain.
Does stroke of evil fortune smite
Dear Bharat, charming to the sight,
Or on the brave Śatrughna fall,
Or consorts, for he loves them all?
Against his words when I rebel,
Or fail to please the monarch well,
When deeds of mine his soul offend,
That hour I pray my life may end.
How should a man to him who gave
His being and his life behave?
The sire to whom he owes his birth
Should be his deity on earth.
Hast thou, by pride and folly moved,
[pg 114]
With bitter taunt the king reproved?
Has scorn of thine or cruel jest
To passion stirred his gentle breast?
Speak truly, Queen, that I may know
What cause has changed the monarch so.”
Thus by the high-souled prince addressed,
Of Raghu's sons the chief and best,
She cast all ruth and shame aside,
And bold with greedy words replied:
“Not wrath, O Ráma, stirs the king,
Nor misery stabs with sudden sting;
One thought that fills his soul has he,
But dares not speak for fear of thee.
Thou art so dear, his lips refrain
From words that might his darling pain.
But thou, as duty bids, must still
The promise of thy sire fulfil.
He who to me in days gone by
Vouchsafed a boon with honours high,
Dares now, a king, his word regret,
And caitiff-like disowns the debt.
The lord of men his promise gave
To grant the boon that I might crave,
And now a bridge would idly throw
When the dried stream has ceased to flow.
His faith the monarch must not break
In wrath, or e'en for thy dear sake.
From faith, as well the righteous know,
Our virtue and our merits flow.
Now, be they good or be they ill,
Do thou thy father's words fulfil:
Swear that his promise shall not fail,
And I will tell thee all the tale.
Yes, Ráma, when I hear that thou
Hast bound thee by thy father's vow,
Then, not till then, my lips shall speak,
Nor will he tell what boon I seek.”
He heard, and with a troubled breast
This answer to the queen addressed:
“Ah me, dear lady, canst thou deem
That words like these thy lips beseem?
I, at the bidding of my sire,
Would cast my body to the fire,
A deadly draught of poison drink,
Or in the waves of ocean sink:
If he command, it shall be done,—
My father and my king in one.
Then speak and let me know the thing
So longed for by my lord the king.
It shall be done: let this suffice;
Ráma ne'er makes a promise twice.”
He ended. To the princely youth
Who loved the right and spoke the truth,
Cruel, abominable came
The answer of the ruthless dame:
“When Gods and Titans fought of yore,
Transfixed with darts and bathed in gore
Two boons to me thy father gave
For the dear life 'twas mine to save.
Of him I claim the ancient debt,
That Bharat on the throne be set,
And thou, O Ráma, go this day
To Daṇḍak forest far away.
Now, Ráma, if thou wilt maintain
Thy father's faith without a stain,
And thine own truth and honour clear,
Then, best of men, my bidding hear.
Do thou thy father's word obey,
Nor from the pledge he gave me stray.
Thy life in Daṇḍak forest spend
Till nine long years and five shall end.
Upon my Bharat's princely head
Let consecrating drops be shed,
With all the royal pomp for thee
Made ready by the king's decree.
Seek Daṇḍak forest and resign
Rites that would make the empire thine,
For twice seven years of exile wear
The coat of bark and matted hair.
Then in thy stead let Bharat reign
Lord of his royal sire's domain,
Rich in the fairest gems that shine,
Cars, elephants, and steeds, and kine.
The monarch mourns thy altered fate
And vails his brow compassionate:
Bowed down by bitter grief he lies
And dares not lift to thine his eyes.
Obey his word: be firm and brave,
And with great truth the monarch save.”
While thus with cruel words she spoke,
No grief the noble youth betrayed;
But forth the father's anguish broke,
At his dear Ráma's lot dismayed.
Canto XIX. Ráma's Promise.

Calm and unmoved by threatened woe
The noble conqueror of the foe
Answered the cruel words she spoke,
Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:
“Yea, for my father's promise sake
I to the wood my way will take,
And dwell a lonely exile there
In hermit dress with matted hair.
One thing alone I fain would learn,
Why is the king this day so stern?
Why is the scourge of foes so cold,
Nor gives me greeting as of old?
Now let not anger flush thy cheek:
Before thy face the truth I speak,
In hermit's coat with matted hair
To the wild wood will I repair.
How can I fail his will to do,
Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?
One only pang consumes my breast:
That his own lips have not expressed
His will, nor made his longing known
That Bharat should ascend the throne.
[pg 115]
To Bharat I would yield my wife,
My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,
Unasked I fain would yield them all:
More gladly at my father's call,
More gladly when the gift may free
His honour and bring joy to thee.
Thus, lady, his sad heart release
From the sore shame, and give him peace.
But tell me, O, I pray thee, why
The lord of men, with downcast eye,
Lies prostrate thus, and one by one
Down his pale cheek the tear-drops run.
Let couriers to thy father speed
On horses of the swiftest breed,
And, by the mandate of the king,
Thy Bharat to his presence bring.
My father's words I will not stay
To question, but this very day
To Daṇḍak's pathless wild will fare,
For twice seven years an exile there.”
When Ráma thus had made reply
Kaikeyí's heart with joy beat high.
She, trusting to the pledge she held,
The youth's departure thus impelled:
“'Tis well. Be messengers despatched
On coursers ne'er for fleetness matched,
To seek my father's home and lead
My Bharat back with all their speed.
And, Ráma, as I ween that thou
Wilt scarce endure to linger now,
So surely it were wise and good
This hour to journey to the wood.
And if, with shame cast down and weak,
No word to thee the king can speak,
Forgive, and from thy mind dismiss
A trifle in an hour like this.
But till thy feet in rapid haste
Have left the city for the waste,
And to the distant forest fled,
He will not bathe nor call for bread.”
“Woe! woe!” from the sad monarch burst,
In surging floods of grief immersed;
Then swooning, with his wits astray,
Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,
And Ráma raised the aged king:
But the stern queen, unpitying,
Checked not her needless words, nor spared
The hero for all speed prepared,
But urged him with her bitter tongue,
Like a good horse with lashes stung,
She spoke her shameful speech. Serene
He heard the fury of the queen,
And to her words so vile and dread
Gently, unmoved in mind, he said:
“I would not in this world remain
A grovelling thrall to paltry gain,
But duty's path would fain pursue,
True as the saints themselves are true.
From death itself I would not fly
My father's wish to gratify,
What deed soe'er his loving son
May do to please him, think it done.
Amid all duties, Queen, I count
This duty first and paramount,
That sons, obedient, aye fulfil
Their honoured fathers' word and will.
Without his word, if thou decree,
Forth to the forest will I flee,
And there shall fourteen years be spent
Mid lonely wilds in banishment.
Methinks thou couldst not hope to find
One spark of virtue in my mind,
If thou, whose wish is still my lord,
Hast for this grace the king implored.
This day I go, but, ere we part,
Must cheer my Sítá's tender heart,
To my dear mother bid farewell;
Then to the woods, a while to dwell.
With thee, O Queen, the care must rest
That Bharat hear his sire's behest,
And guard the land with righteous sway,
For such the law that lives for aye.”
In speechless woe the father heard,
Wept with loud cries, but spoke no word.
Then Ráma touched his senseless feet,
And hers, for honour most unmeet;
Round both his circling steps he bent,
Then from the bower the hero went.
Soon as he reached the gate he found
His dear companions gathered round.
Behind him came Sumitrá's child
With weeping eyes so sad and wild.
Then saw he all that rich array
Of vases for the glorious day.
Round them with reverent stops he paced,
Nor vailed his eye, nor moved in haste.
The loss of empire could not dim
The glory that encompassed him.
So will the Lord of Cooling Rays286
On whom the world delights to gaze,
Through the great love of all retain
Sweet splendour in the time of wane.
Now to the exile's lot resigned
He left the rule of earth behind:
As though all worldly cares he spurned
No trouble was in him discerned.
The chouries that for kings are used,
And white umbrella, he refused,
Dismissed his chariot and his men,
And every friend and citizen.
He ruled his senses, nor betrayed
The grief that on his bosom weighed,
And thus his mother's mansion sought
To tell the mournful news he brought.
Nor could the gay-clad people there
Who flocked round Ráma true and fair,
One sign of altered fortune trace
Upon the splendid hero's face.
Nor had the chieftain, mighty-armed,
Lost the bright look all hearts that charmed,
[pg 116]
As e'en from autumn moons is thrown
A splendour which is all their own.
With his sweet voice the hero spoke
Saluting all the gathered folk,
Then righteous-souled and great in fame
Close to his mother's house he came.
Lakshmaṇ the brave, his brother's peer
In princely virtues, followed near,
Sore troubled, but resolved to show
No token of his secret woe.
Thus to the palace Ráma went
Where all were gay with hope and joy;
But well he knew the dire event
That hope would mar, that bliss destroy.
So to his grief he would not yield
Lest the sad change their hearts might rend,
And, the dread tiding unrevealed,
Spared from the blow each faithful friend.
Canto XX. Kausalyá's Lament.

But in the monarch's palace, when
Sped from the bower that lord of men,
Up from the weeping women went
A mighty wail and wild lament:
“Ah, he who ever freely did
His duty ere his sire could bid,
Our refuge and our sure defence,
This day will go an exile hence,
He on Kauśalyá loves to wait
Most tender and affectionate,
And as he treats his mother, thus
From childhood has he treated us.
On themes that sting he will not speak,
And when reviled is calm and meek.
He soothes the angry, heals offence:
He goes to-day an exile hence.
Our lord the king is most unwise,
And looks on life with doting eyes,
Who in his folly casts away
The world's protection, hope, and stay.”
Thus in their woe, like kine bereaved
Of their young calves,287 the ladies grieved,
And ever as they wept and wailed
With keen reproach the king assailed.
Their lamentation, mixed with tears,
Smote with new grief the monarch's ears,
Who, burnt with woe too great to bear,
Fell on his couch and fainted there.
Then Ráma, smitten with the pain
His heaving heart could scarce restrain,
Groaned like an elephant and strode
With Lakshmaṇ to the queen's abode.
A warder there, whose hoary eld
In honour high by all was held,
Guarding the mansion, sat before
The portal, girt with many more.
Swift to their feet the warders sprang,
And loud the acclamation rang,
Hail, Ráma! as to him they bent,
Of victor chiefs preëminent.
One court he passed, and in the next
Saw, masters of each Veda text,
A crowd of Bráhmans, good and sage,
Dear to the king for lore and age.
To these he bowed his reverent head,
Thence to the court beyond he sped.
Old dames and tender girls, their care
To keep the doors, were stationed there.
And all, when Ráma came in view,
Delighted to the chamber flew,
To bear to Queen Kauśalyá's ear
The tidings that she loved to hear.
The queen, on rites and prayer intent,
In careful watch the night had spent,
And at the dawn, her son to aid,
To Vishṇu holy offerings made.
Firm in her vows, serenely glad,
In robes of spotless linen clad,
As texts prescribe, with grace implored,
Her offerings in the fire she poured.
Within her splendid bower he came,
And saw her feed the sacred flame.
There oil, and grain, and vases stood,
With wreaths, and curds, and cates, and wood,
And milk, and sesamum, and rice,
The elements of sacrifice.
She, worn and pale with many a fast
And midnight hours in vigil past,
In robes of purest white arrayed,
To Lakshmí Queen drink-offerings paid.
So long away, she flew to meet
The darling of her soul:
So runs a mare with eager feet
To welcome back her foal.
He with his firm support upheld
The queen, as near she drew,
And, by maternal love impelled,
Her arms around him threw.
Her hero son, her matchless boy
She kissed upon the head:
She blessed him in her pride and joy
With tender words, and said:
[pg 117]
“Be like thy royal sires of old,
The nobly good, the lofty-souled!
Their lengthened days and fame be thine,
And virtue, as beseems thy line!
The pious king, thy father, see
True to his promise made to thee:
That truth thy sire this day will show,
And regent's power on thee bestow.”
She spoke. He took the proffered seat,
And as she pressed her son to eat,
Raised reverent bands, and, touched with shame,
Made answer to the royal dame:
“Dear lady, thou hast yet to know
That danger threats, and heavy woe:
A grief that will with sore distress
On Sítá, thee, and Lakshmaṇ press.
What need of seats have such as I?
This day to Daṇḍak wood I fly.
The hour is come, a time, unmeet
For silken couch and gilded seat.
I must to lonely wilds repair,
Abstain from flesh, and living there
On roots, fruit, honey, hermit's food,
Pass twice seven years in solitude.
To Bharat's hand the king will yield
The regent power I thought to wield,
And me, a hermit, will he send
My days in Daṇḍak wood to spend.”
As when the woodman's axe has lopped
A Śal branch in the grove, she dropped:
So from the skies a Goddess falls
Ejected from her radiant halls.
When Ráma saw her lying low,
Prostrate by too severe a blow,
Around her form his arms he wound
And raised her fainting from the ground.
His hand upheld her like a mare
Who feels her load too sore to bear,
And sinks upon the way o'ertoiled,
And all her limbs with dust are soiled.
He soothed her in her wild distress
With loving touch and soft caress.
She, meet for highest fortune, eyed
The hero watching by her side,
And thus, while Lakshmaṇ bent to hear,
Addressed her son with many a tear!
“If, Ráma, thou had ne'er been born
My child to make thy mother mourn,
Though reft of joy, a childless queen,
Such woe as this I ne'er had seen.
Though to the childless wife there clings
One sorrow armed with keenest stings,
“No child have I: no child have I,”
No second misery prompts the sigh.
When long I sought, alas, in vain,
My husband's love and bliss to gain,
In Ráma all my hopes I set
And dreamed I might be happy yet.
I, of the consorts first and best,
Must bear my rivals' taunt and jest,
And brook, though better far than they,
The soul distressing words they say.
What woman can be doomed to pine
In misery more sore than mine,
Whose hopeless days must still be spent
In grief that ends not and lament?
They scorned me when my son was nigh;
When he is banished I must die.
Me, whom my husband never prized,
Kaikeyí's retinue despised
With boundless insolence, though she
Tops not in rank nor equals me.
And they who do me service yet,
Nor old allegiance quite forget,
Whene'er they see Kaikeyí's son,
With silent lips my glances shun.
How, O my darling, shall I brook
Each menace of Kaikeyí's look,
And listen, in my low estate,
To taunts of one so passionate?
For seventeen years since thou wast born
I sat and watched, ah me, forlorn!
Hoping some blessed day to see
Deliverance from my woes by thee.
Now comes this endless grief and wrong,
So dire I cannot bear it long,
Sinking, with age and sorrow worn,
Beneath my rivals' taunts and scorn.
How shall I pass in dark distress
My long lone days of wretchedness
Without my Ráma's face, as bright
As the full moon to cheer my sight?
Alas, my cares thy steps to train,
And fasts, and vows, and prayers are vain.
Hard, hard, I ween, must be this heart
To hear this blow nor burst apart,
As some great river bank, when first
The floods of Rain-time on it burst.
No, Fate that speeds not will not slay,
Nor Yama's halls vouchsafe me room,
Or, like a lion's weeping prey,
Death now had borne me to my doom.
Hard is my heart and wrought of steel
That breaks not with the crushing blow,
Or in the pangs this day I feel
My lifeless frame had sunk below.
Death waits his hour, nor takes me now:
But this sad thought augments my pain,
That prayer and largess, fast and vow,
And Heavenward service are in vain.
Ah me, ah me! with fruitless toil
Of rites austere a child I sought:
Thus seed cast forth on barren soil
Still lifeless lies and comes to naught.
If ever wretch by anguish grieved
Before his hour to death had fled,
I mourning, like a cow bereaved,
Had been this day among the dead.”
[pg 118]
Canto XXI. Kausalyá Calmed.

While thus Kauśalyá wept and sighed,
With timely words sad Lakshmaṇ cried:
“O honoured Queen I like it ill
That, subject to a woman's will,
Ráma his royal state should quit
And to an exile's doom submit.
The aged king, fond, changed, and weak,
Will as the queen compels him speak.
But why should Ráma thus be sent
To the wild woods in banishment?
No least offence I find in him,
I see no fault his fame to dim.
Not one in all the world I know,
Not outcast wretch, not secret foe,
Whose whispering lips would dare assail
His spotless life with slanderous tale.
Godlike and bounteous, just, sincere,
E'en to his very foemen dear:
Who would without a cause neglect
The right, and such a son reject?
And if a king such order gave,
In second childhood, passion's slave,
What son within his heart would lay
The senseless order, and obey?
Come, Ráma, ere this plot be known
Stand by me and secure the throne.
Stand like the King who rules below,
Stand aided by thy brother's bow:
How can the might of meaner men
Resist thy royal purpose then?
My shafts, if rebels court their fate,
Shall lay Ayodhyá desolate.
Then shall her streets with blood be dyed
Of those who stand on Bharat's side:
None shall my slaughtering hand exempt,
For gentle patience earns contempt.
If, by Kaikeyí's counsel changed,
Our father's heart be thus estranged,
No mercy must our arm restrain,
But let the foe be slain, be slain.
For should the guide, respected long,
No more discerning right and wrong,
Turn in forbidden paths to stray,
'Tis meet that force his steps should stay.
What power sufficient can he see,
What motive for the wish has he,
That to Kaikeyí would resign
The empire which is justly thine?
Can he, O conqueror of thy foes,
Thy strength and mine in war oppose?
Can he entrust, in our despite,
To Bharat's hand thy royal right?
I love this brother with the whole
Affection of my faithful soul.
Yea Queen, by bow and truth I swear,
By sacrifice, and gift, and prayer,
If Ráma to the forest goes,
Or where the burning furnace glows,
First shall my feet the forest tread,
The flames shall first surround my head.
My might shall chase thy grief and tears,
As darkness flies when morn appears.
Do thou, dear Queen, and Ráma too
Behold what power like mine can do.
My aged father I will kill,
The vassal of Kaikeyí's will,
Old, yet a child, the woman's thrall,
Infirm, and base, the scorn of all.”
Thus Lakshmaṇ cried, the mighty-souled:
Down her sad cheeks the torrents rolled,
As to her son Kauśalyá spake:
“Now thou hast heard thy brother, take
His counsel if thou hold it wise,
And do the thing his words advise,
Do not, my son, with tears I pray,
My rival's wicked word obey,
Leave me not here consumed with woe,
Nor to the wood, an exile, go.
If thou, to virtue ever true,
Thy duty's path would still pursue,
The highest duty bids thee stay
And thus thy mother's voice obey.
Thus Kaśyap's great ascetic son
A seat among the Immortals won:
In his own home, subdued, he stayed,
And honour to his mother paid.
If reverence to thy sire be due,
Thy mother claims like honour too,
And thus I charge thee, O my child,
Thou must not seek the forest wild.
Ah, what to me were life and bliss,
Condemned my darling son to miss?
But with my Ráma near, to eat
The very grass itself were sweet.
But if thou still wilt go and leave
Thy hapless mother here to grieve,
I from that hour will food abjure,
Nor life without my son endure.
Then it will be thy fate to dwell
In depth of world-detested hell.
As Ocean in the olden time
Was guilty of an impious crime
That marked the lord of each fair flood
As one who spills a Bráhman's blood.”288
Thus spake the queen, and wept, and sighed:
Then righteous Ráma thus replied:
“I have no power to slight or break
Commandments which my father spake.
I bend my head, dear lady, low,
Forgive me, for I needs must go.
Once Kaṇdu, mighty saint, who made
His dwelling in the forest shade,
[pg 119]
A cow—and duty's claims he knew—
Obedient to his father, slew.
And in the line from which we spring,
When ordered by their sire the king,
Through earth the sons of Sagar cleft,
And countless things of life bereft.289
So Jamadagní's son290 obeyed
His sire, when in the wood he laid
His hand upon his axe, and smote
Through Renuká his mother's throat.
The deeds of these and more beside.
Peers of the Gods, my steps shall guide,
And resolute will I fulfil
My father's word, my father's will.
Nor I, O Queen, unsanctioned tread
This righteous path, by duty led:
The road my footsteps journey o'er
Was traversed by the great of yore.
This high command which all accept
Shall faithfully by me be kept,
For duty ne'er will him forsake
Who fears his sire's command to break.”
Thus to his mother wild with grief:
Then thus to Lakshmaṇ spake the chief
Of those by whom the bow is bent,
Mid all who speak, most eloquent:
“I know what love for me thou hast,
What firm devotion unsurpassed:
Thy valour and thy worth I know,
And glory that appals the foe.
Blest youth, my mother's woe is great,
It bends her 'neath its matchless weight:
No claims will she, with blinded eyes,
Of truth and patience recognize.
For duty is supreme in place,
And truth is duty's noblest base.
Obedient to my sire's behest
I serve the cause of duty best.
For man should truly do whate'er
To mother, Bráhman, sire, he sware:
He must in duty's path remain,
Nor let his word be pledged in vain.
And, O my brother, how can I
Obedience to this charge deny?
Kaikeyí's tongue my purpose spurred,
But 'twas my sire who gave the word.
Cast these unholy thoughts aside
Which smack of war and Warriors' pride;
To duty's call, not wrath attend,
And tread the path which I commend.”
Ráma by fond affection moved
His brother Lakshmaṇ thus reproved;
Then with joined hands and reverent head
Again to Queen Kauśalyá said:
“I needs must go—do thou consent—
To the wild wood in banishment.
O give me, by my life I pray,
Thy blessing ere I go away.
I, when the promised years are o'er,
Shall see Ayodhyá's town once more.
Then, mother dear, thy tears restrain,
Nor let thy heart be wrung by pain:
In time, my father's will obeyed,
Shall I return from greenwood shade.
My dear Videhan, thou, and I,
Lakshmaṇ, Sumitrá, feel this tie,
And must my father's word obey,
As duty bids that rules for aye.
Thy preparations now forgo,
And lock within thy breast thy woe,
Nor be my pious wish withstood
To go an exile to the wood.”
Calm and unmoved the prince explained
His duty's claim and purpose high,
The mother life and sense regained,
Looked on her son and made reply:
“If reverence be thy father's due,
The same by right and love is mine:
Go not, my charge I thus renew,
Nor leave me here in woe to pine,
What were such lonely life to me,
Rites to the shades, or deathless lot?
More dear, my son, one hour with thee
Than all the world where thou art not.”
As bursts to view, when brands blaze high,
Some elephant concealed by night,
So, when he heard his mother's cry,
Burnt Ráma's grief with fiercer might.
Thus to the queen, half senseless still,
And Lakshmaṇ, burnt with heart-felt pain,
True to the right, with steadfast will,
His duteous speech he spoke again:
“Brother, I know thy loving mind,
Thy valour and thy truth I know,
But now to claims of duty blind
Thou and my mother swell my woe.
The fruits of deeds in human life
Make love, gain, duty, manifest,
Dear when they meet as some fond wife
With her sweet babes upon her breast.
But man to duty first should turn
Whene'er the three are not combined:
For those who heed but gain we spurn,
And those to pleasure all resigned.
Shall then the virtuous disobey
Hosts of an aged king and sire,
Though feverous joy that father sway,
Or senseless love or causeless ire?
I have no power, commanded thus,
To slight his promise and decree:
The honoured sire of both of us,
My mother's lord and life is he.
Shall she, while yet the holy king
Is living, on the right intent,—
Shall she, like some poor widowed thing,
Go forth with me to banishment?
Now, mother, speed thy parting son,
And let thy blessing soothe my pain,
[pg 120]
That I may turn, mine exile done,
Like King Yayáti, home again.
Fair glory and the fruit she gives,
For lust of sway I ne'er will slight:
What, for the span a mortal lives.
Were rule of faith without the right?”
He soothed her thus, firm to the last
His counsel to his brother told:
Then round the queen in reverence passed,
And held her in his loving hold.
Canto XXII. Lakshman Calmed.

So Ráma kept unshaken still
His noble heart with iron will.
To his dear brother next he turned,
Whose glaring eyes with fury burned,
Indignant, panting like a snake,
And thus again his counsel spake:
“Thine anger and thy grief restrain,
And firm in duty's path remain.
Dear brother, lay thy scorn aside,
And be the right thy joy and pride.
Thy ready zeal and thoughtful care
To aid what rites should grace the heir,—
These 'tis another's now to ask;
Come, gird thee for thy noble task,
That Bharat's throning rites may he
Graced with the things prepared for me.
And with thy gentle care provide
That her fond heart, now sorely tried
With fear and longing for my sake,
With doubt and dread may never ache.
To know that thoughts of coming ill
One hour that tender bosom fill
With agony and dark despair
Is grief too great for me to bear.
I cannot, brother, call to mind
One wilful fault or undesigned,
When I have pained in anything
My mothers or my sire the king.
The right my father keeps in view,
In promise, word, and action true;
Let him then all his fear dismiss,
Nor dread the loss of future bliss.
He fears his truth herein will fail:
Hence bitter thoughts his heart assail.
He trembles lest the rites proceed,
And at his pangs my heart should bleed.
So now this earnest wish is mine,
The consecration to resign,
And from this city turn away
To the wild wood with no delay.
My banishment to-day will free
Kaikeyí from her cares, that she,
At last contented and elate,
May Bharat's throning celebrate.
Then will the lady's trouble cease,
Then will her heart have joy and peace,
When wandering in the wood I wear
Deerskin, and bark, and matted hair.
Nor shall by me his heart be grieved
Whose choice approved, whose mind conceived
This counsel which I follow. No,
Forth to the forest will I go.
'Tis Fate, Sumitrás son, confess,
That sends me to the wilderness.
'Tis Fate alone that gives away
To other hands the royal sway.
How could Kaikeyí's purpose bring
On me this pain and suffering,
Were not her change of heart decreed
By Fate whose will commands the deed?
I know my filial love has been
The same throughout for every queen,
And with the same affection she
Has treated both her son and me.
Her shameful words of cruel spite
To stay the consecrating rite,
And drive me banished from the throne,—
These I ascribe to Fate alone,
How could she, born of royal race,
Whom nature decks with fairest grace,
Speak like a dame of low degree
Before the king to torture me?
But Fate, which none may comprehend,
To which all life must bow and bend,
In her and me its power has shown,
And all my hopes are overthrown.
What man, Sumitrá's darling, may
Contend with Fate's resistless sway,
Whose all-commanding power we find
Our former deeds alone can bind?
Our life and death, our joy and pain,
Anger and fear, and loss and gain,
Each thing that is, in every state,
All is the work of none but Fate.
E'en saints, inspired with rigid zeal,
When once the stroke of Fate they feel,
In sternest vows no more engage,
And fall enslaved by love and rage.
So now the sudden stroke whose weight
Descends unlooked for, comes of Fate,
And with unpitying might destroys
The promise of commencing joys.
Weigh this true counsel in thy soul:
With thy firm heart thy heart control;
Then, brother, thou wilt cease to grieve
For hindered rites which now I leave.
So cast thy needless grief away,
And strictly my commands obey.
Those preparations check with speed,
Nor let my throning rites proceed.
Those urns that stand prepared to shed
King-making drops upon my head,
Shall, with their pure lustrations now
Inaugurate my hermit's vow.
[pg 121]
Yet what have I to do with things
That touch the state and pomp of kings?
These hands of mine shall water take
To sanctify the vow I make.
Now Lakshmaṇ, let thy heart no more
My fortune changed and lost deplore.
A forest life more joys may bring
Than those that wait upon a king,
Now though her arts successful mar
My consecrating rite,
Let not the youngest queen too far
Thy jealous fear excite.
Nor let one thought suggesting ill
Upon our father fall,
But let thy heart remember still
That Fate is lord of all.”
Canto XXIII. Lakshman's Anger.

Thus Ráma to his brother said;
And Lakshmaṇ bent his drooping head.
In turns by grief and pride impelled,
A middle course of thought he held,
Then in a frown of anger, bent
His brows that chief most excellent,
And like a serpent in his hole,
Breathed fierce and fast in wrath of soul.
His threatening brows so darkly frowned,
His eyes so fiercely glanced around,
They made his glare, which none might brook,
Like some infuriate lion's look.
Like some wild elephant, full oft
He raised and shook his hand291 aloft.
Now turned his neck to left and right
Now bent, now raised its stately height.
Now in his rage that sword he felt
Which mangling wounds to foemen dealt,
With sidelong glance his brother eyed,
And thus in burning words replied:
“Thy rash resolve, thy eager haste,
Thy mighty fear, are all misplaced:
No room is here for duty's claim,
No cause to dread the people's blame.
Can one as brave as thou consent
To use a coward's argument?
The glory of the Warrior race
With craven speech his lips debase?
Can one like thee so falsely speak,
Exalting Fate, confessed so weak?
Canst thou, undoubting still restrain?
Suspicions of those sinful twain?
Canst thou, most duteous, fail to know
Their hearts are set on duty's show?
They with deceit have set their trains,
And now the fruit rewards their pains.
Had they not long ago agreed,
O Ráma, on this treacherous deed,
That promised boon, so long retained,
He erst had given and she had gained.
I cannot, O my brother, bear
To see another throned as heir
With rites which all our people hate:
Then, O, this passion tolerate.
This vaunted duty which can guide
Thy steps from wisdom's path aside,
And change the counsel of thy breast,
O lofty-hearted, I detest.
Wilt thou, when power and might are thine,
Submit to this abhorred design?
Thy father's impious hest fulfil,
That vassal of Kaikeyí's will?
But if thou still wilt shut thine eyes,
Nor see the guile herein that lies,
My soul is sad, I deeply mourn,
And duty seems a thing to scorn.
Canst thou one moment think to please
This pair who live for love and ease,
And 'gainst thy peace, as foes, allied,
With tenderest names their hatred hide?
Now if thy judgment still refers
To Fate this plot of his and hers,
My mind herein can ne'er agree:
And O, in this be ruled by me.
Weak, void of manly pride are they
Who bend to Fate's imputed sway:
The choicest souls, the nobly great
Disdain to bow their heads to Fate.
And he who dares his Fate control
With vigorous act and manly soul,
Though threatening Fate his hopes assail,
Unmoved through all need never quail.
This day mankind shall learn aright
The power of Fate and human might,
So shall the gulf that lies between
A man and Fate be clearly seen.
The might of Fate subdued by me
This hour the citizens shall see,
Who saw its intervention stay
Thy consecrating rites to-day.
My power shall turn this Fate aside,
That threatens, as, with furious stride,
An elephant who scorns to feel,
In rage unchecked, the driver's steel.
Not the great Lords whose sleepless might
Protects the worlds, shall stay the rite
Though earth, hell, heaven combine their powers:
And shall we fear this sire of ours?
Then if their minds are idly bent
To doom thee, King, to banishment,
Through twice seven years of exile they
[pg 122]
Shall in the lonely forest stay.
I will consume the hopes that fire
The queen Kaikeyí and our sire,
That to her son this check will bring
Advantage, making Bharat king.
The power of Fate will ne'er withstand
The might that arms my vigorous hand;
If danger and distress assail,
My fearless strength will still prevail.
A thousand circling years shall flee:
The forest then thy home shall be,
And thy good sons, succeeding, hold
The empire which their sire controlled.
The royal saints, of old who reigned,
For aged kings this rest ordained:
These to their sons their realm commit
That they, like sires, may cherish it.
O pious soul, if thou decline
The empire which is justly thine,
Lest, while the king distracted lies,
Disorder in the state should rise,
I,—or no mansion may I find
In worlds to hero souls assigned,—
The guardian of thy realm will be,
As the sea-bank protects the sea.
Then cast thine idle fears aside:
With prosperous rites be sanctified.
The lords of earth may strive in vain:
My power shall all their force restrain.
My pair of arms, my warrior's bow
Are not for pride or empty show:
For no support these shafts were made;
And binding up ill suits my blade:
To pierce the foe with deadly breach—
This is the work of all and each.
But small, methinks the love I show
For him I count my mortal foe.
Soon as my trenchant steel is bare,
Flashing its lightning through the air,
I heed no foe, nor stand aghast
Though Indra's self the levin cast.
Then shall the ways be hard to pass,
Where chariots lie in ruinous mass;
When elephant and man and steed
Crushed in the murderous onslaught bleed,
And legs and heads fall, heap on heap,
Beneath my sword's tremendous sweep.
Struck by my keen brand's trenchant blade,
Thine enemies shall fall dismayed,
Like towering mountains rent in twain,
Or lightning clouds that burst in rain.
When armed with brace and glove I stand,
And take my trusty bow in hand,
Who then shall vaunt his might? who dare
Count him a man to meet me there?
Then will I loose my shafts, and strike
Man, elephant, and steed alike:
At one shall many an arrow fly,
And many a foe with one shall die.
This day the world my power shall see,
That none in arms can rival me:
My strength the monarch shall abase,
And set thee, lord, in lordliest place.
These arms which breathe the sandal's scent,
Which golden bracelets ornament,
These hands which precious gifts bestow,
Which guard the friend and smite the foe,
A nobler service shall assay,
And fight in Ráma's cause to-day,
The robbers of thy rights to stay.
Speak, brother, tell thy foeman's name
Whom I, in conquering strife,
May strip of followers and fame,
Of fortune, or of life.
Say, how may all this sea-girt land
Be brought to own thy sway:
Thy faithful servant here I stand
To listen and obey.”
Then strove the bride of Raghu's race
Sad Lakshmaṇ's heart to cheer,
While slowly down the hero's face,
Unchecked, there rolled a tear.
“The orders of my sire,” he cried,
“My will shall ne'er oppose:
I follow still, whate'er betide,
The path which duty shows.”
Canto XXIV. Kausalyá Calmed.

But when Kauśalyásaw that he
Resolved to keep his sire's decree,
While tears and sobs her utterance broke,
Her very righteous speech she spoke:
“Can he, a stranger yet to pain,
Whose pleasant words all hearts enchain,
Son of the king and me the queen,
Live on the grain his hands may glean;
Can he, whose slaves and menials eat
The finest cakes of sifted wheat—
Can Ráma in the forest live
On roots and fruit which woodlands give;
Who will believe, who will not fear
When the sad story smites his ear,
That one so dear, so noble held,
Is by the king his sire expelled?
Now surely none may Fate resist,
Which orders all as it may list,
If, Ráma, in thy strength and grace,
The woods become thy dwelling-place.
A childless mother long I grieved,
And many a sigh for offspring heaved,
With wistful longing weak and worn
Till thou at last, my son, wast born.
Fanned by the storm of that desire
Deep in my soul I felt the fire,
Whose offerings flowed from weeping eyes,
With fuel fed of groans and sighs,
[pg 123]
While round the flame the smoke grew hot
Of tears because thou camest not.
Now reft of thee, too fiery fierce
The flame of woe my heart will pierce,
As, when the days of spring return,
The sun's hot beams the forest burn.
The mother cow still follows near
The wanderings of her youngling dear.
So close to thine my feet shall be,
Where'er thou goest following thee.”
Ráma, the noblest lord of men,
Heard his fond mother's speech, and then
In soothing words like these replied
To the sad queen who wept and sighed:
“Nay, by Kaikeyí's art beguiled,
When I am banished to the wild,
If thou, my mother, also fly,
The aged king will surely die.
When wedded dames their lords forsake,
Long for the crime their souls shall ache.
Thou must not e'en in thought within
Thy bosom frame so dire a sin.
Long as Kakutstha's son, who reigns
Lord of the earth, in life remains,
Thou must with love his will obey:
This duty claims, supreme for aye.
Yes, mother, thou and I must be
Submissive to my sire's decree,
King, husband, sire is he confessed,
The lord of all, the worthiest.
I in the wilds my days will spend
Till twice seven years have reached an end,
Then with great joy will come again,
And faithful to thy hests remain.”
Kauśalyá by her son addressed,
With love and passion sore distressed,
Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed,
To Ráma thus her speech renewed:
“Nay, Ráma, but my heart will break
If with these queens my home I make.
Lead me too with thee; let me go
And wander like a woodland roe.”
Then, while no tear the hero shed,
Thus to the weeping queen he said:
“Mother, while lives the husband, he
Is woman's lord and deity.
O dearest lady, thou and I
Our lord and king must ne'er deny;
The lord of earth himself have we
Our guardian wise and friend to be.
And Bharat, true to duty's call,
Whose sweet words take the hearts of all,
Will serve thee well, and ne'er forget
The virtuous path before him set.
Be this, I pray, thine earnest care,
That the old king my father ne'er,
When I have parted hence, may know,
Grieved for his son, a pang of woe.
Let not this grief his soul distress,
To kill him with the bitterness.
With duteous care, in every thing,
Love, comfort, cheer the aged king.
Though, best of womankind, a spouse
Keeps firmly all her fasts and vows,
Nor yet her husband's will obeys,
She treads in sin's forbidden ways.
She to her husband's will who bends,
Goes to high bliss that never ends,
Yea, though the Gods have found in her
No reverential worshipper.
Bent on his weal, a woman still
Must seek to do her husband's will:
For Scripture, custom, law uphold
This duty Heaven revealed of old.
Honour true Bráhmans for my sake,
And constant offerings duly make,
With fire-oblations and with flowers,
To all the host of heavenly powers.
Look to the coming time, and yearn
For the glad hour of my return.
And still thy duteous course pursue,
Abstemious, humble, kind, and true.
The highest bliss shalt thou obtain
When I from exile come again,
If, best of those who keep the right,
The king my sire still see the light.”
The queen, by Ráma thus addressed,
Still with a mother's grief oppressed,
While her long eyes with tears were dim,
Began once more and answered him:
“Not by my pleading may be stayed
The firm resolve thy soul has made.
My hero, thou wilt go; and none
The stern commands of Fate may shun.
Go forth, dear child whom naught can bend,
And may all bliss thy steps attend.
Thou wilt return, and that dear day
Will chase mine every grief away.
Thou wilt return, thy duty done,
Thy vows discharged, high glory won;
From filial debt wilt thou be free,
And sweetest joy will come on me.
My son, the will of mighty Fate
At every time must dominate,
If now it drives thee hence to stray
Heedless of me who bid thee stay.
Go, strong of arm, go forth, my boy,
Go forth, again to come with joy,
And thine expectant mother cheer
With those sweet tones she loves to hear.
O that the blessed hour were nigh
When thou shalt glad this anxious eye,
With matted hair and hermit dress
returning from the wilderness.”
Kauśalyá's conscious soul approved,
As her proud glance she bent
On Ráma constant and unmoved,
Resolved on banishment.
Such words, with happy omens fraught
To her dear son she said,
Invoking with each eager thought
A blessing on his head.
[pg 124]
Canto XXV. Kausalyá's Blessing.

Her grief and woe she cast aside,
Her lips with water purified,
And thus her benison began
That mother of the noblest man:
“If thou wilt hear no words of mine,
Go forth, thou pride of Raghu's line.
Go, darling, and return with speed,
Walking where noble spirits lead.
May virtue on thy steps attend,
And be her faithful lover's friend.
May Those to whom thy vows are paid
In temple and in holy shade,
With all the mighty saints combine
To keep that precious life of thine.
The arms wise Viśvámitra292 gave
Thy virtuous soul from danger save.
Long be thy life: thy sure defence
Shall be thy truthful innocence,
And that obedience, naught can tire,
To me thy mother and thy sire.
May fanes where holy fires are fed,
Altars with grass and fuel spread,
Each sacrificial ground, each tree,
Rock, lake, and mountain, prosper thee.
Let old Viráj,293 and Him who made
The universe, combine to aid;
Let Indra and each guardian Lord
Who keeps the worlds, their help afford,
And be thy constant friend the Sun,
Lord Púshá, Bhaga, Aryuman.294
Fortnights and seasons, nights and days,
Years, months, and hours, protect thy ways,
Vrihaspati shall still be nigh,
The War-God, and the Moon on high,
And Nárad295 and the sainted seven296
Shall watch thee from their starry heaven.
The mountains, and the seas which ring
The world, and Varuṇa the King,
Sky, ether, and the wind, whate'er
Moves not or moves, for thee shall care.
Each lunar mansion be benign,
With happier light the planets shine;
All gods, each light in heaven that glows,
Protect my child where'er he goes.
The twilight hours, the day and night,
Keep in the wood thy steps aright.
Watch, minute, instant, as they flee,
Shall all bring happiness to thee.
Celestials and the Titan brood
Protect thee in thy solitude,
And haunt the mighty wood to bless
The wanderer in his hermit dress.
Fear not, by mightier guardians screened,
The giant or night-roving fiend;
Nor let the cruel race who tear
Man's flesh for food thy bosom scare.
Far be the ape, the scorpion's sting,
Fly, gnat, and worm, and creeping thing.
Thee shall the hungry lion spare,
The tiger, elephant, and bear:
Safe, from their furious might repose,
Safe from the horned buffaloes.
Each savage thing the forests breed,
That love on human flesh to feed,
Shall for my child its rage abate,
When thus its wrath I deprecate.
Blest be thy ways: may sweet success
The valour of my darling bless.
To all that Fortune can bestow,
Go forth, my child, my Ráma, go.
Go forth, O happy in the love
Of all the Gods below, above;
And in those guardian powers confide
Thy paths who keep, thy steps who guide.
May Śukra,297 Yáma, Sun, and Moon,
And He who gives each golden boon,298
Won by mine earnest prayers, be good
To thee, my son, in Daṇḍak wood.
Fire, wind, and smoke, each text and spell
From mouths of holy seers that fell,
Guard Ráma when his limbs he dips,
Or with the stream makes pure his lips!
May the great saints and He, the Lord
Who made the worlds, by worlds adored,
And every God in heaven beside
My banished Ráma keep and guide.”
Thus with due praise the long-eyed dame,
Ennobled by her spotless fame,
With wreaths of flowers and precious scent
Worshipped the Gods, most reverent.
A high-souled Bráhman lit the fire,
And offered, at the queen's desire,
The holy oil ordained to burn
For Ráma's weal and safe return.
Kauśalyá best of dames, with care
Set oil, wreaths, fuel, mustard, there.
Then when the rites of fire had ceased,
For Ráma's bliss and health, the priest,
Standing without gave what remained
In general offering,299 as ordained.
[pg 125]
Dealing among the twice-horn train
Honey, and curds, and oil, and grain,
He bade each heart and voice unite
To bless the youthful anchorite.
Then Ráma's mother, glorious dame
Bestowed, to meet the Bráhman's claim,
A lordly fee for duty done:
And thus again addressed her son:
“Such blessings as the Gods o'erjoyed
Poured forth, when Vritra300 was destroyed,
On Indra of the thousand eyes,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Yea, such as Vinatá once gave
To King Suparṇa301 swift and brave,
Who sought the drink that cheers the skies,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Yea, such as, when the Amrit rose,302
And Indra slew his Daitya foes,
The royal Aditi bestowed
On Him whose hand with slaughter glowed
Of that dire brood of monstrous size,
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
E'en such as peerless Vishṇu graced,
When with his triple step he paced,
Outbursting from the dwarf's disguise,303
Attend, my child, thine enterprise!
Floods, isles, and seasons as they fly,
Worlds, Vedas, quarters of the sky,
Combine, O mighty-armed, to bless
Thee destined heir of happiness!”
The long-eyed lady ceased: she shed
Pure scent and grain upon his head.
And that prized herb whose sovereign power
Preserves from dark misfortune's hour,
Upon the hero's arm she set,
To be his faithful amulet.
While holy texts she murmured low,
And spoke glad words though crushed by woe,
Concealing with obedient tongue
The pangs with which her heart was wrung.
She bent, she kissed his brow, she pressed
Her darling to her troubled breast:
“Firm in thy purpose, go,” she cried,
“Go Ráma, and may bliss betide.
Attain returning safe and well,
Triumphant in Ayodhyá, dwell.
Then shall my happy eyes behold
The empire by thy will controlled.
Then grief and care shall leave no trace,
Joy shall light up thy mother's face,
And I shall see my darling reign,
In moonlike glory come again.
These eyes shall fondly gaze on thee
So faithful to thy sire's decree,
When thou the forest wild shalt quit
On thine ancestral throne to sit.
Yea, thou shalt turn from exile back,
Nor choicest blessings ever lack,
Then fill with rapture ever new
My bosom and thy consort's too.
To Śiva and the heavenly host
My worship has been paid,
To mighty saint, to godlike ghost,
To every wandering shade.
Forth to the forest thou wilt hie,
Therein to dwell so long:
Let all the quarters of the sky
Protect my child from wrong.”
Her blessings thus the queen bestowed;
Then round him fondly paced,
And often, while her eyes o'erflowed,
Her dearest son embraced.
Kauśalyá's honoured feet he pressed,
As round her steps she bent,
And radiant with her prayers that blessed,
To Sítá's home he went.
Canto XXVI. Alone With Sítá.

So Ráma, to his purpose true,
To Queen Kauśalyá bade adieu,
Received the benison she gave,
And to the path of duty clave.
As through the crowded street he passed,
A radiance on the way he cast,
And each fair grace, by all approved,
The bosoms of the people moved.
Now of the woeful change no word
The fair Videhan bride had heard;
The thought of that imperial rite
Still filled her bosom with delight.
With grateful heart and joyful thought
The Gods in worship she had sought,
And, well in royal duties learned,
Sat longing till her lord returned,
Not all unmarked by grief and shame
Within his sumptuous home he came,
And hurried through the happy crowd
With eye dejected, gloomy-browed.
Up Sítá sprang, and every limb
Trembled with fear at sight of him.
She marked that cheek where anguish fed,
Those senses care-disquieted.
For, when he looked on her, no more
Could his heart hide the load it bore,
Nor could the pious chief control
The paleness o'er his cheek that stole.
His altered cheer, his brow bedewed
With clammy drops, his grief she viewed,
And cried, consumed with fires of woe,
“What, O my lord, has changed thee so?
[pg 126]
Vrihaspati looks down benign,
And the moon rests in Pushya's sign,
As Bráhmans sage this day declare:
Then whence, my lord, this grief and care?
Why does no canopy, like foam
For its white beauty, shade thee home,
Its hundred ribs spread wide to throw
Splendour on thy fair head below?
Where are the royal fans, to grace
The lotus beauty of thy face,
Fair as the moon or wild-swan's wing,
And waving round the new-made king?
Why do no sweet-toned bards rejoice
To hail thee with triumphant voice?
No tuneful heralds love to raise
Loud music in their monarch's praise?
Why do no Bráhmans, Scripture-read,
Pour curds and honey on thy head,
Anointed, as the laws ordain,
With holy rites, supreme to reign?
Where are the chiefs of every guild?
Where are the myriads should have filled
The streets, and followed home their king
With merry noise and triumphing?
Why does no gold-wrought chariot lead
With four brave horses, best for speed?
No elephant precede the crowd
Like a huge hill or thunder cloud,
Marked from his birth for happy fate,
Whom signs auspicious decorate?
Why does no henchman, young and fair,
Precede thee, and delight to bear
Entrusted to his reverent hold
The burthen of thy throne of gold?
Why, if the consecrating rite
Be ready, why this mournful plight?
Why do I see this sudden change,
This altered mien so sad and strange?”
To her, as thus she weeping cried,
Raghu's illustrious son replied:
“Sítá, my honoured sire's decree
Commands me to the woods to flee.
O high-born lady, nobly bred
In the good paths thy footsteps tread,
Hear, Janak's daughter, while I tell
The story as it all befell.
Of old my father true and brave
Two boons to Queen Kaikeyí gave.
Through these the preparations made
For me to-day by her are stayed,
For he is bound to disallow
This promise by that earlier vow.
In Daṇḍak forest wild and vast
Must fourteen years by me be passed.
My father's will makes Bharat heir,
The kingdom and the throne to share.
Now, ere the lonely wild I seek,
I come once more with thee to speak.
In Bharat's presence, O my dame,
Ne'er speak with pride of Ráma's name:
Another's eulogy to hear
Is hateful to a monarch's ear.
Thou must with love his rule obey
To whom my father yields the sway.
With love and sweet observance learn
His grace, and more the king's, to earn.
Now, that my father may not break
The words of promise that he spake,
To the drear wood my steps are bent:
Be firm, good Sítá, and content.
Through all that time, my blameless spouse,
Keep well thy fasts and holy vows.
Rise from thy bed at break of day,
And to the Gods due worship pay.
With meek and lowly love revere
The lord of men, my father dear,
And reverence to Kauśalyá show,
My mother, worn with eld and woe:
By duty's law, O best of dames,
High worship from thy love she claims,
Nor to the other queens refuse
Observance, rendering each her dues:
By love and fond attention shown
They are my mothers like mine own.
Let Bharat and Śatrughna bear
In thy sweet love a special share:
Dear as my life, O let them be
Like brother and like son to thee.
In every word and deed refrain
From aught that Bharat's soul may pain:
He is Ayodhyá's king and mine,
The head and lord of all our line.
For those who serve and love them much
With weariless endeavour, touch
And win the gracious hearts of kings.
While wrath from disobedience springs.
Great monarchs from their presence send
Their lawful sons who still offend,
And welcome to the vacant place
Good children of an alien race.
Then, best of women, rest thou here,
And Bharat's will with love revere.
Obedient to thy king remain,
And still thy vows of truth maintain.
To the wide wood my steps I bend:
Make thou thy dwelling here;
See that thy conduct ne'er offend,
And keep my words, my dear.”
Canto XXVII. Sítá's Speech.

His sweetly-speaking bride, who best
Deserved her lord, he thus addressed.
Then tender love bade passion wake,
And thus the fair Videhan spake:
“What words are these that thou hast said?
Contempt of me the thought has bred.
O best of heroes, I dismiss
With bitter scorn a speech like this:
[pg 127]
Unworthy of a warrior's fame
It taints a monarch's son with shame,
Ne'er to be heard from those who know
The science of the sword and bow.
My lord, the mother, sire, and son
Receive their lots by merit won;
The brother and the daughter find
The portions to their deeds assigned.
The wife alone, whate'er await,
Must share on earth her husband's fate.
So now the king's command which sends
Thee to the wild, to me extends.
The wife can find no refuge, none,
In father, mother, self, or son:
Both here, and when they vanish hence,
Her husband is her sole defence.
If, Raghu's son, thy steps are led
Where Daṇḍak's pathless wilds are spread,
My foot before thine own shall pass
Through tangled thorn and matted grass.
Dismiss thine anger and thy doubt:
Like refuse water cast them out,
And lead me, O my hero, hence—
I know not sin—with confidence.
Whate'er his lot, 'tis far more sweet
To follow still a husband's feet
Than in rich palaces to lie,
Or roam at pleasure through the sky.
My mother and my sire have taught
What duty bids, and trained each thought,
Nor have I now mine ear to turn
The duties of a wife to learn.
I'll seek with thee the woodland dell
And pathless wild where no men dwell,
Where tribes of silvan creatures roam,
And many a tiger makes his home.
My life shall pass as pleasant there
As in my father's palace fair.
The worlds shall wake no care in me;
My only care be truth to thee.
There while thy wish I still obey,
True to my vows with thee I'll stray,
And there shall blissful hours be spent
In woods with honey redolent.
In forest shades thy mighty arm
Would keep a stranger's life from harm,
And how shall Sítá think of fear
When thou, O glorious lord, art near?
Heir of high bliss, my choice is made,
Nor can I from my will be stayed.
Doubt not; the earth will yield me roots,
These will I eat, and woodland fruits;
And as with thee I wander there
I will not bring thee grief or care.
I long, when thou, wise lord, art nigh,
All fearless, with delighted eye
To gaze upon the rocky hill,
The lake, the fountain, and the rill;
To sport with thee, my limbs to cool,
In some pure lily-covered pool,
While the white swan's and mallard's wings
Are plashing in the water-springs.
So would a thousand seasons flee
Like one sweet day, if spent with thee.
Without my lord I would not prize
A home with Gods above the skies:
Without my lord, my life to bless,
Where could be heaven or happiness?
Forbid me not: with thee I go
The tangled wood to tread.
There will I live with thee, as though
This roof were o'er my head.
My will for thine shall be resigned;
Thy feet my steps shall guide.
Thou, only thou, art in my mind:
I heed not all beside.
Thy heart shall ne'er by me be grieved;
Do not my prayer deny:
Take me, dear lord; of thee bereaved
Thy Sítá swears to die.”
These words the duteous lady spake,
Nor would he yet consent
His faithful wife with him to take
To share his banishment.
He soothed her with his gentle speech;
To change her will he strove;
And much he said the woes to teach
Of those in wilds who rove.
Canto XXVIII. The Dangers Of The Wood.

Thus Sítá spake, and he who knew
His duty, to its orders true,
Was still reluctant as the woes
Of forest life before him rose.
He sought to soothe her grief, to dry
The torrent from each brimming eye,
And then, her firm resolve to shake,
These words the pious hero spake:
“O daughter of a noble line,
Whose steps from virtue ne'er decline,
Remain, thy duties here pursue,
As my fond heart would have thee do.
Now hear me, Sítá, fair and weak,
And do the words that I shall speak.
Attend and hear while I explain
Each danger in the wood, each pain.
Thy lips have spoken: I condemn
The foolish words that fell from them.
This senseless plan, this wish of thine
To live a forest life, resign.
The names of trouble and distress
Suit well the tangled wilderness.
In the wild wood no joy I know,
A forest life is nought but woe.
The lion in his mountain cave
Answers the torrents as they rave,
And forth his voice of terror throws:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
[pg 128]
There mighty monsters fearless play,
And in their maddened onset slay
The hapless wretch who near them goes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
'Tis hard to ford each treacherous flood,
So thick with crocodiles and mud,
Where the wild elephants repose:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Or far from streams the wanderer strays
Through thorns and creeper-tangled ways,
While round him many a wild-cock crows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
On the cold ground upon a heap
Of gathered leaves condemned to sleep,
Toil-wearied, will his eyelids close:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Long days and nights must he content
His soul with scanty aliment,
What fruit the wind from branches blows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
O Sítá, while his strength may last,
The ascetic in the wood must fast,
Coil on his head his matted hair,
And bark must be his only wear.
To Gods and spirits day by day
The ordered worship he must pay,
And honour with respectful care
Each wandering guest who meets him there.
The bathing rites he ne'er must shun
At dawn, at noon, at set of sun,
Obedient to the law he knows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
To grace the altar must be brought
The gift of flowers his hands have sought—
The debt each pious hermit owes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
The devotee must be content
To live, severely abstinent,
On what the chance of fortune shows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Hunger afflicts him evermore:
The nights are black, the wild winds roar;
And there are dangers worse than those:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
There creeping things in every form
Infest the earth, the serpents swarm,
And each proud eye with fury glows:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
The snakes that by the rives hide
In sinuous course like rivers glide,
And line the path with deadly foes:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Scorpions, and grasshoppers, and flies
Disturb the wanderer as he lies,
And wake him from his troubled doze:
The wood, my love, is full of woes.
Trees, thorny bushes, intertwined,
Their branched ends together bind,
And dense with grass the thicket grows:
The wood, my dear, is full of woes,
With many ills the flesh is tried,
When these and countless fears beside
Vex those who in the wood remain:
The wilds are naught but grief and pain.
Hope, anger must be cast aside,
To penance every thought applied:
No fear must be of things to fear:
Hence is the wood for ever drear.
Enough, my love: thy purpose quit:
For forest life thou art not fit.
As thus I think on all, I see
The wild wood is no place for thee.”
Canto XXIX. Sítá's Appeal.

Thus Ráma spake. Her lord's address
The lady heard with deep distress,
And, as the tear bedimmed her eye,
In soft low accents made reply:
“The perils of the wood, and all
The woes thou countest to appal,
Led by my love I deem not pain;
Each woe a charm, each loss a gain.
Tiger, and elephant, and deer,
Bull, lion, buffalo, in fear,
Soon as thy matchless form they see,
With every silvan beast will flee.
With thee, O Ráma, I must go:
My sire's command ordains it so.
Bereft of thee, my lonely heart
Must break, and life and I must part.
While thou, O mighty lord, art nigh,
Not even He who rules the sky,
Though He is strongest of the strong,
With all his might can do me wrong.
Nor can a lonely woman left
By her dear husband live bereft.
In my great love, my lord, I ween,
The truth of this thou mayst have seen.
In my sire's palace long ago
I heard the chief of those who know,
The truth-declaring Bráhmans, tell
My fortune, in the wood to dwell.
I heard their promise who divine
The future by each mark and sign,
And from that hour have longed to lead
The forest life their lips decreed.
Now, mighty Ráma, I must share
Thy father's doom which sends thee there;
In this I will not be denied,
But follow, love, where thou shalt guide.
O husband, I will go with thee,
Obedient to that high decree.
Now let the Bráhmans' words be true,
For this the time they had in view.
I know full well the wood has woes;
But they disturb the lives of those
Who in the forest dwell, nor hold
Their rebel senses well controlled.
[pg 129]
In my sire's halls, ere I was wed,
I heard a dame who begged her bread
Before my mother's face relate
What griefs a forest life await.
And many a time in sport I prayed
To seek with thee the greenwood shade,
For O, my heart on this is set,
To follow thee, dear anchoret.
May blessings on thy life attend:
I long with thee my steps to bend,
For with such hero as thou art
This pilgrimage enchants my heart.
Still close, my lord, to thy dear side
My spirit will be purified:
Love from all sin my soul will free:
My husband is a God to me.
So, love, with thee shall I have bliss
And share the life that follows this.
I heard a Bráhman, dear to fame,
This ancient Scripture text proclaim:
“The woman whom on earth below
Her parents on a man bestow,
And lawfully their hands unite
With water and each holy rite,
She in this world shall be his wife,
His also in the after life.”
Then tell me, O beloved, why
Thou wilt this earnest prayer deny,
Nor take me with thee to the wood,
Thine own dear wife so true and good.
But if thou wilt not take me there
Thus grieving in my wild despair,
To fire or water I will fly,
Or to the poisoned draught, and die.”
So thus to share his exile, she
Besought him with each earnest plea,
Nor could she yet her lord persuade
To take her to the lonely shade.
The answer of the strong-armed chief
Smote the Videhan's soul with grief,
And from her eyes the torrents came
bathing the bosom of the dame.
Canto XXX. The Triumph Of Love.

The daughter of Videha's king,
While Ráma strove to soothe the sting
Of her deep anguish, thus began
Once more in furtherance of her plan:
And with her spirit sorely tried
By fear and anger, love and pride,
With keenly taunting words addressed
Her hero of the stately breast:
“Why did the king my sire, who reigns
O'er fair Videha's wide domains,
Hail Ráma son with joy unwise,
A woman in a man's disguise?
Now falsely would the people say,
By idle fancies led astray,
That Ráma's own are power and might,
As glorious as the Lord of Light.
Why sinkest thou in such dismay?
What fears upon thy spirit weigh,
That thou, O Ráma, fain wouldst flee
From her who thinks of naught but thee?
To thy dear will am I resigned
In heart and body, soul and mind,
As Sávitrí gave all to one,
Satyaván, Dyumatsena's son.304
Not e'en in fancy can I brook
To any guard save thee to look:
Let meaner wives their houses shame,
To go with thee is all my claim.
Like some low actor, deemst thou fit
Thy wife to others to commit—
Thine own, espoused in maiden youth,
Thy wife so long, unblamed for truth?
Do thou, my lord, his will obey
For whom thou losest royal sway,
To whom thou wouldst thy wife confide—
Not me, but thee, his wish may guide.
Thou must not here thy wife forsake,
And to the wood thy journey make,
Whether stern penance, grief, and care,
Or rule or heaven await thee there.
Nor shall fatigue my limbs distress
When wandering in the wilderness:
Each path which near to thee I tread
Shall seem a soft luxurious bed.
The reeds, the bushes where I pass,
The thorny trees, the tangled grass
Shall feel, if only thou be near,
Soft to my touch as skins of deer.
When the rude wind in fury blows,
And scattered dust upon me throws,
That dust, beloved lord, to me
Shall as the precious sandal be.
And what shall be more blest than I,
When gazing on the wood I lie
In some green glade upon a bed
With sacred grass beneath us spread?
The root, the leaf, the fruit which thou
Shalt give me from the earth or bough,
Scanty or plentiful, to eat,
Shall taste to me as Amrit sweet.
As there I live on flowers and roots
And every season's kindly fruits,
I will not for my mother grieve,
My sire, my home, or all I leave.
My presence, love, shall never add
One pain to make the heart more sad;
[pg 130]
I will not cause thee grief or care,
Nor be a burden hard to bear.
With thee is heaven, where'er the spot;
Each place is hell where thou art not.
Then go with me, O Ráma; this
Is all my hope and all my bliss.
If thou wilt leave thy wife who still
Entreats thee with undaunted will,
This very day shall poison close
The life that spurns the rule of foes.
How, after, can my soul sustain
The bitter life of endless pain,
When thy dear face, my lord, I miss?
No, death is better far than this.
Not for an hour could I endure
The deadly grief that knows not cure,
Far less a woe I could not shun
For ten long years, and three, and one.”
While fires of woe consumed her, such
Her sad appeal, lamenting much;
Then with a wild cry, anguish-wrung,
About her husband's neck she clung.
Like some she-elephant who bleeds
Struck by the hunter's venomed reeds,
So in her quivering heart she felt
The many wounds his speeches dealt.
Then, as the spark from wood is gained,305
Down rolled the tear so long restrained:
The crystal moisture, sprung from woe,
From her sweet eyes began to flow,
As runs the water from a pair
Of lotuses divinely fair.
And Sítá's face with long dark eyes,
Pure as the moon of autumn skies,
Faded with weeping, as the buds
Of lotuses when sink the floods.
Around his wife his arms he strained,
Who senseless from her woe remained,
And with sweet words, that bade her wake
To life again, the hero spake:
“I would not with thy woe, my Queen,
Buy heaven and all its blissful sheen.
Void of all fear am I as He,
The self-existent God, can be.
I knew not all thy heart till now,
Dear lady of the lovely brow,
So wished not thee in woods to dwell;
Yet there mine arm can guard thee well.
Now surely thou, dear love, wast made
To dwell with me in green wood shade.
And, as a high saint's tender mind
Clings to its love for all mankind,
So I to thee will ever cling,
Sweet daughter of Videha's king.
The good, of old, O soft of frame,
Honoured this duty's sovereign claim,
And I its guidance will not shun,
True as light's Queen is to the Sun.
I cannot, pride of Janak's line,
This journey to the wood decline:
My sire's behest, the oath he sware,
The claims of truth, all lead me there.
One duty, dear the same for aye,
Is sire and mother to obey:
Should I their orders once transgress
My very life were weariness.
If glad obedience be denied
To father, mother, holy guide,
What rites, what service can be done
That stern Fate's favour may be won?
These three the triple world comprise,
O darling of the lovely eyes.
Earth has no holy thing like these
Whom with all love men seek to please.
Not truth, or gift, or bended knee,
Not honour, worship, lordly fee,
Storms heaven and wins a blessing thence
Like sonly love and reverence.
Heaven, riches, grain, and varied lore,
With sons and many a blessing more,
All these are made their own with ease
By those their elders' souls who please.
The mighty-souled, who ne'er forget,
Devoted sons, their filial debt,
Win worlds where Gods and minstrels are,
And Brahmá's sphere more glorious far.
Now as the orders of my sire,
Who keeps the way of truth, require,
So will I do, for such the way
Of duty that endures for aye:
To take thee, love, to Daṇḍak's wild
My heart at length is reconciled,
For thee such earnest thoughts impel
To follow, and with me to dwell.
O faultless form from feet to brows,
Come with me, as my will allows,
And duty there with me pursue,
Trembler, whose bright eyes thrill me through.
In all thy days, come good come ill,
Preserve unchanged such noble will,
And thou, dear love, wilt ever be
The glory of thy house and me.
Now, beauteous-armed, begin the tasks
The woodland life of hermits asks.
For me the joys of heaven above
Have charms no more without thee, love.
And now, dear Sítá, be not slow:
Food on good mendicants bestow,
And for the holy Bráhmans bring
Thy treasures and each precious thing.
Thy best attire and gems collect,
The jewels which thy beauty decked,
And every ornament and toy
Prepared for hours of sport and joy:
The beds, the cars wherein I ride,
Among our followers, next, divide.”
She conscious that her lord approved
Her going, with great rapture moved,
[pg 131]
Hastened within, without delay,
Prepared to give their wealth away.
Canto XXXI. Lakshman's Prayer.

When Lakshmaṇ, who had joined them there,
Had heard the converse of the pair,
His mien was changed, his eyes o'erflowed,
His breast no more could bear its load.
The son of Raghu, sore distressed,
His brother's feet with fervour pressed,
While thus to Sítá he complained,
And him by lofty vows enchained:
“If thou wilt make the woods thy home,
Where elephant and roebuck roam,
I too this day will take my bow
And in the path before thee go.
Our way will lie through forest ground
Where countless birds and beasts are found,
I heed not homes of Gods on high,
I heed not life that cannot die,
Nor would I wish, with thee away,
O'er the three worlds to stretch my sway.”
Thus Lakshmaṇ spake, with earnest prayer
His brother's woodland life to share.
As Ráma still his prayer denied
With soothing words, again he cried:
“When leave at first thou didst accord,
Why dost thou stay me now, my lord?
Thou art my refuge: O, be kind,
Leave me not, dear my lord, behind.
Thou canst not, brother, if thou choose
That I still live, my wish refuse.”
The glorious chief his speech renewed
To faithful Lakshmaṇ as he sued,
And on the eyes of Ráma gazed
Longing to lead, with hands upraised:
“Thou art a hero just and dear,
Whose steps to virtue's path adhere,
Loved as my life till life shall end,
My faithful brother and my friend.
If to the woods thou take thy way
With Sítá and with me to-day,
Who for Kauśalyá will provide,
And guard the good Sumitrá's side?
The lord of earth, of mighty power,
Who sends good things in plenteous shower,
As Indra pours the grateful rain,
A captive lies in passion's chain.
The power imperial for her son
Has Aśvapati's daughter306 won,
And she, proud queen, will little heed
Her miserable rivals' need.
So Bharat, ruler of the land,
By Queen Kaikeyí's side will stand,
Nor of those two will ever think,
While grieving in despair they sink.
Now, Lakshmaṇ, as thy love decrees,
Or else the monarch's heart to please,
Follow this counsel and protect
My honoured mother from neglect.
So thou, while not to me alone
Thy great affection will be shown,
To highest duty wilt adhere
By serving those thou shouldst revere.
Now, son of Raghu, for my sake
Obey this one request I make,
Or, of her darling son bereft,
Kauśalyá has no comfort left.”
The faithful Lakshmaṇ, thus addressed
In gentle words which love expressed,
To him in lore of language learned,
His answer, eloquent, returned:
“Nay, through thy might each queen will share
Attentive Bharat's love and care,
Should Bharat, raised as king to sway
This noblest realm, his trust betray,
Nor for their safety well provide,
Seduced by ill-suggesting pride,
Doubt not my vengeful hand shall kill
The cruel wretch who counsels ill—
Kill him and all who lend him aid,
And the three worlds in league arrayed.
And good Kauśalyá well can fee
A thousand champions like to me.
A thousand hamlets rich in grain
The station of that queen maintain.
She may, and my dear mother too,
Live on the ample revenue.
Then let me follow thee: herein:
Is naught that may resemble sin.
So shall I in my wish succeed,
And aid, perhaps, my brother's need.
My bow and quiver well supplied
With arrows hanging at my side,
My hands shall spade and basket bear,
And for thy feet the way prepare.
I'll bring thee roots and berries sweet.
And woodland fare which hermits eat.
Thou shall with thy Videhan spouse
Recline upon the mountain's brows;
Be mine the toil, be mine to keep
Watch o'er thee waking or asleep.”
Filled by his speech with joy and pride,
Ráma to Lakshmaṇ thus replied:
“Go then, my brother, bid adieu
To all thy friends and retinue.
And those two bows of fearful might,
Celestial, which, at that famed rite,
Lord Varuṇ gave to Janak, king
Of fair Vedeha with thee bring,
With heavenly coats of sword-proof mail,
Quivers, whose arrows never fail,
[pg 132]
And golden-hilted swords so keen,
The rivals of the sun in sheen.
Tended with care these arms are all
Preserved in my preceptor's hall.
With speed, O Lakshmaṇ, go, produce,
And bring them hither for our use.”
So on a woodland life intent,
To see his faithful friends he went,
And brought the heavenly arms which lay
By Ráma's teacher stored away.
And Raghu's son to Ráma showed
Those wondrous arms which gleamed and glowed,
Well kept, adorned with many a wreath
Of flowers on case, and hilt, and sheath.
The prudent Ráma at the sight
Addressed his brother with delight:
“Well art thou come, my brother dear,
For much I longed to see thee here.
For with thine aid, before I go,
I would my gold and wealth bestow
Upon the Bráhmans sage, who school
Their lives by stern devotion's rule.
And for all those who ever dwell
Within my house and serve me well,
Devoted servants, true and good,
Will I provide a livelihood.
Quick, go and summon to this place
The good Vaśishṭha's son,
Suyajǹa, of the Bráhman race
The first and holiest one.
To all the Bráhmans wise and good
Will I due reverence pay,
Then to the solitary wood
With thee will take my way.”
Canto XXXII. The Gift Of The Treasures.

That speech so noble which conveyed
His friendly wish, the chief obeyed,
With steps made swift by anxious thought
The wise Suyajǹa's home he sought.
Him in the hall of Fire307 he found,
And bent before him to the ground:
“O friend, to Ráma's house return,
Who now performs a task most stern.”
He, when his noonday rites were done,
Went forth with fair Sumitrá's son,
And came to Ráma's bright abode
Rich in the love which Lakshmí showed.
The son of Raghu, with his dame,
With joined hands met him as he came,
Showing to him who Scripture knew
The worship that is Agni's due.
With armlets, bracelets, collars, rings,
With costly pearls on golden strings,
With many a gem for neck and limb
The son of Raghu honoured him.
Then Ráma, at his wife's request,
The wise Suyajǹa thus addressed:
“Accept a necklace too to deck
With golden strings thy spouse's neck.
And Sítá here, my friend, were glad
A girdle to her gift to add.
And many a bracelet wrought with care,
And many an armlet rich and rare,
My wife to thine is fain to give,
Departing in the wood to live.
A bed by skilful workmen made,
With gold and various gems inlaid—
This too, before she goes, would she
Present, O saintly friend, to thee.
Thine be my elephant, so famed,
My uncle's present, Victor named;
And let a thousand coins of gold,
Great Bráhman, with the gift be told.”
Thus Ráma spoke: nor he declined
The noble gifts for him designed.
On Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá he
Invoked all high felicity.
In pleasant words then Ráma gave
His best to Lakshmaṇ prompt and brave,
As Brahmá speaks for Him to hear
Who rules the Gods' celestial sphere:
“To the two best of Bráhmans run;
Agastya bring, and Kuśik's son,
And precious gifts upon them rain,
Like fostering floods upon the grain.
O long-armed Prince of Raghu's line,
Delight them with a thousand kine,
And many a fair and costly gem,
With gold and silver, give to them.
To him, so deep in Scripture, who,
To Queen Kauśalyá, ever true,
Serves her with blessing and respect,
Chief of the Taittiríya sect308—
To him, with women-slaves, present
A chariot rich with ornament,
And costly robes of silk beside,
Until the sage be satisfied.
On Chitraratha, true and dear,
My tuneful bard and charioteer,
Gems, robes, and plenteous wealth confer—
Mine ancient friend and minister.
And these who go with staff in hand,
Grammarians trained, a numerous band,
Who their deep study only prize,
Nor think of other exercise,
Who toil not, loving dainty fare,
Whose praises e'en the good declare—
On these be eighty cars bestowed,
And each with precious treasures load.
[pg 133]
A thousand bulls for them suffice,
Two hundred elephants of price,
And let a thousand kine beside
The dainties of each meal provide.
The throng who sacred girdles wear,
And on Kauśalyá wait with care—
A thousand golden coins shall please,
Son of Sumitrá, each of these.
Let all, dear Lakshmaṇ of the train
These special gifts of honour gain:
My mother will rejoice to know
Her Bráhmans have been cherished so.”
Then Raghu's son addressed the crowd
Who round him stood and wept aloud,
When he to all who thronged the court
Had dealt his wealth for their support:
“In Lakshmaṇ's house and mine remain,
And guard them till I come again.”
To all his people sad with grief,
In loving words thus spoke their chief,
Then bade his treasure-keeper bring
Gold, silver, and each precious thing.
Then straight the servants went and bore
Back to their chief the wealth in store.
Before the people's eyes it shone,
A glorious pile to look upon.
The prince of men with Lakshmaṇ's aid
Parted the treasures there displayed,
Gave to the poor, the young, the old,
And twice-born men, the gems and gold.
A Bráhman, long in evil case,
Named Trijaṭ, born of Garga's race,
Earned ever toiling in a wood
With spade and plough his livelihood.
The youthful wife, his babes who bore,
Their indigence felt more and more.
Thus to the aged man she spake:
“Hear this my word: my counsel take.
Come, throw thy spade and plough away;
To virtuous Ráma go to-day,
And somewhat of his kindness pray.”
He heard the words she spoke: around
His limbs his ragged cloth he wound,
And took his journey by the road
That led to Ráma's fair abode.
To the fifth court he made his way;
Nor met the Bráhman check or stay.
Brighu, Angiras309 could not be
Brighter with saintly light than he.
To Ráma's presence on he pressed,
And thus the noble chief addressed:
“O Ráma, poor and weak am I,
And many children round me cry.
Scant living in the woods I earn:
On me thine eye of pity turn.”
And Ráma, bent on sport and jest,
The suppliant Bráhman thus addressed:
“O aged man, one thousand kine,
Yet undistributed, are mine.
The cows on thee will I bestow
As far as thou thy staff canst throw.”
The Bráhman heard. In eager haste
He bound his cloth around his waist.
Then round his head his staff he whirled,
And forth with mightiest effort hurled.
Cast from his hand it flew, and sank
To earth on Sarjú's farther bank,
Where herds of kine in thousands fed
Near to the well-stocked bullock shed.
And all the cows that wandered o'er
The meadow, far as Sarjú's shore,
At Ráma's word the herdsmen drove
To Trijaṭ's cottage in the grove.
He drew the Bráhman to his breast,
And thus with calming words addressed:
“Now be not angry, Sire. I pray:
This jest of mine was meant in play.
These thousand kine, but not alone.
Their herdsmen too, are all thine own.
And wealth beside I give thee: speak,
Thine shall be all thy heart can seek.”
Thus Ráma spake. And Trijaṭ prayed
For means his sacrifice to aid.
And Ráma gave much wealth, required
To speed his offering as desired.
Canto XXXIII. The People's Lament.

Thus Sítá and the princes brave
Much wealth to all the Bráhmans gave.
Then to the monarch's house the three
Went forth the aged king to see.
The princes from two servants took
Those heavenly arms of glorious look,
Adorned with garland and with band
By Sítá's beautifying hand.
On each high house a mournful throng
Had gathered ere they passed along,
Who gazed in pure unselfish woe
From turret, roof, and portico.
So dense the crowd that blocked the ways,
The rest, unable there to gaze,
Were fain each terrace to ascend,
And thence their eyes on Ráma bend.
Then as the gathered multitude
On foot their well-loved Ráma viewed,
No royal shade to screen his head,
Such words, disturbed in grief, they said:
“O look, our hero, wont to ride
Leading a host in perfect pride—
Now Lakshmaṇ, sole of all his friends,
With Sítá on his steps attends.
Though he has known the sweets of power,
And poured his gifts in liberal shower,
From duty's path he will not swerve,
[pg 134]
But, still his father's truth preserve.
And she whose form so soft and fair
Was veiled from spirits of the air,
Now walks unsheltered from the day,
Seen by the crowds who throng the way.
Ah, for that gently-nurtured form!
How will it fade with sun and storm!
How will the rain, the cold, the heat
Mar fragrant breast and tinted feet!
Surely some demon has possessed
His sire, and speaks within his breast,
Or how could one that is a king
Thus send his dear son wandering?
It were a deed unkindly done
To banish e'en a worthless son:
But what, when his pure life has gained
The hearts of all, by love enchained?
Six sovereign virtues join to grace
Ráma the foremost of his race:
Tender and kind and pure is he,
Docile, religious, passion-free.
Hence misery strikes not him alone:
In bitterest grief the people moan,
Like creatures of the stream, when dry
In the great heat the channels lie.
The world is mournful with the grief
That falls on its beloved chief,
As, when the root is hewn away,
Tree, fruit, and flower, and bud decay.
The soul of duty, bright to see,
He is the root of you and me;
And all of us, who share his grief,
His branches, blossom, fruit, and leaf.
Now like the faithful Lakshmaṇ, we
Will follow and be true as he;
Our wives and kinsmen call with speed,
And hasten where our lord shall lead.
Yes, we will leave each well-loved spot,
The field, the garden, and the cot,
And, sharers of his weal and woe,
Behind the pious Ráma go.
Our houses, empty of their stores,
With ruined courts and broken doors,
With all their treasures borne away.
And gear that made them bright and gay:
O'errun by rats, with dust o'erspread,
Shrines, whence the deities have fled,
Where not a hand the water pours,
Or sweeps the long-neglected floors,
No incense loads the evening air,
No Bráhmans chant the text and prayer,
No fire of sacrifice is bright,
No gift is known, no sacred rite;
With floors which broken vessels strew,
As if our woes had crushed them too—
Of these be stern Kaikeyí queen,
And rule o'er homes where we have been.
The wood where Ráma's feet may roam
Shall be our city and our home,
And this fair city we forsake,
Our flight a wilderness shall make.
Each serpent from his hole shall hie,
The birds and beasts from mountain fly,
Lions and elephants in fear
Shall quit the woods when we come near,
Yield the broad wilds for us to range,
And take our city in exchange.
With Ráma will we hence, content
If, where he is, our days be spent.”
Such were the varied words the crowd
Of all conditions spoke aloud.
And Ráma heard their speeches, yet
Changed not his purpose firmly set.
His father's palace soon he neared,
That like Kailása's hill appeared.
Like a wild elephant he strode
Right onward to the bright abode.
Within the palace court he stepped,
Where ordered bands their station kept,
And saw Sumantra standing near
With down-cast eye and gloomy cheer.
Canto XXXIV. Ráma In The Palace.

The dark incomparable chief
Whose eye was like a lotus leaf,
Cried to the mournful charioteer,
“Go tell my sire that I am here.”
Sumantra, sad and all dismayed,
The chieftain's order swift obeyed.
Within the palace doors he hied
And saw the king, who wept and sighed.
Like the great sun when wrapped in shade
Like fire by ashes overlaid,
Or like a pool with waters dried,
So lay the world's great lord and pride,
A while the wise Sumantra gazed
On him whose senses woe has dazed,
Grieving for Ráma. Near he drew
With hands upraised in reverence due.
With blessing first his king he hailed;
Then with a voice that well-nigh failed,
In trembling accents soft and low
Addressed the monarch in his woe:
“The prince of men, thy Ráma, waits
Before thee at the palace gates.
His wealth to Bráhmans he has dealt,
And all who in his home have dwelt.
Admit thy son. His friends have heard
His kind farewell and parting word,
He longs to see thee first, and then
Will seek the wilds, O King of men.
He, with each princely virtue's blaze,
Shines as the sun engirt by rays.”
The truthful King who loved to keep
The law profound as Ocean's deep,
And stainless as the dark blue sky,
Thus to Sumantra made reply:
[pg 135]
“Go then, Sumantra, go and call
My wives and ladies one and all.
Drawn round me shall they fill the place
When I behold my Ráma's face.”
Quick to the inner rooms he sped,
And thus to all the women said,
“Come, at the summons of the king:
Come all, and make no tarrying.”
Their husband's word, by him conveyed,
Soon as they heard, the dames obeyed,
And following his guidance all
Came thronging to the regal hall.
In number half seven hundred, they,
All lovely dames, in long array,
With their bright eyes for weeping red,
To stand round Queen Kauśalyá, sped.
They gathered, and the monarch viewed
One moment all the multitude,
Then to Sumantra spoke and said:
“Now let my son be hither led.”
Sumantra went. Then Ráma came,
And Lakshmaṇ, and the Maithil dame,
And, as he led them on, their guide
Straight to the monarch's presence hied.
When yet far off the father saw
His son with raised palms toward him draw,
Girt by his ladies, sick with woes,
Swift from his royal seat he rose.
With all his strength the aged man
To meet his darling Ráma ran,
But trembling, wild with dark despair,
Fell on the ground and fainted there.
And Lakshmaṇ, wont in cars to ride,
And Ráma, threw them by the side
Of the poor miserable king,
Half lifeless with his sorrow's sting.
Throughout the spacious hall up went
A thousand women's wild lament:
“Ah Ráma!” thus they wailed and wept,
And anklets tinkled as they stepped
Around his body, weeping, threw
Their loving arms the brothers two,
And then, with Sítá's gentle aid,
The king upon a couch was laid.
At length to earth's imperial lord,
When life and knowledge were restored,
Though seas of woe went o'er his head,
With suppliant hand, thus Ráma said:
“Lord of us all, great King, thou art:
Bid me farewell before we part,
To Daṇḍak wood this day I go:
One blessing and one look bestow.
Let Lakshmaṇ my companion be,
And Sítá also follow me.
With truthful pleas I sought to bend
Their purpose; but no ear they lend.
Now cast this sorrow from thy heart,
And let us all, great King, depart.
As Brahmá sends his children, so
Let Lakshmaṇ, me, and Sítá go.”
He stood unmoved, and watched intent
Until the king should grant consent.
Upon his son his eyes he cast,
And thus the monarch spake at last:
“O Ráma, by her arts enslaved,
I gave the boons Kaikeyí craved,
Unfit to reign, by her misled:
Be ruler in thy father's stead.”
Thus by the lord of men addressed,
Ráma, of virtue's friends the best,
In lore of language duly learned,
His answer, reverent, thus returned:
“A thousand years, O King, remain
O'er this our city still to reign.
I in the woods my life will lead:
The lust of rule no more I heed.
Nine years and five I there will spend,
And when the portioned days shall end,
Will come, my vows and exile o'er,
And clasp thy feet, my King, once more.”
A captive in the snare of truth,
Weeping, distressed with woe and ruth,
Thus spake the monarch, while the queen
Kaikeyí urged him on unseen:
“Go then, O Ráma, and begin
Thy course unvext by fear and sin:
Go, my beloved son, and earn
Success, and joy, and safe return.
So fast the bonds of duty bind.
O Raghu's son, thy truthful mind,
That naught can turn thee back, or guide
Thy will so strongly fortified.
But O, a little longer stay,
Nor turn thy steps this night away,
That I one little day-—alas!
One only—-with my son may pass.
Me and thy mother do not slight,
But stay, my son, with me to-night;
With every dainty please thy taste,
And seek to-morrow morn the waste.
Hard is thy task, O Raghu's son,
Dire is the toil thou wilt not shun,
Far to the lonely wood to flee,
And leave thy friends for love of me.
I swear it by my truth, believe,
For thee, my son, I deeply grieve,
Misguided by the traitress dame
With hidden guile like smouldering flame.
Now, by her wicked counsel stirred,
Thou fain wouldst keep my plighted word.
No marvel that my eldest born
Would hold me true when I have sworn.”
Then Ráma having calmly heard
His wretched father speak each word,
With Lakshmaṇ standing by his side
Thus, humbly, to the King replied:
“If dainties now my taste regale,
To-morrow must those dainties fail.
This day departure I prefer
To all that wealth can minister.
O'er this fair land, no longer mine,
Which I, with all her realms, resign,
[pg 136]
Her multitudes of men, her grain,
Her stores of wealth, let Bharat reign.
And let the promised boon which thou
Wast pleased to grant the queen ere now,
Be hers in full. Be true, O King,
Kind giver of each precious thing.
Thy spoken word I still will heed,
Obeying all thy lips decreed:
And fourteen years in woods will dwell
With those who live in glade and dell.
No hopes of power my heart can touch,
No selfish joys attract so much
As son of Raghu, to fulfil
With heart and soul my father's will.
Dismiss, dismiss thy needless woe,
Nor let those drowning torrents flow:
The Lord of Rivers in his pride
Keeps to the banks that bar his tide.
Here in thy presence I declare;
By thy good deeds, thy truth, I swear;
Nor lordship, joy, nor lands I prize;
Life, heaven, all blessings I despise.
I wish to see thee still remain
Most true, O King, and free from stain.
It must not, Sire, it must not be:
I cannot rest one hour with thee.
Then bring this sorrow to an end,
For naught my settled will can bend.
I gave a pledge that binds me too,
And to that pledge I still am true.
Kaikeyí bade me speed away:
She prayed me, and I answered yea.
Pine not for me, and weep no more;
The wood for us has joy in store,
Filled with the wild deer's peaceful herds
And voices of a thousand birds.
A father is the God of each,
Yea, e'en of Gods, so Scriptures teach:
And I will keep my sire's decree,
For as a God I honour thee.
O best of men, the time is nigh,
The fourteen years will soon pass by
And to thine eyes thy son restore:
Be comforted, and weep no more.
Thou with thy firmness shouldst support
These weeping crowds who throng the court;
Then why, O chief of high renown,
So troubled, and thy soul cast down?”
Canto XXXV. Kaikeyí Reproached.

Wild with the rage he could not calm,
Sumantra, grinding palm on palm,
His head in quick impatience shook,
And sighed with woe he could not brook.
He gnashed his teeth, his eyes were red,
From his changed face the colour fled.
In rage and grief that knew no law,
The temper of the king he saw.
With his word-arrows swift and keen
He shook the bosom of the queen.
With scorn, as though its lightning stroke
Would blast her body, thus he spoke:
“Thou, who, of no dread sin afraid,
Hast Daśaratha's self betrayed,
Lord of the world, whose might sustains
Each thing that moves or fixed remains,
What direr crime is left thee now?
Death to thy lord and house art thou,
Whose cruel deeds the king distress,
Mahendra's peer in mightiness,
Firm as the mountain's rooted steep,
Enduring as the Ocean's deep.
Despise not Daśaratha, he
Is a kind lord and friend to thee.
A loving wife in worth outruns
The mother of ten million sons.
Kings, when their sires have passed away,
Succeed by birthright to the sway.
Ikshváku's son still rules the state,
Yet thou this rule wouldst violate.
Yea, let thy son, Kaikeyí, reign,
Let Bharat rule his sire's domain.
Thy will, O Queen, shall none oppose:
We all will go where Ráma goes.
No Bráhman, scorning thee, will rest
Within the realm thou governest,
But all will fly indignant hence:
So great thy trespass and offence.
I marvel, when thy crime I see,
Earth yawns not quick to swallow thee;
And that the Bráhman saints prepare
No burning scourge thy soul to scare,
With cries of shame to smite thee, bent
Upon our Ráma's banishment.
The Mango tree with axes fell,
And tend instead the Neem tree well,
Still watered with all care the tree
Will never sweet and pleasant be.
Thy mother's faults to thee descend,
And with thy borrowed nature blend.
True is the ancient saw: the Neem
Can ne'er distil a honeyed stream.
Taught by the tale of long ago
Thy mother's hateful sin we know.
A bounteous saint, as all have heard,
A boon upon thy sire conferred,
And all the eloquence revealed
That fills the wood, the flood, the field.
No creature walked, or swam, or flew,
But he its varied language knew.
One morn upon his couch he heard
The chattering of a gorgeous bird.
And as he marked its close intent
He laughed aloud in merriment.
Thy mother furious with her lord,
And fain to perish by the cord,
Said to her husband: “I would know,
O Monarch, why thou laughest so.”
[pg 137]
The king in answer spake again:
“If I this laughter should explain,
This very hour would be my last,
For death, be sure would follow fast.”
Again thy mother, flushed with ire,
To Kekaya spake, thy royal sire:
“Tell me the cause; then live or die:
I will not brook thy laugh, not I.”
Thus by his darling wife addressed,
The king whose might all earth confessed,
To that kind saint his story told
Who gave the wondrous gift of old.
He listened to the king's complaint,
And thus in answer spoke the saint:
“King, let her quit thy home or die,
But never with her prayer comply.”
The saint's reply his trouble stilled,
And all his heart with pleasure filled.
Thy mother from his home he sent,
And days like Lord Kuvera's spent.
So thou wouldst force the king, misled
By thee, in evil paths to tread,
And bent on evil wouldst begin,
Through folly, this career of sin.
Most true, methinks, in thee is shown
The ancient saw so widely known:
The sons their fathers' worth declare
And girls their mothers' nature share.
So be not thou. For pity's sake
Accept the word the monarch spake.
Thy husband's will, O Queen, obey,
And be the people's hope and stay,
O, do not, urged by folly, draw
The king to tread on duty's law.
The lord who all the world sustains,
Bright as the God o'er Gods who reigns.
Our glorious king, by sin unstained,
Will never grant what fraud obtained;
No shade of fault in him is seen:
Let Ráma be anointed, Queen.
Remember, Queen, undying shame
Will through the world pursue thy name,
If Ráma leave the king his sire,
And, banished, to the wood retire.
Come, from thy breast this fever fling:
Of his own realm be Ráma king.
None in this city e'er can dwell
To tend and love thee half so well.
When Ráma sits in royal place,
True to the custom of his race
Our monarch of the mighty bow
A hermit to the woods will go.”310
Sumantra thus, palm joined to palm,
Poured forth his words of bane and balm,
With keen reproach, with pleading kind,
Striving to move Kaikeyí's mind.
In vain he prayed, in vain reproved,
She heard unsoftened and unmoved.
Nor could the eyes that watched her view
One yielding look, one change of hue.
Canto XXXVI. Siddhárth's Speech.

Ikshváku's son with anguish torn
For the great oath his lips had sworn,
With tears and sighs of sharpest pain
Thus to Sumantra spake again:
“Prepare thou quick a perfect force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,
To follow Raghu's scion hence
Equipped with all magnificence.
Let traders with the wealth they sell,
And those who charming stories tell,
And dancing-women fair of face,
The prince's ample chariots grace.
On all the train who throng his courts,
And those who share his manly sports,
Great gifts of precious wealth bestow,
And bid them with their master go.
Let noble arms, and many a wain,
And townsmen swell the prince's train;
And hunters best for woodland skill
Their places in the concourse fill.
While elephants and deer he slays,
Drinking wood honey as he strays,
And looks on streams each fairer yet,
His kingdom he may chance forget.
Let all my gold and wealth of corn
With Ráma to the wilds be borne;
For it will soothe the exile's lot
To sacrifice in each pure spot,
Deal ample largess forth, and meet
Each hermit in his calm retreat.
The wealth shall Ráma with him bear,
Ayodhyá shall be Bharat's share.”
As thus Kakutstha's offspring spoke,
Fear in Kaikeyí's breast awoke.
The freshness of her face was dried,
Her trembling tongue was terror-tied.
Alarmed and sad, with bloodless cheek,
She turned to him and scarce could speak:
“Nay, Sire, but Bharat shall not gain
An empty realm where none remain.
My Bharat shall not rule a waste
Reft of all sweets to charm the taste—
The wine-cup's dregs, all dull and dead,
Whence the light foam and life are fled.”
Thus in her rage the long-eyed dame
Spoke her dire speech untouched by shame.
[pg 138]
Then, answering, Daśaratha spoke:
“Why, having bowed me to the yoke,
Dost thou, must cruel, spur and goad
Me who am struggling with the load?
Why didst thou not oppose at first
This hope, vile Queen, so fondly nursed?”
Scarce could the monarch's angry speech
The ears of the fair lady reach,
When thus, with double wrath inflamed,
Kaikeyí to the king exclaimed:
“Sagar, from whom thy line is traced,
Drove forth his eldest son disgraced,
Called Asamanj, whose fate we know:
Thus should thy son to exile go.”
“Fie on thee, dame!” the monarch said;
Each of her people bent his head,
And stood in shame and sorrow mute:
She marked not, bold and resolute.
Then great Siddhárth, inflamed with rage,
The good old councillor and sage
On whose wise rede the king relied,
To Queen Kaikeyí thus replied:
“But Asamanj the cruel laid
His hands on infants as they played,
Cast them to Sarjú's flood, and smiled
For pleasure when he drowned a child.”311
The people saw, and, furious, sped
Straight the the king his sire and said:
“Choose us, O glory of the throne,
Choose us, or Asamanj alone.”
“Whence comes this dread?” the monarch cried;
And all the people thus replied:
“In folly, King, he loves to lay
Fierce hands upon our babes at play,
Casts them to Sarjú's flood and joys
To murder our bewildered boys.”
With heedful ear the king of men
Heard each complaining citizen.
To please their troubled minds he strove,
And from the state his son he drove.
With wife and gear upon a car
He placed him quick, and sent him far.
And thus he gave commandment, “He
Shall all his days an exile be.”
With basket and with plough he strayed
O'er mountain heights, through pathless shade,
Roaming all lands a weary time,
An outcast wretch defiled with crime.
Sagar, the righteous path who held,
His wicked offspring thus expelled.
But what has Ráma done to blame?
Why should his sentence be the same?
No sin his stainless name can dim;
We see no fault at all in him.
Pure as the moon, no darkening blot
On his sweet life has left a spot.
If thou canst see one fault, e'en one,
To dim the fame of Raghu's son,
That fault this hour, O lady, show,
And Ráma to the wood shall go.
To drive the guiltless to the wild,
Truth's constant lover, undefiled,
Would, by defiance of the right,
The glory e'en of Indra blight.
Then cease, O lady, and dismiss
Thy hope to ruin Ráma's bliss,
Or all thy gain, O fair of face,
Will be men's hatred, and disgrace.”
Canto XXXVII. The Coats Of Bark.

Thus spake the virtuous sage: and then
Ráma addressed the king of men.
In laws of meek behaviour bred,
Thus to his sire he meekly said:
“King, I renounce all earthly care,
And live in woods on woodland fare.
What, dead to joys, have I to do
With lordly train and retinue!
Who gives his elephant and yet
Upon the girths his heart will set?
How can a cord attract his eyes
Who gives away the nobler prize?
Best of the good, with me be led
No host, my King with banners spread.
All wealth, all lordship I resign:
The hermit's dress alone be mine.
Before I go, have here conveyed
A little basket and a spade.
With these alone I go, content,
For fourteen years of banishment.”
With her own hands Kaikeyí took
The hermit coats of bark, and, “Look,”
She cried with bold unblushing brow
Before the concourse, “Dress thee now.”
That lion leader of the brave
Took from her hand the dress she gave,
Cast his fine raiment on the ground,
[pg 139]
And round his waist the vesture bound.
Then quick the hero Lakshmaṇ too
His garment from his shoulders threw,
And, in the presence of his sire,
Indued the ascetic's rough attire.
But Sítá, in her silks arrayed,
Threw glances, trembling and afraid,
On the bark coat she had to wear,
Like a shy doe that eyes the snare.
Ashamed and weeping for distress
From the queen's hand she took the dress.
The fair one, by her husband's side
Who matched heaven's minstrel monarch,312 cried:
“How bind they on their woodland dress,
Those hermits of the wilderness?”
There stood the pride of Janak's race
Perplexed, with sad appealing face.
One coat the lady's fingers grasped,
One round her neck she feebly clasped,
But failed again, again, confused
By the wild garb she ne'er had used.
Then quickly hastening Ráma, pride
Of all who cherish virtue, tied
The rough bark mantle on her, o'er
The silken raiment that she wore.
Then the sad women when they saw
Ráma the choice bark round her draw,
Rained water from each tender eye,
And cried aloud with bitter cry:
“O, not on her, beloved, not
On Sítá falls thy mournful lot.
If, faithful to thy father's will,
Thou must go forth, leave Sítá still.
Let Sítá still remaining here
Our hearts with her loved presence cheer.
With Lakshmaṇ by thy side to aid
Seek thou, dear son, the lonely shade.
Unmeet, one good and fair as she
Should dwell in woods a devotee.
Let not our prayers be prayed in vain:
Let beauteous Sítá yet remain;
For by thy love of duty tied
Thou wilt not here thyself abide.”
Then the king's venerable guide
Vaśishṭha, when he saw each coat
Enclose the lady's waist and throat,
Her zeal with gentle words repressed,
And Queen Kaikeyí thus addressed:
“O evil-hearted sinner, shame
Of royal Kekaya's race and name;
Who matchless in thy sin couldst cheat
Thy lord the king with vile deceit;
Lost to all sense of duty, know
Sítá to exile shall not go.
Sítá shall guard, as 'twere her own,
The precious trust of Ráma's throne.
Those joined by wedlock's sweet control
Have but one self and common soul.
Thus Sítá shall our empress be,
For Ráma's self and soul is she.
Or if she still to Ráma cleave
And for the woods the kingdom leave:
If naught her loving heart deter,
We and this town will follow her.
The warders of the queen shall take
Their wives and go for Ráma's sake,
The nation with its stores of grain,
The city's wealth shall swell his train.
Bharat, Śatrughna both will wear
Bark mantles, and his lodging share,
Still with their elder brother dwell
In the wild wood, and serve him well.
Rest here alone, and rule thy state
Unpeopled, barren, desolate;
Be empress of the land and trees,
Thou sinner whom our sorrows please.
The land which Ráma reigns not o'er
Shall bear the kingdom's name no more:
The woods which Ráma wanders through
Shall be our home and kingdom too.
Bharat, be sure, will never deign
O'er realms his father yields, to reign.
Nay, if the king's true son he be,
He will not, sonlike, dwell with thee.
Nay, shouldst thou from the earth arise,
And send thy message from the skies,
To his forefathers' custom true
No erring course would he pursue.
So hast thou, by thy grievous fault,
Offended him thou wouldst exalt.
In all the world none draws his breath
Who loves not Ráma, true to death.
This day, O Queen, shalt thou behold
Birds, deer, and beasts from lea and fold
Turn to the woods in Ráma's train.
And naught save longing trees remain.”
Canto XXXVIII. Care For Kausalyá

Then when the people wroth and sad
Saw Sítá in bark vesture clad,
Though wedded, like some widowed thing,
They cried out, “Shame upon thee, King!”
Grieved by their cry and angry look
The lord of earth at once forsook
All hope in life that still remained,
In duty, self, and fame unstained.
Ikshváku's son with burning sighs
On Queen Kaikeyí bent his eyes,
And said: “But Sítá must not flee
In garments of a devotee.
My holy guide has spoken truth:
Unfit is she in tender youth,
[pg 140]
So gently nurtured, soft and fair,
The hardships of the wood to share.
How has she sinned, devout and true,
The noblest monarch's child,
That she should garb of bark indue
And journey to the wild?
That she should spend her youthful days
Amid a hermit band,
Like some poor mendicant who strays
Sore troubled, through the land?
Ah, let the child of Janak throw
Her dress of bark aside,
And let the royal lady go
With royal wealth supplied.
Not such the pledge I gave before,
Unfit to linger here:
The oath, which I the sinner swore
Is kept, and leaves her clear.
Won from her childlike love this too
My instant death would be,
As blossoms on the old bamboo
Destroy the parent tree.313
If aught amiss by Ráma done
Offend thee, O thou wicked one,
What least transgression canst thou find
In her, thou worst of womankind?
What shade of fault in her appears,
Whose full soft eye is like the deer's?
What canst thou blame in Janak's child,
So gentle, modest, true, and mild?
Is not one crime complete, that sent
My Ráma forth to banishment?
And wilt thou other sins commit,
Thou wicked one, to double it?
This is the pledge and oath I swore,
What thou besoughtest, and no more,
Of Ráma—for I heard thee, dame—
When he for consecration came.
Now with this limit not content,
In hell should be thy punishment,
Who fain the Maithil bride wouldst press
To clothe her limbs with hermit dress.”
Thus spake the father in his woe;
And Ráma, still prepared to go,
To him who sat with drooping head
Spake in return these words and said:
“Just King, here stands my mother dear,
Kauśalyá, one whom all revere.
Submissive, gentle, old is she,
And keeps her lips from blame of thee,
For her, kind lord, of me bereft
A sea of whelming woe is left.
O, show her in her new distress
Still fonder love and tenderness.
Well honoured by thine honoured hand
Her grief for me let her withstand,
Who wrapt in constant thought of me
In me would live a devotee.
Peer of Mahendra, O, to her be kind,
And treat I pray, my gentle mother so,
That, when I dwell afar, her life resigned,
She may not pass to Yáma's realm for woe.”
Canto XXXIX. Counsel To Sítá.

Scarce had the sire, with each dear queen,
Heard Ráma's pleading voice, and seen
His darling in his hermit dress
Ere failed his senses for distress.
Convulsed with woe, his soul that shook,
On Raghu's son he could not look;
Or if he looked with failing eye
He could not to the chief reply.
By pangs of bitter grief assailed,
The long-armed monarch wept and wailed,
Half dead a while and sore distraught,
While Ráma filled his every thought.
“This hand of mine in days ere now
Has reft her young from many a cow,
Or living things has idly slain:
Hence comes, I ween, this hour of pain.
Not till the hour is come to die
Can from its shell the spirit fly.
Death comes not, and Kaikeyí still
Torments the wretch she cannot kill,
Who sees his son before him quit
The fine soft robes his rank that fit,
And, glorious as the burning fire,
In hermit garb his limbs attire.
Now all the people grieve and groan
Through Queen Kaikeyí's deed alone,
Who, having dared this deed of sin,
Strives for herself the gain to win.”
He spoke. With tears his eyes grew dim,
His senses all deserted him.
He cried, O Ráma, once, then weak
And fainting could no further speak.
Unconscious there he lay: at length
Regathering his sense and strength,
While his full eyes their torrents shed,
To wise Sumantra thus he said:
“Yoke the light car, and hither lead
Fleet coursers of the noblest breed,
And drive this heir of lofty fate
Beyond the limit of the state.
This seems the fruit that virtues bear,
The meed of worth which texts declare—
The sending of the brave and good
By sire and mother to the wood.'”
He heard the monarch, and obeyed,
With ready feet that ne'er delayed,
And brought before the palace gate
The horses and the car of state.
Then to the monarch's son he sped,
And raising hands of reverence said
[pg 141]
That the light car which gold made fair,
With best of steeds, was standing there.
King Daśaratha called in haste
The lord o'er all his treasures placed.
And spoke, well skilled in place and time,
His will to him devoid of crime:
“Count all the years she has to live
Afar in forest wilds, and give
To Sítá robes and gems of price
As for the time may well suffice.”
Quick to the treasure-room he went,
Charged by that king most excellent,
Brought the rich stores, and gave them all
To Sítá in the monarch's hall.
The Maithil dame of high descent
Received each robe and ornament,
And tricked those limbs, whose lines foretold
High destiny, with gems and gold.
So well adorned, so fair to view,
A glory through the hall she threw:
So, when the Lord of Light upsprings,
His radiance o'er the sky he flings.
Then Queen Kauśalyá spake at last,
With loving arms about her cast,
Pressed lingering kisses on her head,
And to the high-souled lady said:
“Ah, in this faithless world below
When dark misfortune comes and woe,
Wives, loved and cherished every day,
Neglect their lords and disobey.
Yes, woman's nature still is this:—
After long days of calm and bliss
When some light grief her spirit tries,
She changes all her love, or flies.
Young wives are thankless, false in soul,
With roving hearts that spurn control.
Brooding on sin and quickly changed,
In one short hour their love estranged.
Not glorious deed or lineage fair,
Not knowledge, gift, or tender care
In chains of lasting love can bind
A woman's light inconstant mind.
But those good dames who still maintain
What right, truth, Scripture, rule ordain—
No holy thing in their pure eyes
With one beloved husband vies.
Nor let thy lord my son, condemned
To exile, be by thee contemned,
For be he poor or wealthy, he
Is as a God, dear child, to thee.”
When Sítá heard Kauśalyá's speech
Her duty and her gain to teach,
She joined her palms with reverent grace
And gave her answer face to face:
“All will I do, forgetting naught,
Which thou, O honoured Queen, hast taught.
I know, have heard, and deep have stored
The rules of duty to my lord.
Not me, good Queen, shouldst thou include
Among the faithless multitude.
Its own sweet light the moon shall leave
Ere I to duty cease to cleave.
The stringless lute gives forth no strain,
The wheelless car is urged in vain;
No joy a lordless dame, although
Blest with a hundred sons, can know.
From father, brother, and from son
A measured share of joy is won:
Who would not honour, love, and bless
Her lord, whose gifts are measureless?
Thus trained to think, I hold in awe
Scripture's command and duty's law.
Him can I hold in slight esteem?
Her lord is woman's God, I deem.”
Kauśalyá heard the lady's speech,
Nor failed those words her heart to reach.
Then, pure in mind, she gave to flow
The tear that sprang of joy and woe.
Then duteous Ráma forward came
And stood before the honoured dame,
And joining reverent hands addressed
The queen in rank above the rest:
“O mother, from these tears refrain;
Look on my sire and still thy pain.
To thee my days afar shall fly
As if sweet slumber closed thine eye,
And fourteen years of exile seem
To thee, dear mother, like a dream.
On me returning safe and well,
Girt by my friends, thine eyes shall dwell.”
Thus for their deep affection's sake
The hero to his mother spake,
Then to the half seven hundred too,
Wives of his sire, paid reverence due.
Thus Daśaratha's son addressed
That crowd of matrons sore distressed:
“If from these lips, while here I dwelt,
One heedless taunt you e'er have felt,
Forgive me, pray. And now adieu,
I bid good-bye to all of you.”
Then straight, like curlews' cries, upwent
The voices of their wild lament,
While, as he bade farewell, the crowd
Of royal women wept aloud,
And through the ample hall's extent.
Where erst the sound of tabour, blent
With drum and shrill-toned instrument,
In joyous concert rose,
Now rang the sound of wailing high,
The lamentation and the cry,
The shriek, the choking sob, the sigh
That told the ladies' woes.
Canto XL. Ráma's Departure.

Then Ráma, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ bent
At the king's feet, and sadly went
[pg 142]
Round him with slow steps reverent.
When Ráma of the duteous heart
Had gained his sire's consent to part,
With Sítá by his side he paid
Due reverence to the queen dismayed.
And Lakshmaṇ, with affection meet,
Bowed down and clasped his mother's feet.
Sumitrá viewed him as he pressed
Her feet, and thus her son addressed:
“Neglect not Ráma wandering there,
But tend him with thy faithful care.
In hours of wealth, in time of woe,
Him, sinless son, thy refuge know.
From this good law the just ne'er swerve,
That younger sons the eldest serve,
And to this righteous rule incline
All children of thine ancient line—
Freely to give, reward each rite,
Nor spare their bodies in the fight.
Let Ráma Daśaratha be,
Look upon Sítá as on me,
And let the cot wherein you dwell
Be thine Ayodhyá. Fare thee well.”
Her blessing thus Sumitrá gave
To him whose soul to Ráma clave,
Exclaiming, when her speech was done,
“Go forth, O Lakshmaṇ, go, my son.
Go forth, my son to win success,
High victory and happiness.
Go forth thy foemen to destroy,
And turn again at last with joy.”
As Mátali his charioteer
Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear,
Sumantra, palm to palm applied,
In reverence trained, to Ráma cried:
“O famous Prince, my car ascend,—
May blessings on thy course attend,—
And swiftly shall my horses flee
And place thee where thou biddest me.
The fourteen years thou hast to stay
Far in the wilds, begin to-day;
For Oueen Kaikeyí cries, Away.”
Then Sítá, best of womankind,
Ascended, with a tranquil mind,
Soon as her toilet task was done,
That chariot brilliant as the sun.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ true and bold
Sprang on the car adorned with gold.
The king those years had counted o'er,
And given Sítá robes and store
Of precious ornaments to wear
When following her husband there.
The brothers in the car found place
For nets and weapons of the chase,
There warlike arms and mail they laid,
A leathern basket and a spade.
Soon as Sumantra saw the three
Were seated in the chariot, he
Urged on each horse of noble breed,
Who matched the rushing wind in speed.
As thus the son of Raghu went
Forth for his dreary banishment,
Chill numbing grief the town assailed,
All strength grew weak, all spirit failed,
Ayodhyá through her wide extent
Was filled with tumult and lament:
Steeds neighed and shook the bells they bore,
Each elephant returned a roar.
Then all the city, young and old,
Wild with their sorrow uncontrolled,
Rushed to the car, as, from the sun
The panting herds to water run.
Before the car, behind, they clung,
And there as eagerly they hung,
With torrents streaming from their eyes,
Called loudly with repeated cries:
“Listen, Sumantra: draw thy rein;
Drive gently, and thy steeds restrain.
Once more on Ráma will we gaze,
Now to be lost for many days.
The queen his mother has, be sure,
A heart of iron, to endure
To see her godlike Ráma go,
Nor feel it shattered by the blow.
Sítá, well done! Videha's pride,
Still like his shadow by his side;
Rejoicing in thy duty still
As sunlight cleaves to Meru's hill.
Thou, Lakshmaṇ, too, hast well deserved,
Who from thy duty hast not swerved,
Tending the peer of Gods above,
Whose lips speak naught but words of love.
Thy firm resolve is nobly great,
And high success on thee shall wait.
Yea, thou shalt win a priceless meed—
Thy path with him to heaven shall lead.”
As thus they spake, they could not hold
The tears that down their faces rolled,
While still they followed for a space
Their darling of Ikshváku's race.
There stood surrounded by a ring
Of mournful wives the mournful king;
For, “I will see once more,” he cried,
“Mine own dear son,” and forth he hied.
As he came near, there rose the sound
Of weeping, as the dames stood round.
So the she-elephants complain
When their great lord and guide is slain.
Kakutstha's son, the king of men,
The glorious sire, looked troubled then,
As the full moon is when dismayed
By dark eclipse's threatening shade.
Then Daśaratha's son, designed
For highest fate of lofty mind,
Urged to more speed the charioteer,
“Away, away! why linger here?
Urge on thy horses,” Rama cried,
And “Stay, O stay,” the people sighed.
Sumantra, urged to speed away,
The townsmen's call must disobey,
Forth as the long-armed hero went,
[pg 143]
The dust his chariot wheels up sent
Was laid by streams that ever flowed
From their sad eyes who filled the road.
Then, sprung of woe, from eyes of all
The women drops began to fall,
As from each lotus on the lake
The darting fish the water shake.
When he, the king of high renown,
Saw that one thought held all the town,
Like some tall tree he fell and lay,
Whose root the axe has hewn away.
Then straight a mighty cry from those
Who followed Ráma's car arose,
Who saw their monarch fainting there
Beneath that grief too great to bear.
Then “Ráma, Ráma!” with the cry
Of “Ah, his mother!” sounded high,
As all the people wept aloud
Around the ladies' sorrowing crowd.
When Ráma backward turned his eye,
And saw the king his father lie
With troubled sense and failing limb,
And the sad queen, who followed him,
Like some young creature in the net,
That will not, in its misery, let
Its wild eyes on its mother rest,
So, by the bonds of duty pressed,
His mother's look he could not meet.
He saw them with their weary feet,
Who, used to bliss, in cars should ride,
Who ne'er by sorrow should be tried,
And, as one mournful look he cast,
“Drive on,” he cried, “Sumantra, fast.”
As when the driver's torturing hook
Goads on an elephant, the look
Of sire and mother in despair
Was more than Ráma's heart could bear.
As mother kine to stalls return
Which hold the calves for whom they yearn,
So to the car she tried to run
As a cow seeks her little one.
Once and again the hero's eyes
Looked on his mother, as with cries
Of woe she called and gestures wild,
“O Sítá, Lakshmaṇ, O my child!”
“Stay,” cried the king, “thy chariot stay:”
“On, on,” cried Ráma, “speed away.”
As one between two hosts, inclined
To neither was Sumantra's mind.
But Ráma spake these words again:
“A lengthened woe is bitterest pain.
On, on; and if his wrath grow hot,
Thine answer be, ‘I heard thee not.’ ”
Sumantra, at the chief's behest,
Dismissed the crowd that toward him pressed,
And, as he bade, to swiftest speed
Urged on his way each willing steed.
The king's attendants parted thence,
And paid him heart-felt reverence:
In mind, and with the tears he wept,
Each still his place near Ráma kept.
As swift away the horses sped,
His lords to Daśaratha said:
“To follow him whom thou again
Wouldst see returning home is vain.”
With failing limb and drooping mien
He heard their counsel wise:
Still on their son the king and queen
Kept fast their lingering eyes.314
Canto XLI. The Citizens' Lament.

The lion chief with hands upraised
Was born from eyes that fondly gazed.
But then the ladies' bower was rent
With cries of weeping and lament:
“Where goes he now, our lord, the sure
Protector of the friendless poor,
In whom the wretched and the weak
Defence and aid were wont to seek?
All words of wrath he turned aside,
And ne'er, when cursed, in ire replied.
He shared his people's woe, and stilled
The troubled breast which rage had filled.
Our chief, on lofty thoughts intent,
In glorious fame preëminent:
As on his own dear mother, thus
He ever looked on each of us.
Where goes he now? His sire's behest,
By Queen Kaikeyí's guile distressed,
Has banished to the forest hence
Him who was all the world's defence.
Ah, senseless King, to drive away
The hope of men, their guard and stay,
To banish to the distant wood
Ráma the duteous, true, and good!”
The royal dames, like cows bereaved
Of their young calves, thus sadly grieved.
The monarch heard them as they wailed,
And by the fire of grief assailed
For his dear son, he bowed his head,
And all his sense and memory fled.
Then were no fires of worship fed,
Thick darkness o'er the sun was spread.
The cows their thirsty calves denied,
And elephants flung their food aside.
[pg 144]
Triśanku,315 Jupiter looked dread,
And Mercury and Mars the red,
In direful opposition met,
The glory of the moon beset.
The lunar stars withheld their light,
The planets were no longer bright,
But meteors with their horrid glare,
And dire Viśákhás316 lit the air.
As troubled Ocean heaves and raves
When Doom's wild tempest sweeps the waves,
Thus all Ayodhyá reeled and bent
When Ráma to the forest went.
And chilling grief and dark despair
Fell suddenly on all men there.
Their wonted pastime all forgot,
Nor thought of food, or touched it not.
Crowds in the royal street were seen
With weeping eye and troubled mien:
No more a people gay and glad,
Each head and heart was sick and sad.
No more the cool wind softly blew,
The moon no more was fair to view,
No more the sun with genial glow
Cherished the world now plunged in woe.
Sons, brothers, husbands, wedded wives
Forgot the ties that joined their lives;
No thought for kith and kin was spared,
But all for only Ráma cared.
And Ráma's friends who loved him best,
Their minds disordered and distressed.
By the great burthen of their woes
Turned not to slumber or repose.
Like Earth with all her hills bereft
Of Indra's guiding care.
Ayodhyá in her sorrow left
By him, the high souled heir,
Was bowed by fear and sorrow's force,
And shook with many a throe,
While warrior, elephant, and horse
Sent up the cry of woe.
Canto XLII. Dasaratha's Lament.

While yet the dust was seen afar
That marked the course of Ráma's car,
The glory of Ikshváku's race
Turned not away his eager face.
While yet his duteous son he saw
He could not once his gaze withdraw,
But rooted to the spot remained
With eyes that after Ráma strained.
But when that dust no more he viewed,
Fainting he fell by grief subdued.
To his right hand Kauśalyá went,
And ready aid the lady lent,
While Bharat's loving mother tried
To raise him on the other side.
The king, within whose ordered soul
Justice and virtue held control,
To Queen Kaikeyí turned and said,
With every sense disquieted:
“Touch me not, thou whose soul can plot
All sin. Kaikeyí, touch me not.
No loving wife, no friend to me,
I ne'er again would look on thee;
Ne'er from this day have aught to do
With thee and all thy retinue;
Thee whom no virtuous thoughts restrain,
Whose selfish heart seeks only gain.
The hand I laid in mine, O dame,
The steps we took around the flame,317
And all that links thy life to mine
Here and hereafter I resign.
If Bharat too, thy darling son,
Joy in the rule thy art has won,
Ne'er may the funeral offerings paid
By his false hand approach my shade.”
Then while the dust upon him hung,
The monarch to Kauśalyá clung,
And she with mournful steps and slow
Turned to the palace, worn with woe.
As one whose hand has touched the fire,
Or slain a Bráhman in his ire,
He felt his heart with sorrow torn
Still thinking of his son forlorn.
Each step was torture, as the road
The traces of the chariot showed,
And as the shadowed sun grows dim
So care and anguish darkened him.
He raised a cry, by woe distraught,
As of his son again he thought.
And judging that the car had sped
Beyond the city, thus he said:
“I still behold the foot-prints made
By the good horses that conveyed
My son afar: these marks I see,
But high-souled Ráma, where is he?
Ah me, my son! my first and best,
On pleasant couches wont to rest,
With limbs perfumed with sandal, fanned
By many a beauty's tender hand:
Where will he lie with log or stone
Beneath him for a pillow thrown,
To leave at morn his earthy bed,
Neglected, and with dust o'erspread,
As from the flood with sigh and pant
Comes forth the husband elephant?
The men who make the woods their home
Shall see the long-armed hero roam
Roused from his bed, though lord of all,
In semblance of a friendless thrall.
Janak's dear child who ne'er has met
[pg 145]
With aught save joy and comfort yet,
Will reach to-day the forest, worn
And wearied with the brakes of thorn.
Ah, gentle girl, of woods unskilled,
How will her heart with dread be filled
At the wild beasts' deep roaring there,
Whose voices lift the shuddering hair!
Kaikeyí, glory in thy gain,
And, widow queen, begin to reign:
No will, no power to live have I
When my brave son no more is nigh.”
Thus pouring forth laments, the king
Girt by the people's crowded ring,
Entered the noble bower like one
New-bathed when funeral rites are done.
Where'er he looked naught met his gaze
But empty houses, courts, and ways.
Closed were the temples: countless feet
No longer trod the royal street,
And thinking of his son he viewed
Men weak and worn and woe-subdued.
As sinks the sun into a cloud,
So passed he on, and wept aloud,
Within that house no more to be
The dwelling of the banished three,
Brave Ráma, his Vedehan bride,
And Lakshmaṇ by his brother's side:
Like broad still waters, when the king
Of all the birds that ply the wing
Has swooped from heaven and borne away
The glittering snakes that made them gay.
With choking sobs and voice half spent
The king renewed his sad lament:
With broken utterance faint and low
Scarce could he speak these words of woe:
“My steps to Ráma's mother guide,
And place me by Kauśalyá's side:
There, only there my heart may know
Some little respite from my woe.”
The warders of the palace led
The monarch, when his words were said,
To Queen Kauśalyá's bower, and there
Laid him with reverential care.
But while he rested on the bed
Still was his soul disquieted.
In grief he tossed his arms on high
Lamenting with a piteous cry:
“O Ráma, Ráma,” thus said he,
“My son, thou hast forsaken me.
High bliss awaits those favoured men
Left living in Ayodhyá then,
Whose eyes shall see my son once more
Returning when the time is o'er.”
Then came the night, whose hated gloom
Fell on him like the night of doom.
At midnight Daśaratha cried
To Queen Kauśalyá by his side:
“I see thee not, Kauśalyá; lay
Thy gentle hand in mine, I pray.
When Ráma left his home my sight
Went with him, nor returns to-night.”
Canto XLIII. Kausalyá's Lament.

Kauśalyá saw the monarch lie
With drooping frame and failing eye,
And for her banished son distressed
With these sad words her lord addressed:
“Kaikeyí, cruel, false, and vile
Has cast the venom of her guile
On Ráma lord of men, and she
Will ravage like a snake set free;
And more and more my soul alarm,
Like a dire serpent bent on harm,
For triumph crowns each dark intent,
And Ráma to the wild is sent.
Ah, were he doomed but here to stray
Begging his food from day to day,
Or do, enslaved, Kaikeyí's will,
This were a boon, a comfort still.
But she, as chose her cruel hate,
Has hurled him from his high estate,
As Bráhmans when the moon is new
Cast to the ground the demons' due.318
The long-armed hero, like the lord
Of Nágas, with his bow and sword
Begins, I ween, his forest life
With Lakshmaṇ and his faithful wife.
Ah, how will fare the exiles now,
Whom, moved by Queen Kaikeyí, thou
Hast sent in forests to abide,
Bred in delights, by woe untried?
Far banished when their lives are young,
With the fair fruit before them hung,
Deprived of all their rank that suits,
How will they live on grain and roots?
O, that my years of woe were passed,
And the glad hour were come at last
When I shall see my children dear,
Ráma, his wife, and Lakshmaṇ here!
When shall Ayodhyá, wild with glee,
Again those mighty heroes see,
And decked with wreaths her banners wave
To welcome home the true and brave?
When will the beautiful city view
With happy eyes the lordly two
Returning, joyful as the main
When the dear moon is full again?
When, like some mighty bull who leads
The cow exulting through the meads,
Will Ráma through the city ride,
Strong-armed, with Sítá at his side?
When will ten thousand thousand meet
And crowd Ayodhyá's royal street,
And grain in joyous welcome throw
Upon my sons who tame the foe?
When with delight shall youthful bands
Of Bráhman maidens in their hands
[pg 146]
Bear fruit and flowers in goodly show,
And circling round Ayodhyá go?
With ripened judgment of a sage,
And godlike in his blooming age,
When shall my virtuous son appear,
Like kindly rain, our hearts to cheer?
Ah, in a former life, I ween,
This hand of mine, most base and mean,
Has dried the udders of the kine
And left the thirsty calves to pine.
Hence, as the lion robs the cow,
Kaikeyí makes me childless now,
Exulting from her feebler foe
To rend the son she cherished so.
I had but him, in Scripture skilled,
With every grace his soul was filled.
Now not a joy has life to give,
And robbed of him I would not live:
Yea, all my days are dark and drear
If he, my darling, be not near,
And Lakshmaṇ brave, my heart to cheer.
As for my son I mourn and yearn,
The quenchless flames of anguish burn
And kill me with the pain,
As in the summer's noontide blaze
The glorious Day-God with his rays
Consumes the parching plain.”
Canto XLIV. Sumitrá's Speech.

Kauśalyá ceased her sad lament,
Of beauteous dames most excellent.
Sumitrá who to duty clave,
In righteous words this answer gave:
“Dear Queen, all noble virtues grace
Thy son, of men the first in place.
Why dost thou shed these tears of woe
With bitter grief lamenting so?
If Ráma, leaving royal sway
Has hastened to the woods away,
'Tis for his high-souled father's sake
That he his premise may not break.
He to the path of duty clings
Which lordly fruit hereafter brings—
The path to which the righteous cleave—
For him, dear Queen, thou shouldst not grieve.
And Lakshmaṇ too, the blameless-souled,
The same high course with him will hold,
And mighty bliss on him shall wait,
So tenderly compassionate.
And Sítá, bred with tender care,
Well knows what toils await her there,
But in her love she will not part
From Ráma of the virtuous heart.
Now has thy son through all the world
The banner of his fame unfurled;
True, modest, careful of his vow,
What has he left to aim at now?
The sun will mark his mighty soul,
His wisdom, sweetness, self-control,
Will spare from pain his face and limb,
And with soft radiance shine for him.
For him through forest glades shall spring
A soft auspicious breeze, and bring
Its tempered heat and cold to play
Around him ever night and day.
The pure cold moonbeams shall delight
The hero as he sleeps at night,
And soothe him with the soft caress
Of a fond parent's tenderness.
To him, the bravest of the brave,
His heavenly arms the Bráhman gave,
When fierce Suváhu dyed the plain
With his life-blood by Ráma slain.
Still trusting to his own right arm
Thy hero son will fear no harm:
As in his father's palace, he
In the wild woods will dauntless be.
Whene'er he lets his arrows fly
His stricken foemen fall and die:
And is that prince of peerless worth
Too weak to keep and sway the earth?
His sweet pure soul, his beauty's charm,
His hero heart, his warlike arm,
Will soon redeem his rightful reign
When from the woods he comes again.
The Bráhmans on the prince's head
King-making drops shall quickly shed,
And Sítá, Earth, and Fortune share
The glories which await the heir.
For him, when forth his chariot swept,
The crowd that thronged Ayodhyá wept,
With agonizing woe distressed.
With him in hermít's mantle dressed
In guise of Sítá Lakshmí went,
And none his glory may prevent.
Yea, naught to him is high or hard,
Before whose steps, to be his guard,
Lakshmaṇ, the best who draws the bow,
With spear, shaft, sword rejoiced to go.
His wanderings in the forest o'er,
Thine eyes shall see thy son once more,
Quit thy faint heart, thy grief dispel,
For this, O Queen, is truth I tell.
Thy son returning, moonlike, thence,
Shall at thy feet do reverence,
And, blest and blameless lady, thou
Shalt see his head to touch them bow,
Yea, thou shalt see thy son made king
When he returns with triumphing,
And how thy happy eyes will brim
With tears of joy to look on him!
Thou, blameless lady, shouldst the whole
Of the sad people here console:
Why in thy tender heart allow
This bitter grief to harbour now?
As the long banks of cloud distil
Their water when they see the hill,
[pg 147]
So shall the drops of rapture run
From thy glad eyes to see thy son
Returning, as he lowly bends
To greet thee, girt by all his friends.”
Thus soothing, kindly eloquent,
With every hopeful argument
Kauśalyá's heart by sorrow rent,
Fair Queen Sumitrá ceased.
Kauśalyá heard each pleasant plea,
And grief began to leave her free,
As the light clouds of autumn flee,
Their watery stores decreased.
Canto XLV. The Tamasá.

Their tender love the people drew
To follow Ráma brave and true,
The high-souled hero, as he went
Forth from his home to banishment.
The king himself his friends obeyed,
And turned him homeward as they prayed.
But yet the people turned not back,
Still close on Ráma's chariot track.
For they who in Ayodhyá dwelt
For him such fond affection felt,
Decked with all grace and glories high,
The dear full moon of every eye.
Though much his people prayed and wept,
Kakutstha's son his purpose kept,
And still his journey would pursue
To keep the king his father true.
Deep in the hero's bosom sank
Their love, whose signs his glad eye drank.
He spoke to cheer them, as his own
Dear children, in a loving tone:
“If ye would grant my fond desire,
Give Bharat now that love entire
And reverence shown to me by all
Who dwell within Ayodhyá's wall.
For he, Kaikeyí's darling son,
His virtuous career will run,
And ever bound by duty's chain
Consult your weal and bliss and gain.
In judgment old, in years a child,
With hero virtues meek and mild,
A fitting lord is he to cheer
His people and remove their fear.
In him all kingly gifts abound,
More noble than in me are found:
Imperial prince, well proved and tried—
Obey him as your lord and guide.
And grant, I pray, the boon I ask:
To please the king be still your task,
That his fond heart, while I remain
Far in the wood, may feel no pain.”
The more he showed his will to tread
The path where filial duty led,
The more the people, round him thronged,
For their dear Ráma's empire longed.
Still more attached his followers grew,
As Ráma, with his brother, drew
The people with his virtues' ties,
Lamenting all with tear-dimmed eyes.
The saintly twice-born, triply old
In glory, knowledge, seasons told,
With hoary heads that shook and bowed,
Their voices raised and spake aloud:
“O steeds, who best and noblest are,
Who whirl so swiftly Ráma's car,
Go not, return: we call on you:
Be to your master kind and true.
For speechless things are swift to hear,
And naught can match a horse's ear,
O generous steeds, return, when thus
You hear the cry of all of us.
Each vow he keeps most firm and sure,
And duty makes his spirit pure.
Back with our chief! not wood-ward hence;
Back to his royal residence!”
Soon as he saw the aged band.
Exclaiming in their misery, stand,
And their sad cries around him rang,
Swift from his chariot Ráma sprang.
Then, still upon his journey bent,
With Sítá and with Lakshmaṇ went
The hero by the old men's side
Suiting to theirs his shortened stride.
He could not pass the twice-born throng
As weariedly they walked along:
With pitying heart, with tender eye,
He could not in his chariot fly.
When the steps of Ráma viewed
That still his onward course pursued,
Woe shook the troubled heart of each,
And burnt with grief they spoke this speech—
“With thee, O Ráma, to the wood
All Bráhmans go and Bráhmanhood:
Borne on our aged shoulders, see,
Our fires of worship go with thee.
Bright canopies that lend their shade
In Vájapeya319 rites displayed,
In plenteous store are borne behind
Like cloudlets in the autumn wind.
No shelter from the sun hast thou,
And, lest his fury burn thy brow,
These sacrificial shades we bear
Shall aid thee in the noontide glare.
Our hearts, who ever loved to pore
On sacred text and Vedic lore,
Now all to thee, beloved, turn,
And for a life in forests yearn.
Deep in our aged bosoms lies
The Vedas' lore, the wealth we prize,
There still, like wives at home, shall dwell,
Whose love and truth protect them well.
[pg 148]
To follow thee our hearts are bent;
We need not plan or argument.
All else in duty's law we slight,
For following thee is following right.
O noble Prince, retrace thy way:
O, hear us, Ráma, as we lay,
With many tears and many prayers,
Our aged heads and swan-white hairs
Low in the dust before thy feet;
O, hear us, Ráma, we entreat.
Full many of these who with thee run,
Their sacred rites had just begun.
Unfinished yet those rites remain;
But finished if thou turn again.
All rooted life and things that move
To thee their deep affection prove.
To them, when warmed by love, they glow
And sue to thee, some favour show,
Each lowly bush, each towering tree
Would follow too for love of thee.
Bound by its root it must remain;
But—all it can—its boughs complain,
As when the wild wind rushes by
It tells its woe in groan and sigh.
No more through air the gay birds flit,
But, foodless, melancholy sit
Together on the branch and call
To thee whose kind heart feels for all.”
As wailed the aged Bráhmans, bent
To turn him back, with wild lament,
Seemed Tamasá herself to aid,
Checking his progress, as they prayed.
Sumantra from the chariot freed
With ready hand each weary steed;
He groomed them with the utmost heed,
Their limbs he bathed and dried,
Then led them forth to drink and feed
At pleasure in the grassy mead
That fringed the river side.
Canto XLVI. The Halt.

When Ráma, chief of Raghu's race,
Arrived at that delightful place,
He looked on Sítá first, and then
To Lakshmaṇ spake the lord of men:
“Now first the shades of night descend
Since to the wilds our steps we bend.
Joy to thee, brother! do not grieve
For our dear home and all we leave.
The woods unpeopled seem to weep
Around us, as their tenants creep
Or fly to lair and den and nest,
Both bird and beast, to seek their rest.
Methinks Ayodhyá's royal town
Where dwells my sire of high renown,
With all her men and dames to-night
Will mourn us vanished from their sight.
For, by his virtues won, they cling
In fond affection to their king,
And thee and me, O brave and true,
And Bharat and Śatrughna too.
I for my sire and mother feel
Deep sorrow o'er my bosom steal,
Lest mourning us, oppressed with fears,
They blind their eyes with endless tears.
Yet Bharat's duteous love will show
Sweet comfort in their hours of woe,
And with kind words their hearts sustain,
Suggesting duty, bliss, and gain.
I mourn my parents now no more:
I count dear Bharat's virtues o'er,
And his kind love and care dispel
The doubts I had, and all is well.
And thou thy duty wouldst not shun,
And, following me, hast nobly done;
Else, bravest, I should need a band
Around my wife as guard to stand.
On this first night, my thirst to slake,
Some water only will I take:
Thus, brother, thus my will decides,
Though varied store the wood provides.”
Thus having said to Lakshmaṇ, he
Addressed in turn Sumantra: “Be
Most diligent to-night, my friend,
And with due care thy horses tend.”
The sun had set: Sumantra tied
His noble horses side by side,
Gave store of grass with liberal hand,
And rested near them on the strand.
Each paid the holy evening rite,
And when around them fell the night,
The charioteer, with Lakshmaṇ's aid,
A lowly bed for Ráma laid.
To Lakshmaṇ Ráma bade adieu,
And then by Sítá's side he threw
His limbs upon the leafy bed
Their care upon the bank had spread.
When Lakshmaṇ saw the couple slept,
Still on the strand his watch he kept,
Still with Sumantra there conversed,
And Ráma's varied gifts rehearsed.
All night he watched, nor sought repose,
Till on the earth the sun arose:
With him Sumantra stayed awake,
And still of Ráma's virtues spake.
Thus, near the river's grassy shore
Which herds unnumbered wandered o'er,
Repose, untroubled, Ráma found,
And all the people lay around.
The glorious hero left his bed,
Looked on the sleeping crowd, and said
To Lakshmaṇ, whom each lucky line
Marked out for bliss with surest sign:
“O brother Lakshmaṇ, look on these
Reclining at the roots of trees;
All care of house and home resigned,
Caring for us with heart and mind,
These people of the city yearn
[pg 149]
To see us to our home return:
To quit their lives will they consent,
But never leave their firm intent.
Come, while they all unconscious sleep,
Let us upon the chariot leap,
And swiftly on our journey speed
Where naught our progress may impede,
That these fond citizens who roam
Far from Ikshváku's ancient home,
No more may sleep 'neath bush and tree,
Following still for love of me.
A prince with tender care should heal
The self-brought woes his people feel,
And never let his subjects share
The burthen he is forced to bear.”
Then Lakshmaṇ to the chief replied,
Who stood like Justice by his side:
“Thy rede, O sage, I well commend:
Without delay the car ascend.”
Then Ráma to Sumantra spoke:
“Thy rapid steeds, I pray thee, yoke.
Hence to the forest will I go:
Away, my lord, and be not slow.”
Sumantra, urged to utmost speed,
Yoked to the car each generous steed,
And then, with hand to hand applied,
He came before the chief and cried:
“Hail, Prince, whom mighty arms adorn,
Hail, bravest of the chariot-borne!
With Sítá and thy brother thou
Mayst mount: the car is ready now.”
The hero clomb the car with haste:
His bow and gear within were placed,
And quick the eddying flood he passed
Of Tamasá whose waves run fast.
Soon as he touched the farther side,
That strong-armed hero, glorified,
He found a road both wide and clear,
Where e'en the timid naught could fear.
Then, that the crowd might be misled,
Thus Ráma to Sumantra said:
“Speed north a while, then hasten back,
Returning in thy former track,
That so the people may not learn
The course I follow: drive and turn.”
Sumantra, at the chief's behest,
Quick to the task himself addressed;
Then near to Ráma came, and showed
The chariot ready for the road.
With Sítá, then, the princely two,
Who o'er the line of Raghu threw
A glory ever bright and new,
Upon the chariot stood.
Sumantra fast and faster drove
His horses, who in fleetness strove
Still onward to the distant grove,
The hermit-haunted wood.
Canto XLVII. The Citizens' Return.

The people, when the morn shone fair,
Arose to find no Ráma there.
Then fear and numbing grief subdued
The senses of the multitude.
The woe-born tears were running fast
As all around their eyes they cast,
And sadly looked, but found no trace
Of Ráma, searching every place.
Bereft of Ráma good and wise,
With drooping cheer and weeping eyes,
Each woe-distracted sage gave vent
To sorrow in his wild lament:
“Woe worth the sleep that stole our sense
With its beguiling influence,
That now we look in vain for him
Of the broad chest and stalwart limb!
How could the strong-armed hero, thus
Deceiving all, abandon us?
His people so devoted see,
Yet to the woods, a hermit, flee?
How can he, wont our hearts to cheer,
As a fond sire his children dear,—
How can the pride of Raghu's race
Fly from us to some desert place!
Here let us all for death prepare,
Or on the last great journey fare;320
Of Ráma our dear lord bereft,
What profit in our lives is left?
Huge trunks of trees around us lie,
With roots and branches sere and dry,
Come let us set these logs on fire
And throw our bodies on the pyre.
What shall we speak? How can we say
We followed Ráma on his way,
The mighty chief whose arm is strong,
Who sweetly speaks, who thinks no wrong?
Ayodhyá's town with sorrow dumb,
Without our lord will see us come,
And hopeless misery will strike
Elder, and child, and dame alike.
Forth with that peerless chief we came,
Whose mighty heart is aye the same:
How, reft of him we love, shall we
Returning dare that town to see?”
Complaining thus with varied cry
They tossed their aged arms on high,
And their sad hearts with grief were wrung,
Like cows who sorrow for their young.
A while they followed on the road
Which traces of his chariot showed,
But when at length those traces failed,
A deep despair their hearts assailed.
[pg 150]
The chariot marks no more discerned,
The hopeless sages backward turned:
“Ah, what is this? What can we more?
Fate stops the way, and all is o'er.”
With wearied hearts, in grief and shame
They took the road by which they came,
And reached Ayodhyá's city, where
From side to side was naught but care.
With troubled spirits quite cast down
They looked upon the royal town,
And from their eyes, oppressed with woe,
Their tears again began to flow.
Of Ráma reft, the city wore
No look of beauty as before,
Like a dull river or a lake
By Garuḍ robbed of every snake.
Dark, dismal as the moonless sky,
Or as a sea whose bed is dry,
So sad, to every pleasure dead,
They saw the town, disquieted.
On to their houses, high and vast,
Where stores of precious wealth were massed,
The melancholy Bráhmans passed,
Their hearts with anguish cleft:
Aloof from all, they came not near
To stranger or to kinsman dear,
Showing in faces blank and drear
That not one joy was left.
Canto XLVIII. The Women's Lament.

When those who forth with Ráma went
Back to the town their steps had bent,
It seemed that death had touched and chilled
Those hearts which piercing sorrow filled.
Each to his several mansion came,
And girt by children and his dame,
From his sad eyes the water shed
That o'er his cheek in torrents spread.
All joy was fled: oppressed with cares
No bustling trader showed his wares.
Each shop had lost its brilliant look,
Each householder forbore to cook.
No hand with joy its earnings told,
None cared to win a wealth of gold,
And scarce the youthful mother smiled
To see her first, her new-born child.
In every house a woman wailed,
And her returning lord assailed
With keen taunt piercing like the steel
That bids the tusked monster kneel:
“What now to them is wedded dame,
What house and home and dearest aim,
Or son, or bliss, or gathered store,
Whose eyes on Ráma look no more!
There is but one in all the earth,
One man alone of real worth,
Lakshmaṇ, who follows, true and good,
Ráma, with Sítá, through the wood.
Made holy for all time we deem
Each pool and fountain, lake and stream,
If great Kakutstha's son shall choose
Their water for his bath to use.
Each forest, dark with lovely trees,
Shall yearn Kakutstha's son to please;
Each mountain peak and woody hill,
Each mighty flood and mazy rill,
Each rocky height, each shady grove
Where the blest feet of Ráma rove,
Shall gladly welcome with the best
Of all they have their honoured guest.
The trees that clustering blossoms bear,
And bright-hued buds to gem their hair,
The heart of Ráma shall delight,
And cheer him on the breezy height.
For him the upland slopes will show
The fairest roots and fruit that grow,
And all their wealth before him fling
Ere the due hour of ripening.
For him each earth-upholding hill
Its crystal water shall distil,
And all its floods shall be displayed
In many a thousand-hued cascade.
Where Ráma stands is naught to fear,
No danger comes if he be near;
For all who live on him depend,
The world's support, and lord, and friend.
Ere in too distant wilds he stray,
Let us to Ráma speed away,
For rich reward on those will wait
Who serve a prince of soul so great.
We will attend on Sítá there;
Be Raghu's son your special care.”
The city dames, with grief distressed,
Thus once again their lords addressed:
“Ráma shall be your guard and guide,
And Sítá will for us provide.
For who would care to linger here,
Where all is sad and dark and drear?
Who, mid the mourners, hope for bliss
In a poor soulless town like this?
If Queen Kaikeyí's treacherous sin,
Our lord expelled, the kingdom win,
We heed not sons or golden store,
Our life itself we prize no more.
If she, seduced by lust of sway,
Her lord and son could cast away,
Whom would she leave unharmed, the base
Defiler of her royal race?
We swear it by our children dear,
We will not dwell as servants here;
If Queen Kaikeyí live to reign,
We will not in her realm remain.
Bowed down by her oppressive hand,
The helpless, lordless, godless land,
Cursed for Kaikeyí's guilt will fall,
And swift destruction seize it all.
[pg 151]
For, Ráma forced from home to fly,
The king his sire will surely die,
And when the king has breathed his last
Ruin will doubtless follow fast.
Sad, robbed of merits, drug the cup
And drink the poisoned mixture up,
Or share the exiled Ráma's lot,
Or seek some land that knows her not.
No reason, but a false pretence
Drove Ráma, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ hence,
And we to Bharat have been given
Like cattle to the shambles driven.”
While in each house the women, pained
At loss of Ráma, still complained,
Sank to his rest the Lord of Day,
And night through all the sky held sway.
The fires of worship all were cold,
No text was hummed, no tale was told,
And shades of midnight gloom came down
Enveloping the mournful town.
Still, sick at heart, the women shed,
As for a son or husband fled,
For Ráma tears, disquieted:
No child was loved as he.
And all Ayodhyá, where the feast,
Music, and song, and dance had ceased,
And merriment and glee,
Where every merchant's store was closed
That erst its glittering wares exposed,
Was like a dried up sea.
Canto XLIX. The Crossing Of The Rivers.

Now Ráma, ere the night was fled,
O'er many a league of road had sped,
Till, as his course he onward held,
The morn the shades of night dispelled.
The rites of holy dawn he paid,
And all the country round surveyed.
He saw, as still he hurried through
With steeds which swift as arrows flew,
Hamlets and groves with blossoms fair,
And fields which showed the tillers' care,
While from the clustered dwellings near
The words of peasants reached his ear:
“Fie on our lord the king, whose soul
Is yielded up to love's control!
Fie on the vile Kaikeyí! Shame
On that malicious sinful dame,
Who, keenly bent on cruel deeds,
No bounds of right and virtue heeds,
But with her wicked art has sent
So good a prince to banishment,
Wise, tender-hearted, ruling well
His senses, in the woods to dwell.
Ah cruel king! his heart of steel
For his own son no love could feel,
Who with the sinless Ráma parts,
The darling of the people's hearts.”
These words he heard the peasants say,
Who dwelt in hamlets by the way,
And, lord of all the realm by right,
Through Kośala pursued his flight.
Through the auspicious flood, at last,
Of Vedaśrutí's stream he passed,
And onward to the place he sped
By Saint Agastya tenanted.
Still on for many an hour he hied,
And crossed the stream whose cooling tide
Rolls onward till she meets the sea,
The herd-frequented Gomatí.321
Borne by his rapid horses o'er,
He reached that river's further shore.
And Syandiká's, whose swan-loved stream
Resounded with the peacock's scream.
Then as he journeyed on his road
To his Videhan bride he showed
The populous land which Manu old
To King Ikshváku gave to hold.
The glorious prince, the lord of men
Looked on the charioteer, and then
Voiced like a wild swan, loud and clear,
He spake these words and bade him hear:
“When shall I, with returning feet
My father and my mother meet?
When shall I lead the hunt once more
In bloomy woods on Sarjú's shore?
Most eagerly I long to ride
Urging the chase on Sarjú's side.
For royal saints have seen no blame
In this, the monarch's matchless game.”
Thus speeding on,—no rest or stay,—
Ikshváku's son pursued his way.
Oft his sweet voice the silence broke,
And thus on varied themes he spoke.
Canto L. The Halt Under The Ingudí.322

So through the wide and fair extent
Of Kośala the hero went.
Then toward Ayodhyá back he gazed,
And cried, with suppliant hands upraised:
“Farewell, dear city, first in place,
Protected by Kakutstha's race!
And Gods, who in thy temples dwell,
And keep thine ancient citadel!
I from his debt my sire will free,
Thy well-loved towers again will see,
And, coming from my wild retreat,
My mother and my father meet.”
[pg 152]
Then burning grief inflamed his eye,
As his right arm he raised on high,
And, while hot tears his cheek bedewed,
Addressed the mournful multitude:
“By love and tender pity moved,
Your love for me you well have proved;
Now turn again with joy, and win
Success in all your hands begin.”
Before the high souled chief they bent,
With circling steps around him went,
And then with bitter wailing, they
Departed each his several way.
Like the great sun engulfed by night,
The hero sped beyond their sight,
While still the people mourned his fate
And wept aloud disconsolate.
The car-borne chieftain passed the bound
Of Kośala's delightful ground,
Where grain and riches bless the land,
And people give with liberal hand:
A lovely realm unvexed by fear,
Where countless shrines and stakes323 appear:
Where mango-groves and gardens grow,
And streams of pleasant water flow:
Where dwells content a well-fed race,
And countless kine the meadows grace:
Filled with the voice of praise and prayer:
Each hamlet worth a monarch's care.
Before him three-pathed Gangá rolled
Her heavenly waters bright and cold;
O'er her pure breast no weeds were spread,
Her banks were hermit-visited.
The car-borne hero saw the tide
That ran with eddies multiplied,
And thus the charioteer addressed:
“Here on the bank to-day we rest.
Not distant from the river, see!
There grows a lofty Ingudí
With blossoms thick on every spray:
There rest we, charioteer, to-day.
I on the queen of floods will gaze,
Whose holy stream has highest praise,
Where deer, and bird, and glittering snake,
God, Daitya, bard their pastime take.”
Sumantra, Lakshmaṇ gave assent,
And with the steeds they thither went.
When Ráma reached the lovely tree,
With Sítá and with Lakshmaṇ, he
Alighted from the car: with speed
Sumantra loosed each weary steed.
And, hand to hand in reverence laid,
Stood near to Ráma in the shade.
Ráma's dear friend, renowned by fame,
Who of Nisháda lineage came,
Guha, the mighty chief, adored
Through all the land as sovereign lord,
Soon as he heard that prince renowned
Was resting on Nisháda ground,
Begirt by counsellor and peer
And many an honoured friend drew near.
Soon as the monarch came in view,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ toward him flew.
Then Guha, at the sight distressed,
His arms around the hero pressed,
Laid both his hands upon his head
Bowed to those lotus feet, and said:
“O Ráma, make thy wishes known,
And be this kingdom as thine own.
Who, mighty-armed, will ever see
A guest so dear as thou to me?”
He placed before him dainty fare
Of every flavour, rich and rare,
Brought forth the gift for honoured guest,
And thus again the chief addressed:
“Welcome, dear Prince, whose arms are strong;
These lands and all to thee belong.
Thy servants we, our lord art thou;
Begin, good king, thine empire now.
See, various food before thee placed,
And cups to drink and sweets to taste
For thee soft beds are hither borne,
And for thy horses grass and corn.”
To Guha as he pressed and prayed,
Thus Raghu's son his answer made:
“'Twas aye thy care my heart to please
With honour, love, and courtesies,
And friendship brings thee now to greet
Thy guest thus humbly on thy feet.”
Again the hero spake, as round
The king his shapely arms he wound:
“Guha, I see that all is well
With thee and those who with thee dwell;
That health and bliss and wealth attend
Thy realm, thyself, and every friend.
But all these friendly gifts of thine,
Bound to refuse, I must decline.
Grass, bark, and hide my only wear,
And woodland roots and fruit my fare,
On duty all my heart is set;
I seek the woods, an anchoret.
A little grass and corn to feed
The horses—this is all I need.
So by this favour, King, alone
Shall honour due to me be shown.
For these good steeds who brought me here
Are to my sire supremely dear;
And kind attention paid to these
Will honour me and highly please.”
Then Guha quickly bade his train
Give water to the steeds, and grain.
And Ráma, ere the night grew dark,
Paid evening rites in dress of bark,
And tasted water, on the strand,
Drawn from the stream by Lakshmaṇ's hand.
And Lakshmaṇ with observance meet
Bathed his beloved brother's feet,
[pg 153]
Who rested with his Maithil spouse:
Then sat him down 'neath distant boughs.
And Guha with his bow sat near
To Lakshmaṇ and the charioteer,
And with the prince conversing kept
His faithful watch while Ráma slept.
As Daśaratha's glorious heir,
Of lofty soul and wisdom rare,
Reclining with his Sítá there
Beside the river lay—
He who no troubles e'er had seen,
Whose life a life of bliss had been—
That night beneath the branches green
Passed pleasantly away.
Canto LI. Lakshman's Lament.

As Lakshmaṇ still his vigil held
By unaffected love impelled,
Guha, whose heart the sight distressed,
With words like these the prince addressed:
“Beloved youth, this pleasant bed
Was brought for thee, for thee is spread;
On this, my Prince, thine eyelids close,
And heal fatigue with sweet repose.
My men are all to labour trained,
But hardship thou hast ne'er sustained.
All we this night our watch will keep
And guard Kakutstha's son asleep.
In all the world there breathes not one
More dear to me than Raghu's son.
The words I speak, heroic youth,
Are true: I swear it by my truth.
Through his dear grace supreme renown
Will, so I trust, my wishes crown.
So shall my life rich store obtain
Of merit, blest with joy and gain.
While Raghu's son and Sítá lie
Entranced in happy slumber, I
Will, with my trusty bow in hand,
Guard my dear friend with all my band.
To me, who oft these forests range,
Is naught therein or new or strange.
We could with equal might oppose
A four-fold army led by foes.”
Then royal Lakshmaṇ made reply:
“With thee to stand as guardian nigh,
Whose faithful soul regards the right,
Fearless we well might rest to-night.
But how, when Ráma lays his head
With Sítá on his lowly bed,—
How can I sleep? how can I care
For life, or aught that's bright and fair?
Behold the conquering chief, whose might
Is match for Gods and fiends in fight;
With Sítá now he rests his head
Asleep on grass beneath him spread.
Won by devotion, text, and prayer,
And many a rite performed with care,
Chief of our father's sons he shines
Well marked, like him, with favouring signs.
Brief, brief the monarch's life will be
Now his dear son is forced to flee;
And quickly will the widowed state
Mourn for her lord disconsolate.
Each mourner there has wept her fill;
The cries of anguish now are still:
In the king's hall each dame, o'ercome
With weariness of woe is dumb.
This first sad night of grief, I ween,
Will do to death each sorrowing queen:
Scarce is Kauśalyá left alive;
My mother, too, can scarce survive.
If when her heart is fain to break,
She lingers for Śatrughna's sake,
Kauśalyá, mother of the chief,
Must sink beneath the chilling grief.
That town which countless thousands fill,
Whose hearts with love of Ráma thrill,—
The world's delight, so rich and fair,—
Grieved for the king, his death will share.
The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed
Ayodhyá's throne to Ráma lost,—
With mournful cries, Too late, too late!
The king my sire will meet his fate.
And when my sire has passed away,
Most happy in their lot are they,
Allowed, with every pious care,
Part in his funeral rites to bear.
And O, may we with joy at last,—
These years of forest exile past,—
Turn to Ayodhyá's town to dwell
With him who keeps his promise well!”
While thus the hero mighty-souled,
In wild lament his sorrow told,
Faint with the load that on him lay,
The hours of darkness passed away.
As thus the prince, impelled by zeal
For his loved brother, prompt to feel
Strong yearnings for the people's weal,
His words of truth outspake,
King Guha grieved to see his woe,
Heart-stricken, gave his tears to flow,
Tormented by the common blow,
Sad, as a wounded snake.
Canto LII. The Crossing Of Gangá.

Soon as the shades of night had fled,
Uprising from his lowly bed,
Ráma the famous, broad of chest,
His brother Lakshmaṇ thus addressed:
“Now swift upsprings the Lord of Light,
And fled is venerable night.
[pg 154]
That dark-winged bird the Koïl now
Is calling from the topmost bough,
And sounding from the thicket nigh
Is heard the peacock's early cry.
Come, cross the flood that seeks the sea,
The swiftly flowing Jáhnaví.”324
King Guha heard his speech, agreed,
And called his minister with speed:
“A boat,” he cried, “swift, strong, and fair,
With rudder, oars, and men, prepare,
And place it ready by the shore
To bear the pilgrims quickly o'er.”
Thus Guha spake: his followers all
Bestirred them at their master's call;
Then told the king that ready manned
A gay boat waited near the strand.
Then Guha, hand to hand applied,
With reverence thus to Ráma cried:
“The boat is ready by the shore:
How, tell me, can I aid thee more?
O lord of men, it waits for thee
To cross the flood that seeks the sea.
O godlike keeper of thy vow,
Embark: the boat is ready now.”
Then Ráma, lord of glory high,
Thus to King Guha made reply:
“Thanks for thy gracious care, my lord:
Now let the gear be placed on board.”
Each bow-armed chief, in mail encased,
Bound sword and quiver to his waist,
And then with Sítá near them hied
Down the broad river's shelving side.
Then with raised palms the charioteer,
In lowly reverence drawing near,
Cried thus to Ráma good and true:
“Now what remains for me to do?”
With his right hand, while answering
The hero touched his friend:
“Go back,” he said, “and on the king
With watchful care attend.
Thus far, Sumantra, thou wast guide;
Now to Ayodhyá turn,” he cried:
“Hence seek we leaving steeds and car,
On foot the wood that stretches far.”
Sumantra, when, with grieving heart,
He heard the hero bid him part,
Thus to the bravest of the brave,
Ikshváku's son, his answer gave:
“In all the world men tell of naught,
To match thy deed, by heroes wrought—
Thus with thy brother and thy wife
Thrall-like to lead a forest life.
No meet reward of fruit repays
Thy holy lore, thy saintlike days,
Thy tender soul, thy love of truth,
If woe like this afflicts thy youth.
Thou, roaming under forest boughs
With thy dear brother and thy spouse
Shalt richer meed of glory gain
Than if three worlds confessed thy reign.
Sad is our fate, O Ráma: we,
Abandoned and repelled by thee,
Must serve as thralls Kaikeyí's will,
Imperious, wicked, born to ill.”
Thus cried the faithful charioteer,
As Raghu's son, in rede his peer,
Was fast departing on his road,—
And long his tears of anguish flowed.
But Ráma, when those tears were dried
His lips with water purified,
And in soft accents, sweet and clear,
Again addressed the charioteer:
“I find no heart, my friend, like thine,
So faithful to Ikshváku's line.
Still first in view this object keep,
That ne'er for me my sire may weep.
For he, the world's far-ruling king,
Is old, and wild with sorrow's sting;
With love's great burthen worn and weak:
Deem this the cause that thus I speak
Whate'er the high-souled king decrees
His loved Kaikeyí's heart to please,
Yea, be his order what it may,
Without demur thou must obey,
For this alone great monarchs reign,
That ne'er a wish be formed in vain.
Then, O Sumantra, well provide
That by no check the king be tried:
Nor let his heart in sorrow pine:
This care, my faithful friend, be thine.
The honoured king my father greet,
And thus for me my words repeat
To him whose senses are controlled,
Untired till now by grief, and old;
“I, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ sorrow not,
O Monarch, for our altered lot:
The same to us, if here we roam,
Or if Ayodhyá be our home,
The fourteen years will quickly fly,
The happy hour will soon be nigh
When thou, my lord, again shalt see
Lakshmaṇ, the Maithil dame, and me.”
Thus having soothed, O charioteer,
My father and my mother dear,
Let all the queens my message learn,
But to Kaikeyí chiefly turn.
With loving blessings from the three,
From Lakshmaṇ, Sítá, and from me,
My mother, Queen Kauśalyá, greet
With reverence to her sacred feet.
And add this prayer of mine: “O King;
Send quickly forth and Bharat bring,
And set him on the royal throne
Which thy decree has made his own.
When he upon the throne is placed,
When thy fond arms are round him laced,
Thine aged heart will cease to ache
With bitter pangs for Ráma's sake.”
[pg 155]
And say to Bharat: “See thou treat
The queens with all observance meet:
What care the king receives, the same
Show thou alike to every dame.
Obedience to thy father's will
Who chooses thee the throne to fill,
Will earn for thee a store of bliss
Both in the world to come and this.’ ”
Thus Ráma bade Sumantra go
With thoughtful care instructed so.
Sumantra all his message heard,
And spake again, by passion stirred:
“O, should deep feeling mar in aught
The speech by fond devotion taught,
Forgive whate'er I wildly speak:
My love is strong, my tongue is weak.
How shall I, if deprived of thee,
Return that mournful town to see:
Where sick at heart the people are
Because their Ráma roams afar.
Woe will be theirs too deep to brook
When on the empty car they look,
As when from hosts, whose chiefs are slain,
One charioteer comes home again.
This very day, I ween, is food
Forsworn by all the multitude,
Thinking that thou, with hosts to aid,
Art dwelling in the wild wood's shade.
The great despair, the shriek of woe
They uttered when they saw thee go,
Will, when I come with none beside,
A hundred-fold be multiplied.
How to Kauśalyá can I say:
“O Queen, I took thy son away,
And with thy brother left him well:
Weep not for him; thy woe dispel?”
So false a tale I cannot frame,
Yet how speak truth and grieve the dame?
How shall these horses, fleet and bold,
Whom not a hand but mine can hold,
Bear others, wont to whirl the car
Wherein Ikshváku's children are!
Without thee, Prince, I cannot, no,
I cannot to Ayodhyá go.
Then deign, O Ráma, to relent,
And let me share thy banishment.
But if no prayers can move thy heart,
If thou wilt quit me and depart,
The flames shall end my car and me,
Deserted thus and reft of thee.
In the wild wood when foes are near,
When dangers check thy vows austere,
Borne in my car will I attend,
All danger and all care to end.
For thy dear sake I love the skill
That guides the steed and curbs his will:
And soon a forest life will be
As pleasant, for my love of thee.
And if these horses near thee dwell,
And serve thee in the forest well,
They, for their service, will not miss
The due reward of highest bliss.
Thine orders, as with thee I stray,
Will I with heart and head obey,
Prepared, for thee, without a sigh,
To lose Ayodhyá or the sky.
As one defiled with hideous sin,
I never more can pass within
Ayodhyá, city of our king,
Unless beside me thee I bring.
One wish is mine, I ask no more,
That, when thy banishment is o'er
I in my car may bear my lord,
Triumphant, to his home restored.
The fourteen years, if spent with thee,
Will swift as light-winged moments flee;
But the same years, without thee told,
Were magnified a hundred-fold.
Do not, kind lord, thy servant leave,
Who to his master's son would cleave,
And the same path with him pursue,
Devoted, tender, just and true.”
Again, again Sumantra made
His varied plaint, and wept and prayed.
Him Raghu's son, whose tender breast
Felt for his servants, thus addressed:
“O faithful servant, well my heart
Knows how attached and true thou art.
Hear thou the words I speak, and know
Why to the town I bid thee go.
Soon as Kaikeyí, youngest queen,
Thy coming to the town has seen,
No doubt will then her mind oppress
That Ráma roams the wilderness.
And so the dame, her heart content
With proof of Ráma's banishment,
Will doubt the virtuous king no more
As faithless to the oath he swore.
Chief of my cares is this, that she,
Youngest amid the queens, may see
Bharat her son securely reign
O'er rich Ayodhyá's wide domain.
For mine and for the monarch's sake
Do thou thy journey homeward take,
And, as I bade, repeat each word
That from my lips thou here hast heard.”
Thus spake the prince, and strove to cheer
The sad heart of the charioteer,
And then to royal Guha said
These words most wise and spirited:
“Guha, dear friend, it is not meet
That people throng my calm retreat:
For I must live a strict recluse,
And mould my life by hermits' use.
I now the ancient rule accept
By good ascetics gladly kept.
I go: bring fig-tree juice that I
In matted coils my hair may tie.”
Quick Guha hastened to produce,
For the king's son, that sacred juice.
Then Ráma of his long locks made,
And Lakshmaṇ's too, the hermit braid.
[pg 156]
And the two royal brothers there
With coats of bark and matted hair,
Transformed in lovely likeness stood
To hermit saints who love the wood.
So Ráma, with his brother bold,
A pious anchorite enrolled,
Obeyed the vow which hermits take,
And to his friend, King Guha, spake:
“May people, treasure, army share,
And fenced forts, thy constant care:
Attend to all: supremely hard
The sovereign's task, to watch and guard.”
Ikshváku's son, the good and brave,
This last farewell to Guha gave,
And then, with Lakshmaṇ and his bride,
Determined, on his way he hied.
Soon as he viewed, upon the shore,
The bark prepared to waft them o'er
Impetuous Gangá's rolling tide,
To Lakshmaṇ thus the chieftain cried:
“Brother, embark; thy hand extend,
Thy gentle aid to Sítá lend:
With care her trembling footsteps guide,
And place the lady by thy side.”
When Lakshmaṇ heard, prepared to aid,
His brother's words he swift obeyed.
Within the bark he placed the dame,
Then to her side the hero came.
Next Lakshmaṇ's elder brother, lord
Of brightest glory, when on board,
Breathing a prayer for blessings, meet
For priest or warrior to repeat,
Then he and car-borne Lakshmaṇ bent,
Well-pleased, their heads, most reverent,
Their hands, with Sítá, having dipped,
As Scripture bids, and water sipped,
Farewell to wise Sumantra said,
And Guha, with the train he led.
So Ráma took, on board, his stand,
And urged the vessel from the land.
Then swift by vigorous arms impelled
Her onward course the vessel held,
And guided by the helmsman through
The dashing waves of Gangá flew.
Half way across the flood they came,
When Sítá, free from spot and blame,
Her reverent hands together pressed,
The Goddess of the stream addressed:
“May the great chieftain here who springs
From Daśaratha, best of kings,
Protected by thy care, fulfil
His prudent father's royal will.
When in the forest he has spent
His fourteen years of banishment,
With his dear brother and with me
His home again my lord shall see.
Returning on that blissful day,
I will to thee mine offerings pay,
Dear Queen, whose waters gently flow,
Who canst all blessed gifts bestow.
For, three-pathed Queen, though wandering here,
Thy waves descend from Brahmá's sphere,
Spouse of the God o'er floods supreme,
Though rolling here thy glorious stream.
To thee, fair Queen, my head shall bend,
To thee shall hymns of praise ascend,
When my brave lord shall turn again,
And, joyful, o'er his kingdom reign.
To win thy grace, O Queen divine,
A hundred thousand fairest kine,
And precious robes and finest meal
Among the Bráhmans will I deal.
A hundred jars of wine shall flow,
When to my home, O Queen, I go;
With these, and flesh, and corn, and rice,
Will I, delighted, sacrifice.
Each hallowed spot, each holy shrine
That stands on these fair shores of thine,
Each fane and altar on thy banks
Shall share my offerings and thanks.
With me and Lakshmaṇ, free from harm,
May he the blameless, strong of arm,
Reseek Ayodhyá from the wild,
O blameless Lady undefiled!”
As, praying for her husband's sake,
The faultless dame to Gangá spake,
To the right bank the vessel flew
With her whose heart was right and true.
Soon as the bark had crossed the wave,
The lion leader of the brave,
Leaving the vessel on the strand,
With wife and brother leapt to land.
Then Ráma thus the prince addressed
Who filled with joy Sumitrá's breast:
“Be thine alike to guard and aid
In peopled spot, in lonely shade.
Do thou, Sumitrá's son, precede:
Let Sítá walk where thou shalt lead.
Behind you both my place shall be,
To guard the Maithil dame and thee.
For she, to woe a stranger yet,
No toil or grief till now has met;
The fair Videhan will assay
The pains of forest life to-day.
To-day her tender feet must tread
Rough rocky wilds around her spread:
No tilth is there, no gardens grow,
No crowding people come and go.”
The hero ceased: and Lakshmaṇ led
Obedient to the words he said:
And Sítá followed him, and then
Came Raghu's pride, the lord of men.
With Sítá walking o'er the sand
They sought the forest, bow in hand,
But still their lingering glances threw
Where yet Sumantra stood in view.
Sumantra, when his watchful eye
The royal youths no more could spy,
Turned from the spot whereon he stood
Homeward with Guha from the wood.
[pg 157]
Still on the brothers forced their way
Where sweet birds sang on every spray,
Though scarce the eye a path could find
Mid flowering trees where creepers twined.
Far on the princely brothers pressed,
And stayed their feet at length to rest
Beneath a fig tree's mighty shade
With countless pendent shoots displayed.
Reclining there a while at ease,
They saw, not far, beneath fair trees
A lake with many a lotus bright
That bore the name of Lovely Sight.
Ráma his wife's attention drew,
And Lakshmaṇ's, to the charming view:
“Look, brother, look how fair the flood
Glows with the lotus, flower and bud!”
They drank the water fresh and clear,
And with their shafts they slew a deer.
A fire of boughs they made in haste,
And in the flame the meat they placed.
So Raghu's sons with Sítá shared
The hunter's meal their hands prepared,
Then counselled that the spreading tree
Their shelter and their home should be.
Canto LIII. Ráma's Lament.

When evening rites were duly paid,
Reclined beneath the leafy shade,
To Lakshmaṇ thus spake Ráma, best
Of those who glad a people's breast:
“Now the first night has closed the day
That saw us from our country stray,
And parted from the charioteer;
Yet grieve not thou, my brother dear.
Henceforth by night, when others sleep,
Must we our careful vigil keep,
Watching for Sítá's welfare thus,
For her dear life depends on us.
Bring me the leaves that lie around,
And spread them here upon the ground,
That we on lowly beds may lie,
And let in talk the night go by.”
So on the ground with leaves o'erspread,
He who should press a royal bed,
Ráma with Lakshmaṇ thus conversed,
And many a pleasant tale rehearsed:
“This night the king,” he cried, “alas!
In broken sleep will sadly pass.
Kaikeyí now content should be,
For mistress of her wish is she.
So fiercely she for empire yearns,
That when her Bharat home returns,
She in her greed, may even bring
Destruction on our lord the king.
What can he do, in feeble eld,
Reft of all aid and me expelled,
His soul enslaved by love, a thrall
Obedient to Kaikeyí's call?
As thus I muse upon his woe
And all his wisdoms overthrow,
Love is, methinks, of greater might
To stir the heart than gain and right.
For who, in wisdom's lore untaught,
Could by a beauty's prayer be bought
To quit his own obedient son,
Who loves him, as my sire has done!
Bharat, Kaikeyí's child, alone
Will, with his wife, enjoy the throne,
And blissfully his rule maintain
O'er happy Kośala's domain.
To Bharat's single lot will fall
The kingdom and the power and all,
When fails the king from length of days,
And Ráma in the forest strays.
Whoe'er, neglecting right and gain,
Lets conquering love his soul enchain,
To him, like Daśaratha's lot,
Comes woe with feet that tarry not.
Methinks at last the royal dame,
Dear Lakshmaṇ, has secured her aim,
To see at once her husband dead,
Her son enthroned, and Ráma fled.
Ah me! I fear, lest borne away
By frenzy of success, she slay
Kauśalyá, through her wicked hate
Of me, bereft, disconsolate;
Or her who aye for me has striven
Sumitrá, to devotion given.
Hence, Lakshmaṇ, to Ayodhyá speed,
Returning in the hour of need.
With Sítá I my steps will bend
Where Daṇḍak's mighty woods extend.
No guardian has Kauśalyá now:
O, be her friend and guardian thou.
Strong hate may vile Kaikeyí lead
To many a base unrighteous deed,
Treading my mother 'neath her feet
When Bharat holds the royal seat.
Sure in some antenatal time
Were children, by Kauśalyá's crime,
Torn from their mothers' arms away,
And hence she mourns this evil day.
She for her child no toil would spare
Tending me long with pain and care;
Now in the hour of fruitage she
Has lost that son, ah, woe is me.
O Lakshmaṇ, may no matron e'er
A son so doomed to sorrow bear
As I, my mother's heart who rend
With anguish that can never end.
The Sáriká,325 methinks, possessed
More love than glows in Ráma's breast.
Who, as the tale is told to us,
Addressed the stricken parrot thus:
[pg 158]
“Parrot, the capturer's talons tear,
While yet alone thou flutterest there,
Before his mouth has closed on me:”
So cried the bird, herself to free.
Reft of her son, in childless woe,
My mother's tears for ever flow:
Ill-fated, doomed with grief to strive,
What aid can she from me derive?
Pressed down by care, she cannot rise
From sorrow's flood wherein she lies.
In righteous wrath my single arm
Could, with my bow, protect from harm
Ayodhyá's town and all the earth:
But what is hero prowess worth?
Lest breaking duty's law I sin,
And lose the heaven I strive to win,
The forest life today I choose,
And kingly state and power refuse.”
Thus mourning in that lonely spot
The troubled chief bewailed his lot,
And filled with tears, his eyes ran o'er;
Then silent sat, and spake no more.
To him, when ceased his loud lament,
Like fire whose brilliant might is spent,
Or the great sea when sleeps the wave,
Thus Lakshmaṇ consolation gave:
“Chief of the brave who bear the bow,
E'en now Ayodhyá, sunk in woe,
By thy departure reft of light
Is gloomy as the moonless night.
Unfit it seems that thou, O chief,
Shouldst so afflict thy soul with grief,
So with thou Sítá's heart consign
To deep despair as well as mine.
Not I, O Raghu's son, nor she
Could live one hour deprived of thee:
We were, without thine arm to save,
Like fish deserted by the wave.
Although my mother dear to meet,
Śatrughna, and the king, were sweet,
On them, or heaven, to feed mine eye
Were nothing, if thou wert not by.”
Sitting at ease, their glances fell
Upon the beds, constructed well,
And there the sons of virtue laid
Their limbs beneath the fig tree's shade.
Canto LIV. Bharadvája's Hermitage.

So there that night the heroes spent
Under the boughs that o'er them bent,
And when the sun his glory spread,
Upstarting, from the place they sped.
On to that spot they made their way,
Through the dense wood that round them lay,
Where Yamuná's326 swift waters glide
To blend with Gangá's holy tide.
Charmed with the prospect ever new
The glorious heroes wandered through
Full many a spot of pleasant ground,
Rejoicing as they gazed around,
With eager eye and heart at ease,
On countless sorts of flowery trees.
And now the day was half-way sped
When thus to Lakshmaṇ Ráma said:
“There, there, dear brother, turn thine eyes;
See near Prayág327 that smoke arise:
The banner of our Lord of Flames
The dwelling of some saint proclaims.
Near to the place our steps we bend
Where Yamuná and Gangá blend.
I hear and mark the deafening roar
When chafing floods together pour.
See, near us on the ground are left
Dry logs, by labouring woodmen cleft,
And the tall trees, that blossom near
Saint Bharadvája's home, appear.”
The bow-armed princes onward passed,
And as the sun was sinking fast
They reached the hermit's dwelling, set
Near where the rushing waters met.
The presence of the warrior scared
The deer and birds as on he fared,
And struck them with unwonted awe:
Then Bharadvája's cot they saw.
The high-souled hermit soon they found
Girt by his dear disciples round:
Calm saint, whose vows had well been wrought,
Whose fervent rites keen sight had bought.
Duly had flames of worship blazed
When Ráma on the hermit gazed:
His suppliant hands the hero raised,
Drew nearer to the holy man
With his companions, and began,
Declaring both his name and race
And why they sought that distant place:
“Saint, Daśaratha's children we,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, come to thee.
This my good wife from Janak springs,
The best of fair Videha's kings;
Through lonely wilds, a faultless dame,
To this pure grove with me she came.
My younger brother follows still
Me banished by my father's will:
Sumitrá's son, bound by a vow,—
He roams the wood beside me now.
Sent by my father forth to rove,
We seek, O Saint, some holy grove,
Where lives of hermits we may lead,
And upon fruits and berries feed.”
When Bharadvája, prudent-souled,
Had heard the prince his tale unfold,
Water he bade them bring, a bull,
And honour-gifts in dishes full,
[pg 159]
And drink and food of varied taste,
Berries and roots, before him placed,
And then the great ascetic showed
A cottage for the guests' abode.
The saint these honours gladly paid
To Ráma who had thither strayed,
Then compassed sat by birds and deer
And many a hermit resting near.
The prince received the service kind,
And sat him down rejoiced in mind.
Then Bharadvája silence broke,
And thus the words of duty spoke:
“Kakutstha's royal son, that thou
Hadst sought this grove I knew ere now.
Mine ears have heard thy story, sent
Without a sin to banishment.
Behold, O Prince, this ample space
Near where the mingling floods embrace,
Holy, and beautiful, and clear:
Dwell with us, and be happy here.”
By Bharadvája thus addressed,
Ráma whose kind and tender breast
All living things would bless and save,
In gracious words his answer gave:
“My honoured lord, this tranquil spot,
Fair home of hermits, suits me not:
For all the neighbouring people here
Will seek us when they know me near:
With eager wish to look on me,
And the Videhan dame to see,
A crowd of rustics will intrude
Upon the holy solitude.
Provide, O gracious lord, I pray,
Some quiet home that lies away,
Where my Videhan spouse may dwell
Tasting the bliss deserved so well.”
The hermit heard the prayer he made:
A while in earnest thought he stayed,
And then in words like these expressed
His answer to the chief's request:
“Ten leagues away there stands a hill
Where thou mayst live, if such thy will:
A holy mount, exceeding fair;
Great saints have made their dwelling there:
There great Langúrs328 in thousands play,
And bears amid the thickets stray;
Wide-known by Chitrakúṭa's name,
It rivals Gandhamádan's329 fame.
Long as the man that hill who seeks
Gazes upon its sacred peaks,
To holy things his soul he gives
And pure from thought of evil lives.
There, while a hundred autumns fled,
Has many a saint with hoary head
Spent his pure life, and won the prize,
By deep devotion, in the skies:
Best home, I ween, if such retreat,
Far from the ways of men, be sweet:
Or let thy years of exile flee
Here in this hermitage with me.”
Thus Bharadvája spake, and trained
In lore of duty, entertained
The princes and the dame, and pressed
His friendly gifts on every guest.
Thus to Prayág the hero went,
Thus saw the saint preëminent,
And varied speeches heard and said:
Then holy night o'er heaven was spread.
And Ráma took, by toil oppressed,
With Sítá and his brother, rest;
And so the night, with sweet content,
In Bharadvája's grove was spent.
But when the dawn dispelled the night,
Ráma approached the anchorite,
And thus addressed the holy sire
Whose glory shone like kindled fire:
“Well have we spent, O truthful Sage,
The night within thy hermitage:
Now let my lord his guests permit
For their new home his grove to quit.”
Then, as he saw the morning break,
In answer Bharadvája spake:
“Go forth to Chitrakúṭa's hill,
Where berries grow, and sweets distil:
Full well, I deem, that home will suit
Thee, Ráma, strong and resolute.
Go forth, and Chitrakúṭa seek,
Famed mountain of the Varied Peak.
In the wild woods that gird him round
All creatures of the chase are found:
Thou in the glades shalt see appear
Vast herds of elephants and deer.
With Sítá there shalt thou delight
To gaze upon the woody height;
There with expanding heart to look
On river, table-land, and brook,
And see the foaming torrent rave
Impetuous from the mountain cave.
Auspicious hill! where all day long
The lapwing's cry, the Koïl's song
Make all who listen gay:
Where all is fresh and fair to see,
Where elephants and deer roam free,
There, as a hermit, stay.”
Canto LV. The Passage Of Yamuná.

The princely tamers of their foes
Thus passed the night in calm repose,
Then to the hermit having bent
With reverence, on their way they went.
High favour Bharadvája showed,
And blessed them ready for the road.
[pg 160]
With such fond looks as fathers throw
On their own sons, before they go.
Then spake the saint with glory bright
To Ráma peerless in his might:
“First, lords of men, direct your feet
Where Yamuná and Gangá meet;
Then to the swift Kálindí330 go,
Whose westward waves to Gangá flow.
When thou shalt see her lovely shore
Worn by their feet who hasten o'er,
Then, Raghu's son, a raft prepare,
And cross the Sun born river there.
Upon her farther bank a tree,
Near to the landing wilt thou see.
The blessed source of varied gifts,
There her green boughs that Fig-tree lifts:
A tree where countless birds abide,
By Śyáma's name known far and wide.
Sítá, revere that holy shade:
There be thy prayers for blessing prayed.
Thence for a league your way pursue,
And a dark wood shall meet your view,
Where tall bamboos their foliage show,
The Gum-tree and the Jujube grow.
To Chitrakúṭa have I oft
Trodden that path so smooth and soft,
Where burning woods no traveller scare,
But all is pleasant, green, and fair.”
When thus the guests their road had learned,
Back to his cot the hermit turned,
And Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá paid
Their reverent thanks for courteous aid.
Thus Ráma spake to Lakshmaṇ, when
The saint had left the lords of men:
“Great store of bliss in sooth is ours
On whom his love the hermit showers.”
As each to other wisely talked,
The lion lords together walked
On to Kálindí's woody shore;
And gentle Sítá went before.
They reached that flood, whose waters flee
With rapid current to the sea;
Their minds a while to thought they gave
And counselled how to cross the wave.
At length, with logs together laid,
A mighty raft the brothers made.
Then dry bamboos across were tied,
And grass was spread from side to side.
And the great hero Lakshmaṇ brought
Cane and Rose-Apple boughs and wrought,
Trimming the branches smooth and neat,
For Sítá's use a pleasant seat.
And Ráma placed thereon his dame
Touched with a momentary shame,
Resembling in her glorious mien
All-thought-surpassing Fortune's Queen.
Then Ráma hastened to dispose,
Each in its place, the skins and bows,
And by the fair Videhan laid
The coats, the ornaments, and spade.
When Sítá thus was set on board,
And all their gear was duly stored,
The heroes each with vigorous hand,
Pushed off the raft and left the land.
When half its way the raft had made,
Thus Sítá to Kálindí prayed:
“Goddess, whose flood I traverse now,
Grant that my lord may keep his vow.
For thee shall bleed a thousand kine,
A hundred jars shall pour their wine,
When Ráma sees that town again
Where old Ikshváku's children reign.”
Thus to Kálindí's stream she sued
And prayed in suppliant attitude.
Then to the river's bank the dame,
Fervent in supplication, came.
They left the raft that brought them o'er,
And the thick wood that clothed the shore,
And to the Fig-tree Śyáma made
Their way, so cool with verdant shade.
Then Sítá viewed that best of trees,
And reverent spake in words like these:
“Hail, hail, O mighty tree! Allow
My husband to complete his vow;
Let us returning, I entreat,
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá meet.”
Then with her hands together placed
Around the tree she duly paced.
When Ráma saw his blameless spouse
A suppliant under holy boughs,
The gentle darling of his heart,
He thus to Lakshmaṇ spake apart:
“Brother, by thee our way be led;
Let Sítá close behind thee tread:
I, best of men, will grasp my bow,
And hindmost of the three will go.
What fruits soe'er her fancy take,
Or flowers half hidden in the brake,
For Janak's child forget not thou
To gather from the brake or bough.”
Thus on they fared. The tender dame
Asked Ráma, as they walked, the name
Of every shrub that blossoms bore,
Creeper, and tree unseen before:
And Lakshmaṇ fetched, at Sítá's prayer,
Boughs of each tree with clusters fair.
Then Janak's daughter joyed to see
The sand-discoloured river flee,
Where the glad cry of many a bird,
The sáras and the swan, was heard.
A league the brothers travelled through
The forest noble game they slew:
Beneath the trees their meal they dressed
And sat them down to eat and rest.
A while in that delightful shade
Where elephants unnumbered strayed,
Where peacocks screamed and monkeys played,
[pg 161]
They wandered with delight.
Then by the river's side they found
A pleasant spot of level ground,
Where all was smooth and fair around,
Their lodging for the night.
Canto LVI. Chitrakúta

Then Ráma, when the morning rose,
Called Lakshmaṇ gently from repose:
“Awake, the pleasant voices hear
Of forest birds that warble near.
Scourge of thy foes, no longer stay;
The hour is come to speed away.”
The slumbering prince unclosed his eyes
When thus his brother bade him rise,
Compelling, at the timely cry,
Fatigue, and sleep, and rest to fly.
The brothers rose and Sítá too;
Pure water from the stream they drew,
Paid morning rites, then followed still
The road to Chitrakúṭa's hill.
Then Ráma as he took the road
With Lakshmaṇ, while the morning, glowed,
To the Videhan lady cried,
Sítá the fair, the lotus-eyed:
“Look round thee, dear; each flowery tree
Touched with the fire of morning see:
The Kinśuk, now the Frosts are fled,—
How glorious with his wreaths of red!
The Bel-trees see, so loved of men,
Hanging their boughs in every glen.
O'erburthened with their fruit and flowers:
A plenteous store of food is ours.
See, Lakshmaṇ, in the leafy trees,
Where'er they make their home.
Down hangs, the work of labouring bees
The ponderous honeycomb.
In the fair wood before us spread
The startled wild-cock cries:
Hark, where the flowers are soft to tread,
The peacock's voice replies.
Where elephants are roaming free,
And sweet birds' songs are loud,
The glorious Chitrakúṭa see:
His peaks are in the cloud.
On fair smooth ground he stands displayed,
Begirt by many a tree:
O brother, in that holy shade
How happy shall we be!”331
Then Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá, each
Spoke raising suppliant hands this speech
To him, in woodland dwelling met,
Válmíki, ancient anchoret:
“O Saint, this mountain takes the mind,
With creepers, trees of every kind,
With fruit and roots abounding thus,
A pleasant life it offers us:
Here for a while we fain would stay,
And pass a season blithe and gay.”
Then the great saint, in duty trained,
With honour gladly entertained:
He gave his guests a welcome fair,
And bade them sit and rest them there,
Ráma of mighty arm and chest
His faithful Lakshmaṇ then addressed:
“Brother, bring hither from the wood
Selected timber strong and good,
And build therewith a little cot;
My heart rejoices in the spot
That lies beneath the mountain's side,
Remote, with water well supplied.”
Sumitrá's son his words obeyed,
Brought many a tree, and deftly made,
With branches in the forest cut,
As Ráma bade, a leafy hut.
Then Ráma, when the cottage stood
Fair, firmly built, and walled with wood,
To Lakshmaṇ spake, whose eager mind
To do his brother's will inclined:
“Now, Lakshmaṇ as our cot is made,
Must sacrifice be duly paid
By us, for lengthened life who hope,
With venison of the antelope.
Away, O bright-eyed Lakshmaṇ, speed:
Struck by thy bow a deer must bleed:
As Scripture bids, we must not slight
The duty that commands the rite.”
Lakshmaṇ, the chief whose arrows laid
His foemen low, his word obeyed;
And Ráma thus again addressed
The swift performer of his hest:
“Prepare the venison thou hast shot,
To sacrifice for this our cot.
Haste, brother dear, for this the hour,
And this the day of certain power.”
Then glorious Lakshmaṇ took the buck
His arrow in the wood had struck;
Bearing his mighty load he came,
And laid it in the kindled flame.
[pg 162]
Soon as he saw the meat was done,
And that the juices ceased to run
From the broiled carcass, Lakshmaṇ then
Spoke thus to Ráma best of men:
“The carcass of the buck, entire,
Is ready dressed upon the fire.
Now be the sacred rites begun
To please the God, thou godlike one.”
Ráma the good, in ritual trained,
Pure from the bath, with thoughts restrained,
Hasted those verses to repeat
Which make the sacrifice complete.
The hosts celestial came in view,
And Ráma to the cot withdrew,
While a sweet sense of rapture stole
Through the unequalled hero's soul.
He paid the Viśvedevas332 due.
And Rudra's right, and Vishṇu's too,
Nor wonted blessings, to protect
Their new-built home, did he neglect.
With voice repressed he breathed the prayer,
Bathed duly in the river fair,
And gave good offerings that remove
The stain of sin, as texts approve.
And many an altar there he made,
And shrines, to suit the holy shade,
All decked with woodland chaplets sweet,
And fruit and roots and roasted meat,
With muttered prayer, as texts require,
Water, and grass and wood and fire.
So Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá paid
Their offerings to each God and shade,
And entered then their pleasant cot
That bore fair signs of happy lot.
They entered, the illustrious three,
The well-set cottage, fair to see,
Roofed with the leaves of many a tree,
And fenced from wind and rain:
So, at their Father Brahmá's call,
The Gods of heaven, assembling all,
To their own glorious council hall
Advance in shining train.
So, resting on that lovely hill,
Near the fair lily-covered rill,
The happy prince forgot,
Surrounded by the birds and deer,
The woe, the longing, and the fear
That gloom the exile's lot.
Canto LVII. Sumantra's Return.

When Ráma reached the southern bank,
King Guha's heart with sorrow sank:
He with Sumantra talked, and spent
With his deep sorrow, homeward went.
Sumantra, as the king decreed,
Yoked to the car each noble steed,
And to Ayodhyá's city sped
With his sad heart disquieted.
On lake and brook and scented grove
His glances fell, as on he drove:
City and village came in view
As o'er the road his coursers flew.
On the third day the charioteer,
When now the hour of night was near,
Came to Ayodhyá's gate, and found
The city all in sorrow drowned.
To him, in spirit quite cast down,
Forsaken seemed the silent town,
And by the rush of grief oppressed
He pondered in his mournful breast:
“Is all Ayodhyá burnt with grief,
Steed, elephant, and man, and chief?
Does her loved Ráma's exile so
Afflict her with the fires of woe?”
Thus as he mused, his steeds flew fast,
And swiftly through the gate he passed.
On drove the charioteer, and then
In hundreds, yea in thousands, men
Ran to the car from every side,
And, “Ráma, where is Ráma?” cried.
Sumantra said: “My chariot bore
The duteous prince to Gangá's shore;
I left him there at his behest,
And homeward to Ayodhyá pressed.”
Soon as the anxious people knew
That he was o'er the flood they drew
Deep sighs, and crying, Ráma! all
Wailed, and big tears began to fall.
He heard the mournful words prolonged,
As here and there the people thronged:
“Woe, woe for us, forlorn, undone,
No more to look on Raghu's son!
His like again we ne'er shall see,
Of heart so true, of hand so free,
In gifts, in gatherings for debate,
When marriage pomps we celebrate,
What should we do? What earthly thing
Can rest, or hope, or pleasure bring?”
Thus the sad town, which Ráma kept
As a kind father, wailed and wept.
Each mansion, as the car went by,
Sent forth a loud and bitter cry,
As to the window every dame,
Mourning for banished Ráma, came.
As his sad eyes with tears o'erflowed,
He sped along the royal road
To Daśaratha's high abode.
There leaping down his car he stayed;
Within the gates his way he made;
Through seven broad courts he onward hied
Where people thronged on every side.
From each high terrace, wild with woe,
The royal ladies flocked below:
[pg 163]
He heard them talk in gentle tone,
As each for Ráma made her moan:
“What will the charioteer reply
To Queen Kauśalyá's eager cry?
With Ráma from the gates he went;
Homeward alone, his steps are bent.
Hard is a life with woe distressed,
But difficult to win is rest,
If, when her son is banished, still
She lives beneath her load of ill.”
Such was the speech Sumantra heard
From them whom grief unfeigned had stirred.
As fires of anguish burnt him through,
Swift to the monarch's hall he drew,
Past the eighth court; there met his sight,
The sovereign in his palace bright,
Still weeping for his son, forlorn,
Pale, faint, and all with sorrow worn.
As there he sat, Sumantra bent
And did obeisance reverent,
And to the king repeated o'er
The message he from Ráma bore.
The monarch heard, and well-nigh brake
His heart, but yet no word he spake:
Fainting to earth he fell, and dumb,
By grief for Ráma overcome.
Rang through the hall a startling cry,
And women's arms were tossed on high,
When, with his senses all astray,
Upon the ground the monarch lay.
Kauśalyá, with Sumitrá's aid,
Raised from the ground her lord dismayed:
“Sire, of high fate,” she cried, “O, why
Dost thou no single word reply
To Ráma's messenger who brings
News of his painful wanderings?
The great injustice done, art thou
Shame-stricken for thy conduct now?
Rise up, and do thy part: bestow
Comfort and help in this our woe.
Speak freely, King; dismiss thy fear,
For Queen Kaikeyí stands not near,
Afraid of whom thou wouldst not seek
Tidings of Ráma: freely speak.”
When the sad queen had ended so,
She sank, insatiate in her woe,
And prostrate lay upon the ground,
While her faint voice by sobs was drowned.
When all the ladies in despair
Saw Queen Kauśalyá wailing there,
And the poor king oppressed with pain,
They flocked around and wept again.
Canto LVIII. Ráma's Message.

The king a while had senseless lain,
When care brought memory back again.
Then straight he called, the news to hear
Of Ráma, for the charioteer,
With reverent hand to hand applied
He waited by the old man's side,
Whose mind with anguish was distraught
Like a great elephant newly caught.
The king with bitter pain distressed
The faithful charioteer addressed,
Who, sad of mien, with flooded eye,
And dust upon his limbs, stood by:
“Where will be Ráma's dwelling now
At some tree's foot, beneath the bough;
Ah, what will be the exile's food,
Bred up with kind solicitude?
Can he, long lapped in pleasant rest,
Unmeet for pain, by pain oppressed,
Son of earth's king, his sad night spend
Earth-couched, as one that has no friend?
Behind him, when abroad he sped,
Cars, elephant, and foot were led:
Then how shall Ráma dwell afar
In the wild woods where no men are?
How, tell me, did the princes there,
With Sítá good and soft and fair,
Alighting from the chariot, tread
The forest wilds around them spread?
A happy lot is thine, I ween,
Whose eyes my two dear sons have seen
Seeking on foot the forest shade,
Like the bright Twins to view displayed,
The heavenly Aśvins, when they seek
The woods that hang 'neath Mandar's peak.
What words, Sumantra, quickly tell,
From Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, Sítá fell?
How in the wood did Ráma eat?
What was his bed, and what his seat?
Full answer to my questions give,
For I on thy replies shall live,
As with the saints Yayáti held
Sweet converse, from the skies expelled.”
Urged by the lord of men to speak,
Whose sobbing voice came faint and weak,
Thus he, while tears his utterance broke,
In answer to the monarch spoke:
“Hear then the words that Ráma said,
Resolved in duty's path to tread.
Joining his hands, his head he bent,
And gave this message, reverent:
“Sumantra, to my father go,
Whose lofty mind all people know:
Bow down before him, as is meet,
And in my stead salute his feet.
Then to the queen my mother bend,
And give the greeting that I send:
Ne'er may her steps from duty err,
And may it still be well with her.
And add this word: “O Queen, pursue
Thy vows with faithful heart and true;
And ever at due season turn
Where holy fires of worship burn.
And, lady, on our lord bestow
[pg 164]
Such honour as to Gods we owe.
Be kind to every queen: let pride
And thought of self be cast aside.
In the king's fond opinion raise
Kaikeyí, by respect and praise.
Let the young Bharat ever be
Loved, honoured as the king by thee:
Thy king-ward duty ne'er forget:
High over all are monarchs set.”
And Bharat, too, for me address:
Pray that all health his life may bless.
Let every royal lady share,
As justice bids, his love and care.
Say to the strong-armed chief who brings
Joy to Iksváku's line of kings:
“As ruling prince thy care be shown
Of him, our sire, who holds the throne.
Stricken in years he feels their weight;
But leave him in his royal state.
As regent heir content thee still,
Submissive to thy father's will.’ ”
Ráma again his charge renewed,
As the hot flood his cheek bedewed:
“Hold as thine own my mother dear
Who drops for me the longing tear.”
Then Lakshmaṇ, with his soul on fire,
Spake breathing fast these words of ire:
“Say, for what sin, for what offence
Was royal Ráma banished thence?
He is the cause, the king: poor slave
To the light charge Kaikeyí gave.
Let right or wrong the motive be,
The author of our woe is he.
Whether the exile were decreed
Through foolish faith or guilty greed,
For promises or empire, still
The king has wrought a grievous ill.
Grant that the Lord of all saw fit
To prompt the deed and sanction it,
In Ráma's life no cause I see
For which the king should bid him flee.
His blinded eyes refused to scan
The guilt and folly of the plan,
And from the weakness of the king
Here and hereafter woe shall spring.
No more my sire: the ties that used
To bind me to the king are loosed.
My brother Ráma, Raghu's son,
To me is lord, friend, sire in one.
The love of men how can he win,
Deserting, by the cruel sin,
Their joy, whose heart is swift to feel
A pleasure in the people's weal?
Shall he whose mandate could expel
The virtuous Ráma, loved so well,
To whom his subjects' fond hearts cling—
Shall he in spite of them be king?”
But Janak's child, my lord, stood by,
And oft the votaress heaved a sigh.
She seemed with dull and wandering sense,
Beneath a spirit's influence.
The noble princess, pained with woe
Which till that hour she ne'er could know,
Tears in her heavy trouble shed,
But not a word to me she said.
She raised her face which grief had dried
And tenderly her husband eyed,
Gazed on him as he turned to go
While tear chased tear in rapid flow.”
Canto LIX. Dasaratha's Lament.

As thus Sumantra, best of peers,
Told his sad tale with many tears,
The monarch cried, “I pray thee, tell
At length again what there befell.”
Sumantra, at the king's behest,
Striving with sobs he scarce repressed,
His trembling voice at last controlled,
And thus his further tidings told:
“Their locks in votive coils they wound,
Their coats of bark upon them bound,
To Gangá's farther shore they went,
Thence to Prayág their steps were bent.
I saw that Lakshmaṇ walked ahead
To guard the path the two should tread.
So far I saw, no more could learn,
Forced by the hero to return.
Retracing slow my homeward course,
Scarce could I move each stubborn horse:
Shedding hot tears of grief he stood
When Ráma turned him to the wood.333
As the two princes parted thence
I raised my hands in reverence,
Mounted my ready car, and bore
The grief that stung me to the core.
With Guha all that day I stayed,
Still by the earnest hope delayed
That Ráma, ere the time should end,
Some message from the wood might send.
Thy realms, great Monarch, mourn the blow,
And sympathize with Ráma's woe.
[pg 165]
Each withering tree hangs low his head,
And shoot, and bud, and flower are dead.
Dried are the floods that wont to fill
The lake, the river, and the rill.
Drear is each grove and garden now,
Dry every blossom on the bough.
Each beast is still, no serpents crawl:
A lethargy of woe on all.
The very wood is silent: crushed
With grief for Ráma, all is hushed.
Fair blossoms from the water born,
Gay garlands that the earth adorn,
And every fruit that gleams like gold,
Have lost the scent that charmed of old.
Empty is every grove I see,
Or birds sit pensive on the tree.
Where'er I look, its beauty o'er,
The pleasance charms not as before.
I drove through fair Ayodhyá's street:
None flew with joy the car to meet.
They saw that Ráma was not there,
And turned them sighing in despair.
The people in the royal way
Wept tears of bitter grief, when they
Beheld me coming, from afar,
No Ráma with me in the car.
From palace roof and turret high
Each woman bent her eager eye;
She looked for Ráma, but in vain;
Gazed on the car and shrieked for pain.
Their long clear eyes with sorrow drowned
They, when this common grief was found,
Looked each on other, friend and foe,
In sympathy of levelling woe:
No shade of difference between
Foe, friend, or neutral, there was seen.
Without a joy, her bosom rent
With grief for Ráma's banishment,
Ayodhyá like the queen appears
Who mourns her son with many tears.”
He ended: and the king, distressed.
With sobbing voice that lord addressed:
“Ah me, by false Kaikeyí led,
Of evil race, to evil bred,
I took no counsel of the sage,
Nor sought advice from skill and age,
I asked no lord his aid to lend,
I called no citizen or friend.
Rash was my deed, bereft of sense
Slave to a woman's influence.
Surely, my lord, a woe so great
Falls on us by the will of Fate;
It lays the house of Raghu low,
For Destiny will have it so.
I pray thee, if I e'er have done
An act to please thee, yea, but one,
Fly, fly, and Ráma homeward lead:
My life, departing, counsels speed.
Fly, ere the power to bid I lack,
Fly to the wood: bring Ráma back.
I cannot live for even one
Short hour bereaved of my son.
But ah, the prince, whose arms are strong,
Has journeyed far: the way is long:
Me, me upon the chariot place,
And let me look on Ráma's face.
Ah me, my son, mine eldest-born,
Where roams he in the wood forlorn,
The wielder of the mighty bow,
Whose shoulders like the lion's show?
O, ere the light of life be dim,
Take me to Sítá and to him.
O Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, and O thou
Dear Sítá, constant to thy vow,
Beloved ones, you cannot know
That I am dying of my woe.”
The king to bitter grief a prey,
That drove each wandering sense away,
Sunk in affliction's sea, too wide
To traverse, in his anguish cried:
“Hard, hard to pass, my Queen, this sea
Of sorrow raging over me:
No Ráma near to soothe mine eye,
Plunged in its lowest deeps I lie.
Sorrow for Ráma swells the tide,
And Sítá's absence makes it wide:
My tears its foamy flood distain,
Made billowy by my sighs of pain:
My cries its roar, the arms I throw
About me are the fish below,
Kaikeyí is the fire that feeds
Beneath: my hair the tangled weeds:
Its source the tears for Ráma shed:
The hump-back's words its monsters dread:
The boon I gave the wretch its shore,
Till Ráma's banishment be o'er.334
Ah me, that I should long to set
My eager eyes to-day
On Raghu's son, and he be yet
With Lakshmaṇ far away!”
Thus he of lofty glory wailed,
And sank upon the bed.
Beneath the woe his spirit failed,
And all his senses fled.
Canto LX. Kausalyá Consoled.

As Queen Kauśalyá, trembling much,
As blighted by a goblin's touch,
Still lying prostrate, half awoke
To consciousness, 'twas thus she spoke:
“Bear me away, Sumantra, far,
Where Ráma, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ are.
Bereft of them I have no power
To linger on a single hour.
[pg 166]
Again, I pray, thy steps retrace,
And me in Daṇḍak forest place,
For after them I needs must go,
Or sink to Yama's realms below.”
His utterance choked by tears that rolled
Down from their fountains uncontrolled,
With suppliant hands the charioteer
Thus spake, the lady's heart to cheer:
“Dismiss thy grief, despair, and dread
That fills thy soul, of sorrow bred,
For pain and anguish thrown aside,
Will Ráma in the wood abide.
And Lakshmaṇ, with unfailing care
Will guard the feet of Ráma there,
Earning, with governed sense, the prize
That waits on duty in the skies.
And Sítá in the wild as well
As in her own dear home will dwell;
To Ráma all her heart she gives,
And free from doubt and terror lives.
No faintest sign of care or woe
The features of the lady show:
Methinks Videha's pride was made
For exile in the forest shade.
E'en as of old she used to rove
Delighted in the city's grove,
Thus, even thus she joys to tread
The woodlands uninhabited.
Like a young child, her face as fair
As the young moon, she wanders there.
What though in lonely woods she stray
Still Ráma is her joy and stay:
All his the heart no sorrow bends,
Her very life on him depends.
For, if her lord she might not see,
Ayodhyá like the wood would be.
She bids him, as she roams, declare
The names of towns and hamlets there,
Marks various trees that meet her eye,
And many a brook that hurries by,
And Janak's daughter seems to roam
One little league away from home
When Ráma or his brother speaks
And gives the answer that she seeks.
This, Lady, I remember well,
Nor angry words have I to tell:
Reproaches at Kaikeyí shot,
Such, Queen, my mind remembers not.”
The speech when Sítá's wrath was high,
Sumantra passed in silence by,
That so his pleasant words might cheer
With sweet report Kauśalyá's ear.
“Her moonlike beauty suffers not
Though winds be rude and suns be hot:
The way, the danger, and the toil
Her gentle lustre may not soil.
Like the red lily's leafy crown
Or as the fair full moon looks down,
So the Videhan lady's face
Still shines with undiminished grace.
What if the borrowed colours throw
O'er her fine feet no rosy glow,
Still with their natural tints they spread
A lotus glory where they tread.
In sportive grace she walks the ground
And sweet her chiming anklets sound.
No jewels clasp the faultless limb:
She leaves them all for love of him.
If in the woods her gentle eye
A lion sees, or tiger nigh,
Or elephant, she fears no ill
For Ráma's arm supports her still.
No longer be their fate deplored,
Nor thine, nor that of Kośal's lord,
For conduct such as theirs shall buy
Wide glory that can never die.
For casting grief and care away,
Delighting in the forest, they
With joyful spirits, blithe and gay,
Set forward on the ancient way
Where mighty saints have led:
Their highest aim, their dearest care
To keep their father's honour fair,
Observing still the oath he sware,
They roam, on wild fruit fed.”
Thus with persuasive art he tried
To turn her from her grief aside,
By soothing fancies won.
But still she gave her sorrow vent:
“Ah Ráma,” was her shrill lament,
“My love, my son, my son!”
Canto LXI. Kausalyá's Lament.

When, best of all who give delight,
Her Ráma wandered far from sight,
Kauśalyá weeping, sore distressed,
The king her husband thus addressed:
“Thy name, O Monarch, far and wide
Through the three worlds is glorified:
Yet Ráma's is the pitying mind,
His speed is true, his heart is kind.
How will thy sons, good lord, sustain
With Sítá, all their care and pain?
How in the wild endure distress,
Nursed in the lap of tenderness?
How will the dear Videhan bear
The heat and cold when wandering there
Bred in the bliss of princely state,
So young and fair and delicate?
The large-eyed lady, wont to eat
The best of finely seasoned meat—
How will she now her life sustain
With woodland fare of self-sown grain?
Will she, with joys encompassed long,
Who loved the music and the song,
In the wild wood endure to hear
The ravening lion's voice of fear?
Where sleeps my strong-armed hero, where,
[pg 167]
Like Lord Mahendra's standard, fair?
Where is, by Lakshmaṇ's side, his bed,
His club-like arm beneath his head?
When shall I see his flower-like eyes,
And face that with the lotus vies,
Feel his sweet lily breath, and view
His glorious hair and lotus hue?
The heart within my breast, I feel,
Is adamant or hardest steel,
Or, in a thousand fragments split,
The loss of him had shattered it,
When those I love, who should be blest,
Are wandering in the wood distressed,
Condemned their wretched lives to lead
In exile, by thy ruthless deed.
If, when the fourteen years are past,
Ráma reseeks his home at last,
I think not Bharat will consent
To yield the wealth and government.
At funeral feasts some mourners deal
To kith and kin the solemn meal,
And having duly fed them all
Some Bráhmans to the banquet call.
The best of Bráhmans, good and wise,
The tardy summoning despise,
And, equal to the Gods, disdain
Cups, e'en of Amrit, thus to drain.
Nay e'en when Bráhmans first have fed,
They loathe the meal for others spread,
And from the leavings turn with scorn,
As bulls avoid a fractured horn.
So Ráma, sovereign lord of men,
Will spurn the sullied kingship then:
He born the eldest and the best,
His younger's leavings will detest,
Turning from tasted food away,
As tigers scorn another's prey.
The sacred post is used not twice,
Nor elements, in sacrifice.
But once the sacred grass is spread,
But once with oil the flame is fed:
So Ráma's pride will ne'er receive
The royal power which others leave,
Like wine when tasteless dregs are left,
Or rites of Soma juice bereft.
Be sure the pride of Raghu's race
Will never stoop to such disgrace:
The lordly lion will not bear
That man should beard him in his lair.
Were all the worlds against him ranged
His dauntless soul were still unchanged:
He, dutiful, in duty strong,
Would purge the impious world from wrong.
Could not the hero, brave and bold,
The archer, with his shafts of gold,
Burn up the very seas, as doom
Will in the end all life consume?
Of lion's might, eyed like a bull,
A prince so brave and beautiful,
Thou hast with wicked hate pursued,
Like sea-born tribes who eat their brood.
If thou, O Monarch, hadst but known
The duty all the Twice-born own,
If the good laws had touched thy mind,
Which sages in the Scriptures find,
Thou ne'er hadst driven forth to pine
This brave, this duteous son of thine.
First on her lord the wife depends,
Next on her son and last on friends:
These three supports in life has she,
And not a fourth for her may be.
Thy heart, O King, I have not won;
In wild woods roams my banished son;
Far are my friends: ah, hapless me,
Quite ruined and destroyed by thee.”
Canto LXII. Dasaratha Consoled.

The queen's stern speech the monarch heard,
As rage and grief her bosom stirred,
And by his anguish sore oppressed
Reflected in his secret breast.
Fainting and sad, with woe distraught,
He wandered in a maze of thought;
At length the queller of the foe
Grew conscious, rallying from his woe.
When consciousness returned anew
Long burning sighs the monarch drew,
Again immersed in thought he eyed
Kauśalyá standing by his side.
Back to his pondering soul was brought
The direful deed his hand had wrought,
When, guiltless of the wrong intent,
His arrow at a sound was sent.
Distracted by his memory's sting,
And mourning for his son, the king
To two consuming griefs a prey,
A miserable victim lay.
The double woe devoured him fast,
As on the ground his eyes he cast,
Joined suppliant hands, her heart to touch,
And spake in the answer, trembling much:
“Kauśalyá, for thy grace I sue,
Joining these hands as suppliants do.
Thou e'en to foes hast ever been
A gentle, good, and loving queen.
Her lord, with noble virtues graced,
Her lord, by lack of all debased,
Is still a God in woman's eyes,
If duty's law she hold and prize.
Thou, who the right hast aye pursued,
Life's changes and its chances viewed,
Shouldst never launch, though sorrow-stirred,
At me distressed, one bitter word.”
She listened, as with sorrow faint
He murmured forth his sad complaint:
Her brimming eyes with tears ran o'er,
As spouts the new fallen water pour;
[pg 168]
His suppliant hands, with fear dismayed
She gently clasped in hers, and laid,
Like a fair lotus, on her head,
And faltering in her trouble said:
“Forgive me; at thy feet I lie,
With low bent head to thee I cry.
By thee besought, thy guilty dame
Pardon from thee can scarcely claim.
She merits not the name of wife
Who cherishes perpetual strife
With her own husband good and wise,
Her lord both here and in the skies.
I know the claims of duty well,
I know thy lips the truth must tell.
All the wild words I rashly spoke,
Forth from my heart, through anguish, broke;
For sorrow bends the stoutest soul,
And cancels Scripture's high control.
Yea, sorrow's might all else o'erthrows
The strongest and the worst of foes.
'Tis thus with all: we keenly feel,
Yet bear the blows our foemen deal,
But when a slender woe assails
The manliest spirit bends and quails.
The fifth long night has now begun
Since the wild woods have lodged my son:
To me whose joy is drowned in tears,
Each day a dreary year appears.
While all my thoughts on him are set
Grief at my heart swells wilder yet:
With doubled might thus Ocean raves
When rushing floods increase his waves.”
As from Kauśalyá reasoning well
The gentle words of wisdom fell,
The sun went down with dying flame,
And darkness o'er the landscape came.
His lady's soothing words in part
Relieved the monarch's aching heart,
Who, wearied out by all his woes,
Yielded to sleep and took repose.
Canto LXIII. The Hermit's Son.

But soon by rankling grief oppressed
The king awoke from troubled rest,
And his sad heart was tried again
With anxious thought where all was pain.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ's mournful fate
On Daśaratha, good and great
As Indra, pressed with crushing weight,
As when the demon's might assails
The Sun-God, and his glory pales.
Ere yet the sixth long night was spent,
Since Ráma to the woods was sent,
The king at midnight sadly thought
Of the old crime his hand had wrought,
And thus to Queen Kauśalyá cried
Who still for Ráma moaned and sighed:
“If thou art waking, give, I pray,
Attention to the words I say.
Whate'er the conduct men pursue,
Be good or ill the acts they do,
Be sure, dear Queen, they find the meed
Of wicked or of virtuous deed.
A heedless child we call the man
Whose feeble judgment fails to scan
The weight of what his hands may do,
Its lightness, fault, and merit too.
One lays the Mango garden low,
And bids the gay Paláśas grow:
Longing for fruit their bloom he sees,
But grieves when fruit should bend the trees.
Cut by my hand, my fruit-trees fell,
Paláśa trees I watered well.
My hopes this foolish heart deceive,
And for my banished son I grieve.
Kauśalyá, in my youthful prime
Armed with my bow I wrought the crime,
Proud of my skill, my name renowned,
An archer prince who shoots by sound.
The deed this hand unwitting wrought
This misery on my soul has brought,
As children seize the deadly cup
And blindly drink the poison up.
As the unreasoning man may be
Charmed with the gay Paláśa tree,
I unaware have reaped the fruit
Of joying at a sound to shoot.
As regent prince I shared the throne,
Thou wast a maid to me unknown,
The early Rain-time duly came,
And strengthened love's delicious flame.
The sun had drained the earth that lay
All glowing 'neath the summer day,
And to the gloomy clime had fled
Where dwell the spirits of the dead.335
The fervent heat that moment ceased,
The darkening clouds each hour increased
And frogs and deer and peacocks all
Rejoiced to see the torrents fall.
Their bright wings heavy from the shower,
The birds, new-bathed, had scarce the power
To reach the branches of the trees
Whose high tops swayed beneath the breeze.
The fallen rain, and falling still,
Hung like a sheet on every hill,
Till, with glad deer, each flooded steep
Showed glorious as the mighty deep.
The torrents down its wooded side
Poured, some unstained, while others dyed
[pg 169]
Gold, ashy, silver, ochre, bore
The tints of every mountain ore.
In that sweet time, when all are pleased,
My arrows and my bow I seized;
Keen for the chase, in field or grove,
Down Sarjú's bank my car I drove.
I longed with all my lawless will
Some elephant by night to kill,
Some buffalo that came to drink,
Or tiger, at the river's brink.
When all around was dark and still,
I heard a pitcher slowly fill,
And thought, obscured in deepest shade,
An elephant the sound had made.
I drew a shaft that glittered bright,
Fell as a serpent's venomed bite;
I longed to lay the monster dead,
And to the mark my arrow sped.
Then in the calm of morning, clear
A hermit's wailing smote my ear:
“Ah me, ah me,” he cried, and sank,
Pierced by my arrow, on the bank.
E'en as the weapon smote his side,
I heard a human voice that cried:
“Why lights this shaft on one like me,
A poor and harmless devotee?
I came by night to fill my jar
From this lone stream where no men are.
Ah, who this deadly shaft has shot?
Whom have I wronged, and knew it not?
Why should a boy so harmless feel
The vengeance of the winged steel?
Or who should slay the guiltless son
Of hermit sire who injures none,
Who dwells retired in woods, and there
Supports his life on woodland fare?
Ah me, ah me, why am I slain,
What booty will the murderer gain?
In hermit coils I bind my hair,
Coats made of skin and bark I wear.
Ah, who the cruel deed can praise
Whose idle toil no fruit repays,
As impious as the wretch's crime
Who dares his master's bed to climb?
Nor does my parting spirit grieve
But for the life which thus I leave:
Alas, my mother and my sire,—
I mourn for them when I expire.
Ah me, that aged, helpless pair,
Long cherished by my watchful care,
How will it be with them this day
When to the Five336 I pass away?
Pierced by the self-same dart we die,
Mine aged mother, sire, and I.
Whose mighty hand, whose lawless mind
Has all the three to death consigned?”
When I, by love of duty stirred,
That touching lamentation heard,
Pierced to the heart by sudden woe,
I threw to earth my shafts and bow.
My heart was full of grief and dread
As swiftly to the place I sped,
Where, by my arrow wounded sore,
A hermit lay on Sarjú's shore.
His matted hair was all unbound,
His pitcher empty on the ground,
And by the fatal arrow pained,
He lay with dust and gore distained.
I stood confounded and amazed:
His dying eyes to mine he raised,
And spoke this speech in accents stern,
As though his light my soul would burn:
“How have I wronged thee, King, that I
Struck by thy mortal arrow die?
The wood my home, this jar I brought,
And water for my parents sought.
This one keen shaft that strikes me through
Slays sire and aged mother too.
Feeble and blind, in helpless pain,
They wait for me and thirst in vain.
They with parched lips their pangs must bear,
And hope will end in blank despair.
Ah me, there seems no fruit in store
For holy zeal or Scripture lore,
Or else ere now my sire would know
That his dear son is lying low.
Yet, if my mournful fate he knew,
What could his arm so feeble do?
The tree, firm-rooted, ne'er may be
The guardian of a stricken tree.
Haste to my father, and relate
While time allows, my sudden fate,
Lest he consume thee as the fire
Burns up the forest, in his ire.
This little path, O King, pursue:
My father's cot thou soon wilt view.
There sue for pardon to the sage,
Lest he should curse thee in his rage.
First from the wound extract the dart
That kills me with its deadly smart,
E'en as the flushed impetuous tide
Eats through the river's yielding side.”
I feared to draw the arrow out,
And pondered thus in painful doubt:
“Now tortured by the shaft he lies,
But if I draw it forth he dies.”
Helpless I stood, faint, sorely grieved:
The hermit's son my thought perceived;
As one o'ercome by direst pain
He scarce had strength to speak again.
With writhing limb and struggling breath,
Nearer and ever nearer death
“My senses undisturbed remain,
And fortitude has conquered pain:
Now from one tear thy soul be freed.
Thy hand has made a Bráhman bleed.
Let not this pang thy bosom wring:
No twice-born youth am I, O King,
[pg 170]
For of a Vaiśya sire I came,
Who wedded with a Śúdra dame.”
These words the boy could scarcely say,
As tortured by the shaft he lay,
Twisting his helpless body round,
Then trembling senseless on the ground.
Then from his bleeding side I drew
The rankling shaft that pierced him through.
With death's last fear my face he eyed,
And, rich in store of penance, died.”
Canto LXIV. Dasaratha's Death.

The son of Raghu to his queen
Thus far described the unequalled scene,
And, as the hermit's death he rued,
The mournful story thus renewed:
“The deed my heedless hand had wrought
Perplexed me with remorseful thought,
And all alone I pondered still
How kindly deed might salve the ill.
The pitcher from the ground I took,
And filled it from that fairest brook,
Then, by the path the hermit showed,
I reached his sainted sire's abode.
I came, I saw: the aged pair,
Feeble and blind, were sitting there,
Like birds with clipped wings, side by side,
With none their helpless steps to guide.
Their idle hours the twain beguiled
With talk of their returning child,
And still the cheering hope enjoyed,
The hope, alas, by me destroyed.
Then spoke the sage, as drawing near
The sound of footsteps reached his ear:
“Dear son, the water quickly bring;
Why hast thou made this tarrying?
Thy mother thirsts, and thou hast played,
And bathing in the brook delayed.
She weeps because thou camest not;
Haste, O my son, within the cot.
If she or I have ever done
A thing to pain thee, dearest son,
Dismiss the memory from thy mind:
A hermit thou, be good and kind.
On thee our lives, our all, depend:
Thou art thy friendless parents' friend.
The eyeless couple's eye art thou:
Then why so cold and silent now?”
With sobbing voice and bosom wrung
I scarce could move my faltering tongue,
And with my spirit filled with dread
I looked upon the sage, and said,
While mind, and sense, and nerve I strung
To fortify my trembling tongue,
And let the aged hermit know
His son's sad fate, my fear and woe:
“High-minded Saint, not I thy child,
A warrior, Daśaratha styled.
I bear a grievous sorrow's weight
Born of a deed which good men hate.
My lord, I came to Sarjú's shore,
And in my hand my bow I bore
For elephant or beast of chase
That seeks by night his drinking place.
There from the stream a sound I heard
As if a jar the water stirred.
An elephant, I thought, was nigh:
I aimed, and let an arrow fly.
Swift to the place I made my way,
And there a wounded hermit lay
Gasping for breath: the deadly dart
Stood quivering in his youthful heart.
I hastened near with pain oppressed;
He faltered out his last behest.
And quickly, as he bade me do,
From his pierced side the shaft I drew.
I drew the arrow from the rent,
And up to heaven the hermit went,
Lamenting, as from earth he passed,
His aged parents to the last.
Thus, unaware, the deed was done:
My hand, unwitting, killed thy son.
For what remains, O, let me win
Thy pardon for my heedless sin.”
As the sad tale of sin I told
The hermit's grief was uncontrolled.
With flooded eyes, and sorrow-faint,
Thus spake the venerable saint:
I stood with hand to hand applied,
And listened as he spoke and sighed:
“If thou, O King, hadst left unsaid
By thine own tongue this tale of dread,
Thy head for hideous guilt accursed
Had in a thousand pieces burst.
A hermit's blood by warrior spilt,
In such a case, with purposed guilt,
Down from his high estate would bring
Even the thunder's mighty King.
And he a dart who conscious sends
Against the devotee who spends
His pure life by the law of Heaven—
That sinner's head will split in seven.
Thou livest, for thy heedless hand
Has wrought a deed thou hast not planned,
Else thou and all of Raghu's line
Had perished by this act of thine.
Now guide us,” thus the hermit said,
“Forth to the spot where he lies dead.
Guide us, this day, O Monarch, we
For the last time our son would see:
The hermit dress of skin he wore
Rent from his limbs distained with gore;
His senseless body lying slain,
His soul in Yama's dark domain.”
Alone the mourning pair I led,
Their souls with woe disquieted,
And let the dame and hermit lay
[pg 171]
Their hands upon the breathless clay.
The father touched his son, and pressed
The body to his aged breast;
Then falling by the dead boy's side,
He lifted up his voice, and cried:
“Hast thou no word, my child, to say?
No greeting for thy sire to-day?
Why art thou angry, darling? why
Wilt thou upon the cold earth lie?
If thou, my son, art wroth with me,
Here, duteous child, thy mother see.
What! no embrace for me, my son?
No word of tender love—not one?
Whose gentle voice, so soft and clear,
Soothing my spirit, shall I hear
When evening comes, with accents sweet
Scripture or ancient lore repeat?
Who, having fed the sacred fire,
And duly bathed, as texts require,
Will cheer, when evening rites are done,
The father mourning for his son?
Who will the daily meal provide
For the poor wretch who lacks a guide,
Feeding the helpless with the best
Berries and roots, like some dear guest?
How can these hands subsistence find
For thy poor mother, old and blind?
The wretched votaress how sustain,
Who mourns her child in ceaseless pain?
Stay yet a while, my darling, stay,
Nor fly to Yama's realm to-day.
To-morrow I thy sire and she
Who bare thee, child, will go with, thee.337
Then when I look on Yama, I
To great Vivasvat's son will cry:
“Hear, King of justice, and restore
Our child to feed us, I implore.
Lord of the world, of mighty fame,
Faithful and just, admit my claim,
And grant this single boon to free
My soul from fear, to one like me.”
Because, my son, untouched by stain,
By sinful hands thou fallest slain,
Win, through thy truth, the sphere where those
Who die by hostile darts repose.
Seek the blest home prepared for all
The valiant who in battle fall,
Who face the foe and scorn to yield,
In glory dying on the field.
Rise to the heaven where Dhundhumár
And Nahush, mighty heroes, are,
Where Janamejay and the blest
Dilípa, Sagar, Saivya, rest:
Home of all virtuous spirits, earned
By fervent rites and Scripture learned:
By those whose sacred fires have glowed,
Whose liberal hands have fields bestowed:
By givers of a thousand cows,
By lovers of one faithful spouse:
By those who serve their masters well,
And cast away this earthly shell.
None of my race can ever know
The bitter pain of lasting woe.
But doomed to that dire fate is he
Whose guilty hand has slaughtered thee.”
Thus with wild tears the aged saint
Made many a time his piteous plaint,
Then with his wife began to shed
The funeral water for the dead.
But in a shape celestial clad,
Won by the merits of the lad,
The spirit from the body brake
And to the mourning parents spake:
“A glorious home in realms above
Rewards my care and filial love.
You, honoured parents, soon shall be
Partakers of that home with me.”
He spake, and swiftly mounting high,
With Indra near him, to the sky
On a bright car, with flame that glowed,
Sublime the duteous hermit rode.
The father, with his consort's aid,
The funeral rites with water paid,
And thus his speech to me renewed
Who stood in suppliant attitude:
“Slay me this day, O, slay me, King,
For death no longer has a sting.
Childless am I: thy dart has done
To death my dear, my only son.
Because the boy I loved so well
Slain by thy heedless arrow fell,
My curse upon thy soul shall press
With bitter woe and heaviness.
I mourn a slaughtered child, and thou
Shalt feel the pangs that kill me now.
Bereft and suffering e'en as I,
So shalt thou mourn thy son, and die.
Thy hand unwitting dealt the blow
That laid a holy hermit low,
And distant, therefore, is the time
When thou shalt suffer for the crime.
The hour shall come when, crushed by woes
Like these I feel, thy life shall close:
A debt to pay in after days
Like his the priestly fee who pays.”
This curse on me the hermit laid,
Nor yet his tears and groans were stayed.
Then on the pyre their bodies cast
The pair; and straight to heaven they passed.
As in sad thought I pondered long
Back to my memory came the wrong
Done in wild youth, O lady dear,
When 'twas my boast to shoot by ear.
[pg 172]
The deed has borne the fruit, which now
Hangs ripe upon the bending bough:
Thus dainty meats the palate please,
And lure the weak to swift disease.
Now on my soul return with dread
The words that noble hermit said,
That I for a dear son should grieve,
And of the woe my life should leave.”
Thus spake the king with many a tear;
Then to his wife he cried in fear:
“I cannot see thee, love; but lay
Thy gentle hand in mine, I pray.
Ah me, if Ráma touched me thus,
If once, returning home to us,
He bade me wealth and lordship give,
Then, so I think, my soul would live.
Unlike myself, unjust and mean
Have been my ways with him, my Queen,
But like himself is all that he,
My noble son, has done to me.
His son, though far from right he stray,
What prudent sire would cast away?
What banished son would check his ire,
Nor speak reproaches of his sire?
I see thee not: these eyes grow blind,
And memory quits my troubled mind.
Angels of Death are round me: they
Summon my soul with speed away.
What woe more grievous can there be,
That, when from light and life I flee,
I may not, ere I part, behold
My virtuous Ráma, true and bold?
Grief for my son, the brave and true,
Whose joy it was my will to do,
Dries up my breath, as summer dries
The last drop in the pool that lies.
Not men, but blessed Gods, are they
Whose eyes shall see his face that day;
See him, when fourteen years are past,
With earrings decked return at last.
My fainting mind forgets to think:
Low and more low my spirits sink.
Each from its seat, my senses steal:
I cannot hear, or taste, or feel.
This lethargy of soul o'ercomes
Each organ, and its function numbs:
So when the oil begins to fail,
The torch's rays grow faint and pale.
This flood of woe caused by this hand
Destroys me helpless and unmanned,
Resistless as the floods that bore
A passage through the river shore.
Ah Raghu's son, ah mighty-armed,
By whom my cares were soothed and charmed,
My son in whom I took delight,
Now vanished from thy father's sight!
Kauśalyá, ah, I cannot see;
Sumitrá, gentle devotee!
Alas, Kaikeyí, cruel dame,
My bitter foe, thy father's shame!”
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá kept
Their watch beside him as he wept.
And Daśaratha moaned and sighed,
And grieving for his darling died.
Canto LXV. The Women's Lament.

And now the night had past away,
And brightly dawned another day;
The minstrels, trained to play and sing,
Flocked to the chamber of the king:
Bards, who their gayest raiment wore,
And heralds famed for ancient lore:
And singers, with their songs of praise,
Made music in their several ways.
There as they poured their blessings choice
And hailed their king with hand and voice,
Their praises with a swelling roar
Echoed through court and corridor.
Then as the bards his glory sang,
From beaten palms loud answer rang,
As glad applauders clapped their hands,
And told his deeds in distant lands.
The swelling concert woke a throng
Of sleeping birds to life and song:
Some in the branches of the trees,
Some caged in halls and galleries.
Nor was the soft string music mute;
The gentle whisper of the lute,
And blessings sung by singers skilled
The palace of the monarch filled.
Eunuchs and dames of life unstained,
Each in the arts of waiting trained,
Drew near attentive as before,
And crowded to the chamber door:
These skilful when and how to shed
The lustral stream o'er limb and head,
Others with golden ewers stood
Of water stained with sandal wood.
And many a maid, pure, young, and fair,
Her load of early offerings bare,
Cups of the flood which all revere,
And sacred things, and toilet gear.
Each several thing was duly brought
As rule of old observance taught,
And lucky signs on each impressed
Stamped it the fairest and the best.
There anxious, in their long array,
All waited till the shine of day:
But when the king nor rose nor spoke,
Doubt and alarm within them woke.
Forthwith the dames, by duty led,
Attendants on the monarch's bed,
Within the royal chamber pressed
To wake their master from his rest.
Skilled in the lore of dreaming, they
First touched the bed on which he lay.
But none replied; no sound was heard,
[pg 173]
Nor hand, nor head, nor body stirred.
They trembled, and their dread increased,
Fearing his breath of life had ceased,
And bending low their heads, they shook
Like the tall reeds that fringe the brook.
In doubt and terror down they knelt,
Looked on his face, his cold hand felt,
And then the gloomy truth appeared
Of all their hearts had darkly feared.
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá, worn
With weeping for their sons, forlorn,
Woke not, but lay in slumber deep
And still as death's unending sleep.
Bowed down by grief, her colour fled,
Her wonted lustre dull and dead,
Kauśalyá shone not, like a star
Obscured behind a cloudy bar.
Beside the king's her couch was spread,
And next was Queen Sumitrá's bed,
Who shone no more with beauty's glow,
Her face bedewed with tears of woe.
There lapped in sleep each wearied queen,
There as in sleep, the king was seen;
And swift the troubling thought came o'er
Their spirits that he breathed no more.
At once with wailing loud and high
The matrons shrieked a bitter cry,
As widowed elephants bewail
Their dead lord in the woody vale.
At the loud shriek that round them rang,
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá sprang
Awakened from their beds, with eyes
Wide open in their first surprise.
Quick to the monarch's side they came,
And saw and touched his lifeless frame;
One cry, O husband! forth they sent,
And prostrate to the ground they went.
The king of Kośal's daughter338 there
Writhed, with the dust on limb and hair
Lustreless, as a star might lie
Hurled downward from the glorious sky.
When the king's voice in death was stilled,
The women who the chamber filled
Saw, like a widow elephant slain,
Kauśalyá prostrate in her pain.
Then all the monarch's ladies led
By Queen Kaikeyí at their head,
Poured forth their tears, and weeping so,
Sank on the ground, consumed by woe.
The cry of grief so long and loud
Went up from all the royal crowd,
That, doubled by the matron train,
It made the palace ring again.
Filled with dark fear and eager eyes,
Anxiety and wild surmise;
Echoing with the cries of grief
Of sorrowing friends who mourned their chief,
Dejected, pale with deep distress,
Hurled from their height of happiness:
Such was the look the palace wore
Where lay the king who breathed no more.
Canto LXVI. The Embalming.

Kauśalyá's eyes with tears o'erflowed,
Weighed down by varied sorrows' load;
On her dead lord her gaze she bent,
Who lay like fire whose might is spent,
Like the great deep with waters dry,
Or like the clouded sun on high.
Then on her lap she laid his head.
And on Kaikeyí looked and said:
“Triumphant now enjoy thy reign
Without a thorn thy side to pain.
Thou hast pursued thy single aim,
And killed the king, O wicked dame.
Far from my sight my Ráma flies,
My perished lord has sought the skies.
No friend, no hope my life to cheer,
I cannot tread the dark path here.
Who would forsake her husband, who
That God to whom her love is due,
And wish to live one hour, but she
Whose heart no duty owns, like thee?
The ravenous sees no fault: his greed
Will e'en on poison blindly feed.
Kaikeyí, through a hump-back maid,
This royal house in death has laid.
King Janak, with his queen, will hear
Heart rent like me the tidings drear
Of Ráma banished by the king,
Urged by her impious counselling.
No son has he, his age is great,
And sinking with the double weight,
He for his darling child will pine,
And pierced with woe his life resign.
Sprung from Videha's monarch, she
A sad and lovely devotee,
Roaming the wood, unmeet for woe,
Will toil and trouble undergo.
She in the gloomy night with fear
The cries of beast and bird will hear,
And trembling in her wild alarm
Will cling to Ráma's sheltering arm.
Ah, little knows my duteous son
That I am widowed and undone—
My Ráma of the lotus eye,
Gone hence, gone hence, alas, to die.
Now, as a living wife and true,
I, e'en this day, will perish too:
Around his form these arms will throw
And to the fire with him will go.”
Clasping her husband's lifeless clay
A while the weeping votaress lay,
Till chamberlains removed her thence
[pg 174]
O'ercome by sorrow's violence.
Then in a cask of oil they laid
Him who in life the world had swayed,
And finished, as the lords desired,
All rites for parted souls required.
The lords, all-wise, refused to burn
The monarch ere his son's return;
So for a while the corpse they set
Embalmed in oil, and waited yet.
The women heard: no doubt remained,
And wildly for the king they plained.
With gushing tears that drowned each eye
Wildly they waved their arms on high,
And each her mangling nails impressed
Deep in her head and knee and breast:
“Of Ráma reft,—who ever spake
The sweetest words the heart to take,
Who firmly to the truth would cling,—
Why dost thou leave us, mighty King?
How can the consorts thou hast left
Widowed, of Raghu's son bereft,
Live with our foe Kaikeyí near,
The wicked queen we hate and fear?
She threw away the king, her spite
Drove Ráma forth and Lakshmaṇ's might,
And gentle Sítá: how will she
Spare any, whosoe'er it be?”
Oppressed with sorrow, tear-distained,
The royal women thus complained.
Like night when not a star appears,
Like a sad widow drowned in tears,
Ayodhyá's city, dark and dim,
Reft of her lord was sad for him.
When thus for woe the king to heaven had fled,
And still on earth his lovely wives remained.
With dying light the sun to rest had sped,
And night triumphant o'er the landscape reigned.
Canto LXVII. The Praise Of Kings.

That night of sorrow passed away,
And rose again the God of Day.
Then all the twice-born peers of state
Together met for high debate.
Jáválí, lord of mighty fame.
And Gautam, and Kátyáyan came,
And Márkandeya's reverend age,
And Vámadeva, glorious sage:
Sprung from Mudgalya's seed the one,
The other ancient Kaśyap's son.
With lesser lords these Bráhmans each
Spoke in his turn his several speech,
And turning to Vaśishṭha, best
Of household priests him thus addressed:
“The night of bitter woe has past,
Which seemed a hundred years to last,
Our king, in sorrow for his son,
Reunion with the Five has won.
His soul is where the blessed are,
While Ráma roams in woods afar,
And Lakshmaṇ, bright in glorious deeds,
Goes where his well-loved brother leads.
And Bharat and Śatrughna, they
Who smite their foes in battle fray,
Far in the realm of Kekaya stay,
Where their maternal grandsire's care
Keeps Rájagriha's city fair.
Let one of old Ikshváku's race
Obtain this day the sovereign's place,
Or havoc and destruction straight
Our kingless land will devastate.
In kingless lands no thunder's voice,
No lightning wreaths the heart rejoice,
Nor does Parjanya's heavenly rain
Descend upon the burning plain.
Where none is king, the sower's hand
Casts not the seed upon the land;
The son against the father strives.
And husbands fail to rule their wives.
In kingless realms no princes call
Their friends to meet in crowded hall;
No joyful citizens resort
To garden trim or sacred court.
In kingless realms no Twice-born care
To sacrifice with text and prayer,
Nor Bráhmans, who their vows maintain,
The great solemnities ordain.
The joys of happier days have ceased:
No gathering, festival, or feast
Together calls the merry throng
Delighted with the play and song.
In kingless lands it ne'er is well
With sons of trade who buy and sell:
No men who pleasant tales repeat
Delight the crowd with stories sweet.
In kingless realms we ne'er behold
Young maidens decked with gems and gold,
Flock to the gardens blithe and gay
To spend their evening hours in play.
No lover in the flying car
Rides with his love to woods afar.
In kingless lands no wealthy swain
Who keeps the herd and reaps the grain,
Lies sleeping, blest with ample store,
Securely near his open door.
Upon the royal roads we see
No tusked elephant roaming free,
Of three-score years, whose head and neck
Sweet tinkling bells of silver deck.
We hear no more the glad applause
When his strong bow each rival draws,
No clap of hands, no eager cries
That cheer each martial exercise.
In kingless realms no merchant bands
Who travel forth to distant lands,
With precious wares their wagons load,
[pg 175]
And fear no danger on the road.
No sage secure in self-control,
Brooding on God with mind and soul,
In lonely wanderings finds his home
Where'er at eve his feet may roam.
In kingless realms no man is sure
He holds his life and wealth secure.
In kingless lands no warriors smite
The foeman's host in glorious fight.
In kingless lands the wise no more,
Well trained in Scripture's holy lore,
In shady groves and gardens meet
To argue in their calm retreat.
No longer, in religious fear,
Do they who pious vows revere,
Bring dainty cates and wreaths of flowers
As offerings to the heavenly powers.
No longer, bright as trees in spring,
Shine forth the children of the king
Resplendent in the people's eyes
With aloe wood and sandal dyes.
A brook where water once has been,
A grove where grass no more is green,
Kine with no herdsman's guiding hand—
So wretched is a kingless land.
The car its waving banner rears,
Banner of fire the smoke appears:
Our king, the banner of our pride,
A God with Gods is glorified.
In kingless lands no law is known,
And none may call his wealth his own,
Each preys on each from hour to hour,
As fish the weaker fish devour.
Then fearless, atheists overleap
The bounds of right the godly keep,
And when no royal powers restrain,
Preëminence and lordship gain.
As in the frame of man the eye
Keeps watch and ward, a careful spy,
The monarch in his wide domains
Protects the truth, the right maintains.
He is the right, the truth is he,
Their hopes in him the well-born see.
On him his people's lives depend,
Mother is he, and sire, and friend.
The world were veiled in blinding night,
And none could see or know aright,
Ruled there no king in any state
The good and ill to separate.
We will obey thy word and will
As if our king were living still:
As keeps his bounds the faithful sea,
So we observe thy high decree.
O best of Bráhmans, first in place,
Our kingless land lies desolate:
Some scion of Ikshváku's race
Do thou as monarch consecrate.”
Canto LXVIII. The Envoys.

Vaśishṭha heard their speech and prayer,
And thus addressed the concourse there,
Friends, Bráhmans, counsellors, and all
Assembled in the palace hall:
“Ye know that Bharat, free from care,
Still lives in Rájagriha339 where
The father of his mother reigns:
Śatrughna by his side remains.
Let active envoys, good at need,
Thither on fleetest horses speed,
To bring the hero youths away:
Why waste the time in dull delay?”
Quick came from all the glad reply:
“Vaśishṭha, let the envoys fly!”
He heard their speech, and thus renewed
His charge before the multitude:
“Nandan, Aśok, Siddhárth, attend,
Your ears, Jayanta, Vijay, lend:
Be yours, what need requires, to do:
I speak these words to all of you.
With coursers of the fleetest breed
To Rájagriha's city speed.
Then rid your bosoms of distress,
And Bharat thus from me address:
“The household priest and peers by us
Send health to thee and greet thee thus:
Come to thy father's home with haste:
Thine absent time no longer waste.”
But speak no word of Ráma fled,
Tell not the prince his sire is dead,
Nor to the royal youth the fate
That ruins Raghu's race relate.
Go quickly hence, and with you bear
Fine silken vestures rich and rare,
And gems and many a precious thing
As gifts to Bharat and the king.”
With ample stores of food supplied,
Each to his home the envoys hied,
Prepared, with steeds of swiftest race,
To Kekaya's land340 their way to trace.
They made all due provision there,
And every need arranged with care,
Then ordered by Vaśishṭha, they
Went forth with speed upon their way.
Then northward of Pralamba, west
Of Apartála, on they pressed,
Crossing the Máliní that flowed
With gentle stream athwart the road.
They traversed Gangá's holy waves
[pg 176]
Where she Hástinapura341 laves,
Thence to Panchála342 westward fast
Through Kurujángal's land343 they passed.
On, on their course the envoys held
By urgency of task impelled.
Quick glancing at each lucid flood
And sweet lake gay with flower and bud.
Beyond, they passed unwearied o'er,
Where glad birds fill the flood and shore
Of Śaradaṇḍá racing fleet
With heavenly water clear and sweet,
Thereby a tree celestial grows
Which every boon on prayer bestows:
To its blest shade they humbly bent,
Then to Kulingá's town they went.
Then, having passed the Warrior's Wood,
In Abhikála next they stood,
O'er sacred Ikshumatí344 came,
Their ancient kings' ancestral claim.
They saw the learned Bráhmans stand,
Each drinking from his hollowed hand,
And through Báhíka345 journeying still
They reached at length Sudáman's hill:
There Vishṇu's footstep turned to see,
Vipáśá346 viewed, and Śálmalí,
And many a lake and river met,
Tank, pool, and pond, and rivulet.
And lions saw, and tigers near,
And elephants and herds of deer,
And still, by prompt obedience led,
Along the ample road they sped.
Then when their course so swift and long,
Had worn their steeds though fleet and strong,
To Girivraja's splendid town
They came by night, and lighted down.
To please their master, and to guard
The royal race, the lineal right,
The envoys, spent with riding hard,
To that fair city came by night.347
Canto LXIX. Bharat's Dream.

The night those messengers of state
Had past within the city's gate,
In dreams the slumbering Bharat saw
A sight that chilled his soul with awe.
The dream that dire events foretold
Left Bharat's heart with horror cold,
[pg 177]
And with consuming woes distraught,
Upon his aged sire he thought.
His dear companions, swift to trace
The signs of anguish on his face,
Drew near, his sorrow to expel,
And pleasant tales began to tell.
Some woke sweet music's cheering sound,
And others danced in lively round.
With joke and jest they strove to raise
His spirits, quoting ancient plays;
But Bharat still, the lofty-souled,
Deaf to sweet tales his fellows told,
Unmoved by music, dance, and jest,
Sat silent, by his woe oppressed.
To him, begirt by comrades near,
Thus spoke the friend he held most dear:
“Why ringed around by friends, art thou
So silent and so mournful now?”
“Hear thou,” thus Bharat made reply,
“What chills my heart and dims mine eye.
I dreamt I saw the king my sire
Sink headlong in a lake of mire
Down from a mountain high in air,
His body soiled, and loose his hair.
Upon the miry lake he seemed
To lie and welter, as I dreamed;
With hollowed hands full many a draught
Of oil he took, and loudly laughed.
With head cast down I saw him make
A meal on sesamum and cake;
The oil from every member dripped,
And in its clammy flood he dipped.
The ocean's bed was bare and dry,
The moon had fallen from the sky,
And all the world lay still and dead,
With whelming darkness overspread.
The earth was rent and opened wide,
The leafy trees were scorched, and died;
I saw the seated mountains split,
And wreaths of rising smoke emit.
The stately beast the monarch rode
His long tusks rent and splintered showed;
And flames that quenched and cold had lain
Blazed forth with kindled light again.
I looked, and many a handsome dame,
Arrayed in brown and sable came
And bore about the monarch, dressed,
On iron stool, in sable vest.
And then the king, of virtuous mind,
A blood-red wreath around him twined,
Forth on an ass-drawn chariot sped,
As southward still he bent his head.
Then, crimson-clad, a dame appeared
Who at the monarch laughed and jeered;
And a she-monster, dire to view,
Her hand upon his body threw.
Such is the dream I dreamt by night,
Which chills me yet with wild affright:
Either the king or Ráma, I
Or Lakshmaṇ now must surely die.
For when an ass-drawn chariot seems
To bear away a man in dreams,
Be sure above his funeral pyre
The smoke soon rears its cloudy spire.
This makes my spirit low and weak,
My tongue is slow and loth to speak:
My lips and throat are dry for dread,
And all my soul disquieted.
My lips, relaxed, can hardly speak,
And chilling dread has changed my cheek
I blame myself in aimless fears,
And still no cause of blame appears.
I dwell upon this dream of ill
Whose changing scenes I viewed,
And on the startling horror still
My troubled thoughts will brood.
Still to my soul these terrors cling,
Reluctant to depart,
And the strange vision of the king
Still weighs upon my heart.”
Canto LXX. Bharat's Departure.

While thus he spoke, the envoys borne
On horses faint and travel-worn
Had gained the city fenced around
With a deep moat's protecting bound.
An audience of the king they gained,
And honours from the prince obtained;
The monarch's feet they humbly pressed,
To Bharat next these words addressed:
“The household priest and peers by us
Send health to thee and greet thee thus:
“Come to thy father's house with haste:
Thine absent time no longer waste.”
Receive these vestures rich and rare,
These costly gems and jewels fair,
And to thy uncle here present
Each precious robe and ornament.
These for the king and him suffice—
Two hundred millions is their price—
These, worth a hundred millions, be
Reserved, O large-eyed Prince, for thee.”
Loving his friends with heart and soul,
The joyful prince received the whole,
Due honour to the envoys paid,
And thus in turn his answer made:
“Of Daśaratha tidings tell:
Is the old king my father well?
Is Ráma, and is Lakshmaṇ, he
Of the high-soul, from sickness free?
And she who walks where duty leads,
Kauśalyá, known for gracious deeds,
Mother of Ráma, loving spouse,
Bound to her lord by well kept vows?
And Lakshmaṇ's mother too, the dame
Sumitrá skilled in duty's claim,
Who brave Śatrughna also bare,
Second in age,—her health declare.
[pg 178]
And she, in self-conceit most sage,
With selfish heart most prone to rage,
My mother, fares she well? has she
Sent message or command to me?”
Thus Bharat spake, the mighty-souled,
And they in brief their tidings told:
“All they of whom thou askest dwell,
O lion lord, secure and well:
Thine all the smiles of fortune are:
Make ready; let them yoke the car.”
Thus by the royal envoys pressed,
Bharat again the band addressed:
“I go with you: no long delay,
A single hour I bid you stay.”
Thus Bharat, son of him who swayed
Ayodhyás realm, his answer made,
And then bespoke, his heart to please,
His mother's sire in words like these:
“I go to see my father, King,
Urged by the envoys' summoning;
And when thy soul desires to see
Thy grandson, will return to thee.”
The king his grandsire kissed his head,
And in reply to Bharat said:
“Go forth, dear child: how blest is she,
The mother of a son like thee!
Greet well thy sire, thy mother greet,
O thou whose arms the foe defeat;
The household priest, and all the rest
Amid the Twice-born chief and best;
And Ráma and brave Lakshmaṇ, who
Shoot the long shaft with aim so true.”
To him the king high honour showed,
And store of wealth and gifts bestowed,
The choicest elephants to ride,
And skins and blankets deftly dyed,
A thousand strings of golden beads,
And sixteen hundred mettled steeds:
And boundless wealth before him piled
Gave Kekaya to Kaikeyí's child.
And men of counsel, good and tried,
On whose firm truth he aye relied,
King Aśvapati gave with speed
Prince Bharat on his way to lead.
And noble elephants, strong and young,
From sires of Indraśira sprung,
And others tall and fair to view
Of great Airávat's lineage true:
And well yoked asses fleet of limb
The prince his uncle gave to him.
And dogs within the palace bred,
Of body vast and massive head,
With mighty fangs for battle, brave,
The tiger's match in strength, he gave.
Yet Bharat's bosom hardly glowed
To see the wealth the king bestowed;
For he would speed that hour away,
Such care upon his bosom lay:
Those eager envoys urged him thence,
And that sad vision's influence.
He left his court-yard, crowded then
With elephants and steeds and men,
And, peerless in immortal fame,
To the great royal street he came.
He saw, as farther still he went,
The inner rooms most excellent,
And passed the doors, to him unclosed,
Where check nor bar his way oppossd.
There Bharat stayed to bid adieu
To grandsire and to uncle too,
Then, with Śatrughna by his side,
Mounting his car, away he hied.
The strong-wheeled cars were yoked, and they
More than a hundred, rolled away:
Servants, with horses, asses, kine,
Followed their lord in endless line.
So, guarded by his own right hand,
Forth high-souled Bharat hied,
Surrounded by a lordly band
On whom the king relied.
Beside him sat Śatrughna dear,
The scourge of trembling foes:
Thus from the light of Indra's sphere
A saint made perfect goes.
Canto LXXI. Bharat's Return.

Then Bharat's face was eastward bent
As from the royal town he went.
He reached Sudámá's farther side,
And glorious, gazed upon the tide;
Passed Hládiní, and saw her toss
Her westering billows hard to cross.
Then old Ikshváku's famous son
O'er Śatadrú348 his passage won,
Near Ailadhána on the strand,
And came to Aparparyat's land.
O'er Śilá's flood he hurried fast,
Akurvatí's fair stream he passed,
Crossed o'er Ágneya's rapid rill,
And Śalyakartan onward still.
Śilávahá's swift stream he eyed,
True to his vows and purified,
Then crossed the lofty hills, and stood
In Chaitraratha's mighty wood.
He reached the confluence where meet
Sarasvatí349 and Gangá fleet,
And through Bháruṇḍa forest, spread
Northward of Viramatsya, sped.
He sought Kálinda's child, who fills
[pg 179]
The soul with joy, begirt by hills,
Reached Yamuná, and passing o'er,
Rested his army on the shore:
He gave his horses food and rest,
Bathed reeking limb and drooping crest.
They drank their fill and bathed them there,
And water for their journey bare.
Thence through a mighty wood he sped
All wild and uninhabited,
As in fair chariot through the skies,
Most fair in shape a Storm-God flies.
At Anśudhána Gangá, hard
To cross, his onward journey barred,
So turning quickly thence he came
To Prágvaṭ's city dear to fame.
There having gained the farther side
To Kuṭikoshṭiká he hied:
The stream he crossed, and onward then
To Dharmavardhan brought his men.
Thence, leaving Toraṇ on the north,
To Jambuprastha journeyed forth.
Then onward to a pleasant grove
By fair Varútha's town he drove,
And when a while he there had stayed,
Went eastward from the friendly shade.
Eastward of Ujjiháná where
The Priyak trees are tall and fair,
He passed, and rested there each steed
Exhausted with the journey's speed.
There orders to his men addressed,
With quickened pace he onward pressed,
A while at Sarvatírtha spent,
Then o'er Uttániká he went.
O'er many a stream beside he sped
With coursers on the mountains bred,
And passing Hastiprishṭhak, took
The road o'er Kuṭiká's fair brook.
Then, at Lohitya's village, he
Crossed o'er the swift Kapívatí,
Then passed, where Ekaśála stands,
The Stháṇumatí's flood and sands,
And Gomatí of fair renown
By Vinata's delightful town.
When to Kalinga near he drew,
A wood of Sal trees charmed the view;
That passed, the sun began to rise,
And Bharat saw with happy eyes,
Ayodhyá's city, built and planned
By ancient Manu's royal hand.
Seven nights upon the road had passed,
And when he saw the town at last
Before him in her beauty spread,
Thus Bharat to the driver said:
“This glorious city from afar,
Wherein pure groves and gardens are,
Seems to my eager eyes to-day
A lifeless pile of yellow clay.
Through all her streets where erst a throng
Of men and women streamed along,
Uprose the multitudinous roar:
To-day I hear that sound no more.
No longer do mine eyes behold
The leading people, as of old,
On elephants, cars, horses, go
Abroad and homeward, to and fro.
The brilliant gardens, where we heard
The wild note of each rapturous bird,
Where men and women loved to meet,
In pleasant shades, for pastime sweet,—
These to my eyes this day appear
Joyless, and desolate, and drear:
Each tree that graced the garden grieves,
And every path is spread with leaves.
The merry cry of bird and beast,
That spake aloud their joy, has ceased:
Still is the long melodious note
That charmed us from each warbling throat.
Why blows the blessed air no more,
The incense-breathing air that bore
Its sweet incomparable scent
Of sandal and of aloe blent?
Why are the drum and tabour mute?
Why is the music of the lute
That woke responsive to the quill,
Loved by the happy, hushed and still?
My boding spirit gathers hence
Dire sins of awful consequence,
And omens, crowding on my sight,
Weigh down my soul with wild affright.
Scarce shall I find my friends who dwell
Here in Ayodhyá safe and well:
For surely not without a cause
This crushing dread my soul o'erawes.”
Heart sick, dejected, every sense
Confused by terror's influence,
On to the town he quickly swept
Which King Ikshváku's children kept.
He passed through Vaijayanta's gate,
With weary steeds, disconsolate,
And all who near their station held,
His escort, crying Victory, swelled,
With heart distracted still he bowed
Farewell to all the following crowd,
Turned to the driver and began
To question thus the weary man:
“Why was I brought, O free from blame,
So fast, unknown for what I came?
Yet fear of ill my heart appals,
And all my wonted courage falls.
For I have heard in days gone by
The changes seen when monarchs die;
And all those signs, O charioteer,
I see to-day surround me here:
Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim,
No hand delights to keep it trim:
The beauty vanished, and the pride,
The doors, unkept, stand open wide.
No morning rites are offered there,
No grateful incense loads the air,
And all therein, with brows o'ercast,
Sit joyless on the ground and fast.
Their lovely chaplets dry and dead,
[pg 180]
Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread,
The temples of the Gods to-day
No more look beautiful and gay.
Neglected stands each holy shrine,
Each image of a Lord divine.
No shop where flowery wreaths are sold
Is bright and busy as of old.
The women and the men I mark
Absorbed in fancies dull and dark,
Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed,
A poor afflicted multitude.”
His mind oppressed with woe and dread,
Thus Bharat to his driver said,
Viewed the dire signs Ayodhyá showed,
And onward to the palace rode.
Canto LXXII. Bharat's Inquiry.

He entered in, he looked around,
Nor in the house his father found;
Then to his mother's dwelling, bent
To see her face, he quickly went.
She saw her son, so long away,
Returning after many a day,
And from her golden seat in joy
Sprung forward to her darling boy.
Within the bower, no longer bright,
Came Bharat lover of the right,
And bending with observance sweet
Clasped his dear mother's lovely feet.
Long kisses on his brow she pressed,
And held her hero to her breast,
Then fondly drew him to her knees,
And questioned him in words like these:
“How many nights have fled, since thou
Leftest thy grandsire's home, till now?
By flying steeds so swiftly borne,
Art thou not weak and travel-worn?
How fares the king my father, tell:
Is Yudhájit thine uncle well?
And now, my son, at length declare
The pleasure of the visit there.”
Thus to the offspring of the king
She spake with tender questioning,
And to his mother made reply
Young Bharat of the lotus eye:
“The seventh night has come and fled
Since from my grandsire's home I sped:
My mother's sire is well, and he,
Yudhájit, from all trouble free.
The gold and every precious thing
Presented by the conqueror king,
The slower guards behind convey:
I left them weary on the way.
Urged by the men my father sent,
My hasty course I hither bent:
Now, I implore, an answer deign,
And all I wish to know, explain.
Unoccupied I now behold
This couch of thine adorned with gold,
And each of King Ikshváku's race
Appears with dark and gloomy face.
The king is aye, my mother dear,
Most constant in his visits here.
To meet my sire I sought this spot:
How is it that I find him not?
I long to clasp my father's feet:
Say where he lingers, I entreat.
Perchance the monarch may be seen
Where dwells Kauśalyá, eldest queen.”
His father's fate, from him concealed,
Kaikeyí to her son revealed:
Told as glad news the story sad,
For lust of sway had made her mad:
“Thy father, O my darling, know,
Has gone the way all life must go:
Devout and famed, of lofty thought,
In whom the good their refuge sought.”
When Bharat pious, pure, and true,
Heard the sad words which pierced him through,
Grieved for the sire he loved so well
Prostrate upon the ground he fell:
Down fell the strong-armed hero, high
Tossing his arms, and a sad cry,
“Ah, woe is me, unhappy, slain!”
Burst from his lips again, again,
Afflicted for his father's fate
By grief's intolerable weight,
With every sense amazed and cowed
The splendid hero wailed aloud:
“Ah me, my royal father's bed
Of old a gentle radiance shed,
Like the pure sky when clouds are past,
And the moon's light is o'er it cast:
Ah, of its wisest lord bereft,
It shows to-day faint radiance left,
As when the moon has left the sky.
Or mighty Ocean's depths are dry.”
With choking sobs, with many a tear,
Pierced to the heart with grief sincere,
The best of conquerors poured his sighs,
And with his robe veiled face and eyes.
Kaikeyí saw him fallen there,
Godlike, afflicted, in despair,
Used every art to move him thence,
And tried him thus with eloquence:
“Arise, arise, my dearest; why
Wilt thou, famed Prince, so lowly lie?
Not by such grief as this are moved
Good men like thee, by all approved.
The earth thy father nobly swayed,
And rites to Heaven he duly paid.
At length his race of life was run:
Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son.”
Long on the ground he wept, and rolled
From side to side, still unconsoled,
And then, with bitter grief oppressed,
His mother with these words addressed:
[pg 181]
“This joyful hope my bosom fed
When from my grandsire's halls I sped—
“The king will throne his eldest son,
And sacrifice, as should be done.”
But all is changed, my hope was vain,
And this sad heart is rent in twain,
For my dear father's face I miss,
Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss.
But in my absence, mother, say,
What sickness took my sire away?
Ah, happy Ráma, happy they
Allowed his funeral rites to pay!
The glorious monarch has not learned
That I his darling have returned,
Or quickly had he hither sped,
And pressed his kisses on my head.
Where is that hand whose gentle touch,
Most soft and kind I loved so much,
The hand that loved to brush away
The dust that on his darling lay?
Quick, bear the news to Ráma's ear;
Tell the great chief that I am here:
Brother, and sire, and friend, and all
Is he, and I his trusty thrall.
For noble hearts, to virtue true,
Their sires in elder brothers view.
To clasp his feet I fain would bow:
He is my hope and refuge now.
What said my glorious sire, who knew
Virtue and vice, so brave and true?
Firm in his vows, dear lady, say,
What said he ere he passed away?
What was his rede to me? I crave
To hear the last advice he gave.”
Thus closely questioned by the youth,
Kaikeyí spoke the mournful truth:
“The high-souled monarch wept and sighed,
For Ráma, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ, cried,
Then, best of all who go to bliss,
Passed to the world which follows this.
“Ah, blessed are the people who
Shall Ráma and his Sítá view,
And Lakshmaṇ of the mighty arm,
Returning free from scathe and harm.”
Such were the words, the last of all,
Thy father, ere he died, let fall,
By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound,
As some great elephant is bound.”
He heard, yet deeper in despair,
Her lips this double woe declare,
And with sad brow that showed his pain
Questioned his mother thus again:
“But where is he, of virtue tried,
Who fills Kauśalyá's heart with pride,
Where is the noble Ráma? where
Is Lakshmaṇ brave, and Sítá fair?”
Thus pressed, the queen began to tell
The story as each thing befell,
And gave her son in words like these,
The mournful news she meant to please:
“The prince is gone in hermit dress
To Daṇḍak's mighty wilderness,
And Lakshmaṇ brave and Sítá share
The wanderings of the exile there.”
Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirred
Lest Ráma from the right had erred,
And jealous for ancestral fame,
He put this question to the dame:
“Has Ráma grasped with lawless hold
A Bráhman's house, or land, or gold?
Has Ráma harmed with ill intent
Some poor or wealthy innocent?
Was Ráma, faithless to his vows,
Enamoured of anothers spouse?
Why was he sent to Daṇḍak's wild,
Like one who kills an unborn child?”
He questioned thus: and she began
To tell her deeds and crafty plan.
Deceitful-hearted, fond, and blind
As is the way of womankind:
“No Bráhman's wealth has Ráma seized,
No dame his wandering fancy pleased;
His very eyes he ne'er allows
To gaze upon a neighbour's spouse.
But when I heard the monarch planned
To give the realm to Ráma's hand,
I prayed that Ráma hence might flee,
And claimed the throne, my son, for thee.
The king maintained the name he bare,
And did according to my prayer,
And Ráma, with his brother, sent,
And Sítá, forth to banishment.
When his dear son was seen no more,
The lord of earth was troubled sore:
Too feeble with his grief to strive,
He joined the elemental Five.
Up then, most dutiful! maintain
The royal state, arise, and reign.
For thee, my darling son, for thee
All this was planned and wrought by me.
Come, cast thy grief and pain aside,
With manly courage fortified.
This town and realm are all thine own,
And fear and grief are here unknown.
Come, with Vaśishṭha's guiding aid,
And priests in ritual skilled
Let the king's funeral dues be paid,
And every claim fulfilled.
Perform his obsequies with all
That suits his rank and worth,
Then give the mandate to install
Thyself as lord of earth.”
Canto LXXIII. Kaikeyí Reproached.

But when he heard the queen relate
His brothers' doom, his father's fate,
Thus Bharat to his mother said
With burning grief disquieted:
[pg 182]
“Alas, what boots it now to reign,
Struck down by grief and well-nigh slain?
Ah, both are gone, my sire, and he
Who was a second sire to me.
Grief upon grief thy hand has made,
And salt upon gashes laid:
For my dear sire has died through thee,
And Ráma roams a devotee.
Thou camest like the night of Fate
This royal house to devastate.
Unwitting ill, my hapless sire
Placed in his bosom coals of fire,
And through thy crimes his death he met,
O thou whose heart on sin is set.
Shame of thy house! thy senseless deed
Has reft all joy from Raghu's seed.
The truthful monarch, dear to fame,
Received thee as his wedded dame,
And by thy act to misery doomed
Has died by flames of grief consumed.
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá too
The coming of my mother rue,
And if they live oppressed by woe,
For their dear sons their sad tears flow.
Was he not ever good and kind,—
That hero of the duteous mind?
Skilled in all filial duties, he
As a dear mother treated thee.
Kauśalyá too, the eldest queen,
Who far foresees with insight keen,
Did she not ever show thee all
A sister's love at duty's call?
And hast thou from the kingdom chased
Her son, with bark around his waist,
To the wild wood, to dwell therein,
And dost not sorrow for thy sin?
The love I bare to Raghu's son
Thou knewest not, ambitious one,
If thou hast wrought this impious deed
For royal sway, in lawless greed.
With him and Lakshmaṇ far away,
What power have I the realm to sway?
What hope will fire my bosom when
I see no more these lords of men?
The holy king, who loved the right
Relied on Ráma's power and might,
His guardian and his glory, so
Joys Meru in his woods below.
How can I bear, a steer untrained,
The load his mightier strength sustained?
What power have I to brook alone
This weight on feeble shoulders thrown?
But if the needful power were bought
By strength of mind and brooding thought,
No triumph shall attend the dame
Who dooms her son to lasting shame.
Now should no doubt that son prevent
From quitting thee on evil bent.
But Ráma's love o'erpowers my will,
Who holds thee as his mother still.
Whence did the thought, O thou whose eyes
Are turned to sinful deeds, arise—
A plan our ancient sires would hate,
O fallen from thy virtuous state?
For in the line from which we spring
The eldest is anointed king:
No monarchs from the rule decline,
And, least of all, Ikshváku's line.
Our holy sires, to virtue true,
Upon our race a lustre threw,
But with subversive frenzy thou
Hast marred our lineal honour now,
Of lofty birth, a noble line
Of previous kings is also thine:
Then whence this hated folly? whence
This sudden change that steals thy sense?
Thou shalt not gain thine impious will,
O thou whose thoughts are bent on ill,
Thou from whose guilty hand descend
These sinful blows my life to end.
Now to the forest will I go,
Thy cherished plans to overthrow,
And bring my brother, free from stain,
His people's darling, home again.
And Ráma, when again he turns,
Whose glory like a beacon burns,
In me a faithful slave shall find
To serve him with contented mind.”
Canto LXXIV. Bharat's Lament.

When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongue
Reproaches on the queen had flung,
Again, with mighty rage possessed,
The guilty dame he thus addressed:
“Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee,
Let not this kingdom harbour thee.
Thou who hast thrown all right aside,
Weep thou for me when I have died.
Canst thou one charge against the king,
Or the most duteous Ráma bring?
The one thy sin to death has sent,
The other chased to banishment.
Our line's destroyer, sin defiled
Like one who kills an unborn child,
Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell,
Thy portion shall be down in hell
Because thy hand, that stayed for naught,
This awful wickedness has wrought,
And ruined him whom all held dear,
My bosom too is stirred with fear.
My father by thy sin is dead,
And Ráma to the wood is fled;
And of thy deed I bear the stain,
And fameless in the world remain.
Ambitious, evil-souled, in show
My mother, yet my direst foe.
My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless,
Thy husband's wicked murderess.
[pg 183]
Thou art not Aśvapati's child,
That righteous king most sage and mild,
But thou wast born a fiend, a foe
My father's house to overthrow.
Thou who hast made Kauśalyá, pure,
Gentle, affectionate, endure
The loss of him who was her bliss,—
What worlds await thee, Queen, for this?
Was it not patent to thy sense
That Ráma was his friends' defence,
Kauśalyá's own true child most dear,
The eldest and his father's peer?
Men in the son not only trace
The father's figure, form, and face,
But in his heart they also find
The offspring of the father's mind;
And hence, though dear their kinsmen are,
To mothers sons are dearer far.
There goes an ancient legend how
Good Surabhí, the God-loved cow,
Saw two of her dear children strain,
Drawing a plough and faint with pain.
She saw them on the earth outworn,
Toiling till noon from early morn,
And as she viewed her children's woe,
A flood of tears began to flow.
As through the air beneath her swept
The Lord of Gods, the drops she wept,
Fine, laden with delicious smell,
Upon his heavenly body fell.
And Indra lifted up his eyes
And saw her standing in the skies,
Afflicted with her sorrow's weight,
Sad, weeping, all disconsolate.
The Lord of Gods in anxious mood
Thus spoke in suppliant attitude:
“No fear disturbs our rest, and how
Come this great dread upon thee now?
Whence can this woe upon thee fall,
Say, gentle one who lovest all?”
Thus spake the God who rules the skies,
Indra, the Lord supremely wise;
And gentle Surabhí, well learned
In eloquence, this speech returned:
“Not thine the fault, great God, not thine
And guiltless are the Lords divine:
I mourn two children faint with toil,
Labouring hard in stubborn soil.
Wasted and sad I see them now,
While the sun beats on neck and brow,
Still goaded by the cruel hind,—
No pity in his savage mind.
O Indra, from this body sprang
These children, worn with many a pang.
For this sad sight I mourn, for none
Is to the mother like her son.”
He saw her weep whose offspring feed
In thousands over hill and mead,
And knew that in a mother's eye
Naught with a son, for love, can vie.
He deemed her, when the tears that came
From her sad eyes bedewed his frame,
Laden with their celestial scent,
Of living things most excellent.
If she these tears of sorrow shed
Who many a thousand children bred,
Think what a life of woe is left
Kauśalyá, of her Ráma reft.
An only son was hers and she
Is rendered childless now by thee.
Here and hereafter, for thy crime,
Woe is thy lot through endless time.
And now, O Queen, without delay,
With all due honour will I pay
Both to my brother and my sire
The rites their several fates require.
Back to Ayodhyá will I bring
The long-armed chief, her lord and king,
And to the wood myself betake
Where hermit saints their dwelling make.
For, sinner both in deed and thought!
This hideous crime which thou hast wrought
I cannot bear, or live to see
The people's sad eyes bent on me.
Begone, to Daṇḍak wood retire,
Or cast thy body to the fire,
Or bind around thy neck the rope:
No other refuge mayst thou hope.
When Ráma, lord of valour true,
Has gained the earth, his right and due,
Then, free from duty's binding debt,
My vanished sin shall I forget.”
Thus like an elephant forced to brook
The goading of the driver's hook,
Quick panting like a serpent maimed,
He fell to earth with rage inflamed.
Canto LXXV. The Abjuration.

A while he lay: he rose at length,
And slowly gathering sense and strength,
With angry eyes which tears bedewed,
The miserable queen he viewed,
And spake with keen reproach to her
Before each lord and minister:
“No lust have I for kingly sway,
My mother I no more obey:
Naught of this consecration knew
Which Daśaratha kept in view.
I with Śatrughna all the time
Was dwelling in a distant clime:
I knew of Ráma's exile naught,
That hero of the noble thought:
I knew not how fair Sítá went,
And Lakshmaṇ, forth to banishment.”
Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd,
Lifted his voice and cried aloud.
[pg 184]
Kauśalyá heard, she raised her head,
And quickly to Sumitrá said:
“Bharat, Kaikeyí's son is here,—
Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear:
That youth of foresight keen I fain
Would meet and see his face again.”
Thus to Sumitrá spake the dame,
And straight to Bharat's presence came
With altered mien, neglected dress,
Trembling and faint with sore distress.
Bharat, Śatrughna by his side,
To meet her, toward her palace hied.
And when the royal dame they viewed
Distressed with dire solicitude,
Sad, fallen senseless on the ground,
About her neck their arms they wound.
The noble matron prostrate there,
Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair,
And with her load of grief oppressed,
To Bharat then these words addressed:
“Now all is thine, without a foe,
This realm for which thou longest so.
Ah, soon Kaikeyí's ruthless hand
Has won the empire of the land,
And made my guiltless Ráma flee
Dressed like some lonely devotee.
Herein what profit has the queen,
Whose eye delights in havoc, seen?
Me also, me 'twere surely good
To banish to the distant wood,
To dwell amid the shades that hold
My famous son with limbs like gold.
Nay, with the sacred fire to guide,
Will I, Sumitrá by my side,
Myself to the drear wood repair
And seek the son of Raghu there.
This land which rice and golden corn
And wealth of every kind adorn,
Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,—
She makes thee lord of it and them.”
With taunts like these her bitter tongue
The heart of blameless Bharat wrung
And direr pangs his bosom tore
Than when the lancet probes a sore.
With troubled senses all astray
Prone at her feet he fell and lay.
With loud lament a while he plained,
And slowly strength and sense regained.
With suppliant hand to hand applied
He turned to her who wept and sighed,
And thus bespake the queen, whose breast
With sundry woes was sore distressed:
“Why these reproaches, noble dame?
I, knowing naught, am free from blame.
Thou knowest well what love was mine
For Ráma, chief of Raghu's line.
O, never be his darkened mind
To Scripture's guiding lore inclined,
By whose consent the prince who led
The good, the truthful hero, fled.
May he obey the vilest lord,
Offend the sun with act abhorred,350
And strike a sleeping cow, who lent
His voice to Ráma's banishment.
May the good king who all befriends,
And, like his sons, the people tends,
Be wronged by him who gave consent
To noble Ráma's banishment.
On him that king's injustice fall,
Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all,
Nor guards, neglectful of his trust,
His people, as a ruler must.
The crime of those who swear to fee,
At holy rites, some devotee,
And then the promised gift deny,
Be his who willed the prince should fly.
When weapons clash and heroes bleed,
With elephant and harnessed steed,
Ne'er, like the good, be his to fight
Whose heart allowed the prince's flight.
Though taught with care by one expert
May he the Veda's text pervert,
With impious mind on evil bent,
Whose voice approved the banishment.
May he with traitor lips reveal
Whate'er he promised to conceal,
And bruit abroad his friend's offence,
Betrayed by generous confidence.
No wife of equal lineage born
The wretch's joyless home adorn:
Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed,
And dying see no child succeed.
When in the battle's awful day
Fierce warriors stand in dread array,
Let the base coward turn and fly,
And smitten by the foeman, die.
Long may he wander, rags his wear,
Doomed in his hand a skull to bear,
And like an idiot beg his bread,
Who gave consent when Ráma fled.
His sin who holy rites forgets,
Asleep when shows the sun and sets,
A load upon his soul shall lie
Whose will allowed the prince to fly.
His sin who loves his Master's dame,
His, kindler of destructive flame,
His who betrays his trusting friend
Shall, mingled all, on him descend.
By him no reverence due be paid
To blessed God or parted shade:
May sire and mother's sacred name
In vain from him obedience claim.
Ne'er may he go where dwell the good,
Nor win their fame and neighbourhood,
But lose all hopes of bliss to-day,
Who willed the prince should flee away.
May he deceive the poor and weak
Who look to him and comfort seek,
[pg 185]
Betray the suppliants who complain,
And make the hopeful hope in vain.
Long may his wife his kiss expect,
And pine away in cold neglect.
May he his lawful love despise,
And turn on other dames his eyes,
Fool, on forbidden joys intent,
Whose will allowed the banishment.
His sin who deadly poison throws
To spoil the water as it flows,
Lay on the wretch its burden dread
Who gave consent when Ráma fled.”351
Thus with his words he undeceived
Kauśalyá's troubled heart, who grieved
For son and husband reft away;
Then prostrate on the ground he lay.
Him as he lay half-senseless there,
Freed by the mighty oaths he sware,
Kauśalyá, by her woe distressed,
With melancholy words addressed:
“Anew, my son, this sorrow springs
To rend my heart with keener stings:
These awful oaths which thou hast sworn
My breast with double grief have torn.
Thy soul, and faithful Lakshmaṇ's too,
Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true.
True to thy promise, thou shalt gain
The mansions which the good obtain.”
Then to her breast that youth she drew,
Whose sweet fraternal love she knew,
And there in strict embraces held
The hero, as her tears outwelled.
And Bharat's heart grew sick and faint
With grief and oft-renewed complaint,
And all his senses were distraught
By the great woe that in him wrought.
Thus he lay and still bewailed
With sighs and loud lament
Till all his strength and reason failed,
The hours of night were spent.
Canto LXXVI. The Funeral.

The saint Vaśishṭha, best of all
Whose words with moving wisdom fall,
Bharat, Kaikeyí's son, addressed,
Whom burning fires of grief distressed:
“O Prince, whose fame is widely spread,
Enough of grief: be comforted.
The time is come: arise, and lay
Upon the pyre the monarch's clay.”
He heard the words Vaśishṭha spoke,
And slumbering resolution woke.
Then skilled in all the laws declare,
He bade his friends the rites prepare.
They raised the body from the oil,
And placed it, dripping, on the soil;
Then laid it on a bed, whereon
Wrought gold and precious jewels shone.
There, pallor o'er his features spread,
The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead.
Then Bharat sought his father's side,
And lifted up his voice and cried:
“O King, and has thy heart designed
To part and leave thy son behind?
Make Ráma flee, who loves the right,
And Lakshmaṇ of the arm of might?
Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou go
And leave this people in their woe,
Mourning their hero, wild with grief,
Of Ráma reft, their lion chief?
Ah, who will guard the people well
Who in Ayodhyá's city dwell,
When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky,
And Ráma has been forced to fly?
In widowed woe, bereft of thee,
The land no more is fair to see:
The city, to my aching sight,
Is gloomy as a moonless night.”
Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained,
Sad Bharat by the bed complained:
And thus Vaśishṭha, holy sage,
Spoke his deep anguish to assuage:
“O Lord of men, no longer stay;
The last remaining duties pay:
Haste, mighty-armed, as I advise,
The funeral rites to solemnize.”
And Bharat heard Vaśishṭha's rede
With due attention and agreed.
He summoned straight from every side
Chaplain, and priest, and holy guide.
The sacred fires he bade them bring
Forth from the chapel of the king,
Wherein the priests in order due,
And ministers, the offerings threw.
Distraught in mind, with sob and tear,
They laid the body on a bier,
And servants, while their eyes brimmed o'er
The monarch from the palace bore.
Another band of mourners led
The long procession of the dead:
Rich garments in the way they cast,
And gold and silver, as they passed.
Then other hands the corse bedewed
With fragrant juices that exude
From sandal, cedar, aloe, pine,
And every perfume rare and fine.
Then priestly hands the mighty dead
Upon the pyre deposited.
The sacred fires they tended next,
And muttered low each funeral text;
And priestly singers who rehearse
[pg 186]
The Śaman352 sang their holy verse.
Forth from the town in litters came,
Or chariots, many a royal dame,
And honoured so the funeral ground,
With aged followers ringed around.
With steps in inverse order bent,353
The priests in sad procession went
Around the monarch's burning pyre
Who well had nursed each sacred fire:
With Queen Kauśalyá and the rest,
Their tender hearts with woe distressed.
The voice of women, shrill and clear
As screaming curlews, smote the ear,
As from a thousand voices rose
The shriek that tells of woman's woes.
Then weeping, faint, with loud lament,
Down Sarjú's shelving bank they went.
There standing on the river side
With Bharat, priest, and peer,
Their lips the women purified
With water fresh and clear.
Returning to the royal town,
Their eyes with tear-drops filled,
Ten days on earth they laid them down,
And wept till grief was stilled.
Canto LXXVII. The Gathering Of The Ashes.

The tenth day passed: the prince again
Was free from every legal stain.
He bade them on the twelfth the great
Remaining honour celebrate.
Much gold he gave, and gems, and food,
To all the Bráhman multitude,
And goats whose hair was white and fine,
And many a thousand head of kine:
Slaves, men and damsels, he bestowed,
And many a car and fair abode:
Such gifts he gave the Bráhman race
His father's obsequies to grace.
Then when the morning's earliest ray
Appeared upon the thirteenth day,
Again the hero wept and sighed
Distraught and sorrow-stupefied;
Drew, sobbing in his anguish, near,
The last remaining debt to clear,
And at the bottom of the pyre,
He thus bespake his royal sire:
“O father, hast thou left me so,
Deserted in my friendless woe,
When he to whom the charge was given
To keep me, to the wood is driven?
Her only son is forced away
Who was his helpless mother's stay:
Ah, whither, father, art thou fled;
Leaving the queen uncomforted?”
He looked upon the pile where lay
The bones half-burnt and ashes grey,
And uttering a piteous moan,
Gave way, by anguish overthrown.
Then as his tears began to well,
Prostrate to earth the hero fell;
So from its seat the staff they drag,
And cast to earth some glorious flag.
The ministers approached again
The prince whom rites had freed from stain;
So when Yayáti fell, each seer,
In pity for his fate, drew near.
Śatrughna saw him lying low
O'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe,
And as upon the king he thought,
He fell upon the earth distraught.
When to his loving memory came
Those noble gifts, that kingly frame,
He sorrowed, by his woe distressed,
As one by frenzied rage possessed:
“Ah me, this surging sea of woe
Has drowned us with its overflow:
The source is Manthará, dire and dark,
Kaikeyí is the ravening shark:
And the great boons the monarch gave
Lend conquering might to every wave.
Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leave
Thy Bharat in his woe to grieve,
Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joy
To fondle as a tender boy?
Didst thou not give with thoughtful care
Our food, our drink, our robes to wear?
Whose love will now for us provide,
When thou, our king and sire, hast died?
At such a time bereft, forlorn,
Why is not earth in sunder torn,
Missing her monarch's firm control,
His love of right, his lofty soul?
Ah me, for Ráma roams afar,
My sire is where the Blessed are;
How can I live deserted? I
Will pass into the fire and die.
Abandoned thus, I will not brook
Upon Ayodhyá's town to look,
Once guarded by Ikshváku's race:
The wood shall be my dwelling place.”
Then when the princes' mournful train
Heard the sad brothers thus complain,
And saw their misery, at the view
Their grief burst wilder out anew.
Faint with lamenting, sad and worn,
Each like a bull with broken horn,
The brothers in their wild despair
Lay rolling, mad with misery, there.
Then old Vaśishṭha good and true,
Their father's priest, all lore who knew,
Raised weeping Bharat on his feet,
And thus bespake with counsel meet:
“Twelve days, my lord, have past away
[pg 187]
Since flames consumed thy father's clay:
Delay no more: as rules ordain,
Gather what bones may yet remain.
Three constant pairs are ever found
To hem all mortal creatures round:354
Then mourn not thus, O Prince, for none
Their close companionship may shun.”
Sumantra bade Śatrughna rise,
And soothed his soul with counsel wise,
And skilled in truth, his hearer taught
How all things are and come to naught.
When rose each hero from the ground,
A lion lord of men, renowned,
He showed like Indra's flag,355 whereon
Fierce rains have dashed and suns have shone.
They wiped their red and weeping eyes,
And gently made their sad replies:
Then, urged to haste, the royal pair
Performed the rites that claimed their care.
Canto LXXVIII. Manthará Punished.

Śatrughna thus to Bharat spake
Who longed the forest road to take:
“He who in woe was wont to give
Strength to himself and all that live—
Dear Ráma, true and pure in heart,
Is banished by a woman's art.
Yet here was Lakshmaṇ, brave and strong,
Could not his might prevent the wrong?
Could not his arm the king restrain,
Or make the banished free again?
One loving right and fearing crime
Had checked the monarch's sin in time,
When, vassal of a woman's will,
His feet approached the path of ill.”
While Lakshmaṇ's younger brother, dread
Śatrughna, thus to Bharat said,
Came to the fronting door, arrayed
In glittering robes, the hump-back maid.
There she, with sandal-oil besmeared,
In garments meet for queens appeared:
And lustre to her form was lent
By many a gem and ornament.
She girdled with her broidered zone,
And many a chain about her thrown,
Showed like a female monkey round
Whose body many a string is bound.
When on that cause of evil fell
The quick eye of the sentinel,
He grasped her in his ruthless hold,
And hastening in, Śatrughna told:
“Here is the wicked pest,” he cried,
“Through whom the king thy father died,
And Ráma wanders in the wood:
Do with her as thou deemest good.”
The warder spoke: and every word
Śatrughna's breast to fury stirred:
He called the servants, all and each.
And spake in wrath his hasty speech:
“This is the wretch my sire who slew,
And misery on my brothers drew:
Let her this day obtain the meed,
Vile sinner, of her cruel deed.”
He spake; and moved by fury laid
His mighty hand upon the maid,
Who as her fellows ringed her round,
Made with her cries the hall resound.
Soon as the gathered women viewed
Śatrughna in his angry mood,
Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread,
They turned and from his presence fled.
“His rage,” they cried, “on us will fall,
And ruthless, he will slay us all.
Come, to Kauśalyá let us flee:
Our hope, our sure defence is she,
Approved by all, of virtuous mind,
Compassionate, and good, and kind.”
His eyes with burning wrath aglow,
Śatrughna, shatterer of the foe,
Dragged on the ground the hump-back maid
Who shrieked aloud and screamed for aid.
This way and that with no remorse
He dragged her with resistless force,
And chains and glittering trinkets burst
Lay here and there with gems dispersed,
Till like the sky of Autumn shone
The palace floor they sparkled on.
The lord of men, supremely strong,
Haled in his rage the wretch along:
Where Queen Kaikeyí dwelt he came,
And sternly then addressed the dame.
Deep in her heart Kaikeyí felt
The stabs his keen reproaches dealt,
And of Śatrughna's ire afraid,
To Bharat flew and cried for aid.
He looked and saw the prince inflamed
With burning rage, and thus exclaimed:
“Forgive! thine angry arm restrain:
A woman never may be slain.
My hand Kaikeyí's blood would spill,
The sinner ever bent on ill,
But Ráma, long in duty tried,
Would hate the impious matricide:
And if he knew thy vengeful blade
Had slaughtered e'en this hump-back maid,
Never again, be sure, would he
Speak friendly word to thee or me.”
When Bharat's speech Śatrughna heard
He calmed the rage his breast that stirred,
[pg 188]
Releasing from her dire constraint
The trembling wretch with terror faint.
Then to Kaikeyí's feet she crept,
And prostrate in her misery wept.
Kaikeyí on the hump-back gazed,
And saw her weep and gasp.
Still quivering, with her senses dazed,
From fierce Śatrughna's grasp.
With gentle words of pity she
Assuaged her wild despair,
E'en as a tender hand might free
A curlew from the snare.
Canto LXXIX. Bharat's Commands.

Now when the sun's returning ray
Had ushered in the fourteenth day,
The gathered peers of state addressed
To Bharat's ear their new request:
“Our lord to heaven has parted hence,
Long served with deepest reverence;
Ráma, the eldest, far from home,
And Lakshmaṇ, in the forest roam.
O Prince, of mighty fame, be thou
Our guardian and our monarch now,
Lest secret plot or foeman's hate
Assail our unprotected state.
With longing eyes, O Lord of men,
To thee look friend and citizen,
And ready is each sacred thing
To consecrate our chosen king.
Come, Bharat, and accept thine own
Ancient hereditary throne.
Thee let the priests this day install
As monarch to preserve us all.”
Around the sacred gear he bent
His circling footsteps reverent,
And, firm to vows he would not break,
Thus to the gathered people spake:
“The eldest son is ever king:
So rules the house from which we spring:
Nor should ye, Lords, like men unwise,
With words like these to wrong advise.
Ráma is eldest born, and he
The ruler of the land shall be.
Now to the woods will I repair,
Five years and nine to lodge me there.
Assemble straight a mighty force,
Cars, elephants, and foot and horse,
For I will follow on his track
And bring my eldest brother back.
Whate'er the rites of throning need
Placed on a car the way shall lead:
The sacred vessels I will take
To the wild wood for Ráma's sake.
I o'er the lion prince's head
The sanctifying balm will shed,
And bring him, as the fire they bring
Forth from the shrine, with triumphing.
Nor will I let my mother's greed
In this her cherished aim succeed:
In pathless wilds will I remain,
And Ráma here as king shall reign.
To make the rough ways smooth and clear
Send workman out and pioneer:
Let skilful men attend beside
Our way through pathless spots to guide.”
As thus the royal Bharat spake,
Ordaining all for Ráma's sake,
The audience gave with one accord
Auspicious answer to their lord:
“Be royal Fortune aye benign
To thee for this good speech of thine,
Who wishest still thine elder's hand
To rule with kingly sway the land.”
Their glorious speech, their favouring cries
Made his proud bosom swell:
And from the prince's noble eyes
The tears of rapture fell.356
Canto LXXX. The Way Prepared.

All they who knew the joiner's art,
Or distant ground in every part;
Each busied in his several trade,
To work machines or ply the spade;
Deft workmen skilled to frame the wheel,
Or with the ponderous engine deal;
Guides of the way, and craftsmen skilled,
To sink the well, make bricks, and build;
And those whose hands the tree could hew,
And work with slips of cut bamboo,
Went forward, and to guide them, they
Whose eyes before had seen the way.
Then onward in triumphant mood
Went all the mighty multitude.
Like the great sea whose waves leap high
When the full moon is in the sky.
Then, in his proper duty skilled,
Each joined him to his several guild,
And onward in advance they went
With every tool and implement.
Where bush and tangled creeper lay
With trenchant steel they made the way;
They felled each stump, removed each stone,
And many a tree was overthrown.
In other spots, on desert lands,
Tall trees were reared by busy hands.
Where'er the line of road they took,
They plied the hatchet, axe, and hook.
[pg 189]
Others, with all their strength applied,
Cast vigorous plants and shrubs aside,
In shelving valleys rooted deep,
And levelled every dale and steep.
Each pit and hole that stopped the way
They filled with stones, and mud, and clay,
And all the ground that rose and fell
With busy care was levelled well.
They bridged ravines with ceaseless toil,
And pounded fine the flinty soil.
Now here, now there, to right and left,
A passage through the ground they cleft,
And soon the rushing flood was led
Abundant through the new-cut bed,
Which by the running stream supplied
With ocean's boundless waters vied.
In dry and thirsty spots they sank
Full many a well and ample tank,
And altars round about them placed
To deck the station in the waste.
With well-wrought plaster smoothly spread,
With bloomy trees that rose o'erhead,
With banners waving in the air,
And wild birds singing here and there,
With fragrant sandal-water wet,
With many a flower beside it set,
Like the Gods' heavenly pathway showed
That mighty host's imperial road.
Deft workmen, chosen for their skill
To do the high-souled Bharat's will,
In every pleasant spot where grew
Trees of sweet fruit and fair to view,
As he commanded, toiled to grace
With all delights his camping-place.
And they who read the stars, and well
Each lucky sign and hour could tell,
Raised carefully the tented shade
Wherein high-minded Bharat stayed.
With ample space of level ground,
With broad deep moat encompassed round;
Like Mandar in his towering pride,
With streets that ran from side to side;
Enwreathed with many a palace tall
Surrounded by its noble wall;
With roads by skilful workmen made,
Where many a glorious banner played;
With stately mansions, where the dove
Sat nestling in her cote above.
Rising aloft supremely fair
Like heavenly cars that float in air,
Each camp in beauty and in bliss
Matched Indra's own metropolis.
As shines the heaven on some fair night,
With moon and constellations filled,
The prince's royal road was bright,
Adorned by art of workmen skilled.
Canto LXXXI. The Assembly.

Ere yet the dawn had ushered in
The day should see the march begin,
Herald and bard who rightly knew
Each nice degree of honour due,
Their loud auspicious voices raised,
And royal Bharat blessed and praised.
With sticks of gold the drum they smote,
Which thundered out its deafening note,
Blew loud the sounding shell, and blent
Each high and low-toned instrument.
The mingled sound of drum and horn
Through all the air was quickly borne,
And as in Bharat's ear it rang,
Gave the sad prince another pang.
Then Bharat, starting from repose,
Stilled the glad sounds that round him rose,
“I am not king; no more mistake:”
Then to Śatrughna thus he spake:
“O see what general wrongs succeed
Sprung from Kaikeyí's evil deed!
The king my sire has died and thrown
Fresh miseries on me alone.
The royal bliss, on duty based,
Which our just high-souled father graced,
Wanders in doubt and sore distress
Like a tossed vessel rudderless.
And he who was our lordly stay
Roams in the forest far away,
Expelled by this my mother, who
To duty's law is most untrue.”
As royal Bharat thus gave vent
To bitter grief in wild lament,
Gazing upon his face the crowd
Of pitying women wept aloud.
His lamentation scarce was o'er,
When Saint Vaśishṭha, skilled in lore
Of royal duty, dear to fame,
To join the great assembly came.
Girt by disciples ever true
Still nearer to that hall he drew,
Resplendent, heavenly to behold,
Adorned with wealth of gems and gold:
E'en so a man in duty tried
Draws near to meet his virtuous bride.
He reached his golden seat o'erlaid
With coverlet of rich brocade,
There sat, in all the Vedas read,
And called the messengers, and said:
“Go forth, let Bráhman, Warrior, peer,
And every captain gather here:
Let all attentive hither throng:
Go, hasten: we delay too long.
Śatrughna, glorious Bharat bring,
The noble children of the king,357
[pg 190]
Yudhájit358 and Sumantra, all
The truthful and the virtuous call.”
He ended: soon a mighty sound
Of thickening tumult rose around,
As to the hall they bent their course
With car, and elephant, and horse,
The people all with glad acclaim
Welcomed Prince Bharat as he came:
E'en as they loved their king to greet,
Or as the Gods Lord Indra359 meet.
The vast assembly shone as fair
With Bharat's kingly face
As Daśaratha's self were there
To glorify the place.
It gleamed like some unruffled lake
Where monsters huge of mould
With many a snake their pastime take
O'er shells, sand, gems, and gold.
Canto LXXXII. The Departure.

The prudent prince the assembly viewed
Thronged with its noble multitude,
Resplendent as a cloudless night
When the full moon is in his height;
While robes of every varied hue
A glory o'er the synod threw.
The priest in lore of duty skilled
Looked on the crowd the hall that filled,
And then in accents soft and grave
To Bharat thus his counsel gave:
“The king, dear son, so good and wise,
Has gone from earth and gained the skies,
Leaving to thee, her rightful lord,
This rich wide land with foison stored.
And still has faithful Ráma stood
Firm to the duty of the good,
And kept his father's hest aright,
As the moon keeps its own dear light.
Thus sire and brother yield to thee
This realm from all annoyance free:
Rejoice thy lords: enjoy thine own:
Anointed king, ascend the throne.
Let vassal Princes hasten forth
From distant lands, west, south, and north,
From Kerala,360 from every sea,
And bring ten million gems to thee.”
As thus the sage Vaśishṭha spoke,
A storm of grief o'er Bharat broke.
And longing to be just and true,
His thoughts to duteous Ráma flew.
With sobs and sighs and broken tones,
E'en as a wounded mallard moans,
He mourned with deepest sorrow moved,
And thus the holy priest reproved:
“O, how can such as Bharat dare
The power and sway from him to tear,
Wise, and devout, and true, and chaste,
With Scripture lore and virtue graced?
Can one of Daśaratha's seed
Be guilty of so vile a deed?
The realm and I are Ráma's: thou,
Shouldst speak the words of justice now.
For he, to claims of virtue true,
Is eldest born and noblest too:
Nahush, Dilípa could not be
More famous in their lives than he.
As Daśaratha ruled of right,
So Ráma's is the power and right.
If I should do this sinful deed
And forfeit hope of heavenly meed,
My guilty act would dim the shine
Of old Ikshváku's glorious line.
Nay, as the sin my mother wrought
Is grievous to my inmost thought,
I here, my hands together laid,
Will greet him in the pathless shade.
To Ráma shall my steps be bent,
My King, of men most excellent,
Raghu's illustrious son, whose sway
Might hell, and earth, and heaven obey.”
That righteous speech, whose every word
Bore virtue's stamp, the audience heard;
On Ráma every thought was set,
And with glad tears each eye was wet.
“Then, if the power I still should lack
To bring my noble brother back,
I in the wood will dwell, and share
His banishment with Lakshmaṇ there.
By every art persuasive I
To bring him from the wood will try,
And show him to your loving eyes,
O Bráhmans noble, good, and wise.
E'en now, the road to make and clear,
Each labourer pressed, and pioneer
Have I sent forward to precede
The army I resolve to lead.”
Thus, by fraternal love possessed,
His firm resolve the prince expressed,
Then to Sumantra, deeply read
In holy texts, he turned and said:
“Sumantra, rise without delay,
And as I bid my words obey.
Give orders for the march with speed,
And all the army hither lead.”
The wise Sumantra, thus addressed,
Obeyed the high-souled chief's behest.
He hurried forth with joy inspired
And gave the orders he desired.
Delight each soldier's bosom filled,
And through each chief and captain thrilled,
[pg 191]
To hear that march proclaimed, to bring
Dear Ráma back from wandering.
From house to house the tidings flew:
Each soldier's wife the order knew,
And as she listened blithe and gay
Her husband urged to speed away.
Captain and soldier soon declared
The host equipped and all prepared
With chariots matching thought for speed,
And wagons drawn by ox and steed.
When Bharat by Vaśishṭha's side,
His ready host of warriors eyed,
Thus in Sumantra's ear he spoke:
“My car and horses quickly yoke.”
Sumantra hastened to fulfil
With ready joy his master's will,
And quickly with the chariot sped
Drawn by fleet horses nobly bred.
Then glorious Bharat, true, devout,
Whose genuine valour none could doubt,
Gave in fit words his order out;
For he would seek the shade
Of the great distant wood, and there
Win his dear brother with his prayer:
“Sumantra, haste! my will declare
The host be all arrayed.
I to the wood my way will take,
To Ráma supplication make,
And for the world's advantage sake,
Will lead him home again.”
Then, ordered thus, the charioteer
Who listened with delighted ear,
Went forth and gave his orders clear
To captains of the train.
He gave the popular chiefs the word,
And with the news his friends he stirred,
And not a single man deferred
Preparing for the road.
Then Bráhman, Warrior, Merchant, thrall,
Obedient to Sumantra's call,
Each in his house arose, and all
Yoked elephant or camel tall,
Or ass or noble steed in stall,
And full appointed showed.
Canto LXXXIII. The Journey Begun.

Then Bharat rose at early morn,
And in his noble chariot borne
Drove forward at a rapid pace
Eager to look on Ráma's face.
The priests and lords, a fair array,
In sun-bright chariots led the way.
Behind, a well appointed throng,
Nine thousand elephants streamed along.
Then sixty thousand cars, and then,
With various arms, came fighting men.
A hundred thousand archers showed
In lengthened line the steeds they rode—
A mighty host, the march to grace
Of Bharat, pride of Raghu's race.
Kaikeyí and Sumitrá came,
And good Kauśalyá, dear to fame:
By hopes of Ráma's coming cheered
They in a radiant car appeared.
On fared the noble host to see
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, wild with glee,
And still each other's ear to please,
Of Ráma spoke in words like these:
“When shall our happy eyes behold
Our hero true, and pure, and bold,
So lustrous dark, so strong of arm,
Who keeps the world from woe and harm?
The tears that now our eyeballs dim
Will vanish at the sight of him,
As the whole world's black shadows fly
When the bright sun ascends the sky.”
Conversing thus their way pursued
The city's joyous multitude,
And each in mutual rapture pressed
A friend or neighbour to his breast.
Thus every man of high renown,
And every merchant of the town,
And leading subjects, joyous went
Toward Ráma in his banishment.
And those who worked the potter's wheel,
And artists skilled in gems to deal;
And masters of the weaver's art,
And those who shaped the sword and dart;
And they who golden trinkets made,
And those who plied the fuller's trade;
And servants trained the bath to heat,
And they who dealt in incense sweet;
Physicians in their business skilled,
And those who wine and mead distilled;
And workmen deft in glass who wrought,
And those whose snares the peacock caught;
With them who bored the ear for rings,
Or sawed, or fashioned ivory things;
And those who knew to mix cement,
Or lived by sale of precious scent;
And men who washed, and men who sewed,
And thralls who mid the herds abode;
And fishers of the flood, and they
Who played and sang, and women gay;
And virtuous Bráhmans, Scripture-wise,
Of life approved in all men's eyes;
These swelled the prince's lengthened train,
Borne each in car or bullock wain.
Fair were the robes they wore upon
Their limbs where red-hued unguents shone.
These all in various modes conveyed
Their journey after Bharat made;
The soldiers' hearts with rapture glowed,
Following Bharat on his road,
Their chief whose tender love would fain
Bring his dear brother home again.
With elephant, and horse, and car,
The vast procession travelled far,
[pg 192]
And came where Gangá's waves below
The town of Śringavera361 flow.
There, with his friends and kinsmen nigh,
Dwelt Guha, Ráma's dear ally,
Heroic guardian of the land
With dauntless heart and ready hand.
There for a while the mighty force
That followed Bharat stayed its course,
Gazing on Gangá's bosom stirred
By many a graceful water-bird.
When Bharat viewed his followers there,
And Gangá's water, blest and fair,
The prince, who lore of words possessed,
His councillors and lords addressed:
“The captains of the army call:
Proclaim this day a halt for all,
That so to-morrow, rested, we
May cross this flood that seeks the sea.
Meanwhile, descending to the shore,
The funeral stream I fain would pour
From Gangá's fair auspicious tide
To him, my father glorified.”
Thus Bharat spoke: each peer and lord
Approved his words with one accord,
And bade the weary troops repose
In separate spots where'er they chose.
There by the mighty stream that day,
Most glorious in its vast array
The prince's wearied army lay
In various groups reclined.
There Bharat's hours of night were spent,
While every eager thought he bent
On bringing home from banishment
His brother, great of mind.
Canto LXXXIV. Guha's Anger.

King Guha saw the host spread o'er
The wide expanse of Gangá's shore,
With waving flag and pennon graced,
And to his followers spoke in haste:
“A mighty army meets my eyes,
That rivals Ocean's self in size:
Where'er I look my very mind
No limit to the host can find.
Sure Bharat with some evil thought
His army to our land has brought.
See, huge of form, his flag he rears,
That like an Ebony-tree appears.
He comes with bonds to take and chain,
Or triumph o'er our people slain:
And after, Ráma will he slay,—
Him whom his father drove away:
The power complete he longs to gain,
And—task too hard—usurp the reign.
So Bharat comes with wicked will
His brother Ráma's blood to spill.
But Ráma's slave and friend am I;
He is my lord and dear ally.
Keep here your watch in arms arrayed
Near Gangá's flood to lend him aid,
And let my gathered servants stand
And line with troops the river strand.
Here let the river keepers meet,
Who flesh and roots and berries eat;
A hundred fishers man each boat
Of the five hundred here afloat,
And let the youthful and the strong
Assemble in defensive throng.
But yet, if, free from guilty thought
'Gainst Ráma, he this land have sought,
The prince's happy host to-day
Across the flood shall make its way.”
He spoke: then bearing in a dish
A gift of honey, meat, and fish,
The king of the Nishádas drew
Toward Bharat for an interview.
When Bharat's noble charioteer
Observed the monarch hastening near,
He duly, skilled in courteous lore,
The tidings to his master bore:
“This aged prince who hither bends
His footsteps with a thousand friends,
Knows, firm ally of Ráma, all
That may in Daṇḍak wood befall:
Therefore, Kakutstha's son, admit
The monarch, as is right and fit:
For doubtless he can clearly tell
Where Ráma now and Lakshmaṇ dwell.”
When Bharat heard Sumantra's rede,
To his fair words the prince agreed:
“Go quickly forth,” he cried, “and bring
Before my face the aged king.”
King Guha, with his kinsmen near,
Rejoiced the summoning to hear:
He nearer drew, bowed low his head,
And thus to royal Bharat said:
“No mansions can our country boast,
And unexpected comes thy host:
But what we have I give thee all:
Rest in the lodging of thy thrall.
See, the Nishádas here have brought
The fruit and roots their hands have sought:
And we have woodland fare beside,
And store of meat both fresh and dried.
To rest their weary limbs, I pray
This night at least thy host may stay:
Then cheered with all we can bestow
To-morrow thou with it mayst go.”
Canto LXXXV. Guha And Bharat.

Thus the Nishádas' king besought:
The prince with spirit wisdom-fraught
[pg 193]
Replied in seemly words that blent
Deep matter with the argument:
“Thou, friend of him whom I revere,
With honours high hast met me here,
For thou alone wouldst entertain
And feed to-day so vast a train.”
In such fair words the prince replied,
Then, pointing to the path he cried:
“Which way aright will lead my feet
To Bharadvája's calm retreat;
For all this land near Gangá's streams
Pathless and hard to traverse seems?”
Thus spoke the prince: King Guha heard
Delighted every prudent word,
And gazing on that forest wide,
Raised suppliant hands, and thus replied:
“My servants, all the ground who know,
O glorious Prince, with thee shall go
With constant care thy way to guide,
And I will journey by thy side.
But this thy host so wide dispread
Wakes in my heart one doubt and dread,
Lest, threatening Ráma good and great,
Ill thoughts thy journey stimulate.”
But when King Guha, ill at ease,
Declared his fear in words like these,
As pure as is the cloudless sky
With soft voice Bharat made reply:
“Suspect me not: ne'er come the time
For me to plot so foul a crime!
He is my eldest brother, he
Is like a father dear to me.
I go to lead my brother thence
Who makes the wood his residence.
No thought but this thy heart should frame:
This simple truth my lips proclaim.”
Then with glad cheer King Guha cried,
With Bharat's answer gratified:
“Blessed art thou: on earth I see
None who may vie, O Prince, with thee,
Who canst of thy free will resign
The kingdom which unsought is thine.
For this, a name that ne'er shall die,
Thy glory through the worlds shall fly,
Who fain wouldst balm thy brother's pain
And lead the exile home again.”
As Guha thus, and Bharat, each
To other spoke in friendly speech,
The Day-God sank with glory dead,
And night o'er all the sky was spread.
Soon as King Guha's thoughtful care
Had quartered all the army there,
Well honoured, Bharat laid his head
Beside Śatrughna on a bed.
But grief for Ráma yet oppressed
High-minded Bharat's faithful breast—
Such torment little was deserved
By him who ne'er from duty swerved.
The fever raged through every vein
And burnt him with its inward pain:
So when in woods the flames leap free
The fire within consumes the tree.
From heat of burning anguish sprung
The sweat upon his body hung,
As when the sun with fervid glow
On high Himálaya melts the snow.
As, banished from the herd, a bull
Wanders alone and sorrowful.
Thus sighing and distressed,
In misery and bitter grief,
With fevered heart that mocked relief,
Distracted in his mind, the chief
Still mourned and found no rest.
Canto LXXXVI. Guha's Speech.

Guha the king, acquainted well
With all that in the wood befell,
To Bharat the unequalled told
The tale of Lakshmaṇ mighty-souled:
“With many an earnest word I spake
To Lakshmaṇ as he stayed awake,
And with his bow and shaft in hand
To guard his brother kept his stand:
“Now sleep a little, Lakshmaṇ, see
This pleasant bed is strewn for thee:
Hereon thy weary body lay,
And strengthen thee with rest, I pray,
Inured to toil are men like these,
But thou hast aye been nursed in ease.
Rest, duteous-minded! I will keep
My watch while Ráma lies asleep:
For in the whole wide world is none
Dearer to me than Raghu's son.
Harbour no doubt or jealous fear:
I speak the truth with heart sincere:
For from the grace which he has shown
Will glory on my name be thrown:
Great store of merit shall I gain,
And duteous, form no wish in vain.
Let me enforced by many a row
Of followers, armed with shaft and bow
For well-loved Ráma's weal provide
Who lies asleep by Sítá's side.
For through this wood I often go,
And all its shades conceal I know:
And we with conquering arms can meet
A four-fold host arrayed complete.”
“With words like these I spoke, designed
To move the high-souled Bharat's mind,
But he upon his duty bent,
Plied his persuasive argument:
“O, how can slumber close mine eyes
When lowly couched with Sítá lies
The royal Ráma? can I give
My heart to joy, or even live?
He whom no mighty demon, no,
Nor heavenly God can overthrow,
See, Guha, how he lies, alas,
[pg 194]
With Sítá couched on gathered grass.
By varied labours, long, severe,
By many a prayer and rite austere,
He, Daśaratha's cherished son,
By Fortune stamped, from Heaven was won.
Now as his son is forced to fly,
The king ere long will surely die:
Reft of his guardian hand, forlorn
In widowed grief this land will mourn.
E'en now perhaps, with toil o'erspent,
The women cease their loud lament,
And cries of woe no longer ring
Throughout the palace of the king.
But ah for sad Kauśalyá! how
Fare she and mine own mother now?
How fares the king? this night, I think,
Some of the three in death will sink.
With hopes upon Śatrughna set
My mother may survive as yet,
But the sad queen will die who bore
The hero, for her grief is sore.
His cherished wish that would have made
Dear Ráma king, so long delayed,
“Too late! too late!” the king will cry,
And conquered by his misery die.
When Fate has brought the mournful day
Which sees my father pass away,
How happy in their lives are they
Allowed his funeral rites to pay.
Our exile o'er, with him who ne'er
Turns from the oath his lips may swear,
May we returning safe and well
gain in fair Ayodhyá dwell.”
Thus Bharat stood with many a sigh
Lamenting, and the night went by.
Soon as the morning light shone fair
In votive coils both bound their hair.
And then I sent them safely o'er
And left them on the farther shore.
With Sítá then they onward passed,
Their coats of bark about them cast,
Their locks like hermits' bound,
The mighty tamers of the foe,
Each with his arrows and his bow,
Went over the rugged ground,
Proud in their strength and undeterred
Like elephants that lead the herd,
And gazing oft around.”
Canto LXXXVII. Guha's Story.

That speech of Guha Bharat heard
With grief and tender pity stirred,
And as his ears the story drank,
Deep in his thoughtful heart it sank.
His large full eyes in anguish rolled,
His trembling limbs grew stiff and cold;
Then fell he, like a tree uptorn,
In woe too grievous to be borne.
When Guha saw the long-armed chief
Whose eye was like a lotus leaf,
With lion shoulders strong and fair,
High-mettled, prostrate in despair,—
Pale, bitterly afflicted, he
Reeled as in earthquake reels a tree.
But when Śatrughna standing nigh
Saw his dear brother helpless lie,
Distraught with woe his head he bowed,
Embraced him oft and wept aloud.
Then Bharat's mothers came, forlorn
Of their dear king, with fasting worn,
And stood with weeping eyes around
The hero prostrate on the ground.
Kauśalyá, by her woe oppressed,
The senseless Bharat's limbs caressed,
As a fond cow in love and fear
Caresses oft her youngling dear:
Then yielding to her woe she said,
Weeping and sore disquieted:
“What torments, O my son, are these
Of sudden pain or swift disease?
The lives of us and all the line
Depend, dear child, on only thine.
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ forced to flee,
I live by naught but seeing thee:
For as the king has past away
Thou art my only help to-day.
Hast thou, perchance, heard evil news
Of Lakshmaṇ, which thy soul subdues,
Or Ráma dwelling with his spouse—
My all is he—neath forest boughs?”
Then slowly gathering sense and strength
The weeping hero rose at length,
And words like these to Guha spake,
That bade Kauśalyá comfort take:
“Where lodged the prince that night? and where
Lakshmaṇ the brave, and Sítá fair?
Show me the couch whereon he lay,
Tell me the food he ate, I pray.”
Then Guha the Nishádas' king
Replied to Bharat's questioning:
“Of all I had I brought the best
To serve my good and honoured guest
Food of each varied kind I chose,
And every fairest fruit that grows.
Ráma the hero truly brave
Declined the gift I humbly gave:
His Warrior part he ne'er forgot,
And what I brought accepted not:
“No gifts, my friend, may we accept:
Our law is, Give, and must be kept.”
The high-souled chief, O Monarch, thus
With gracious words persuaded us.
Then calm and still, absorbed in thought,
He drank the water Lakshmaṇ brought,
And then, obedient to his vows,
He fasted with his gentle spouse.
So Lakshmaṇ too from food abstained,
[pg 195]
And sipped the water that remained:
Then with ruled lips, devoutly staid,
The three362 their evening worship paid.
Then Lakshmaṇ with unwearied care
Brought heaps of sacred grass, and there
With his own hands he quickly spread,
For Ráma's rest, a pleasant bed,
And faithful Sítá's too, where they
Reclining each by other lay.
Then Lakshmaṇ bathed their feet, and drew
A little distance from the two.
Here stands the tree which lent them shade,
Here is the grass beneath it laid,
Where Ráma and his consort spent
The night together ere they went.
Lakshmaṇ, whose arms the foeman quell,
Watched all the night as sentinel,
And kept his great bow strung:
His hand was gloved, his arm was braced,
Two well-filled quivers at his waist,
With deadly arrows, hung.
I took my shafts and trusty bow,
And with that tamer of the foe
Stood ever wakeful near,
And with my followers, bow in hand,
Behind me ranged, a ready band,
Kept watch o'er Indra's peer.”
Canto LXXXVIII. The Ingudí Tree.

When Bharat with each friend and peer
Had heard that tale so full and clear,
They went together to the tree
The bed which Ráma pressed to see.
Then Bharat to his mothers said:
“Behold the high-souled hero's bed:
These tumbled heaps of grass betray
Where he that night with Sítá lay:
Unmeet, the heir of fortune high
Thus on the cold bare earth should lie,
The monarch's son, in counsel sage,
Of old imperial lineage.
That lion-lord whose noble bed
With finest skins of deer was spread,—
How can he now endure to press
The bare earth, cold and comfortless!
This sudden fall from bliss to grief
Appears untrue, beyond belief:
My senses are distraught: I seem
To view the fancies of a dream.
There is no deity so great,
No power in heaven can master Fate,
If Ráma, Daśaratha's heir,
Lay on the ground and slumbered there;
And lovely Sítá, she who springs
From fair Videha's ancient kings,
Ráma's dear wife, by all adored,
Lay on the earth beside her lord.
Here was his couch, upon this heap
He tossed and turned in restless sleep:
On the hard soil each manly limb
Has stamped the grass with signs of him.
That night, it seems, fair Sítá spent
Arrayed in every ornament,
For here and there my eyes behold
Small particles of glistering gold.
She laid her outer garment here,
For still some silken threads appear,
How dear in her devoted eyes
Must be the bed where Ráma lies,
Where she so tender could repose
And by his side forget her woes.
Alas, unhappy, guilty me!
For whom the prince was forced to flee,
And chief of Raghu's sons and best,
A bed like this with Sítá pressed.
Son of a royal sire whose hand
Ruled paramount o'er every land,
Could he who every joy bestows,
Whose body like the lotus shows,
The friend of all, who charms the sight,
Whose flashing eyes are darkly bright,
Leave the dear kingdom, his by right,
Unmeet for woe, the heir of bliss,
And lie upon a bed like this?
Great joy and happy fate are thine,
O Lakshmaṇ, marked with each fair sign,
Whose faithful footsteps follow still
Thy brother in his hour of ill.
And blest is Sítá, nobly good,
Who dwells with Ráma in the wood.
Ours is, alas, a doubtful fate
Of Ráma reft and desolate.
My royal sire has gained the skies,
In woods the high-souled hero lies;
The state is wrecked and tempest-tossed,
A vessel with her rudder lost.
Yet none in secret thought has planned
With hostile might to seize the land:
Though forced in distant wilds to dwell,
The hero's arm protects it well.
Unguarded, with deserted wall,
No elephant or steed in stall,
My father's royal city shows
Her portals open to her foes,
Of bold protectors reft and bare,
Defenceless in her dark despair:
But still her foes the wish restrain,
As men from poisoned cates refrain.
I from this hour my nights will pass
Couched on the earth or gathered grass,
Eat only fruit and roots, and wear
A coat of bark, and matted hair.
I in the woods will pass, content,
For him the term of banishment;
So shall I still unbroken save
The promise which the hero gave.
[pg 196]
While I remain for Ráma there,
Śatrughna will my exile share,
And Ráma in his home again,
With Lakshmaṇ, o'er Ayodhyá reign,
for him, to rule and guard the state,
The twice-born men shall consecrate.
O, may the Gods I serve incline
To grant this earnest wish of mine!
If when I bow before his feet
And with all moving arts entreat,
He still deny my prayer,
Then with my brother will I live:
He must, he must permission give,
Roaming in forests there.”
Canto LXXXIX. The Passage Of Gangá.

That night the son of Raghu lay
On Gangá's bank till break of day:
Then with the earliest light he woke
And thus to brave Śatrughna spoke.
“Rise up, Śatrughna, from thy bed:
Why sleepest thou the night is fled.
See how the sun who chases night
Wakes every lotus with his light.
Arise, arise, and first of all
The lord of Śringavera call,
For he his friendly aid will lend
Our army o'er the flood to send.”
Thus urged, Śatrughna answered: “I,
Remembering Ráma, sleepless lie.”
As thus the brothers, each to each,
The lion-mettled, ended speech,
Came Guha, the Nishádas' king,
And spoke with kindly questioning:
“Hast thou in comfort passed,” he cried,
“The night upon the river side?
With thee how fares it? and are these,
Thy soldiers, healthy and at ease?”
Thus the Nishádas' lord inquired
In gentle words which love inspired,
And Bharat, Ráma's faithful slave,
Thus to the king his answer gave:
“The night has sweetly passed, and we
Are highly honoured, King, by thee.
Now let thy servants boats prepare,
Our army o'er the stream to bear.”
The speech of Bharat Guha heard,
And swift to do his bidding stirred.
Within the town the monarch sped
And to his ready kinsmen said:
“Awake, each kinsman, rise, each friend!
May every joy your lives attend.
Gather each boat upon the shore
And ferry all the army o'er.”
Thus Guha spoke: nor they delayed,
But, rising quick, their lord obeyed,
And soon, from every side secured,
Five hundred boats were ready moored.
Some reared aloft the mystic sign,363
And mighty bells were hung in line:
Of firmest build, gay flags they bore,
And sailors for the helm and oar.
One such King Guha chose, whereon,
Of fair white cloth, an awning shone,
And sweet musicians charmed the ear,—
And bade his servants urge it near.
Then Bharat swiftly sprang on board,
And then Śatrughna, famous lord,
To whom, with many a royal dame,
Kauśalyá and Sumitrá came.
The household priest went first in place,
The elders, and the Bráhman race,
And after them the monarch's train
Of women borne in many a wain.
Then high to heaven the shouts of those
Who fired the army's huts,364 arose,
With theirs who bathed along the shore,
Or to the boats the baggage bore.
Full freighted with that mighty force
The boats sped swiftly on their course,
By royal Guha's servants manned,
And gentle gales the banners fanned.
Some boats a crowd of dames conveyed,
In others noble coursers neighed;
Some chariots and their cattle bore,
Some precious wealth and golden store.
Across the stream each boat was rowed,
There duly disembarked its load,
And then returning on its way,
Sped here and there in merry play.
Then swimming elephants appeared
With flying pennons high upreared.
And as the drivers urged them o'er,
The look of winged mountains wore.
Some men in barges reached the strand,
Others on rafts came safe to land:
Some buoyed with pitchers crossed the tide,
And others on their arms relied.
Thus with the help the monarch gave
The army crossed pure Gangá's wave:
Then in auspicious hour it stood
Within Prayága's famous wood.
The prince with cheering words addressed
His weary men, and bade them rest
Where'er they chose and he,
With priest and deacon by his side,
To Bharadvája's dwelling hied
That best of saints to see.
[pg 197]
Canto XC. The Hermitage.

The prince of men a league away
Saw where the hermit's dwelling lay,
Then with his lords his path pursued,
And left his warrior multitude.
On foot, as duty taught his mind,
He left his warlike gear behind;
Two robes of linen cloth he wore,
And bade Vaśishṭha walk before.
Then Bharat from his lords withdrew
When Bharadvája came in view,
And toward the holy hermit went
Behind Vaśishṭha, reverent.
When Bharadvája, saint austere,
Saw good Vaśishṭha drawing near,
He cried, upspringing from his seat,
“The grace-gift bring, my friend to greet.”
When Saint Vaśishṭha near him drew,
And Bharat paid the reverence due,
The glorious hermit was aware
That Daśaratha's son was there.
The grace-gift, water for their feet
He gave, and offered fruit to eat;
Then, duty-skilled, with friendly speech
In seemly order questioned each:
“How fares it in Ayodhyá now
With treasury and army? how
With kith and kin and friends most dear,
With councillor, and prince, and peer?”
But, for he knew the king was dead,
Of Daśaratha naught he said.
Vaśishṭha and the prince in turn
Would of the hermit's welfare learn:
Of holy fires they fain would hear,
Of pupils, trees, and birds, and deer.
The glorious saint his answer made
That all was well in holy shade:
Then love of Ráma moved his breast,
And thus he questioned of his guest:
“Why art thou here, O Prince, whose band
With kingly sway protects the land?
Declare the cause, explain the whole,
For yet some doubt disturbs my soul.
He whom Kauśalyá bare, whose might
The foemen slays, his line's delight,
He who with wife and brother sent
Afar now roam in banishment,
Famed prince, to whom his father spake
This order for a woman's sake:
“Away! and in the forest spend
Thy life till fourteen years shall end”—
Has thou the wish to harm him, bent
On sin against the innocent?
Wouldst thou thine elder's realm enjoy
Without a thorn that can annoy?”
With sobbing voice and tearful eye
Thus Bharat sadly made reply:
“Ah lost am I, if thou, O Saint,
Canst thus in thought my heart attaint:
No warning charge from thee I need;
Ne'er could such crime from me proceed.
The words my guilty mother spake
When fondly jealous for my sake—
Think not that I, to triumph moved,
Those words approve or e'er approved.
O Hermit, I have sought this place
To win the lordly hero's grace,
To throw me at my brother's feet
And lead him to his royal seat.
To this, my journey's aim and end,
Thou shouldst, O Saint, thy favour lend:
Where is the lord of earth? do thou,
Most holy, say, where roams he now?”
Then, by the saint Vaśishṭha pressed,
And all the gathered priests beside,
To Bharat's dutiful request
The hermit graciously replied:
“Worthy of thee, O Prince, this deed,
True son of Raghu's ancient seed.
I know thee reverent, well-controlled,
The glory of the good of old.
I grant thy prayer: in this pursuit
I know thy heart is resolute.
'Tis for thy sake those words I said
That wider still thy fame may spread.
I know where Ráma, duty-tried,
His brother, and his wife abide.
Where Chitrakúṭa's heights arise
Thy brother Ráma's dwelling lies.
Go thither with the morning's light,
And stay with all thy lords tonight:
For I would show thee honour high,
And do not thou my wish deny.”
Canto XCI. Bharadvája's Feast.

Soon as he saw the prince's mind
To rest that day was well inclined,
He sought Kaikeyí's son to please
With hospitable courtesies.
Then Bharat to the saint replied:
“Our wants are more than satisfied.
The gifts which honoured strangers greet,
And water for our weary feet
Hast thou bestowed with friendly care,
And every choice of woodland fare.”
Then Bharadvája spoke, a smile
Playing upon his lips the while:
“I know, dear Prince, thy friendly mind
Will any fare sufficient find,
But gladly would I entertain
And banquet all thine armed train:
Such is my earnest wish: do thou
This longing of my heart allow,
Why hast thou hither bent thy way,
And made thy troops behind thee stay?
[pg 198]
Why unattended? couldst thou not
With friends and army seek this spot?”
Bharat, with reverent hands raised high,
To that great hermit made reply:
“My troops, for awe of thee, O Sage,
I brought not to thy hermitage:
Troops of a king or monarch's son
A hermit's home should ever shun.
Behind me comes a mighty train
Wide spreading o'er the ample plain,
Where every chief and captain leads
Men, elephants, and mettled steeds.
I feared, O reverend Sage, lest these
Might harm the holy ground and trees,
Springs might be marred and cots o'erthrown,
So with the priests I came alone.”
“Bring all thy host,” the hermit cried,
And Bharat, to his joy, complied.
Then to the chapel went the sire,
Where ever burnt the sacred fire,
And first, in order due, with sips
Of water purified his lips:
To Viśvakarmá, then he prayed,
His hospitable feast to aid:
“Let Viśvakarmá hear my call,
The God who forms and fashions all:
A mighty banquet I provide,
Be all my wants this day supplied.
Lord Indra at their head, the three365
Who guard the worlds I call to me:
A mighty host this day I feed,
Be now supplied my every need.
Let all the streams that eastward go,
And those whose waters westering flow,
Both on the earth and in the sky,
Flow hither and my wants supply.
Be some with ardent liquor filled,
And some with wine from flowers distilled,
While some their fresh cool streams retain
Sweet as the juice of sugar-cane.
I call the Gods, I call the band
Of minstrels that around them stand:
I call the Háhá and Huhú,
I call the sweet Viśvávasu,
I call the heavenly wives of these
With all the bright Apsarases,
Alambúshá of beauty rare,
The charmer of the tangled hair,
Ghritáchí and Viśváchi fair,
Hemá and Bhímá sweet to view,
And lovely Nágadantá too,
And all the sweetest nymphs who stand
By Indra or by Brahmá's hand—
I summon these with all their train
And Tumburu to lead the strain.
Here let Kuvera's garden rise
Which far in Northern Kuru366 lies:
For leaves let cloth and gems entwine,
And let its fruit be nymphs divine.
Let Soma367 give the noblest food
To feed the mighty multitude,
Of every kind, for tooth and lip,
To chew, to lick, to suck, and sip.
Let wreaths, where fairest flowers abound,
Spring from the trees that bloom around.
Each sort of wine to woo the taste,
And meats of every kind be placed.”
Thus spake the hermit self-restrained,
With proper tone by rules ordained,
On deepest meditation bent,
In holy might preëminent.
Then as with hands in reverence raised
Absorbed in thought he eastward gazed,
The deities he thus addressed
Came each in semblance manifest.
Delicious gales that cooled the frame
From Malaya and Dardar came,
That kissed those scented hills and threw
Auspicious fragrance where they blew.
Then falling fast in sweetest showers
Came from the sky immortal flowers,
And all the airy region round
With heavenly drums was made to sound.
Then breathed a soft celestial breeze,
Then danced the bright Apsarases,
The minstrels and the Gods advanced,
And warbling lutes the soul entranced.
The earth and sky that music filled,
And through each ear it softly thrilled,
As from the heavenly quills it fell
With time and tune attempered well.
Soon as the minstrels ceased to play
And airs celestial died away,
The troops of Bharat saw amazed
What Viśvakarmá's art had raised.
On every side, five leagues around,
All smooth and level lay the ground,
With fresh green grass that charmed the sight
Like sapphires blent with lazulite.
There the Wood-apple hung its load,
The Mango and the Citron glowed,
The Bel and scented Jak were there,
And Apelá with fruitage fair.
There, brought from Northern Kuru, stood
Rich in delights, the glorious wood,
And many a stream was seen to glide
[pg 199]
With flowering trees along its side.
There mansions rose with four wide halls,
And elephants and chargers' stalls,
And many a house of royal state,
Triumphal arc and bannered gate.
With noble doorways, sought the sky,
Like a pale cloud, a palace high,
Which far and wide rare fragrance shed,
With wreaths of white engarlanded.
Square was its shape, its halls were wide,
With many a seat and couch supplied,
Drink of all kinds, and every meat
Such as celestial Gods might eat.
Then at the bidding of the seer
Kaikeyí's strong-armed son drew near,
And passed within that fair abode
Which with the noblest jewels glowed.
Then, as Vaśishṭha led the way,
The councillors, in due array,
Followed delighted and amazed
And on the glorious structure gazed.
Then Bharat, Raghu's son, drew near
The kingly throne, with prince and peer,
Whereby the chouri in the shade
Of the white canopy was laid.
Before the throne he humbly bent
And honoured Ráma, reverent,
Then in his hand the chouri bore,
And sat where sits a councillor.
His ministers and household priest
Sat by degrees from chief to least,
Then sat the captain of the host
And all the men he honoured most.
Then when the saint his order gave,
Each river with enchanted wave
Rolled milk and curds divinely sweet
Before the princely Bharat's feet;
And dwellings fair on either side,
With gay white plaster beautified,
Their heavenly roofs were seen to lift,
The Bráhman Bharadvája's gift.
Then straight by Lord Kuvera sent,
Gay with celestial ornament
Of bright attire and jewels' shine,
Came twenty thousand nymphs divine:
The man on whom those beauties glanced
That moment felt his soul entranced.
With them from Nandan's blissful shades
Came twenty thousand heavenly maids.
Tumburu, Nárad, Gopa came,
And Sutanu, like radiant flame,
The kings of the Gandharva throng,
And ravished Bharat with their song.
Then spoke the saint, and swift obeyed
Alambúshá, the fairest maid,
And Miśrakeśí bright to view,
Ramaṇá, Puṇḍríká too,
And danced to him with graceful ease
The dances of Apsarases.
All chaplets that by Gods are worn,
Or Chaitraratha's graves adorn,
Bloomed by the saint's command arrayed
On branches in Prayága's shade.
When at the saint's command the breeze
Made music with the Vilva trees,
To wave in rhythmic beat began
The boughs of each Myrobolan,
And holy fig-trees wore the look
Of dancers, as their leaflets shook.
The fair Tamála, palm, and pine,
With trees that tower and plants that twine,
The sweetly varying forms displayed
Of stately dame or bending maid.
Here men the foaming winecup quaffed,
Here drank of milk full many a draught,
And tasted meats of every kind,
Well dressed, whatever pleased their mind.
Then beauteous women, seven or eight,
Stood ready by each man to wait:
Beside the stream his limbs they stripped
And in the cooling water dipped.
And then the fair ones, sparkling eyed,
With soft hands rubbed his limbs and dried,
And sitting on the lovely bank
Held up the winecup as he drank.
Nor did the grooms forget to feed
Camel and mule and ox and steed,
For there were stores of roasted grain,
Of honey and of sugar-cane.
So fast the wild excitement spread
Among the warriors Bharat led,
That all the mighty army through
The groom no more his charger knew,
And he who drove might seek in vain
To tell his elephant again.
With every joy and rapture fired,
Entranced with all the heart desired,
The myriads of the host that night
Revelled delirious with delight.
Urged by the damsels at their side
In wild delight the warriors cried:
“Ne'er will we seek Ayodhyá, no,
Nor yet to Daṇḍak forest go:
Here will we stay: may happy fate
On Bharat and on Ráma wait.”
Thus cried the army gay and free
Exulting in their lawless glee,
Both infantry and those who rode
On elephants, or steeds bestrode,
Ten thousand voices shouting, “This
Is heaven indeed for perfect bliss.”
With garlands decked they idly strayed,
And danced and laughed and sang and played.
At length as every soldier eyed,
With food like Amrit satisfied,
Each dainty cate and tempting meat,
No longer had he care to eat.
Thus soldier, servant, dame, and slave
Received whate'er the wish might crave.
As each in new-wrought clothes arrayed
Enjoyed the feast before him laid.
[pg 200]
Each man was seen in white attire
Unstained by spot or speck of mire:
None was athirst or hungry there,
And none had dust upon his hair.
On every side in woody dells
Was milky food in bubbling wells,
And there were all-supplying cows
And honey dropping from the boughs.
Nor wanted lakes of flower-made drink
With piles of meat upon the brink,
Boiled, stewed, and roasted, varied cheer,
Peachick and jungle-fowl and deer,
There was the flesh of kid and boar,
And dainty sauce in endless store,
With juice of flowers concocted well,
And soup that charmed the taste and smell,
And pounded fruits of bitter taste,
And many a bath was ready placed
Down by each river's shelving side
There stood great basins well supplied,
And laid therein, of dazzling sheen,
White brushes for the teeth were seen,
And many a covered box wherein
Was sandal powdered for the skin.
And mirrors bright with constant care,
And piles of new attire were there,
And store of sandals and of shoes,
Thousands of pairs, for all to choose:
Eye-unguents, combs for hair and beard,
Umbrellas fair and bows appeared.
Lakes gleamed, that lent digestive aid,368
And some for pleasant bathing made,
With waters fair, and smooth incline
For camels, horses, mules, and kine.
There saw they barley heaped on high
The countless cattle to supply:
The golden grain shone fair and bright
As sapphires or the lazulite.
To all the gathered host it seemed
As if that magic scene they dreamed,
And wonder, as they gazed, increased
At Bharadvája's glorious feast.
Thus in the hermit's grove they spent
That night in joy and merriment,
Blest as the Gods who take their ease
Under the shade of Nandan's trees.
Each minstrel bade the saint adieu,
And to his blissful mansion flew,
And every stream and heavenly dame
Returned as swiftly as she came.
Canto XCII. Bharat's Farewell.

So Bharat with his army spent
The watches of the night content,
And gladly, with the morning's light
Drew near his host the anchorite.
When Bharadvája saw him stand
With hand in reverence joined to hand,
When fires of worship had been fed,
He looked upon the prince and said:
“O blameless son, I pray thee tell,
Did the past night content thee well?
Say if the feast my care supplied
Thy host of followers gratified.”
His hands he joined, his head he bent
And spoke in answer reverent
To the most high and radiant sage
Who issued from his hermitage:
“Well have I passed the night: thy feast
Gave joy to every man and beast;
And I, great lord, and every peer
Were satisfied with sumptuous cheer,
Thy banquet has delighted all
From highest chief to meanest thrall,
And rich attire and drink and meat
Banished the thought of toil and heat.
And now, O Hermit good and great,
A boon of thee I supplicate.
To Ráma's side my steps I bend:
Do thou with friendly eye commend.
O tell me how to guide my feet
To virtuous Ráma's lone retreat:
Great Hermit, I entreat thee, say
How far from here and which the way.”
Thus by fraternal love inspired
The chieftain of the saint inquired:
Then thus replied the glorious seer
Of matchless might, of vows austere:
“Ere the fourth league from here be passed,
Amid a forest wild and vast,
Stands Chitrakúṭa's mountain tall,
Lovely with wood and waterfall.
North of the mountain thou wilt see
The beauteous stream Mandákiní,
Where swarm the waterfowl below,
And gay trees on the margin grow.
Then will a leafy cot between
The river and the hill be seen:
'Tis Ráma's, and the princely pair
Of brothers live for certain there.
Hence to the south thine army lead,
And then more southward still proceed,
So shalt thou find his lone retreat,
And there the son of Raghu meet.”
Soon as the ordered march they knew,
The widows of the monarch flew,
Leaving their cars, most meet to ride,
And flocked to Bharadvája's side.
There with the good Sumitrá Queen
Kauśalyá, sad and worn, was seen,
Caressing, still with sorrow faint,
The feet of that illustrious saint,
Kaikeyí too, her longings crossed,
Reproached of all, her object lost,
Before the famous hermit came,
[pg 201]
And clasped his feet, o'erwhelmed with shame.
With circling steps she humbly went
Around the saint preëminent,
And stood not far from Bharat's side
With heart oppressed, and heavy-eyed.
Then the great seer, who never broke
One holy vow, to Bharat spoke:
“Speak, Raghu's son: I fain would learn
The story of each queen in turn.”
Obedient to the high request
By Bharadvája thus addressed,
His reverent hands together laid,
He, skilled in speech, his answer made:
“She whom, O Saint, thou seest here
A Goddess in her form appear,
Was the chief consort of the king,
Now worn with fast and sorrowing.
As Aditi in days of yore
The all-preserving Vishṇu bore,
Kauśalyá bore with happy fate
Lord Ráma of the lion's gait.
She who, transfixed with torturing pangs,
On her left arm so fondly hangs,
As when her withering leaves decay
Droops by the wood the Cassia spray,
Sumitrá, pained with woe, is she,
The consort second of the three:
Two princely sons the lady bare,
Fair as the Gods in heaven are fair.
And she, the wicked dame through whom
My brothers' lives are wrapped in gloom,
And mourning for his offspring dear,
The king has sought his heavenly sphere,—
Proud, foolish-hearted, swift to ire,
Self-fancied darling of my sire,
Kaikeyí, most ambitious queen,
Unlovely with her lovely mien,
My mother she, whose impious will
Is ever bent on deeds of ill,
In whom the root and spring I see
Of all this woe which crushes me.”
Quick breathing like a furious snake,
With tears and sobs the hero spake,
With reddened eyes aglow with rage.
And Bharadvája, mighty sage,
Supreme in wisdom, calm and grave,
In words like these good counsel gave:
“O Bharat, hear the words I say;
On her the fault thou must not lay:
For many a blessing yet will spring
From banished Ráma's wandering.”
And Bharat, with that promise cheered,
Went circling round that saint revered,
He humbly bade farewell, and then
Gave orders to collect his men.
Prompt at the summons thousands flew
To cars which noble coursers drew,
Bright-gleaming, glorious to behold,
Adorned with wealth of burnished gold.
Then female elephants and male,
Gold-girthed, with flags that wooed the gale,
Marched with their bright bells' tinkling chime
Like clouds when ends the summer time:
Some cars were huge and some were light,
For heavy draught or rapid flight,
Of costly price, of every kind,
With clouds of infantry behind.
The dames, Kauśalyá at their head,
Were in the noblest chariots led,
And every gentle bosom beat
With hope the banished prince to meet.
The royal Bharat, glory-crowned,
With all his retinue around,
Borne in a beauteous litter rode,
Like the young moon and sun that glowed.
The army as it streamed along,
Cars, elephants, in endless throng,
Showed, marching on its southward way,
Like autumn clouds in long array.
Canto XCIII. Chitrakúta In Sight.

As through the woods its way pursued
That mighty bannered multitude,
Wild elephants in terror fled
With all the startled herds they led,
And bears and deer were seen on hill,
In forest glade, by every rill.
Wide as the sea from coast to coast,
The high-souled Bharat's mighty host
Covered the earth as cloudy trains
Obscure the sky when fall the rains.
The stately elephants he led,
And countless steeds the land o'erspread,
So closely crowded that between
Their serried ranks no ground was seen.
Then when the host had travelled far,
And steeds were worn who drew the car,
The glorious Bharat thus addressed
Vaśishṭha, of his lords the best:
“The spot, methinks, we now behold
Of which the holy hermit told,
For, as his words described, I trace
Each several feature of the place:
Before us Chitrakúṭa shows,
Mandákiní beside us flows:
Afar umbrageous woods arise
Like darksome clouds that veil the skies.
Now tread these mountain-beasts of mine
On Chitrakúṭa's fair incline.
The trees their rain of blossoms shed
On table-lands beneath them spread,
As from black clouds the floods descend
When the hot days of summer end.
Śatrughna, look, the mountain see
Where heavenly minstrels wander free,
[pg 202]
And horses browse beneath the steep,
Countless as monsters in the deep.
Scared by my host the mountain deer
Starting with tempest speed appear
Like the long lines of cloud that fly
In autumn through the windy sky.
See, every warrior shows his head
With fragrant blooms engarlanded;
All look like southern soldiers who
Lift up their shields of azure hue.
This lonely wood beneath the hill,
That was so dark and drear and still,
Covered with men in endless streams
Now like Ayodhyá's city seems.
The dust which countless hoofs excite
Obscures the sky and veils the light;
But see, swift winds those clouds dispel
As if they strove to please me well.
See, guided in their swift career
By many a skilful charioteer,
Those cars by fleetest coursers drawn
Race onward over glade and lawn.
Look, startled as the host comes near
The lovely peacocks fly in fear,
Gorgeous as if the fairest blooms
Of earth had glorified their plumes.
Look where the sheltering covert shows
The trooping deer, both bucks and does,
That occupy in countless herds
This mountain populous with birds.
Most lovely to my mind appears
This place which every charm endears:
Fair as the road where tread the Blest;
Here holy hermits take their rest.
Then let the army onward press
And duly search each green recess
For the two lion-lords, till we
Ráma once more and Lakshmaṇ see.”
Thus Bharat spoke: and hero bands
Of men with weapons in their hands
Entered the tangled forest: then
A spire of smoke appeared in ken.
Soon as they saw the rising smoke
To Bharat they returned and spoke:
“No fire where men are not: 'tis clear
That Raghu's sons are dwelling here.
Or if not here those heroes dwell
Whose mighty arms their foeman quell,
Still other hermits here must be
Like Ráma, true and good as he.”
His ears attentive Bharat lent
To their resistless argument,
Then to his troops the chief who broke
His foe's embattled armies spoke:
“Here let the troops in silence stay;
One step beyond they must not stray.
Come Dhrishṭi and Sumantra, you
With me alone the path pursue.”
Their leader's speech the warriors heard,
And from his place no soldier stirred,
And Bharat bent his eager eyes
Where curling smoke was seen to rise.
The host his order well obeyed,
And halting there in silence stayed
Watching where from the thicket's shade
They saw the smoke appear.
And joy through all the army ran,
“Soon shall we meet,” thought every man,
“The prince we hold so dear.”
Canto XCIV. Chitrakúta.

There long the son of Raghu dwelt
And love for hill and wood he felt.
Then his Videhan spouse to please
And his own heart of woe to ease,
Like some Immortal—Indra so
Might Swarga's charms to Śachí show—
Drew her sweet eyes to each delight
Of Chitrakúṭa's lovely height:
“Though reft of power and kingly sway,
Though friends and home are far away,
I cannot mourn my altered lot,
Enamoured of this charming spot.
Look, darling, on this noble hill
Which sweet birds with their music fill,
Bright with a thousand metal dyes
His lofty summits cleave the skies.
See, there a silvery sheen is spread,
And there like blood the rocks are red.
There shows a streak of emerald green,
And pink and yellow glow between.
There where the higher peaks ascend,
Crystal and flowers and topaz blend,
And others flash their light afar
Like mercury or some fair star:
With such a store of metals dyed
The king of hills is glorified.
There through the wild birds' populous home
The harmless bear and tiger roam:
Hyænas range the woody slopes
With herds of deer and antelopes.
See, love, the trees that clothe his side
All lovely in their summer pride,
In richest wealth of leaves arrayed,
With flower and fruit and light and shade,
Look where the young Rose-apple glows;
What loaded boughs the Mango shows;
See, waving in the western wind
The light leaves of the Tamarind,
And mark that giant Peepul through
The feathery clump of tall bamboo.369
[pg 203]
Look, on the level lands above,
Delighting in successful love
In sweet enjoyment many a pair
Of heavenly minstrels revels there,
While overhanging boughs support
Their swords and mantles as they sport:
Then see that pleasant shelter where
Play the bright Daughters of the Air.370
The mountain seems with bright cascade
And sweet rill bursting from the shade,
Like some majestic elephant o'er
Whose burning head the torrents pour.
Where breathes the man who would not feel
Delicious languor o'er him steal,
As the young morning breeze that springs
From the cool cave with balmy wings,
Breathes round him laden with the scent
Of bud and blossom dew-besprent?
If many autumns here I spent
With thee, my darling innocent,
And Lakshmaṇ, I should never know
The torture of the fires of woe,
This varied scene so charms my sight,
This mount so fills me with delight,
Where flowers in wild profusion spring,
And ripe fruits glow and sweet birds sing.
My beauteous one, a double good
Springs from my dwelling in the wood:
Loosed is the bond my sire that tied,
And Bharat too is gratified.
My darling, dost thou feel with me
Delight from every charm we see,
Of which the mind and every sense
Feel the enchanting influence?
My fathers who have passed away,
The royal saints, were wont to say,
That life in woodland shades like this
Secures a king immortal bliss.
See, round the hill at random thrown,
Huge masses lie of rugged stone
Of every shape and many a hue,
Yellow and white and red and blue.
But all is fairer still by night:
Each rock reflects a softer light,
When the whole mount from foot to crest
In robes of lambent flame is dressed;
When from a million herbs a blaze
Of their own luminous glory plays,
And clothed in fire each deep ravine,
Each pinnacle and crag is seen.
Some parts the look of mansions wear,
And others are as gardens fair,
While others seem a massive block
Of solid undivided rock.
Behold those pleasant beds o'erlaid
With lotus leaves, for lovers made,
Where mountain birch and costus throw
Cool shadows on the pair below.
See where the lovers in their play
Have cast their flowery wreaths away,
And fruit and lotus buds that crowned
Their brows lie trodden on the ground.
North Kuru's realm is fair to see,
Vasvaukasárá,371 Naliní,372
But rich in fruit and blossom still
More fair is Chitrakúṭa's hill.
Here shall the years appointed glide
With thee, my beauty, by my side,
And Lakshmaṇ ever near;
Here shall I live in all delight,
Make my ancestral fame more bright,
Tread in their path who walk aright,
And to my oath adhere.”
Canto XCV. Mandákiní.

Then Ráma, like the lotus eyed,
Descended from the mountain side,
And to the Maithil lady showed
The lovely stream that softly flowed.
And thus Ayodhyá's lord addressed
His bride, of dames the loveliest,
Child of Videha's king, her face
Bright with the fair moon's tender grace:
“How sweetly glides, O darling, look,
Mandákiní's delightful brook,
Adorned with islets, blossoms gay,
And sárases and swans at play!
[pg 204]
The trees with which her banks are lined
Show flowers and fruit of every kind:
The match in radiant sheen is she
Of King Kuvera's Naliní.373
My heart exults with pleasure new
The shelving band and ford to view,
Where gathering herds of thirsty deer
Disturb the wave that ran so clear.
Now look, those holy hermits mark
In skins of deer and coats of bark;
With twisted coils of matted hair,
The reverend men are bathing there,
And as they lift their arms on high
The Lord of Day they glorify:
These best of saints, my large-eyed spouse,
Are constant to their sacred vows.
The mountain dances while the trees
Bend their proud summits to the breeze,
And scatter many a flower and bud
From branches that o'erhang the flood.
There flows the stream like lucid pearl,
Round islets here the currents whirl,
And perfect saints from middle air
Are flocking to the waters there.
See, there lie flowers in many a heap
From boughs the whistling breezes sweep,
And others wafted by the gale
Down the swift current dance and sail.
Now see that pair of wild-fowl rise,
Exulting with their joyful cries:
Hark, darling, wafted from afar
How soft their pleasant voices are.
To gaze on Chitrakúṭa's hill,
To look upon this lovely rill,
To bend mine eyes on thee, dear wife,
Is sweeter than my city life.
Come, bathe we in the pleasant rill
Whose dancing waves are never still,
Stirred by those beings pure from sin,
The sanctities who bathe therein:
Come, dearest, to the stream descend,
Approach her as a darling friend,
And dip thee in the silver flood
Which lotuses and lilies stud.
Let this fair hill Ayodhyá seem,
Its silvan things her people deem,
And let these waters as they flow
Our own beloved Sarjú show.
How blest, mine own dear love, am I;
Thou, fond and true, art ever nigh,
And duteous, faithful Lakshmaṇ stays
Beside me, and my word obeys.
Here every day I bathe me thrice,
Fruit, honey, roots for food suffice,
And ne'er my thoughts with longing stray
To distant home or royal sway.
For who this charming brook can see
Where herds of roedeer wander free,
And on the flowery-wooded brink
Apes, elephants, and lions drink,
Nor feel all sorrow fly?”
Thus eloquently spoke the pride
Of Raghu's children to his bride,
And wandered happy by her side
Where Chitrakúṭa azure-dyed
Uprears his peaks on high.
Canto XCVI. The Magic Shaft.374

Thus Ráma showed to Janak's child
The varied beauties of the wild,
The hill, the brook and each fair spot,
Then turned to seek their leafy cot.
North of the mountain Ráma found
A cavern in the sloping ground,
Charming to view, its floor was strown
With many a mass of ore and stone,
In secret shadow far retired
Where gay birds sang with joy inspired,
And trees their graceful branches swayed
With loads of blossom downward weighed.
Soon as he saw the cave which took
Each living heart and chained the look,
Thus Ráma spoke to Sítá who
Gazed wondering on the silvan view:
“Does this fair cave beneath the height,
Videhan lady, charm thy sight?
Then let us resting here a while
The languor of the way beguile.
That block of stone so smooth and square
Was set for thee to rest on there,
And like a thriving Keśar tree
This flowery shrub o'ershadows thee.”
Thus Ráma spoke, and Janak's child,
By nature ever soft and mild,
In tender words which love betrayed
Her answer to the hero made:
“O pride of Raghu's children, still
My pleasure is to do thy will.
Enough for me thy wish to know:
Far hast thou wandered to and fro.”
Thus Sítá spake in gentle tone,
And went obedient to the stone,
Of perfect face and faultless limb
Prepared to rest a while with him.
And Ráma, as she thus replied,
Turned to his spouse again and cried:
“Thou seest, love, this flowery shade
For silvan creatures' pleasure made,
How the gum streams from trees and plants
Torn by the tusks of elephants!
[pg 205]
Through all the forest clear and high
Resounds the shrill cicala's cry.
Hark how the kite above us moans,
And calls her young in piteous tones;
So may my hapless mother be
Still mourning in her home for me.
There mounted on that lofty Sál
The loud Bhringráj375 repeats his call:
How sweetly now he tunes his throat
Responsive to the Koïl's note.
Or else the bird that now has sung
May be himself the Koïl's young,
Linked with such winning sweetness are
The notes he pours irregular.
See, round the blooming Mango clings
That creeper with her tender rings,
So in thy love, when none is near,
Thine arms are thrown round me, my dear.”
Thus in his joy he cried; and she,
Sweet speaker, on her lover's knee,
Of faultless limb and perfect face,
Grew closer to her lord's embrace.
Reclining in her husband's arms,
A goddess in her wealth of charms,
She filled his loving breast anew
With mighty joy that thrilled him through.
His finger on the rock he laid,
Which veins of sanguine ore displayed,
And painted o'er his darling's eyes
The holy sign in mineral dyes.
Bright on her brow the metal lay
Like the young sun's first gleaming ray,
And showed her in her beauty fair
As the soft light of morning's air.
Then from the Keśar's laden tree
He picked fair blossoms in his glee,
And as he decked each lovely tress,
His heart o'erflowed with happiness.
So resting on that rocky seat
A while they spent in pastime sweet,
Then onward neath the shady boughs
Went Ráma with his Maithil spouse.
She roaming in the forest shade
Where every kind of creature strayed
Observed a monkey wandering near,
And clung to Ráma's arm in fear.
The hero Ráma fondly laced
His mighty arms around her waist,
Consoled his beauty in her dread,
And scared the Monkey till he fled.
That holy mark of sanguine ore
That gleamed on Sítá's brow before,
Shone by that close embrace impressed
Upon the hero's ample chest.
Then Sítá, when the beast who led
The monkey troop, afar had fled,
Laughed loudly in light-hearted glee
That mark on Ráma's chest to see.
A clump of bright Aśokas fired
The forest in their bloom attired:
The restless blossoms as they gleamed
A host of threatening monkeys seemed.
Then Sítá thus to Ráma cried,
As longingly the flowers she eyed:
“Pride of thy race, now let us go
Where those Aśoka blossoms grow.”
He on his darling's pleasure bent
With his fair goddess thither went
And roamed delighted through the wood
Where blossoming Aśokas stood,
As Śiva with Queen Umá roves
Through Himaván's majestic groves.
Bright with purpureal glow the pair
Of happy lovers sported there,
And each upon the other set
A flower-inwoven coronet.
There many a crown and chain they wove
Of blooms from that Aśoka grove,
And in their graceful sport the two
Fresh beauty o'er the mountain threw.
The lover let his love survey
Each pleasant spot that round them lay,
Then turned they to their green retreat
Where all was garnished, gay, and neat.
By brotherly affection led,
Sumitrá's son to meet them sped,
And showed the labours of the day
Done while his brother was away.
There lay ten black-deer duly slain
With arrows pure of poison stain,
Piled in a mighty heap to dry,
With many another carcass nigh.
And Lakshmaṇ's brother saw, o'erjoyed,
The work that had his hands employed,
Then to his consort thus he cried:
“Now be the general gifts supplied.”
Then Sítá, fairest beauty, placed
The food for living things to taste,
And set before the brothers meat
And honey that the pair might eat.
They ate the meal her hands supplied,
Their lips with water purified:
Then Janak's daughter sat at last
And duly made her own repast.
The other venison, to be dried,
Piled up in heaps was set aside,
And Ráma told his wife to stay
And drive the flocking crows away.
Her husband saw her much distressed
By one more bold than all the rest,
Whose wings where'er he chose could fly,
Now pierce the earth, now roam the sky.
Then Ráma laughed to see her stirred
To anger by the plaguing bird:
Proud of his love the beauteous dame
With burning rage was all aflame.
Now here, now there, again, again
She chased the crow, but all in vain,
Enraging her, so quick to strike
[pg 206]
With beak and wing and claw alike:
Then how the proud lip quivered, how
The dark frown marked her angry brow!
When Ráma saw her cheek aglow
With passion, he rebuked the crow.
But bold in impudence the bird,
With no respect for Ráma's word,
Fearless again at Sítá flew:
Then Ráma's wrath to fury grew.
The hero of the mighty arm
Spoke o'er a shaft the mystic charm,
Laid the dire weapon on his bow
And launched it at the shameless crow.
The bird, empowered by Gods to spring
Through earth itself on rapid wing,
Through the three worlds in terror fled
Still followed by that arrow dread.
Where'er he flew, now here now there,
A cloud of weapons filled the air.
Back to the high-souled prince he fled
And bent at Ráma's feet his head,
And then, as Sítá looked, began
His speech in accents of a man:
“O pardon, and for pity's sake
Spare, Ráma, spare my life to take!
Where'er I turn, where'er I flee,
No shelter from this shaft I see.”
The chieftain heard the crow entreat
Helpless and prostrate at his feet,
And while soft pity moved his breast,
With wisest speech the bird addressed:
“I took the troubled Sítá's part,
And furious anger filled my heart.
Then on the string my arrow lay
Charmed with a spell thy life to slay.
Thou seekest now my feet, to crave
Forgiveness and thy life to save.
So shall thy prayer have due respect:
The suppliant I must still protect.
But ne'er in vain this dart may flee;
Yield for thy life a part of thee,
What portion of thy body, say,
Shall this mine arrow rend away?
Thus far, O bird, thus far alone
On thee my pity may be shown.
Forfeit a part thy life to buy:
'Tis better so to live than die.”
Thus Ráma spoke: the bird of air
Pondered his speech with anxious care,
And wisely deemed it good to give
One of his eyes that he might live.
To Raghu's son he made reply:
“O Ráma, I will yield an eye.
So let me in thy grace confide
And live hereafter single-eyed.”
Then Ráma charged the shaft, and lo,
Full in the eye it smote the crow.
And the Videhan lady gazed
Upon the ruined eye amazed.
The crow to Ráma humbly bent,
Then where his fancy led he went.
Ráma with Lakshmaṇ by his side
With needful work was occupied.
Canto XCVII. Lakshman's Anger.

Thus Ráma showed his love the rill
Whose waters ran beneath the hill,
Then resting on his mountain seat
Refreshed her with the choicest meat.
So there reposed the happy two:
Then Bharat's army nearer drew:
Rose to the skies a dusty cloud,
The sound of trampling feet was loud.
The swelling roar of marching men
Drove the roused tiger from his den,
And scared amain the serpent race
Flying to hole and hiding-place.
The herds of deer in terror fled,
The air was filled with birds o'erhead,
The bear began to leave his tree,
The monkey to the cave to flee.
Wild elephants were all amazed
As though the wood around them blazed.
The lion oped his ponderous jaw,
The buffalo looked round in awe.
The prince, who heard the deafening sound,
And saw the silvan creatures round
Fly wildly startled from their rest,
The glorious Lakshmaṇ thus addressed:
“Sumitrá's noble son most dear,
Hark, Lakshmaṇ, what a roar I hear,
The tumult of a coming crowd,
Appalling, deafening, deep, and loud!
The din that yet more fearful grows
Scares elephants and buffaloes,
Or frightened by the lions, deer
Are flying through the wood in fear.
I fain would know who seeks this place
Comes prince or monarch for the chase?
Or does some mighty beast of prey
Frighten the silvan herds away?
'Tis hard to reach this mountain height,
Yea, e'en for birds in airy flight.
Then fain, O Lakshmaṇ, would I know
What cause disturbs the forest so.”
Lakshmaṇ in haste, the wood to view,
Climbed a high Sál that near him grew,
The forest all around he eyed,
First gazing on the eastern side.
Then northward when his eyes he bent
He saw a mighty armament
Of elephants, and cars, and horse,
And men on foot, a mingled force,
And banners waving in the breeze,
And spoke to Ráma words like these:
“Quick, quick, my lord, put out the fire,
Let Sítá to the cave retire.
[pg 207]
Thy coat of mail around thee throw,
Prepare thine arrows and thy bow.”
In eager haste thus Lakshmaṇ cried,
And Ráma, lion lord, replied:
“Still closer be the army scanned,
And say who leads the warlike band.”
Lakshmaṇ his answer thus returned,
As furious rage within him burned,
Exciting him like kindled fire
To scorch the army in his ire:
“'Tis Bharat: he has made the throne
By consecrating rites his own:
To gain the whole dominion thus
He comes in arms to slaughter us.
I mark tree-high upon his car
His flagstaff of the Kovidár,376
I see his glittering banner glance,
I see his chivalry advance:
I see his eager warriors shine
On elephants in lengthened line.
Now grasp we each the shafts and bow,
And higher up the mountain go.
Or in this place, O hero, stand
With weapons in each ready hand.
Perhaps beneath our might may fall
This leader of the standard tall,
And Bharat I this day may see
Who brought this mighty woe on thee,
Sítá, and me, who drove away
My brother from the royal sway.
Bharat our foe at length is nigh,
And by this hand shall surely die:
Brother, I see no sin at all
If Bharat by my weapon fall.
No fault is his who slays the foe
Whose hand was first to strike the blow:
With Bharat now the crime begins
Who against thee and duty sins.
The queen athirst for royal sway
Will see her darling son to-day
Fall by this hand, like some fair tree
Struck by an elephant, slain by me.
Kaikeyí's self shall perish too
With kith and kin and retinue,
And earth by my avenging deed
Shall from this mass of sin be freed.
This day my wrath, too long restrained,
Shall fall upon the foe, unchained,
Mad as the kindled flame that speeds
Destroying through the grass and reeds.
This day mine arrows keen and fierce
The bodies of the foe shall pierce:
The woods on Chitrakúṭa's side
Shall run with torrents crimson-dyed.
The wandering beasts of prey shall feed
On heart-cleft elephant and steed,
And drag to mountain caves away
The bodies that my arrows slay.
Doubt not that Bharat and his train
Shall in this mighty wood be slain:
So shall I pay the debt my bow
And these my deadly arrows owe.”
Canto XCVIII. Lakshman Calmed.

Then Ráma nobly calm allayed
The wrath that Lakshmaṇ's bosom swayed:
“What need have we the sword to wield,
To bend the bow or lift the shield,
If Bharat brave, and wise, and good,
Himself has sought this sheltering wood?
I sware my father's will to do,
And if I now my brother slew
What gain in kingship should I find,
Despised and scorned by all mankind?
Believe me, e'en as I would shrink
From poisoned meat or deadly drink,
No power or treasure would I win
By fall of friend or kith or kin.
Brother, believe the words I speak:
For your dear sakes alone I seek
Duty and pleasure, wealth and gain:
A holy life, a happy reign.
If royal sway my heart desires,
My brothers' weal the wish inspires:
Their bliss and safety is my care,
By this uplifted bow I swear.
'Twere not so hard for me to gain
This broad land girdled by the main,
But even Indra's royal might
Should ne'er be mine in duty's spite.
If any bliss my soul can see
Deprived of dear Śatrughna, thee,
And Bharat, may the flame destroy
With ashy gloom the selfish joy.
Far dearer than this life of mine,
Knowing the custom of our line,
His heart with fond affection fraught,
Bharat Ayodhyá's town resought
And hearing when he came that I,
With thee and Sítá, forced to fly
With matted hair and hermit dress
Am wandering in the wilderness.
While grief his troubled senses storms,
And tender love his bosom warms,
From every thought of evil clear,
Is come to meet his brother here.
Some grievous words perchance he spoke
Kaikeyí's anger to provoke,
Then won the king, and comes to lay
Before my feet the royal sway.
Hither, methinks, in season due
Comes Bharat for an interview,
Nor in his secret heart has he
One evil thought 'gainst thee or me.
What has he done ere now, reflect!
How failed in love or due respect
[pg 208]
To make thee doubt his faith and lay
This evil to his charge to-day?
Thou shouldst not join with Bharat's name
So harsh a speech and idle blame.
The blows thy tongue at Bharat deals,
My sympathizing bosom feels.
How, urged by stress of any ill,
Should sons their father's life-blood spill,
Or brother slay in impious strife
A brother dearer than his life?
If thou these cruel words hast said
By strong desire of empire led,
My brother Bharat will I pray
To give to thee the kingly sway.
“Give him the realm,” my speech shall be,
And Bharat will, methinks, agree.”
Thus spoke the prince whose chief delight
Was duty, and to aid the right:
And Lakshmaṇ keenly felt the blame,
And shrank within himself for shame:
And then his answer thus returned,
With downcast eye and cheek that burned:
“Brother, I ween, to see thy face
Our sire himself has sought this place.”
Thus Lakshmaṇ spoke and stood ashamed,
And Ráma saw and thus exclaimed:
“It is the strong-armed monarch: he
Is come, methinks, his sons to see,
To bid us both the forest quit
For joys for which he deems us fit:
He thinks on all our care and pain,
And now would lead us home again.
My glorious father hence will bear
Sítá who claims all tender care.
I see two coursers fleet as storms,
Of noble breed and lovely forms.
I see the beast of mountain size
Who bears the king our father wise,
The aged Victor, march this way
In front of all the armed array.
But doubt and fear within me rise,
For when I look with eager eyes
I see no white umbrella spread,
World-famous, o'er the royal head.
Now, Lakshmaṇ, from the tree descend,
And to my words attention lend.”
Thus spoke the pious prince: and he
Descended from the lofty tree,
And reverent hand to hand applied,
Stood humbly by his brother's side.
The host, compelled by Bharat's care,
The wood from trampling feet to spare,
Dense crowding half a league each way
Encamped around the mountain lay.
Below the tall hill's shelving side
Gleamed the bright army far and wide
Spread o'er the ample space,
By Bharat led who firmly true
In duty from his bosom threw
All pride, and near his brother drew
To win the hero's grace.
Canto XCIX. Bharat's Approach.

Soon as the warriors took their rest
Obeying Bharat's high behest,
Thus Bharat to Śatrughna spake:
“A band of soldiers with thee take,
And with these hunters o'er and o'er
The thickets of the wood explore.
With bow, sword, arrows in their hands
Let Guha with his kindred bands
Within this grove remaining trace
The children of Kakutstha's race.
And I meanwhile on foot will through
This neighbouring wood my way pursue,
With elders and the twice-born men,
And every lord and citizen.
There is, I feel, no rest for me
Till Ráma's face again I see,
Lakshmaṇ, in arms and glory great,
And Sítá born to happy fate:
No rest, until his cheek as bright
As the fair moon rejoice my sight,
No rest until I see the eye
With which the lotus petals vie;
Till on my head those dear feet rest
With signs of royal rank impressed;
None, till my kingly brother gain
His old hereditary reign,
Till o'er his limbs and noble head
The consecrating drops be shed.
How blest is Janak's daughter, true
To every wifely duty, who
Cleaves faithful to her husband's side
Whose realm is girt by Ocean's tide!
This mountain too above the rest
E'en as the King of Hills is blest,—
Whose shades Kakutstha's scion hold
As Nandan charms the Lord of Gold.
Yea, happy is this tangled grove
Where savage beasts unnumbered rove,
Where, glory of the Warrior race,
King Ráma finds a dwelling-place.”
Thus Bharat, strong-armed hero spake,
And walked within the pathless brake.
O'er plains where gay trees bloomed he went,
Through boughs in tangled net-work bent,
And then from Ráma's cot appeared
The banner which the flame upreared.
And Bharat joyed with every friend
To mark those smoky wreaths ascend:
“Here Ráma dwells,” he thought; “at last
The ocean of our toil is passed.”
Then sure that Ráma's hermit cot
Was on the mountain's side
He stayed his army on the spot,
And on with Guha hied.
[pg 209]
Canto C. The Meeting.

Then Bharat to Śatrughna showed
The spot, and eager onward strode,
First bidding Saint Vaśishṭha bring
The widowed consorts of the king.
As by fraternal love impelled
His onward course the hero held,
Sumantra followed close behind
Śatrughna with an anxious mind:
Not Bharat's self more fain could be
To look on Ráma's face than he.
As, speeding on, the spot he neared,
Amid the hermits' homes appeared
His brother's cot with leaves o'erspread,
And by its side a lowly shed.
Before the shed great heaps were left
Of gathered flowers and billets cleft,
And on the trees hung grass and bark
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ's path to mark:
And heaps of fuel to provide
Against the cold stood ready dried.
The long-armed chief, as on he went
In glory's light preëminent,
With joyous words like these addressed
The brave Śatrughna and the rest:
“This is the place, I little doubt,
Which Bharadvája pointed out,
Not far from where we stand must be
The woodland stream, Mandákiní.
Here on the mountain's woody side
Roam elephants in tusked pride,
And ever with a roar and cry
Each other, as they meet, defy.
And see those smoke-wreaths thick and dark:
The presence of the flame they mark,
Which hermits in the forest strive
By every art to keep alive.
O happy me! my task is done,
And I shall look on Raghu's son,
Like some great saint, who loves to treat
His elders with all reverence meet.”
Thus Bharat reached that forest rill,
Thus roamed on Chitrakúṭa's hill;
Then pity in his breast awoke,
And to his friends the hero spoke:
“Woe, woe upon my life and birth!
The prince of men, the lord of earth
Has sought the lonely wood to dwell
Sequestered in a hermit's cell.
Through me, through me these sorrows fall
On him the splendid lord of all:
Through me resigning earthly bliss
He hides him in a home like this.
Now will I, by the world abhorred,
Fall at the dear feet of my lord,
And at fair Sítá's too, to win
His pardon for my heinous sin.”
As thus he sadly mourned and sighed,
The son of Daśaratha spied
A bower of leafy branches made,
Sacred and lovely in the shade,
Of fair proportions large and tall,
Well roofed with boughs of palm, and Sál,
Arranged in order due o'erhead
Like grass upon an altar spread.
Two glorious bows were gleaming there,
Like Indra's377 in the rainy air,
Terror of foemen, backed with gold,
Meet for the mightiest hand to hold:
And quivered arrows cast a blaze
Bright gleaming like the Day-God's rays:
Thus serpents with their eyes aglow
Adorn their capital below.378
Great swords adorned the cottage, laid
Each in a case of gold brocade;
There hung the trusty shields, whereon
With purest gold the bosses shone.
The brace to bind the bowman's arm,
The glove to shield his hand from harm,
A lustre to the cottage lent
From many a golden ornament:
Safe was the cot from fear of men
As from wild beasts the lion's den.
The fire upon the altar burned,
That to the north and east was turned.
Bharat his eager glances bent
And gazed within the cot intent;
In deerskin dress, with matted hair,
Ráma his chief was sitting there:
With lion-shoulders broad and strong,
With lotus eyes, arms thick and long.
The righteous sovereign, who should be
Lord paramount from sea to sea,
High-minded, born to lofty fate,
Like Brahmá's self supremely great;
With Lakshmaṇ by his side, and her,
Fair Sítá, for his minister.
And Bharat gazing, overcome
By sorrow for a while was dumb,
Then, yielding to his woe, he ran
To Ráma and with sobs began:
“He who a royal seat should fill
With subjects round to do his will,
My elder brother,—see him here,
With silvan creatures waiting near.
The high-souled hero, wont to wear
The costliest robes exceeding fair,
Now banished, in a deerskin dress,
Here keeps the path of righteousness.
How brooks the son of Raghu now
The matted locks which load his brow,
Around whose princely head were twined
Sweet blossoms of the rarest kind?
The prince whose merits grew, acquired
[pg 210]
By rites performed as he desired,
Would now a store of merit gain
Bought by his body's toil and pain.
Those limbs to which pure sandal lent
The freshness of its fragrant scent,
Exposed to sun, and dust, and rain,
Are now defiled with many a stain.
And I the wretched cause why this
Falls on the prince whose right is bliss!
Ah me, that ever I was born
To be the people's hate and scorn!”
Thus Bharat cried: of anguish sprung,
Great drops upon his forehead hung.
He fell o'erpowered—his grief was such—
Ere he his brother's feet could touch.
As on the glorious prince he gazed
In vain his broken voice he raised:
“Dear lord”—through tears and sobbing came,
The only words his lips could frame.
And brave Śatrughna wept aloud,
As low at Ráma's feet he bowed.
Then Ráma, while his tears ran fast,
His arms around his brothers cast.
Guha, Sumantra came to meet
The princes in their wild retreat.
Vrihaspati and Śukra bright
Their greeting thus rejoice to pay
To the dear Lord who brings the night,
And the great God who rules the day.
Then wept the dwellers of the shade,
Whose eyes the princes, meet to ride
On mighty elephants, surveyed;
And cast all thought of joy aside.
Canto CI. Bharata Questioned.

Then Ráma gazed, and scarcely knew
Bharat so worn and changed in hue.
He raised him, kissed him on the head,
Embraced him, and thus kindly said:
“Where was thy father, brother dear,
That thou art come to seek me here?
Unmeet, if he be living yet,
Thy feet within the wood to set.
I pray thee now the cause declare
Why thou hast left the kingdom there,
With matted locks and deerskin dress
To roam the distant wilderness.”
Thus questioned by the prince, at length
Kaikeyí's son regained his strength,
And hand to hand in reverence laid,
To Ráma thus his answer made:
“The great-armed monarch, O my lord,
Has dared to do a thing abhorred,
Left us, and grieving for his son,
A home among the Gods has won.
My mother Queen Kaikeyí gave
The order to the king her slave,
And at the bidding of the dame
He wrought the sin which mars his fame.
Athirst for sway, her hopes are crossed,
She mourns her son, her husband lost,
And through her impious crime will go
For punishment to hell below.
Now O my lord, forgive me all;
Be gracious to thy lowly thrall:
Anointed king, accept to-day
Like Indra's self, the royal sway.
Be gracious, Prince, to lord and peer,
And widowed queens who seek thee here
Accept the kingdom thine by right,
And so thy faithful friends delight.
Let the broad land no longer be
All widowed and forlorn of thee:
Let the full moon of autumn reign
Triumphant o'er the night again.
These lords and I before thee bend:
O Ráma, to our prayer attend.
O do not thou this grace deny:
Thy brother, pupil, slave am I.
Look on this venerable ring,
Advisers of our sire the king,
From age to age so honoured: thou
Shouldst grant their supplication now.”
As weeping thus the hero prayed,
His head at Ráma's feet he laid.
Like a mad elephant he sighed:
And Ráma gazed and thus replied:
“How, brother, can a man of worth,
True to his vows, of noble birth—
A man like me, commit a sin
The lordship of the land to win?
No slightest shade of fault I see,
O tamer of thy foes, in thee.
But ne'er shouldst thou in childish thought
The queen thy mother blame in aught.
O brother wise and sinless, know
The sacred laws would have it so,
That from good wife and son require
Obedience to their lord and sire.
And we are all the king's, for thus
The virtuous ever reckon us:
Yea brother, be it known to thee,
His wives, and sons, and pupils we.
His is the right, if he deem fit,
To bid me, throned as monarch, sit,
Or in a coat of bark expel,
And deerskin, in the wood to dwell.
And O remember, best of all
Who act as claims of duty call,
As to a virtuous sire is due,
Such honour claims a mother too.
So they whose lives have ever been
By duty led, the king and queen,
Said, “Ráma, seek the forest shade:”
And I (what could I else?) obeyed.
Thou must the royal power retain,
[pg 211]
And o'er the famed Ayodhyá reign:
I dressed in bark my days will spend
Where Daṇḍak's forest wilds extend.
So Daśaratha spoke, our king,
His share to each apportioning
Before his honoured servants' eyes:
Then, heir of bliss, he sought the skies.
The righteous monarch's honoured will,
Whom all revered, must guide thee still,
And thou must still enjoy the share
Assigned thee by our father's care.
So I till twice seven years are spent
Will roam this wood in banishment,
Contented with the lot which he,
My high-souled sire, has given me.
The charge the monarch gave, endeared
To all mankind, by all revered,
Peer of the Lord Supreme,
Far better, richer far in gain
Of every blessing than to reign
O'er all the worlds I deem.”
Canto CII. Bharat's Tidings.

He spoke: and Bharat thus replied:
“If, false to every claim beside,
I ne'er in kingly duties fail,
What will my royal life avail?
Still should the custom be observed,
From which our line has never swerved,
Which to the younger son ne'er gives
The kingdom while the elder lives.
Now to Ayodhyá rich and fair
With me, O Raghu's son, repair,
And to protect and gladden all
Our house, thyself as king install.
A king the world's opinion deems
A man: to me a God he seems,
Whose life in virtuous thoughts and deeds
The lives of other men exceeds.
When I in distant Kekaya stayed,
And thou hadst sought the forest shade,
Our father died, the saints' delight,
So constant in each holy rite.
Scarce with thy wife and Lakshmaṇ thou
Hadst journeyed forth to keep the vow,
When mourning for his son, forspent,
To heavenly rest the monarch went.
Then up, O lord of men, away!
His funeral rites of water pay:
I and Śatrughna, ere we came,
Neglected not the sacred claim.
But in the spirit-world, they say,
That gift alone is fresh for aye
Which best beloved hands have poured;
And thou his dearest art, my lord.
For thee he longed, for thee he grieved,
His every thought on thee was bent,
And crushed by woe, of thee bereaved,
He thought of thee as hence he went.”
Canto CIII. The Funeral Libation.

When Ráma heard from Bharat each
Dark sorrow of his mournful speech,
And tidings of his father dead,
His spirits fell, his senses fled.
For the sad words his brother spoke
Struck on him like a thunder stroke,
Fierce as the bolt which Indra throws,
The victor of his Daitya foes.
Raising his arms in anguish, he,
As when the woodman hews a tree
With its fair flowery branches crowned,
Fainted and fell upon the ground.
Lord of the earth to earth he sank,
Helpless, as when a towering bank
With sudden ruin buries deep
An elephant who lay asleep.
Then swift his wife and brothers flew,
And water, weeping, o'er him threw.
As slowly sense and strength he gained,
Fast from his eyes the tears he rained,
And then in accents sad and weak
Kakutstha's son began to speak,
And mourning for the monarch dead,
With righteous words to Bharat said:
“What calls me home, when he, alas,
Has gone the way which all must pass?
Of him, the best of kings bereft
What guardian has Ayodhyá left?
How may I please his spirit? how
Delight the high-souled monarch now,
Who wept for me and went above
By me ungraced with mourning love?
Ah, happy brothers! you have paid
Due offerings to his parting shade.
E'en when my banishment is o'er,
Back to my home I go no more,
To look upon the widowed state
Reft of her king, disconsolate.
E'en then, O tamer of the foe,
If to Ayodhyá's town I go,
Who will direct me as of old,
Now other worlds our father hold?
From whom, my brother, shall I hear
Those words which ever charmed mine ear
And filled my bosom with delight
Whene'er he saw me act aright?”
Thus Ráma spoke: then nearer came
And looking on his moonbright dame,
“Sítá, the king is gone,” he said:
“And Lakshmaṇ, know thy sire is dead,
[pg 212]
And with the Gods on high enrolled:
This mournful news has Bharat told.”
He spoke: the noble youths with sighs
Rained down the torrents from their eyes.
And then the brothers of the chief
With words of comfort soothed his grief:
“Now to the king our sire who swayed
The earth be due libations paid.”
Soon as the monarch's fate she knew,
Sharp pangs of grief smote Sítá through:
Nor could she look upon her lord
With eyes from which the torrents poured.
And Ráma strove with tender care
To soothe the weeping dame's despair,
And then, with piercing woe distressed,
The mournful Lakshmaṇ thus addressed:
“Brother, I pray thee bring for me
The pressed fruit of the Ingudí,
And a bark mantle fresh and new,
That I may pay this offering due.
First of the three shall Sítá go,
Next thou, and I the last: for so
Moves the funereal pomp of woe.”379
Sumantra of the noble mind,
Gentle and modest, meek and kind,
Who, follower of each princely youth,
To Ráma clung with constant truth,
Now with the royal brothers' aid
The grief of Ráma soothed and stayed,
And lent his arm his lord to guide
Down to the river's holy side.
That lovely stream the heroes found,
With woods that ever blossomed crowned,
And there in bitter sorrow bent
Their footsteps down the fair descent.
Then where the stream that swiftly flowed
A pure pellucid shallow showed,
The funeral drops they duly shed,
And “Father, this be thine,” they said.
But he, the lord who ruled the land,
Filled from the stream his hollowed hand,
And turning to the southern side
Stretched out his arm and weeping cried:
“This sacred water clear and pure,
An offering which shall aye endure
To thee, O lord of kings, I give:
Accept it where the spirits live!”
Then, when the solemn rite was o'er,
Came Ráma to the river shore,
And offered, with his brothers' aid,
Fresh tribute to his father's shade.
With jujube fruit he mixed the seed
Of Ingudís from moisture freed,
And placed it on a spot o'erspread
With sacred grass, and weeping said:
“Enjoy, great King, the cake which we
Thy children eat and offer thee!
For ne'er do blessed Gods refuse
To share the food which mortals use.”
Then Ráma turned him to retrace
The path that brought him to the place,
And up the mountain's pleasant side
Where lovely lawns lay fair, he hied.
Soon as his cottage door he gained
His brothers to his breast he strained.
From them and Sítá in their woes
So loud the cry of weeping rose,
That like the roar of lions round
The mountain rolled the echoing sound.
And Bharat's army shook with fear
The weeping of the chiefs to hear.
“Bharat,” the soldiers cried, “'tis plain,
His brother Ráma meets again,
And with these cries that round us ring
They sorrow for their sire the king.”
Then leaving car and wain behind,
One eager thought in every mind,
Swift toward the weeping, every man,
As each could find a passage, ran.
Some thither bent their eager course
With car, and elephant, and horse,
And youthful captains on their feet
With longing sped their lord to meet,
As though the new-come prince had been
An exile for long years unseen.
Earth beaten in their frantic zeal
By clattering hoof and rumbling wheel,
Sent forth a deafening noise as loud
As heaven when black with many a cloud.
Then, with their consorts gathered near,
Wild elephants in sudden fear
Rushed to a distant wood, and shed
An odour round them as they fled.
And every silvan thing that dwelt
Within those shades the terror felt,
Deer, lion, tiger, boar and roe,
Bison, wild-cow, and buffalo.
And when the tumult wild they heard,
With trembling pinions flew each bird,
From tree, from thicket, and from lake,
Swan, koïl, curlew, crane, and drake.
With men the ground was overspread,
With startled birds the sky o'erhead.
Then on his sacrificial ground
The sinless, glorious chief was found.
Loading with curses deep and loud
The hump-back and the queen, the crowd
Whose cheeks were wet, whose eyes were dim,
In fond affection ran to him.
While the big tears their eyes bedewed,
He looked upon the multitude,
[pg 213]
And then as sire and mother do,
His arms about his loved ones threw.
Some to his feet with reverence pressed,
Some in his arms he strained:
Each friend, with kindly words addressed,
Due share of honour gained.
Then, by their mighty woe o'ercome,
The weeping heroes' cry
Filled, like the roar of many a drum,
Hill, cavern, earth, and sky.
Canto CIV. The Meeting With The Queens.

Vaśishṭha with his soul athirst
To look again on Ráma, first
In line the royal widows placed,
And then the way behind them traced.
The ladies moving, faint and slow,
Saw the fair stream before them flow,
And by the bank their steps were led
Which the two brothers visited.
Kauśalyá with her faded cheek
And weeping eyes began to speak,
And thus in mournful tones addressed
The queen Sumitrá and the rest:
“See in the wood the bank's descent,
Which the two orphan youths frequent,
Whose noble spirits never fall,
Though woes surround them, reft of all.
Thy son with love that never tires
Draws water hence which mine requires.
This day, for lowly toil unfit,
His pious task thy son should quit.”
As on the long-eyed lady strayed,
On holy grass, whose points were laid
Directed to the southern sky,
The funeral offering met her eye.
When Ráma's humble gift she spied
Thus to the queens Kauśalyá cried:
“The gift of Ráma's hand behold,
His tribute to the king high-souled,
Offered to him, as texts require,
Lord of Ikshváku's line, his sire!
Not such I deem the funeral food
Of kings with godlike might endued.
Can he who knew all pleasures, he
Who ruled the earth from sea to sea,
The mighty lord of monarchs, feed
On Ingudí's extracted seed?
In all the world there cannot be
A woe, I ween, more sad to see,
Than that my glorious son should make
His funeral gift of such a cake.
The ancient text I oft have heard
This day is true in every word:
“Ne'er do the blessed Gods refuse
To eat the food their children use.’ ”
The ladies soothed the weeping dame:
To Ráma's hermitage they came,
And there the hero met their eyes
Like a God fallen from the skies.
Him joyless, reft of all, they viewed,
And tears their mournful eyes bedewed.
The truthful hero left his seat,
And clasped the ladies' lotus feet,
And they with soft hands brushed away
The dust that on his shoulders lay.
Then Lakshmaṇ, when he saw each queen
With weeping eyes and troubled mien,
Near to the royal ladies drew
And paid them gentle reverence too.
He, Daśaratha's offspring, signed
The heir of bliss by Fortune kind,
Received from every dame no less
Each mark of love and tenderness.
And Sítá came and bent before
The widows, while her eyes ran o'er,
And pressed their feet with many a tear.
They when they saw the lady dear
Pale, worn with dwelling in the wild,
Embraced her as a darling child:
“Daughter of royal Janak, bride
Of Daśaratha's son,” they cried,
“How couldst thou, offspring of a king,
Endure this woe and suffering
In the wild forest? When I trace
Each sign of trouble on thy face—
That lotus which the sun has dried,
That lily by the tempest tried,
That gold whereon the dust is spread,
That moon whence all the light is fled—
Sorrow assails my heart, alas!
As fire consumes the wood and grass.”
Then Ráma, as she spoke distressed,
The feet of Saint Vaśishṭha pressed,
Touched them with reverential love,
Then near him took his seat:
Thus Indra clasps in realms above
The Heavenly Teacher's380 feet.
Then with each counsellor and peer,
Bharat of duteous mind,
With citizens and captains near,
Sat humbly down behind.
When with his hands to him upraised,
In devotee's attire,
Bharat upon his brother gazed
Whose glory shone like fire,
As when the pure Mahendra bends
To the great Lord of Life,
Among his noble crowd of friends
This anxious thought was rife:
“What words to Raghu's son to-day
Will royal Bharat speak,
Whose heart has been so prompt to pay
Obeisance fond and meek?”
Then steadfast Ráma, Lakshmaṇ wise,
Bharat for truth renowned,
[pg 214]
Shone like three fires that heavenward rise
With holy priests around.
Canto CV. Ráma's Speech.

A while they sat, each lip compressed,
Then Bharat thus his chief addressed:
“My mother here was made content;
To me was given the government.
This now, my lord, I yield to thee:
Enjoy it, from all trouble free.
Like a great bridge the floods have rent,
Impetuous in their wild descent,
All other hands but thine in vain
Would strive the burthen to maintain.
In vain the ass with steeds would vie,
With Tárkshya,381 birds that wing the sky;
So, lord of men, my power is slight
To rival thine imperial might.
Great joys his happy days attend
On whom the hopes of men depend,
But wretched is the life he leads
Who still the aid of others needs.
And if the seed a man has sown,
With care and kindly nurture grown,
Rear its huge trunk and spring in time
Too bulky for a dwarf to climb,
Yet, with perpetual blossom gay,
No fruit upon its boughs display,
Ne'er can that tree, thus nursed in vain,
Approval of the virtuous gain.
The simile is meant to be
Applied, O mighty-armed, to thee,
Because, our lord and leader, thou
Protectest not thy people now.
O, be the longing wish fulfilled
Of every chief of house and guild,
To see again their sun-bright lord
Victorious to his realm restored!
As thou returnest through the crowd
Let roars of elephants be loud.
And each fair woman lift her voice
And in her new-found king rejoice.”
The people all with longing moved,
The words that Bharat spoke approved,
And crowding near to Ráma pressed
The hero with the same request.
The steadfast Ráma, when he viewed
His glorious brother's mournful mood,
With each ambitious thought controlled,
Thus the lamenting prince consoled:
“I cannot do the things I will,
For Ráma is but mortal still.
Fate with supreme, resistless law
This way and that its slave will draw,
All gathered heaps must waste away,
All lofty lore and powers decay.
Death is the end of life, and all,
Now firmly joined, apart must fall.
One fear the ripened fruit must know,
To fall upon the earth below;
So every man who draws his breath
Must fear inevitable death.
The pillared mansion, high, compact,
Must fall by Time's strong hand attacked;
So mortal men, the gradual prey
Of old and ruthless death, decay.
The night that flies no more returns:
Yamuná for the Ocean yearns:
Swift her impetuous waters flee,
But roll not backward from the sea.
The days and nights pass swiftly by
And steal our moments as they fly,
E'en as the sun's unpitying rays
Drink up the floods in summer blaze.
Then for thyself lament and leave
For death of other men to grieve,
For if thou go or if thou stay,
Thy life is shorter day by day.
Death travels with us; death attends
Our steps until our journey ends,
Death, when the traveller wins the goal,
Returns with the returning soul.
The flowing hair grows white and thin,
And wrinkles mark the altered skin.
The ills of age man's strength assail:
Ah, what can mortal power avail?
Men joy to see the sun arise,
They watch him set with joyful eyes:
But ne'er reflect, too blind to see,
How fast their own brief moments flee.
With lovely change for ever new
The seasons' sweet return they view,
Nor think with heedless hearts the while
That lives decay as seasons smile.
As haply on the boundless main
Meet drifting logs and part again,
So wives and children, friends and gold,
Ours for a little time we hold:
Soon by resistless laws of fate
To meet no more we separate.
In all this changing world not one
The common lot of all can shun:
Then why with useless tears deplore
The dead whom tears can bring no more?
As one might stand upon the way
And to a troop of travellers say:
“If ye allow it, sirs, I too
Will travel on the road with you:”
So why should mortal man lament
When on that path his feet are bent
Which all men living needs must tread,
Where sire and ancestors have led?
Life flies as torrents downward fall
Speeding away without recall,
So virtue should our thoughts engage,
For bliss382 is mortals' heritage.
[pg 215]
By ceaseless care and earnest zeal
For servants and for people's weal,
By gifts, by duty nobly done,
Our glorious sire the skies has won.
Our lord the king, o'er earth who reigned,
A blissful home in heaven has gained
By wealth in ample largess spent,
And many a rite magnificent:
With constant joy from first to last
A long and noble life he passed,
Praised by the good, no tears should dim
Our eyes, O brother dear, for him.
His human body, worn and tried
By length of days, he cast aside,
And gained the godlike bliss to stray
In Brahmá's heavenly home for aye.
For such the wise as we are, deep
In Veda lore, should never weep.
Those who are firm and ever wise
Spurn vain lament and idle sighs.
Be self-possessed: thy grief restrain:
Go, in that city dwell again.
Return, O best of men, and be
Obedient to our sire's decree,
While I with every care fulfil
Our holy father's righteous will,
Observing in the lonely wood
His charge approved by all the good.”
Thus Ráma of the lofty mind
To Bharat spoke his righteous speech,
By every argument designed
Obedience to his sire to teach.
Canto CVI. Bharat's Speech.

Good Bharat, by the river side,
To virtuous Ráma's speech replied,
And thus with varied lore addressed
The prince, while nobles round him pressed:
“In all this world whom e'er can we
Find equal, scourge of foes, to thee?
No ill upon thy bosom weighs,
No thoughts of joy thy spirit raise.
Approved art thou of sages old,
To whom thy doubts are ever told.
Alike in death and life, to thee
The same to be and not to be.
The man who such a soul can gain
Can ne'er be crushed by woe or pain.
Pure as the Gods, high-minded, wise,
Concealed from thee no secret lies.
Such glorious gifts are all thine own,
And birth and death to thee are known,
That ill can ne'er thy soul depress
With all-subduing bitterness.
O let my prayer, dear brother, win
Thy pardon for my mother's sin.
Wrought for my sake who willed it not
When absent in a distant spot.
Duty alone with binding chains
The vengeance due to crime restrains,
Or on the sinner I should lift
My hand in retribution swift.
Can I who know the right, and spring
From Daśaratha, purest king—
Can I commit a heinous crime,
Abhorred by all through endless time?
The aged king I dare not blame,
Who died so rich in holy fame,
My honoured sire, my parted lord,
E'en as a present God adored.
Yet who in lore of duty skilled
So foul a crime has ever willed,
And dared defy both gain and right
To gratify a woman's spite?
When death draws near, so people say,
The sense of creatures dies away;
And he has proved the ancient saw
By acting thus in spite of law.
But O my honoured lord, be kind,
Dismiss the trespass from thy mind,
The sin the king committed, led
By haste, his consort's wrath, and dread.
For he who veils his sire's offence
With tender care and reverence—
His sons approved by all shall live:
Not so their fate who ne'er forgive.
Be thou, my lord, the noble son,
And the vile deed my sire has done,
Abhorred by all the virtuous, ne'er
Resent, lest thou the guilt too share.
Preserve us, for on thee we call,
Our sire, Kaikeyí, me and all
Thy citizens, thy kith and kin;
Preserve us and reverse the sin.
To live in woods a devotee
Can scarce with royal tasks agree,
Nor can the hermit's matted hair
Suit fitly with a ruler's care.
Do not, my brother, do not still
Pursue this life that suits thee ill.
Mid duties of a king we count
His consecration paramount,
That he with ready heart and hand
May keep his people and his land.
What Warrior born to royal sway
From certain good would turn away,
A doubtful duty to pursue,
That mocks him with the distant view?
Thou wouldst to duty cleave, and gain
The meed that follows toil and pain.
In thy great task no labour spare:
Rule the four castes with justest care.
Mid all the four, the wise prefer
The order of the householder:383
[pg 216]
Canst thou, whose thoughts to duty cleave,
The best of all the orders leave?
My better thou in lore divine,
My birth, my sense must yield to thine:
While thou, my lord, art here to reign,
How shall my hands the rule maintain?
O faithful lover of the right,
Take with thy friends the royal might,
Let thy sires' realm, from trouble free,
Obey her rightful king in thee.
Here let the priests and lords of state
Our monarch duly consecrate,
With prayer and holy verses blessed
By saint Vaśishṭha and the rest.
Anointed king by us, again
Seek fair Ayodhyá, there to reign,
And like imperial Indra girt
By Gods of Storm, thy might assert.
From the three debts384 acquittance earn,
And with thy wrath the wicked burn,
O'er all of us thy rule extend,
And cheer with boons each faithful friend.
Let thine enthronement, lord, this day
Make all thy lovers glad and gay,
And let all those who hate thee flee
To the ten winds for fear of thee.
Dear lord, my mother's words of hate
With thy sweet virtues expiate,
And from the stain of folly clear
The father whom we both revere.
Brother, to me compassion show,
I pray thee with my head bent low,
And to these friends who on thee call,—
As the Great Father pities all.
But if my tears and prayers be vain,
And thou in woods wilt still remain,
I will with thee my path pursue
And make my home in forests too.”
Thus Bharat strove to bend his will
With suppliant head, but he,
Earth's lord, inexorable still
Would keep his sire's decree.
The firmness of the noble chief
The wondering people moved,
And rapture mingling with their grief,
All wept and all approved.
“How firm his steadfast will,” they cried,
“Who Keeps his promise thus!
Ah, to Ayodhyá's town,” they sighed,
“He comes not back with us.”
The holy priest, the swains who tilled
The earth, the sons of trade,
And e'en the mournful queens were filled
With joy as Bharat prayed,
And bent their heads, then weeping stilled
A while, his prayer to aid.
Canto CVII. Ráma's Speech.

Thus, by his friends encompassed round,
He spoke, and Ráma, far renowned,
To his dear brother thus replied,
Whom holy rites had purified:
“O thou whom Queen Kaikeyí bare
The best of kings, thy words are fair,
Our royal father, when of yore
He wed her, to her father swore
The best of kingdoms to confer,
A noble dowry meet for her;
Then, grateful, on the deadly day
Of heavenly Gods' and demons' fray,
A future boon on her bestowed
To whose sweet care his life he owed.
She to his mind that promise brought,
And then the best of kings besought
To bid me to the forest flee,
And give the rule, O Prince, to thee.
Thus bound by oath, the king our lord
Gave her those boons of free accord,
And bade me, O thou chief of men,
Live in the woods four years and ten.
I to this lonely wood have hied
With faithful Lakshmaṇ by my side,
And Sítá by no tears deterred,
Resolved to keep my father's word.
And thou, my noble brother, too
Shouldst keep our father's promise true:
Anointed ruler of the state
Maintain his word inviolate.
From his great debt, dear brother, free
Our lord the king for love of me,
Thy mother's breast with joy inspire,
And from all woe preserve thy sire.
'Tis said, near Gayá's holy town385
Gayá, great saint of high renown,
This text recited when he paid
Due rites to each ancestral shade:
“A son is born his sire to free
From Put's infernal pains:
Hence, saviour of his father, he
The name of Puttra gains.”386
Thus numerous sons are sought by prayer,
In Scripture trained with graces fair,
[pg 217]
That of the number one some day
May funeral rites at Gayá pay.
The mighty saints who lived of old
This holy doctrine ever hold.
Then, best of men, our sire release
From pains of hell, and give him peace.
Now Bharat, to Ayodhyá speed,
The brave Śatrughna with thee lead,
Take with thee all the twice-born men,
And please each lord and citizen.
I now, O King, without delay
To Daṇḍak wood will bend my way,
And Lakshmaṇ and the Maithil dame
Will follow still, our path the same.
Now, Bharat, lord of men be thou,
And o'er Ayodhyá reign:
The silvan world to me shall bow,
King of the wild domain.
Yea, let thy joyful steps be bent
To that fair town to-day,
And I as happy and content,
To Daṇḍak wood will stray.
The white umbrella o'er thy brow
Its cooling shade shall throw:
I to the shadow of the bough
And leafy trees will go.
Śatrughna, for wise plans renowned,
Shall still on thee attend;
And Lakshmaṇ, ever faithful found,
Be my familiar friend.
Let us his sons, O brother dear,
The path of right pursue,
And keep the king we all revere
Still to his promise true.”
Canto CVIII. Jáváli's Speech.

Thus Ráma soothed his brother's grief:
Then virtuous Jáváli, chief
Of twice-born sages, thus replied
In words that virtue's law defied:
“Hail, Raghu's princely son, dismiss
A thought so weak and vain as this.
Canst thou, with lofty heart endowed,
Think with the dull ignoble crowd?
For what are ties of kindred? can
One profit by a brother man?
Alone the babe first opes his eyes,
And all alone at last he dies.
The man, I ween, has little sense
Who looks with foolish reverence
On father's or on mother's name:
In others, none a right may claim.
E'en as a man may leave his home
And to a distant village roam,
Then from his lodging turn away
And journey on the following day,
Such brief possession mortals hold
In sire and mother, house and gold,
And never will the good and wise
The brief uncertain lodging prize.
Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown
Thy sire's hereditary throne,
And tread the rough and stony ground
Where hardship, danger, woes abound.
Come, let Ayodhyá rich and bright
See thee enthroned with every rite:
Her tresses bound in single braid387
She waits thy coming long delayed.
O come, thou royal Prince, and share
The kingly joys that wait thee there,
And live in bliss transcending price
As Indra lives in Paradise.
The parted king is naught to thee,
Nor right in living man has he:
The king is one, thou, Prince of men,
Another art: be counselled then.
Thy royal sire, O chief, has sped
On the long path we all must tread.
The common lot of all is this,
And thou in vain art robbed of bliss.
For those—and only those—I weep
Who to the path of duty keep;
For here they suffer ceaseless woe,
And dying to destruction go.
With pious care, each solemn day,
Will men their funeral offerings pay:
See, how the useful food they waste:
He who is dead no more can taste.
If one is fed, his strength renewed
Whene'er his brother takes his food,
Then offerings to the parted pay:
Scarce will they serve him on his way.
By crafty knaves these rules were framed,
And to enforce men's gifts proclaimed:
“Give, worship, lead a life austere,
Keep lustral rites, quit pleasures here.”
There is no future life: be wise,
And do, O Prince, as I advise.
Enjoy, my lord, the present bliss,
And things unseen from thought dismiss.
Let this advice thy bosom move,
The counsel sage which all approve;
To Bharat's earnest prayer incline,
And take the rule so justly thine.”
Canto CIX. The Praises Of Truth.

By sage Jáváli thus addressed,
Ráma of truthful hearts the best,
[pg 218]
With perfect skill and wisdom high
Thus to his speech made fit reply:
“Thy words that tempt to bliss are fair,
But virtue's garb they falsely wear.
For he from duty's path who strays
To wander in forbidden ways,
Allured by doctrine false and vain,
Praise from the good can never gain.
Their lives the true and boaster show,
Pure and impure, and high and low,
Else were no mark to judge between
Stainless and stained and high and mean;
They to whose lot fair signs may fall
Were but as they who lack them all,
And those to virtuous thoughts inclined
Were but as men of evil mind.
If in the sacred name of right
I do this wrong in duty's spite;
The path of virtue meanly quit,
And this polluting sin commit,
What man who marks the bounds between
Virtue and vice with insight keen,
Would rank me high in after time
Stained with this soul destroying crime?
Whither could I, the sinner, turn,
How hope a seat in heaven to earn,
If I my plighted promise break,
And thus the righteous path forsake?
This world of ours is ever led
To walk the ways which others tread,
And as their princes they behold,
The subjects too their lives will mould.
That truth and mercy still must be
Beloved of kings, is Heaven's decree.
Upheld by truth the monarch reigns,
And truth the very world sustains.
Truth evermore has been the love
Of holy saints and Gods above,
And he whose lips are truthful here
Wins after death the highest sphere.
As from a serpent's deadly tooth,
We shrink from him who scorns the truth.
For holy truth is root and spring
Of justice and each holy thing,
A might that every power transcends,
Linked to high bliss that never ends.
Truth is all virtue's surest base,
Supreme in worth and first in place.
Oblations, gifts men offer here,
Vows, sacrifice, and rites austere,
And Holy Writ, on truth depend:
So men must still that truth defend.
Truth, only truth protects the land,
By truth unharmed our houses stand;
Neglect of truth makes men distressed,
And truth in highest heaven is blessed.
Then how can I, rebellious, break
Commandments which my father spake—
I ever true and faithful found,
And by my word of honour bound?
My father's bridge of truth shall stand
Unharmed by my destructive hand:
Not folly, ignorance, or greed
My darkened soul shall thus mislead.
Have we not heard that God and shade
Turn from the hated offerings paid
By him whose false and fickle mind
No pledge can hold, no promise bind?
Truth is all duty: as the soul,
It quickens and supports the whole.
The good respect this duty: hence
Its sacred claims I reverence.
The Warrior's duty I despise
That seeks the wrong in virtue's guise:
Those claims I shrink from, which the base,
Cruel, and covetous embrace.
The heart conceives the guilty thought,
Then by the hand the sin is wrought,
And with the pair is leagued a third,
The tongue that speaks the lying word.
Fortune and land and name and fame
To man's best care have right and claim;
The good will aye to truth adhere,
And its high laws must men revere.
Base were the deed thy lips would teach,
Approved as best by subtle speech.
Shall I my plighted promise break,
That I these woods my home would make?
Shall I, as Bharat's words advise,
My father's solemn charge despise?
Firm stands the oath which then before
My father's face I soothly swore,
Which Queen Kaikeyí's anxious ear
Rejoiced with highest joy to hear.
Still in the wood will I remain,
With food prescribed my life sustain,
And please with fruit and roots and flowers
Ancestral shades and heavenly powers.
Here every sense contented, still
Heeding the bounds of good and ill,
My settled course will I pursue,
Firm in my faith and ever true.
Here in this wild and far retreat
Will I my noble task complete;
And Fire and Wind and Moon shall be
Partakers of its fruit with me.
A hundred offerings duly wrought
His rank o'er Gods for Indra bought,
And mighty saints their heaven secured
By torturing years on earth endured.”
That scoffing plea the hero spurned,
And thus he spake once more,
Chiding, the while his bosom burned,
Jáváli's impious lore:
“Justice, and courage ne'er dismayed,
Pity for all distressed,
Truth, loving honour duly paid
To Bráhman, God, and guest—
In these, the true and virtuous say,
Should lives of men be passed:
They form the right and happy way
That leads to heaven at last.
[pg 219]
My father's thoughtless act I chide
That gave thee honoured place,
Whose soul, from virtue turned aside,
Is faithless, dark, and base.
We rank the Buddhist with the thief,388
And all the impious crew
Who share his sinful disbelief,
And hate the right and true.
Hence never should wise kings who seek
To rule their people well,
Admit, before their face to speak,
The cursed infidel.
But twice-born men in days gone by,
Of other sort than thou,
Have wrought good deeds, whose glories high
Are fresh among us now:
This world they conquered, nor in vain
They strove to win the skies:
The twice-born hence pure lives maintain,
And fires of worship rise.
Those who in virtue's path delight,
And with the virtuous live,—
Whose flames of holy zeal are bright,
Whose hands are swift to give,
Who injure none, and good and mild
In every grace excel,
Whose lives by sin are undefiled,
We love and honour well.”
Thus Ráma spoke in righteous rage
Jáváli's speech to chide,
When thus again the virtuous sage
In truthful words replied:
“The atheist's lore I use no more,
Not mine his impious creed:
His words and doctrine I abhor,
Assumed at time of need.
E'en as I rose to speak with thee,
The fit occasion came
That bade me use the atheist's plea
To turn thee from thine aim.
The atheist creed I disavow,
Unsay the words of sin,
And use the faithful's language now
Thy favour, Prince, to win.”
Canto CX. The Sons Of Ikshváku.389

Then spake Vaśishṭha who perceived
That Ráma's soul was wroth and grieved:
“Well knows the sage Jáváli all
The changes that the world befall;
And but to lead thee to revoke
Thy purpose were the words he spoke.
Lord of the world, now hear from me
How first this world began to be.
First water was, and naught beside;
There earth was formed that stretches wide.
Then with the Gods from out the same
The Self-existent Brahmá came.
Then Brahmá390 in a boar's disguise
Bade from the deep this earth arise;
Then, with his sons of tranquil soul,
He made the world and framed the whole.
From subtlest ether Brahmá rose:
No end, no loss, no change he knows.
A son had he, Maríchi styled,
And Kaśyap was Maríchi's child.
From him Vivasvat sprang: from him
Manu, whose fame shall ne'er be dim.
Manu, who life to mortals gave,
Begot Ikshváku good and brave:
First of Ayodhyá's kings was he,
Pride of her famous dynasty.
From him the glorious Kukshi sprang,
Whose fame through all the regions rang.
Rival of Kukshi's ancient fame,
His heir the great Vikukshi came.
His son was Váṇa, lord of might,
His Anaraṇya, strong in fight.
No famine marred his blissful reign,
No drought destroyed the kindly grain;
Amid the sons of virtue chief,
His happy realm ne'er held a thief,
His son was Prithu, glorious name,
From him the wise Triśanku came:
Embodied to the skies he went
For love of truth preëminent.
He left a son renowned afar,
Known by the name of Dhundhumár.
His son succeeding bore the name
Of Yuvanáśva dear to fame.
He passed away. Him followed then
His son Mándhátá, king of men.
His son was blest in high emprise,
Susandhi, fortunate and wise.
Two noble sons had he, to wit
Dhruvasandhi and Prasenajit.
Bharat was Dhruvasandhi's son:
His glorious arm the conquest won,
Against his son King Asit, rose
In fierce array his royal foes,
Haihayas, Tálajanghas styled,
And Śaśivindhus fierce and wild.
[pg 220]
Long time he strove, but forced to yield
Fled from his kingdom and the field.
The wives he left had both conceived—
So is the ancient tale believed:—
One, of her rival's hopes afraid,
Fell poison in the viands laid.
It chanced that Chyavan, Bhrigu's child,
Had wandered to the pathless wild
Where proud Himálaya's lovely height
Detained him with a strange delight.
Then came the other widowed queen
With lotus eyes and beauteous mien,
Longing a noble son to bear,
And wooed the saint with earnest prayer.
When thus Kálindí, fairest dame
With reverent supplication came,
To her the holy sage replied:
“O royal lady, from thy side
A glorious son shall spring ere long,
Righteous and true and brave and strong;
He, scourge of foes and lofty-souled,
His ancient race shall still uphold.”
Then round the sage the lady went,
And bade farewell, most reverent.
Back to her home she turned once more,
And there her promised son she bore.
Because her rival mixed the bane
To render her conception vain,
And her unripened fruit destroy,
Sagar she called her rescued boy.391
He, when he paid that solemn rite,392
Filled living creatures with affright:
Obedient to his high decree
His countless sons dug out the sea.
Prince Asamanj was Sagar's child:
But him with cruel sin defiled
And loaded with the people's hate
His father banished from the state.
To Asamanj his consort bare
Bright Anśumán his valiant heir.
Anśumán's son, Dilípa famed,
Begot a son Bhagírath named.
From him renowned Kakutstha came:
Thou bearest still the lineal name.
Kakutstha's son was Raghu: thou
Art styled the son of Raghu now.
From him came Purushádak bold,
Fierce hero of gigantic mould:
Kalmáshapáda's name he bore,
Because his feet were spotted o'er.
Śankhan his son, to manhood grown,
Died sadly with his host o'erthrown,
But ere he perished sprang from him
Sudarśan fair in face and limb.
From beautiful Sudarśan came
Prince Agnivarṇa, bright as flame.
His son was Śíghraga, for speed
Unmatched; and Maru was his seed.
Prasusruka was Maru's child:
His son was Ambarísha styled.
Nahush was Ambarísha's heir
With hand to strike and heart to dare.
His son was good Nábhág, from youth
Renowned for piety and truth.
From great Nábhág sprang children two
Aja and Suvrat pure and true.
From Aja Daśaratha came,
Whose virtuous life was free from blame.
His eldest son art thou: his throne,
O famous Ráma, is thine own.
Accept the sway so justly thine,
And view the world with eyes benign.
For ever in Ikshváku's race
The eldest takes his father's place,
And while he lives no son beside
As lord and king is sanctified.
The rule by Raghu's children kept
Thou must not spurn to-day.
This realm of peerless wealth accept,
And like thy father sway.”
Canto CXI. Counsel To Bharat.

Thus said Vaśishṭha, and again
To Ráma spake in duteous strain:
“All men the light of life who see
With high respect should look on three:
High honour ne'er must be denied
To father, mother, holy guide.
First to their sires their birth they owe,
Nursed with maternal love they grow:
Their holy guides fair knowledge teach:
So men should love and honour each.
Thy sire and thou have learned of me,
The sacred guide of him and thee,
And if my word thou wilt obey
Thou still wilt keep the virtuous way.
See, with the chiefs of every guild
And all thy friends, this place is filled:
All these, as duty bids, protect;
So still the righteous path respect.
O, for thine aged mother feel,
Nor spurn the virtuous dame's appeal:
Obey, O Prince, thy mother dear,
And still to virtue's path adhere.
Yield thou to Bharat's fond request,
With earnest supplication pressed,
So wilt thou to thyself be true,
And faith and duty still pursue.”
Thus by his saintly guide addressed
With pleas in sweetest tones expressed,
The lord of men in turn replied
To wise Vaśishṭha by his side:
“The fondest son's observance ne'er
Repays the sire and mother's care:
[pg 221]
The constant love that food provides,
And dress, and every need besides:
Their pleasant words still soft and mild,
Their nurture of the helpless child:
The words which Daśaratha spake,
My king and sire, I ne'er will break.”
Then Bharat of the ample chest
The wise Sumantra thus addressed;
“Bring sacred grass, O charioteer,
And strew it on the level here.
For I will sit and watch his face
Until I win my brother's grace.
Like a robbed Bráhman will I lie,393
Nor taste of food nor turn my eye,
In front of Ráma's leafy cot,
And till he yield will leave him not.”
When Bharat saw Sumantra's eye
Looked up to Ráma for reply,
The Prince himself in eager haste
The sacred grass in order placed.
Him great and mighty Ráma, best
Of royal saints, in turn addressed:
“What, Bharat, have I done, that thou
Besiegest me,394 a suppliant now?
Thus streched, to force redress for wrongs
To men of Bráhman birth belongs,
Not those upon whose kingly head
The consecrating drops are shed.
Up, lord of men! arise, and quit
This fearful vow for thee unfit.
Go, brother, seek Ayodhyá's town,
Fair city of supreme renown.”
But Bharat, as his seat he took,
Cast all around an eager look:
“O people, join your prayers with mine,
And so his stubborn heart incline.”
And all the people answered thus:
“Full well is Ráma known to us.
Right is the word he speaks and he
Is faithful to his sire's decree:
Nor can we rashly venture now
To turn him from his purposed vow.”
Then Ráma spoke: “O Bharat, heed
Thy virtuous friends, and mark their rede.
Mark well what I and these advise,
And duty view with clearer eyes.
Thy hand on mine, O hero, place,
Touch water, and thy sin efface.”
Then Bharat rose: his hand he dipped,
And purifying water sipped:
“Each citizen,” he cried, “give ear,
Attend, each counsellor and peer.
My mother planned, by me untaught,
To win the sway I never sought:
Ne'er Raghu's son could I despise,
In duty's lore supremely wise.
Now if obedience to our sire
This dwelling in the woods require,
I, till the destined years be spent,
Will dwell alone in banishment.”
The virtuous Ráma, wonder-stirred,
The faithful speech of Bharat heard,
And thus the hero's feelings found
Due utterance, as he gazed around:
“Still to my father's word I hold,
Whate'er he bought, or pledged, or sold:
Ne'er shall his living promise be
Annulled by Bharat or by me.
Not thus my task will I evade,
My exile on another laid:
Most wise was Queen Kaikeyí's rede,
And just and good my father's deed.
Dear Bharat's patient soul I know,
How reverence due he loves to show;
In him, high-souled and faithful found,
Must each auspicious grace abound.
When from the woods I turn again
I with his aid shall nobly reign,
With one so good, of peerless worth,
A glorious lord of happy earth.
Her boon Kaikeyí sought and won.
I, as my father swore, have done:
And O, do thou, my brother dear,
The monarch's name from falsehood clear.
Canto CXII. The Sandals.

High wonder mingled with delight
Took the great sages at the sight,
Thrilling their breasts who came to view
The meeting of the peerless two.
The saints and sages' holy train
Departed to their home again.
And high each holy voice was raised,
And thus the glorious brothers praised.
“High fate is his, the sire of two
Most virtuous souls, so brave and true:
With wonder and with joy intense
Our ears have heard their conference.”
Then the great sages, longing all
To see the ten-necked tyrant395 fall,
To Bharat, bravest of the brave,
Their salutary counsel gave:
“O thou of lofty lineage born,
Whom wisdom, conduct, fame adorn,
Thou for thy honoured father's sake
Shouldst Ráma's righteous counsel take.
[pg 222]
All debts to Queen Kaikeyí paid,
Thy sire his home in heaven has made,
So virtuous Ráma we would see
From filial obligation free.”
Thus gave each royal sage advice,
High saint, and bard of Paradise;
Then quickly vanishing from view
Each to his proper home withdrew.
Then Ráma's face his rapture showed,
And his full heart with joy o'erflowed,
While, as the sages parted thence,
He paid his humble reverence.
Then Bharat shook in every limb
As suppliant thus he spake to him:
“The duty of a king respect,
Held by our race in high respect:
And O, thy gracious ear incline
To heed my mother's prayer and mine.
The mighty realm to rule and guard
For me alone is task too hard.
No power have I the love to gain
Of noble, citizen, and swain.
All those who know thee, warrior, friend,
On thee their eager glances bend,
As labouring hinds who till the plain
Look fondly for the Lord of Rain.
O wisest Prince, thy realm secure,
And make its firm foundations sure.
Kakutstha's son, thy mighty arm
Can keep the nation free from harm.”
He spoke, and fell in sorrow drowned
At Ráma's feet upon the ground,
And there the hero sued and sighed,
And “Hear me, Raghu's son,” he cried.
Then Ráma raised him up, and pressed
His brother to his loving breast,
And sweetly as a wild swan cried
To Bharat dark and lotus-eyed:
“So just and true thy generous soul,
Thy hand may well this earth control:
But many a sage his aid will lend,
With counsellor, and peer, and friend:
With these advise: their counsel ask,
And so perform thy arduous task.
The moon his beauty may forgo,
The cold forsake the Hills of Snow,
And Ocean o'er his banks may sweep,
But I my father's word will keep.
Now whether love of thee or greed
Thy mother led to plan the deed,
Forth from thy breast the memory throw,
And filial love and reverence show.”
Thus spake Kauśalyá's son: again
Bharat replied in humble strain
To him who matched the sun in might
And lovely as the young moon's light:
“Put, noble brother, I entreat,
These sandals on thy blessed feet:
These, lord of men, with gold bedecked,
The realm and people will protect.”
Then Ráma, as his brother prayed
Beneath his feet the sandals laid,
And these with fond affection gave
To Bharat's hand, the good and brave.
Then Bharat bowed his reverent head
And thus again to Ráma said:
“Through fourteen seasons will I wear
The hermit's dress and matted hair:
With fruit and roots my life sustain,
And still beyond the realm remain,
Longing for thee to come again.
The rule and all affairs of state
I to these shoes will delegate.
And if, O tamer of thy foes,
When fourteen years have reached their close,
I see thee not that day return,
The kindled fire my frame shall burn.”
Then Ráma to his bosom drew
Dear Bharat and Śatrughna too:
“Be never wroth,” he cried, “with her,
Kaikeyí's guardian minister:
This, glory of Ikshváku's line,
Is Sítá's earnest prayer and mine.”
He spoke, and as the big tears fell,
To his dear brother bade farewell.
Round Ráma, Bharat strong and bold
In humble reverence paced,
When the bright sandals wrought with gold
Above his brows were placed.
The royal elephant who led
The glorious pomp he found,
And on the monster's mighty head
Those sandals duly bound.
Then noble Ráma, born to swell
The glories of his race,
To all in order bade farewell
With love and tender grace—
To brothers, counsellers, and peers,—
Still firm, in duty proved,
Firm, as the Lord of Snow uprears
His mountains unremoved.
No queen, for choking sobs and sighs,
Could say her last adieu:
Then Ráma bowed, with flooded eyes,
And to his cot withdrew.
Canto CXIII. Bharat's Return.

Bearing the sandals on his head
Away triumphant Bharat sped,
And clomb, Śatrughna by his side,
The car wherein he wont to ride.
Before the mighty army went
The lords for counsel eminent,
Vaśishṭha, Vámadeva next,
Jáváli, pure with prayer and text.
[pg 223]
Then from that lovely river they
Turned eastward on their homeward way:
With reverent steps from left to right
They circled Chitrakúṭa's height,
And viewed his peaks on every side
With stains of thousand metals dyed.
Then Bharat saw, not far away,
Where Bharadvája's dwelling lay,
And when the chieftain bold and sage
Had reached that holy hermitage,
Down from the car he sprang to greet
The saint, and bowed before his feet.
High rapture filled the hermit's breast,
Who thus the royal prince addressed:
“Say, Bharat, is thy duty done?
Hast thou with Ráma met, my son?”
The chief whose soul to virtue clave
This answer to the hermit gave:
“I prayed him with our holy guide:
But Raghu's son our prayer denied,
And long besought by both of us
He answered Saint Vaśishṭha thus:
“True to my vow, I still will be
Observant of my sire's decree:
Till fourteen years complete their course
That promise shall remain in force.”
The saint in highest wisdom taught,
These solemn words with wisdom fraught,
To him in lore of language learned
Most eloquent himself returned:
“Obey my rede: let Bharat hold
This pair of sandals decked with gold:
They in Ayodhyá shall ensure
Our welfare, and our bliss secure.”
When Ráma heard the royal priest
He rose, and looking to the east
Consigned the sandals to my hand
That they for him might guard the land.
Then from the high-souled chief's abode
I turned upon my homeward road,
Dismissed by him, and now this pair
Of sandals to Ayodhyá bear.”
To him the hermit thus replied,
By Bharat's tidings gratified:
“No marvel thoughts so just and true,
Thou best of all who right pursue,
Should dwell in thee, O Prince of men,
As waters gather in the glen.
He is not dead, we mourn in vain:
Thy blessed father lives again,
Whose noble son we thus behold
Like Virtue's self in human mould.”
He ceased: before him Bharat fell
To clasp his feet, and said farewell:
His reverent steps around him bent,
And onward to Ayodhyá went.
His host of followers stretching far
With many an elephant and car,
Waggon and steed, and mighty train,
Traversed their homeward way again.
O'er holy Yamuná they sped,
Fair stream, with waves engarlanded,
And then once more the rivers' queen,
The blessed Gangá's self was seen.
Then making o'er that flood his way,
Where crocodiles and monsters lay,
The king to Śringavera drew
His host and royal retinue.
His onward way he thence pursued,
And soon renowned Ayodhyá viewed.
Then burnt by woe and sad of cheer
Bharat addressed the charioteer:
“Ah, see, Ayodhyá dark and sad,
Her glory gone, once bright and glad:
Of joy and beauty reft, forlorn,
In silent grief she seems to mourn.”
Canto CXIV. Bharat's Departure.

Deep, pleasant was the chariot's sound
As royal Bharat, far renowned,
Whirled by his mettled coursers fast
Within Ayodhyá's city passed.
There dark and drear was every home
Where cats and owls had space to roam,
As when the shades of midnight fall
With blackest gloom, and cover all:
As Rohiṇí, dear spouse of him
Whom Ráhu hates,396 grows faint and dim,
When, as she shines on high alone
The demon's shade is o'er her thrown:
As burnt by summer's heat a rill
Scarce trickling from her parent hill,
With dying fish in pools half dried,
And fainting birds upon her side:
As sacrificial flames arise
When holy oil their food supplies,
But when no more the fire is fed
Sink lustreless and cold and dead:
Like some brave host that filled the plain,
With harness rent and captains slain,
When warrior, elephant, and steed
Mingled in wild confusion bleed:
As when, all spent her store of worth,
Rocks from her base the loosened earth:
Like a sad fallen star no more
Wearing the lovely light it wore:
So mournful in her lost estate
Was that sad town disconsolate.
Then car-borne Bharat, good and brave,
Thus spake to him the steeds who drave:
“Why are Ayodhyá's streets so mute?
Where is the voice of lyre and lute?
Why sounds not, as of old, to-day
The music of the minstrel's lay?
[pg 224]
Where are the wreaths they used to twine?
Where are the blossoms and the wine?
Where is the cool refreshing scent
Of sandal dust with aloe blent?
The elephant's impatient roar,
The din of cars, I hear no more:
No more the horse's pleasant neigh
Rings out to meet me on my way.
Ayodhyá's youths, since Ráma's flight,
Have lost their relish for delight:
Her men roam forth no more, nor care
Bright garlands round their necks to wear.
All grieve for banished Ráma: feast,
And revelry and song have ceased:
Like a black night when floods pour down,
So dark and gloomy is the town.
When will he come to make them gay
Like some auspicious holiday?
When will my brother, like a cloud
At summer's close, make glad the crowd?”
Then through the streets the hero rode,
And passed within his sire's abode,
Like some deserted lion's den,
Forsaken by the lord of men.
Then to the inner bowers he came,
Once happy home of many a dame,
Now gloomy, sad, and drear,
Dark as of old that sunless day
When wept the Gods in wild dismay;397
There poured he many a tear.
Canto CXV. Nandigrám.398

Then when the pious chief had seen
Lodged in her home each widowed queen,
Still with his burning grief oppressed
His holy guides he thus addressed:
“I go to Nandigrám: adieu,
This day, my lords to all of you:
I go, my load of grief to bear,
Reft of the son of Raghu, there.
The king my sire, alas, is dead,
And Ráma to the forest fled;
There will I wait till he, restored,
Shall rule the realm, its rightful lord.”
They heard the high-souled prince's speech,
And thus with ready answer each
Of those great lords their chief addressed,
With saint Vaśishṭha and the rest:
“Good are the words which thou hast said,
By brotherly affection led,
Like thine own self, a faithful friend,
True to thy brother to the end:
A heart like thine must all approve,
Which naught from virtue's path can move.”
Soon as the words he loved to hear
Fell upon Bharat's joyful ear,
Thus to the charioteer he spoke:
“My car with speed, Sumantra, yoke.”
Then Bharat with delighted mien
Obeisance paid to every queen,
And with Śatrughna by his side
Mounting the car away he hied.
With lords, and priests in long array
The brothers hastened on their way.
And the great pomp the Bráhmans led
With Saint Vaśishṭha at their head.
Then every face was eastward bent
As on to Nandigrám they went.
Behind the army followed, all
Unsummoned by their leader's call,
And steeds and elephants and men
Streamed forth with every citizen.
As Bharat in his chariot rode
His heart with love fraternal glowed,
And with the sandals on his head
To Nandigrám he quickly sped.
Within the town he swiftly pressed,
Alighted, and his guides addressed:
“To me in trust my brother's hand
Consigned the lordship of the land,
When he these gold-wrought sandals gave
As emblems to protect and save.”
Then Bharat bowed, and from his head
The sacred pledge deposited,
And thus to all the people cried
Who ringed him round on every side:
“Haste, for these sandals quickly bring
The canopy that shades the king.
Pay ye to them all reverence meet
As to my elder brother's feet,
For they will right and law maintain
Until King Ráma come again.
My brother with a loving mind
These sandals to my charge consigned:
I till he come will guard with care
The sacred trust for Raghu's heir.
My watchful task will soon be done,
The pledge restored to Raghu's son;
Then shall I see, his wanderings o'er,
These sandals on his feet once more.
My brother I shall meet at last,
The burthen from my shoulders cast,
To Ráma's hand the realm restore
And serve my elder as before.
When Ráma takes again this pair
Of sandals kept with pious care,
And here his glorious reign begins,
I shall be cleansed from all my sins,
[pg 225]
When the glad people's voices ring
With welcome to the new-made king,
Joy will be mine four-fold as great
As if supreme I ruled the state.”
Thus humbly spoke in sad lament
The chief in fame preëminent:
Thus, by his reverent lords obeyed,
At Nandigrám the kingdom swayed.
With hermit's dress and matted hair
He dwelt with all his army there.
The sandals of his brother's feet
Installed upon the royal seat,
He, all his powers to them referred,
Affairs of state administered.
In every care, in every task,
When golden store was brought,
He first, as though their rede to ask,
Those royal sandals sought.
Canto CXVI. The Hermit's Speech.

When Bharat took his homeward road
Still Ráma in the wood abode:
But soon he marked the fear and care
That darkened all the hermits there.
For all who dwelt before the hill
Were sad with dread of coming ill:
Each holy brow was lined by thought,
And Ráma's side they often sought.
With gathering frowns the prince they eyed,
And then withdrew and talked aside.
Then Raghu's son with anxious breast
The leader of the saints addressed:
“Can aught that I have done displease,
O reverend Sage, the devotees?
Why are their loving looks, O say,
Thus sadly changed or turned away?
Has Lakshmaṇ through his want of heed
Offended with unseemly deed?
Or is the gentle Sítá, she
Who loved to honour you and me—
Is she the cause of this offence,
Failing in lowly reverence?”
One sage, o'er whom, exceeding old,
Had many a year of penance rolled,
Trembling in every aged limb
Thus for the rest replied to him:
“How could we, O beloved, blame
Thy lofty-souled Videhan dame,
Who in the good of all delights,
And more than all of anchorites?
But yet through thee a numbing dread
Of fiends among our band has spread;
Obstructed by the demons' art
The trembling hermits talk apart.
For Rávaṇ's brother, overbold,
Named Khara, of gigantic mould,
Vexes with fury fierce and fell
All those in Janasthán399 who dwell.
Resistless in his cruel deeds,
On flesh of men the monster feeds:
Sinful and arrogant is he,
And looks with special hate on thee.
Since thou, beloved son, hast made
Thy home within this holy shade,
The fiends have vexed with wilder rage
The dwellers of the hermitage.
In many a wild and dreadful form
Around the trembling saints they swarm,
With hideous shape and foul disguise
They terrify our holy eyes.
They make our loathing souls endure
Insult and scorn and sights impure,
And flocking round the altars stay
The holy rites we love to pay.
In every spot throughout the grove
With evil thoughts the monsters rove,
Assailing with their secret might
Each unsuspecting anchorite.
Ladle and dish away they fling,
Our fires with floods extinguishing,
And when the sacred flame should burn
They trample on each water-urn.
Now when they see their sacred wood
Plagued by this impious brotherhood,
The troubled saints away would roam
And seek in other shades a home:
Hence will we fly, O Ráma, ere
The cruel fiends our bodies tear.
Not far away a forest lies
Rich in the roots and fruit we prize,
To this will I and all repair
And join the holy hermits there;
Be wise, and with us thither flee
Before this Khara injure thee.
Mighty art thou, O Ráma, yet
Each day with peril is beset.
If with thy consort by thy side
Thou in this wood wilt still abide.”
He ceased: the words the hero spake
The hermit's purpose failed to break:
To Raghu's son farewell he said,
And blessed the chief and comforted;
Then with the rest the holy sage
Departed from the hermitage.
So from the wood the saints withdrew,
And Ráma bidding all adieu
In lowly reverence bent:
Instructed by their friendly speech,
Blest with the gracious love of each,
To his pure home he went.
Nor would the son of Raghu stray
A moment from that grove away
From which the saints had fled.
And many a hermit thither came
Attracted by his saintly fame
And the pure life he led.
[pg 226]
Canto CXVII. Anasúyá.

But dwelling in that lonely spot
Left by the hermits pleased him not.
“I met the faithful Bharat here,
The townsmen, and my mother dear:
The painful memory lingers yet,
And stings me with a vain regret.
And here the host of Bharat camped,
And many a courser here has stamped,
And elephants with ponderous feet
Have trampled through the calm retreat.”
So forth to seek a home he hied,
His spouse and Lakshmaṇ by his side.
He came to Atri's pure retreat,
Paid reverence to his holy feet,
And from the saint such welcome won
As a fond father gives his son.
The noble prince with joy unfeigned
As a dear guest he entertained,
And cheered the glorious Lakshmaṇ too
And Sítá with observance due.
Then Anasúyá at the call
Of him who sought the good of all,
His blameless venerable spouse,
Delighting in her holy vows,
Came from her chamber to his side:
To her the virtuous hermit cried:
“Receive, I pray, with friendly grace
This dame of Maithil monarchs' race:”
To Ráma next made known his wife,
The devotee of saintliest life:
“Ten thousand years this votaress bent
On sternest rites of penance spent;
She when the clouds withheld their rain,
And drought ten years consumed the plain,
Caused grateful roots and fruit to grow
And ordered Gangá here to flow:
So from their cares the saints she freed,
Nor let these checks their rites impede,
She wrought in Heaven's behalf, and made
Ten nights of one, the Gods to aid:400
Let holy Anasúyá be
An honoured mother, Prince, to thee.
Let thy Videhan spouse draw near
To her whom all that live revere,
Stricken in years, whose loving mind
Is slow to wrath and ever kind.”
He ceased: and Ráma gave assent,
And said, with eyes on Sítá bent:
“O Princess, thou hast heard with me
This counsel of the devotee:
Now that her touch thy soul may bless,
Approach the saintly votaress:
Come to the venerable dame,
Far known by Anasúyá's name:
The mighty things that she has done
High glory in the world have won.”
Thus spoke the son of Raghu: she
Approached the saintly devotee,
Who with her white locks, old and frail,
Shook like a plantain in the gale.
To that true spouse she bowed her head,
And “Lady, I am Sítá,” said:
Raised suppliant hands and prayed her tell
That all was prosperous and well.
The aged matron, when she saw
Fair Sítá true to duty's law,
Addressed her thus: “High fate is thine
Whose thoughts to virtue still incline.
Thou, lady of the noble mind,
Hast kin and state and wealth resigned
To follow Ráma forced to tread
Where solitary woods are spread.
Those women gain high spheres above
Who still unchanged their husbands love,
Whether they dwell in town or wood,
Whether their hearts be ill or good.
Though wicked, poor, or led away
In love's forbidden paths to stray,
The noble matron still will deem
Her lord a deity supreme.
Regarding kin and friendship, I
Can see no better, holier tie,
And every penance-rite is dim
Beside the joy of serving him.
But dark is this to her whose mind
Promptings of idle fancy blind,
Who led by evil thoughts away
Makes him who should command obey.
Such women, O dear Maithil dame,
Their virtue lose and honest fame,
Enslaved by sin and folly, led
In these unholy paths to tread.
But they who good and true like thee
The present and the future see,
Like men by holy deeds will rise
To mansions in the blissful skies.
So keep thee pure from taint of sin,
Still to thy lord be true,
And fame and merit shalt thou win,
To thy devotion due.”
Canto CXVIII. Anasúyá's Gifts.

Thus by the holy dame addressed
Who banished envy from her breast,
Her lowly reverence Sítá paid,
And softly thus her answer made:
“No marvel, best of dames, thy speech
The duties of a wife should teach;
[pg 227]
Yet I, O lady, also know
Due reverence to my lord to show.
Were he the meanest of the base,
Unhonoured with a single grace,
My husband still I ne'er would leave,
But firm through all to him would cleave:
Still rather to a lord like mine
Whose virtues high-exalted shine,
Compassionate, of lofty soul,
With every sense in due control,
True in his love, of righteous mind,
Like a dear sire and mother kind.
E'en as he ever loves to treat
Kauśalyá with observance meet,
Has his behaviour ever been
To every other honoured queen.
Nay, more, a sonlike reverence shows
The noble Ráma e'en to those
On whom the king his father set
His eyes one moment, to forget.
Deep in my heart the words are stored,
Said by the mother of my lord,
When from my home I turned away
In the lone fearful woods to stray.
The counsel of my mother deep
Impressed upon my soul I keep,
When by the fire I took my stand,
And Ráma clasped in his my hand.
And in my bosom cherished yet,
My friends' advice I ne'er forget:
Woman her holiest offering pays
When she her husband's will obeys.
Good Sávitrí her lord obeyed,
And a high saint in heaven was made,
And for the self-same virtue thou
Hast heaven in thy possession now.
And she with whom no dame could vie,
Now a bright Goddess in the sky,
Sweet Rohiṇí the Moon's dear Queen,
Without her lord is never seen:
And many a faithful wife beside
For her pure love is glorified.”
Thus Sítá spake: soft rapture stole
Through Anasúyá's saintly soul:
Kisses on Sítá's head she pressed,
And thus the Maithil dame addressed:
“I by long rites and toils endured
Rich store of merit have secured:
From this my wealth will I bestow
A blessing ere I let thee go.
So right and wise and true each word
That from thy lips mine ears have heard,
I love thee: be my pleasing task
To grant the boon that thou shalt ask.”
Then Sítá marvelled much, and while
Played o'er her lips a gentle smile,
“All has been done, O Saint,” she cried,
“And naught remains to wish beside.”
She spake; the lady's meek reply
Swelled Anasúyá's rapture high.
“Sítá,” she said, “my gift to-day
Thy sweet contentment shall repay.
Accept this precious robe to wear,
Of heavenly fabric, rich and rare,
These gems thy limbs to ornament,
This precious balsam sweet of scent.
O Maithil dame, this gift of mine
Shall make thy limbs with beauty shine,
And breathing o'er thy frame dispense
Its pure and lasting influence.
This balsam on thy fair limbs spread
New radiance on thy lord shall shed,
As Lakshmí's beauty lends a grace
To Vishṇu's own celestial face.”
Then Sítá took the gift the dame
Bestowed on her in friendship's name,
The balsam, gems, and robe divine,
And garlands wreathed of bloomy twine;
Then sat her down, with reverence meet,
At saintly Anasúyá's feet.
The matron rich in rites and vows
Turned her to Ráma's Maithil spouse,
And questioned thus in turn to hear
A pleasant tale to charm her ear:
“Sítá, 'tis said that Raghu's son
Thy hand, mid gathered suitors, won.
I fain would hear thee, lady, tell
The story as it all befell:
Do thou repeat each thing that passed,
Reviewing all from first to last.”
Thus spake the dame to Sítá: she
Replying to the devotee,
“Then, lady, thy attention lend,”
Rehearsed the story to the end:
“King Janak, just and brave and strong,
Who loves the right and hates the wrong,
Well skilled in what the law ordains
For Warriors, o'er Videha reigns.
Guiding one morn the plough, his hand
Marked out, for rites the sacred land,
When, as the ploughshare cleft the earth,
Child of the king I leapt to birth.
Then as the ground he smoothed and cleared,
He saw me all with dust besmeared,
And on the new-found babe, amazed
The ruler of Videha gazed.
In childless love the monarch pressed
The welcome infant to his breast:
“My daughter,” thus he cried, “is she:”
And as his child he cared for me.
Forth from the sky was heard o'erhead
As 'twere a human voice that said:
“Yea, even so: great King, this child
Henceforth thine own be justly styled.”
Videha's monarch, virtuous souled,
Rejoiced o'er me with joy untold,
Delighting in his new-won prize,
The darling of his heart and eyes.
To his chief queen of saintly mind
The precious treasure he consigned,
And by her side she saw me grow,
Nursed with the love which mothers know.
[pg 228]
Then as he saw the seasons fly,
And knew my marriage-time was nigh,
My sire was vexed with care, as sad
As one who mourns the wealth he had:
“Scorn on the maiden's sire must wait
From men of high and low estate:
The virgin's father all despise,
Though Indra's peer, who rules the skies.”
More near he saw, and still more near,
The scorn that filled his soul with fear,
On trouble's billowy ocean tossed,
Like one whose shattered bark is lost.
My father knowing how I came,
No daughter of a mortal dame,
In all the regions failed to see
A bridegroom meet to match with me.
Each way with anxious thought he scanned,
And thus at length the monarch planned:
“The Bride's Election will I hold,
With every rite prescribed of old.”
It pleased King Varuṇ to bestow
Quiver and shafts and heavenly bow
Upon my father's sire who reigned,
When Daksha his great rite ordained.
Where was the man might bend or lift
With utmost toil that wondrous gift?
Not e'en in dreams could mortal king
Strain the great bow or draw the string.
Of this tremendous bow possessed,
My truthful father thus addressed
The lords of many a region, all
Assembled at the monarch's call:
“Whoe'er this bow can manage, he
The husband of my child shall be.”
The suitors viewed with hopeless eyes
That wondrous bow of mountain size,
Then to my sire they bade adieu,
And all with humbled hearts withdrew.
At length with Viśvámitra came
This son of Raghu, dear to fame,
The royal sacrifice to view.
Near to my father's home he drew,
His brother Lakshmaṇ by his side,
Ráma, in deeds heroic tried.
My sire with honour entertained
The saint in lore of duty trained,
Who thus in turn addressed the king:
“Ráma and Lakshmaṇ here who spring
From royal Daśaratha, long
To see thy bow so passing strong.”
Before the prince's eyes was laid
That marvel, as the Bráhman prayed.
One moment on the bow he gazed,
Quick to the notch the string he raised,
Then, in the wandering people's view,
The cord with mighty force he drew.
Then with an awful crash as loud
As thunderbolts that cleave the cloud,
The bow beneath the matchless strain
Of arms heroic snapped in twain.
Thus, giving purest water, he,
My sire, to Ráma offered me.
The prince the offered gift declined
Till he should learn his father's mind;
So horsemen swift Ayodhyá sought
And back her aged monarch brought.
Me then my sire to Ráma gave,
Self-ruled, the bravest of the brave.
And Urmilá, the next to me,
Graced with all gifts, most fair to see,
My sire with Raghu's house allied,
And gave her to be Lakshmaṇ's bride.
Thus from the princes of the land
Lord Ráma won my maiden hand,
And him exalted high above
Heroic chiefs I truly love.”
Canto CXIX. The Forest.

When Anasúyá, virtuous-souled,
Had heard the tale by Sítá told,
She kissed the lady's brow and laced
Her loving arms around her waist.
“With sweet-toned words distinct and clear
Thy pleasant tale has charmed mine ear,
How the great king thy father held
That Maiden's Choice unparalleled.
But now the sun has sunk from sight,
And left the world to holy Night.
Hark! how the leafy thickets sound
With gathering birds that twitter round:
They sought their food by day, and all
Flock homeward when the shadows fall.
See, hither comes the hermit band,
Each with his pitcher in his hand:
Fresh from the bath, their locks are wet,
Their coats of bark are dripping yet.
Here saints their fires of worship tend,
And curling wreaths of smoke ascend:
Borne on the flames they mount above,
Dark as the brown wings of the dove.
The distant trees, though well-nigh bare,
Gloom thickened by the evening air,
And in the faint uncertain light
Shut the horizon from our sight.
The beasts that prowl in darkness rove
On every side about the grove,
And the tame deer, at ease reclined
Their shelter near the altars find.
The night o'er all the sky is spread,
With lunar stars engarlanded,
And risen in his robes of light
The moon is beautifully bright.
Now to thy lord I bid thee go:
Thy pleasant tale has charmed me so:
One thing alone I needs must pray,
Before me first thyself array:
Here in thy heavenly raiment shine,
And glad, dear love, these eyes of mine.”
[pg 229]
Then like a heavenly Goddess shone
Fair Sítá with that raiment on.
She bowed her to the matron's feet,
Then turned away her lord to meet.
The hero prince with joy surveyed
His Sítá in her robes arrayed,
As glorious to his arms she came
With love-gifts of the saintly dame.
She told him how the saint to show
Her fond affection would bestow
That garland of celestial twine,
Those ornaments and robes divine.
Then Ráma's heart, nor Lakshmaṇ's less,
Was filled with pride and happiness,
For honours high had Sítá gained,
Which mortal dames have scarce obtained.
There honoured by each pious sage
Who dwelt within the hermitage,
Beside his darling well content
That sacred night the hero spent.
The princes, when the night had fled,
Farewell to all the hermits said,
Who gazed upon the distant shade,
Their lustral rites and offerings paid.
The saints who made their dwelling there
In words like these addressed the pair:
“O Princes, monsters fierce and fell
Around that distant forest dwell:
On blood from human veins they feed,
And various forms assume at need,
With savage beasts of fearful power
That human flesh and blood devour.
Our holy saints they rend and tear
When met alone or unaware,
And eat them in their cruel joy:
These chase, O Ráma, or destroy.
By this one path our hermits go
To fetch the fruits that yonder grow:
By this, O Prince, thy feet should stray
Through pathless forests far away.”
Thus by the reverent saints addressed,
And by their prayers auspicious blessed,
He left the holy crowd:
His wife and brother by his side,
Within the mighty wood he hied.
So sinks the Day-God in his pride
Beneath a bank of cloud.
BOOK III.

Canto I. The Hermitage.

When Ráma, valiant hero, stood
In the vast shade of Daṇḍak wood,
His eyes on every side he bent
And saw a hermit settlement,
Where coats of bark were hung around,
And holy grass bestrewed the ground.
Bright with Bráhmanic lustre glowed
That circle where the saints abode:
Like the hot sun in heaven it shone,
Too dazzling to be looked upon.
Wild creatures found a refuge where
The court, well-swept, was bright and fair,
And countless birds and roedeer made
Their dwelling in the friendly shade.
Beneath the boughs of well-loved trees
Oft danced the gay Apsarases.401
Around was many an ample shed
Wherein the holy fire was fed;
With sacred grass and skins of deer,
Ladles and sacrificial gear,
And roots and fruit, and wood to burn,
And many a brimming water-urn.
Tall trees their hallowed branches spread,
Laden with pleasant fruit, o'erhead;
And gifts which holy laws require,402
And solemn offerings burnt with fire,403
And Veda chants on every side
That home of hermits sanctified.
There many a flower its odour shed,
And lotus blooms the lake o'erspred.
There, clad in coats of bark and hide,—
Their food by roots and fruit supplied,—
Dwelt many an old and reverend sire
Bright as the sun or Lord of Fire,
All with each worldly sense subdued,
A pure and saintly multitude.
The Veda chants, the saints who trod
The sacred ground and mused on God,
Made that delightful grove appear
Like Brahmá's own most glorious sphere.
As Raghu's splendid son surveyed
That hermit home and tranquil shade,
He loosed his mighty bow-string, then
Drew nearer to the holy men.
[pg 230]
With keen celestial sight endued
Those mighty saints the chieftain viewed,
With joy to meet the prince they came,
And gentle Sítá dear to fame.
They looked on virtuous Ráma, fair
As Soma404 in the evening air,
And Lakshmaṇ by his brother's side,
And Sítá long in duty tried,
And with glad blessings every sage
Received them in the hermitage.
Then Ráma's form and stature tall
Entranced the wondering eyes of all,—
His youthful grace, his strength of limb,
And garb that nobly sat on him.
To Lakshmaṇ too their looks they raised,
And upon Sítá's beauty gazed
With eyes that closed not lest their sight
Should miss the vision of delight.
Then the pure hermits of the wood,
Rejoicing in all creatures' good,
Their guest, the glorious Ráma, led
Within a cot with leaves o'erhead.
With highest honour all the best
Of radiant saints received their guest,
With kind observance, as is meet,
And gave him water for his feet.
To highest pitch of rapture wrought
Their stores of roots and fruit they brought.
They poured their blessings on his head,
And “All we have is thine,” they said.
Then, reverent hand to hand applied,405
Each duty-loving hermit cried:
“The king is our protector, bright
In fame, maintainer of the right.
He bears the awful sword, and hence
Deserves an elder's reverence.
One fourth of Indra's essence, he
Preserves his realm from danger free,
Hence honoured by the world of right
The king enjoys each choice delight.
Thou shouldst to us protection give,
For in thy realm, dear lord, we live:
Whether in town or wood thou be,
Thou art our king, thy people we.
Our wordly aims are laid aside,
Our hearts are tamed and purified.
To thee our guardian, we who earn
Our only wealth by penance turn.”
Then the pure dwellers in the shade
To Raghu's son due honour paid,
And Lakshmaṇ, bringing store of roots,
And many a flower, and woodland fruits.
And others strove the prince to please
With all attentive courtesies.
Canto II. Virádha.

Thus entertained he passed the night,
Then, with the morning's early light,
To all the hermits bade adieu
And sought his onward way anew.
He pierced the mighty forest where
Roamed many a deer and pard and bear:
Its ruined pools he scarce could see.
For creeper rent and prostrate tree,
Where shrill cicada's cries were heard,
And plaintive notes of many a bird.
Deep in the thickets of the wood
With Lakshmaṇ and his spouse he stood,
There in the horrid shade he saw
A giant passing nature's law:
Vast as some mountain-peak in size,
With mighty voice and sunken eyes,
Huge, hideous, tall, with monstrous face,
Most ghastly of his giant race.
A tiger's hide the Rákshas wore
Still reeking with the fat and gore:
Huge-faced, like Him who rules the dead,
All living things he struck with dread.
Three lions, tigers four, ten deer
He carried on his iron spear,
Two wolves, an elephant's head beside
With mighty tusks which blood-drops dyed.
When on the three his fierce eye fell,
He charged them with a roar and yell
As furious as the grisly King
When stricken worlds are perishing.
Then with a mighty roar that shook
The earth beneath their feet, he took
The trembling Sítá to his side.
Withdrew a little space, and cried:
“Ha, short lived wretches, ye who dare,
In hermit dress with matted hair,
Armed each with arrows, sword, and bow,
Through Daṇḍak's pathless wood to go:
How with one dame, I bid you tell,
Can you among ascetics dwell?
Who are ye, sinners, who despise
The right, in holy men's disguise?
The great Virádha, day by day
Through this deep-tangled wood I stray,
And ever, armed with trusty steel,
I seize a saint to make my meal.
This woman young and fair of frame
Shall be the conquering giant's dame:
Your blood, ye things of evil life,
My lips shall quaff in battle strife.”
He spoke: and Janak's hapless child,
Scared by his speech so fierce and wild,
[pg 231]
Trembled for terror, as a frail
Young plantain shivers in the gale.
When Ráma saw Virádha clasp
Fair Sítá in his mighty grasp,
Thus with pale lips that terror dried
The hero to his brother cried:
“O see Virádha's arm enfold
My darling in its cursed hold,—
The child of Janak best of kings,
My spouse whose soul to virtue clings,
Sweet princess, with pure glory bright,
Nursed in the lap of soft delight.
Now falls the blow Kaikeyí meant,
Successful in her dark intent:
This day her cruel soul will be
Triumphant over thee and me.
Though Bharat on the throne is set,
Her greedy eyes look farther yet:
Me from my home she dared expel,
Me whom all creatures loved so well.
This fatal day at length, I ween,
Brings triumph to the younger queen.
I see with bitterest grief and shame
Another touch the Maithil dame.
Not loss of sire and royal power
So grieves me as this mournful hour.”
Thus in his anguish cried the chief:
Then drowned in tears, o'erwhelmed by grief,
Thus Lakshmaṇ in his anger spake,
Quick panting like a spell-bound snake:
“Canst thou, my brother, Indra's peer,
When I thy minister am near,
Thus grieve like some forsaken thing,
Thou, every creature's lord and king?
My vengeful shaft the fiend shall slay,
And earth shall drink his blood to-day.
The fury which my soul at first
Upon usurping Bharat nursed,
On this Virádha will I wreak
As Indra splits the mountain peak.
Winged by this arm's impetuous might
My shaft with deadly force
The monster in the chest shall smite,
And fell his shattered corse.”
Canto III. Virádha Attacked.

Virádha with a fearful shout
That echoed through the wood, cried out:
“What men are ye, I bid you say,
And whither would ye bend your way?”
To him whose mouth shot fiery flame
The hero told his race and name:
“Two Warriors, nobly bred, are we,
And through this wood we wander free.
But who art thou, how born and styled,
Who roamest here in Daṇḍak's wild?”
To Ráma, bravest of the brave,
His answer thus Virádha gave:
“Hear, Raghu's son, and mark me well,
And I my name and race will tell.
Of Śatahradá born, I spring
From Java as my sire, O King:
Me, of this lofty lineage, all
Giants on earth Virádha call.
The rites austere I long maintained
From Brahmá's grace the boon have gained
To bear a charmed frame which ne'er
Weapon or shaft may pierce or tear.
Go as ye came, untouched by fear,
And leave with me this woman here:
Go, swiftly from my presence fly,
Or by this hand ye both shall die.”
Then Ráma with his fierce eyes red
With fury to the giant said:
“Woe to thee, sinner, fond and weak,
Who madly thus thy death wilt seek!
Stand, for it waits thee in the fray:
With life thou ne'er shalt flee away.”
He spoke, and raised the cord whereon
A pointed arrow flashed and shone,
Then, wild with anger, from his bow,
He launched the weapon on the foe.
Seven times the fatal cord he drew,
And forth seven rapid arrows flew,
Shafts winged with gold that left the wind
And e'en Suparṇa's406 self behind.
Full on the giant's breast they smote,
And purpled like the peacock's throat,
Passed through his mighty bulk and came
To earth again like flakes of flame.
The fiend the Maithil dame unclasped;
In his fierce hand his spear he grasped,
And wild with rage, pierced through and through,
At Ráma and his brother flew.
So loud the roar which chilled with fear,
So massy was the monster's spear,
He seemed, like Indra's flagstaff, dread
As the dark God who rules the dead.
On huge Virádha fierce as He407
Who smites, and worlds have ceased to be,
The princely brothers poured amain
Their fiery flood of arrowy rain.
Unmoved he stood, and opening wide
His dire mouth laughed unterrified,
And ever as the monster gaped
Those arrows from his jaws escaped.
Preserving still his life unharmed,
By Brahmá's saving promise charmed,
His mighty spear aloft in air
He raised, and rushed upon the pair.
From Ráma's bow two arrows flew
And cleft that massive spear in two,
[pg 232]
Dire as the flaming levin sent
From out the cloudy firmament.
Cut by the shafts he guided well
To earth the giant's weapon fell:
As when from Meru's summit, riven
By fiery bolts, a rock is driven.
Then swift his sword each warrior drew,
Like a dread serpent black of hue,
And gathering fury for the blow
Rushed fiercely on the giant foe.
Around each prince an arm he cast,
And held the dauntless heroes fast:
Then, though his gashes gaped and bled,
Bearing the twain he turned and fled.
Then Ráma saw the giant's plan,
And to his brother thus began:
“O Lakshmaṇ, let Virádha still
Hurry us onward as he will,
For look, Sumitrá's son, he goes
Along the path we freely chose.”
He spoke: the rover of the night
Upraised them with terrific might,
Till, to his lofty shoulders swung,
Like children to his neck they clung.
Then sending far his fearful roar,
The princes through the wood he bore,—
A wood like some vast cloud to view,
Where birds of every plumage flew,
And mighty trees o'erarching threw
Dark shadows on the ground;
Where snakes and silvan creatures made
Their dwelling, and the jackal strayed
Through tangled brakes around.
Canto IV. Virádha's Death.

But Sítá viewed with wild affright
The heroes hurried from her sight.
She tossed her shapely arms on high,
And shrieked aloud her bitter cry:
“Ah, the dread giant bears away
The princely Ráma as his prey,
Truthful and pure, and good and great,
And Lakshmaṇ shares his brother's fate.
The brindled tiger and the bear
My mangled limbs for food will tear.
Take me, O best of giants, me,
And leave the sons of Raghu free.”
Then, by avenging fury spurred,
Her mournful cry the heroes heard,
And hastened, for the lady's sake,
The wicked monster's life to take.
Then Lakshmaṇ with resistless stroke
The foe's left arm that held him broke,
And Ráma too, as swift to smite,
Smashed with his heavy hand the right.
With broken arms and tortured frame
To earth the fainting giant came,
Like a huge cloud, or mighty rock
Rent, sundered by the levin's shock.
Then rushed they on, and crushed and beat
Their foe with arms and fists and feet,
And nerved each mighty limb to pound
And bray him on the level ground.
Keen arrows and each biting blade
Wide rents in breast and side had made;
But crushed and torn and mangled, still
The monster lived they could not kill.
When Ráma saw no arms might slay
The fiend who like a mountain lay,
The glorious hero, swift to save
In danger, thus his counsel gave:
“O Prince of men, his charmed life
No arms may take in battle strife:
Now dig we in this grove a pit
His elephantine bulk to fit,
And let the hollowed earth enfold
The monster of gigantic mould.”
This said, the son of Raghu pressed
His foot upon the giant's breast.
With joy the prostrate monster heard
Victorious Ráma's welcome word,
And straight Kakutstha's son, the best
Of men, in words like these addressed:
“I yield, O chieftain, overthrown
By might that vies with Indra's own.
Till now my folly-blinded eyes
Thee, hero, failed to recognize.
Happy Kauśalyá! blest to be
The mother of a son like thee!
I know thee well, O chieftain, now:
Ráma, the prince of men, art thou.
There stands the high-born Maithil dame,
There Lakshmaṇ, lord of mighty fame.
My name was Tumburu,408 for song
Renowned among the minstrel throng:
Cursed by Kuvera's stern decree
I wear the hideous shape you see.
But when I sued, his grace to crave,
The glorious God this answer gave:
“When Ráma, Daśaratha's son,
Destroys thee and the fight is won,
Thy proper shape once more assume,
And heaven again shall give thee room.”
When thus the angry God replied,
No prayers could turn his wrath aside,
And thus on me his fury fell
For loving Rambhá's409 charms too well.
Now through thy favour am I freed
From the stern fate the God decreed,
And saved, O tamer of the foe,
[pg 233]
By thee, to heaven again shall go.
A league, O Prince, beyond this spot
Stands holy Śarabhanga's cot:
The very sun is not more bright
Than that most glorious anchorite:
To him, O Ráma, quickly turn,
And blessings from the hermit earn.
First under earth my body throw,
Then on thy way rejoicing go.
Such is the law ordained of old
For giants when their days are told:
Their bodies laid in earth, they rise
To homes eternal in the skies.”
Thus, by the rankling dart oppressed,
Kakutstha's offspring he addressed:
In earth his mighty body lay,
His spirit fled to heaven away.
Thus spake Virádha ere he died;
And Ráma to his brother cried:
“Now dig we in this grove a pit
His elephantine bulk to fit.
And let the hollowed earth enfold
This mighty giant fierce and bold.”
This said, the valiant hero put
Upon the giant's neck his foot.
His spade obedient Lakshmaṇ plied,
And dug a pit both deep and wide
By lofty souled Virádha's side.
Then Raghu's son his foot withdrew,
And down the mighty form they threw;
One awful shout of joy he gave
And sank into the open grave.
The heroes, to their purpose true,
In fight the cruel demon slew,
And radiant with delight
Deep in the hollowed earth they cast
The monster roaring to the last,
In their resistless might.
Thus when they saw the warrior's steel
No life-destroying blow might deal,
The pair, for lore renowned,
Deep in the pit their hands had made
The unresisting giant laid,
And killed him neath the ground.
Upon himself the monster brought
From Ráma's hand the death he sought
With strong desire to gain:
And thus the rover of the night
Told Ráma, as they strove in fight,
That swords might rend and arrows smite
Upon his breast in vain.
Thus Ráma, when his speech he heard,
The giant's mighty form interred,
Which mortal arms defied.
With thundering crash the giant fell,
And rock and cave and forest dell
With echoing roar replied.
The princes, when their task was done
And freedom from the peril won,
Rejoiced to see him die.
Then in the boundless wood they strayed,
Like the great sun and moon displayed
Triumphant in the sky.410
Canto V. Sarabhanga.

Then Ráma, having slain in fight
Virádha of terrific might,
With gentle words his spouse consoled,
And clasped her in his loving hold.
Then to his brother nobly brave
The valiant prince his counsel gave:
“Wild are these woods around us spread;
And hard and rough the ground to tread:
We, O my brother, ne'er have viewed
So dark and drear a solitude:
To Śarabhanga let us haste,
Whom wealth of holy works has graced.”
Thus Ráma spoke, and took the road
To Śarabhanga's pure abode.
But near that saint whose lustre vied
With Gods, by penance purified,
With startled eyes the prince beheld
A wondrous sight unparalleled.
In splendour like the fire and sun
He saw a great and glorious one.
Upon a noble car he rode,
And many a God behind him glowed:
And earth beneath his feet unpressed411
The monarch of the skies confessed.
Ablaze with gems, no dust might dim
The bright attire that covered him.
Arrayed like him, on every side
High saints their master glorified.
Near, borne in air, appeared in view
His car which tawny coursers drew,
Like silver cloud, the moon, or sun
Ere yet the day is well begun.
Wreathed with gay garlands, o'er his head
A pure white canopy was spread,
And lovely nymphs stood nigh to hold
Fair chouris with their sticks of gold,
Which, waving in each gentle hand,
The forehead of their monarch fanned.
God, saint, and bard, a radiant ring,
Sang glory to their heavenly King:
Forth into joyful lauds they burst
As Indra with the sage conversed.
Then Ráma, when his wondering eyes
Beheld the monarch of the skies,
[pg 234]
To Lakshmaṇ quickly called, and showed
The car wherein Lord Indra rode:
“See, brother, see that air-borne car,
Whose wondrous glory shines afar:
Wherefrom so bright a lustre streams
That like a falling sun it seems:
These are the steeds whose fame we know,
Of heavenly race through heaven they go:
These are the steeds who bear the yoke
Of Śakra,412 Him whom all invoke.
Behold these youths, a glorious band,
Toward every wind a hundred stand:
A sword in each right hand is borne,
And rings of gold their arms adorn.
What might in every broad deep chest
And club-like arm is manifest!
Clothed in attire of crimson hue
They show like tigers fierce to view.
Great chains of gold each warder deck,
Gleaming like fire beneath his neck.
The age of each fair youth appears
Some score and five of human years:
The ever-blooming prime which they
Who live in heaven retain for aye:
Such mien these lordly beings wear,
Heroic youths, most bright and fair.
Now, brother, in this spot, I pray,
With the Videhan lady stay,
Till I have certain knowledge who
This being is, so bright to view.”
He spoke, and turning from the spot
Sought Śarabhanga's hermit cot.
But when the lord of Śachí413 saw
The son of Raghu near him draw,
He hastened of the sage to take
His leave, and to his followers spake:
“See, Ráma bends his steps this way,
But ere he yet a word can say,
Come, fly to our celestial sphere;
It is not meet he see me here.
Soon victor and triumphant he
In fitter time shall look on me.
Before him still a great emprise,
A task too hard for others, lies.”
Then with all marks of honour high
The Thunderer bade the saint good-bye,
And in his car which coursers drew
Away to heaven the conqueror flew.
Then Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, and the dame,
To Śarabhanga nearer came,
Who sat beside the holy flame.
Before the ancient sage they bent,
And clasped his feet most reverent;
Then at his invitation found
A seat beside him on the ground.
Then Ráma prayed the sage would deign
Lord Indra's visit to explain;
And thus at length the holy man
In answer to his prayer began:
“This Lord of boons has sought me here
To waft me hence to Brahmá's sphere,
Won by my penance long and stern,—
A home the lawless ne'er can earn.
But when I knew that thou wast nigh,
To Brahmá's world I could not fly
Until these longing eyes were blest
With seeing thee, mine honoured guest.
Since thou, O Prince, hast cheered my sight,
Great-hearted lover of the right,
To heavenly spheres will I repair
And bliss supreme that waits me there.
For I have won, dear Prince, my way
To those fair worlds which ne'er decay,
Celestial seat of Brahmá's reign:
Be thine, with me, those worlds to gain.”
Then master of all sacred lore,
Spake Ráma to the saint once more:
“I, even I, illustrious sage,
Will make those worlds mine heritage:
But now, I pray, some home assign
Within this holy grove of thine.”
Thus Ráma, Indra's peer in might,
Addressed the aged anchorite:
And he, with wisdom well endued,
To Raghu's son his speech renewed:
“Sutíkshṇa's woodland home is near,
A glorious saint of life austere,
True to the path of duty; he
With highest bliss will prosper thee.
Against the stream thy course must be
Of this fair brook Mandákiní,
Whereon light rafts like blossoms glide;
Then to his cottage turn aside.
There lies thy path: but ere thou go,
Look on me, dear one, till I throw
Aside this mould that girds me in,
As casts the snake his withered skin.”
He spoke, the fire in order laid
With holy oil due offerings made,
And Śarabhanga, glorious sire,
Laid down his body in the fire.
Then rose the flame above his head,
On skin, blood, flesh, and bones it fed,
Till forth, transformed, with radiant hue
Of tender youth, he rose anew,
Far-shining in his bright attire
Came Śarabhanga from the pyre:
Above the home of saints, and those
Who feed the quenchless flame,414 he rose:
Beyond the seat of Gods he passed,
And Brahmá's sphere was gained at last.
[pg 235]
The noblest of the twice-born race,
For holy works supreme in place,
The Mighty Father there beheld
Girt round by hosts unparalleled;
And Brahmá joying at the sight
Welcomed the glorious anchorite.
Canto VI. Ráma's Promise.

When he his heavenly home had found,
The holy men who dwelt around
To Ráma flocked, whose martial fame
Shone glorious as the kindled flame:
Vaikhánasas415 who love the wild,
Pure hermits Bálakhilyas416 styled,
Good Samprakshálas,417 saints who live
On rays which moon and daystar give:
Those who with leaves their lives sustain
And those who pound with stones their grain:
And they who lie in pools, and those
Whose corn, save teeth, no winnow knows:
Those who for beds the cold earth use,
And those who every couch refuse:
And those condemned to ceaseless pains,
Whose single foot their weight sustains:
And those who sleep neath open skies,
Whose food the wave or air supplies,
And hermits pure who spend their nights
On ground prepared for sacred rites;
Those who on hills their vigil hold,
Or dripping clothes around them fold:
The devotees who live for prayer,
Or the five fires418 unflinching bear.
On contemplation all intent,
With light that heavenly knowledge lent,
They came to Ráma, saint and sage,
In Śarabhanga's hermitage.
The hermit crowd around him pressed,
And thus the virtuous chief addressed:
“The lordship of the earth is thine,
O Prince of old Ikshváku's line.
Lord of the Gods is Indra, so
Thou art our lord and guide below.
Thy name, the glory of thy might,
Throughout the triple world are bright:
Thy filial love so nobly shown,
Thy truth and virtue well are known.
To thee, O lord, for help we fly,
And on thy love of right rely:
With kindly patience hear us speak,
And grant the boon we humbly seek.
That lord of earth were most unjust,
Foul traitor to his solemn trust,
Who should a sixth of all419 require,
Nor guard his people like a sire.
But he who ever watchful strives
To guard his subjects' wealth and lives,
Dear as himself or, dearer still,
His sons, with earnest heart and will,—
That king, O Raghu's son, secures
High fame that endless years endures,
And he to Brahmá's world shall rise,
Made glorious in the eternal skies.
Whate'er, by duty won, the meed
Of saints whom roots and berries feed,
One fourth thereof, for tender care
Of subjects, is the monarch's share.
These, mostly of the Bráhman race,
Who make the wood their dwelling-place,
Although a friend in thee they view,
Fall friendless neath the giant crew.
Come, Ráma, come, and see hard by
The holy hermits' corpses lie,
Where many a tangled pathway shows
The murderous work of cruel foes.
These wicked fiends the hermits kill—
Who live on Chitrakúṭa's hill,
And blood of slaughtered saints has dyed
Mandákiní and Pampá's side.
No longer can we bear to see
The death of saint and devotee
Whom through the forest day by day
These Rákshasas unpitying slay.
To thee, O Prince, we flee, and crave
Thy guardian help our lives to save.
From these fierce rovers of the night
Defend each stricken anchorite.
Throughout the world 'twere vain to seek
An arm like thine to aid the weak.
O Prince, we pray thee hear our call,
And from these fiends preserve us all.”
The son of Raghu heard the plaint
Of penance-loving sage and saint,
And the good prince his speech renewed
To all the hermit multitude:
“To me, O saints, ye need not sue:
I wait the hests of all of you.
I by mine own occasion led
This mighty forest needs must tread,
[pg 236]
And while I keep my sire's decree
Your lives from threatening foes will free.
I hither came of free accord
To lend the aid by you implored,
And richest meed my toil shall pay,
While here in forest shades I stay.
I long in battle strife to close.
And slay these fiends, the hermits' foes,
That saint and sage may learn aright
My prowess and my brother's might.”
Thus to the saints his promise gave
That prince who still to virtue clave
With never-wandering thought:
And then with Lakshmaṇ by his side,
With penance-wealthy men to guide,
Sutíkshṇa's home he sought.
Canto VII. Sutíkshna.

So Raghu's son, his foemen's dread,
With Sítá and his brother sped,
Girt round by many a twice-born sage,
To good Sutíkshṇa's hermitage.420
Through woods for many a league he passed,
O'er rushing rivers full and fast,
Until a mountain fair and bright
As lofty Meru rose in sight.
Within its belt of varied wood
Ikshváku's sons and Sítá stood,
Where trees of every foliage bore
Blossom and fruit in endless store.
There coats of bark, like garlands strung,
Before a lonely cottage hung,
And there a hermit, dust-besmeared,
A lotus on his breast, appeared.
Then Ráma with obeisance due
Addressed the sage, as near he drew:
“My name is Ráma, lord; I seek
Thy presence, saint, with thee to speak.
O sage, whose merits ne'er decay,
Some word unto thy servant say.”
The sage his eyes on Ráma bent,
Of virtue's friends preëminent;
Then words like these he spoke, and pressed
The son of Raghu to his breast:
“Welcome to thee, illustrious youth,
Best champion of the rights of truth!
By thine approach this holy ground
A worthy lord this day has found.
I could not quit this mortal frame
Till thou shouldst come, O dear to fame:
To heavenly spheres I would not rise,
Expecting thee with eager eyes.
I knew that thou, unkinged, hadst made
Thy home in Chitrakúṭa's shade.
E'en now, O Ráma, Indra, lord
Supreme by all the Gods adored,
King of the Hundred Offerings,421 said,
When he my dwelling visited,
That the good works that I have done
My choice of all the worlds have won.
Accept this meed of holy vows,
And with thy brother and thy spouse,
Roam, through my favour, in the sky
Which saints celestial glorify.”
To that bright sage, of penance stern,
The high-souled Ráma spake in turn,
As Vásava422 who rules the skies
To Brahmá's gracious speech replies:
“I of myself those worlds will win,
O mighty hermit pure from sin:
But now, O saint, I pray thee tell
Where I within this wood may dwell:
For I by Śarabhanga old,
The son of Gautama, was told
That thou in every lore art wise,
And seest all with loving eyes.”
Thus to the saint, whose glories high
Filled all the world, he made reply:
And thus again the holy man
His pleasant speech with joy began:
“This calm retreat, O Prince, is blest
With many a charm: here take thy rest.
Here roots and kindly fruits abound,
And hermits love the holy ground.
Fair silvan beasts and gentle deer
In herds unnumbered wander here:
And as they roam, secure from harm,
Our eyes with grace and beauty charm:
Except the beasts in thickets bred,
This grove of ours has naught to dread.”
The hermit's speech when Ráma heard,—
The hero ne'er by terror stirred,—
On his great bow his hand he laid,
And thus in turn his answer made:
“O saint, my darts of keenest steel,
Armed with their murderous barbs, would deal
Destruction mid the silvan race
That flocks around thy dwelling-place.
Most wretched then my fate would be
For such dishonour shown to thee:
And only for the briefest stay
Would I within this grove delay.”
He spoke and ceased. With pious care
He turned him to his evening prayer,
Performed each customary rite,
And sought his lodging for the night,
With Sítá and his brother laid
[pg 237]
Beneath the grove's delightful shade,
First good Sutíkshṇa, as elsewhere, when he saw
The shades of night around them draw,
With hospitable care
The princely chieftains entertained
With store of choicest food ordained
For holy hermit's fare.
Canto VIII. The Hermitage.

So Ráma and Sumitrá's son,
When every honour due was done,
Slept through the night. When morning broke,
The heroes from their rest awoke.
Betimes the son of Raghu rose,
With gentle Sítá, from repose,
And sipped the cool delicious wave
Sweet with the scent the lotus gave,
Then to the Gods and sacred flame
The heroes and the lady came,
And bent their heads in honour meet
Within the hermit's pure retreat.
When every stain was purged away,
They saw the rising Lord of Day:
Then to Sutíkshṇa's side they went,
And softly spoke, most reverent:
“Well have we slept, O holy lord,
Honoured of thee by all adored:
Now leave to journey forth we pray:
These hermits urge us on our way.
We haste to visit, wandering by,
The ascetics' homes that round you lie,
And roaming Daṇḍak's mighty wood
To view each saintly brotherhood,
For thy permission now we sue,
With these high saints to duty true,
By penance taught each sense to tame,—
In lustre like the smokeless flame.
Ere on our brows the sun can beat
With fierce intolerable heat.
Like some unworthy lord who wins
His power by tyranny and sins,
O saint, we fain would part.” The three
Bent humbly to the devotee.
He raised the princes as they pressed
His feet, and strained them to his breast;
And then the chief of devotees
Bespake them both in words like these:
“Go with thy brother, Ráma, go,
Pursue thy path untouched by woe:
Go with thy faithful Sítá, she
Still like a shadow follows thee.
Roam Daṇḍak wood observing well
The pleasant homes where hermits dwell,—
Pure saints whose ordered souls adhere
To penance rites and vows austere.
There plenteous roots and berries grow,
And noble trees their blossoms show,
And gentle deer and birds of air
In peaceful troops are gathered there.
There see the full-blown lotus stud
The bosom of the lucid flood,
And watch the joyous mallard shake
The reeds that fringe the pool and lake.
See with delighted eye the rill
Leap sparkling from her parent hill,
And hear the woods that round thee lie
Reëcho to the peacock's cry.
And as I bid thy brother, so,
Sumitrá's child, I bid thee go.
Go forth, these varied beauties see,
And then once more return to me.”
Thus spake the sage Sutíkshṇa: both
The chiefs assented, nothing loth,
Round him with circling steps they paced,
Then for the road prepared with haste.
There Sítá stood, the dame long-eyed,
Fair quivers round their waists she tied,
And gave each prince his trusty bow,
And sword which ne'er a spot might know.
Each took his quiver from her hand.
And clanging bow and gleaming brand:
Then from the hermits' home the two
Went forth each woodland scene to view.
Each beauteous in the bloom of age,
Dismissed by that illustrious sage,
With bow and sword accoutred, hied
Away, and Sítá by their side.
Canto IX. Sítá's Speech.

Blest by the sage, when Raghu's son
His onward journey had begun,
Thus in her soft tone Sítá, meek
With modest fear, began to speak:
“One little slip the great may lead
To shame that follows lawless deed:
Such shame, my lord, as still must cling
To faults from low desire that spring.
Three several sins defile the soul,
Born of desire that spurns control:
First, utterance of a lying word,
Then, viler both, the next, and third:
The lawless love of other's wife,
The thirst of blood uncaused by strife.
The first, O Raghu's son, in thee
None yet has found, none e'er shall see.
Love of another's dame destroys
All merit, lost for guilty joys:
Ráma, such crime in thee, I ween,
Has ne'er been found, shall ne'er be seen:
The very thought, my princely lord,
Is in thy secret soul abhorred.
[pg 238]
For thou hast ever been the same
Fond lover of thine own dear dame,
Content with faithful heart to do
Thy father's will, most just and true:
Justice, and faith, and many a grace
In thee have found a resting-place.
Such virtues, Prince, the good may gain
Who empire o'er each sense retain;
And well canst thou, with loving view
Regarding all, each sense subdue.
But for the third, the lust that strives,
Insatiate still, for others' lives,—
Fond thirst of blood where hate is none,—
This, O my lord, thou wilt not shun.
Thou hast but now a promise made,
The saints of Daṇḍak wood to aid:
And to protect their lives from ill
The giants' blood in tight wilt spill:
And from thy promise lasting fame
Will glorify the forest's name.
Armed with thy bow and arrows thou
Forth with thy brother journeyest now,
While as I think how true thou art
Fears for thy bliss assail my heart,
And all my spirit at the sight
Is troubled with a strange affright.
I like it not—it seems not good—
Thy going thus to Daṇḍak wood:
And I, if thou wilt mark me well,
The reason of my fear will tell.
Thou with thy brother, bow in hand,
Beneath those ancient trees wilt stand,
And thy keen arrows will not spare
Wood-rovers who will meet thee there.
For as the fuel food supplies
That bids the dormant flame arise,
Thus when the warrior grasps his bow
He feels his breast with ardour glow.
Deep in a holy grove, of yore,
Where bird and beast from strife forbore,
Śuchi beneath the sheltering boughs,
A truthful hermit kept his vows.
Then Indra, Śachí's heavenly lord,
Armed like a warrior with a sword,
Came to his tranquil home to spoil
The hermit of his holy toil,
And left the glorious weapon there
Entrusted to the hermit's care,
A pledge for him to keep, whose mind
To fervent zeal was all resigned.
He took the brand: with utmost heed
He kept it for the warrior's need:
To keep his trust he fondly strove
When roaming in the neighbouring grove:
Whene'er for roots and fruit he strayed
Still by his side he bore the blade:
Still on his sacred charge intent,
He took his treasure when he went.
As day by day that brand he wore,
The hermit, rich in merit's store
From penance rites each thought withdrew,
And fierce and wild his spirit grew.
With heedless soul he spurned the right,
And found in cruel deeds delight.
So, living with the sword, he fell,
A ruined hermit, down to hell.
This tale applies to those who deal
Too closely with the warrior's steel:
The steel to warriors is the same
As fuel to the smouldering flame.
Sincere affection prompts my speech:
I honour where I fain would teach.
Mayst thou, thus armed with shaft and bow,
So dire a longing never know
As, when no hatred prompts the fray,
These giants of the wood to slay:
For he who kills without offence
Shall win but little glory thence.
The bow the warrior joys to bend
Is lent him for a nobler end,
That he may save and succour those
Who watch in woods when pressed by foes.
What, matched with woods, is bow or steel?
What, warrior's arm with hermit's zeal?
We with such might have naught to do:
The forest rule should guide us too.
But when Ayodhyá hails thee lord,
Be then thy warrior life restored:
So shall thy sire423 and mother joy
In bliss that naught may e'er destroy.
And if, resigning empire, thou
Submit thee to the hermit's vow,
The noblest gain from virtue springs,
And virtue joy unending brings.
All earthly blessings virtue sends:
On virtue all the world depends.
Those who with vow and fasting tame
To due restraint the mind and frame,
Win by their labour, nobly wise,
The highest virtue for their prize.
Pure in the hermit's grove remain,
True to thy duty, free from stain.
But the three worlds are open thrown
To thee, by whom all things are known.
Who gave me power that I should dare
His duty to my lord declare?
'Tis woman's fancy, light as air,
That moves my foolish breast.
Now with thy brother counsel take,
Reflect, thy choice with judgment make,
And do what seems the best.”
[pg 239]
Canto X. Ráma's Reply.

The words that Sítá uttered, spurred
By truest love, the hero heard:
Then he who ne'er from virtue strayed
To Janak's child his answer made:
“In thy wise speech, sweet love, I find
True impress of thy gentle mind,
Well skilled the warrior's path to trace,
Thou pride of Janak's ancient race.
What fitting answer shall I frame
To thy good words, my honoured dame?
Thou sayst the warrior bears the bow
That misery's tears may cease to flow;
And those pure saints who love the shade
Of Daṇḍak wood are sore dismayed.
They sought me of their own accord,
With suppliant prayers my aid implored:
They, fed on roots and fruit, who spend
Their lives where bosky wilds extend,
My timid love, enjoy no rest
By these malignant fiends distressed.
These make the flesh of man their meat:
The helpless saints they kill and eat.
The hermits sought my side, the chief
Of Bráhman race declared their grief.
I heard, and from my lips there fell
The words which thou rememberest well:
I listened as the hermits cried,
And to their prayers I thus replied:
“Your favour, gracious lords, I claim,
O'erwhelmed with this enormous shame
That Bráhmans, great and pure as you,
Who should be sought, to me should sue.”
And then before the saintly crowd,
“What can I do?” I cried aloud.
Then from the trembling hermits broke
One long sad cry, and thus they spoke:
“Fiends of the wood, who wear at will
Each varied shape, afflict us still.
To thee in our distress we fly:
O help us, Ráma, or we die.
When sacred rites of fire are due,
When changing moons are full or new,
These fiends who bleeding flesh devour
Assail us with resistless power.
They with their cruel might torment
The hermits on their vows intent:
We look around for help and see
Our surest refuge, Prince, in thee.
We, armed with powers of penance, might
Destroy the rovers of the night:
But loth were we to bring to naught
The merit years of toil have bought.
Our penance rites are grown too hard,
By many a check and trouble barred,
But though our saints for food are slain
The withering curse we yet restrain.
Thus many a weary day distressed
By giants who this wood infest,
We see at length deliverance, thou
With Lakshmaṇ art our guardian now.”
As thus the troubled hermits prayed,
I promised, dame, my ready aid,
And now—for truth I hold most dear—
Still to my word must I adhere.
My love, I might endure to be
Deprived of Lakshmaṇ, life, and thee,
But ne'er deny my promise, ne'er
To Bráhmans break the oath I sware.
I must, enforced by high constraint,
Protect them all. Each suffering saint
In me, unasked, his help had found;
Still more in one by promise bound.
I know thy words, mine own dear dame,
From thy sweet heart's affection came:
I thank thee for thy gentle speech,
For those we love are those we teach.
'Tis like thyself, O fair of face,
'Tis worthy of thy noble race:
Dearer than life, thy feet are set
In righteous paths they ne'er forget.”
Thus to the Maithil monarch's child,
His own dear wife, in accents mild
The high-souled hero said:
Then to the holy groves which lay
Beyond them fair to see, their way
The bow-armed chieftain led.
Canto XI. Agastya.

Ráma went foremost of the three,
Next Sítá, followed, fair to see,
And Lakshmaṇ with his bow in hand
Walked hindmost of the little band.
As onward through the wood they went,
With great delight their eyes were bent
On rocky heights beside the way
And lofty trees with blossoms gay;
And streamlets running fair and fast
The royal youths with Sítá passed.
They watched the sáras and the drake
On islets of the stream and lake,
And gazed delighted on the floods
Bright with gay birds and lotus buds.
They saw in startled herds the roes,
The passion-frenzied buffaloes,
Wild elephants who fiercely tore
The tender trees, and many a boar.
A length of woodland way they passed,
And when the sun was low at last
A lovely stream-fed lake they spied,
Two leagues across from side to side.
Tall elephants fresh beauty gave
To grassy bank and lilied wave,
[pg 240]
By many a swan and sáras stirred,
Mallard, and gay-winged water-bird.
From those sweet waters, loud and long,
Though none was seen to wake the song,
Swelled high the singer's music blent
With each melodious instrument.
Ráma and car-borne Lakshmaṇ heard
The charming strain, with wonder stirred,
Turned on the margent of the lake
To Dharmabhrit424 the sage, and spake:
“Our longing souls, O hermit, burn
This music of the lake to learn:
We pray thee, noblest sage, explain
The cause of the mysterious strain.”
He, as the son of Raghu prayed,
With swift accord his answer made,
And thus the hermit, virtuous-souled,
The story of the fair lake told:
“Through every age 'tis known to fame,
Panchápsaras425 its glorious name,
By holy Máṇḍakarṇi wrought
With power his rites austere had bought.
For he, great votarist, intent
On strictest rule his stern life spent.
Ten thousand years the stream his bed,
Ten thousand years on air he fed.
Then on the blessed Gods who dwell
In heavenly homes great terror fell:
They gathered all, by Agni led,
And counselled thus disquieted:
“The hermit by ascetic pain
The seat of one of us would gain.”
Thus with their hearts by fear oppressed
In full assembly spoke the Blest,
And bade five loveliest nymphs, as fair
As lightning in the evening air,
Armed with their winning wiles, seduce
From his stern vows the great recluse.
Though lore of earth and heaven he knew,
The hermit from his task they drew,
And made the great ascetic slave
To conquering love, the Gods to save.
Each of the heavenly five became,
Bound to the sage, his wedded dame;
And he, for his beloved's sake,
Formed a fair palace neath the lake.
Under the flood the ladies live,
To joy and ease their days they give,
And lap in bliss the hermit wooed
From penance rites to youth renewed.
So when the sportive nymphs within
Those secret bowers their play begin,
You hear the singers' dulcet tones
Blend sweetly with their tinkling zones.”
“How wondrous are these words of thine!”
Cried the famed chiefs of Raghu's line,
As thus they heard the sage unfold
The marvels of the tale he told.
As Ráma spake, his eyes were bent
Upon a hermit settlement
With light of heavenly lore endued,
With sacred grass and vesture strewed.
His wife and brother by his side,
Within the holy bounds he hied,
And there, with honour entertained
By all the saints, a while remained.
In time, by due succession led,
Each votary's cot he visited,
And then the lord of martial lore,
Returned where he had lodged before.
Here for the months, content, he stayed,
There for a year his visit paid:
Here for four months his home would fix,
There, as it chanced, for five or six.
Here for eight months and there for three
The son of Raghu's stay would be:
Here weeks, there fortnights, more or less,
He spent in tranquil happiness.
As there the hero dwelt at ease
Among those holy devotees,
In days untroubled o'er his head
Ten circling years of pleasure fled.
So Raghu's son in duty trained
A while in every cot remained,
Then with his dame retraced the road
To good Sutíkshṇa's calm abode.
Hailed by the saints with honours due
Near to the hermit's home he drew,
And there the tamer of his foes
Dwelt for a time in sweet repose.
One day within that holy wood
By saint Sutíkshṇa Ráma stood,
And thus the prince with reverence meek
To that high sage began to speak:
“In the wide woodlands that extend
Around us, lord most reverend,
As frequent voice of rumour tells,
Agastya, saintliest hermit, dwells.
So vast the wood, I cannot trace
The path to reach his dwelling place,
Nor, searching unassisted, find
That hermit of the thoughtful mind.
I with my wife and brother fain
Would go, his favour to obtain,
Would seek him in his lone retreat
And the great saint with reverence greet.
This one desire, O Master, long
Cherished within my heart, is strong,
That I may pay of free accord
My duty to that hermit lord.”
As thus the prince whose heart was bent
On virtue told his firm intent,
The good Sutíkshṇa's joy rose high,
And thus in turn he made reply:
“The very thing, O Prince, which thou
Hast sought, I wished to urge but now,
Bid thee with wife and brother see
[pg 241]
Agastya, glorious devotee.
I count this thing an omen fair
That thou shouldst thus thy wish declare,
And I, my Prince, will gladly teach
The way Agastya's home to reach.
Southward, dear son, direct thy feet
Eight leagues beyond this still retreat:
Agastya's hermit brother there
Dwells in a home most bright and fair.
'Tis on a knoll of woody ground,
With many a branching Pippal426 crowned:
There sweet birds' voices ne'er are mute,
And trees are gay with flower and fruit.
There many a lake gleams bright and cool,
And lilies deck each pleasant pool,
While swan, and crane, and mallard's wings
Are lovely in the water-springs.
There for one night, O Ráma, stay,
And with the dawn pursue thy way.
Still farther, bending southward, by
The thicket's edge the course must lie,
And thou wilt see, two leagues from thence
Agastya's lovely residence,
Set in the woodland's fairest spot,
All varied foliage decks the cot:
There Sítá, Lakshmaṇ thou, at ease
May spend sweet hours neath shady trees,
For all of noblest growth are found
Luxuriant on that bosky ground.
If it be still thy firm intent
To see that saint preëminent,
O mighty counsellor, this day
Depart upon thine onward way.”
The hermit spake, and Ráma bent
His head, with Lakshmaṇ, reverent,
And then with him and Janak's child
Set out to trace the forest wild.
He saw dark woods that fringed the road,
And distant hills like clouds that showed,
And, as the way he followed, met
With many a lake and rivulet.
So passing on with ease where led
The path Sutíkshṇa bade him tread,
The hero with exulting breast
His brother in these words addressed:
“Here, surely, is the home, in sight,
Of that illustrious anchorite:
Here great Agastya's brother leads
A life intent on holy deeds.
Warned of each guiding mark and sign,
I see them all herein combine:
I see the branches bending low
Beneath the flowers and fruit they show.
A soft air from the forest springs,
Fresh from the odorous grass, and brings
A spicy fragrance as it flees
O'er the ripe fruit of Pippal trees.
See, here and there around us high
Piled up in heaps cleft billets lie,
And holy grass is gathered, bright
As strips of shining lazulite.
Full in the centre of the shade
The hermits' holy fire is laid:
I see its smoke the pure heaven streak
Dense as a big cloud's dusky peak.
The twice-born men their steps retrace
From each sequestered bathing-place,
And each his sacred gift has brought
Of blossoms which his hands have sought.
Of all these signs, dear brother, each
Agrees with good Sutíkshṇa's speech,
And doubtless in this holy bound
Agastya's brother will be found.
Agastya once, the worlds who viewed
With love, a Deathlike fiend subdued,
And armed with mighty power, obtained
By holy works, this grove ordained
To be a refuge and defence
From all oppressors' violence.
In days of yore within this place
Two brothers fierce of demon race,
Vátápi dire and Ilval, dwelt,
And slaughter mid the Bráhmans dealt.
A Bráhman's form, the fiend to cloak,
Fierce Ilval wore, and Sanskrit spoke,
And twice-born sages would invite
To solemnize some funeral rite.
His brother's flesh, concealed within
A ram's false shape and borrowed skin,—
As men are wont at funeral feasts,—
He dressed and fed those gathered priests.
The holy men, unweeting ill,
Took of the food and ate their fill.
Then Ilval with a mighty shout
Exclaimed “Vátápi, issue out.”
Soon as his brother's voice he heard,
The fiend with ram-like bleating stirred:
Rending in pieces every frame,
Forth from the dying priests he came.
So they who changed their forms at will
Thousands of Bráhmans dared to kill,—
Fierce fiends who loved each cruel deed,
And joyed on bleeding flesh to feed.
Agastya, mighty hermit, pressed
To funeral banquet like the rest,
Obedient to the Gods' appeal
Ate up the monster at a meal.
“'Tis done, 'tis done,” fierce Ilval cried,
And water for his hands supplied:
Then lifting up his voice he spake:
“Forth, brother, from thy prison break.”
Then him who called the fiend, who long
Had wrought the suffering Bráhmans wrong,
Thus thoughtful-souled Agastya, best
Of hermits, with a smile addressed:
“How, Rákshas, is the fiend empowered
To issue forth whom I devoured?
Thy brother in a ram's disguise
Is gone where Yáma's kingdom lies.”
[pg 242]
When from the words Agastya said
He knew his brother fiend was dead,
His soul on fire with vengeful rage,
Rushed the night-rover at the sage.
One lightning glance of fury, hot
As fire, the glorious hermit shot,
As the fiend neared him in his stride,
And straight, consumed to dust, he died.
In pity for the Bráhmans' plight
Agastya wrought this deed of might:
This grove which lakes and fair trees grace
In his great brother's dwelling place.”
As Ráma thus the tale rehearsed,
And with Sumitrá's son conversed,
The setting sun his last rays shed,
And evening o'er the land was spread.
A while the princely brothers stayed
And even rites in order paid,
Then to the holy grove they drew
And hailed the saint with honour due.
With courtesy was Ráma met
By that illustrious anchoret,
And for one night he rested there
Regaled with fruit and hermit fare.
But when the night had reached its close,
And the sun's glorious circle rose,
The son of Raghu left his bed
And to the hermit's brother said:
“Well rested in thy hermit cell,
I stand, O saint, to bid farewell;
For with thy leave I journey hence
Thy brother saint to reverence.”
“Go, Ráma go,” the sage replied:
Then from the cot the chieftain hied.
And while the pleasant grove he viewed,
The path the hermit showed, pursued.
Of every leaf, of changing hue.
Plants, trees by hundreds round him grew,
With joyous eyes he looked on all,
Then Jak,427 the wild rice, and Sál;428
He saw the red Hibiscus glow,
He saw the flower-tipped creeper throw
The glory of her clusters o'er
Tall trees that loads of blossom bore.
Some, elephants had prostrate laid,
In some the monkeys leapt and played,
And through the whole wide forest rang
The charm of gay birds as they sang.
Then Ráma of the lotus eye
To Lakshmaṇ turned who followed nigh,
And thus the hero youth impressed
With Fortune's favouring signs, addressed:
“How soft the leaves of every tree,
How tame each bird and beast we see!
Soon the fair home shall we behold
Of that great hermit tranquil-souled.
The deed the good Agastya wrought
High fame throughout the world has bought:
I see, I see his calm retreat
That balms the pain of weary feet.
Where white clouds rise from flames beneath,
Where bark-coats lie with many a wreath,
Where silvan things, made gentle, throng,
And every bird is loud in song.
With ruth for suffering creatures filled,
A deathlike fiend with might he killed,
And gave this southern realm to be
A refuge, from oppression free.
There stands his home, whose dreaded might
Has put the giant crew to flight,
Who view with envious eyes afar
The peaceful shades they cannot mar.
Since that most holy saint has made
His dwelling in this lovely shade,
Checked by his might the giant brood
Have dwelt in peace with souls subdued.
And all this southern realm, within
Whose bounds no fiend may entrance win,
Now bears a name which naught may dim,
Made glorious through the worlds by him.
When Vindhya, best of hills, would stay
The journey of the Lord of Day,
Obedient to the saint's behest
He bowed for aye his humbled crest.
That hoary hermit, world-renowned
For holy deeds, within this ground
Has set his pure and blessed home,
Where gentle silvan creatures roam.
Agastya, whom the worlds revere,
Pure saint to whom the good are dear,
To us his guests all grace will show,
Enriched with blessings ere we go.
I to this aim each thought will turn,
The favour of the saint to earn,
That here in comfort may be spent
The last years of our banishment.
Here sanctities and high saints stand,
Gods, minstrels of the heavenly band;
Upon Agastya's will they wait,
And serve him, pure and temperate.
The liar's tongue, the tyrant's mind
Within these bounds no home may find:
No cheat, no sinner here can be:
So holy and so good is he.
Here birds and lords of serpent race,
Spirits and Gods who haunt the place,
Content with scanty fare remain,
As merit's meed they strive to gain.
Made perfect here, the saints supreme,
On cars that mock the Day-God's gleam,—
Their mortal bodies cast aside,—
Sought heaven transformed and glorified,
Here Gods to living things, who win
Their favour, pure from cruel sin,
Give royal rule and many a good,
[pg 243]
Immortal life and spirithood.
Now, Lakshmaṇ, we are near the place:
Do thou precede a little space,
And tell the mighty saint that I
With Sítá at my side am nigh.”
Canto XII. The Heavenly Bow.

He spoke: the younger prince obeyed:
Within the bounds his way he made,
And thus addressed, whom first he met,
A pupil of the anchoret:
“Brave Ráma, eldest born, who springs,
From Daśaratha, hither brings
His wife the lady Sítá: he
Would fain the holy hermit see.
Lakshmaṇ am I—if happy fame
E'er to thine ears has brought the name—
His younger brother, prompt to do
His will, devoted, fond, and true.
We, through our royal sire's decree,
To the dread woods were forced to flee.
Tell the great Master, I entreat,
Our earnest wish our lord to greet.”
He spoke: the hermit rich in store
Of fervid zeal and sacred lore,
Sought the pure shrine which held the fire,
To bear his message to the sire.
Soon as he reached the saint most bright
In sanctity's surpassing might,
He cried, uplifting reverent hands:
“Lord Ráma near thy cottage stands.”
Then spoke Agastya's pupil dear
The message for his lord to hear:
“Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, chiefs who spring
From Daśaratha, glorious king,
Thy hermitage e'en now have sought,
And lady Sítá with them brought.
The tamers of the foe are here
To see thee, Master, and revere.
'Tis thine thy further will to say:
Deign to command, and we obey.”
When from his pupil's lips he knew
The presence of the princely two,
And Sítá born to fortune high.
The glorious hermit made reply:
“Great joy at last is mine this day
That Ráma hither finds his way,
For long my soul has yearned to see
The prince who comes to visit me.
Go forth, go forth, and hither bring
The royal three with welcoming:
Lead Ráma in and place him near:
Why stands he not already here?”
Thus ordered by the hermit, who,
Lord of his thought, all duty knew,
His reverent hands together laid,
The pupil answered and obeyed.
Forth from the place with speed he ran,
To Lakshmaṇ came and thus began:
“Where is he? let not Ráma wait,
But speed, the sage to venerate.”
Then with the pupil Lakshmaṇ went
Across the hermit settlement,
And showed him Ráma where he stood
With Janak's daughter in the wood.
The pupil then his message spake
Which the kind hermit bade him take;
Then led the honoured Ráma thence
And brought him in with reverence.
As nigh the royal Ráma came
With Lakshmaṇ and the Maithil dame,
He viewed the herds of gentle deer
Roaming the garden free from fear.
As through the sacred grove he trod
He viewed the seat of many a God,
Brahmá and Agni,429 Sun and Moon,
And His who sends each golden boon;430
Here Vishṇu's stood, there Bhaga's431 shrine,
And there Mahendra's, Lord divine;
Here His who formed this earthly frame,432
His there from whom all beings came.433
Váyu's,434 and His who loves to hold
The great noose, Varuṇ435 mighty-souled:
Here was the Vasus'436 shrine to see,
Here that of sacred Gáyatrí,437
The king of serpents438 here had place,
And he who rules the feathered race.439
Here Kártikeya,440 warrior lord,
And there was Justice King adored.
Then with disciples girt about
The mighty saint himself came out:
Through fierce devotion bright as flame
Before the rest the Master came:
And then to Lakshmaṇ, fortune blest,
Ráma these hasty words addressed:
“Behold, Agastya's self draws near,
The mighty saint, whom all revere:
With spirit raised I meet my lord
With richest wealth of penance stored.”
The strong-armed hero spake, and ran
Forward to meet the sunbright man.
Before him, as he came, he bent
And clasped his feet most reverent,
Then rearing up his stately height
Stood suppliant by the anchorite,
While Lakshmaṇ's strength and Sítá's grace
Stood by the pride of Raghu's race.
[pg 244]
The sage his arms round Ráma threw
And welcomed him with honours due,
Asked, was all well, with question sweet,
And bade the hero to a seat.
With holy oil he fed the flame,
He brought the gifts which strangers claim,
And kindly waiting on the three
With honours due to high degree,
He gave with hospitable care
A simple hermit's woodland fare.
Then sat the reverend father, first
Of hermits, deep in duty versed.
And thus to suppliant Ráma, bred
In all the lore of virtue, said:
“Did the false hermit, Prince, neglect
To hail his guest with due respect,
He must,—the doom the perjured meet,—
His proper flesh hereafter eat.
A car-borne king, a lord who sways
The earth, and virtue's law obeys,
Worthy of highest honour, thou
Hast sought, dear guest, my cottage now.”
He spoke: with fruit and hermit fare,
With every bloom the branches bare,
Agastya graced his honoured guest,
And thus with gentle words addressed:
“Accept this mighty bow, divine,
Whereon red gold and diamonds shine;
'Twas by the Heavenly Artist planned
For Vishṇu's own almighty hand;
This God-sent shaft of sunbright hue,
Whose deadly flight is ever true,
By Lord Mahendra given of yore:
This quiver with its endless store.
Keen arrows hurtling to their aim
Like kindled fires that flash and flame:
Accept, in golden sheath encased,
This sword with hilt of rich gold graced.
Armed with this best of bows
Lord Vishṇu slew his demon foes,
And mid the dwellers in the skies
Won brilliant glory for his prize.
The bow, the quivers, shaft, and sword
Received from me, O glorious lord:
These conquest to thine arm shall bring,
As thunder to the thunder's King.”
The splendid hermit bade him take
The noble weapons as he spake,
And as the prince accepted each
In words like these renewed his speech:
Canto XIII. Agastya's Counsel.

“O Ráma, great delight I feel,
Pleased, Lakshmaṇ, with thy faithful zeal,
That you within these shades I see
With Sítá come to honour me.
But wandering through the rough rude wild
Has wearied Janak's gentle child:
With labours of the way oppressed
The Maithil lady longs for rest.
Young, delicate, and soft, and fair,
Such toils as these untrained to bear,
Her wifely love the dame has led
The forest's troubled ways to tread.
Here, Ráma, see that naught annoy
Her easy hours of tranquil joy:
A glorious task has she assayed,
To follow thee through woodland shade.
Since first from Nature's hand she came,
A woman's mood is still the same,
When Fortune smiles, her love to show,
And leave her lord in want and woe.
No pity then her heart can feel,
She arms her soul with warrior's steel,
Swift as the storm or Feathered King,
Uncertain as the lightning's wing.
Not so thy spouse: her purer mind
Shrinks from the faults of womankind;
Like chaste Arundhatí441 above,
A paragon of faithful love.
Let these blest shades, dear Ráma, be
A home for Lakshmaṇ, her, and thee.”
With raised hands reverently meek
He heard the holy hermit speak,
And humbly thus addressed the sire
Whose glory shone like kindled fire:
“How blest am I, what thanks I owe
That our great Master deigns to show
His favour, that his heart can be
Content with Lakshmaṇ, Sítá, me.
Show me, I pray, some spot of ground
Where thick trees wave and springs abound,
That I may raise my hermit cell
And there in tranquil pleasure dwell.”
Then thus replied Agastya, best
Of hermits, to the chief's request:
When for a little he had bent
His thoughts, upon that prayer intent:
“Beloved son, four leagues away
Is Panchavaṭí bright and gay:
Thronged with its deer, most fair it looks
With berries, fruit, and water-brooks.
There build thee with thy brother's aid
A cottage in the quiet shade,
And faithful to thy sire's behest,
Obedient to the sentence, rest.
For well, O sinless chieftain, well
I know thy tale, how all befell:
Stern penance and the love I bore
Thy royal sire supply the lore.
To me long rites and fervid zeal
The wish that stirs thy heart reveal,
And hence my guest I bade thee be,
That this pure grove might shelter thee.
[pg 245]
So now, thereafter, thus I speak:
The shades of Panchavaṭí seek;
That tranquil spot is bright and fair,
And Sítá will be happy there.
Not far remote from here it lies,
A grove to charm thy loving eyes,
Godávarí's pure stream is nigh:
There Sítá's days will sweetly fly.
Pure, lovely, rich in many a charm,
O hero of the mighty arm,
'Tis gay with every plant and fruit,
And throngs of gay buds never mute.
Thou, true to virtue's path, hast might
To screen each trusting anchorite,
And wilt from thy new home defend
The hermits who on thee depend.
Now yonder, Prince, direct thine eyes
Where dense Madhúka442 woods arise:
Pierce their dark shade, and issuing forth
Turn to a fig-tree on the north:
Then onward up a sloping mead
Flanked by a hill the way will lead:
There Panchavaṭí, ever gay
With ceaseless bloom, thy steps will stay.”
The hermit ceased: the princely two
With seemly honours bade adieu:
With reverential awe each youth
Bowed to the saint whose word was truth,
And then, dismissed with Sítá, they
To Panchavaṭí took their way.
Thus when each royal prince had grasped
His warrior's mighty bow, and clasped
His quiver to his side,
With watchful eyes along the road
The glorious saint Agastya showed,
Dauntless in fight the brothers strode,
And Sítá with them hied.
Canto XIV. Jatáyus.

Then as the son of Raghu made
His way to Panchavaṭí's shade,
A mighty vulture he beheld
Of size and strength unparalleled.
The princes, when the bird they saw,
Approached with reverence and awe,
And as his giant form they eyed,
“Tell who thou art,” in wonder cried.
The bird, as though their hearts to gain,
Addressed them thus in gentlest strain;
“In me, dear sons, the friend behold
Your royal father loved of old.”
He spoke: nor long did Ráma wait
His sire's dear friend to venerate:
He bade the bird declare his name
And the high race of which he came.
When Raghu's son had spoken, he
Declared his name and pedigree,
His words prolonging to disclose
How all the things that be arose:
“List while I tell, O Raghu's son,
The first-born Fathers, one by one,
Great Lords of Life, whence all in earth
And all in heaven derive their birth.
First Kardam heads the glorious race
Where Vikrit holds the second place,
With Śesha, Sanśray next in line,
And Bahuputra's might divine.
Then Stháṇu and Maríchi came,
Atri, and Kratu's forceful frame.
Pulastya followed, next to him
Angiras' name shall ne'er be dim.
Prachetas, Pulah next, and then
Daksha, Vivasvat praised of men:
Aríshṭanemi next, and last
Kaśyap in glory unsurpassed.
From Daksha,—fame the tale has told—:
Three-score bright daughters sprang of old.
Of these fair-waisted nymphs the great
Lord Kaśyap sought and wedded eight,
Aditi, Diti, Kálaká,
Támrá, Danú, and Analá,
And Krodhavasá swift to ire,
And Manu443 glorious as her sire.
Then when the mighty Kaśyap cried
Delighted to each tender bride:
“Sons shalt thou bear, to rule the three
Great worlds, in might resembling me.”
[pg 246]
Aditi, Diti, and Danú
Obeyed his will as consorts true,
And Kálaká; but all the rest
Refused to hear their lord's behest.
First Aditi conceived, and she,
Mother of thirty Gods and three,
The Vasus and Ádityas bare,
Rudras, and Aśvins, heavenly pair.
Of Diti sprang the Daityas: fame
Delights to laud their ancient name.
In days of yore their empire dread
O'er earth and woods and ocean spread.
Danú was mother of a child,
O hero, Aśvagríva styled,
And Narak next and Kálak came
Of Kálaká, celestial dame.
Of Támrá, too, five daughters bright
In deathless glory sprang to light.
Ennobling fame still keeps alive
The titles of the lovely five:
Immortal honour still she claims
For Kraunchí, Bhasí, Śyení's names.
And wills not that the world forget
Śukí or Dhritaráshtrí yet.
Then Kraunchí bare the crane and owl,
And Bhásí tribes of water fowl:
Vultures and hawks that race through air
With storm-fleet pinions Śyení bare.
All swans and geese on mere and brook
Their birth from Dhritaráshtrí took,
And all the river-haunting brood
Of ducks, a countless multitude.
From Śukí Nalá sprang, who bare
Dame Vinatá surpassing fair.
From fiery Krodhavaśá, ten
Bright daughters sprang, O King of men:
Mrigí and Mrigamandá named,
Hari and Bhadramadá famed,
Śárdúlí, Śvetá fair to see,
Mátangí bright, and Surabhí,
Surasá marked with each fair sign,
And Kadrumá, all maids divine.
Mrigí, O Prince without a peer,
Was mother of the herds of deer,
The bear, the yak, the mountain roe
Their birth to Mrigamandá owe;
And Bhadramadá joyed to be
Mother of fair Irávatí,
Who bare Airávat,444 huge of mould,
Mid warders of the earth enrolled,
From Harí lordly lions trace,
With monkeys of the wild, their race.
From the great dame Śárdúlí styled
Sprung pards, Lángúrs,445 and tigers wild.
Mátangí, Prince, gave birth to all
Mátangas, elephants strong and tall,
And Śvetá bore the beasts who stand
One at each wind, earth's warder band.446
Next Surabhí the Goddess bore
Two heavenly maids, O Prince, of yore,
Gandharví—dear to fame is she—
And her sweet sister Rohiṇí.
With kine this daughter filled each mead,
And bright Gandharví bore the steed.447
Surasá bore the serpents:448 all
The snakes Kadrú their mother call.
Then Manu, high-souled Kaśyap's449 wife,
To all the race of men gave life,
The Bráhmans first, the Kshatriya caste,
Then Vaiśyas, and the Śúdras last.
Sprang from her mouth the Bráhman race;
Her chest the Kshatriyas' natal place:
The Vaiśyas from her thighs, 'tis said,
The Śúdras from her feet were bred.
From Analá all trees that hang
Their fair fruit-laden branches sprang.
The child of beauteous Śukí bore
Vinatá, as I taught before:
And Surasá and Kadrú were
Born of one dame, a noble pair.
Kadrú gave birth to countless snakes
That roam the earth in woods and brakes.
Aruṇ and Garuḍ swift of flight
By Vinatá were given to light,
And sons of Aruṇ red as morn
Sampati first, then I was born,
Me then, O tamer of the foe,
Jaṭáyus, son of Śyení, know.
Thy ready helper will I be,
And guard thy house, if thou agree:
When thou and Lakshmaṇ urge the chase
By Sítá's side shall be my place.”
With courteous thanks for promised aid,
The prince, to rapture stirred,
Bent low, and due obeisance paid,
Embraced the royal bird.
[pg 247]
He often in the days gone by
Had heard his father tell
How, linked with him in friendship's tie,
He loved Jaṭáyus well.
He hastened to his trusted friend
His darling to confide,
And through the wood his steps to bend
By strong Jaṭáyus' side.
On to the grove, with Lakshmaṇ near,
The prince his way pursued
To free those pleasant shades from fear
And slay the giant brood.
Canto XV. Panchavatí.

Arrived at Panchavaṭí's shade
Where silvan life and serpents strayed,
Ráma in words like these addressed
Lakshmaṇ of vigour unrepressed:
“Brother, our home is here: behold
The grove of which the hermit told:
The bowers of Panchavaṭí see
Made fair by every blooming tree.
Now, brother, bend thine eyes around;
With skilful glance survey the ground:
Here be some spot selected, best
Approved for gentle hermits' rest,
Where thou, the Maithil dame, and I
May dwell while seasons sweetly fly.
Some pleasant spot be chosen where
Pure waters gleam and trees are fair,
Some nook where flowers and wood are found
And sacred grass and springs abound.”
Then Lakshmaṇ, Sítá standing by,
Raised reverent hands, and made reply:
“A hundred years shall flee, and still
Will I obey my brother's will:
Select thyself a pleasant spot;
Be mine the care to rear the cot.”
The glorious chieftain, pleased to hear
That loving speech that soothed his ear,
Selected with observant care
A spot with every charm most fair.
He stood within that calm retreat,
A shade for hermits' home most meet,
And thus Sumitrá's son addressed,
While his dear hand in his he pressed:
“See, see this smooth and lovely glade
Which flowery trees encircling shade:
Do thou, beloved Lakshmaṇ rear
A pleasant cot to lodge us here.
I see beyond that feathery brake
The gleaming of a lilied lake,
Where flowers in sunlike glory throw
Fresh odours from the wave below.
Agastya's words now find we true,
He told the charms which here we view:
Here are the trees that blossom o'er
Godávarí's most lovely shore.
Whose pleasant flood from side to side
With swans and geese is beautified,
And fair banks crowded with the deer
That steal from every covert near.
The peacock's cry is loud and shrill
From many a tall and lovely hill,
Green-belted by the trees that wave
Full blossoms o'er the rock and cave.
Like elephants whose huge fronts glow
With painted streaks, the mountains show
Long lines of gold and silver sheen
With copper's darker hues between.
With every tree each hill is graced,
Where creepers blossom interlaced.
Look where the Sál's long branches sway,
And palms their fanlike leaves display;
The date-tree and the Jak are near,
And their long stems Tamálas rear.
See the tall Mango lift his head,
Aśokas all their glory spread,
The Ketak her sweet buds unfold,
And Champacs hang their cups of gold.450
The spot is pure and pleasant: here
Are multitudes of birds and deer.
O Lakshmaṇ, with our father's friend
What happy hours we here shall spend!”
He spoke: the conquering Lakshmaṇ heard,
Obedient to his brother's word.
Raised by his toil a cottage stood
To shelter Ráma in the wood,
Of ample size, with leaves o'erlaid,
Of hardened earth the walls were made.
The strong bamboos his hands had felled
For pillars fair the roof upheld,
And rafter, beam, and lath supplied
Well interwrought from side to side.
Then Śamí451 boughs he deftly spread
Enlaced with knotted cord o'erhead,
Well thatched above from ridge to eaves
With holy grass, and reed, and leaves.
The mighty chief with careful toil
Had cleared the ground and smoothed the soil
[pg 248]
Where now, his loving labour done,
Rose a fair home for Raghu's son.
Then when his work was duly wrought,
Godávarís sweet stream he sought,
Bathed, plucked the lilies, and a store
Of fruit and berries homeward bore.
Then sacrifice he duly paid,
And wooed the Gods their hopes to aid,
And then to Ráma proudly showed
The cot prepared for his abode.
Then Raghu's son with Sítá gazed
Upon the home his hands had raised,
And transport thrilled his bosom through
His leafy hermitage to view.
The glorious son of Raghu round
His brother's neck his arms enwound,
And thus began his sweet address
Of deep-felt joy and gentleness:
“Well pleased am I, dear lord, to see
This noble work performed by thee.
For this,—sole grace I can bestow,—
About thy neck mine arms I throw.
So wise art thou, thy breast is filled
With grateful thoughts, in duty skilled,
Our mighty father, free from stain,
In thee, his offspring, lives again.”
Thus spoke the prince, who lent a grace
To fortune, pride of Raghu's race;
Then in that spot whose pleasant shade
Gave store of fruit, content he stayed.
With Lakshmaṇ and his Maithil spouse
He spent his day's neath sheltering boughs,
As happy as a God on high
Lives in his mansion in the sky.
Canto XVI. Winter.

While there the high-souled hero spent
His tranquil hours in sweet content,
The glowing autumn passed, and then
Came winter so beloved of men.
One morn, to bathe, at break of day
To the fair stream he took his way.
Behind him, with the Maithil dame
Bearing a pitcher Lakshmaṇ came,
And as he went the mighty man
Thus to his brother chief began:
“The time is come, to thee more dear
Than all the months that mark the year:
The gracious seasons' joy and pride,
By which the rest are glorified.
A robe of hoary rime is spread
O'er earth, with corn engarlanded.
The streams we loved no longer please,
But near the fire we take our ease.
Now pious men to God and shade
Offer young corn's fresh sprouted blade,
And purge away their sins with rice
Bestowed in humble sacrifice.
Rich stores of milk delight the swain,
And hearts are cheered that longed for gain,
Proud kings whose breasts for conquests glow
Lead bannered troops to smite the foe.
Dark is the north: the Lord of Day
To Yáma's south452 has turned away:
And she—sad widow—shines no more,
Reft of the bridal mark453 she wore.
Himálaya's hill, ordained of old
The treasure-house of frost and cold,
Scarce conscious of the feebler glow,
Is truly now the Lord of Snow.
Warmed by the noontide's genial rays
Delightful are the glorious days:
But how we shudder at the chill
Of evening shadows and the rill!
How weak the sun, how cold the breeze!
How white the rime on grass and trees!
The leaves are sere, the woods have lost
Their blossoms killed by nipping frost.
Neath open skies we sleep no more:
December's nights with rime are hoar:
Their triple watch454 in length extends
With hours the shortened daylight lends.
No more the moon's sun-borrowed rays
Are bright, involved in misty haze,
As when upon the mirror's sheen
The breath's obscuring cloud is seen.
E'en at the full the faint beams fail
To struggle through the darksome veil:
Changed like her hue, they want the grace
That parts not yet from Sítá's face.
Cold is the western wind, but how
Its piercing chill is heightened now,
Blowing at early morning twice
As furious with its breath of ice!
See how the dewy tears they weep
The barley, wheat, and woodland steep,
Where, as the sun goes up the sky,
The curlew and the sáras cry.
See where the rice plants scarce uphold
Their full ears tinged with paly gold,
Bending their ripe heads slowly down
Fair as the date tree's flowery crown.
Though now the sun has mounted high
Seeking the forehead of the sky,
Such mist obscures his struggling beams,
No bigger than the moon he seems.
Though weak at first, his rays at length
Grow pleasant in their noonday strength,
And where a while they chance to fall
Fling a faint splendour over all.
[pg 249]
See, o'er the woods where grass is wet
With hoary drops that cling there yet,
With soft light clothing earth and bough
There steals a tender glory now.
Yon elephant who longs to drink,
Still standing on the river's brink,
Plucks back his trunk in shivering haste
From the cold wave he fain would taste.
The very fowl that haunt the mere
Stand doubtful on the bank, and fear
To dip them in the wintry wave
As cowards dread to meet the brave.
The frost of night, the rime of dawn
Bind flowerless trees and glades of lawn:
Benumbed in apathetic chill
Of icy chains they slumber still.
You hear the hidden sáras cry
From floods that wrapped in vapour lie,
And frosty-shining sands reveal
Where the unnoticed rivers steal.
The hoary rime of dewy night,
And suns that glow with tempered light
Lend fresh cool flavours to the rill
That sparkles from the topmost hill.
The cold has killed the lily's pride:
Leaf, filament, and flower have died:
With chilling breath rude winds have blown,
The withered stalk is left alone.
At this gay time, O noblest chief,
The faithful Bharat, worn by grief,
Lives in the royal town where he
Spends weary hours for love of thee.
From titles, honour, kingly sway,
From every joy he turns away:
Couched on cold earth, his days are passed
With scanty fare and hermit's fast.
This moment from his humble bed
He lifts, perhaps, his weary head,
And girt by many a follower goes
To bathe where silver Sarjú flows.
How, when the frosty morn is dim,
Shall Sarjú be a bath for him
Nursed with all love and tender care,
So delicate and young and fair.
How bright his hue! his brilliant eye
With the broad lotus leaf may vie.
By fortune stamped for happy fate,
His graceful form is tall and straight.
In duty skilled, his words are truth:
He proudly rules each lust of youth.
Though his strong arm smites down the foe,
In gentle speech his accents flow.
Yet every joy has he resigned
And cleaves to thee with heart and mind.
Thus by the deeds that he has done
A name in heaven has Bharat won,
For in his life he follows yet
Thy steps, O banished anchoret.
Thus faithful Bharat, nobly wise,
The proverb of the world belies:
“No men, by mothers' guidance led,
The footsteps of their fathers tread.”
How could Kaikeyí, blest to be
Spouse of the king our sire, and see
A son like virtuous Bharat, blot
Her glory with so foul a plot!”
Thus in fraternal love he spoke,
And from his lips reproaches broke:
But Ráma grieved to hear him chide
The absent mother, and replied:
“Cease, O beloved, cease to blame
Our royal father's second dame.
Still speak of Bharat first in place
Of old Ikshváku's princely race.
My heart, so firmly bent but now
To dwell in woods and keep my vow,
Half melting as I hear thee speak
Of Bharat's love, grows soft and weak,
With tender joy I bring to mind
His speeches ever sweet and kind.
That dear as Amrit took the sense
With most enchanting influence.
Ah, when shall I, no more to part,
Meet Bharat of the mighty heart?
When, O my brother, when shall we
The good and brave Śatrughna see?”
Thus as he poured his fond lament
The son of Raghu onward went:
They reached the river, and the three
Bathed them in fair Godávarí.
Libations of the stream they paid
To every deity and shade,
With hymns of praise, the Sun on high
And sinless Gods to glorify.
Fresh from the purifying tide
Resplendent Ráma came,
With Lakshmaṇ ever by his side,
And the sweet Maithil dame.
So Rudra shines by worlds adored,
In glory undefiled,
When Nandi455 stands beside his lord,
And King Himálaya's child.456
Canto XVII. Súrpanakhá.

The bathing and the prayer were o'er;
He turned him from the grassy shore,
And with his brother and his spouse
Sought his fair home beneath the boughs.
Sítá and Lakshmaṇ by his side,
On to his cot the hero hied,
And after rites at morning due
Within the leafy shade withdrew.
[pg 250]
Then, honoured by the devotees,
As royal Ráma sat at ease,
With Sítá near him, o'er his head
A canopy of green boughs spread,
He shone as shines the Lord of Night
By Chitrá's457 side, his dear delight.
With Lakshmaṇ there he sat and told
Sweet stories of the days of old,
And as the pleasant time he spent
With heart upon each tale intent,
A giantess, by fancy led,
Came wandering to his leafy shed.
Fierce Śúrpaṇakhá,—her of yore
The Ten-necked tyrant's mother bore,—
Saw Ráma with his noble mien
Bright as the Gods in heaven are seen;
Him from whose brow a glory gleamed,
Like lotus leaves his full eyes beamed:
Long-armed, of elephantine gait,
With hair close coiled in hermit plait:
In youthful vigour, nobly framed,
By glorious marks a king proclaimed:
Like some bright lotus lustrous-hued,
With young Kandarpa's458 grace endued:
As there like Indra's self he shone,
She loved the youth she gazed upon.
She grim of eye and foul of face
Loved his sweet glance and forehead's grace:
She of unlovely figure, him
Of stately form and shapely limb:
She whose dim locks disordered hung,
Him whose bright hair on high brows clung:
She whose fierce accents counselled fear,
Him whose soft tones were sweet to hear:
She whose dire form with age was dried,
Him radiant in his youthful pride:
She whose false lips maintained the wrong,
Him in the words of virtue strong:
She cruel-hearted, stained with sin,
Him just in deed and pure within.
She, hideous fiend, a thing to hate,
Him formed each eye to captivate:
Fierce passion in her bosom woke,
And thus to Raghu's son she spoke:
“With matted hair above thy brows,
With bow and shaft and this thy spouse,
How hast thou sought in hermit dress
The giant-haunted wilderness?
What dost thou here? The cause explain:
Why art thou come, and what to gain?”
As Śúrpaṇakhá questioned so,
Ráma, the terror of the foe,
In answer to the monster's call,
With fearless candour told her all.
“King Daśaratha reigned of old,
Like Gods celestial brave and bold.
I am his eldest son and heir,
And Ráma is the name I bear.
This brother, Lakshmaṇ, younger born,
Most faithful love to me has sworn.
My wife, this princess, dear to fame,
Is Sitá the Videhan dame.
Obedient to my sire's behest
And by the queen my mother pressed,
To keep the law and merit win,
I sought this wood to harbour in.
But speak, for I of thee in turn
Thy name, and race, and sire would learn.
Thou art of giant race, I ween.
Changing at will thy form and mien.
Speak truly, and the cause declare
That bids thee to these shades repair.”
Thus Ráma spoke: the demon heard,
And thus replied by passion spurred:
“Of giant race, what form soe'er
My fancy wills, 'tis mine to wear.
Named Śúrpaṇakhá here I stray,
And where I walk spread wild dismay.
King Rávaṇ is my brother: fame
Has taught perchance his dreaded name,
Strong Kumbhakarṇa slumbering deep
In chains of never-ending sleep:
Vibhíshaṇ of the duteous mind,
In needs unlike his giant kind:
Dúshaṇ and Khara, brave and bold
Whose fame by every tongue is told:
Their might by mine is far surpassed;
But when, O best of men, I cast
These fond eyes on thy form, I see
My chosen love and lord in thee.
Endowed with wondrous might am I:
Where'er my fancy leads I fly.
The poor misshapen Sítá leave,
And me, thy worthier bride receive.
Look on my beauty, and prefer
A spouse more meet than one like her:
I'll eat that ill-formed woman there:
Thy brother too her fate shall share.
But come, beloved, thou shalt roam
With me through all our woodland home;
Each varied grove with me shalt seek,
And gaze upon each mountain peak.”
As thus she spoke, the monster gazed
With sparkling eyes where passion blazed:
Then he, in lore of language learned,
This answer eloquent returned:
Canto XVIII. The Mutilation.

On her ensnared in Káma's net
His eyes the royal Ráma set,
[pg 251]
And thus, her passion to beguile,
Addressed her with a gentle smile:
“I have a wife: behold her here,
My Sítá ever true and dear:
And one like thee will never brook
Upon a rival spouse to look.
But there my brother Lakshmaṇ stands:
Unchained is he by nuptial bands:
A youth heroic, loved of all,
Gracious and gallant, fair and tall.
With winning looks, most nobly bred,
Unmatched till now, he longs to wed.
Meet to enjoy thy youthful charms,
O take him to thy loving arms.
Enamoured on his bosom lie,
Fair damsel of the radiant eye,
As the warm sunlight loves to rest
Upon her darling Meru's breast.”
The hero spoke, the monster heard,
While passion still her bosom stirred.
Away from Ráma's side she broke,
And thus in turn to Lakshmaṇ spoke:
“Come, for thy bride take me who shine
In fairest grace that suits with thine.
Thou by my side from grove to grove
Of Daṇḍak's wild in bliss shalt rove.”
Then Lakshmaṇ, skilled in soft address,
Wooed by the amorous giantess,
With art to turn her love aside,
To Śúrpaṇakhá thus replied:
“And can so high a dame agree
The slave-wife of a slave to be?
I, lotus-hued! in good and ill
Am bondsman to my brother's will.
Be thou, fair creature radiant-eyed,
My honoured brother's younger bride:
With faultless tint and dainty limb,
A happy wife, bring joy to him.
He from his spouse grown old and grey,
Deformed, untrue, will turn away,
Her withered charms will gladly leave,
And to his fair young darling cleave.
For who could be so fond and blind,
O loveliest of all female kind,
To love another dame and slight
Thy beauties rich in all delight?”
Thus Lakshmaṇ praised in scornful jest
The long-toothed fiend with loathly breast,
Who fondly heard his speech, nor knew
His mocking words were aught but true.
Again inflamed with love she fled
To Ráma, in his leafy shed
Where Sítá rested by his side,
And to the mighty victor cried:
“What, Ráma, canst thou blindly cling
To this old false misshapen thing?
Wilt thou refuse the charms of youth
For withered breast and grinning tooth!
Canst thou this wretched creature prize
And look on me with scornful eyes?
This aged crone this very hour
Before thy face will I devour:
Then joyous, from all rivals free.
Through Daṇḍak will I stray with thee.”
She spoke, and with a glance of flame
Rushed on the fawn-eyed Maithil dame:
So would a horrid meteor mar
Fair Rohiṇí's soft beaming star.
But as the furious fiend drew near,
Like Death's dire noose which chills with fear,
The mighty chief her purpose stayed,
And spoke, his brother to upbraid:
“Ne'er should we jest with creatures rude,
Of savage race and wrathful mood.
Think, Lakshmaṇ, think how nearly slain
My dear Videhan breathes again.
Let not the hideous wretch escape
Without a mark to mar her shape.
Strike, lord of men, the monstrous fiend,
Deformed, and foul, and evil-miened.”
He spoke: then Lakshmaṇ's wrath rose high,
And there before his brother's eye,
He drew that sword which none could stay,
And cleft her nose and ears away.
Noseless and earless, torn and maimed,
With fearful shrieks the fiend exclaimed,
And frantic in her wild distress
Resought the distant wilderness.
Deformed, terrific, huge, and dread,
As on she moved, her gashes bled,
And groan succeeded groan as loud
As roars, ere rain, the thunder cloud.
Still on the fearful monster passed,
While streams of blood kept falling fast,
And with a roar, and arms outspread
Within the boundless wood she fled.
To Janasthán the monster flew;
Fierce Khara there she found,
With chieftains of the giant crew
In thousands ranged around.
Before his awful feet she bent
And fell with piercing cries,
As when a bolt in swift descent
Comes flashing from the skies.
There for a while with senses dazed
Silent she lay and scared:
At length her drooping head she raised,
And all the tale declared,
How Ráma, Lakshmaṇ, and the dame
Had reached that lonely place:
Then told her injuries and shame,
And showed her bleeding face.
Canto XIX. The Rousing Of Khara.

When Khara saw his sister lie
With blood-stained limbs and troubled eye,
[pg 252]
Wild fury in his bosom woke,
And thus the monstrous giant spoke;
“Arise, my sister; cast away
This numbing terror and dismay,
And straight the impious hand declare
That marred those features once so fair.
For who his finger tip will lay
On the black snake in childish play,
And unattacked, with idle stroke
His poison-laden fang provoke?
Ill-fated fool, he little knows
Death's noose around his neck he throws,
Who rashly met thee, and a draught
Of life-destroying poison quaffed.
Strong, fierce as death, 'twas thine to choose
Thy way at will, each shape to use;
In power and might like one of us:
What hand has maimed and marred thee thus?
What God or fiend this deed has wrought,
What bard or sage of lofty thought
Was armed with power supremely great
Thy form to mar and mutilate?
In all the worlds not one I see
Would dare a deed to anger me:
Not Indra's self, the Thousand-eyed,
Beneath whose hand fierce Páka459 died.
My life-destroying darts this day
His guilty breath shall rend away,
E'en as the thirsty wild swan drains
Each milk-drop that the wave retains.
Whose blood in foaming streams shall burst
O'er the dry ground which lies athirst,
When by my shafts transfixed and slain
He falls upon the battle plain?
From whose dead corpse shall birds of air
The mangled flesh and sinews tear,
And in their gory feast delight,
When I have slain him in the fight?
Not God or bard or wandering ghost,
No giant of our mighty host
Shall step between us, or avail
To save the wretch when I assail.
Collect each scattered sense, recall
Thy troubled thoughts, and tell me all.
What wretch attacked thee in the way,
And quelled thee in victorious fray?”
His breast with burning fury fired,
Thus Khara of the fiend inquired:
And then with many a tear and sigh
Thus Śúrpaṇakhá made reply:
“'Tis Daśaratha's sons, a pair
Strong, resolute, and young, and fair:
In coats of dark and blackdeer's hide,
And like the radiant lotus eyed:
On berries roots and fruit they feed,
And lives of saintly virtue lead:
With ordered senses undefiled,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ are they styled.
Fair as the Minstrels' King460 are they,
And stamped with signs of regal sway.
I know not if the heroes trace
Their line from Gods or Dánav461 race.
There by these wondering eyes between
The noble youths a dame was seen,
Fair, blooming, young, with dainty waist,
And all her bright apparel graced.
For her with ready heart and mind
The royal pair their strength combined,
And brought me to this last distress,
Like some lost woman, comfortless.
Perfidious wretch! my soul is fain
Her foaming blood and theirs to drain.
O let me head the vengeful fight,
And with this hand my murderers smite.
Come, brother, hasten to fulfil
This longing of my eager will.
On to the battle! Let me drink
Their lifeblood as to earth they sink.”
Then Khara, by his sister pressed,
Inflamed with fury, gave his hest
To twice seven giants of his crew,
Fierce as the God of death to view:
'Two men equipped with arms, who wear
Deerskin and bark and matted hair,
Leading a beauteous dame, have strayed
To the wild gloom of Daṇḍak's shade.
These men, this cursed woman slay,
And hasten back without delay,
That this my sister's lips may be
Red with the lifeblood of the three.
Giants, my wounded sister longs
To take this vengeance for her wrongs.
With speed her dearest wish fulfil,
And with your might these creatures kill.
Soon as your matchless strength shall lay
These brothers dead in battle fray,
She in triumphant joy will laugh,
And their hearts' blood delighted quaff.”
The giants heard the words he said,
And forth with Śúrpaṇakhá sped,
As mighty clouds in autumn fly
Urged by the wind along the sky.
Canto XX. The Giants' Death.

Fierce Śúrpaṇakhá with her train
To Ráma's dwelling came again,
And to the eager giants showed
Where Sítá and the youths abode.
Within the leafy cot they spied
The hero by his consort's side,
And faithful Lakshmaṇ ready still
To wait upon his brother's will.
[pg 253]
Then noble Ráma raised his eye
And saw the giants standing nigh,
And then, as nearer still they pressed.
His glorious brother thus addressed,
“Be thine a while, my brother dear,
To watch o'er Sítá's safety here,
And I will slay these creatures who
The footsteps of my spouse pursue.”
He spoke, and reverent Lakshmaṇ heard
Submissive to his brother's word.
The son of Raghu, virtuous-souled,
Strung his great bow adorned with gold,
And, with the weapon in his hand,
Addressed him to the giant band:
“Ráma and Lakshmaṇ we, who spring
From Daśaratha, mighty king;
We dwell a while with Sítá here
In Daṇḍak forest wild and drear.
On woodland roots and fruit we feed,
And lives of strictest rule we lead.
Say why would ye our lives oppress
Who sojourn in the wilderness.
Sent hither by the hermits' prayer
With bow and darts unused to spare,
For vengeance am I come to slay
Your sinful band in battle fray.
Rest as ye are: remain content,
Nor try the battle's dire event.
Unless your offered lives ye spurn,
O rovers of the night, return.”
They listened while the hero spoke,
And fury in each breast awoke.
The Bráhman-slayers raised on high
Their mighty spears and made reply:
They spoke with eyes aglow with ire,
While Ráma's burnt with vengeful tire,
And answered thus, in fury wild,
That peerless chief whose tones were mild:
“Nay thou hast angered, overbold,
Khara our lord, the mighty-souled,
And for thy sin, in battle strife
Shalt yield to us thy forfeit life.
No power hast thou alone to stand
Against the numbers of our band.
'Twere vain to match thy single might
Against us in the front of fight.
When we equipped for fight advance
With brandished pike and mace and lance,
Thou, vanquished in the desperate field,
Thy bow, thy strength, thy life shalt yield.”
With bitter words and threatening mien
Thus furious spoke the fierce fourteen,
And raising scimitar and spear
On Ráma rushed in wild career.
Their levelled spears the giant crew
Against the matchless hero threw.
His bow the son of Raghu bent,
And twice seven shafts to meet them sent,
And every javelin sundered fell
By the bright darts he aimed so well.
The hero saw: his anger grew
To fury: from his side he drew
Fresh sunbright arrows pointed keen,
In number, like his foes, fourteen.
His bow he grasped, the string he drew,
And gazing on the giant crew,
As Indra casts the levin, so
Shot forth his arrows at the foe.
The hurtling arrows, stained with gore,
Through the fiends' breasts a passage tore,
And in the earth lay buried deep
As serpents through an ant-hill creep
Like trees uptorn by stormy blast
The shattered fiends to earth were cast,
And there with mangled bodies they,
Bathed in their blood and breathless, lay.
With fainting heart and furious eye
The demon saw her champions die.
With drying wounds that scarcely bled
Back to her brother's home she fled.
Oppressed with pain, with loud lament
At Khara's feet the monster bent.
There like a plant whence slowly come
The trickling drops of oozy gum,
With her grim features pale with pain
She poured her tears in ceaseless rain,
There routed Śúrpaṇakhá lay,
And told her brother all,
The issue of the bloody fray,
Her giant champions' fall.
Canto XXI. The Rousing Of Khara.

Low in the dust he saw her lie,
And Khara's wrath grew fierce and high.
Aloud he cried to her who came
Disgracefully with baffled aim:
“I sent with thee at thy request
The bravest of my giants, best
Of all who feed upon the slain:
Why art thou weeping here again?
Still to their master's interest true,
My faithful, noble, loyal crew,
Though slaughtered in the bloody fray,
Would yet their monarch's word obey.
Now I, my sister, fain would know
The cause of this thy fear and woe,
Why like a snake thou writhest there,
Calling for aid in wild despair.
Nay, lie not thus in lowly guise:
Cast off thy weakness and arise!”
With soothing words the giant chief
Assuaged the fury of her grief.
Her weeping eyes she slowly dried
And to her brother thus replied:
“I sought thee in my shame and fear
With severed nose and mangled ear:
My gashes like a river bled,
I sought thee and was comforted.
[pg 254]
Those twice seven giants, brave and strong,
Thou sentest to avenge the wrong,
To lay the savage Ráma low,
And Lakshmaṇ who misused me so.
But ah, the shafts of Ráma through
The bodies of my champions flew:
Though madly fierce their spears they plied,
Beneath his conquering might they died.
I saw them, famed for strength and speed,
I saw my heroes fall and bleed:
Great trembling seized my every limb
At the great deed achieved by him.
In trouble, horror, doubt, and dread,
Again to thee for help I fled.
While terror haunts my troubled sight,
I seek thee, rover of the night.
And canst thou not thy sister free
From this wide waste of troublous sea
Whose sharks are doubt and terror, where
Each wreathing wave is dark despair?
Low lie on earth thy giant train
By ruthless Ráma's arrows slain,
And all the mighty demons, fed
On blood, who followed me are dead.
Now if within thy breast may be
Pity for them and love for me,
If thou, O rover of the night,
Have valour and with him can fight,
Subdue the giants' cruel foe
Who dwells where Daṇḍak's thickets grow.
But if thine arm in vain assay
This queller of his foes to slay,
Now surely here before thine eyes,
Wronged and ashamed thy sister dies.
Too well, alas, too well I see
That, strong in war as thou mayst be,
Thou canst not in the battle stand
When Ráma meets thee hand to hand.
Go forth, thou hero but in name,
Assuming might thou canst not claim;
Call friend and kin, no longer stay:
Away from Janasthán, away!
Shame of thy race! the weak alone
Beneath thine arm may sink o'erthrown:
Fly Ráma and his brother: they
Are men too strong for thee to slay.
How canst thou hope, O weak and base,
To make this grove thy dwelling-place?
With Ráma's might unmeet to vie,
O'ermastered thou wilt quickly die.
A hero strong in valorous deed
Is Ráma, Daśaratha's seed:
And scarce of weaker might than he
His brother chief who mangled me.”
Thus wept and wailed in deep distress
The grim misshapen giantess:
Before her brother's feet she lay
O'erwhelmed with grief, and swooned away.
Canto XXII. Khara's Wrath.

Roused by the taunting words she spoke,
The mighty Khara's wrath awoke,
And there, while giants girt him round,
In these fierce words an utterance found:
“I cannot, peerless one, contain
Mine anger at this high disdain,
Galling as salt when sprinkled o'er
The rawness of a bleeding sore.
Ráma in little count I hold,
Weak man whose days are quickly told.
The caitiff with his life to-day
For all his evil deeds shall pay.
Dry, sister, dry each needless tear,
Stint thy lament and banish fear,
For Ráma and his brother go
This day to Yáma's realm below.
My warrior's axe shall stretch him slain,
Ere set of sun, upon the plain,
Then shall thy sated lips be red
With his warm blood in torrents shed.”
As Khara's speech the demon heard,
With sudden joy her heart was stirred:
She fondly praised him as the boast
And glory of the giant host.
First moved to ire by taunts and stings,
Now soothed by gentle flatterings,
To Dúshaṇ, who his armies led,
The demon Khara spoke, and said:
“Friend, from the host of giants call
Full fourteen thousand, best of all,
Slaves of my will, of fearful might,
Who never turn their backs in fight:
Fiends who rejoice to slay and mar,
Dark as the clouds of autumn are:
Make ready quickly, O my friend,
My chariot and the bows I bend.
My swords, my shafts of brilliant sheen,
My divers lances long and keen.
On to the battle will I lead
These heroes of Pulastya's seed,
And thus, O famed for warlike skill,
Ráma my wicked foeman kill.”
He spoke, and ere his speech was done,
His chariot glittering like the sun,
Yoked and announced, by Dúshan's care,
With dappled steeds was ready there.
High as a peak from Meru rent
It burned with golden ornament:
The pole of lazulite, of gold
Were the bright wheels whereon it rolled.
With gold and moonstone blazoned o'er,
Fish, flowers, trees, rocks, the panels bore;
Auspicious birds embossed thereon,
And stars in costly emblem shone.
O'er flashing swords his banner hung,
And sweet bells, ever tinkling, swung.
[pg 255]
That mighty host with sword and shield
And oar was ready for the field:
And Khara saw, and Dúshan cried,
“Forth to the fight, ye giants, ride.”
Then banners waved, and shield and sword
Flashed as the host obeyed its lord.
From Janasthán they sallied out
With eager speed, and din, and shout,
Armed with the mace for close attacks,
The bill, the spear, the battle-axe,
Steel quoit and club that flashed afar,
Huge bow and sword and scimitar,
The dart to pierce, the bolt to strike,
The murderous bludgeon, lance, and pike.
So forth from Janasthán, intent
On Khara's will, the monsters went.
He saw their awful march: not far
Behind the host he drove his car.
Ware of his master's will, to speed
The driver urged each gold-decked steed.
Then forth the warrior's coursers sprang,
And with tumultuous murmur rang
Each distant quarter of the sky
And realms that intermediate lie.
High and more high within his breast
His pride triumphant rose,
While terrible as Death he pressed
Onward to slay his foes,
“More swiftly yet,” as on they fled,
He cried in thundering tones
Loud as a cloud that overhead
Hails down a flood of stones.
Canto XXIII. The Omens.

As forth upon its errand went
That huge ferocious armament,
An awful cloud, in dust and gloom,
With threatening thunders from its womb
Poured in sad augury a flood
Of rushing water mixt with blood.
The monarch's steeds, though strong and fleet,
Stumbled and fell: and yet their feet
Passed o'er the bed of flowers that lay
Fresh gathered on the royal way.
No gleam of sunlight struggled through
The sombre pall of midnight hue,
Edged with a line of bloody red,
Like whirling torches overhead.
A vulture, fierce, of mighty size.
Terrific with his cruel eyes,
Perched on the staff enriched with gold,
Whence hung the flag in many a fold.
Each ravening bird, each beast of prey
Where Janasthán's wild thickets lay,
Rose with a long discordant cry
And gathered as the host went by.
And from the south long, wild, and shrill,
Came spirit voices boding ill.
Like elephants in frantic mood,
Vast clouds terrific, sable-hued,
Hid all the sky where'er they bore
Their load of water mixt with gore.
Above, below, around were spread
Thick shades of darkness strange and dread,
Nor could the wildered glance descry
A point or quarter of the sky.
Then came o'er heaven a sanguine hue,
Though evening's flush not yet was due,
While each ill-omened bird that flies
Assailed the king with harshest cries.
There screamed the vulture and the crane,
And the loud jackal shrieked again.
Each hideous thing that bodes aright
Disaster in the coming fight,
With gaping mouth that hissed and flamed,
The ruin of the host proclaimed.
Eclipse untimely reft away
The brightness of the Lord of Day,
And near his side was seen to glow
A mace-like comet boding woe.
Then while the sun was lost to view
A mighty wind arose and blew,
And stars like fireflies shed their light,
Nor waited for the distant night.
The lilies drooped, the brooks were dried,
The fish and birds that swam them died,
And every tree that was so fair
With flower and fruit was stripped and bare.
The wild wind ceased, yet, raised on high,
Dark clouds of dust involved the sky.
In doleful twitter long sustained
The restless Sárikás462 complained,
And from the heavens with flash and flame
Terrific meteors roaring came.
Earth to her deep foundation shook
With rock and tree and plain and brook,
As Khara with triumphant shout,
Borne in his chariot, sallied out.
His left arm throbbed: he knew full well
That omen, and his visage fell.
Each awful sign the giant viewed,
And sudden tears his eye bedewed.
Care on his brow sat chill and black,
Yet mad with wrath he turned not back.
Upon each fearful sight that raised
The shuddering hair the chieftain gazed,
And laughing in his senseless pride
Thus to his giant legions cried:
“By sense of mightiest strength upborne,
These feeble signs I laugh to scorn.
I could bring down the stars that shine
In heaven with these keen shafts of mine.
Impelled by warlike fury I
Could cause e'en Death himself to die.
[pg 256]
I will not seek my home again
Until my pointed shafts have slain
This Raghu's son so fierce in pride,
And Lakshmaṇ by his brother's side.
And she, my sister, she for whom
These sons of Raghu meet their doom,
She with delighted lips shall drain
The lifeblood of her foemen slain.
Fear not for me: I ne'er have known
Defeat, in battle overthrown.
Fear not for me, O giants; true
Are the proud words I speak to you.
The king of Gods who rules on high,
If wild Airávat bore him nigh,
Should fall before me bolt in hand:
And shall these two my wrath withstand!”
He ended and the giant host
Who heard their chief's triumphant boast,
Rejoiced with equal pride elate,
Entangled in the noose of Fate.
Then met on high in bright array,
With eyes that longed to see the fray,
God and Gandharva, sage and saint,
With beings pure from earthly taint.
Blest for good works aforetime wrought,
Thus each to other spake his thought:
“Now joy to Bráhmans, joy to kine,
And all whom world count half divine!
May Raghu's offspring slay in fight
Pulastya's sons who roam by night!”
In words like these and more, the best
Of high-souled saints their hopes expressed,
Bending their eager eyes from where
Car-borne with Gods they rode in air.
Beneath them stretching far, they viewed
The giants' death-doomed multitude.
They saw where, urged with fury, far
Before the host rolled Khara's car,
And close beside their leader came
Twelve giant peers of might and fame.
Four other chiefs463 before the rest
Behind their leader Dúshaṇ pressed.
Impetuous, cruel, dark, and dread,
All thirsting for the fray,
The hosts of giant warriors sped
Onward upon their way.
With eager speed they reached the spot
Where dwelt the princely two,—
Like planets in a league to blot
The sun and moon from view.
Canto XXIV. The Host In Sight.

While Khara, urged by valiant rage,
Drew near that little hermitage,
Those wondrous signs in earth and sky
Smote on each prince's watchful eye.
When Ráma saw those signs of woe
Fraught with destruction to the foe,
With bold impatience scarce repressed
His brother chief he thus addressed:
“These fearful signs, my brother bold,
Which threaten all our foes, behold:
All laden, as they strike the view,
With ruin to the fiendish crew.
The angry clouds are gathering fast,
Their skirts with dusty gloom o'ercast,
And harsh with loud-voiced thunder, rain
Thick drops of blood upon the plain.
See, burning for the coming fight,
My shafts with wreaths of smoke are white,
And my great bow embossed with gold
Throbs eager for the master's hold.
Each bird that through the forest flies
Sends out its melancholy cries.
All signs foretell the dangerous strife,
The jeopardy of limb and life.
Each sight, each sound gives warning clear
That foemen meet and death is near.
But courage, valiant brother! well
The throbbings of mine arm foretell
That ruin waits the hostile powers,
And triumph in the fight is ours.
I hail the welcome omen: thou
Art bright of face and clear of brow.
For Lakshmaṇ, when the eye can trace
A cloud upon the warrior's face
Stealing the cheerful light away,
His life is doomed in battle fray.
List, brother, to that awful cry:
With shout and roar the fiends draw nigh.
With thundering beat of many a drum
The savage-hearted giants come.
The wise who value safety know
To meet, prepared, the coming blow:
In paths of prudence trained aright
They watch the stroke before it smite.
Take thou thine arrows and thy bow,
And with the Maithil lady go
For shelter to the mountain cave
Where thickest trees their branches wave.
I will not have thee, Lakshmaṇ, say
One word in answer, but obey.
By all thy honour for these feet
Of mine, dear brother, I entreat.
Thy warlike arm, I know could, smite
To death these rovers of the night;
But I this day would fight alone
Till all the fiends be overthrown.”
[pg 257]
He spake: and Lakshmaṇ answered naught:
His arrows and his bow he brought,
And then with Sítá following hied
For shelter to the mountain side.
As Lakshmaṇ and the lady through
The forest to the cave withdrew,
“'Tis well,” cried Ráma. Then he braced
His coat of mail around his waist.
When, bright as blazing fire, upon
His mighty limbs that armour shone,
The hero stood like some great light
Uprising in the dark of night.
His dreadful shafts were by his side;
His trusty bow he bent and plied,
Prepared he stood: the bowstring rang,
Filling the welkin with the clang.
The high-souled Gods together drew
The wonder of the fight to view,
The saints made free from spot and stain,
And bright Gandharvas' heavenly train.
Each glorious sage the assembly sought,
Each saint divine of loftiest thought,
And filled with zeal for Ráma's sake.
Thus they whose deeds were holy spake:
“Now be it well with Bráhmans, now
Well with the worlds and every cow!
Let Ráma in the deadly fray
The fiends who walk in darkness slay,
As He who bears the discus464 slew
The chieftains of the Asur crew.”
Then each with anxious glances viewed
His fellow and his speech renewed:
“There twice seven thousand giants stand
With impious heart and cruel hand:
Here Ráma stands, by virtue known:
How can the hero fight alone?”
Thus royal sage and Bráhman saint,
Spirit, and Virtue free from taint,
And all the Gods of heaven who rode
On golden cars, their longing showed.
Their hearts with doubt and terror rent,
They saw the giants' armament,
And Ráma clothed in warrior might,
Forth standing in the front of fight.
Lord of the arm no toil might tire,
He stood majestic in his ire,
Matchless in form as Rudra465 when
His wrath is fierce on Gods or men.
While Gods and saints in close array
Held converse of the coming fray,
The army of the fiends drew near
With sight and sound that counselled fear.
Long, loud and deep their war-cry pealed,
As on they rushed with flag and shield,
Each, of his proper valour proud,
Urging to fight the demon crowd.
His ponderous bow each warrior tried,
And swelled his bulk with martial pride.
'Mid shout and roar and trampling feet,
And thunder of the drums they beat,
Loud and more loud the tumult went
Throughout the forest's vast extent,
And all the life that moved within
The woodland trembled at the din.
In eager haste all fled to find
Some tranquil spot, nor looked behind.
With every arm of war supplied,
On-rushing wildly like the tide
Of some deep sea, the giant host
Approached where Ráma kept his post.
Then he, in battle skilled and tried,
Bent his keen eye on every side,
And viewed the host of Khara face
To face before his dwelling-place.
He drew his arrows forth, and reared
And strained that bow which foemen feared,
And yielded to the vengeful sway
Of fierce desire that host to slay.
Terrific as the ruinous fire
That ends the worlds, he glowed in ire,
And his tremendous form dismayed
The Gods who roam the forest shade.
For in the furious wrath that glowed
Within his soul the hero showed
Like Śiva when his angry might
Stayed Daksha's sacrificial rite.466
Like some great cloud at dawn of day
When first the sun upsprings,
And o'er the gloomy mass each ray
A golden radiance flings:
Thus showed the children of the night,
Whose mail and chariots threw,
With gleam of bows and armlets bright,
Flashes of flamy hue.
Canto XXV. The Battle.

When Khara with the hosts he led
Drew near to Ráma's leafy shed,
He saw that queller of the foe
Stand ready with his ordered bow.
He saw, and burning at the view
His clanging bow he raised and drew,
And bade his driver urge apace
His car to meet him face to face.
Obedient to his master's hest
His eager steeds the driver pressed
On to the spot where, none to aid,
The strong-armed chief his weapon swayed.
Soon as the children of the night
Saw Khara rushing to the fight,
[pg 258]
His lords with loud unearthly cry
Followed their chief and gathered nigh.
As in his car the leader rode
With all his lords around, he showed
Like the red planet fiery Mars
Surrounded by the lesser stars.
Then with a horrid yell that rent
The air, the giant chieftain sent
A thousand darts in rapid shower
On Ráma matchless in his power.
The rovers of the night, impelled
By fiery rage which naught withheld,
Upon the unconquered prince, who strained
His fearful bow, their arrows rained.
With sword and club, with mace and pike,
With spear and axe to pierce and strike,
Those furious fiends on every side
The unconquerable hero plied.
The giant legions huge and strong,
Like clouds the tempest drives along,
Rushed upon Ráma with the speed
Of whirling car, and mounted steed,
And hill-like elephant, to slay
The matchless prince in battle fray.
Then upon Ráma thick and fast
The rain of mortal steel they cast,
As labouring clouds their torrents shed
Upon the mountain-monarch's467 head.
As near and nearer round him drew
The warriors of the giant crew,
He showed like Śiva girt by all
His spirits when night's shadows fall.
As the great deep receives each rill
And river rushing from the hill,
He bore that flood of darts, and broke
With well-aimed shaft each murderous stroke.
By stress of arrowy storm assailed,
And wounded sore, he never failed,
Like some high mountain which defies
The red bolts flashing from the skies.
With ruddy streams each limb was dyed
From gaping wounds in breast and side,
Showing the hero like the sun
'Mid crimson clouds ere day is done.
Then, at that sight of terror, faint
Grew God, Gandharva, sage, and saint,
Trembling to see the prince oppose
His single might to myriad foes.
But waxing wroth, with force unspent,
He strained his bow to utmost bent,
And forth his arrows keen and true
In hundreds, yea in thousands flew,—
Shafts none could ward, and none endure:
Death's fatal noose was scarce so sure.
As 'twere in playful ease he shot
His gilded shafts, and rested not.
With swiftest flight and truest aim
Upon the giant hosts they came.
Each smote, each stayed a foeman's breath
As fatal as the coil of Death.
Each arrow through a giant tore
A passage, and besmeared with gore,
Pursued its onward way and through
The air with flamy brilliance flew.
Unnumbered were the arrows sent
From the great bow which Ráma bent,
And every shaft with iron head
The lifeblood of a giant shed.
Their pennoned bows were cleft, nor mail
Nor shield of hide could aught avail.
For Ráma's myriad arrows tore
Through arms, and bracelets which they wore,
And severed mighty warriors' thighs
Like trunks of elephants in size,
And cut resistless passage sheer
Through gold-decked horse and charioteer,
Slew elephant and rider, slew
The horseman and the charger too,
And infantry unnumbered sent
To dwell 'neath Yáma's government.
Then rose on high a fearful yell
Of rovers of the night, who fell
Beneath that iron torrent, sore
Wounded by shafts that rent and tore.
So mangled by the ceaseless storm
Of shafts of every kind and form,
Such joy they found, as forests feel
When scorched by flame, from Ráma's steel.
The mightiest still the fight maintained,
And furious upon Ráma rained
Dart, arrow, spear, with wild attacks
Of mace, and club, and battle-axe.
But the great chief, unconquered yet,
Their weapons with his arrows met,
Which severed many a giant's head,
And all the plain with corpses spread.
With sundered bow and shattered shield
Headless they sank upon the field,
As the tall trees, that felt the blast
Of Garuḍ's wing, to earth were cast.
The giants left unslaughtered there
Where filled with terror and despair,
And to their leader Khara fled
Faint, wounded, and discomfited.
These fiery Dúshaṇ strove to cheer,
And poised his bow to calm their fear;
Then fierce as He who rules the dead,
When wroth, on angered Ráma sped.
By Dúshaṇ cheered, the demons cast
Their dread aside and rallied fast
With Sáls, rocks, palm-trees in their hands
With nooses, maces, pikes, and brands,
Again upon the godlike man
The mighty fiends infuriate ran,
These casting rocks like hail, and these
A whelming shower of leafy trees.
Wild, wondrous fight, the eye to scare,
And raise on end each shuddering hair,
[pg 259]
As with the fiends who loved to rove
By night heroic Ráma strove!
The giants in their fury plied
Ráma with darts on every side.
Then, by the gathering demons pressed
From north and south and east and west,
By showers of deadly darts assailed
From every quarter fiercely hailed,
Girt by the foes who swarmed around,
He raised a mighty shout whose sound
Struck terror. On the giant crew
His great Gandharva468 arrow flew.
A thousand mortal shafts were rained
From the orbed bow the hero strained,
Till east and west and south and north
Were filled with arrows volleyed forth.
They heard the fearful shout: they saw
His mighty hand the bowstring draw,
Yet could no wounded giant's eye
See the swift storm of arrows fly.
Still firm the warrior stood and cast
His deadly missiles thick and fast.
Dark grew the air with arrowy hail
Which hid the sun as with a veil.
Fiends wounded, falling, fallen, slain,
All in a moment, spread the plain,
And thousands scarce alive were left
Mangled, and gashed, and torn, and cleft.
Dire was the sight, the plain o'erspread
With trophies of the mangled dead.
There lay, by Ráma's missiles rent,
Full many a priceless ornament,
With severed limb and broken gem,
Hauberk and helm and diadem.
There lay the shattered car, the steed,
The elephant of noblest breed,
The splintered spear, the shivered mace,
Chouris and screens to shade the face.
The giants saw with bitterest pain
Their warriors weltering on the plain,
Nor dared again his might oppose
Who scourged the cities of his foes.
Canto XXVI. Dúshan's Death.

When Dúshaṇ saw his giant band
Slaughtered by Ráma's conquering hand,
He called five thousand fiends, and gave
His orders. Bravest of the brave,
Invincible, of furious might,
Ne'er had they turned their backs in flight.
They, as their leader bade them seize
Spears, swords, and clubs, and rocks, and trees,
Poured on the dauntless prince again
A ceaseless shower of deadly rain.
The virtuous Ráma, undismayed,
Their missiles with his arrows stayed,
And weakened, ere it fell, the shock
Of that dire hail of tree and rock,
And like a bull with eyelids closed,
The pelting of the storm opposed.
Then blazed his ire: he longed to smite
To earth the rovers of the night.
The wrath that o'er his spirit came
Clothed him with splendour as of flame,
While showers of mortal darts he poured
Fierce on the giants and their lord.
Dúshaṇ, the foeman's dusky dread,
By frenzied rage inspirited,
On Raghu's son his missiles cast
Like Indra's bolts which rend and blast.
But Ráma with a trenchant dart
Cleft Dúshaṇ's ponderous bow apart.
And then the gold-decked steeds who drew
The chariot, with four shafts he slew.
One crescent dart he aimed which shred
Clean from his neck the driver's head;
Three more with deadly skill addressed
Stood quivering in the giant's breast.
Hurled from his car, steeds, driver slain,
The bow he trusted cleft in twain,
He seized his mace, strong, heavy, dread,
High as a mountain's towering head.
With plates of gold adorned and bound,
Embattled Gods it crushed and ground.
Its iron spikes yet bore the stains
Of mangled foemen's blood and brains.
Its heavy mass of jagged steel
Was like a thunderbolt to feel.
It shattered, as on foes it fell,
The city where the senses dwell.469
Fierce Dúshaṇ seized that ponderous mace
Like monstrous form of serpent race,
And all his savage soul aglow
With fury, rushed upon the foe.
But Raghu's son took steady aim,
And as the rushing giant came,
Shore with two shafts the arms whereon
The demon's glittering bracelets shone.
His arm at each huge shoulder lopped,
The mighty body reeled and dropped,
And the great mace to earth was thrown
Like Indra's staff when storms have blown.
As some vast elephant who lies
Shorn of his tusks, and bleeding dies,
So, when his arms were rent away,
Low on the ground the giant lay.
The spirits saw the monster die,
And loudly rang their joyful cry,
“Honour to Ráma! nobly done!
Well hast thou fought, Kakutstha's son!”
[pg 260]
But the great three, the host who led,
Enraged to see their chieftain dead,
As though Death's toils were round them cast,
Rushed upon Ráma fierce and fast,
Mahákapála seized, to strike
His foeman down, a ponderous pike:
Sthúláksha charged with spear to fling,
Pramáthi with his axe to swing.
When Ráma saw, with keen darts he
Received the onset of the three,
As calm as though he hailed a guest
In each, who came for shade and rest.
Mahákapála's monstrous head
Fell with the trenchant dart he sped.
His good right hand in battle skilled
Sthúláksha's eyes with arrows filled,
And trusting still his ready bow
He laid the fierce Pramáthi low,
Who sank as some tall tree falls down
With bough and branch and leafy crown.
Then with five thousand shafts he slew
The rest of Dúshaṇ's giant crew:
Five thousand demons, torn and rent,
To Yáma's gloomy realm he sent.
When Khara knew the fate of all
The giant band and Dúshaṇ's fall,
He called the mighty chiefs who led
His army, and in fury said:
“Now Dúshaṇ and his armèd train
Lie prostrate on the battle plain.
Lead forth an army mightier still,
Ráma this wretched man, to kill.
Fight ye with darts of every shape,
Nor let him from your wrath escape.”
Thus spoke the fiend, by rage impelled,
And straight his course toward Ráma held.
With Śyenagámí and the rest
Of his twelve chiefs he onward pressed,
And every giant as he went
A storm of well-wrought arrows sent.
Then with his pointed shafts that came
With gold and diamond bright as flame,
Dead to the earth the hero threw
The remnant of the demon crew.
Those shafts with feathers bright as gold,
Like flames which wreaths of smoke enfold,
Smote down the fiends like tall trees rent
By red bolts from the firmament.
A hundred shafts he pointed well:
By their keen barbs a hundred fell:
A thousand,—and a thousand more
In battle's front lay drenched in gore.
Of all defence and guard bereft,
With sundered bows and harness cleft.
Their bodies red with bloody stain
Fell the night-rovers on the plain,
Which, covered with the loosened hair
Of bleeding giants prostrate there,
Like some great altar showed, arrayed
For holy rites with grass o'erlaid.
The darksome wood, each glade and dell
Where the wild demons fought and fell
Was like an awful hell whose floor
Is thick with mire and flesh and gore.
Thus twice seven thousand fiends, a band
With impious heart and bloody hand,
By Raghu's son were overthrown,
A man, on foot, and all alone.
Of all who met on that fierce day,
Khara, great chief, survived the fray,
The monster of the triple head,470
And Raghu's son, the foeman's dread.
The other demon warriors, all
Skilful and brave and strong and tall,
In front of battle, side by side,
Struck down by Lakshmaṇ's brother died.
When Khara saw the host he led
Triumphant forth to fight
Stretched on the earth, all smitten dead,
By Ráma's nobler might,
Upon his foe he fiercely glared,
And drove against him fast,
Like Indra when his arm is bared
His thundering bolt to cast.
Canto XXVII. The Death Of Trisirás.

But Triśirás,471 a chieftain dread,
Marked Khara as he onward sped.
And met his car and cried, to stay
The giant from the purposed fray:
“Mine be the charge: let me attack,
And turn thee from the contest back.
Let me go forth, and thou shalt see
The strong-armed Ráma slain by me.
True are the words I speak, my lord:
I swear it as I touch my sword:
That I this Ráma's blood will spill,
Whom every giant's hand should kill.
This Ráma will I slay, or he
In battle fray shall conquer me.
Restrain thy spirit: check thy car,
And view the combat from afar.
Thou, joying o'er the prostrate foe,
To Janasthán again shalt go,
Or, if I fall in battle's chance,
Against my conqueror advance.”
Thus Triśirás for death who yearned:
And Khara from the conflict turned,
“Go forth to battle,” Khara cried;
And toward his foe the giant hied.
Borne on a car of glittering hue
Which harnessed coursers fleetly drew,
Like some huge hill with triple peak
He onward rushed the prince to seek.
[pg 261]
Still, like a big cloud, sending out
His arrowy rain with many a shout
Like the deep sullen roars that come
Discordant from a moistened drum.
But Raghu's son, whose watchful eye
Beheld the demon rushing nigh,
From the great bow he raised and bent
A shower of shafts to meet him sent.
Wild grew the fight and wilder yet
As fiend and man in combat met,
As when in some dark wood's retreat
An elephant and a lion meet.
The giant bent his bow, and true
To Ráma's brow three arrows flew.
Then, raging as he felt the stroke,
These words in anger Ráma spoke:
“Heroic chief! is such the power
Of fiends who rove at midnight hour?
Soft as the touch of flowers I feel
The gentle blows thine arrows deal.
Receive in turn my shafts, and know
What arrows fly from Ráma's bow.”
Thus as he spoke his wrath grew hot,
And twice seven deadly shafts he shot,
Which, dire as serpent's deadly fang,
Straight to the giant's bosom sprang.
Four arrows more,—each shaped to deal
A mortal wound with barbèd steel,—
The glorious hero shot, and slew
The four good steeds the car that drew.
Eight other shafts flew straight and fleet,
And hurled the driver from his seat,
And in the dust the banner laid
That proudly o'er the chariot played.
Then as the fiend prepared to bound
Forth from his useless car to ground,
The hero smote him to the heart,
And numbed his arm with deadly smart.
Again the chieftain, peerless-souled,
Sent forth three rapid darts, and rolled
With each keen arrow, deftly sped,
Low in the dust a monstrous head.
Then yielding to each deadly stroke,
Forth spouting streams of blood and smoke,
The headless trunk bedrenched with gore
Fell to the ground and moved no more.
The fiends who yet were left with life,
Routed and crushed in battle strife,
To Khara's side, like trembling deer
Scared by the hunter, fled in fear.
King Khara saw with furious eye
His scattered giants turn and fly;
Then rallying his broken train
At Raghu's son he drove amain,
Like Ráhu472 when his deadly might
Comes rushing on the Lord of Night.
Canto XXVIII. Khara Dismounted.

But when he turned his eye where bled
Both Triśirás and Dúshaṇ dead,
Fear o'er the giant's spirit came
Of Ráma's might which naught could tame.
He saw his savage legions, those
Whose force no creature dared oppose,—
He saw the leader of his train
By Ráma's single prowess slain.
With burning grief he marked the few
Still left him of his giant crew.
As Namuchi473 on Indra, so
Rushed the dread demon on his foe.
His mighty bow the monster strained,
And angrily on Ráma rained
His mortal arrows in a flood,
Like serpent fangs athirst for blood.
Skilled in the bowman's warlike art,
He plied the string and poised the dart.
Here, on his car, and there, he rode,
And passages of battle showed,
While all the skyey regions grew
Dark with his arrows as they flew.
Then Ráma seized his ponderous bow,
And straight the heaven was all aglow
With shafts whose stroke no life might bear
That filled with flash and flame the air,
Thick as the blinding torrents sent
Down from Parjanya's474 firmament.
In space itself no space remained,
But all was filled with arrows rained
Incessantly from each great bow
Wielded by Ráma and his foe.
As thus in furious combat, wrought
To mortal hate, the warriors fought,
The sun himself grew faint and pale,
Obscured behind that arrowy veil.
As when beneath the driver's steel
An elephant is forced to kneel,
So from the hard and pointed head
Of many an arrow Ráma bled.
High on his car the giant rose
Prepared in deadly strife to close,
[pg 262]
And all the spirits saw him stand
Like Yáma with his noose in hand.
For Khara deemed in senseless pride
That he, beneath whose hand had died
The giant legions, failed at length
Slow sinking with exhausted strength.
But Ráma, like a lion, when
A trembling deer comes nigh his den,
Feared not the demon mad with hate,—
Of lion might and lion gait.
Then in his lofty car that glowed
With sunlike brilliance Khara rode
At Ráma: madly on he came
Like a poor moth that seeks the flame.
His archer skill the fiend displayed,
And at the place where Ráma laid
His hand, an arrow cleft in two
The mighty bow the hero drew.
Seven arrows by the giant sent,
Bright as the bolts of Indra, rent
Their way through mail and harness joints,
And pierced him with their iron points.
On Ráma, hero unsurpassed,
A thousand shafts smote thick and fast,
While as each missile struck, rang out
The giant's awful battle-shout.
His knotted arrows pierced and tore
The sunbright mail the hero wore,
Till, band and buckle rent away,
Glittering on the ground it lay.
Then pierced in shoulder, breast, and side,
Till every limb with blood was dyed,
The chieftain in majestic ire
Shone glorious as the smokeless fire.
Then loud and long the war-cry rose
Of Ráma, terror of his foes,
As, on the giant's death intent,
A ponderous bow he strung and bent,—
Lord Vishṇu's own, of wondrous size,—
Agastya gave the heavenly prize.
Then rushing on the demon foe,
He raised on high that mighty bow,
And with his well-wrought shafts, whereon
Bright gold between the feathers shone,
He struck the pennon fluttering o'er
The chariot, and it waved no more.
That glorious flag whose every fold
Was rich with blazonry and gold,
Fell as the sun himself by all
The Gods' decree might earthward fall.
From wrathful Khara's hand, whose art
Well knew each vulnerable part,
Four keenly-piercing arrows flew,
And blood in Ráma's bosom drew,
With every limb distained with gore
From deadly shafts which rent and tore,
From Khara's clanging bowstring shots,
The prince's wrath waxed wondrous hot.
His hand upon his bow that best
Of mighty archers firmly pressed,
And from the well-drawn bowstring, true
Each to its mark, six arrows flew.
One quivered in the giant's head,
With two his brawny shoulders bled;
Three, with the crescent heads they bore,
Deep in his breast a passage tore.
Thirteen, to which the stone had lent
The keenest point, were swiftly sent
On the fierce giant, every one
Destructive, gleaming like the sun.
With four the dappled steeds he slew;
One cleft the chariot yoke in two,
One, in the heat of battle sped,
Smote from the neck the driver's head.
The poles were rent apart by three;
Two broke the splintered axle-tree.
Then from the hand of Ráma, while
Across his lips there came a smile,
The twelfth, like thunderbolt impelled,
Cut the great hand and bow it held.
Then, scarce by Indra's self surpassed,
He pierced the giant with the last.
The bow he trusted cleft in twain,
His driver and his horses slain,
Down sprang the giant, mace in hand,
On foot against the foe to stand.
The Gods and saints in bright array
Close gathered in the skies,
The prince's might in battle-fray
Beheld with joyful eyes.
Uprising from their golden seats,
Their hands in honour raised,
They looked on Ráma's noble feats,
And blessed him as they praised.
Canto XXIX. Khara's Defeat.

When Ráma saw the giant nigh,
On foot, alone, with mace reared high,
In mild reproof at first he spoke,
Then forth his threatening anger broke:
“Thou with the host 'twas thine to lead,
With elephant and car and steed,
Hast wrought an act of sin and shame,
An act which all who live must blame.
Know that the wretch whose evil mind
Joys in the grief of human kind,
Though the three worlds confess him lord,
Must perish dreaded and abhorred.
Night-rover, when a villain's deeds
Distress the world he little heeds,
Each hand is armed his life to take,
And crush him like a deadly snake.
The end is near when men begin
Through greed or lust a life of sin,
E'en as a Bráhman's dame, unwise,
Eats of the fallen hail475 and dies.
[pg 263]
Thy hand has slain the pure and good,
The hermit saints of Daṇḍak wood,
Of holy life, the heirs of bliss;
And thou shalt reap the fruit of this.
Not long shall they whose cruel breasts
Joy in the sin the world detests
Retain their guilty power and pride,
But fade like trees whose roots are dried.
Yes, as the seasons come and go,
Each tree its kindly fruit must show,
And sinners reap in fitting time
The harvest of each earlier crime.
As those must surely die who eat
Unwittingly of poisoned meat,
They too whose lives in sin are spent
Receive ere long the punishment.
And know, thou rover of the night,
That I, a king, am sent to smite
The wicked down, who court the hate
Of men whose laws they violate.
This day my vengeful hand shall send
Shafts bright with gold to tear and rend,
And pass with fury through thy breast
As serpents pierce an emmet's nest.
Thou with thy host this day shalt be
Among the dead below, and see
The saints beneath thy hand who bled,
Whose flesh thy cruel maw has fed.
They, glorious on their seats of gold,
Their slayer shall in hell behold.
Fight with all strength thou callest thine,
Mean scion of ignoble line,
Still, like the palm-tree's fruit, this day
My shafts thy head in dust shall lay.”
Such were the words that Ráma said:
Then Khara's eyes with wrath glowed red,
Who, maddened by the rage that burned
Within him, with a smile returned:
“Thou Daśaratha's son, hast slain
The meaner giants of my train:
And canst thou idly vaunt thy might
And claim the praise not thine by right?
Not thus in self-laudation rave
The truly great, the nobly brave:
No empty boasts like thine disgrace
The foremost of the human race.
The mean of soul, unknown to fame,
Who taint their warrior race with shame,
Thus speak in senseless pride as thou,
O Raghu's son, hast boasted now.
What hero, when the war-cry rings,
Vaunts the high race from which he springs,
Or seeks, when warriors meet and die,
His own descent to glorify?
Weakness and folly show confessed
In every vaunt thou utterest,
As when the flames fed high with grass
Detect the simulating brass.
Dost thou not see me standing here
Armed with the mighty mace I rear,
Firm as an earth upholding hill
Whose summit veins of metal fill?
Lo, here I stand before thy face
To slay thee with my murderous mace,
As Death, the universal lord,
Stands threatening with his fatal cord.
Enough of this. Much more remains
That should be said: but time constrains.
Ere to his rest the sun descend,
And shades of night the combat end,
The twice seven thousand of my band
Who fell beneath thy bloody hand
Shall have their tears all wiped away
And triumph in thy fall to-day.”
He spoke, and loosing from his hold
His mighty mace ringed round with gold,
Like some red bolt alive with fire
Hurled it at Ráma, mad with ire.
The ponderous mace which Khara threw
Sent fiery flashes as it flew.
Trees, shrubs were scorched beneath the blast,
As onward to its aim it passed.
But Ráma, watching as it sped
Dire as His noose who rules the dead,
Cleft it with arrows as it came
On rushing with a hiss and flame.
Its fury spent and burnt away,
Harmless upon the ground it lay
Like a great snake in furious mood
By herbs of numbing power subdued.
Canto XXX. Khara's Death.

When Ráma, pride of Raghu's race,
Virtue's dear son, had cleft the mace,
Thus with superior smile the best
Of chiefs the furious fiend addressed:
“Thou, worst of giant blood, at length
Hast shown the utmost of thy strength,
And forced by greater might to bow,
Thy vaunting threats are idle now.
My shafts have cut thy club in twain:
Useless it lies upon the plain,
And all thy pride and haughty trust
Lie with it levelled in the dust.
The words that thou hast said to-day,
That thou wouldst wipe the tears away
Of all the giants I have slain,
My deeds shall render void and vain.
Thou meanest of the giants' breed,
Evil in thought and word and deed,
My hand shall take that life of thine
As Garuḍ476 seized the juice divine.
[pg 264]
Thou, rent by shafts, this day shalt die:
Low on the ground thy corse shall lie,
And bubbles from the cloven neck
With froth and blood thy skin shall deck.
With dust and mire all rudely dyed,
Thy torn arms lying by thy side,
While streams of blood each limb shall steep,
Thou on earth's breast shalt take thy sleep
Like a fond lover when he strains
The beauty whom at length he gains.
Now when thy heavy eyelids close
For ever in thy deep repose,
Again shall Daṇḍak forest be
Safe refuge for the devotee.
Thou slain, and all thy race who held
The realm of Janasthán expelled,
Again shall happy hermits rove,
Fearing no danger, through the grove.
Within those bounds, their brethren slain,
No giant shall this day remain,
But all shall fly with many a tear
And fearing, rid the saints of fear.
This bitter day shall misery bring
On all the race that calls thee king.
Fierce as their lord, thy dames shall know,
Bereft of joys, the taste of woe.
Base, cruel wretch, of evil mind,
Plaguer of Bráhmans and mankind,
With trembling hands each devotee
Feeds holy fires in dread of thee.”
Thus with wild fury unrepressed
Raghu's brave son the fiend addressed;
And Khara, as his wrath grew high,
Thus thundered forth his fierce reply:
“By senseless pride to madness wrought,
By danger girt thou fearest naught,
Nor heedest, numbered with the dead,
What thou shouldst say and leave unsaid.
When Fate's tremendous coils enfold
The captive in resistless hold,
He knows not right from wrong, each sense
Numbed by that deadly influence.”
He spoke, and when his speech was done
Bent his fierce brows on Raghu's son.
With eager eyes he looked around
If lethal arms might yet be found.
Not far away and full in view
A Sál-tree towering upward grew.
His lips in mighty strain compressed,
He tore it up with root and crest,
With huge arms waved it o'er his head
And hurled it shouting, Thou art dead.
But Ráma, unsurpassed in might,
Stayed with his shafts its onward flight,
And furious longing seized his soul
The giant in the dust to roll.
Great drops of sweat each limb bedewed,
His red eyes showed his wrathful mood.
A thousand arrows, swiftly sent,
The giant's bosom tore and rent.
From every gash his body showed
The blood in foamy torrents flowed,
As springing from their caverns leap
Swift rivers down the mountain steep.
When Khara felt each deadened power
Yielding beneath that murderous shower,
He charged, infuriate with the scent
Of blood, in dire bewilderment.
But Ráma watched, with ready bow,
The onset of his bleeding foe,
And ere the monster reached him, drew
Backward in haste a yard or two.
Then from his side a shaft he took
Whose mortal stroke no life might brook:
Of peerless might, it bore the name
Of Brahmá's staff, and glowed with flame:
Lord Indra, ruler of the skies,
Himself had given the glorious prize.
His bow the virtuous hero drew,
And at the fiend the arrow flew.
Hissing and roaring like the blast
Of tempest through the air it passed,
And fixed, by Ráma's vigour sped,
In the foe's breast its pointed head.
Then fell the fiend: the quenchless flame
Burnt furious in his wounded frame.
So burnt by Rudra Andhak477 fell
In Śvetáraṇya's silvery dell:
So Namuchi and Vritra478 died
By steaming bolts that tamed their pride:
So Bala479 fell by lightning sent
By Him who rules the firmament.
Then all the Gods in close array
With the bright hosts who sing and play,
Filled full of rapture and amaze,
Sang hymns of joy in Ráma's praise,
Beat their celestial drums and shed
Rain of sweet flowers upon his head.
For three short hours had scarcely flown,
And by his pointed shafts o'erthrown
The twice seven thousand fiends, whose will
Could change their shapes, in death were still,
With Triśirás and Dúshaṇ slain,
And Khara, leader of the train.
“O wondrous deed,” the bards began,
“The noblest deed of virtuous man!
Heroic strength that stood alone,
And firmness e'en as Vishṇu's own!”
Thus having sung, the shining train
Turned to their heavenly homes again.
[pg 265]
Then the high saints of royal race
And loftiest station sought the place,
And by the great Agastya led,
With reverence to Ráma said:
“For this, Lord Indra, glorious sire,
Majestic as the burning fire,
Who crushes cities in his rage,
Sought Śarabhanga's hermitage.
Thou wast, this great design to aid,
Led by the saints to seek this shade,
And with thy mighty arm to kill
The giants who delight in ill.
Thou Daśaratha's noble son,
The battle for our sake hast won,
And saints in Daṇḍak's wild who live
Their days to holy tasks can give.”
Forth from the mountain cavern came
The hero Lakshmaṇ with the dame.
And rapture beaming from his face,
Resought the hermit dwelling-place.
Then when the mighty saints had paid
Due honour for the victor's aid,
The glorious Ráma honoured too
By Lakshmaṇ to his cot withdrew.
When Sítá looked upon her lord,
His foemen slain, the saints restored,
In pride and rapture uncontrolled
She clasped him in her loving hold.
On the dead fiends her glances fell:
She saw her lord alive and well,
Victorious after toil and pain,
And Janak's child was blest again.
Once more, once more with new delight
Her tender arms she threw
Round Ráma whose victorious might
Had crushed the demon crew.
Then as his grateful reverence paid
Each saint of lofty soul,
O'er her sweet face, all fears allayed,
The flush of transport stole.
Canto XXXI. Rávan.

But of the host of giants one,
Akampan, from the field had run
And sped to Lanká480 to relate
In Rávaṇ's ear the demons' fate:
“King, many a giant from the shade
Of Janasthán in death is laid:
Khara the chief is slain, and I
Could scarcely from the battle fly.”
Fierce anger, as the monarch heard,
Inflamed his look, his bosom stirred,
And while with scorching glance he eyed
The messenger, he thus replied:
“What fool has dared, already dead,
Strike Janasthán, the general dread?
Who is the wretch shall vainly try
In earth, heaven, hell, from me to fly?
Vaiśravaṇ,481 Indra, Vishṇu, He
Who rules the dead, must reverence me;
For not the mightiest lord of these
Can brave my will and live at ease.
Fate finds in me a mightier fate
To burn the fires that devastate.
With unresisted influence I
Can force e'en Death himself to die,
With all-surpassing might restrain
The fury of the hurricane,
And burn in my tremendous ire
The glory of the sun and fire.”
As thus the fiend's hot fury blazed,
His trembling hands Akampan raised,
And with a voice which fear made weak,
Permission craved his tale to speak.
King Rávaṇ gave the leave he sought,
And bade him tell the news he brought.
His courage rose, his voice grew bold,
And thus his mournful tale he told:
“A prince with mighty shoulders, sprung
From Daśaratha, brave and young,
With arms well moulded, bears the name
Of Ráma with a lion's frame.
Renowned, successful, dark of limb,
Earth has no warrior equals him.
He fought in Janasthán and slew
Dúshaṇ the fierce and Khara too.”
Rávaṇ the giants' royal chief.
Received Akampan's tale of grief.
Then, panting like an angry snake,
These words in turn the monarch spake:
“Say quick, did Ráma seek the shade
Of Janasthán with Indra's aid,
And all the dwellers in the skies
To back his hardy enterprise?”
Akampan heard, and straight obeyed
His master, and his answer made.
Then thus the power and might he told
Of Raghu's son the lofty-souled:
“Best is that chief of all who know
With deftest art to draw the bow.
His are strange arms of heavenly might,
And none can match him in the fight.
His brother Lakshmaṇ brave as he,
Fair as the rounded moon to see,
With eyes like night and voice that comes
Deep as the roll of beaten drums,
By Ráma's side stands ever near,
Like wind that aids the flame's career.
That glorious chief, that prince of kings,
On Janasthán this ruin brings.
No Gods were there,—dismiss the thought
No heavenly legions came and fought.
His swift-winged arrows Ráma sent,
Each bright with gold and ornament.
To serpents many-faced they turned:
[pg 266]
The giant hosts they ate and burned.
Where'er these fled in wild dismay
Ráma was there to strike and slay.
By him O King of high estate,
Is Janasthán left desolate.”
Akampan ceased: in angry pride
The giant monarch thus replied:
“To Janasthán myself will go
And lay these daring brothers low.”
Thus spoke the king in furious mood:
Akampan then his speech renewed:
“O listen while I tell at length
The terror of the hero's strength.
No power can check, no might can tame
Ráma, a chief of noblest fame.
He with resistless shafts can stay
The torrent foaming on its way.
Sky, stars, and constellations, all
To his fierce might would yield and fall.
His power could earth itself uphold
Down sinking as it sank of old.482
Or all its plains and cities drown,
Breaking the wild sea's barrier down;
Crush the great deep's impetuous will,
Or bid the furious wind be still.
He glorious in his high estate
The triple world could devastate,
And there, supreme of men, could place
His creatures of a new-born race.
Never can mighty Ráma be
O'ercome in fight, my King, by thee.
Thy giant host the day might win
From him, if heaven were gained by sin.
If Gods were joined with demons, they
Could ne'er, I ween, that hero slay,
But guile may kill the wondrous man;
Attend while I disclose the plan.
His wife, above all women graced,
Is Sítá of the dainty waist,
With limbs to fair proportion true,
And a soft skin of lustrous hue,
Round neck and arm rich gems are twined:
She is the gem of womankind.
With her no bright Gandharví vies,
No nymph or Goddess in the skies;
And none to rival her would dare
'Mid dames who part the long black hair.
That hero in the wood beguile,
And steal his lovely spouse the while.
Reft of his darling wife, be sure,
Brief days the mourner will endure.”
With flattering hope of triumph moved
The giant king that plan approved,
Pondered the counsel in his breast,
And then Akampan thus addressed:
“Forth in my car I go at morn,
None but the driver with me borne,
And this fair Sítá will I bring
Back to my city triumphing.”
Forth in his car by asses drawn
The giant monarch sped at dawn,
Bright as the sun, the chariot cast
Light through the sky as on it passed.
Then high in air that best of cars
Traversed the path of lunar stars,
Sending a fitful radiance pale
As moonbeams shot through cloudy veil.
Far on his airy way he flew:
Near Táḍakeya's483 grove he drew.
Márícha welcomed him, and placed
Before him food which giants taste,
With honour led him to a seat,
And brought him water for his feet;
And then with timely words addressed
Such question to his royal guest:
“Speak, is it well with thee whose sway
The giant multitudes obey?
I know not all, and ask in fear
The cause, O King, why thou art here.”
Ráva, the giants' mighty king,
Heard wise Márícha's questioning,
And told with ready answer, taught
In eloquence, the cause he sought:
“My guards, the bravest of my band,
Are slain by Ráma's vigorous hand,
And Janasthán, that feared no hate
Of foes, is rendered desolate.
Come, aid me in the plan I lay
To steal the conqueror's wife away.”
Márícha heard the king's request,
And thus the giant chief addressed:
“What foe in friendly guise is he
Who spoke of Sítá's name to thee?
Who is the wretch whose thought would bring
Destruction on the giants' king?
Whose is the evil counsel, say,
That bids thee bear his wife away,
And careless of thy life provoke
Earth's loftiest with threatening stroke?
A foe is he who dared suggest
This hopeless folly to thy breast,
Whose ill advice would bid thee draw
The venomed fang from serpent's jaw.
By whose unwise suggestion led
Wilt thou the path of ruin tread?
Whence falls the blow that would destroy
Thy gentle sleep of ease and joy?
Like some wild elephant is he
That rears his trunk on high,
Lord of an ancient pedigree,
Huge tusks, and furious eye.
Rávaṇ, no rover of the night
With bravest heart can brook,
Met in the front of deadly fight,
On Raghu's son to look.
[pg 267]
The giant hosts were brave and strong,
Good at the bow and spear:
But Ráma slew the routed throng,
A lion 'mid the deer.
No lion's tooth can match his sword,
Or arrows fiercely shot:
He sleeps, he sleeps—the lion lord;
Be wise and rouse him not.
O Monarch of the giants, well
Upon my counsel think,
Lest thou for ever in the hell
Of Ráma's vengeance sink:
A hell, where deadly shafts are sent
From his tremendous-bow,
While his great arms all flight prevent,
Like deepest mire below:
Where the wild floods of battle rave
Above the foeman's head,
And each with many a feathery wave
Of shafts is garlanded.
O, quench the flames that in thy breast
With raging fury burn;
And pacified and self-possessed
To Lanká's town return.
Rest thou in her imperial bowers
With thine own wives content,
And in the wood let Ráma's hours
With Sítá still be spent.”
The lord of Lanká's isle obeyed
The counsel, and his purpose stayed.
Borne on his car he parted thence
And gained his royal residence.
Canto XXXII. Rávan Roused.

But Śúrpaṇakhá saw the plain
Spread with the fourteen thousand slain,
Doers of cruel deeds o'erthrown
By Ráma's mighty arm alone,
Add Triśirás and Dúshaṇ dead,
And Khara, with the hosts they led.
Their death she saw, and mad with pain,
Roared like a cloud that brings the rain,
And fled in anger and dismay
To Lanká, seat of Rávaṇ's sway.
There on a throne of royal state
Exalted sat the potentate,
Begirt with counsellor and peer,
Like Indra with the Storm Gods near.
Bright as the sun's full splendour shone
The glorious throne he sat upon,
As when the blazing fire is red
Upon a golden altar fed.
Wide gaped his mouth at every breath,
Tremendous as the jaws of Death.
With him high saints of lofty thought,
Gandharvas, Gods, had vainly fought.
The wounds were on his body yet
From wars where Gods and demons met.
And scars still marked his ample chest
By fierce Airávat's484 tusk impressed.
A score of arms, ten necks, had he,
His royal gear was brave to see.
His massive form displayed each sign
That marks the heir of kingly line.
In stature like a mountain height,
His arms were strong, his teeth were white,
And all his frame of massive mould
Seemed lazulite adorned with gold.
A hundred seams impressed each limp
Where Vishṇu's arm had wounded him,
And chest and shoulder bore the print
Of sword and spear and arrow dint,
Where every God had struck a blow
In battle with the giant foe.
His might to wildest rage could wake
The sea whose faith naught else can shake,
Hurl towering mountains to the earth,
And crush e'en foes of heavenly birth.
The bonds of law and right he spurned:
To others' wives his fancy turned.
Celestial arms he used in fight,
And loved to mar each holy rite.
He went to Bhogavatí's town,485
Where Vásuki was beaten down,
And stole, victorious in the strife,
Lord Takshaka's beloved wife.
Kailása's lofty crest he sought,
And when in vain Kuvera fought,
Stole Pushpak thence, the car that through
The air, as willed the master, flew.
Impelled by furious anger, he
Spoiled Nandan's486 shade and Naliní,
And Chaitraratha's heavenly grove,
The haunts where Gods delight to rove.
Tall as a hill that cleaves the sky,
He raised his mighty arms on high
To check the blessed moon, and stay
The rising of the Lord of Day.
Ten thousand years the giant spent
On dire austerities intent,
And of his heads an offering, laid
Before the Self-existent, made.
No God or fiend his life could take,
Gandharva, goblin, bird, or snake:
Safe from all fears of death, except
From human arm, that life was kept.
Oft when the priests began to raise
Their consecrating hymns of praise,
He spoiled the Soma's sacred juice
Poured forth by them in solemn use.
[pg 268]
The sacrifice his hands o'erthrew,
And cruelly the Bráhmans slew.
His was a heart that naught could melt,
Joying in woes which others felt.
She saw the ruthless monster there,
Dread of the worlds, unused to spare.
In robes of heavenly texture dressed,
Celestial wreaths adorned his breast.
He sat a shape of terror, like
Destruction ere the worlds it strike.
She saw him in his pride of place,
The joy of old Pulastya's487 race,
Begirt by counsellor and peer,
Rávaṇ, the foeman's mortal fear,
And terror in her features shown,
The giantess approached the throne.
Then Śúrpaṇakhá bearing yet
Each deeply printed trace
Where the great-hearted chief had set
A mark upon her face,
Impelled by terror and desire,
Still fierce, no longer bold,
To Rávaṇ of the eyes of fire
Her tale, infuriate, told.
Canto XXXIII. Súrpanakhá's Speech.

Burning with anger, in the ring
Of counsellors who girt their king,
To Rávaṇ, ravener of man,
With bitter words she thus began:
“Wilt thou absorbed in pleasure, still
Pursue unchecked thy selfish will:
Nor turn thy heedless eyes to see
The coming fate which threatens thee?
The king who days and hours employs
In base pursuit of vulgar joys
Must in his people's sight be vile
As fire that smokes on funeral pile.
He who when duty calls him spares
No time for thought of royal cares,
Must with his realm and people all
Involved in fatal ruin fall.
As elephants in terror shrink
From the false river's miry brink,
Thus subjects from a monarch flee
Whose face their eyes may seldom see,
Who spends the hours for toil ordained
In evil courses unrestrained.
He who neglects to guard and hold
His kingdom by himself controlled,
Sinks nameless like a hill whose head
Is buried in the ocean's bed.
Thy foes are calm and strong and wise,
Fiends, Gods, and warriors of the skies,—
How, heedless, wicked, weak, and vain,
Wilt thou thy kingly state maintain?
Thou, lord of giants, void of sense,
Slave of each changing influence,
Heedless of all that makes a king,
Destruction on thy head wilt bring.
O conquering chief, the prince, who boasts,
Of treasury and rule and hosts,
By others led, though lord of all,
Is meaner than the lowest thrall.
For this are monarchs said to be
Long-sighted, having power to see
Things far away by faithful eyes
Of messengers and loyal spies.
But aid from such thou wilt not seek:
Thy counsellors are blind and weak,
Or thou from these hadst surely known
Thy legions and thy realm o'erthrown.
Know, twice seven thousand, fierce in might,
Are slain by Ráma in the fight,
And they, the giant host who led,
Khara and Dúshaṇ, both are dead.
Know, Ráma with his conquering arm
Has freed the saints from dread of harm,
Has smitten Janasthán and made
Asylum safe in Daṇḍak's shade.
Enslaved and dull, of blinded sight,
Intoxicate with vain delight,
Thou closest still thy heedless eyes
To dangers in thy realm that rise.
A king besotted, mean, unkind,
Of niggard hand and slavish mind.
Will find no faithful followers heed
Their master in his hour of need.
The friend on whom he most relies,
In danger, from a monarch flies,
Imperious in his high estate,
Conceited, proud, and passionate;
Who ne'er to state affairs attends
With wholesome fear when woe impends
Most weak and worthless as the grass,
Soon from his sway the realm will pass.
For rotting wood a use is found,
For clods and dust that strew the ground,
But when a king has lost his sway,
Useless he falls, and sinks for aye.
As raiment by another worn,
As faded garland crushed and torn,
So is, unthroned, the proudest king,
Though mighty once, a useless thing.
But he who every sense subdues
And each event observant views,
Rewards the good and keeps from wrong,
Shall reign secure and flourish long.
Though lulled in sleep his senses lie
He watches with a ruler's eye,
Untouched by favour, ire, and hate,
And him the people celebrate.
O weak of mind, without a trace
[pg 269]
Of virtues that a king should grace,
Who hast not learnt from watchful spy
That low in death the giants lie.
Scorner of others, but enchained
By every base desire,
By thee each duty is disdained
Which time and place require.
Soon wilt thou, if thou canst not learn,
Ere yet it be too late,
The good from evil to discern,
Fall from thy high estate.”
As thus she ceased not to upbraid
The king with cutting speech,
And every fault to view displayed,
Naming and marking each,
The monarch of the sons of night,
Of wealth and power possessed,
And proud of his imperial might,
Long pondered in his breast.
Canto XXXIV. Súrpanakhá's Speech.

Then forth the giant's fury broke
As Śúrpaṇakhá harshly spoke.
Girt by his lords the demon king
Looked on her, fiercely questioning:
“Who is this Ráma, whence, and where?
His form, his might, his deeds declare.
His wandering steps what purpose led
To Daṇḍak forest, hard to tread?
What arms are his that he could smite
In fray the rovers of the night,
And Triśirás and Dúshaṇ lay
Low on the earth, and Khara slay?
Tell all, my sister, and declare
Who maimed thee thus, of form most fair.”
Thus by the giant king addressed,
While burnt her fury unrepressed,
The giantess declared at length
The hero's form and deeds and strength:
“Long are his arms and large his eyes:
A black deer's skin his dress supplies.
King Daśaratha's son is he,
Fair as Kandarpa's self to see.
Adorned with many a golden band,
A bow, like Indra's, arms his hand,
And shoots a flood of arrows fierce
As venomed snakes to burn and pierce.
I looked, I looked, but never saw
His mighty hand the bowstring draw
That sent the deadly arrows out,
While rang through air his battle-shout.
I looked, I looked, and saw too well
How with that hail the giants fell,
As falls to earth the golden grain,
Struck by the blows of Indra's rain.
He fought, and twice seven thousand, all
Terrific giants, strong and tall,
Fell by the pointed shafts o'erthrown
Which Ráma shot on foot, alone.
Three little hours had scarcely fled,—
Khara and Dúshaṇ both were dead,
And he had freed the saints and made
Asylum sure in Daṇḍak's shade.
Me of his grace the victor spared,
Or I the giants' fate had shared.
The high-souled Ráma would not deign
His hand with woman's blood to stain.
The glorious Lakshmaṇ, justly dear,
In gifts and warrior might his peer,
Serves his great brother with the whole
Devotion of his faithful soul:
Impetuous victor, bold and wise,
First in each hardy enterprise,
Still ready by his side to stand,
A second self or better hand.
And Ráma has a large-eyed spouse,
Pure as the moon her cheek and brows,
Dearer than life in Ráma's sight,
Whose happiness is her delight.
With beauteous hair and nose the dame
From head to foot has naught to blame.
She shines the wood's bright Goddess, Queen
Of beauty with her noble mien.
First in the ranks of women placed
Is Sítá of the dainty waist.
In all the earth mine eyes have ne'er
Seen female form so sweetly fair.
Goddess nor nymph can vie with her,
Nor bride of heavenly chorister.
He who might call this dame his own,
Her eager arms about him thrown,
Would live more blest in Sítá's love
Than Indra in the world above.
She, peerless in her form and face
And rich in every gentle grace,
Is worthy bride, O King, for thee,
As thou art meet her lord to be.
I even I, will bring the bride
In triumph to her lover's side—
This beauty fairer than the rest,
With rounded limb and heaving breast.
Each wound upon my face I owe
To cruel Lakshmaṇ's savage blow.
But thou, O brother, shalt survey
Her moonlike loveliness to-day,
And Káma's piercing shafts shall smite
Thine amorous bosom at the sight.
If in thy breast the longing rise
To make thine own the beauteous prize,
Up, let thy better foot begin
The journey and the treasure win.
If, giant Lord, thy favouring eyes
Regard the plan which I advise,
Up, cast all fear and doubt away
And execute the words I say
Come, giant King, this treasure seek,
For thou art strong and they are weak.
[pg 270]
Let Sítá of the faultless frame
Be borne away and be thy dame.
Thy host in Janasthán who dwelt
Forth to the battle hied.
And by the shafts which Ráma dealt
They perished in their pride.
Dúshaṇ and Khara breathe no more,
Laid low upon the plain.
Arise, and ere the day be o'er
Take vengeance for the slain.”
Canto XXXV. Rávan's Journey.

When Rávaṇ, by her fury spurred,
That terrible advice had heard,
He bade his nobles quit his side,
And to the work his thought applied.
He turned his anxious mind to scan
On every side the hardy plan:
The gain against the risk he laid,
Each hope and fear with care surveyed,
And in his heart at length decreed
To try performance of the deed.
Then steady in his dire intent
The giant to the courtyard went.
There to his charioteer he cried,
“Bring forth the car whereon I ride.”
Aye ready at his master's word
The charioteer the order heard,
And yoked with active zeal the best
Of chariots at his lord's behest.
Asses with heads of goblins drew
That wondrous car where'er it flew.
Obedient to the will it rolled
Adorned with gems and glistering gold.
Then mounting, with a roar as loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud,
The mighty monarch to the tide
Of Ocean, lord of rivers, hied.
White was the shade above him spread,
White chouris waved around his head,
And he with gold and jewels bright
Shone like the glossy lazulite.
Ten necks and twenty arms had he:
His royal gear was good to see.
The heavenly Gods' insatiate foe,
Who made the blood of hermits flow,
He like the Lord of Hills appeared
With ten huge heads to heaven upreared.
In the great car whereon he rode,
Like some dark cloud the giant showed,
When round it in their close array
The cranes 'mid wreaths of lightning play.
He looked, and saw, from realms of air,
The rocky shore of ocean, where
Unnumbered trees delightful grew
With flower and fruit of every hue.
He looked on many a lilied pool
With silvery waters fresh and cool,
And shores like spacious altars meet
For holy hermits' lone retreat.
The graceful palm adorned the scene,
The plantain waved her glossy green.
There grew the sál and betel, there
On bending boughs the flowers were fair.
There hermits dwelt who tamed each sense
By strictest rule of abstinence:
Gandharvas, Kinnars,488 thronged the place,
Nágas and birds of heavenly race.
Bright minstrels of the ethereal quire,
And saints exempt from low desire,
With Ájas, sons of Brahmá's line,
Maríchipas of seed divine,
Vaikhánasas and Máshas strayed,
And Bálakhilyas489 in the shade.
The lovely nymphs of heaven were there,
Celestial wreaths confined their hair,
And to each form new grace was lent
By wealth of heavenly ornament.
Well skilled was each in play and dance
And gentle arts of dalliance.
The glorious wife of many a God
Those beautiful recesses trod,
There Gods and Dánavs, all who eat
The food of heaven, rejoiced to meet.
The swan and Sáras thronged each bay
With curlews, ducks, and divers gay,
Where the sea spray rose soft and white
O'er rocks of glossy lazulite.
As his swift way the fiend pursued
Pale chariots of the Gods he viewed,
Bearing each lord whose rites austere
Had raised him to the heavenly sphere.
Thereon celestial garlands hung,
There music played and songs were sung.
Then bright Gandharvas met his view,
And heavenly nymphs, as on he flew.
He saw the sandal woods below,
And precious trees of odorous flow,
That to the air around them lent
Their riches of delightful scent;
Nor failed his roving eye to mark
Tall aloe trees in grove and park.
He looked on wood with cassias filled,
And plants which balmy sweets distilled,
Where her fair flowers the betel showed
And the bright pods of pepper glowed.
The pearls in many a silvery heap
Lay on the margin of the deep.
And grey rocks rose amid the red
Of coral washed from ocean's bed.
[pg 271]
High soared the mountain peaks that bore
Treasures of gold and silver ore,
And leaping down the rocky walls
Came wild and glorious waterfalls.
Fair towns which grain and treasure held,
And dames who every gem excelled,
He saw outspread beneath him far,
With steed, and elephant, and car.
That ocean shore he viewed that showed
Fair as the blessed Gods' abode
Where cool delightful breezes played
O'er levels in the freshest shade.
He saw a fig-tree like a cloud
With mighty branches earthward bowed.
It stretched a hundred leagues and made
For hermit bands a welcome shade.
Thither the feathered king of yore
An elephant and tortoise bore,
And lighted on a bough to eat
The captives of his taloned feet.
The bough unable to sustain
The crushing weight and sudden strain,
Loaded with sprays and leaves of spring
Gave way beneath the feathered king.
Under the shadow of the tree
Dwelt many a saint and devotee,
Ájas, the sons of Brahmá's line,
Máshas, Maríchipas divine.
Vaikhánasas, and all the race
Of Bálakhilyas, loved the place.
But pitying their sad estate
The feathered monarch raised the weight
Of the huge bough, and bore away
The loosened load and captured prey.
A hundred leagues away he sped,
Then on his monstrous booty fed,
And with the bough he smote the lands
Where dwell the wild Nisháda bands.
High joy was his because his deed
From jeopardy the hermits freed.
That pride for great deliverance wrought
A double share of valour brought.
His soul conceived the high emprise
To snatch the Amrit from the skies.
He rent the nets of iron first,
Then through the jewel chamber burst,
And bore the drink of heaven away
That watched in Indra's palace lay.
Such was the hermit-sheltering tree
Which Rávaṇ turned his eye to see.
Still marked where Garuḍ sought to rest,
The fig-tree bore the name of Blest.
When Rávaṇ stayed his chariot o'er
The ocean's heart-enchanting shore,
He saw a hermitage that stood
Sequestered in the holy wood.
He saw the fiend Márícha there
With deerskin garb, and matted hair
Coiled up in hermit guise, who spent
His days by rule most abstinent.
As guest and host are wont to meet,
They met within that lone retreat.
Before the king Márícha placed
Food never known to human taste.
He entertained his guest with meat
And gave him water for his feet,
And then addressed the giant king
With timely words of questioning:
“Lord, is it well with thee, and well
With those in Lanká's town who dwell?
What sudden thought, what urgent need
Has brought thee with impetuous speed?”
The fiend Márícha thus addressed
Rávaṇ the king, his mighty guest,
And he, well skilled in arts that guide
The eloquent, in turn replied:
Canto XXXVI. Rávan's Speech.

“Hear me, Márícha, while I speak,
And tell thee why thy home I seek.
Sick and distressed am I, and see
My surest hope and help in thee.
Of Janasthán I need not tell,
Where Śúrpaṇakhá, Khara, dwell,
And Dúshaṇ with the arm of might,
And Triśirás, the fierce in fight,
Who feeds on human flesh and gore,
And many noble giants more,
Who roam in dark of midnight through
The forest, brave and strong and true.
By my command they live at ease
And slaughter saints and devotees.
Those twice seven thousand giants, all
Obedient to their captain's call,
Joying in war and ruthless deeds
Follow where mighty Khara leads.
Those fearless warrior bands who roam
Through Janasthán their forest home,
In all their terrible array
Met Ráma in the battle fray.
Girt with all weapons forth they sped
With Khara at the army's head.
The front of battle Ráma held:
With furious wrath his bosom swelled.
Without a word his hate to show
He launched the arrows from his bow.
On the fierce hosts the missiles came,
Each burning with destructive flame,
The twice seven thousand fell o'erthrown
By him, a man, on foot, alone.
Khara the army's chief and pride,
And Dúshaṇ, fearless warrior, died,
And Triśirás the fierce was slain,
And Daṇḍak wood was free again.
He, banished by his angry sire,
Roams with his wife in mean attire.
This wretch, his Warrior tribe's disgrace
Has slain the best of giant race.
[pg 272]
Harsh, wicked, fierce and greedy-souled,
A fool, with senses uncontrolled,
No thought of duty stirs his breast:
He joys to see the world distressed.
He sought the wood with fair pretence
Of truthful life and innocence,
But his false hand my sister left
Mangled, of nose and ears bereft.
This Ráma's wife who bears the name
Of Sítá, in her face and frame
Fair as a daughter of the skies,—
Her will I seize and bring the prize
Triumphant from the forest shade:
For this I seek thy willing aid.
If thou, O mighty one, wilt lend
Thy help and stand beside thy friend,
I with my brothers may defy
All Gods embattled in the sky.
Come, aid me now, for thine the power
To succour in the doubtful hour.
Thou art in war and time of fear,
For heart and hand, without a peer.
For thou art skilled in art and wile,
A warrior brave and trained in guile.
With this one hope, this only aim,
O Rover of the Night, I came.
Now let me tell what aid I ask
To back me in my purposed task.
In semblance of a golden deer
Adorned with silver spots appear.
Go, seek his dwelling: in the way
Of Ráma and his consort stray.
Doubt not the lady, when she sees
The wondrous deer amid the trees,
Will bid her lord and Lakshmaṇ take
The creature for its beauty's sake.
Then when the chiefs have parted thence,
And left her lone, without defence,
As Ráhu storms the moonlight, I
Will seize the lovely dame and fly.
Her lord will waste away and weep
For her his valour could not keep.
Then boldly will I strike the blow
And wreak my vengeance on the foe.”
When wise Márícha heard the tale
His heart grew faint, his cheek was pale,
He stared with open orbs, and tried
To moisten lips which terror dried,
And grief, like death, his bosom rent
As on the king his look he bent.
The monarch's will he strove to stay,
Distracted with alarm,
For well he knew the might that lay
In Ráma's matchless arm.
With suppliant hands Márícha stood
And thus began to tell
His counsel for the tyrant's good,
And for his own as well:
Canto XXXVII. Márícha's Speech.

Márícha gave attentive ear
The ruler of the fiends to hear:
Then, trained in all the rules that teach
The eloquent, began his speech:
“'Tis easy task, O King, to find
Smooth speakers who delight the mind.
But they who urge and they who do
Distasteful things and wise, are few.
Thou hast not learnt, by proof untaught,
And borne away by eager thought,
That Ráma, formed for high emprise,
With Varuṇ or with Indra vies.
Still let thy people live in peace,
Nor let their name and lineage cease,
For Ráma with his vengeful hand
Can sweep the giants from the land.
O, let not Janak's daughter bring
Destruction on the giant king.
Let not the lady Sítá wake
A tempest, on thy head to break.
Still let the dame, by care untried,
Be happy by her husband's side,
Lest swift avenging ruin fall
On glorious Lanká, thee, and all.
Men such as thou with wills unchained,
Advised by sin and unrestrained,
Destroy themselves, the king, the state,
And leave the people desolate.
Ráma, in bonds of duty held,
Was never by his sire expelled.
He is no wretch of greedy mind,
Dishonour of his Warrior kind.
Free from all touch of rancorous spite,
All creatures' good is his delight.
He saw his sire of truthful heart
Deceived by Queen Kaikeyí's art,
And said, a true and duteous son,
“What thou hast promised shall be done.”
To gratify the lady's will,
His father's promise to fulfil,
He left his realm and all delight
For Daṇḍak wood, an anchorite.
No cruel wretch, no senseless fool
Is Ráma, unrestrained by rule.
This groundless charge has ne'er been heard,
Nor shouldst thou speak the slanderous word.
Ráma in truth and goodness bold
Is Virtue's self in human mould,
The sovereign of the world confessed
As Indra rules among the Blest.
And dost thou plot from him to rend
The darling whom his arms defend?
Less vain the hope to steal away
The glory of the Lord of Day.
[pg 273]
O Rávaṇ, guard thee from the fire
Of vengeful Ráma's kindled ire,—
Each spark a shaft with deadly aim,
While bow and falchion feed the flame.
Cast not away in hopeless strife
Thy realm, thy bliss, thine own dear life.
O Rávaṇ of his might beware,
A God of Death who will not spare.
That bow he knows so well to draw
Is the destroyer's flaming jaw,
And with his shafts which flash and glow
He slays the armies of the foe.
Thou ne'er canst win—the thought forego—
From the safe guard of shaft and bow
King Janak's child, the dear delight
Of Ráma unapproached in might.
The spouse of Raghu's son, confessed
Lion of men with lion chest,—
Dearer than life, through good and ill
Devoted to her husband's will,
The slender-waisted, still must be
From thy polluting touches free.
Far better grasp with venturous hand
The flame to wildest fury fanned.
What, King of giants, canst thou gain
From this attempt so wild and vain?
If in the fight his eye he bend
Upon thee, Lord, thy days must end,
So life and bliss and royal sway,
Lost beyond hope, will pass away.
Summon each lord of high estate,
And chief, Vibhishaṇ490 to debate.
With peers in lore of counsel tried
Consider, reason, and decide
Scan strength and weakness, count the cost,
What may be gained and what be lost.
Examine and compare aright
Thy proper power and Ráma's might,
Then if thy weal be still thy care,
Thou wilt be prudent and forbear.
O giant King, the contest shun,
Thy force is all too weak
The lord of Kosál's mighty son
In deadly fray to seek.
King of the hosts that rove at night,
O hear what I advise:
My prudent counsel do not slight;
Be patient and be wise.”
Canto XXXVIII. Márícha's Speech.

“Once in my strength and vigour's pride
I roamed this earth from side to side,
And towering like a mountain's crest,
A thousand Nágas'491 might possessed.
Like some vast sable cloud I showed:
My golden armlets flashed and glowed.
A crown I wore, an axe I swayed,
And all I met were sore afraid.
I roved where Daṇḍak wood is spread;
On flesh of slaughtered saints I fed.
Then Viśvámitra, sage revered,
Holy of heart, my fury feared.
To Daśaratha's court he sped
And went before the king and said:492
“With me, my lord, thy Ráma send
On holy days his aid to lend.
Márícha fills my soul with dread
And keeps me sore disquieted.”
The monarch heard the saint's request
And thus the glorious sage addressed:
“My boy as yet in arms untrained
The age of twelve has scarce attained.
But I myself a host will lead
To guard thee in the hour of need.
My host with fourfold troops complete,
The rover of the night shall meet,
And I, O best of saints, will kill
Thy foeman and thy prayer fulfil.”
The king vouchsafed his willing aid:
The saint again this answer made:
“By Ráma's might, and his alone,
Can this great fiend be overthrown.
I know in days of yore the Blest
Thy saving help in fight confessed.
Still of thy famous deeds they tell
In heaven above, in earth, and hell,
A mighty host obeys thy hest:
Here let it still, I pray thee, rest.
Thy glorious son, though yet a boy,
Will in the fight that fiend destroy.
Ráma alone with me shall go:
Be happy, victor of the foe.”
He spoke: the monarch gave assent,
And Ráma to the hermit lent.
So to his woodland home in joy
Went Viśvámitra with the boy.
With ready bow the champion stood
To guard the rites in Daṇḍak wood.
With glorious eyes, most bright to view,
Beardless as yet and dark of hue;
A single robe his only wear,
His temples veiled with waving hair,
[pg 274]
Around his neck a chain of gold,
He grasped the bow he loved to hold;
And the young hero's presence made
A glory in the forest shade.
Thus Ráma with his beauteous mien,
Like the young rising moon was seen,
I, like a cloud which tempest brings,
My arms adorned with golden rings,
Proud of the boon which lent me might,
Approached where dwelt the anchorite.
But Ráma saw me venturing nigh,
Raising my murderous axe on high;
He saw, and fearless of the foe,
Strung with calm hand his trusty bow.
By pride of conscious strength beguiled,
I scorned him as a feeble child,
And rushed with an impetuous bound
On Viśvámitra's holy ground.
A keen swift shaft he pointed well,
The foeman's rage to check and quell,
And hurled a hundred leagues away
Deep in the ocean waves I lay.
He would not kill, but, nobly brave,
My forfeit life he chose to save.
So there I lay with wandering sense
Dazed by that arrow's violence.
Long in the sea I lay: at length
Slowly returned my sense and strength,
And rising from my watery bed
To Lanká's town again I sped.
Thus was I spared, but all my band
Fell slain by Ráma's conquering hand,—
A boy, untrained in warrior's skill,
Of iron arm and dauntless will.
If thou with Ráma still, in spite
Of warning and of prayer, wilt fight,
I see terrific woes impend,
And dire defeat thy days will end.
Thy giants all will feel the blow
And share the fatal overthrow,
Who love the taste of joy and play,
The banquet and the festal day.
Thine eyes will see destruction take
Thy Lanká, lost for Sítá's sake,
And stately pile and palace fall
With terrace, dome, and jewelled wall.
The good will die: the crime of kings
Destruction on the people brings:
The sinless die, as in the lake
The fish must perish with the snake.
The prostrate giants thou wilt see
Slain for this folly wrought by thee,
Their bodies bright with precious scent
And sheen of heavenly ornament;
Or see the remnant of thy train
Seek refuge far, when help is vain
And with their wives, or widowed, fly
To every quarter of the sky;
Thy mournful eyes, where'er they turn,
Will see thy stately city burn,
When royal homes with fire are red,
And arrowy nets around are spread.
A sin that tops all sins in shame
Is outrage to another's dame,
A thousand wives thy palace fill,
And countless beauties wait thy will.
O rest contented with thine own,
Nor let thy race be overthrown.
If thou, O King, hast still delight
In rank and wealth and power and might,
In noble wives, in troops of friends,
In all that royal state attends,
I warn thee, cast not all away,
Nor challenge Ráma to the fray.
If deaf to every friendly prayer,
Thou still wilt seek the strife,
And from the side of Ráma tear
His lovely Maithil wife,
Soon will thy life and empire end
Destroyed by Ráma's bow,
And thou, with kith and kin and friend,
To Yáma's realm must go.”
Canto XXXIX. Márícha's Speech.

“I told thee of that dreadful day
When Ráma smote and spared to slay.
Now hear me, Rávaṇ, while I tell
What in the after time befell.
At length, restored to strength and pride,
I and two mighty fiends beside
Assumed the forms of deer and strayed
Through Daṇḍak wood in lawn and glade,
I reared terrific horns: beneath
Were flaming tongue and pointed teeth.
I roamed where'er my fancy led,
And on the flesh of hermits fed,
In sacred haunt, by hallowed tree,
Where'er the ritual fires might be.
A fearful shape, I wandered through
The wood, and many a hermit slew.
With ruthless rage the saints I killed
Who in the grove their tasks fulfilled.
When smitten to the earth they sank,
Their flesh I ate, their blood I drank,
And with my cruel deeds dismayed
All dwellers in the forest shade,
Spoiling their rites in bitter hate,
With human blood inebriate.
Once in the wood I chanced to see
Ráma again, a devotee,
A hermit, fed on scanty fare,
Who made the good of all his care.
His noble wife was by his side,
And Lakshmaṇ in the battle tried.
In senseless pride I scorned the might
Of that illustrious anchorite,
And heedless of a hermit foe,
Recalled my earlier overthrow.
[pg 275]
I charged him in my rage and scorn
To slay him with my pointed horn,
In heedless haste, to fury wrought
As on my former wounds I thought.
Then from the mighty bow he drew
Three foe-destroying arrows flew,
Keen-pointed, leaping from the string,
Swift as the wind or feathered king.
Dire shafts, on flesh of foemen fed,
Like rushing thunderbolts they sped,
With knots well smoothed and barbs well bent,
Shot e'en as one, the arrows went.
But I who Ráma's might had felt,
And knew the blows the hero dealt,
Escaped by rapid flight. The two
Who lingered on the spot, he slew.
I fled from mortal danger, freed
From the dire shaft by timely speed.
Now to deep thought my days I give,
And as a humble hermit live.
In every shrub, in every tree
I view that noblest devotee.
In every knotted trunk I mark
His deerskin and his coat of bark,
And see the bow-armed Ráma stand
Like Yáma with his noose in hand.
I tell thee Rávaṇ, in my fright
A thousand Rámas mock my sight,
This wood with every bush and bough
Seems all one fearful Ráma now.
Throughout the grove there is no spot
So lonely where I see him not.
He haunts me in my dreams by night,
And wakes me with the wild affright.
The letter that begins his name
Sends terror through my startled frame.
The rapid cars whereon we ride,
The rich rare jewels, once my pride,
Have names493 that strike upon mine ear
With hated sound that counsels fear.
His mighty strength too well I know,
Nor art thou match for such a foe.
Too strong were Raghus's son in fight
For Namuchi or Bali's might.
Then Ráma to the battle dare,
Or else be patient and forbear;
But, wouldst thou see me live in peace,
Let mention of the hero cease.
The good whose holy lives were spent
In deepest thought, most innocent,
With all their people many a time
Have perished through another's crime.
So in the common ruin, I
Must for another's folly die,
Do all thy strength and courage can,
But ne'er will I approve the plan.
For he, in might supremely great,
The giant world could extirpate,
Since, when impetuous Khara sought
The grove of Janasthán and fought
For Śúrpaṇakhá's sake, he died
By Ráma's hand in battle tried.
How has he wronged thee? Soothly swear,
And Ráma's fault and sin declare.
I warn thee, and my words are wise,
I seek thy people's weal:
But if this rede thou wilt despise,
Nor hear my last appeal,
Thou with thy kin and all thy friends
In fight this day wilt die,
When his great bow the hero bends,
And shafts unerring fly.”
Canto XL. Rávan's Speech.

But Rávaṇ scorned the rede he gave
In timely words to warn and save,
E'en as the wretch who hates to live
Rejects the herb the leeches give.
By fate to sin and ruin spurred,
That sage advice the giant heard,
Then in reproaches hard and stern
Thus to Márícha spoke in turn:
“Is this thy counsel, weak and base,
Unworthy of thy giant race?
Thy speech is fruitless, vain, thy toil
Like casting seed on barren soil.
No words of thine shall drive me back
From Ráma and the swift attack.
A fool is he, inured to sin,
And more, of human origin.
The craven, at a woman's call
To leave his sire, his mother, all
The friends he loved, the power and sway,
And hasten to the woods away!
But now his anger will I rouse,
Stealing away his darling spouse.
I in thy sight will ravish her
From Khara's cruel murderer.
Upon this plan my soul is bent,
And naught shall move my firm intent,
Not if the way through demons led
And Gods with Indra at their head.
'Tis thine, when questioned, to explain
The hope and fear, the loss and gain,
And, when thy king thy thoughts would know,
The triumph or the danger show.
A prudent counsellor should wait,
And speak when ordered in debate,
With hands uplifted, calm and meek,
If honour and reward he seek.
Or, when some prudent course he sees
Which, spoken, may his king displease
[pg 276]
He should by hints of dexterous art
His counsel to his lord impart.
But prudent words are said in vain
When the blunt speech brings grief and pain.
A high-souled king will scarcely thank
The man who shames his royal rank.
Five are the shapes that kings assume,
Of majesty, of grace, and gloom:
Like Indra now, or Agni, now
Like the dear Moon, with placid brow:
Like mighty Varuṇ now they show,
Now fierce as He who rules below.
O giant, monarchs lofty-souled
Are kind and gentle, stern and bold,
With gracious love their gifts dispense
And swiftly punish each offence.
Thus subjects should their rulers view
With all respect and honour due.
But folly leads thy heart to slight
Thy monarch and neglect his right.
Thou hast in lawless pride addressed
With bitter words thy royal guest.
I asked thee not my strength to scan,
Or loss and profit in the plan.
I only spoke to tell the deed
O mighty one, by me decreed,
And bid thee in the peril lend
Thy succour to support thy friend.
Hear me again, and I will tell
How thou canst aid my venture well.
In semblance of a golden deer
Adorned with silver drops, appear:
And near the cottage in the way
Of Ráma and his consort stray.
Draw nigh, and wandering through the brake
With thy strange form her fancy take.
The Maithil dame with wondering eyes
Will took upon thy fair disguise,
And quickly bid her husband go
And bring the deer that charms her so,
When Raghu's son has left the place,
Still pressing onward in the chase,
Cry out, “O Lakshmaṇ! Ah, mine own!”
With voice resembling Ráma's tone.
When Lakshmaṇ hears his brother's cry,
Impelled by Sítá he will fly,
Restless with eager love, to aid
The hunter in the distant shade.
When both her guards have left her side,
Even as Indra, thousand-eyed,
Clasps Śachí, will I bear away
The Maithil dame an easy prey.
When thou, my friend, this aid hast lent,
Go where thou wilt and live content.
True servant, faithful to thy vow,
With half my realm I thee endow.
Go forth, may luck thy way attend
That leads thee to the happy end.
I in my car will quickly be
In Daṇḍak wood, and follow thee.
So will I cheat this Ráma's eyes
And win without a blow the prize;
And safe return to Lanká's town
With thee, my friend, this day shall crown.
But if thou wilt not aid my will,
My hand this day thy blood shall spill.
Yea, thou must share the destined task,
For force will take the help I ask.
No bliss that rebel's life attends
Whose stubborn will his lord offends.
Thy life, if thou the task assay,
In jeopardy may stand;
Oppose me, and this very day
Thou diest by this hand.
Now ponder all that thou hast heard
Within thy prudent breast:
Reflect with care on every word,
And do what seems the best.”
Canto XLI. Márícha's Reply.

Against his judgment sorely pressed
By his imperious lord's behest,
Márícha threats of death defied
And thus with bitter words replied:
“Ah, who, my King, with sinful thought
This wild and wicked counsel taught,
By which destruction soon will fall
On thee, thy sons, thy realm and all?
Who is the guilty wretch who sees
With envious eye thy blissful ease,
And by this plan, so falsely shown,
Death's gate for thee has open thrown?
With souls impelled by mean desire
Thy foes against thy life conspire.
They urge thee to destruction's brink,
And gladly would they see thee sink.
Who with base thought to work thee woe
This fatal road has dared to show,
And, triumph in his wicked eye,
Would see thee enter in and die?
To all thy counsellors, untrue,
The punishment of death is due,
Who see thee tempt the dangerous way,
Nor strain each nerve thy foot to stay.
Wise lords, whose king, by passion led,
The path of sin begins to tread,
Restrain him while there yet is time:
But thine,—they see nor heed the crime.
These by their master's will obtain
Merit and fame and joy and gain.
'Tis only by their master's grace
That servants hold their lofty place.
But when the monarch stoops to sin
They lose each joy they strive to win,
And all the people people high and low
Fall in the common overthrow.
[pg 277]
Merit and fame and honour spring,
Best of the mighty, from the king.
So all should strive with heart and will
To keep the king from every ill.
Pride, violence, and sullen hate
Will ne'er maintain a monarch's state,
And those who cruel deeds advise
Must perish when their master dies,
Like drivers with their cars o'erthrown
In places rough with root and stone.
The good whose holy lives were spent
On duty's highest laws intent,
With wives and children many a time
Have perished for another's crime.
Hapless are they whose sovereign lord,
Opposed to all, by all abhorred,
Is cruel-hearted, harsh, severe:
Thus might a jackal tend the deer.
Now all the giant race await,
Destroyed by thee, a speedy fate,
Ruled by a king so cruel-souled,
Foolish in heart and uncontrolled.
Think not I fear the sudden blow
That threatens now to lay me low:
I mourn the ruin that I see
Impending o'er thy host and thee.
Me first perchance will Ráma kill,
But soon his hand thy blood will spill.
I die, and if by Ráma slain
And not by thee, I count it gain.
Soon as the hero's face I see
His angry eyes will murder me,
And if on her thy hands thou lay
Thy friends and thou are dead this day.
If with my help thou still must dare
The lady from her lord to tear,
Farewell to all our days are o'er,
Lanká and giants are no more.
In vain, in vain, an earnest friend,
I warn thee, King, and pray.
Thou wilt not to my prayers attend,
Or heed the words I say
So men, when life is fleeting fast
And death's sad hour is nigh,
Heedless and blinded to the last
Reject advice and die.”
Canto XLII. Márícha Transformed.

Márícha thus in wild unrest
With bitter words the king addressed.
Then to his giant lord in dread,
“Arise, and let us go,” he said.
“Ah, I have met that mighty lord
Armed with his shafts and bow and sword,
And if again that bow he bend
Our lives that very hour will end.
For none that warrior can provoke
And think to fly his deadly stroke.
Like Yáma with his staff is he,
And his dread hand will slaughter thee.
What can I more? My words can find
No passage to thy stubborn mind.
I go, great King, thy task to share,
And may success attend thee there.”
With that reply and bold consent
The giant king was well content.
He strained Márícha to his breast
And thus with joyful words addressed:
“There spoke a hero dauntless still,
Obedient to his master's will,
Márícha's proper self once more:
Some other took thy shape before.
Come, mount my jewelled car that flies.
Will-governed, through the yielding skies.
These asses, goblin-faced, shall bear
Us quickly through the fields of air.
Attract the lady with thy shape,
Then through the wood, at will, escape.
And I, when she has no defence,
Will seize the dame and bear her thence.”
Again Márícha made reply,
Consent and will to signify.
With rapid speed the giants two
From the calm hermit dwelling flew,
Borne in that wondrous chariot, meet
For some great God's celestial seat.
They from their airy path looked down
On many a wood and many a town,
On lake and river, brook and rill,
City and realm and towering hill.
Soon he whom giant hosts obeyed,
Márícha by his side, surveyed
The dark expanse of Daṇḍak wood
Where Ráma's hermit cottage stood.
They left the flying car, whereon
The wealth of gold and jewels shone,
And thus the giant king addressed
Márícha as his hand he pressed:
“Márícha, look! before our eyes
Round Ráma's home the plantains rise.
His hermitage is now in view:
Quick to the work we came to do!”
Thus Rávaṇ spoke, Márícha heard
Obedient to his master's word,
Threw off his giant shape and near
The cottage strayed a beauteous deer.
With magic power, by rapid change,
His borrowed form was fair and strange.
A sapphire tipped each horn with light;
His face was black relieved with white.
The turkis and the ruby shed
A glory from his ears and head.
His arching neck was proudly raised,
And lazulites beneath it blazed.
With roseate bloom his flanks were dyed,
And lotus tints adorned his hide.
His shape was fair, compact, and slight;
[pg 278]
His hoofs were carven lazulite.
His tail with every changing glow
Displayed the hues of Indra's bow.
With glossy skin so strangely flecked,
With tints of every gem bedecked.
A light o'er Ráma's home he sent,
And through the wood, where'er he went.
The giant clad in that strange dress
That took the soul with loveliness,
To charm the fair Videhan's eyes
With mingled wealth of mineral dyes,
Moved onward, cropping in his way,
The grass and grain and tender spray.
His coat with drops of silver bright,
A form to gaze on with delight,
He raised his fair neck as he went
To browse on bud and filament.
Now in the Cassia grove he strayed,
Now by the cot in plantains' shade.
Slowly and slowly on he came
To catch the glances of the dame,
And the tall deer of splendid hue
Shone full at length in Sítá's view.
He roamed where'er his fancy chose
Where Ráma's leafy cottage rose.
Now near, now far, in careless ease,
He came and went among the trees.
Now with light feet he turned to fly,
Now, reassured, again drew nigh:
Now gambolled close with leap and bound,
Now lay upon the grassy ground:
Now sought the door, devoid of fear,
And mingled with the troop of deer;
Led them a little way, and thence
Again returned with confidence.
Now flying far, now turning back
Emboldened on his former track,
Seeking to win the lady's glance
He wandered through the green expanse.
Then thronging round, the woodland deer
Gazed on his form with wondering fear;
A while they followed where he led,
Then snuffed the tainted gale and fled.
The giant, though he longed to slay
The startled quarry, spared the prey,
And mindful of the shape he wore
To veil his nature, still forbore.
Then Sítá of the glorious eye,
Returning from her task drew nigh;
For she had sought the wood to bring
Each loveliest flower of early spring.
Now would the bright-eyed lady choose
Some gorgeous bud with blending hues,
Now plucked the mango's spray, and now
The bloom from an Aśoka bough.
She with her beauteous form, unmeet
For woodland life and lone retreat,
That wondrous dappled deer beheld
Gemmed with rich pearls, unparalleled,
His silver hair the lady saw,
His radiant teeth and lips and jaw,
And gazed with rapture as her eyes
Expanded in their glad surprise.
And when the false deer's glances fell
On her whom Ráma loved so well,
He wandered here and there, and cast
A luminous beauty as he passed;
And Janak's child with strange delight
Kept gazing on the unwonted sight.
Canto XLIII. The Wondrous Deer.

She stooped, her hands with flowers to fill,
But gazed upon the marvel still:
Gazed on its back and sparkling side
Where silver hues with golden vied.
Joyous was she of faultless mould,
With glossy skin like polished gold.
And loudly to her husband cried
And bow-armed Lakshmaṇ by his side:
Again, again she called in glee:
“O come this glorious creature see;
Quick, quick, my lord, this deer to view.
And bring thy brother Lakshmaṇ too.”
As through the wood her clear tones rang,
Swift to her side the brothers sprang.
With eager eyes the grove they scanned,
And saw the deer before them stand.
But doubt was strong in Lakshmaṇ's breast,
Who thus his thought and fear expressed:
“Stay, for the wondrous deer we see
The fiend Márícha's self may be.
Ere now have kings who sought this place
To take their pastime in the chase,
Met from his wicked art defeat,
And fallen slain by like deceit.
He wears, well trained in magic guile,
The figure of a deer a while,
Bright as the very sun, or place
Where dwell the gay Gandharva race.
No deer, O Ráma, e'er was seen
Thus decked with gold and jewels' sheen.
'Tis magic, for the world has ne'er,
Lord of the world, shown aught so fair.”
But Sítá of the lovely smile,
A captive to the giant's wile,
Turned Lakshmaṇ's prudent speech aside
And thus with eager words replied:
“My honoured lord, this deer I see
With beauty rare enraptures me.
Go, chief of mighty arm, and bring
For my delight this precious thing.
Fair creatures of the woodland roam
Untroubled near our hermit home.
The forest cow and stag are there,
The fawn, the monkey, and the bear,
Where spotted deer delight to play,
[pg 279]
And strong and beauteous Kinnars494 stray.
But never, as they wandered by,
Has such a beauty charmed mine eye
As this with limbs so fair and slight,
So gentle, beautiful and bright.
O see, how fair it is to view
With jewels of each varied hue:
Bright as the rising moon it glows,
Lighting the wood where'er it goes.
Ah me, what form and grace are there!
Its limbs how fine, its hues how fair!
Transcending all that words express,
It takes my soul with loveliness.
O, if thou would, to please me, strive
To take the beauteous thing alive,
How thou wouldst gaze with wondering eyes
Delighted on the lovely prize!
And when our woodland life is o'er,
And we enjoy our realm once more,
The wondrous animal will grace
The chambers of my dwelling-place,
And a dear treasure will it be
To Bharat and the queens and me,
And all with rapture and amaze
Upon its heavenly form will gaze.
But if the beauteous deer, pursued,
Thine arts to take it still elude,
Strike it, O chieftain, and the skin
Will be a treasure, laid within.
O, how I long my time to pass
Sitting upon the tender grass,
With that soft fell beneath me spread
Bright with its hair of golden thread!
This strong desire, this eager will,
Befits a gentle lady ill:
But when I first beheld, its look
My breast with fascination took.
See, golden hair its flank adorns,
And sapphires tip its branching horns.
Resplendent as the lunar way,
Or the first blush of opening day,
With graceful form and radiant hue
It charmed thy heart, O chieftain, too.”
He heard her speech with willing ear,
He looked again upon the deer.
Its lovely shape his breast beguiled
Moved by the prayer of Janak's child,
And yielding for her pleasure's sake,
To Lakshmaṇ Ráma turned and spake:
“Mark, Lakshmaṇ, mark how Sítá's breast
With eager longing is possessed.
To-day this deer of wondrous breed
Must for his passing beauty bleed,
Brighter than e'er in Nandan strayed,
Or Chaitraratha's heavenly shade.
How should the groves of earth possess
Such all-surpassing loveliness!
The hair lies smooth and bright and fine,
Or waves upon each curving line,
And drops of living gold bedeck
The beauty of his side and neck.
O look, his crimson tongue between
His teeth like flaming fire is seen,
Flashing, whene'er his lips he parts,
As from a cloud the lightning darts.
O see his sunlike forehead shine
With emerald tints and almandine,
While pearly light and roseate glow
Of shells adorn his neck below.
No eye on such a deer can rest
But soft enchantment takes the breast:
No man so fair a thing behold
Ablaze with light of radiant gold,
Celestial, bright with jewels' sheen,
Nor marvel when his eyes have seen.
A king equipped with bow and shaft
Delights in gentle forest craft,
And as in boundless woods he strays
The quarry for the venison slays.
There as he wanders with his train
A store of wealth he oft may gain.
He claims by right the precious ore,
He claims the jewels' sparkling store.
Such gains are dearer in his eyes
Than wealth that in his chamber lies,
The dearest things his spirit knows,
Dear as the bliss which Śukra chose.
But oft the rich expected gain
Which heedless men pursue in vain,
The sage, who prudent counsels know,
Explain and in a moment show.
This best of deer, this gem of all,
To yield his precious spoils must fall,
And tender Sítá by my side
Shall sit upon the golden hide.
Ne'er could I find so rich a coat
On spotted deer or sheep or goat.
No buck or antelope has such,
So bright to view, so soft to touch.
This radiant deer and one on high
That moves in glory through the sky,
Alike in heavenly beauty are,
One on the earth and one a star.
But, brother, if thy fears be true,
And this bright creature that we view
Be fierce Márícha in disguise,
Then by this hand he surely dies.
For that dire fiend who spurns control
With bloody hand and cruel soul,
Has roamed this forest and dismayed
The holiest saints who haunt the shade.
Great archers, sprung of royal race,
Pursuing in the wood the chase,
Have fallen by his wicked art,
And now my shaft shall strike his heart.
Vatápi, by his magic power
[pg 280]
Made heedless saints his flesh devour,
Then, from within their frames he rent
Forth bursting from imprisonment.
But once his art in senseless pride
Upon the mightiest saint he tried,
Agastya's self, and caused him taste
The baited meal before him placed.
Vátápi, when the rite was o'er,
Would take the giant form he wore,
But Saint Agastya knew his wile
And checked the giant with smile.
“Vátápi, thou with cruel spite
Hast conquered many an anchorite
The noblest of the Bráhman caste,—
And now thy ruin comes at last.”
Now if my power he thus defies,
This giant, like Vátápi dies,
Daring to scorn a man like me,
A self subduing devotee.
Yea, as Agastya slew the foe,
My hand shall lay Márícha low
Clad in thine arms thy bow in hand,
To guard the Maithil lady stand,
With watchful eye and thoughtful breast
Keeping each word of my behest
I go, and hunting through the brake
This wondrous deer will bring or take.
Yea surely I will bring the spoil
Returning from my hunter's toil
See, Lakshmaṇ how my consort's eyes
Are longing for the lovely prize.
This day it falls, that I may win
The treasure of so fair a skin.
Do thou and Sítá watch with care
Lest danger seize you unaware.
Swift from my bow one shaft will fly;
The stricken deer will fall and die
Then quickly will I strip the game
And bring the trophy to my dame.
Jaṭáyus, guardian good and wise,
Our old and faithful friend,
The best and strongest bird that flies,
His willing aid will lend
The Maithil lady well protect,
For every chance provide,
And in thy tender care suspect
A foe on every side.”
Canto XLIV. Márícha's Death.

Thus having warned his brother bold
He grasped his sword with haft of gold,
And bow with triple flexure bent,
His own delight and ornament;
Then bound two quivers to his side,
And hurried forth with eager stride.
Soon as the antlered monarch saw
The lord of monarchs near him draw,
A while with trembling heart he fled,
Then turned and showed his stately head.
With sword and bow the chief pursued
Where'er the fleeing deer he viewed
Sending from dell and lone recess
The splendour of his loveliness.
Now full in view the creature stood
Now vanished in the depth of wood;
Now running with a languid flight,
Now like a meteor lost to sight.
With trembling limbs away he sped;
Then like the moon with clouds o'erspread
Gleamed for a moment bright between
The trees, and was again unseen.
Thus in the magic deer's disguise
Márícha lured him to the prize,
And seen a while, then lost to view,
Far from his cot the hero drew.
Still by the flying game deceived
The hunter's heart was wroth and grieved,
And wearied with the fruitless chase
He stayed him in a shady place.
Again the rover of the night
Enraged the chieftain, full in sight,
Slow moving in the coppice near,
Surrounded by the woodland deer.
Again the hunter sought the game
That seemed a while to court his aim:
But seized again with sudden dread,
Beyond his sight the creature fled.
Again the hero left the shade,
Again the deer before him strayed.
With surer hope and stronger will
The hunter longed his prey to kill.
Then as his soul impatient grew,
An arrow from his side he drew,
Resplendent at the sunbeam's glow,
The crusher of the smitten foe.
With skillful heed the mighty lord
Fixed well shaft and strained the cord.
Upon the deer his eyes he bent,
And like a fiery serpent went
The arrow Brahma's self had framed,
Alive with sparks that hissed and flamed,
Like Indra's flashing levin, true
To the false deer the missile flew
Cleaving his flesh that wonderous dart
Stood quivering in Márícha's heart.
Scarce from the ground one foot he sprang,
Then stricken fell with deadly pang.
Half lifeless, as he pressed the ground,
He gave a roar of awful sound
And ere the wounded giant died
He threw his borrowed form aside
Remembering still his lord's behest
He pondered in his heart how best
Sítá might send her guard away,
And Rávaṇ seize the helpless prey.
The monster knew the time was nigh,
And called aloud with eager cry,
“Ho, Sítá, Lakshmaṇ” and the tone
[pg 281]
He borrowed was like Ráma's own.
So by that matchless arrow cleft,
The deer's bright form Márícha left,
Resumed his giant shape and size
And closed in death his languid eyes.
When Ráma saw his awful foe
Gasp, smeared with blood, in deadly throe,
His anxious thoughts to Sítá sped,
And the wise words that Lakshmaṇ said,
That this was false Márícha's art,
Returned again upon his heart.
He knew the foe he triumphed o'er
The name of great Márícha bore.
“The fiend,” he pondered, 'ere he died,
“Ho, Lakshmaṇ! ho, my Sítá!” cried
Ah, if that cry has reached her ear,
How dire must be my darling's fear!
And Lakshmaṇ of the mighty arm,
What thinks he in his wild alarm?
As thus he thought in sad surmise,
Each startled hair began to rise,
And when he saw the giant slain
And thought upon that cry again,
His spirit sank and terror pressed
Full sorely on the hero's breast.
Another deer he chased and struck,
He bore away the the fallen buck,
To Janasthán then turned his face
And hastened to his dwelling place.
Canto XLV. Lakshman's Departure.

But Sítá hearing as she thought,
Her husband's cry with anguish fraught,
Called to her guardian, “Lakshmaṇ, run
And in the wood seek Raghu's son.
Scarce can my heart retain its throne,
Scarce can my life be called mine own,
As all my powers and senses fail
At that long, loud and bitter wail.
Haste to the wood with all thy speed
And save thy brother in his need.
Go, save him in the distant glade
Where loud he calls, for timely aid.
He falls beneath some giant foe—
A bull whom lions overthrow.”
Deaf to her prayer, no step he stirred
Obedient to his mother's word,
Then Janak's child, with ire inflamed,
In words of bitter scorn exclaimed exclaimed
“Sumitrá's son, a friend in show,
Thou art in truth thy brother's foe,
Who canst at such any hour deny
Thy succour and neglect his cry.
Yes, Lakshmaṇ, smit with love of me
Thy brother's death thou fain wouldst see.
This guilty love thy heart has swayed
And makes thy feet so loth to aid.
Thou hast no love for Ráma, no:
Thy joy is vice, thy thoughts are low
Hence thus unmoved thou yet canst stay
While my dear lord is far away.
If aught of ill my lord betide
Who led thee here, thy chief and guide,
Ah, what will be my hapless fate
Left in the wild wood desolate!”
Thus spoke the lady sad with fear,
With many a sigh and many a tear,
Still trembling like a captured doe:
And Lakshmaṇ spoke to calm her woe:
“Videhan Queen, be sure of this,—
And at the thought thy fear dismiss,—
Thy husband's mightier power defies
All Gods and angels of the skies,
Gandharvas, and the sons of light,
Serpents, and rovers of the night.
I tell thee, of the sons of earth,
Of Gods who boast celestial birth,
Of beasts and birds and giant hosts,
Of demigods, Gandharvas, ghosts,
Of awful fiends, O thou most fair,
There lives not one whose heart would dare
To meet thy Ráma in the fight,
Like Indra's self unmatched in might.
Such idle words thou must not say
Thy Ráma lives whom none may slay.
I will not, cannot leave thee here
In the wild wood till he be near.
The mightiest strength can ne'er withstand
His eager force, his vigorous hand.
No, not the triple world allied
With all the immortal Gods beside.
Dismiss thy fear, again take heart,
Let all thy doubt and woe depart.
Thy lord, be sure, will soon be here
And bring thee back that best of deer.
Not his, not his that mournful cry,
Nor haply came it from the sky.
Some giant's art was busy there
And framed a castle based on air.
A precious pledge art thou, consigned
To me by him of noblest mind,
Nor can I fairest dame, forsake
The pledge which Ráma bade me take.
Upon our heads, O Queen, we drew
The giants' hate when Ráma slew
Their chieftain Khara, and the shade
Of Janasthán in ruin laid.
Through all this mighty wood they rove
With varied cries from grove to grove
On rapine bent they wander here:
But O, dismiss thy causeless fear.”
Bright flashed her eye as Lakshmaṇ spoke
And forth her words of fury broke
Upon her truthful guardian, flung
With bitter taunts that pierced and stung:
“Shame on such false compassion, base
Defiler of thy glorious race!
'Twere joyous sight I ween to thee
[pg 282]
My lord in direst strait to see.
Thou knowest Ráma sore bested,
Or word like this thou ne'er hadst said.
No marvel if we find such sin
In rivals false to kith and kin.
Wretches like thee of evil kind,
Concealing crime with crafty mind.
Thou, wretch, thine aid wilt still deny,
And leave my lord alone to die.
Has love of me unnerved thy hand,
Or Bharat's art this ruin planned?
But be the treachery his or thine,
In vain, in vain the base design.
For how shall I, the chosen bride
Of dark-hued Ráma, lotus-eyed,
The queen who once called Ráma mine,
To love of other men decline?
Believe me, Lakshmaṇ, Ráma's wife
Before thine eyes will quit this life,
And not a moment will she stay
If her dear lord have passed away.”
The lady's bitter speech, that stirred
Each hair upon his frame, he heard.
With lifted hands together laid,
His calm reply he gently made:
“No words have I to answer now:
My deity, O Queen, art thou.
But 'tis no marvel, dame, to find
Such lack of sense in womankind.
Throughout this world, O Maithil dame,
Weak women's hearts are still the same.
Inconstant, urged by envious spite,
They sever friends and hate the right.
I cannot brook, Videhan Queen,
Thy words intolerably keen.
Mine ears thy fierce reproaches pain
As boiling water seethes the brain.
And now to bear me witness all
The dwellers in the wood I call,
That, when with words of truth I plead,
This harsh reply is all my meed.
Ah, woe is thee! Ah, grief, that still
Eager to do my brother's will,
Mourning thy woman's nature, I
Must see thee doubt my truth and die.
I fly to Ráma's side, and Oh,
May bliss attend thee while I go!
May all attendant wood-gods screen
Thy head from harm, O large-eyed Queen!
And though dire omens meet my sight
And fill my soul with wild affright,
May I return in peace and see
The son of Raghu safe with thee!”
The child of Janak heard him speak,
And the hot tear-drops down her cheek,
Increasing to a torrent, ran,
As thus once more the dame began:
“O Lakshmaṇ, if I widowed be
Godávarí's flood shall cover me,
Or I will die by cord, or leap,
Life weary, from yon rocky steep;
Or deadly poison will I drink,
Or 'neath the kindled flames will sink,
But never, reft of Ráma, can
Consent to touch a meaner man.”
The Maithil dame with many sighs,
And torrents pouring from her eyes,
The faithful Lakshmaṇ thus addressed,
And smote her hands upon her breast.
>Sumitrá's son, o'erwhelmed by fears,
Looked on the large-eyed queen:
He saw that flood of burning tears,
He saw that piteous mien.
He yearned sweet comfort to afford,
He strove to soothe her pain;
But to the brother of her lord
She spoke no word again.
His reverent hands once more he raised,
His head he slightly bent,
Upon her face he sadly gazed,
And then toward Ráma went.
Canto XLVI. The Guest.

The angry Lakshmaṇ scarce could brook
Her bitter words, her furious look.
With dark forebodings in his breast
To Ráma's side he quickly pressed.
Then ten necked Rávaṇ saw the time
Propitious for his purposed crime.
A mendicant in guise he came
And stood before the Maithil dame.
His garb was red, with tufted hair
And sandalled feet a shade he bare,
And from the fiend's left shoulder slung
A staff and water-vessel hung.
Near to the lovely dame he drew,
While both the chiefs were far from view,
As darkness takes the evening air
When neither sun nor moon is there.
He bent his eye upon the dame,
A princess fair, of spotless fame:
So might some baleful planet be
Near Moon-forsaken Rohiṇí.495
As the fierce tyrant nearer drew,
The trees in Janasthán that grew
Waved not a leaf for fear and woe,
And the hushed wind forbore to blow.
Godávarí's waters as they fled,
Saw his fierce eye-balls flashing red,
And from each swiftly-gliding wave
A melancholy murmur gave.
Then Rávaṇ, when his eager eye
Beheld the longed-for moment nigh,
In mendicant's apparel dressed
Near to the Maithil lady pressed.
[pg 283]
In holy guise, a fiend abhorred,
He found her mourning for her lord.
Thus threatening draws Śaniśchar496 nigh
To Chitrá497 in the evening sky;
Thus the deep well by grass concealed
Yawns treacherous in the verdant field.
He stood and looked upon the dame
Of Ráma, queen of spotless fame
With her bright teeth and each fair limb
Like the full moon she seemed to him,
Sitting within her leafy cot,
Weeping for woe that left her not.
Thus, while with joy his pulses beat,
He saw her in her lone retreat,
Eyed like the lotus, fair to view
In silken robes of amber hue.
Pierced to the core by Káma's dart
He murmured texts with lying art,
And questioned with a soft address
The lady in her loneliness.
The fiend essayed with gentle speech
The heart of that fair dame to reach,
Pride of the worlds, like Beauty's Queen
Without her darling lotus seen:
“O thou whose silken robes enfold
A form more fair than finest gold,
With lotus garland on thy head,
Like a sweet spring with bloom o'erspread,
Who art thou, fair one, what thy name,
Beauty, or Honour, Fortune, Fame,
Spirit, or nymph, or Queen of love
Descended from thy home above?
Bright as the dazzling jasmine shine
Thy small square teeth in level line.
Like two black stars aglow with light
Thine eyes are large and pure and bright.
Thy charms of smile and teeth and hair
And winning eyes, O thou most fair,
Steal all my spirit, as the flow
Of rivers mines the bank below.
How bright, how fine each flowing tress!
How firm those orbs beneath thy dress!
That dainty waist with ease were spanned,
Sweet lady, by a lover's hand.
Mine eyes, O beauty, ne'er have seen
Goddess or nymph so fair of mien,
Or bright Gandharva's heavenly dame,
Or woman of so perfect frame.
In youth's soft prime thy years are few,
And earth has naught so fair to view.
I marvel one like thee in face
Should make the woods her dwelling-place.
Leave, lady, leave this lone retreat
In forest wilds for thee unmeet,
Where giants fierce and strong assume
All shapes and wander in the gloom.
These dainty feet were formed to tread
Some palace floor with carpets spread,
Or wander in trim gardens where
Each opening bud perfumes the air.
The richest robe thy form should deck,
The rarest gems adorn thy neck,
The sweetest wreath should bind thy hair,
The noblest lord thy bed should share.
Art thou akin, O fair of form,
To Rudras,498 or the Gods of storm,499
Or to the glorious Vasus500? How
Can less than these be bright as thou?
But never nymph or heavenly maid
Or Goddess haunts this gloomy shade.
Here giants roam, a savage race;
What led thee to so dire a place?
Here monkeys leap from tree to tree,
And bears and tigers wander free;
Here ravening lions prowl, and fell
Hyenas in the thickets yell,
And elephants infuriate roam,
Mighty and fierce, their woodland home.
Dost thou not dread, so soft and fair,
Tiger and lion, wolf and bear?
Hast thou, O beauteous dame, no fear
In the wild wood so lone and drear?
Whose and who art thou? whence and why
Sweet lady, with no guardian nigh,
Dost thou this awful forest tread
By giant bands inhabited?”
The praise the high-souled Rávaṇ spoke
No doubt within her bosom woke.
His saintly look and Bráhman guise
Deceived the lady's trusting eyes.
With due attention on the guest
Her hospitable rites she pressed.
She bade the stranger to a seat,
And gave him water for his feet.
The bowl and water-pot he bare,
And garb which wandering Bráhmans wear
Forbade a doubt to rise.
Won by his holy look she deemed
The stranger even as he seemed
To her deluded eyes.
Intent on hospitable care,
She brought her best of woodland fare,
And showed her guest a seat.
She bade the saintly stranger lave
His feet in water which she gave,
And sit and rest and eat.
He kept his eager glances bent
On her so kindly eloquent,
Wife of the noblest king;
And longed in heart to steal her thence,
Preparing by the dire offence,
Death on his head to bring.
[pg 284]
The lady watched with anxious face
For Ráma coming from the chase
With Lakshmaṇ by his side:
But nothing met her wandering glance
Save the wild forest's green expanse
Extending far and wide.
Canto XLVII. Rávan's Wooing.

As, clad in mendicant's disguise,
He questioned thus his destined prize,
She to the seeming saintly man
The story of her life began.
“My guest is he,” she thought, “and I,
To 'scape his curse, must needs reply:”
“Child of a noble sire I spring
From Janak, fair Videha's king.
May every good be thine! my name
Is Sítá, Ráma's cherished dame.
Twelve winters with my lord I spent
Most happily with sweet content
In the rich home of Raghu's line,
And every earthly joy was mine.
Twelve pleasant years flew by, and then
His peers advised the king of men,
Ráma, my lord, to consecrate
Joint ruler of his ancient state.
But when the rites were scarce begun,
To consecrate Ikshváku's son,
The queen Kaikeyí, honoured dame,
Sought of her lord an ancient claim.
Her plea of former service pressed,
And made him grant her new request,
To banish Ráma to the wild
And consecrate instead her child.
This double prayer on him, the best
And truest king, she strongly pressed:
“Mine eyes in sleep I will not close,
Nor eat, nor drink, nor take repose.
This very day my death shall bring
If Ráma be anointed king.”
As thus she spake in envious ire,
The aged king, my husband's sire,
Besought with fitting words; but she
Was cold and deaf to every plea.
As yet my days are few; eighteen
The years of life that I have seen;
And Ráma, best of all alive,
Has passed of years a score and five—
Ráma the great and gentle, through
All region famed as pure and true,
Large-eyed and mighty-armed and tall,
With tender heart that cares for all.
But Daśaratha, led astray
By woman's wile and passion's sway,
By his strong love of her impelled,
The consecrating rites withheld.
When, hopeful of the promised grace,
My Ráma sought his father's face,
The queen Kaikeyí, ill at ease,
Spoke to my lord brief words like these:
“Hear, son of Raghu, hear from me
The words thy father says to thee:
“I yield this day to Bharat's hand,
Free from all foes, this ancient land.
Fly from this home no longer thine,
And dwell in woods five years and nine.
Live in the forest and maintain
Mine honour pure from falsehood's stain.’ ”
Then Ráma spoke, untouched by dread:
“Yea, it shall be as thou hast said.”
And answered, faithful to his vows,
Obeying Daśaratha's spouse:
“The offered realm I would not take,
But still keep true the words he spake.”
Thus, gentle Bráhman, Ráma still
Clung to his vow with firmest will.
And valiant Lakshmaṇ, dear to fame,
His brother by a younger dame,
Bold victor in the deadly fray,
Would follow Ráma on his way.
On sternest vows his heart was set,
And he, a youthful anchoret,
Bound up in twisted coil his hair
And took the garb which hermits wear;
Then with his bow to guard us, he
Went forth with Ráma and with me.
By Queen Kaikeyí's art bereft
The kingdom and our home we left,
And bound by stern religious vows
We sought this shade of forest boughs.
Now, best of Bráhmans, here we tread
These pathless regions dark and dread.
But come, refresh thy soul, and rest
Here for a while an honoured guest,
For he, my lord, will soon be here
With fresh supply of woodland cheer,
Large store of venison of the buck,
Or some great boar his hand has struck.
Meanwhile, O stranger, grant my prayer:
Thy name, thy race, thy birth declare,
And why with no companion thou
Roamest in Daṇḍak forest now.”
Thus questioned Sítá, Ráma's dame.
Then fierce the stranger's answer came:
“Lord of the giant legions, he
From whom celestial armies flee,—
The dread of hell and earth and sky,
Rávaṇ the Rákshas king am I.
Now when thy gold-like form I view
Arrayed in silks of amber hue,
My love, O thou of perfect mould,
For all my dames is dead and cold.
A thousand fairest women, torn
From many a land my home adorn.
But come, loveliest lady, be
The queen of every dame and me.
My city Lanká, glorious town,
Looks from a mountain's forehead down
[pg 285]
Where ocean with his flash and foam
Beats madly on mine island home.
With me, O Sítá, shalt thou rove
Delighted through each shady grove,
Nor shall thy happy breast retain
Fond memory of this life of pain.
In gay attire, a glittering band,
Five thousand maids shall round thee stand,
And serve thee at thy beck and sign,
If thou, fair Sítá, wilt be mine.”
Then forth her noble passion broke
As thus in turn the lady spoke:
“Me, me the wife of Ráma, him
The lion lord with lion's limb,
Strong as the sea, firm as the rock,
Like Indra in the battle shock.
The lord of each auspicious sign,
The glory of his princely line,
Like some fair Bodh tree strong and tall,
The noblest and the best of all,
Ráma, the heir of happy fate
Who keeps his word inviolate,
Lord of the lion gait, possessed
Of mighty arm and ample chest,
Ráma the lion-warrior, him
Whose moon bright face no fear can dim,
Ráma, his bridled passions' lord,
The darling whom his sire adored,—
Me, me the true and loving dame
Of Ráma, prince of deathless fame—
Me wouldst thou vainly woo and press?
A jackal woo a lioness!
Steal from the sun his glory! such
Thy hope Lord Ráma's wife to touch.
Ha! Thou hast seen the trees of gold,
The sign which dying eyes behold,
Thus seeking, weary of thy life,
To win the love of Ráma's wife.
Fool! wilt thou dare to rend away
The famished lion's bleeding prey,
Or from the threatening jaws to take
The fang of some envenomed snake?
What, wouldst thou shake with puny hand
Mount Mandar,501 towering o'er the land,
Put poison to thy lips and think
The deadly cup a harmless drink?
With pointed needle touch thine eye,
A razor to thy tongue apply,
Who wouldst pollute with impious touch
The wife whom Ráma loves so much?
Be round thy neck a millstone tied,
And swim the sea from side to side;
Or raising both thy hands on high
Pluck sun and moon from yonder sky;
Or let the kindled flame be pressed,
Wrapt in thy garment, to thy breast;
More wild the thought that seeks to win
Ráma's dear wife who knows not sin.
The fool who thinks with idle aim
To gain the love of Ráma's dame,
With dark and desperate footing makes
His way o'er points of iron stakes.
As Ocean to a bubbling spring,
The lion to a fox, the king
Of all the birds that ply the wing
To an ignoble crow
As gold to lead of little price,
As to the drainings of the rice
The drink they quaff in Paradise,
The Amrit's heavenly flow,
As sandal dust with perfume sweet
Is to the mire that soils our feet,
A tiger to a cat,
As the white swan is to the owl,
The peacock to the waterfowl,
An eagle to a bat,
Such is my lord compared with thee;
And when with bow and arrows he,
Mighty as Indra's self shall see
His foeman, armed to slay,
Thou, death-doomed like the fly that sips
The oil that on the altar drips,
Shalt cast the morsel from thy lips
And lose thy half-won prey.”
Thus in high scorn the lady flung
The biting arrows of her tongue
In bitter words that pierced and stung
The rover of the night.
She ceased. Her gentle cheek grew pale,
Her loosened limbs began to fail,
And like a plantain in the gale
She trembled with affright.
He terrible as Death stood nigh,
And watched with fierce exulting eye
The fear that shook her frame.
To terrify the lady more,
He counted all his triumphs o'er,
Proclaimed the titles that he bore,
His pedigree and name.
Canto XLVIII. Rávan's Speech.

With knitted brow and furious eye
The stranger made his fierce reply:
“In me O fairest dame, behold
The brother of the King of Gold.
The Lord of Ten Necks my title, named
Rávaṇ, for might and valour famed.
Gods and Gandharva hosts I scare;
Snakes, spirits, birds that roam the air
Fly from my coming, wild with fear,
Trembling like men when Death is near.
Vaiśravaṇ once, my brother, wrought
To ire, encountered me and fought,
[pg 286]
But yielding to superior might
Fled from his home in sore affright.
Lord of the man-drawn chariot, still
He dwells on famed Kailása's hill.
I made the vanquished king resign
The glorious car which now is mine,—
Pushpak, the far-renowned, that flies
Will-guided through the buxom skies.
Celestial hosts by Indra led
Flee from my face disquieted,
And where my dreaded feet appear
The wind is hushed or breathless is fear.
Where'er I stand, where'er I go
The troubled waters cease to flow,
Each spell-bound wave is mute and still
And the fierce sun himself is chill.
Beyond the sea my Lanká stands
Filled with fierce forms and giant bands,
A glorious city fair to see
As Indra's Amarávatí.
A towering height of solid wall,
Flashing afar, surrounds it all,
Its golden courts enchant the sight,
And gates aglow with lazulite.
Steeds, elephants, and cars are there,
And drums' loud music fills the air,
Fair trees in lovely gardens grow
Whose boughs with varied fruitage glow.
Thou, beauteous Queen, with me shalt dwell
In halls that suit a princess well,
Thy former fellows shall forget
Nor think of women with regret,
No earthly joy thy soul shall miss,
And take its fill of heavenly bliss.
Of mortal Ráma think no more,
Whose terms of days will soon be o'er.
King Daśaratha looked in scorn
On Ráma though the eldest born,
Sent to the woods the weakling fool,
And set his darling son to rule.
What, O thou large-eyed dame, hast thou
To do with fallen Ráma now,
From home and kingdom forced to fly,
A wretched hermit soon to die?
Accept thy lover, nor refuse
The giant king who fondly woos.
O listen, nor reject in scorn
A heart by Káma's arrows torn.
If thou refuse to hear my prayer,
Of grief and coming woe beware;
For the sad fate will fall on thee
Which came on hapless Urvaśí,
When with her foot she chanced to touch
Purúravas, and sorrowed much.502
My little finger raised in fight
Were more than match for Ráma's might.
O fairest, blithe and happy be
With him whom fortune sends to thee.”
Such were the words the giant said,
And Sítá's angry eyes were red.
She answered in that lonely place
The monarch of the giant race:
“Art thou the brother of the Lord
Of Gold by all the world adored,
And sprung of that illustrious seed
Wouldst now attempt this evil deed?
I tell thee, impious Monarch, all
The giants by thy sin will fall,
Whose reckless lord and king thou art,
With foolish mind and lawless heart.
Yea, one may hope to steal the wife
Of Indra and escape with life.
But he who Ráma's dame would tear
From his loved side must needs despair.
Yea, one may steal fair Śachí, dame
Of Him who shoots the thunder flame,
May live successful in his aim
And length of day may see;
But hope, O giant King, in vain,
Though cups of Amrit thou may drain,
To shun the penalty and pain
Of wronging one like me.”
Canto XLIX. The Rape Of Sítá.

The Rákshas monarch, thus addressed,
His hands a while together pressed,
And straight before her startled eyes
Stood monstrous in his giant size.
Then to the lady, with the lore
Of eloquence, he spoke once more:
“Thou scarce,” he cried, “hast heard aright
The glories of my power and might.
I borne sublime in air can stand
And with these arms upheave the land,
Drink the deep flood of Ocean dry
And Death with conquering force defy,
Pierce the great sun with furious dart
And to her depths cleave earth apart.
See, thou whom love and beauty blind,
I wear each form as wills my mind.”
As thus he spake in burning ire
His glowing eyes were red with fire.
His gentle garb aside was thrown
And all his native shape was shown.
Terrific, monstrous, wild, and dread
As the dark God who rules the dead,
His fiery eyes in fury rolled,
His limbs were decked with glittering gold.
Like some dark cloud the monster showed,
And his fierce breast with fury glowed.
The ten-faced rover of the night,
With twenty arms exposed to sight,
His saintly guise aside had laid
And all his giant height displayed.
[pg 287]
Attired in robes of crimson dye
He stood and watched with angry eye
The lady in her bright array
Resplendent as the dawn of day
When from the east the sunbeams break,
And to the dark-haired lady spake:
“If thou would call that lord thine own
Whose fame in every world is known,
Look kindly on my love, and be
Bride of a consort meet for thee.
With me let blissful years be spent,
For ne'er thy choice shalt thou repent.
No deed of mine shall e'er displease
My darling as she lives at ease.
Thy love for mortal man resign,
And to a worthier lord incline.
Ah foolish lady, seeming wise
In thine own weak and partial eyes,
By what fair graces art thou held
To Ráma from his realm expelled?
Misfortunes all his life attend,
And his brief days are near their end.
Unworthy prince, infirm of mind!
A woman spoke and he resigned
His home and kingdom and withdrew
From troops of friends and retinue.
And sought this forest dark and dread
By savage beasts inhabited.”
Thus Rávaṇ urged the lady meet
For love, whose words were soft and sweet.
Near and more near the giant pressed
As love's hot fire inflamed his breast.
The leader of the giant crew
His arm around the lady threw:
Thus Budha503 with ill-omened might
Steals Rohiṇí's delicious light.
One hand her glorious tresses grasped,
One with its ruthless pressure clasped
The body of his lovely prize,
The Maithil dame with lotus eyes.
The silvan Gods in wild alarm
Marked his huge teeth and ponderous arm,
And from that Death-like presence fled,
Of mountain size and towering head.
Then seen was Rávaṇ's magic car
Aglow with gold which blazed afar,—
The mighty car which asses drew
Thundering as it onward flew.
He spared not harsh rebuke to chide
The lady as she moaned and cried,
Then with his arm about her waist
His captive in the car he placed.
In vain he threatened: long and shrill
Rang out her lamentation still,
O Ráma! which no fear could stay:
But her dear lord was far away.
Then rose the fiend, and toward the skies
Bore his poor helpless struggling prize:
Hurrying through the air above
The dame who loathed his proffered love.
So might a soaring eagle bear
A serpent's consort through the air.
As on he bore her through the sky
She shrieked aloud her bitter cry.
As when some wretch's lips complain
In agony of maddening pain;
“O Lakshmaṇ, thou whose joy is still
To do thine elder brother's will,
This fiend, who all disguises wears,
From Ráma's side his darling tears.
Thou who couldst leave bliss, fortune, all,
Yea life itself at duty's call,
Dost thou not see this outrage done
To hapless me, O Raghu's son?
'Tis thine, O victor of the foe,
To bring the haughtiest spirit low,
How canst thou such an outrage see
And let the guilty fiend go free?
Ah, seldom in a moment's time
Comes bitter fruit of sin and crime,
But in the day of harvest pain
Comes like the ripening of the grain.
So thou whom fate and folly lead
To ruin for this guilty deed,
Shalt die by Ráma's arm ere long
A dreadful death for hideous wrong.
Ah, too successful in their ends
Are Queen Kaikeyí and her friends,
When virtuous Ráma, dear to fame,
Is mourning for his ravished dame.
Ah me, ah me! a long farewell
To lawn and glade and forest dell
In Janasthán's wild region, where
The Cassia trees are bright and fair
With all your tongues to Ráma say
That Rávaṇ bears his wife away.
Farewell, a long farewell to thee,
O pleasant stream Godávarí,
Whose rippling waves are ever stirred
By many a glad wild water-bird!
All ye to Ráma's ear relate
The giant's deed and Sítá's fate.
O all ye Gods who love this ground
Where trees of every leaf abound,
Tell Ráma I am stolen hence,
I pray you all with reverence.
On all the living things beside
That these dark boughs and coverts hide,
Ye flocks of birds, ye troops of deer,
I call on you my prayer to hear.
All ye to Ráma's ear proclaim
That Rávaṇ tears away his dame
With forceful arms,—his darling wife,
Dearer to Ráma than his life.
O, if he knew I dwelt in hell,
My mighty lord, I know full well,
Would bring me, conqueror, back to-day,
Though Yáma's self reclaimed his prey.”
Thus from the air the lady sent
[pg 288]
With piteous voice her last lament,
And as she wept she chanced to see
The vulture on a lofty tree.
As Rávaṇ bore her swiftly by,
On the dear bird she bent her eye,
And with a voice which woe made faint
Renewed to him her wild complaint:
“O see, the king who rules the race
Of giants, cruel, fierce and base,
Rávaṇ the spoiler bears me hence
The helpless prey of violence.
This fiend who roves in midnight shade
By thee, dear bird, can ne'er be stayed,
For he is armed and fierce and strong
Triumphant in the power to wrong.
For thee remains one only task,
To do, kind friend, the thing I ask.
To Ráma's ear by thee be borne
How Sítá from her home is torn,
And to the valiant Lakshmaṇ tell
The giant's deed and what befell.”
Canto L. Jatáyus.

The vulture from his slumber woke
And heard the words which Sítá spoke
He raised his eye and looked on her,
Looked on her giant ravisher.
That noblest bird with pointed beak,
Majestic as a mountain peak,
High on the tree addressed the king
Of giants, wisely counselling:
“O Ten-necked lord, I firmly hold
To faith and laws ordained of old,
And thou, my brother, shouldst refrain
From guilty deeds that shame and stain.
The vulture king supreme in air,
Jaṭáyus is the name I bear.
Thy captive, known by Sítá's name,
Is the dear consort and the dame
Of Ráma, Daśaratha's heir
Who makes the good of all his care.
Lord of the world in might he vies
With the great Gods of seas and skies.
The law he boasts to keep allows
No king to touch another's spouse,
And, more than all, a prince's dame
High honour and respect may claim.
Back to the earth thy way incline,
Nor think of one who is not thine.
Heroic souls should hold it shame
To stoop to deeds which others blame,
And all respect by them is shown
To dames of others as their own.
Not every case of bliss and gain
The Scripture's holy texts explain,
And subjects, when that light is dim,
Look to their prince and follow him.
The king is bliss and profit, he
Is store of treasures fair to see,
And all the people's fortunes spring,
Their joy and misery, from the king.
If, lord of giant race, thy mind
Be fickle, false, to sin inclined,
How wilt thou kingly place retain?
High thrones in heaven no sinners gain.
The soul which gentle passions sway
Ne'er throws its nobler part away,
Nor will the mansion of the base
Long be the good man's dwelling-place.
Prince Ráma, chief of high renown,
Has wronged thee not in field or town.
Ne'er has he sinned against thee: how
Canst thou resolve to harm him now?
If moved by Śúrpaṇakhá's prayer
The giant Khara sought him there,
And fighting fell with baffled aim,
His and not Ráma's is the blame.
Say, mighty lord of giants, say
What fault on Ráma canst thou lay?
What has the world's great master done
That thou should steal his precious one?
Quick, quick the Maithil dame release;
Let Ráma's consort go in peace,
Lest scorched by his terrific eye
Beneath his wrath thou fall and die
Like Vritra when Lord Indra threw
The lightning flame that smote and slew.
Ah fool, with blinded eyes to take
Home to thy heart a venomed snake!
Ah foolish eyes, too blind to see
That Death's dire coils entangle thee!
The prudent man his strength will spare,
Nor lift a load too great to bear.
Content is he with wholesome food
Which gives him life and strength renewed,
But who would dare the guilty deed
That brings no fame or glorious meed,
Where merit there is none to win
And vengeance soon o'ertakes the sin?
My course of life, Pulastya's son,
For sixty thousand years has run.
Lord of my kind I still maintain
Mine old hereditary reign.
I, worn by years, am older far
Than thou, young lord of bow and car,
In coat of glittering mail encased
And armed with arrows at thy waist,
But not unchallenged shalt thou go,
Or steal the dame without a blow.
Thou canst not, King, before mine eyes
Bear off unchecked thy lovely prize,
Safe as the truth of Scripture bent
By no close logic's argument.
Stay if thy courage let thee, stay
And meet me in the battle fray,
And thou shalt stain the earth with gore
Falling as Khara fell before.
Soon Ráma, clothed in bark, shall smite
[pg 289]
Thee, his proud foe, in deadly fight,—
Ráma, from whom have oft times fled
The Daitya hosts discomfited.
No power have I to kill or slay:
The princely youths are far away,
But soon shalt thou with fearful eye
Struck down beneath their arrows lie.
But while I yet have life and sense,
Thou shalt not, tyrant, carry hence
Fair Sítá, Ramá's honoured queen,
With lotus eyes and lovely mien.
Whate'er the pain, whate'er the cost,
Though in the struggle life be lost,
The will of Raghu's noblest son
And Daśaratha must be done.
Stay for a while, O Rávaṇ, stay,
One hour thy flying car delay,
And from that glorious chariot thou
Shalt fall like fruit from shaken bough,
For I to thee, while yet I live,
The welcome of a foe will give.”
Canto LI. The Combat.

Rávaṇ's red eyes in fury rolled:
Bright with his armlets' flashing gold,
In high disdain, by passion stirred
He rushed against the sovereign bird.
With clash and din and furious blows
Of murderous battle met the foes:
Thus urged by winds two clouds on high
Meet warring in the stormy sky.
Then fierce the dreadful combat raged
As fiend and bird in war engaged,
As if two winged mountains sped
To dire encounter overhead.
Keen pointed arrows thick and fast,
In never ceasing fury cast,
Rained hurtling on the vulture king
And smote him on the breast and wing.
But still that noblest bird sustained
The cloud of shafts which Rávaṇ rained,
And with strong beak and talons bent
The body of his foeman rent.
Then wild with rage the ten-necked king
Laid ten swift arrows on his string,—
Dread as the staff of Death were they,
So terrible and keen to slay.
Straight to his ear the string he drew,
Straight to the mark the arrows flew,
And pierced by every iron head
The vulture's mangled body bled.
One glance upon the car he bent
Where Sítá wept with shrill lament,
Then heedless of his wounds and pain
Rushed at the giant king again.
Then the brave vulture with the stroke
Of his resistless talons broke
The giant's shafts and bow whereon
The fairest pearls and jewels shone.
The monster paused, by rage unmanned:
A second bow soon armed his hand,
Whence pointed arrows swift and true
In hundreds, yea in thousands, flew.
The monarch of the vultures, plied
With ceaseless darts on every side,
Showed like a bird that turns to rest
Close covered by the branch-built nest.
He shook his pinions to repel
The storm of arrows as it fell;
Then with his talons snapped in two
The mighty bow which Rávaṇ drew.
Next with terrific wing he smote
So fiercely on the giant's coat,
The harness, glittering with the glow
Of fire, gave way beneath the blow.
With storm of murderous strokes he beat
The harnessed asses strong and fleet,—
Each with a goblin's monstrous face
And plates of gold his neck to grace.
Then on the car he turned his ire,—
The will-moved car that shone like fire,
And broke the glorious chariot, broke
The golden steps and pole and yoke.
The chouris and the silken shade
Like the full moon to view displayed,
Together with the guards who held
Those emblems, to the ground he felled.
The royal vulture hovered o'er
The driver's head, and pierced and tore
With his strong beak and dreaded claws
His mangled brow and cheek and jaws.
With broken car and sundered bow,
His charioteer and team laid low,
One arm about the lady wound,
Sprang the fierce giant to the ground.
Spectators of the combat, all
The spirits viewed the monster's fall:
Lauding the vulture every one
Cried with glad voice, Well done! well done!
But weak with length of days, at last
The vulture's strength was failing fast.
The fiend again assayed to bear
The lady through the fields of air.
But when the vulture saw him rise
Triumphant with his trembling prize,
Bearing the sword that still was left
When other arms were lost or cleft,
Once more, impatient of repose,
Swift from the earth her champion rose,
Hung in the way the fiend would take,
And thus addressing Rávaṇ spake:
“Thou, King of giants, rash and blind,
Wilt be the ruin of thy kind,
Stealing the wife of Ráma, him
With lightning scars on chest and limb.
A mighty host obeys his will
And troops of slaves his palace fill;
[pg 290]
His lords of state are wise and true,
Kinsmen has he and retinue.
As thirsty travellers drain the cup,
Thou drinkest deadly poison up.
The rash and careless fool who heeds
No coming fruit of guilty deeds,
A few short years of life shall see,
And perish doomed to death like thee.
Say whither wilt thou fly to loose
Thy neck from Death's entangling noose,
Caught like the fish that finds too late
The hook beneath the treacherous bait?
Never, O King—of this be sure—
Will Raghu's fiery sons endure,
Terrific in their vengeful rage,
This insult to their hermitage.
Thy guilty hands this day have done
A deed which all reprove and shun,
Unworthly of a noble chief,
The pillage loved by coward thief.
Stay, if thy heart allow thee, stay
And meet me in the deadly fray.
Soon shall thou stain the earth with gore,
And fall as Khara fell before.
The fruits of former deeds o'erpower
The sinner in his dying hour:
And such a fate on thee, O King,
Thy tyranny and madness bring.
Not e'en the Self-existent Lord,
Who reigns by all the worlds adored,
Would dare attempt a guilty deed
Which the dire fruits of crime succeed.”
Thus brave Jaṭáyus, best of birds,
Addressed the fiend with moving words,
Then ready for the swift attack
Swooped down upon the giant's back.
Down to the bone the talons went;
With many a wound the flesh was rent:
Such blows infuriate drivers deal
Their elephants with pointed steel.
Fixed in his back the strong beak lay,
The talons stripped the flesh away.
He fought with claws and beak and wing,
And tore the long hair of the king.
Still as the royal vulture beat
The giant with his wings and feet,
Swelled the fiend's lips, his body shook
With furious rage too great to brook.
About the Maithil dame he cast
One huge left arm and held her fast.
In furious rage to frenzy fanned
He struck the vulture with his hand.
Jatáyus mocked the vain assay,
And rent his ten left arms away.
Down dropped the severed limbs: anew
Ten others from his body grew:
Thus bright with pearly radiance glide
Dread serpents from the hillock side,
Again in wrath the giant pressed
The lady closer to his breast,
And foot and fist sent blow on blow
In ceaseless fury at the foe.
So fierce and dire the battle, waged
Between those mighty champions, raged:
Here was the lord of giants, there
The noblest of the birds of air.
Thus, as his love of Ráma taught,
The faithful vulture strove and fought.
But Rávaṇ seized his sword and smote
His wings and side and feet and throat.
At mangled side and wing he bled;
He fell, and life was almost fled.
The lady saw her champion lie,
His plumes distained with gory dye,
And hastened to the vulture's side
Grieving as though a kinsman died.
The lord of Lanká's island viewed
The vulture as he lay:
Whose back like some dark cloud was hued,
His breast a paly grey,
Like ashes, when by none renewed,
The flame has died away.
The lady saw with mournful eye,
Her champion press the plain,—
The royal bird, her true ally
Whom Rávaṇ's might had slain.
Her soft arms locked in strict embrace
Around his neck she kept,
And lovely with her moon-bright face
Bent o'er her friend and wept.
Canto LII. Rávan's Flight.

Fair as the lord of silvery rays
Whom every star in heaven obeys,
The Maithil dame her plaint renewed
O'er him by Rávaṇ's might subdued:
“Dreams, omens, auguries foreshow
Our coming lot of weal and woe:
But thou, my Ráma, couldst not see
The grievous blow which falls on thee.
The birds and deer desert the brakes
And show the path my captor takes,
And thus e'en now this royal bird
Flew to mine aid by pity stirred.
Slain for my sake in death he lies,
The broad-winged rover of the skies.
O Ráma, haste, thine aid I crave:
O Lakshmaṇ, why delay to save?
Brave sons of old Ikshváku, hear
And rescue in this hour of fear.”
Her flowery wreath was torn and rent,
Crushed was each sparkling ornament.
She with weak arms and trembling knees
Clung like a creeper to the trees,
And like some poor deserted thing
With wild shrieks made the forest ring.
But swift the giant reached her side,
[pg 291]
As loud on Ráma's name she cried.
Fierce as grim Death one hand he laid
Upon her tresses' lovely braid.
“That touch, thou impious King, shall be
The ruin of thy race and thee.”
The universal world in awe
That outrage on the lady saw,
All nature shook convulsed with dread,
And darkness o'er the land was spread.
The Lord of Day grew dark and chill,
And every breath of air was still.
The Eternal Father of the sky
Beheld the crime with heavenly eye,
And spake with solemn voice, “The deed,
The deed is done, of old decreed.”
Sad were the saints within the grove,
But triumph with their sorrow strove.
They wept to see the Maithil dame
Endure the outrage, scorn, and shame:
They joyed because his life should pay
The penalty incurred that day.
Then Rávaṇ raised her up, and bare
His captive through the fields of air,
Calling with accents loud and shrill
On Ráma and on Lakshmaṇ still.
With sparkling gems on arm and breast,
In silk of paly amber dressed,
High in the air the Maithil dame
Gleamed like the lightning's flashing flame.
The giant, as the breezes blew
Upon her robes of amber hue,
And round him twined that gay attire,
Showed like a mountain girt with fire.
The lady, fairest of the fair,
Had wreathed a garland round her hair;
Its lotus petals bright and sweet
Rained down about the giant's feet.
Her vesture, bright as burning gold,
Gave to the wind each glittering fold,
Fair as a gilded cloud that gleams
Touched by the Day-God's tempered beams.
Yet struggling in the fiend's embrace,
The lady with her sweet pure face,
Far from her lord, no longer wore
The light of joy that shone before.
Like some sad lily by the side
Of waters which the sun has dried;
Like the pale moon uprising through
An autumn cloud of darkest hue,
So was her perfect face between
The arms of giant Rávaṇ seen:
Fair with the charm of braided tress
And forehead's finished loveliness;
Fair with the ivory teeth that shed
White lustre through the lips' fine red,
Fair as the lotus when the bud
Is rising from the parent flood.
With faultless lip and nose and eye,
Dear as the moon that floods the sky
With gentle light, of perfect mould,
She seemed a thing of burnished gold,
Though on her cheek the traces lay
Of tears her hand had brushed away.
But as the moon-beams swiftly fade
Ere the great Day-God shines displayed,
So in that form of perfect grace
Still trembling in the fiend's embrace,
From her beloved Ráma reft,
No light of pride or joy was left.
The lady with her golden hue
O'er the swart fiend a lustre threw,
As when embroidered girths enfold
An elephant with gleams of gold.
Fair as the lily's bending stem,—
Her arms adorned with many a gem,
A lustre to the fiend she lent
Gleaming from every ornament,
As when the cloud-shot flashes light
The shadows of a mountain height.
Whene'er the breezes earthward bore
The tinkling of the zone she wore,
He seemed a cloud of darkness hue
Sending forth murmurs as it flew.
As on her way the dame was sped
From her sweet neck fair flowers were shed,
The swift wind caught the flowery rain
And poured it o'er the fiend again.
The wind-stirred blossoms, sweet to smell,
On the dark brows of Rávaṇ fell,
Like lunar constellations set
On Meru for a coronet.
From her small foot an anklet fair
With jewels slipped, and through the air,
Like a bright circlet of the flame
Of thunder, to the valley came.
The Maithil lady, fair to see
As the young leaflet of a tree
Clad in the tender hues of spring,
Flashed glory on the giant king,
As when a gold-embroidered zone
Around an elephant is thrown.
While, bearing far the lady, through
The realms of sky the giant flew,
She like a gleaming meteor cast
A glory round her as she passed.
Then from each limb in swift descent
Dropped many a sparkling ornament:
On earth they rested dim and pale
Like fallen stars when virtues fail.504
Around her neck a garland lay
Bright as the Star-God's silvery ray:
It fell and flashed like Gangá sent
From heaven above the firmament.505
The birds of every wing had flocked
To stately trees by breezes rocked:
[pg 292]
These bowed their wind-swept heads and said:
“My lady sweet, be comforted.”
With faded blooms each brook within
Whose waters moved no gleamy fin,
Stole sadly through the forest dell
Mourning the dame it loved so well.
From every woodland region near
Came lions, tigers, birds, and deer,
And followed, each with furious look,
The way her flying shadow took.
For Sítá's loss each lofty hill
Whose tears were waterfall, and rill,
Lifting on high each arm-like steep,
Seemed in the general woe to weep.
When the great sun, the lord of day,
Saw Rávaṇ tear the dame away,
His glorious light began to fail
And all his disk grew cold and pale.
“If Rávaṇ from the forest flies
With Ráma's Sítá as his prize,
Justice and truth have vanished hence,
Honour and right and innocence.”
Thus rose the cry of wild despair
From spirits as they gathered there.
In trembling troops in open lawns
Wept, wild with woe, the startled fawns,
And a strange terror changed the eyes
They lifted to the distant skies.
On silvan Gods who love the dell
A sudden fear and trembling fell,
As in the deepest woe they viewed
The lady by the fiend subdued.
Still in loud shrieks was heard afar
That voice whose sweetness naught could mar,
While eager looks of fear and woe
She bent upon the earth below.
The lady of each winning wile
With pearly teeth and lovely smile,
Seized by the lord of Lanká's isle,
Looked down for friends in vain.
She saw no friend to aid her, none,
Not Ráma nor the younger son
Of Daśaratha, and undone
She swooned with fear and pain.
Canto LIII. Sítá's Threats.

Soon as the Maithil lady knew
That high through air the giant flew,
Distressed with grief and sore afraid
Her troubled spirit sank dismayed.
Then, as anew the waters welled
From those red eyes which sorrow swelled,
Forth in keen words her passion broke,
And to the fierce-eyed fiend she spoke:
“Canst thou attempt a deed so base,
Untroubled by the deep disgrace,—
To steal me from my home and fly,
When friend or guardian none was nigh?
Thy craven soul that longed to steal,
Fearing the blows that warriors deal,
Upon a magic deer relied
To lure my husband from my side,
Friend of his sire, the vulture king
Lies low on earth with mangled wing,
Who gave his aged life for me
And died for her he sought to free.
Ah, glorious strength indeed is thine,
Thou meanest of thy giant line,
Whose courage dared to tell thy name
And conquer in the fight a dame.
Does the vile deed that thou hast done
Cause thee no shame, thou wicked one—
A woman from her home to rend
When none was near his aid to lend?
Through all the worlds, O giant King,
The tidings of this deed will ring,
This deed in law and honour's spite
By one who claims a hero's might.
Shame on thy boasted valour, shame!
Thy prowess is an empty name.
Shame, giant, on this cursed deed
For which thy race is doomed to bleed!
Thou fliest swifter than the gale,
For what can strength like thine avail?
Stay for one hour, O Rávaṇ, stay;
Thou shalt not flee with life away.
Soon as the royal chieftains' sight
Falls on the thief who roams by night,
Thou wilt not, tyrant, live one hour
Though backed by all thy legions' power.
Ne'er can thy puny strength sustain
The tempest of their arrowy rain:
Have e'er the trembling birds withstood
The wild flames raging in the wood?
Hear me, O Rávaṇ, let me go,
And save thy soul from coming woe.
Or if thou wilt not set me free,
Wroth for this insult done to me.
With his brave brother's aid my lord
Against thy life will raise his sword.
A guilty hope inflames thy breast
His wife from Ráma's home to wrest.
Ah fool, the hope thou hast is vain;
Thy dreams of bliss shall end in pain.
If torn from all I love by thee
My godlike lord no more I see,
Soon will I die and end my woes,
Nor live the captive of my foes.
Ah fool, with blinded eyes to choose
The evil and the good refuse!
So the sick wretch with stubborn will
Turns fondly to the cates that kill,
And madly draws his lips away
From medicine that would check decay.
About thy neck securely wound
[pg 293]
The deadly coil of Fate is bound,
And thou, O Rávaṇ, dost not fear
Although the hour of death is near.
With death-doomed sight thine eyes behold
The gleaming of the trees of gold,—
See dread Vaitaraṇi, the flood
That rolls a stream of foamy blood,—
See the dark wood by all abhorred—
Its every leaf a threatening sword.
The tangled thickets thou shall tread
Where thorns with iron points are spread.
For never can thy days be long,
Base plotter of this shame and wrong
To Ráma of the lofty soul:
He dies who drinks the poisoned bowl.
The coils of death around thee lie:
They hold thee and thou canst not fly.
Ah whither, tyrant, wouldst thou run
The vengeance of my lord to shun?
By his unaided arm alone
Were twice seven thousand fiends o'erthrown:
Yes, in the twinkling of an eye
He forced thy mightiest fiends to die.
And shall that lord of lion heart,
Skilled in the bow and spear and dart,
Spare thee, O fiend, in battle strife,
The robber of his darling wife?”
These were her words, and more beside,
By wrath and bitter hate supplied.
Then by her woe and fear o'erthrown
She wept again and made her moan.
As long she wept in grief and dread,
Scarce conscious of the words she said,
The wicked giant onward fled
And bore her through the air.
As firm he held the Maithil dame,
Still wildly struggling, o'er her frame
With grief and bitter misery came
The trembling of despair.
Canto LIV. Lanká.

He bore her on in rapid flight,
And not a friend appeared in sight.
But on a hill that o'er the wood
Raised its high top five monkeys stood.
From her fair neck her scarf she drew,
And down the glittering vesture flew.
With earring, necklet, chain, and gem,
Descending in the midst of them:
“For these,” she thought, “my path may show,
And tell my lord the way I go.”
Nor did the fiend, in wild alarm,
Mark when she drew from neck and arm
And foot the gems and gold, and sent
To earth each gleaming ornament.
The monkeys raised their tawny eyes
That closed not in their first surprise,
And saw the dark-eyed lady, where
She shrieked above them in the air.
High o'er their heads the giant passed
Holding the weeping lady fast.
O'er Pampa's flashing flood he sped
And on to Lanká's city fled.
He bore away in senseless joy
The prize that should his life destroy,
Like the rash fool who hugs beneath
His robe a snake with venomed teeth.
Swift as an arrow from a bow,
Speeding o'er lands that lay below,
Sublime in air his course he took
O'er wood and rock and lake and brook.
He passed at length the sounding sea
Where monstrous creatures wander free,—
Seat of Lord Varuṇ's ancient reign,
Controller of the eternal main.
The angry waves were raised and tossed
As Rávaṇ with the lady crossed,
And fish and snake in wild unrest
Showed flashing fin and gleaming crest.
Then from the blessed troops who dwell
In air celestial voices fell:
“O ten-necked King,” they cried, “attend:
This guilty deed will bring thine end.”
Then Rávaṇ speeding like the storm,
Bearing his death in human form,
The struggling Sítá, lighted down
In royal Lanká's glorious town;
A city bright and rich, that showed
Well-ordered street and noble road;
Arranged with just division, fair
With multitudes in court and square.
Thus, all his journey done, he passed
Within his royal home at last.
There in a queenly bower he placed
The black-eyed dame with dainty waist:
Thus in her chamber Máyá laid
The lovely Máyá, demon maid.
Then Rávaṇ gave command to all
The dread she-fiends who filled the hall:
“This captive lady watch and guard
From sight of man and woman barred.
But all the fair one asks beside
Be with unsparing hand supplied:
As though 'twere I that asked, withhold
No pearls or dress or gems or gold.
And she among you that shall dare
Of purpose or through want of care
One word to vex her soul to say,
Throws her unvalued life away.”
Thus spake the monarch of their race
To those she-fiends who thronged the place,
And pondering on the course to take
Went from the chamber as he spake.
He saw eight giants, strong and dread,
On flesh of bleeding victims fed,
Proud in the boon which Brahmá gave,
[pg 294]
And trusting in its power to save.
He thus the mighty chiefs addressed
Of glorious power and strength possessed:
“Arm, warriors, with the spear and bow;
With all your speed from Lanká go,
For Janasthán, our own no more,
Is now defiled with giants' gore;
The seat of Khara's royal state
Is left unto us desolate.
In your brave hearts and might confide,
And cast ignoble fear aside.
Go, in that desert region dwell
Where the fierce giants fought and fell.
A glorious host that region held,
For power and might unparalleled,
By Dúshaṇ and brave Khara led,—
All, slain by Ráma's arrows, bled.
Hence boundless wrath that spurns control
Reigns paramount within my soul,
And naught but Ráma's death can sate
The fury of my vengeful hate.
I will not close my slumbering eyes
Till by this hand my foeman dies.
And when mine arm has slain the foe
Who laid those giant princes low,
Long will I triumph in the deed,
Like one enriched in utmost need.
Now go; that I this end may gain,
In Janasthán, O chiefs, remain.
Watch Ráma there with keenest eye,
And all his deeds and movements spy.
Go forth, no helping art neglect,
Be brave and prompt and circumspect,
And be your one endeavour still
To aid mine arm this foe to kill.
Oft have I seen your warrior might
Proved in the forehead of the fight,
And sure of strength I know so well
Send you in Janasthán to dwell.”
The giants heard with prompt assent
The pleasant words he said,
And each before his master bent
For meet salute, his head.
Then as he bade, without delay,
From Lanká's gate they passed,
And hurried forward on their way
Invisible and fast.
Canto LV. Sítá In Prison.

Thus Rávaṇ his commandment gave
To those eight giants strong and brave,
So thinking in his foolish pride
Against all dangers to provide.
Then with his wounded heart aflame
With love he thought upon the dame,
And took with hasty steps the way
To the fair chamber where she lay.
He saw the gentle lady there
Weighed down by woe too great to bear,
Amid the throng of fiends who kept
Their watch around her as she wept:
A pinnace sinking neath the wave
When mighty winds around her rave:
A lonely herd-forsaken deer,
When hungry dogs are pressing near.
Within the bower the giant passed:
Her mournful looks were downward cast.
As there she lay with streaming eyes
The giant bade the lady rise,
And to the shrinking captive showed
The glories of his rich abode,
Where thousand women spent their days
In palaces with gold ablaze;
Where wandered birds of every sort,
And jewels flashed in hall and court.
Where noble pillars charmed the sight
With diamond and lazulite,
And others glorious to behold
With ivory, crystal, silver, gold.
There swelled on high the tambour's sound,
And burnished ore was bright around
He led the mournful lady where
Resplendent gold adorned the stair,
And showed each lattice fair to see
With silver work and ivory:
Showed his bright chambers, line on line,
Adorned with nets of golden twine.
Beyond he showed the Maithil dame
His gardens bright as lightning's flame,
And many a pool and lake he showed
Where blooms of gayest colour glowed.
Through all his home from view to view
The lady sunk in grief he drew.
Then trusting in her heart to wake
Desire of all she saw, he spake:
“Three hundred million giants, all
Obedient to their master's call,
Not counting young and weak and old,
Serve me with spirits fierce and bold.
A thousand culled from all of these
Wait on the lord they long to please.
This glorious power, this pomp and sway,
Dear lady, at thy feet I lay:
Yea, with my life I give the whole,
O dearer than my life and soul.
A thousand beauties fill my hall:
Be thou my wife and rule them all.
O hear my supplication! why
This reasonable prayer deny?
Some pity to thy suitor show,
For love's hot flames within me glow.
This isle a hundred leagues in length,
Encompassed by the ocean's strength,
Would all the Gods and fiends defy
Though led by Him who rules the sky.
No God in heaven, no sage on earth,
No minstrel of celestial birth,
[pg 295]
No spirit in the worlds I see
A match in power and might for me.
What wilt thou do with Ráma, him
Whose days are short, whose light is dim,
Expelled from home and royal sway,
Who treads on foot his weary way?
Leave the poor mortal to his fate,
And wed thee with a worthier mate.
My timid love, enjoy with me
The prime of youth before it flee.
Do not one hour the hope retain
To look on Ráma's face again.
For whom would wildest thought beguile
To seek thee in the giants' isle?
Say who is he has power to bind
In toils of net the rushing wind.
Whose is the mighty hand will tame
And hold the glory of the flame?
In all the worlds above, below,
Not one, O fair of form, I know
Who from this isle in fight could rend
The lady whom these arms defend.
Fair Queen, o'er Lanká's island reign,
Sole mistress of the wide domain.
Gods, rovers of the night like me,
And all the world thy slaves will be.
O'er thy fair brows and queenly head
Let consecrating balm be shed,
And sorrow banished from thy breast,
Enjoy my love and take thy rest.
Here never more thy soul shall know
The memory of thy former woe,
And here shall thou enjoy the meed
Deserved by every virtuous deed.
Here garlands glow of flowery twine,
With gorgeous hues and scent divine.
Take gold and gems and rich attire:
Enjoy with me thy heart's desire.
There stand, of chariots far the best,
The car my brother once possessed.
Which, victor in the stricken field,
I forced the Lord of Gold to yield.
'Tis wide and high and nobly wrought,
Bright as the sun and swift as thought.
Therein O Sítá, shalt thou ride
Delighted by thy lover's side.
But sorrow mars with lingering trace
The splendour of thy lotus face.
A cloud of woe is o'er it spread,
And all the light of joy is fled.”
The lady, by her woe distressed,
One corner of her raiment pressed
To her sad cheek like moonlight clear,
And wiped away a falling tear.
The rover of the night renewed
His eager pleading as he viewed
The lady stand like one distraught,
Striving to fix her wandering thought:
“Think not, sweet lady, of the shame
Of broken vows, nor fear the blame.
The saints approve with favouring eyes
This union knit with marriage ties.
O beauty, at thy radiant feet
I lay my heads, and thus entreat.
One word of grace, one look I crave:
Have pity on thy prostrate slave.
These idle words I speak are vain,
Wrung forth by love's consuming pain,
And ne'er of Rávaṇ be it said
He wooed a dame with prostrate head.”
Thus to the Maithil lady sued
The monarch of the giant brood,
And “She is now mine own,” he thought,
In Death's dire coils already caught.
Canto LVI. Sítá's Disdain.

His words the Maithil lady heard
Oppressed by woe but undeterred.
Fear of the fiend she cast aside,
And thus in noble scorn replied:
“His word of honour never stained
King Daśaratha nobly reigned,
The bridge of right, the friend of truth.
His eldest son, a noble youth,
Is Ráma, virtue's faithful friend,
Whose glories through the worlds extend.
Long arms and large full eyes has he,
My husband, yea a God to me.
With shoulders like the forest king's,
From old Ikshváku's line he springs.
He with his brother Lakshmaṇ's aid
Will smite thee with the vengeful blade.
Hadst thou but dared before his eyes
To lay thine hand upon the prize,
Thou stretched before his feet hadst lain
In Janasthán like Khara slain.
Thy boasted rovers of the night
With hideous shapes and giant might,—
Like serpents when the feathered king
Swoops down with his tremendous wing,—
Will find their useless venom fail
When Ráma's mighty arms assail.
The rapid arrows bright with gold,
Shot from the bow he loves to hold,
Will rend thy frame from flank to flank
As Gangá's waves erode the bank.
Though neither God nor fiend have power
To slay thee in the battle hour,
Yet from his hand shall come thy fate,
Struck down before his vengeful hate.
That mighty lord will strike and end
The days of life thou hast to spend.
Thy days are doomed, thy life is sped
Like victims to the pillar led.
Yea, if the glance of Ráma bright
With fury on thy form should light,
Thou scorched this day wouldst fall and die
[pg 296]
Like Káma slain by Rudra's eye.506
He who from heaven the moon could throw,
Or bid its bright rays cease to glow,—
He who could drain the mighty sea
Will set his darling Sítá free.
Fled is thy life, thy glory, fled
Thy strength and power: each sense is dead.
Soon Lanká widowed by thy guilt
Will see the blood of giants spilt.
This wicked deed, O cruel King,
No triumph, no delight will bring.
Thou with outrageous might and scorn
A woman from her lord hast torn.
My glorious husband far away,
Making heroic strength his stay,
Dwells with his brother, void of fear,
In Daṇḍak forest lone and drear.
No more in force of arms confide:
That haughty strength, that power and pride
My hero with his arrowy rain
From all thy bleeding limbs will drain.
When urged by fate's dire mandate, nigh
Comes the fixt hour for men to die.
Caught in Death's toils their eyes are blind,
And folly takes each wandering mind.
So for the outrage thou hast done
The fate is near thou canst not shun,—
The fate that on thyself and all
Thy giants and thy town shall fall.
I spurn thee: can the altar dight
With vessels for the sacred rite,
O'er which the priest his prayer has said,
Be sullied by an outcaste's tread?
So me, the consort dear and true
Of him who clings to virtue too,
Thy hated touch shall ne'er defile,
Base tyrant lord of Lanká's isle.
Can the white swan who floats in pride
Through lilies by her consort's side,
Look for one moment, as they pass,
On the poor diver in the grass?
This senseless body waits thy will,
To torture, chain, to wound or kill.
I will not, King of giants, strive
To keep this fleeting soul alive
But never shall they join the name
Of Sítá with reproach and shame.”
Thus as her breast with fury burned
Her bitter speech the dame returned.
Such words of rage and scorn, the last
She uttered, at the fiend she cast.
Her taunting speech the giant heard,
And every hair with anger stirred.
Then thus with fury in his eye
He made in threats his fierce reply:
“Hear Maithil lady, hear my speech:
List to my words and ponder each.
If o'er thy head twelve months shall fly
And thou thy love wilt still deny,
My cooks shall mince thy flesh with steel
And serve it for my morning meal.”
Thus with terrific threats to her
Spake Rávaṇ, cruel ravener.
Mad with the rage her answer woke
He called the fiendish train and spoke:
“Take her, ye Rákshas dames, who fright
With hideous form and mien the sight,
Who make the flesh of men your food,—
And let her pride be soon subdued.”
He spoke, and at his word the band
Of fiendish monsters raised each hand
In reverence to the giant king,
And pressed round Sítá in a ring.
Rávaṇ once more with stern behest
To those she-fiends his speech addressed:
Shaking the earth beneath his tread,
He stamped his furious foot and said:
“To the Aśoka garden bear
The dame, and guard her safely there
Until her stubborn pride be bent
By mingled threat and blandishment.
See that ye watch her well, and tame,
Like some she-elephant, the dame.”
They led her to that garden where
The sweetest flowers perfumed the air,
Where bright trees bore each rarest fruit,
And birds, enamoured, ne'er were mute.
Bowed down with terror and distress,
Watched by each cruel giantess,—
Like a poor solitary deer
When ravening tigresses are near,—
The hapless lady lay distraught
Like some wild thing but newly caught,
And found no solace, no relief
From agonizing fear and grief;
Not for one moment could forget
Each terrifying word and threat,
Or the fierce eyes upon her set
By those who watched around.
She thought of Ráma far away,
She mourned for Lakshmaṇ as she lay
In grief and terror and dismay
Half fainting on the ground.
Canto LVII. Sítá Comforted.

Soon as the fiend had set her down
Within his home in Lanká's town
Triumph and joy filled Indra's breast,
Whom thus the Eternal Sire addressed:
“This deed will free the worlds from woe
And cause the giants' overthrow.
The fiend has borne to Lanká's isle
The lady of the lovely smile,
True consort born to happy fate
With features fair and delicate.
[pg 297]
She looks and longs for Ráma's face,
But sees a crowd of demon race,
And guarded by the giant's train
Pines for her lord and weeps in vain.
But Lanká founded on a steep
Is girdled by the mighty deep,
And how will Ráma know his fair
And blameless wife is prisoned there?
She on her woe will sadly brood
And pine away in solitude,
And heedless of herself, will cease
To live, despairing of release.
Yes, pondering on her fate, I see
Her gentle life in jeopardy.
Go, Indra, swiftly seek the place,
And look upon her lovely face.
Within the city make thy way:
Let heavenly food her spirit stay.”
Thus Brahma spake: and He who slew
The cruel demon Páka, flew
Where Lanká's royal city lay,
And Sleep went with him on his way.
“Sleep,” cried the heavenly Monarch, “close
Each giant's eye in deep repose.”
Thus Indra spoke, and Sleep fulfilled
With joy his mandate, as he willed,
To aid the plan the Gods proposed,
The demons' eyes in sleep she closed.
Then Śachí's lord, the Thousand-eyed,
To the Aśoka garden hied.
He came and stood where Sítá lay,
And gently thus began to say:
“Lord of the Gods who hold the sky,
Dame of the lovely smile, am I.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more;
Thy days of woe will soon be o'er.
I come, O Janak's child, to be
The helper of thy lord and thee.
He through my grace, with hosts to aid,
This sea-girt land will soon invade.
'Tis by my art that slumbers close
The eyelids of thy giant foes.
Now I, with Sleep, this place have sought,
Videhan lady, and have brought
A gift of heaven's ambrosial food
To stay thee in thy solitude.
Receive it from my hand, and taste,
O lady of the dainty waist:
For countless ages thou shall be
From pangs of thirst and hunger free.”
But doubt within her bosom woke
As to the Lord of Gods she spoke:
“How may I know for truth that thou
Whose form I see before me now
Art verily the King adored
By heavenly Gods, and Śachí's lord?
With Raghu's sons I learnt to know
The certain signs which Godhead show.
These marks before mine eyes display
If o'er the Gods thou bear the sway.”
The heavenly lord of Śachí heard,
And did according to her word.
Above the ground his feet were raised;
With eyelids motionless he gazed.
No dust upon his raiment lay,
And his bright wreath was fresh and gay.
Nor was the lady's glad heart slow
The Monarch of the Gods to know,
And while the tears unceasing ran
From her sweet eyes she thus began:
“My lord has gained a friend in thee,
And I this day thy presence see
Shown clearly to mine eyes, as when
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ, lords of men,
Beheld it, and their sire the king,
And Janak too from whom I spring.
Now I, O Monarch of the Blest,
Will eat this food at thy behest,
Which thou hast brought me, of thy grace,
To aid and strengthen Raghu's race.”
She spoke, and by his words relieved,
The food from Indra's hand received,
Yet ere she ate the balm he brought,
On Lakshmaṇ and her lord she thought.
“If my brave lord be still alive,
If valiant Lakshmaṇ yet survive,
May this my taste of heavenly food
Bring health to them and bliss renewed!”
She ate, and that celestial food
Stayed hunger, thirst, and lassitude,
And all her strength restored.
Great joy her hopeful spirit stirred
At the glad tidings newly heard
Of Lakshmaṇ and her lord.
And Indra's heart was joyful too:
He bade the Maithil dame adieu,
His saving errand done.
With Sleep beside him parting thence
He sought his heavenly residence
To prosper Raghu's son.
Canto LVIII. The Brothers' Meeting.

When Ráma's deadly shaft had struck
The giant in the seeming buck,
The chieftain turned him from the place
His homeward way again to trace.
Then as he hastened onward, fain
To look upon his spouse again,
Behind him from a thicket nigh
Rang out a jackal's piercing cry.
Alarmed he heard the startling shriek
That raised his hair and dimmed his cheek,
And all his heart was filled with doubt
As the shrill jackal's cry rang out:
“Alas, some dire disaster seems
Portended by the jackal's screams.
O may the Maithil dame be screened
From outrage of each hungry fiend!
[pg 298]
Alas, if Lakshmaṇ chanced to hear
That bitter cry of woe and fear
What time Márícha, as he died,
With voice that mocked my accents cried,
Swift to my side the prince would flee
And quit the dame to succour me.
Too well I see the demon band
The slaughter of my love have planned.
Me far from home and Sítá's view
The seeming deer Márícha drew.
He led me far through brake and dell
Till wounded by my shaft he fell,
And as he sank rang out his cry,
“O save me, Lakshmaṇ, or I die.”
May it be well with both who stayed
In the great wood with none to aid,
For every fiend is now my foe
For Janasthán's great overthrow,
And many an omen seen to-day
Has filled my heart with sore dismay.”
Such were the thoughts and sad surmise
Of Ráma at the jackal's cries,
And all his heart within him burned
As to his cot his steps he turned.
He pondered on the deer that led
His feet to follow where it fled,
And sad with many a bitter thought
His home in Janasthán he sought.
His soul was dark with woe and fear
When flocks of birds and troops of deer
Move round him from the left, and raised
Discordant voices as they gazed.
The omens which the chieftain viewed
The terror of his soul renewed,
When lo, to meet him Lakshmaṇ sped
With brows whence all the light had fled.
Near and more near the princes came,
Each brother's heart and look the same;
Alike on each sad visage lay
The signs of misery and dismay,
Then Ráma by his terror moved
His brother for his fault reproved
In leaving Sítá far from aid
In the wild wood where giants strayed.
Lakshmaṇ's left hand he took, and then
In gentle tones the prince of men,
Though sharp and fierce their tenour ran,
Thus to his brother chief began:
“O Lakshmaṇ, thou art much to blame
Leaving alone the Maithil dame,
And flying hither to my side:
O, may no ill my spouse betide!
But ah, I know my wife is dead,
And giants on her limbs have fed,
So strange, so terrible are all
The omens which my heart appal.
O Lakshmaṇ, may we yet return
The safety of my love to learn.
To find the child of Janak still
Alive and free from scathe and ill!
Each bird with notes of warning screams,
Though the hot sun still darts his beams.
The moan of deer, the jackal's yell
Of some o'erwhelming misery tell.
O mighty brother, still may she,
My princess, live from danger free!
That semblance of a golden deer
Allured me far away,
I followed nearer and more near,
And longed to take the prey.
I followed where the quarry fled:
My deadly arrow flew,
And as the dying creature bled,
The giant met my view.
Great fear and pain oppress my heart
That dreads the coming blow,
And through my left eye keenly dart
The throbs that herald woe.
Ah Lakshmaṇ, all these signs dismay,
My soul that sinks with dread,
I know my love is torn away,
Or, haply, she is dead.”
Canto LIX. Ráma's Return.

When Ráma saw his brother stand
With none beside him, all unmanned,
Eager he questioned why he came
So far without the Maithil dame:
“Where is my wife, my darling, she
Who to the wild wood followed me?
Where hast thou left my lady, where
The dame who chose my lot to share?
Where is my love who balms my woe
As through the forest wilds I go,
Unkinged and banished and disgraced,—
My darling of the dainty waist?
She nerves my spirit for the strife,
She, only she gives zest to life,
Dear as my breath is she who vies
In charms with daughters of the skies.
If Janak's child be mine no more,
In splendour fair as virgin ore,
The lordship of the skies and earth
To me were prize of little worth.
Ah, lives she yet, the Maithil dame,
Dear as the soul within this frame?
O, let not all my toil be vain,
The banishment, the woe and pain!
O, let not dark Kaikeyí win
The guerdon of her treacherous sin,
If, Sítá lost, my days I end,
And thou without me homeward wend!
O, let not good Kauśalyá shed
Her bitter tears to mourn me dead,
Nor her proud rival's hest obey,
Strong in her son and queenly sway!
Back to my cot will I repair
If Sítá live to greet me there,
[pg 299]
But if my wife have perished, I
Reft of my love will surely die.
O Lakshmaṇ, if I seek my cot,
Look for my love and find her not
Sweet welcome with her smile to give,
I tell thee, I will cease to live.
O answer,—let thy words be plain,—
Lives Sítá yet, or is she slain?
Didst thou thy sacred trust betray
Till ravening giants seized the prey?
Ah me, so young, so soft and fair,
Lapped in all bliss, untried by care,
Rent from her own dear husband, how
Will she support her misery now?
That voice, O Lakshmaṇ smote thine ear,
And filled, I ween, thy heart with fear,
When on thy name for succour cried
The treacherous giant ere he died.
That voice too like mine own, I ween,
Was heard by the Videhan queen.
She bade thee seek my side to aid,
And quickly was the hest obeyed,
But ah, thy fault I needs must blame,
To leave alone the helpless dame,
And let the cruel giants sate
The fury of their murderous hate.
Those blood-devouring demons all
Grieve in their souls for Khara's fall,
And Sítá, none to guard her side,
Torn by their cruel hands has died.
I sink, O tamer of thy foes,
Deep in the sea of whelming woes.
What can I now? I must endure
The mighty grief that mocks at cure.”
Thus, all his thoughts on Sítá bent,
To Janasthán the chieftain went,
Hastening on with eager stride,
And Lakshmaṇ hurried by his side.
With toil and thirst and hunger worn,
His breast with doubt and anguish torn,
He sought the well-known spot.
Again, again he turned to chide
With quivering lips which terror dried:
He looked, and found her not.
Within his leafy home he sped,
Each pleasant spot he visited
Where oft his darling strayed.
“'Tis as I feared,” he cried, and there,
Yielding to pangs too great to bear,
He sank by grief dismayed.
Canto LX. Lakshman Reproved.

But Ráma ceased not to upbraid,
His brother for untimely aid,
And thus, while anguish wrung his breast,
The chief with eager question pressed:
“Why, Lakshmaṇ, didst thou hurry hence
And leave my wife without defence?
I left her in the wood with thee,
And deemed her safe from jeopardy.
When first thy form appeared in view,
I marked that Sítá came not too.
With woe my troubled soul was rent,
Prophetic of the dire event.
Thy coming steps afar I spied,
I saw no Sítá by thy side,
And felt a sudden throbbing dart
Through my left eye, and arm, and heart.”
Lakshmaṇ, with Fortune's marks impressed,
His brother mournfully addressed:
“Not by my heart's free impulse led,
Leaving thy wife to thee I sped;
But by her keen reproaches sent,
O Ráma, to thine aid I went.
She heard afar a mournful cry,
“O save me, Lakshmaṇ, or I die.”
The voice that spoke in moving tone
Smote on her ear and seemed thine own.
Soon as those accents reached her ear
She yielded to her woe and fear,
She wept o'ercome by grief, and cried,
“Fly, Lakshmaṇ, fly to Ráma's side.”
Though many a time she bade me speed,
Her urgent prayer I would not heed.
I bade her in thy strength confide,
And thus with tender words replied:
“No giant roams the forest shade
From whom thy lord need shrink dismayed.
No human voice, believe me, spoke
Those words thy causeless fear that woke.
Can he whose might can save in woe
The heavenly Gods e'er stoop so low,
And with those piteous accents call
For succour like a caitiff thrall?
And why should wandering giants choose
The accents of thy lord to use,
In alien tones my help to crave,
And cry aloud, O Lakshmaṇ, save?
Now let my words thy spirit cheer,
Compose thy thoughts and banish fear.
In hell, in earth, or in the skies
There is not, and there cannot rise
A champion whose strong arm can slay
Thy Ráma in the battle fray.
To heavenly hosts he ne'er would yield
Though Indra led them to the field.”
To soothe her thus I vainly sought:
Her heart with woe was still distraught.
While from her eyes the waters ran
Her bitter speech she thus began:
“Too well I see thy dark intent:
Thy lawless thoughts on me are bent.
Thou hopest, but thy hope is vain,
To win my love, thy brother slain.
Not love, but Bharat's dark decree
To share his exile counselled thee,
[pg 300]
Or hearing now his bitter cry
Thou surely to his aid wouldst fly.
For love of me, a stealthy foe
Thou choosest by his side to go,
And now thou longest that my lord
Should die, and wilt no help afford.”
Such were the words the lady said:
With angry fire my eyes were red.
With pale lips quivering in my rage
I hastened from the hermitage.”
He ceased; and frenzied by his pain
The son of Raghu spoke again:
“O brother, for thy fault I grieve,
The Maithil dame alone to leave.
Thou knowest that my arm is strong
To save me from the giant throng,
And yet couldst leave the cottage, spurred
To folly by her angry word.
For this thy deed I praise thee not,—
To leave her helpless in the cot,
And thus thy sacred charge forsake
For the wild words a woman spake.
Yea thou art all to blame herein,
And very grievous is thy sin.
That anger swayed thy faithless breast
And made thee false to my behest.
An arrow speeding from my bow
Has laid the treacherous giant low,
Who lured me eager for the chase
Far from my hermit dwelling-place.
The string with easy hand I drew,
The arrow as in pastime flew,
The wounded quarry bled.
The borrowed form was cast away,
Before mine eye a giant lay
With bright gold braceleted.
My arrow smote him in the chest:
The giant by the pain distressed
Raised his loud voice on high.
Far rang the mournful sound: mine own,
It seemed, were accent, voice, and tone,
They made thee leave my spouse alone
And to my rescue fly.”
Canto LXI. Ráma's Lament.

As Ráma sought his leafy cot
Through his left eye keen throbbings shot,
His wonted strength his frame forsook,
And all his body reeled and shook.
Still on those dreadful signs he thought,—
Sad omens with disaster fraught,
And from his troubled heart he cried,
“O, may no ill my spouse betide!”
Longing to gaze on Sítá's face
He hastened to his dwelling-place,
Then sinking neath his misery's weight,
He looked and found it desolate.
Tossing his mighty arms on high
He sought her with an eager cry,
From spot to spot he wildly ran
Each corner of his home to scan.
He looked, but Sítá was not there;
His cot was disolate and bare,
Like streamlet in the winter frost,
The glory of her lilies lost.
With leafy tears the sad trees wept
As a wild wind their branches swept.
Mourned bird and deer, and every flower
Drooped fainting round the lonely bower.
The silvan deities had fled
The spot where all the light was dead,
Where hermit coats of skin displayed,
And piles of sacred grass were laid.
He saw, and maddened by his pain
Cried in lament again, again:
“Where is she, dead or torn away,
Lost, or some hungry giant's prey?
Or did my darling chance to rove
For fruit and blossoms though the grove?
Or has she sought the pool or rill,
Her pitcher from the wave to fill?”
His eager eyes on fire with pain
He roamed about with maddened brain.
Each grove and glade he searched with care,
He sought, but found no Sítá there.
He wildly rushed from hill to hill;
From tree to tree, from rill to rill,
As bitter woe his bosom rent
Still Ráma roamed with fond lament:
“O sweet Kadamba say has she
Who loved thy bloom been seen by thee?
If thou have seen her face most fair,
Say, gentle tree, I pray thee, where.
O Bel tree with thy golden fruit
Round as her breast, no more be mute,
Where is my radiant darling, gay
In silk that mocks thy glossy spray?
O Arjun, say, where is she now
Who loved to touch thy scented bough?
Do not thy graceful friend forget,
But tell me, is she living yet?
Speak, Basil, thou must surely know,
For like her limbs thy branches show,—
Most lovely in thy fair array
Of twining plant and tender spray.
Sweet Tila, fairest of the trees,
Melodious with the hum of bees,
Where is my darling Sítá, tell,—
The dame who loved thy flowers so well?
Aśoka, act thy gentle part,—
Named Heartsease,507 give me what thou art,
To these sad eyes my darling show
And free me from this load of woe.
O Palm, in rich ripe fruitage dressed
Round as the beauties of her breast,
[pg 301]
If thou have heart to know and feel,
My peerless consort's fate reveal.
Hast thou, Rose-apple, chanced to view
My darling bright with golden hue?
If thou have seen her quickly speak,
Where is the dame I wildly seek?
O glorious Cassia, thou art gay
With all thy loveliest bloom to-day,
Where is my dear who loved to hold
In her full lap thy flowery gold?”
To many a tree and plant beside,
To Jasmin, Mango, Sál, he cried.
“Say, hast thou seen, O gentle deer,
The fawn-eyed Sítá wandering here?
It may be that my love has strayed
To sport with fawns beneath the shade,
If thou, great elephant, have seen
My darling of the lovely mien,
Whose rounded limbs are soft and fine
As is that lissome trunk of thine,
O noblest of wild creatures, show
Where is the dame thou needs must know.
O tiger, hast thou chanced to see
My darling? very fair is she,
Cast all thy fear away, declare,
Where is my moon-faced darling, where?
There, darling of the lotus eye,
I see thee, and 'tis vain to fly,
Wilt thou not speak, dear love? I see
Thy form half hidden by the tree.
Stay if thou love me, Sítá, stay
In pity cease thy heartless play.
Why mock me now? thy gentle breast
Was never prone to cruel jest.
'Tis vain behind yon bush to steal:
Thy shimmering silks thy path reveal.
Fly not, mine eyes pursue thy way;
For pity's sake, dear Sítá, stay.
Ah me, ah me, my words are vain;
My gentle love is lost or slain.
How could her tender bosom spurn
Her husband on his home-return?
Ah no, my love is surely dead,
Fierce giants on her flesh have fed,
Rending the soft limbs of their prey
When I her lord was far away.
That moon-bright face, that polished brow,
Red lips, bright teeth—what are they now?
Alas, my darling's shapely neck
She loved with chains of gold to deck,—
That neck that mocked the sandal scent,
The ruthless fiends have grasped and rent.
Alas, 'twas vain those arms to raise
Soft as the young tree's tender sprays.
Ah, dainty meal for giants' lips
Were arms and quivering finger tips.
Ah, she who counted many a friend
Was left for fiends to seize and rend,
Was left by me without defence
From ravening giants' violence.
O Lakshmaṇ of the arm of might,
Say, is my darling love in sight?
O dearest Sítá. where art thou?
Where is my darling consort now?”
Thus as he cried in wild lament
From grove to grove the mourner went,
Here for a moment sank to rest,
Then started up and onward pressed.
Thus roaming on like one distraught
Still for his vanished love he sought,
He searched in wood and hill and glade,
By rock and brook and wild cascade.
Through groves with restless step he sped
And left no spot unvisited.
Through lawns and woods of vast extent
Still searching for his love he went
With eager steps and fast.
For many a weary hour he toiled,
Still in his fond endeavour foiled,
Yet hoping to the last.
Canto LXII. Ráma's Lament.

When all the toil and search was vain
He sought his leafy home again.
'Twas empty still: all scattered lay
The seats of grass in disarray.
He raised his shapely arms on high
And spoke aloud with bitter cry:
“Where is the Maithil dame?” he said,
“O, whither has my darling fled?
Who can have borne away my dame,
Or feasted on her tender frame?
If, Sítá hidden by some tree,
Thou joyest still to mock at me,
Cease, cease thy cruel sport, and take
Compassion, or my heart will break.
Bethink thee, love, the gentle fawns
With whom thou playest on the lawns,
Impatient for thy coming wait
With streaming eyes disconsolate.
Reft of my love, I needs must go
Hence to the shades weighed down by woe.
The king our sire will see me there,
And cry, “O perjured Ráma, where,
Where is thy faith, that thou canst speed
From exile ere the time decreed?”
Ah Sítá, whither hast thou fled
And left me here disquieted,
A hapless mourner, reft of hope,
Too feeble with my woe to cope?
E'en thus indignant Glory flies
The wretch who stains his soul with lies.
If thou, my love, art lost to view,
I in my woe must perish too.”
Thus Ráma by his grief distraught
Wept for the wife he vainly sought,
And Lakshmaṇ whose fraternal breast
Longed for his weal, the chief addressed
[pg 302]
Whose soul gave way beneath the pain
When all his eager search was vain,
Like some great elephant who stands
Sinking upon the treacherous sands:
“Not yet, O wisest chief, despair;
Renew thy toil with utmost care.
This noble hill where trees are green
Has many a cave and dark ravine.
The Maithil lady day by day
Delighted in the woods to stray,
Deep in the grove she wanders still,
Or walks by blossom-covered rill,
Or fish-loved river stealing through
Tall clusters of the dark bamboo.
Or else the dame with arch design
To prove thy mood, O Prince, and mine,
Far in some sheltering thicket lies
To frighten ere she meet our eyes.
Then come, renew thy labour, trace
The lady to her lurking-place,
And search the wood from side to side
To know where Sítá loves to bide.
Collect thy thoughts, O royal chief,
Nor yield to unavailing grief.”
Thus Lakshmaṇ, by attention stirred,
To fresh attempts his brother spurred,
And Ráma, as he ceased, began
With Lakshmaṇ's aid each spot to scan.
In eager search their way they took
Through wood, o'er hill, by pool and brook,
They roamed each mount, nor spared to seek
On ridge and crag and towering peak.
They sought the dame in every spot;
But all in vain; they found her not.
Above, below, on every side
They ranged the hill, and Ráma cried,
“O Lakshmaṇ, O my brother still
No trace of Sítá on the hill!”
Then Lakshmaṇ as he roamed the wood
Beside his glorious brother stood,
And while fierce grief his bosom burned
This answer to the chief returned:
“Thou, Ráma, after toil and pain
Wilt meet the Maithil dame again,
As Vishṇu, Bali's might subdued,
His empire of the earth renewed.”508
Then Ráma cried in mournful tone,
His spirit by his woe o'erthrown;
“The wood is searched from side to side,
No distant spot remains untried,
No lilied pool, no streamlet where
The lotus buds are fresh and fair.
Our eyes have searched the hill with all
His caves and every waterfall,—
But ah, not yet I find my wife,
More precious than the breath of life.”
As thus he mourned his vanished dame
A mighty trembling seized his frame,
And by o'erpowering grief assailed,
His troubled senses reeled and failed.
Too great to bear his misery grew,
And many a long hot sigh he drew,
Then as he wept and sobbed and sighed,
“O Sítá, O my love!” he cried.
Then Lakshmaṇ, joining palm to palm,
Tried every art his woe to calm.
But Ráma in his anguish heard
Or heeded not one soothing word,
Still for his spouse he mourned, and shrill
Rang out his lamentation still.
Canto LXIII. Ráma's Lament.

Thus for his wife in vain he sought:
Then, his sad soul with pain distraught,
The hero of the lotus eyes
Filled all the air with frantic cries.
O'erpowered by love's strong influence, he
His absent wife still seemed to see,
And thus with accents weak and faint
Renewed with tears his wild complaint:
“Thou, fairer than their bloom, my spouse,
Art hidden by Aśoka boughs.
Those blooms have power to banish care,
But now they drive me to despair.
Thine arms are like the plantain's stem:
Why let the plantain cover them?
Thou art not hidden, love; thy feet
Betray thee in thy dark retreat.
Thou runnest in thy girlish sport
To flowery trees, thy dear resort.
But cease, O cease, my love, I pray,
To vex me with thy cruel play.
Such mockery in a holy spot
Where hermits dwell beseems thee not.
Ah, now I see thy fickle mind
To scornful mood too much inclined,
Come, large-eyed beauty, I implore;
Lone is the cot so dear before.
No, she is slain by giants; they
Have stolen or devoured their prey,
Or surely at my mournful cry
My darling to her lord would fly.
O Lakshmaṇ, see those troops of deer:
In each sad eye there gleams a tear.
Those looks of woe too clearly say
My consort is the giants' prey.
O noblest, fairest of the fair,
Where art thou, best of women, where?
This day will dark Kaikeyí find
Fresh triumph for her evil mind,
When I, who with my Sítá came
Return alone, without my dame.
But ne'er can I return to see
Those chambers where my queen should be
And hear the scornful people speak
[pg 303]
Of Ráma as a coward weak.
For mine will be the coward's shame
Who let the foeman steal his dame.
How can I seek my home, or brook
Upon Videha's king to look?
How listen, when he bids me tell,
My wanderings o'er, that all is well?
He, when I meet his eager view,
Will mark that Sítá comes not too,
And when he hears the mournful tale
His wildered sense will reel and fail.
“O Daśaratha” will he cry,
“Blest in thy mansion in the sky!”
Ne'er to that town my steps shall bend,
That town which Bharat's arms defend,
For e'en the blessed homes above
Would seem a waste without my love.
Leave me, my brother, here, I pray;
To fair Ayodhyá bend thy way.
Without my love I cannot bear
To live one hour in blank despair.
Round Bharat's neck thy fond arms twine,
And greet him with these words of mine:
“Dear brother, still the power retain,
And o'er the land as monarch reign.”
With salutation next incline
Before thy mother, his, and mine.
Still, brother, to my words attend,
And with all care each dame befriend.
To my dear mother's ear relate
My mournful tale and Sítá's fate.”
Thus Ráma gave his sorrow vent,
And from a heart which anguish rent,
Mourned for his wife in loud lament,—
Her of the glorious hair,
From Lakshmaṇ's cheek the colour fled,
And o'er his heart came sudden dread,
Sick, faint, and sore disquieted
By woe too great to bear.
Canto LXIV. Ráma's Lament.

Reft of his love, the royal chief,
Weighed down beneath his whelming grief,
Desponding made his brother share
His grievous burden of despair.
Over his sinking bosom rolled
The flood of sorrow uncontrolled.
And as he wept and sighed,
In mournful accents faint and slow
With words congenial to his woe,
To Lakshmaṇ thus he cried:
“Brother, I ween, beneath the sun,
Of all mankind there lives not one
So full of sin, whose hand has done
Such cursed deeds as mine.
For my sad heart with misery bleeds,
As, guerdon of those evil deeds,
Still greater woe to woe succeeds
In never-ending line.
A life of sin I freely chose,
And from my past transgression flows
A ceaseless flood of bitter woes
My folly to repay.
The fruit of sin has ripened fast,
Through many a sorrow have I passed,
And now the crowning grief at last
Falls on my head to-day.
From all my faithful friends I fled,
My sire is numbered with the dead,
My royal rank is forfeited,
My mother far away.
These woes on which I sadly think
Fill, till it raves above the brink,
The stream of grief in which I sink,—
The flood which naught can stay.
Ne'er, brother, ne'er have I complained;
Though long by toil and trouble pained,
Without a murmur I sustained
The woes of woodland life.
But fiercer than the flames that rise
When crackling wood the food supplies,—
Flashing a glow through evening skies,—
This sorrow for my wife.
Some cruel fiend has seized the prey
And torn my trembling love away,
While, as he bore her through the skies,
She shrieked aloud with frantic cries,
In tones of fear which, wild and shrill,
Retained their native sweetness still.
Ah me, that breast so soft and sweet,
For sandal's precious perfume meet,
Now all detained with dust and gore,
Shall meet my fond caress no more.
That face, whose lips with tones so clear
Made pleasant music, sweet to hear,—
With soft locks plaited o'er the brow,—
Some giant's hand is on it now.
It smiles not, as the dear light fails
When Ráhu's jaw the moon assails.
Ah, my true love! that shapely neck
She loved with fairest chains to deck,
The cruel demons rend, and drain
The lifeblood from each mangled vein.
Ah, when the savage monsters came
And dragged away the helpless dame,
The lady of the long soft eye
Called like a lamb with piteous cry.
Beneath this rock, O Lakshmaṇ, see,
My peerless consort sat with me,
And gently talked to thee the while,
Her sweet lips opening with a smile.
Here is that fairest stream which she
Loved ever, bright Godávarí.
Ne'er can the dame have passed this way:
So far alone she would not stray,
Nor has my darling, lotus-eyed,
Sought lilies by the river's side,
For without me she ne'er would go
[pg 304]
To streamlets where the wild flowers grow,
Tell me not, brother, she has strayed
To the dark forest's distant shade
Where blooming boughs are gay and sweet,
And bright birds love the cool retreat.
Alone my love would never dare,—
My timid love,—to wander there.
O Lord of Day whose eye sees all
We act and plan, on thee I call:
For naught is hidden from thy sight,—
Great witness thou of wrong and right.
Where is she, lost or torn away?
Dispel my torturing doubt and say.
And O thou Wind who blowest free,
The worlds have naught concealed from thee.
List to my prayer, reveal one trace
Of her, the glory of her race.
Say, is she stolen hence, or dead,
Or do her feet the forest tread?”
Thus with disordered senses, faint
With woe he poured his sad complaint,
And then, a better way to teach,
Wise Lakshmaṇ spoke in seemly speech:
“Up, brother dear, thy grief subdue,
With heart and soul thy search renew.
When woes oppress and dangers threat
Brave effort ne'er was fruitless yet.”
He spoke, but Ráma gave no heed
To valiant Lakshmaṇ's prudent rede.
With double force the flood of pain
Rushed o'er his yielding soul again.
Canto LXV. Ráma's Wrath.

With piteous voice, by woe subdued,
Thus Raghu's son his speech renewed:
“Thy steps, my brother, quickly turn
To bright Godávarí and learn
If Sítá to the stream have hied
To cull the lilies on its side.”
Obedient to the words he said,
His brother to the river sped.
The shelving banks he searched in vain,
And then to Ráma turned again.
“I searched, but found her not,” he cried;
“I called aloud, but none replied.
Where can the Maithil lady stray,
Whose sight would chase our cares away?
I know not where, her steps untraced,
Roams Sítá of the dainty waist.”
When Ráma heard the words he spoke
Again he sank beneath the stroke,
And with a bosom anguish-fraught
Himself the lovely river sought.
There standing on the shelving side,
“O Sítá, where art thou?” he cried.
No spirit voice an answer gave,
No murmur from the trembling wave
Of sweet Godávarí declared
The outrage which the fiend had dared.
“O speak!” the pitying spirits cried,
But yet the stream their prayer denied,
Nor dared she, coldly mute, relate
To the sad chief his darling's fate
Of Rávaṇ's awful form she thought,
And the dire deed his arm had wrought,
And still withheld by fear dismayed,
The tale for which the mourner prayed.
When hope was none, his heart to cheer,
That the bright stream his cry would hear
While sorrow for his darling tore
His longing soul he spake once more:
“Though I have sought with tears and sighs
Godárvarí no word replies,
O say, what answer can I frame
To Janak, father of my dame?
Or how before her mother stand
Leading no Sítá by the hand?
Where is my loyal love who went
Forth with her lord to banishment?
Her faith to me she nobly held
Though from my realm and home expelled,—
A hermit, nursed on woodland fare,—
She followed still and soothed my care.
Of all my friends am I bereft,
Nor is my faithful consort left.
How slowly will the long nights creep
While comfortless I wake and weep!
O, if my wife may yet be found,
With humble love I'll wander round
This Janasthán, Praśravaṇ's hill,
Mandákiní's delightful rill.
See how the deer with gentle eyes
Look on my face and sympathize.
I mark their soft expression: each
Would soothe me, if it could, with speech.”
A while the anxious throng he eyed.
And “Where is Sítá, where?” he cried.
Thus while hot tears his utterance broke
The mourning son of Raghu spoke.
The deer in pity for his woes
Obeyed the summons and arose.
Upon his right thy stood, and raised
Their sad eyes up to heaven and gazed
Each to that quarter bent her look
Which Rávaṇ with his captive took.
Then Raghu's son again they viewed,
And toward that point their way pursued.
Then Lakshmaṇ watched their looks intent
As moaning on their way they went,
And marked each sign which struck his sense
With mute expressive influence,
Then as again his sorrow woke
Thus to his brother chief he spoke:
“Those deer thy eager question heard
[pg 305]
And rose at once by pity stirred:
See, in thy search their aid they lend,
See, to the south their looks they bend.
Arise, dear brother, let us go
The way their eager glances show,
If haply sign or trace descried
Our footsteps in the search may guide.”
The son of Raghu gave assent,
And quickly to the south they went;
With eager eyes the earth he scanned,
And Lakshmaṇ followed close at hand.
As each to other spake his thought,
And round with anxious glances sought,
Scattered before them in the way,
Blooms of a fallen garland lay.
When Ráma saw that flowery rain
He spoke once more with bitterest pain:
“O Lakshmaṇ every flower that lies
Here on the ground I recognize.
I culled them in the grove, and there
My darling twined them in her hair.
The sun, the earth, the genial breeze
Have spared these flowers my soul to please.”
Then to that woody hill he prayed,
Whence flashed afar each wild cascade:
“O best of mountains, hast thou seen
A dame of perfect form and mien
In some sweet spot with trees o'ergrown,—
My darling whom I left alone?”
Then as a lion threats a deer
He thundered with a voice of fear:
“Reveal her, mountain, to my view
With golden limbs and golden hue.
Where is my darling Sítá? speak
Before I rend thee peak from peak.”
The mountain seemed her track to show,
But told not all he sought to know.
Then Daśaratha's son renewed
His summons as the mount he viewed:
“Soon as my flaming arrows fly,
Consumed to ashes shall thou lie
Without a herb or bud or tree,
And birds no more shall dwell in thee.
And if this stream my prayer deny,
My wrath this day her flood shall dry,
Because she lends no aid to trace
My darling of the lotus face.”
Thus Ráma spake as though his ire
Would scorch them with his glance of fire;
Then searching farther on the ground
The footprint of a fiend he found,
And small light traces here and there,
Where Sítá in her great despair,
Shrieking for Ráma's help, had fled
Before the giant's mighty tread.
His careful eye each trace surveyed
Which Sítá and the fiend had made,—
The quivers and the broken bow
And ruined chariot of the foe,—
And told, distraught by fear and grief,
His tidings to his brother chief:
“O Lakshmaṇ, here,” he cried “behold
My Sítá's earrings dropped with gold.
Here lie her garlands torn and rent,
Here lies each glittering ornament.
O look, the ground on every side
With blood-like drops of gold is dyed.
The fiends who wear each strange disguise
Have seized, I ween, the helpless prize.
My lady, by their hands o'erpowered,
Is slaughtered, mangled, and devoured.
Methinks two fearful giants came
And waged fierce battle for the dame.
Whose, Lakshmaṇ, was this mighty bow
With pearls and gems in glittering row?
Cast to the ground the fragments lie,
And still their glory charms the eye.
A bow so mighty sure was planned
For heavenly God or giant's hand.
Whose was this coat of golden mail
Which, though its lustre now is pale,
Shone like the sun of morning, bright
With studs of glittering lazulite?
Whose, Lakshmaṇ, was this bloom-wreathed shade
With all its hundred ribs displayed?
This screen, most meet for royal brow,
With broken staff lies useless now.
And these tall asses, goblin-faced,
With plates of golden harness graced,
Whose hideous forms are stained with gore
Who is the lord whose yoke they bore?
Whose was this pierced and broken car
That shoots a flame-like blaze afar?
Whose these spent shafts at random spread,
Each fearful with its iron head,—
With golden mountings fair to see,
Long as a chariot's axle-tree?
These quivers see, which, rent in twain,
Their sheaves of arrows still contain.
Whose was this driver? Dead and cold,
His hands the whip and reins still hold.
See, Lakshmaṇ, here the foot I trace
Of man, nay, one of giant race.
The hatred that I nursed of old
Grows mightier now a hundred fold
Against these giants, fierce of heart,
Who change their forms by magic art.
Slain, eaten by the giant press,
Or stolen is the votaress,
Nor could her virtue bring defence
To Sítá seized and hurried hence.
O, if my love be slain or lost
All hope of bliss for me is crossed.
The power of all the worlds were vain
To bring one joy to soothe my pain.
The spirits with their blinded eyes
Would look in wonder, and despise
The Lord who made the worlds, the great
Creator when compassionate.
And so, I ween, the Immortals turn
Cold eyes upon me now, and spurn
[pg 306]
The weakling prompt at pity's call,
Devoted to the good of all.
But from this day behold me changed,
From every gentle grace estranged.
Now be it mine all life to slay,
And sweep these cursed fiends away.
As the great sun leaps up the sky,
And the cold moonbeams fade and die,
So vengeance rises in my breast,
One passion conquering all the rest.
Gandharvas in their radiant place,
The Yakshas, and the giant race,
Kinnars and men shall look in vain
For joy they ne'er shall see again.
The anguish of my great despair,
O Lakshmaṇ, fills the heaven and air;
And I in wrath all life will slay
Within the triple world to-day.
Unless the Gods in heaven who dwell
Restore my Sítá safe and well,
I armed with all the fires of Fate,
The triple world will devastate.
The troubled stars from heaven shall fall,
The moon be wrapped in gloomy pall,
The fire be quenched, the wind be stilled,
The radiant sun grow dark and chilled;
Crushed every mountain's towering pride,
And every lake and river dried,
Dead every creeper, plant, and tree,
And lost for aye the mighty sea.
Thou shalt the world this day behold
In wild disorder uncontrolled,
With dying life which naught defends
From the fierce storm my bowstring sends.
My shafts this day, for Sítá's sake,
The life of every fiend shall take.
The Gods this day shall see the force
That wings my arrows on their course,
And mark how far that course is held,
By my unsparing wrath impelled.
No God, not one of Daitya strain,
Goblin or Rákshas shall remain.
My wrath shall end the worlds, and all
Demons and Gods therewith shall fall.
Each world which Gods, the Dánav race,
And giants make their dwelling place,
Shall fall beneath my arrows sent
In fury when my bow is bent.
The arrows loosened from my string
Confusion on the worlds shall bring.
For she is lost or breathes no more,
Nor will the Gods my love restore.
Hence all on earth with life and breath
This day I dedicate to death.
All, till my darling they reveal,
The fury of my shafts shall feel.”
Thus as he spake by rage impelled,
Red grew his eyes, his fierce lips swelled.
His bark coat round his form he drew
And coiled his hermit braids anew,
Like Rudra when he yearned to slay
The demon Tripur509 in the fray.
So looked the hero brave and wise,
The fury flashing from his eyes.
Then Ráma, conqueror of the foe,
From Lakshmaṇ's hand received his bow,
Strained the great string, and laid thereon
A deadly dart that flashed and shone,
And spake these words as fierce in ire
As He who ends the worlds with fire:
“As age and time and death and fate
All life with checkless power await,
So Lakshmaṇ in my wrath to-day
My vengeful might shall brook no stay,
Unless this day I see my dame
In whose sweet form is naught to blame,—
Yea, as before, my love behold
Fair with bright teeth and perfect mould,
This world shall feel a deadly blow
Destroyed with ruthless overthrow,
And serpent lords and Gods of air,
Gandharvas, men, the doom shall share.”
Canto LXVI. Lakshman's Speech.

He stood incensed with eyes of flame,
Still mourning for his ravished dame,
Determined, like the fire of Fate,
To leave the wide world desolate.
His ready bow the hero eyed,
And as again, again he sighed,
The triple world would fain consume
Like Hara510 in the day of doom.
Then Lakshmaṇ moved with sorrow viewed
His brother in unwonted mood,
And reverent palm to palm applied,
Thus spoke with lips which terror dried
“Thy heart was ever soft and kind,
To every creature's good inclined.
Cast not thy tender mood away,
Nor yield to anger's mastering sway.
The moon for gentle grace is known,
The sun has splendour all his own,
The restless wind is free and fast,
And earth in patience unsurpassed.
So glory with her noble fruit
Is thine eternal attribute.
O, let not, for the sin of one,
The triple world be all undone.
I know not whose this car that lies
In fragments here before our eyes,
Nor who the chiefs who met and fought,
Nor what the prize the foemen sought;
Who marked the ground with hoof and wheel,
[pg 307]
Or whose the hand that plied the steel
Which left this spot, the battle o'er,
Thus sadly dyed with drops of gore.
Searching with utmost care I view
The signs of one and not of two.
Where'er I turn mine eyes I trace
No mighty host about the place.
Then mete not out for one offence
This all-involving recompense.
For kings should use the sword they bear,
But mild in time should learn to spare,
Thou, ever moved by misery's call,
Wast the great hope and stay of all.
Throughout this world who would not blame
This outrage on thy ravished dame?
Gandharvas, Dánavs, Gods, the trees,
The rocks, the rivers, and the seas,
Can ne'er in aught thy soul offend,
As one whom holiest rites befriend.
But him who dared to steal the dame
Pursue, O King, with ceaseless aim,
With me, the hermits' holy band,
And thy great bow to arm thy hand
By every mighty flood we'll seek,
Each wood, each hill from base to peak.
To the fair homes of Gods we'll fly,
And bright Gandharvas in the sky,
Until we reach, where'er he be,
The wretch who stole thy spouse from thee.
Then if the Gods will not restore
Thy Sítá when the search is o'er,
Then, royal lord of Kośal's land,
No longer hold thy vengeful hand.
If meekness, prayer, and right be weak
To bring thee back the dame we seek,
Up, brother, with a deadly shower
Of gold-bright shafts thy foes o'erpower,
Fierce as the flashing levin sent
From King Mahendra's firmament.
Canto LXVII. Ráma Appeased.

As Ráma, pierced by sorrow's sting,
Lamented like a helpless thing,
And by his mighty woe distraught
Was lost in maze of troubled thought,
Sumitrá's son with loving care
Consoled him in his wild despair,
And while his feet he gently pressed
With words like these the chief addressed:
“For sternest vow and noblest deed
Was Daśaratha blessed with seed.
Thee for his son the king obtained,
Like Amrit by the Gods regained.
Thy gentle graces won his heart,
And all too weak to live apart
The monarch died, as Bharat told,
And lives on high mid Gods enrolled.
If thou, O Ráma, wilt not bear
This grief which fills thee with despair,
How shall a weaker man e'er hope,
Infirm and mean, with woe to cope?
Take heart, I pray thee, noblest chief:
What man who breathes is free from grief?
Misfortunes come and burn like flame,
Then fly as quickly as they came.
Yayáti son of Nahush reigned
With Indra on the throne he gained.
But falling for a light offence
He mourned a while the consequence.
Vaśishṭha, reverend saint and sage,
Priest of our sire from youth to age,
Begot a hundred sons, but they
Were smitten in a single day.511
And she, the queen whom all revere,
The mother whom we hold so dear,
The earth herself not seldom feels
Fierce fever when she shakes and reels.
And those twin lights, the world's great eyes,
On which the universe relies,—
Does not eclipse at times assail
Their brilliance till their fires grow pale?
The mighty Powers, the Immortal Blest
Bend to a law which none contest.
No God, no bodied life is free
From conquering Fate's supreme decree.
E'en Śakra's self must reap the meed
Of virtue and of sinful deed.
And O great lord of men, wilt thou
Helpless beneath thy misery bow?
No, if thy dame be lost or dead,
O hero, still be comforted,
Nor yield for ever to thy woe
O'ermastered like the mean and low.
Thy peers, with keen far-reaching eyes,
Spend not their hours in ceaseless sighs;
In dire distress, in whelming ill
Their manly looks are hopeful still.
To this, great chief, thy reason bend,
And earnestly the truth perpend.
By reason's aid the wisest learn
The good and evil to discern.
With sin and goodness scarcely known
Faint light by chequered lives is shown;
Without some clear undoubted deed
We mark not how the fruits succeed.
In time of old, O thou most brave,
To me thy lips such counsel gave.
Vṛihaspati512 can scarcely find
New wisdom to instruct thy mind.
For thine is wit and genius high
Meet for the children of the sky.
I rouse that heart benumbed by pain
And call to vigorous life again.
Be manly godlike vigour shown;
Put forth that noblest strength, thine own.
[pg 308]
Strive, best of old Ikshváku's strain,
Strive till the conquered foe be slain.
Where is the profit or the joy
If thy fierce rage the worlds destroy?
Search till thou find the guilty foe,
Then let thy hand no mercy show.”
Canto LXVIII. Jatáyus.

Thus faithful Lakshmaṇ strove to cheer
The prince with counsel wise and clear.
Who, prompt to seize the pith of all,
Let not that wisdom idly fall.
With vigorous effort he restrained
The passion in his breast that reigned,
And leaning on his bow for rest
His brother Lakshmaṇ thus addressed:
“How shall we labour now, reflect;
Whither again our search direct?
Brother, what plan canst thou devise
To bring her to these longing eyes?”
To him by toil and sorrow tried
The prudent Lakshmaṇ thus replied:
“Come, though our labour yet be vain,
And search through Janasthán again,—
A realm where giant foes abound,
And trees and creepers hide the ground.
For there are caverns deep and dread,
By deer and wild birds tenanted,
And hills with many a dark abyss,
Grotto and rock and precipice.
There bright Gandharvas love to dwell,
And Kinnars in each bosky dell.
With me thy eager search to aid
Be every hill and cave surveyed.
Great chiefs like thee, the best of men,
Endowed with sense and piercing ken,
Though tried by trouble never fail,
Like rooted hills that mock the gale.”
Then Ráma, pierced by anger's sting,
Laid a keen arrow on his string,
And by the faithful Lakshmaṇ's side
Roamed through the forest far and wide.
Jaṭáyus there with blood-drops dyed,
Lying upon the ground he spied,
Huge as a mountain's shattered crest,
Mid all the birds of air the best.
In wrath the mighty bird he eyed,
And thus the chief to Lakshmaṇ cried:
“Ah me, these signs the truth betray;
My darling was the vulture's prey.
Some demon in the bird's disguise
Roams through the wood that round us lies.
On large-eyed Sítá he has fed,
And rests him now with wings outspread.
But my keen shafts whose flight is true,
Shall pierce the ravenous monster through.”
An arrow on the string he laid,
And rushing near the bird surveyed,
While earth to ocean's distant side
Trembled beneath his furious stride.
With blood and froth on neck and beak
The dying bird essayed to speak,
And with a piteous voice, distressed,
Thus Daśaratha's son addressed:
“She whom like some sweet herb of grace
Thou seekest in this lonely place,
Fair lady, is fierce Rávaṇ's prey,
Who took, beside, my life away.
Lakshmaṇ and thou had parted hence
And left the dame without defence.
I saw her swiftly borne away
By Rávaṇ's might which none could stay.
I hurried to the lady's aid,
I crushed his car and royal shade,
And putting forth my warlike might
Hurled Rávaṇ to the earth in fight.
Here, Ráma, lies his broken bow,
Here lie the arrows of the foe.
There on the ground before thee are
The fragments of his battle car.
There bleeds the driver whom my wings
Beat down with ceaseless buffetings.
When toil my aged strength subdued,
His sword my weary pinions hewed.
Then lifting up the dame he bare
His captive through the fields of air.
Thy vengeful blows from me restrain,
Already by the giant slain.”
When Ráma heard the vulture tell
The tale that proved his love so well,
His bow upon the ground he placed,
And tenderly the bird embraced:
Then to the earth he fell o'erpowered,
And burning tears both brothers showered,
For double pain and anguish pressed
Upon the patient hero's breast.
The solitary bird he eyed
Who in the lone wood gasped and sighed,
And as again his anguish woke
Thus Ráma to his brother spoke:
“Expelled from power the woods I tread,
My spouse is lost, the bird is dead.
A fate so sad, I ween, would tame
The vigour of the glorious flame.
If I to cool my fever tried
To cross the deep from side to side,
The sea,—so hard my fate,—would dry
His waters as my feet came nigh.
In all this world there lives not one
So cursed as I beneath the sun;
So strong a net of misery cast
Around me holds the captive fast,
Best of all birds that play the wing,
Loved, honoured by our sire the king,
The vulture, in my fate enwound,
Lies bleeding, dying on the ground.”
Then Ráma and his brother stirred
[pg 309]
By pity mourned the royal bird,
And, as their hands his limbs caressed,
Affection for a sire expressed.
And Ráma to his bosom strained
The bird with mangled wings distained,
With crimson blood-drops dyed.
He fell, and shedding many a tear,
“Where is my spouse than life more dear?
Where is my love?” he cried.
Canto LXIX. The Death Of Jatáyus.

As Ráma viewed with heart-felt pain
The vulture whom the fiend had slain,
In words with tender love impressed
His brother chief he thus addressed:
“This royal bird with faithful thought
For my advantage strove and fought.
Slain by the fiend in mortal strife
For me he yields his noble life.
See, Lakshmaṇ, how his wounds have bled;
His struggling breath will soon have fled.
Faint is his voice, and near to die,
He scarce can lift his trembling eye.
Jaṭáyus, if thou still can speak,
Give, give the answer that I seek.
The fate of ravished Sítá tell,
And how thy mournful chance befell.
Say why the giant stole my dame:
What have I done that he could blame?
What fault in me has Rávaṇ seen
That he should rob me of my queen?
How looked the lady's moon-bright cheek?
What were the words she found to speak?
His strength, his might, his deeds declare:
And tell the form he loves to wear.
To all my questions make reply:
Where does the giant's dwelling lie?”
The noble bird his glances bent
On Ráma as he made lament,
And in low accents faint and weak
With anguish thus began to speak:
“Fierce Rávaṇ, king of giant race,
Stole Sítá from thy dwelling-place.
He calls his magic art to aid
With wind and cloud and gloomy shade.
When in the fight my power was spent
My wearied wings he cleft and rent.
Then round the dame his arms he threw,
And to the southern region flew.
O Raghu's son, I gasp for breath,
My swimming sight is dim in death.
E'en now before my vision pass
Bright trees of gold with hair of grass,
The hour the impious robber chose
Brings on the thief a flood of woes.
The giant in his haste forgot
'Twas Vinda's hour,513 or heeded not.
Those robbed at such a time obtain
Their plundered store and wealth again.
He, like a fish that takes the bait,
In briefest time shall meet his fate.
Now be thy troubled heart controlled
And for thy lady's loss consoled,
For thou wilt slay the fiend in fight
And with thy dame have new delight.”
With senses clear, though sorely tried,
The royal vulture thus replied,
While as he sank beneath his pain
Forth rushed the tide of blood again.
“Him,514 brother of the Lord of Gold,
Viśravas' self begot of old.”
Thus spoke the bird, and stained with gore
Resigned the breath that came no more.
“Speak, speak again!” thus Ráma cried,
With reverent palm to palm applied,
But from the frame the spirit fled
And to the skiey regions sped.
The breath of life had passed away.
Stretched on the ground the body lay.
When Ráma saw the vulture lie,
Huge as a hill, with darksome eye,
With many a poignant woe distressed
His brother chief he thus addressed:
“Amid these haunted shades content
Full many a year this bird has spent.
His life in home of giants passed,
In Daṇḍak wood he dies at last.
The years in lengthened course have fled
Untroubled o'er the vulture's head,
And now he lies in death, for none
The stern decrees of Fate may shun.
See, Lakshmaṇ, how the vulture fell
While for my sake he battled well.
And strove to free with onset bold
My Sítá from the giant's hold.
Supreme amid the vulture kind
His ancient rule the bird resigned,
And conquered in the fruitless strife
Gave for my sake his noble life.
O Lakshmaṇ, many a time we see
Great souls who keep the law's decree,
With whom the weak sure refuge find,
In creatures of inferior kind.
The loss of her, my darling queen,
Strikes with a pang less fiercely keen
Than now this slaughtered bird to see
Who nobly fought and died for me.
As Daśaratha, good and great,
Was glorious in his high estate,
Honoured by all, to all endeared,
So was this royal bird revered.
Bring fuel for the funeral rite:
These hands the solemn fire shall light
[pg 310]
And on the burning pyre shall lay
The bird who died for me to-day.
Now on the gathered wood shall lie
The lord of all the birds that fly,
And I will burn with honours due
My champion whom the giant slew.
O royal bird of noblest heart,
Graced with all funeral rites depart
To bright celestial seats above,
Rewarded for thy faithful love.
Dwell in thy happy home with those
Whose constant fires of worship rose.
Live blest amid the unyielding brave,
And those who land in largess gave.”
Sore grief upon his bosom weighed
As on the pyre the bird he laid,
And bade the kindled flame ascend
To burn the body of his friend.
Then with his brother by his side
The hero to the forest hied.
There many a stately deer he slew,
The flesh around the bird to strew.
The venison into balls he made,
And on fair grass before him laid.
Then that the parted soul might rise
And find free passage to the skies,
Each solemn word and text he said
Which Bráhmans utter o'er the dead.
Then hastening went the princely pair
To bright Godávarí, and there
Libations of the stream they poured
In honour of the vulture lord,
With solemn ritual to the slain,
As scripture's holy texts ordain.
Thus offerings to the bird they gave
And bathed their bodies in the wave.
The vulture monarch having wrought
A hard and glorious feat,
Honoured by Ráma sage in thought,
Soared to his blissful seat.
The brothers, when each rite was paid
To him of birds supreme,
Their hearts with new-found comfort stayed,
And turned them from the stream.
Like sovereigns of celestial race
Within the wood they came,
Each pondering the means to trace,
The captor of the dame.
Canto LXX. Kabandha.

When every rite was duly paid
The princely brothers onward strayed,
And eager in the lady's quest
They turned their footsteps to the west.
Through lonely woods that round them lay
Ikshváku's children made their way,
And armed with bow and shaft and brand
Pressed onward to the southern land.
Thick trees and shrubs and creepers grew
In the wild grove they hurried through.
'Twas dark and drear and hard to pass
For tangled thorns and matted grass.
Still onward with a southern course
They made their way with vigorous force,
And passing through the mazes stood
Beyond that vast and fearful wood.
With toil and hardship yet unspent
Three leagues from Janasthán they went,
And speeding on their way at last
Within the wood of Krauncha515 passed:
A fearful forest wild and black
As some huge pile of cloudy rack,
Filled with all birds and beasts, where grew
Bright blooms of every varied hue.
On Sítá bending every thought
Through all the mighty wood they sought,
And at the lady's loss dismayed
Here for a while and there they stayed.
Then turning farther eastward they
Pursued three leagues their weary way,
Passed Krauncha's wood and reached the grove
Where elephants rejoiced to rove.
The chiefs that awful wood surveyed
Where deer and wild birds filled each glade,
Where scarce a step the foot could take
For tangled shrub and tree and brake.
There in a mountain's woody side
A cave the royal brothers spied,
With dread abysses deep as hell,
Where darkness never ceased to dwell.
When, pressing on, the lords of men
Stood near the entrance of the den,
They saw within the dark recess
A huge misshapen giantess;
A thing the timid heart that shook
With fearful shape and savage look.
Terrific fiend, her voice was fierce,
Long were her teeth to rend and pierce.
The monster gorged her horrid feast
Of flesh of many a savage beast,
While her long locks, at random flung,
Dishevelled o'er her shoulders hung.
Their eyes the royal brothers raised,
And on the fearful monster gazed.
Forth from her den she came and glanced
At Lakshmaṇ as he first advanced,
Her eager arms to hold him spread,
And “Come and be my love” she said,
Then as she held him to her breast,
The prince in words like these addressed:
“Behold thy treasure fond and fair:
Ayomukhi516 the name I bear.
[pg 311]
In thickets of each lofty hill,
On islets of each brook and rill,
With me delighted shalt thou play,
And live for many a lengthened day.”
Enraged he heard the monster woo;
His ready sword he swiftly drew,
And the sharp steel that quelled his foes
Cut through her breast and ear and nose.
Thus mangled by his vengeful sword
In rage and pain the demon roared,
And hideous with her awful face
Sped to her secret dwelling place.
Soon as the fiend had fled from sight,
The brothers, dauntless in their might,
Reached a wild forest dark and dread
Whose tangled ways were hard to tread.
Then bravest Lakshmaṇ, virtuous youth,
The friend of purity and truth,
With reverent palm to palm applied
Thus to his glorious brother cried:
“My arm presaging throbs amain,
My troubled heart is sick with pain,
And cheerless omens ill portend
Where'er my anxious eyes I bend.
Dear brother, hear my words: advance
Resolved and armed for every chance,
For every sign I mark to-day
Foretells a peril in the way.
This bird of most ill-omened note,
Loud screaming with discordant throat,
Announces with a warning cry
That strife and victory are nigh.”
Then as the chiefs their search pursued
Throughout the dreary solitude,
They heard amazed a mighty sound
That broke the very trees around,
As though a furious tempest passed
Crushing the wood beneath its blast.
Then Ráma raised his trusty sword,
And both the hidden cause explored.
There stood before their wondering eyes
A fiend broad-chested, huge of size.
A vast misshapen trunk they saw
In height surpassing nature's law.
It stood before them dire and dread
Without a neck, without a head.
Tall as some hill aloft in air,
Its limbs were clothed with bristling hair,
And deep below the monster's waist
His vast misshapen mouth was placed.
His form was huge, his voice was loud
As some dark-tinted thunder cloud.
Forth from his ample chest there came
A brilliance as of gushing flame.
Beneath long lashes, dark and keen
The monster's single eye was seen.
Deep in his chest, long, fiercely bright,
It glittered with terrific light.
He swallowed down his savage fare
Of lion, bird, and slaughtered bear,
And with huge teeth exposed to view
O'er his great lips his tongue he drew.
His arms unshapely, vast and dread,
A league in length, he raised and spread.
He seized with monstrous hands a herd
Of deer and many a bear and bird.
Among them all he picked and chose,
Drew forward these, rejected those.
Before the princely pair he stood
Barring their passage through the wood.
A league of shade the chiefs had passed
When on the fiend their eyes they cast.
A monstrous shape without a head
With mighty arms before him spread,
They saw that hideous trunk appear
That struck the trembling eye with fear.
Then, stretching to their full extent
His awful arms with fingers bent,
Round Raghu's princely sons he cast
Each grasping limb and held them fast.
Though strong of arm and fierce in fight,
Each armed with bow and sword to smite,
The royal brothers, brave and bold,
Were helpless in the giant's hold.
Then Raghu's son, heroic still,
Felt not a pang his bosom thrill;
But young, with no protection near,
His brother's heart was sad with fear,
And thus with trembling tongue he said
To Ráma, sore disquieted:
“Ah me, ah me, my days are told:
O see me in the giant's hold.
Fly, son of Raghu, swiftly flee,
And thy dear self from danger free.
Me to the fiend an offering give;
Fly at thine ease thyself and live.
Thou, great Kakutstha's son, I ween,
Wilt find ere long thy Maithil queen,
And when thou holdest, throned again,
Thine old hereditary reign,
With servants prompt to do thy will,
O think upon thy brother still.”
As thus the trembling Lakshmaṇ cried,
The dauntless Ráma thus replied:
“Brother, from causeless dread forbear.
A chief like thee should scorn despair.”
He spoke to soothe his wild alarm:
Then fierce Kabandha517 long of arm,
Among the Dánavs518 first and best,
The sons of Raghu thus addressed:
“What men are you, whose shoulders show
Broad as a bull's, with sword and bow,
Who roam this dark and horrid place,
Brought by your fate before my face?
Declare by what occasion led
These solitary wilds you tread,
With swords and bows and shafts to pierce,
[pg 312]
Like bulls whose horns are strong and fierce.
Why have you sought this forest land
Where wild with hunger's pangs I stand?
Now as your steps my path have crossed
Esteem your lives already lost.”
The royal brothers heard with dread
The words which fierce Kabandha said.
And Ráma to his brother cried,
Whose cheek by blanching fear was dried:
“Alas, we fall, O valiant chief,
From sorrow into direr grief,
Still mourning her I hold so dear
We see our own destruction near.
Mark, brother, mark what power has time
O'er all that live, in every clime.
Now, lord of men, thyself and me
Involved in fatal danger see.
'Tis not, be sure, the might of Fate
That crushes all with deadly weight.
Ne'er can the brave and strong, who know
The use of spear and sword and bow,
The force of conquering time withstand,
But fall like barriers built of sand.”
Thus in calm strength which naught could shake
The son of Daśaratha spake,
With glory yet unstained
Upon Sumitrá's son he bent
His eyes, and firm in his intent
His dauntless heart maintained.
Canto LXXI. Kabandha's Speech.

Kabandha saw each chieftain stand
Imprisoned by his mighty hand,
Which like a snare around him pressed
And thus the royal pair addressed:
“Why, warriors, are your glances bent
On me whom hungry pangs torment?
Why stand with wildered senses? Fate
Has brought you now my maw to sate.”
When Lakshmaṇ heard, a while appalled,
His ancient courage he recalled,
And to his brother by his side
With seasonable counsel cried:
“This vilest of the giant race
Will draw us to his side apace.
Come, rouse thee; let the vengeful sword
Smite off his arms, my honoured lord.
This awful giant, vast of size,
On his huge strength of arm relies,
And o'er the world victorious, thus
With mighty force would slaughter us.
But in cold blood to slay, O King,
Discredit on the brave would bring,
As when some victim in the rite
Shuns not the hand upraised to smite.”
The monstrous fiend, to anger stirred,
The converse of the brothers heard.
His horrid mouth he opened wide
And drew the princes to his side.
They, skilled due time and place to note
Unsheathed their glittering swords and smote,
Till from the giant's shoulders they
Had hewn the mighty arms away.
His trenchant falchion Ráma plied
And smote him on the better side,
While valiant Lakshmaṇ on the left
The arm that held him prisoned cleft.
Then to the earth dismembered fell
The monster with a hideous yell,
And like a cloud's his deep roar went
Through earth and air and firmament.
Then as the giant's blood flowed fast,
On his cleft limbs his eye he cast,
And called upon the princely pair
Their names and lineage to declare.
Him then the noble Lakshmaṇ, blest
With fortune's favouring marks, addressed,
And told the fiend his brother's name
And the high blood of which he came:
“Ikshváku's heir here Ráma stands,
Illustrious through a hundred lands.
I, younger brother of the heir,
O fiend, the name of Lakshmaṇ bear.
His mother stole his realm away
And drove him forth in woods to stray.
Thus through the mighty forest he
Roamed with his royal wife and me.
While glorious as a God he made
His dwelling in the greenwood shade,
Some giant stole away his dame,
And seeking her we hither came.
But tell me who thou art, and why
With headless trunk that towered so high,
With flaming face beneath thy chest,
Thou liest crushed in wild unrest.”
He heard the words that Lakshmaṇ spoke,
And memory in his breast awoke,
Recalling Indra's words to mind
He spoke in gentle tones and kind:
“O welcome best of men, are ye
Whom, blest by fate, this day I see.
A blessing on each trenchant blade
That low on earth these arms has laid!
Thou, lord of men, incline thine ear
The story of my woe to hear,
While I the rebel pride declare
Which doomed me to the form I wear.”
Canto LXXII. Kabandha's Tale.

“Lord of the mighty arm, of yore
A shape transcending thought I wore,
And through the triple world's extent
My fame for might and valour went.
[pg 313]
Scarce might the sun and moon on high,
Scarce Śakra, with my beauty vie.
Then for a time this form I took,
And the great world with trembling shook.
The saints in forest shades who dwelt
The terror of my presence felt.
But once I stirred to furious rage
Great Sthúlaśiras, glorious sage.
Culling in woods his hermit food
My hideous shape with fear he viewed.
Then forth his words of anger burst
That bade me live a thing accursed:
“Thou, whose delight is others' pain,
This grisly form shalt still retain.”
Then when I prayed him to relent
And fix some term of punishment,—
Prayed that the curse at length might cease,
He bade me thus expect release:
“Let Ráma cleave thine arms away
And on the pyre thy body lay,
And then shalt thou, set free from doom,
Thine own fair shape once more assume.”
O Lakshmaṇ, hear my words: in me
The world-illustrious Danu see.
By Indra's curse, subdued in fight,
I wear this form which scares the sight.
By sternest penance long maintained
The mighty Father's grace I gained.
When length of days the God bestowed,
With foolish pride my bosom glowed.
My life, of lengthened years assured,
I deemed from Śakra's might secured.
Let by my senseless pride astray
I challenged Indra to the fray.
A flaming bolt with many a knot
With his terrific arm he shot,
And straight my head and thighs compressed
Were buried in my bulky chest.
Deaf to each prayer and piteous call
He sent me not to Yáma's hall.
“Thy prayers and cries,” he said “are vain:
The Father's word must true remain.”
“But how may lengthened life be spent
By one the bolt has torn and rent?
How can I live,” I cried, “unfed,
With shattered face and thighs and head?”
As thus I spoke his grace to crave,
Arms each a league in length he gave,
And opened in my chest beneath
This mouth supplied with fearful teeth.
So my huge arms I used to cast
Round woodland creatures as they passed,
And fed within the forest here
On lion, tiger, pard, and deer.
Then Indra spake to soothe my grief:
“When Ráma and his brother chief
From thy huge bulk those arms shall cleave,
Then shall the skies thy soul receive.”
Disguised in this terrific shape
I let no woodland thing escape,
And still my longing soul was pleased
Whene'er my arms a victim seized,
For in these arms I fondly thought
Would Ráma's self at last be caught.
Thus hoping, toiling many a day
I yearned to cast my life away,
And here, my lord, thou standest now:
Blessings be thine! for none but thou
Could cleave my arms with trenchant stroke:
True are the words the hermit spoke.
Now let me, best of warriors, lend
My counsel, and thy plans befriend,
And aid thee with advice in turn
If thou with fire my corse wilt burn.”
As thus the mighty Danu prayed
With offer of his friendly aid,
While Lakshmaṇ gazed with anxious eye,
The virtuous Ráma made reply:
“Lakshmaṇ and I through forest shade
From Janasthán a while had strayed.
When none was near her, Rávaṇ came
And bore away my glorious dame,
The giant's form and size unknown,
I learn as yet his name alone.
Not yet the power and might we know
Or dwelling of the monstrous foe.
With none our helpless feet to guide
We wander here by sorrow tried.
Let pity move thee to requite
Our service in the funeral rite.
Our hands shall bring the boughs that, dry
Where elephants have rent them, lie,
Then dig a pit, and light the fire
To burn thee as the laws require.
Do thou as meed of this declare
Who stole my spouse, his dwelling where.
O, if thou can, I pray thee say,
And let this grace our deeds repay.”
Danu had lent attentive ear
The words which Ráma spoke to hear,
And thus, a speaker skilled and tried,
To that great orator replied:
“No heavenly lore my soul endows,
Naught know I of thy Maithil spouse.
Yet will I, when my shape I wear,
Him who will tell thee all declare.
Then, Ráma, will my lips disclose
His name who well that giant knows.
But till the flames my corse devour
This hidden knowledge mocks my power.
For through that curse's withering taint
My knowledge now is small and faint.
Unknown the giant's very name
Who bore away the Maithil dame.
Cursed for my evil deeds I wore
A shape which all the worlds abhor.
Now ere with wearied steeds the sun
Through western skies his course have run,
Deep in a pit my body lay
[pg 314]
And burn it in the wonted way.
When in the grave my corse is placed,
With fire and funeral honours graced,
Then I, great chief, his name will tell
Who knows the giant robber well.
With him, who guides his life aright,
In league of trusting love unite,
And he, O valiant prince, will be
A faithful friend and aid to thee.
For, Ráma, to his searching eyes
The triple world uncovered lies.
For some dark cause of old, I ween,
Through all the spheres his ways have been.”
Canto LXXIII. Kabandha's Counsel.

The monster ceased: the princely pair
Heard great Kabandha's eager prayer.
Within a mountain cave they sped,
Where kindled fire with care they fed.
Then Lakshmaṇ in his mighty hands
Brought ample store of lighted brands,
And to a pile of logs applied
The flame that ran from side to side.
The spreading glow with gentle force
Consumed Kabandha's mighty corse,
Till the unresting flames had drunk
The marrow of the monstrous trunk,
As balls of butter melt away
Amid the fires that o'er them play.
Then from the pyre, like flame that glows
Undimmed by cloudy smoke, he rose,
In garments pure of spot or speck,
A heavenly wreath about his neck.
Resplendent in his bright attire
He sprang exultant from the pyre.
While from neck, arm, and foot was sent
The flash of gold and ornament.
High on a chariot, bright of hue,
Which swans of fairest pinion drew,
He filled each region of the air
With splendid glow reflected there.
Then in the sky he stayed his car
And called to Ráma from afar:
“Hear, chieftain, while my lips explain
The means to win thy spouse again.
Six plans, O prince, the wise pursue
To reach the aims we hold in view.519
When evils ripening sorely press
They load the wretch with new distress,
So thou and Lakshmaṇ, tried by woe,
Have felt at last a fiercer blow,
And plunged in bitterest grief to-day
Lament thy consort torn away.
There is no course but this: attend;
Make, best of friends, that chief thy friend.
Unless his prospering help thou gain
Thy plans and hopes must all be vain.
O Ráma, hear my words, and seek,
Sugríva, for of him I speak.
His brother Báli, Indra's son,
Expelled him when the fight was won.
With four great chieftains, faithful still,
He dwells on Rishyamúka's hill.—
Fair mountain, lovely with the flow
Of Pampá's waves that glide below,—
Lord of the Vánars520 just and true,
Strong, very glorious, bright to view,
Unmatched in counsel, firm and meek,
Bound by each word his lips may speak,
Good, splendid, mighty, bold and brave,
Wise in each plan to guide and save.
His brother, fired by lust of sway,
Drove forth the prince in woods to stray.
In all thy search for Sítá he
Thy ready friend and help will be.
With him to aid thee in thy quest
Dismiss all sorrow from thy breast.
Time is a mighty power, and none
His fixed decree can change or shun.
So rich reward thy toil shall bless,
And naught can stay thy sure success.
Speed hence, O chief, without delay,
To strong Sugríva take thy way.
This hour thy footsteps onward bend,
And make that mighty prince thy friend.
With him before the attesting flame
In solemn truth alliance frame.
Nor wilt thou, if thy heart be wise,
Sugríva, Vánar king, despise.
Of boundless strength, all shapes he wears,
He hearkens to a suppliant's prayers,
And, grateful for each kindly deed,
Will help and save in hour of need.
And you, I ween, the power possess
To aid his hopes and give redress.
He, let his cause succeed or fail,
Will help you, and you must prevail.
A banished prince, in fear and woe
He roams where Pampá's waters flow,
True offspring of the Lord of Light
Expelled by Báli's conquering might.
Go, Raghu's son, that chieftain seek
Who dwells on Rishyamúka's peak.
Before the flame thy weapons cast
And bind the bonds of friendship fast.
For, prince of all the Vánar race,
He in his wisdom knows each place
Where dwell the fierce gigantic brood
Who make the flesh of man their food.
To him, O Raghu's son, to him
Naught in the world is dark or dim,
Where'er the mighty Day-God gleams
Resplendent with a thousand beams.
[pg 315]
He over rocky height and hill,
Through gloomy cave, by lake and rill,
Will with his Vánars seek the prize,
And tell thee where thy lady lies.
And he will send great chieftains forth
To east and west and south and north,
To seek the distant spot where she
All desolate laments for thee.
He even in Rávaṇ's halls would find
Thy Sítá, gem of womankind.
Yea, if the blameless lady lay
On Meru's loftiest steep,
Or, far removed from light of day,
Where hell is dark and deep,
That chief of all the Vánar race
His way would still explore,
Meet the cowed giants face to face
And thy dear spouse restore.”
Canto LXXIV. Kabandha's Death.

When wise Kabandha thus had taught
The means to find the dame they sought,
And urged them onward in the quest,
He thus again the prince addressed:
“This path, O Raghu's son, pursue
Where those fair trees which charm the view,
Extending westward far away,
The glory of their bloom display,
Where their bright leaves Rose-apples show,
And the tall Jak and Mango grow.
Whene'er you will, those trees ascend,
Or the long branches shake and bend,
Their savoury fruit like Amrit eat,
Then onward speed with willing feet.
Beyond this shady forest, decked
With flowering trees, your course direct.
Another grove you then will find
With every joy to take the mind,
Like Nandan with its charms displayed,
Or Northern Kuru's blissful shade;
Where trees distil their balmy juice,
And fruit through all the year produce;
Where shades with seasons ever fair
With Chaitraratha may compare:
Where trees whose sprays with fruit are bowed
Rise like a mountain or a cloud.
There, when you list, from time to time,
The loaded trees may Lakshmaṇ climb,
Or from the shaken boughs supply
Sweet fruit that may with Amrit vie.
The onward path pursuing still
From wood to wood, from hill to hill,
Your happy eyes at length will rest
On Pampá's lotus-covered breast.
Her banks with gentle slope descend,
Nor stones nor weed the eyes offend,
And o'er smooth beds of silver sand
Lotus and lily blooms expand.
There swans and ducks and curlews play,
And keen-eyed ospreys watch their prey,
And from the limpid waves are heard
Glad notes of many a water-bird.
Untaught a deadly foe to fear
They fly not when a man is near,
And fat as balls of butter they
Will, when you list, your hunger stay.
Then Lakshmaṇ with his shafts will take
The fish that swim the brook and lake,
Remove each bone and scale and fin,
Or strip away the speckled skin,
And then on iron skewers broil
For thy repast the savoury spoil.
Thou on a heap of flowers shalt rest
And eat the meal his hands have dressed,
There shalt thou lie on Pampá's brink,
And Lakshmaṇ's hand shall give thee drink,
Filling a lotus leaf with cool
Pure water from the crystal pool,
To which the opening blooms have lent
The riches of divinest scent.
Beside thee at the close of day
Will Lakshmaṇ through the woodland stray,
And show thee where the monkeys sleep
In caves beneath the mountain steep.
Loud-voiced as bulls they forth will burst
And seek the flood, oppressed by thirst;
Then rest a while, their wants supplied,
Their well-fed bands on Pampá's side.
Thou roving there at eve shalt see
Rich clusters hang on shrub and tree,
And Pampá flushed with roseate glow,
And at the view forget thy woe.
There shalt thou mark with strange delight
Each loveliest flower that blooms by night,
While lily buds that shrink from day
Their tender loveliness display.
In that far wild no hand but thine
Those peerless flowers in wreaths shall twine:
Immortal in their changeless pride,
Ne'er fade those blooms and ne'er are dried.
There erst on holy thoughts intent
Their days Matanga's pupils spent.
Once for their master food they sought,
And store of fruit and berries brought.
Then as they laboured through the dell
From limb and brow the heat-drops fell:
Thence sprang and bloomed those wondrous trees:
Such holy power have devotees.
Thus, from the hermits' heat-drops sprung,
Their growth is ever fresh and young.
There Śavarí is dwelling yet,
Who served each vanished anchoret.
[pg 316]
Beneath the shade of holy boughs
That ancient votaress keeps her vows.
Her happy eyes on thee will fall,
O godlike prince, adored by all,
And she, whose life is pure from sin,
A blissful seat in heaven will win.
But cross, O son of Raghu, o'er,
And stand on Pampá's western shore.
A tranquil hermitage that lies
Deep in the woods will meet thine eyes.
No wandering elephants invade
The stillness of that holy shade,
But checked by saint Matanga's power
They spare each consecrated bower.
Through many an age those trees have stood
World-famous as Matanga's wood
Still, Raghu's son, pursue thy way:
Through shades where birds are vocal stray,
Fair as the blessed wood where rove
Immortal Gods, or Nandan's grove.
Near Pampá eastward, full in sight,
Stands Rishyamúka's wood-crowned height.
'Tis hard to climb that towering steep
Where serpents unmolested sleep.
The free and bounteous, formed of old
By Brahmá of superior mould,
Who sink when day is done to rest
Reclining on that mountain crest,—
What wealth or joy in dreams they view,
Awaking find the vision true.
But if a villain stained with crime
That holy hill presume to climb,
The giants in their fury sweep
From the hill top the wretch asleep.
There loud and long is heard the roar
Of elephants on Pampá's shore,
Who near Matanga's dwelling stray
And in those waters bathe and play.
A while they revel by the flood,
Their temples stained with streams like blood,
Then wander far away dispersed,
Dark as huge clouds before they burst.
But ere they part they drink their fill
Of bright pure water from the rill,
Delightful to the touch, where meet
Scents of all flowers divinely sweet,
Then speeding from the river side
Deep in the sheltering thicket hide.
Then bears and tigers shalt thou view
Whose soft skins show the sapphire's hue,
And silvan deer that wander nigh
Shall harmless from thy presence fly.
High in that mountain's wooded side
Is a fair cavern deep and wide,
Yet hard to enter: piles of rock
The portals of the cavern block.521
Fast by the eastern door a pool
Gleams with broad waters fresh and cool,
Where stores of roots and fruit abound,
And thick trees shade the grassy ground.
This mountain cave the virtuous-souled
Sugríva, and his Vánars hold,
And oft the mighty chieftain seeks
The summits of those towering peaks.”
Thus spake Kabandha high in air
His counsel to the royal pair.
Still on his neck that wreath he bore,
And radiance like the sun's he wore.
Their eyes the princely brothers raised
And on that blissful being gazed:
“Behold, we go: no more delay;
Begin,” they cried, “thy heavenward way.”
“Depart,” Kabandha's voice replied,
“Pursue your search, and bliss betide.”
Thus to the happy chiefs he said,
Then on his heavenward journey sped.
Thus once again Kabandha won
A shape that glittered like the sun
Without a spot or stain.
Thus bade he Ráma from the air
To great Sugríva's side repair
His friendly love to gain.
Canto LXXV. Savarí.

Thus counselled by their friendly guide
On through the wood the princes hied,
Pursuing still the eastern road
To Pampá which Kabandha showed,
Where trees that on the mountains grew
With fruit like honey charmed the view.
They rested weary for the night
Upon a mountain's wooded height,
Then onward with the dawn they hied
And stood on Pampá's western side,
Where Śavarí's fair home they viewed
Deep in that shady solitude.
The princes reached the holy ground
Where noble trees stood thick around,
And joying in the lovely view
Near to the aged votaress drew.
To meet the sons of Raghu came,
With hands upraised, the pious dame,
And bending low with reverence meet
Welcomed them both and pressed their feet.
Then water, as beseems, she gave,
Their lips to cool, their feet to lave.
To that pure saint who never broke
One law of duty Ráma spoke:
“I trust no cares invade thy peace,
While holy works and zeal increase;
That thou content with scanty food
All touch of ire hast long subdued;
That all thy vows are well maintained
[pg 317]
While peace of mind is surely gained,
That reverence of the saints who taught
Thy faithful heart due fruit has brought.”
The aged votaress pure of taint,
Revered by every perfect saint,
Rose to her feet by Ráma's side
And thus in gentle tones replied:
“My penance meed this day I see
Complete, my lord, in meeting thee.
This day the fruit of birth I gain,
Nor have I served the saints in vain.
I reap rich fruits of toil and vow,
And heaven itself awaits me now,
When I, O chief of men, have done
Honour to thee the godlike one.
I feel, great lord, thy gentle eye
My earthly spirit purify,
And I, brave tamer of thy foes,
Shall through thy grace in bliss repose.
Thy feet by Chitrakúṭa strayed
When those great saints whom I obeyed,
In dazzling chariots bright of hue,
Hence to their heavenly mansions flew.
As the high saints were borne away
I heard their holy voices say:
“In this pure grove, O devotee,
Prince Ráma soon will visit thee.
When he and Lakshmaṇ seek this shade,
Be to thy guests all honour paid.
Him shalt thou see, and pass away
To those blest worlds which ne'er decay.”
To me, O mighty chief, the best
Of lofty saints these words addressed.
Laid up within my dwelling lie
Fruits of each sort which woods supply,—
Food culled for thee in endless store
From every tree on Pampá's shore.”
Thus to her virtuous guest she sued
And he, with heavenly lore endued,
Words such as these in turn addressed
To her with equal knowledge blest:
“Danu himself the power has told
Of thy great masters lofty-souled.
Now if thou will, mine eyes would fain
Assurance of their glories gain.”
She heard the prince his wish declare:
Then rose she, and the royal pair
Of brothers through the wood she led
That round her holy dwelling spread.
“Behold Matanga's wood” she cried,
“A grove made famous far and wide.
Dark as thick clouds and filled with herds
Of wandering deer, and joyous birds.
In this pure spot each reverend sire
With offerings fed the holy fire.
See here the western altar stands
Where daily with their trembling hands
The aged saints, so long obeyed
By me, their gifts of blossoms laid.
The holy power, O Raghu's son,
By their ascetic virtue won,
Still keeps their well-loved altar bright,
Filling the air with beams of light.
And those seven neighbouring lakes behold
Which, when the saints infirm and old,
Worn out by fasts, no longer sought,
Moved hither drawn by power of thought.
Look, Ráma, where the devotees
Hung their bark mantles on the trees,
Fresh from the bath: those garments wet
Through many a day are dripping yet.
See, through those aged hermits' power
The tender spray, this bright-hued flower
With which the saints their worship paid,
Fresh to this hour nor change nor fade.
Here thou hast seen each lawn and dell,
And heard the tale I had to tell:
Permit thy servant, lord, I pray,
To cast this mortal shell away,
For I would dwell, this life resigned,
With those great saints of lofty mind,
Whom I within this holy shade
With reverential care obeyed.”
When Ráma and his brother heard
The pious prayer the dame preferred,
Filled full of transport and amazed
They marvelled as her words they praised.
Then Ráma to the votaress said
Whose holy vows were perfected:
“Go, lady, where thou fain wouldst be,
O thou who well hast honoured me.”
Her locks in hermit fashion tied,
Clad in bark coat and black deer-hide,
When Ráma gave consent, the dame
Resigned her body to the flame.
Then like the fire that burns and glows,
To heaven the sainted lady rose,
In all her heavenly garments dressed,
Immortal wreaths on neck and breast,
Bright with celestial gems she shone
Most beautiful to look upon,
And like the flame of lightning sent
A glory through the firmament.
That holy sphere the dame attained,
By depth of contemplation gained,
Where roam high saints with spirits pure
In bliss that shall for aye endure.
Canto LXXVI. Pampá.

When Śavarí had sought the skies
And gained her splendid virtue's prize,
Ráma with Lakshmaṇ stayed to brood
O'er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed.
His mind upon those saints was bent,
For power and might preëminent
And he to musing Lakshmaṇ spoke
The thoughts that in his bosom woke:
[pg 318]
“Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed
Of those great saints with souls subdued,
Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds,
And deer abound in heedless herds.
Our feet upon the banks have stood
Of those seven lakes within the wood,
Where we have duly dipped, and paid
Libations to each royal shade.
Forgotten now are thoughts of ill
And joyful hopes my bosom fill.
Again my heart is light and gay
And grief and care have passed away.
Come, brother, let us hasten where
Bright Pampá's flood is fresh and fair,
And towering in their beauty near
Mount Rishyamúka's heights appear,
Which, offspring of the Lord of Light,
Still fearing Báli's conquering might,
With four brave chiefs of Vánar race
Sugríva makes his dwelling-place.
I long with eager heart to find
That leader of the Vánar kind,
For on that chief my hopes depend
That this our quest have prosperous end.”
Thus Ráma spoke, in battle tried,
And thus Sumitrá's son replied:
“Come, brother, come, and speed away:
My spirit brooks no more delay.”
Thus spake Sumitrá's son, and then
Forth from the grove the king of men
With his dear brother by his side
To Pampá's lucid waters hied.
He gazed upon the woods where grew
Trees rich in flowers of every hue.
From brake and dell on every side
The curlew and the peacock cried,
And flocks of screaming parrots made
Shrill music in the bloomy shade.
His eager eyes, as on he went,
On many a pool and tree were bent.
Inflamed with love he journeyed on
Till a fair flood before him shone.
He stood upon the water's side
Which streams from distant hills supplied:
Matanga's name that water bore:
There bathed he from the shelving shore.
Then, each on earnest thoughts intent,
Still farther on their way they went.
But Ráma's heart once more gave way
Beneath his grief and wild dismay.
Before him lay the noble flood
Adorned with many a lotus bud.
On its fair banks Aśoka glowed,
And all bright trees their blossoms showed.
Green banks that silver waves confined
With lovely groves were fringed and lined.
The crystal waters in their flow
Showed level sands that gleamed below.
There glittering fish and tortoise played,
And bending trees gave pleasant shade.
There creepers on the branches hung
With lover-like embraces clung.
There gay Gandharvas loved to meet,
And Kinnars sought the calm retreat.
There wandering Yakshas found delight,
Snake-gods and rovers of the night.
Cool were the pleasant waters, gay
Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray.
There flushed the lotus darkly red,
Here their white glory lilies spread,
Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue:
So carpets gleam with many a hue.
A grove of Mangoes blossomed nigh,
Echoing with the peacock's cry.
When Ráma by his brother's side
The lovely flood of Pampá eyed,
Decked like a beauty, fair to see
With every charm of flower and tree,
His mighty heart with woe was rent
And thus he spoke in wild lament
“Here, Lakshmaṇ, on this beauteous shore,
Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore,
The mountain Rishyamúka bright
With flowery trees that crown each height.
Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore,
The name of Riksharajas bore,
Sugríva, chieftain strong and dread,
Dwells on that mountain's towering head.
Go to him, best of men, and seek
That prince of Vánars on the peak,
I cannot longer brook my pain,
Or, Sítá lost, my life retain.”
Thus by the pangs of love distressed,
His thoughts on Sítá bent,
His faithful brother he addressed,
And cried in wild lament.
He reached the lovely ground that lay
On Pampá's wooded side,
And told in anguish and dismay,
The grief he could not hide.
With listless footsteps faint and slow
His way the chief pursued,
Till Pampá with her glorious show
Of flowering woods he viewed.
Through shades where every bird was found
The prince with Lakshmaṇ passed,
And Pampá with her groves around
Burst on his eyes at last.
[pg 319]
BOOK IV.

Canto I. Ráma's Lament.

The princes stood by Pampá's side522
Which blooming lilies glorified.
With troubled heart and sense o'erthrown
There Ráma made his piteous moan.
As the fair flood before him lay
The reason of the chief gave way;
And tender thoughts within him woke,
As to Sumitrá's son he spoke:
“How lovely Pampá's waters show,
Where streams of lucid crystal flow!
What glorious trees o'erhang the flood
Which blooms of opening lotus stud!
Look on the banks of Pampá where
Thick groves extend divinely fair;
And piles of trees, like hills in size,
Lift their proud summits to the skies.
But thought of Bharat's523 pain and toil,
And my dear spouse the giant's spoil,
Afflict my tortured heart and press
My spirit down with heaviness.
Still fair to me though sunk in woe
Bright Pampá and her forest show.
Where cool fresh waters charm the sight,
And flowers of every hue are bright.
The lotuses in close array
Their passing loveliness display,
And pard and tiger, deer and snake
Haunt every glade and dell and brake.
Those grassy spots display the hue
Of topazes and sapphires' blue,
And, gay with flowers of every dye,
With richly broidered housings vie.
What loads of bloom the high trees crown,
Or weigh the bending branches down!
And creepers tipped with bud and flower
Each spray and loaded limb o'erpower.
Now cool delicious breezes blow,
And kindle love's voluptuous glow,
When balmy sweetness fills the air,
And fruit and flowers and trees are fair.
Those waving woods, that shine with bloom,
Each varied tint in turn assume.
Like labouring clouds they pour their showers
In rain or ever-changing flowers.
Behold, those forest trees, that stand
High upon rock and table-land,
As the cool gales their branches bend,
Their floating blossoms downward send.
See, Lakshmaṇ, how the breezes play
With every floweret on the spray.
And sport in merry guise with all
The fallen blooms and those that fall.
See, brother, where the merry breeze
Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees,
Disturbed amid their toil a throng
Of bees pursue him, loud in song.
The Koïls,524 mad with sweet delight,
The bending trees to dance invite;
And in its joy the wild wind sings
As from the mountain cave he springs.
On speed the gales in rapid course,
And bend the woods beneath their force,
Till every branch and spray they bind
In many a tangled knot entwined.
What balmy sweets those gales dispense
With cool and sacred influence!
Fatigue and trouble vanish: such
The magic of their gentle touch.
Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent
In woods of honey redolent,
Through all their quivering sprays the trees
Are vocal with the murmuring bees.
The hills with towering summits rise,
And with their beauty charm the eyes,
Gay with the giant trees which bright
With blossom spring from every height:
And as the soft wind gently sways
The clustering blooms that load the sprays,
The very trees break forth and sing
With startled wild bees' murmuring.
Thine eyes to yonder Cassias525 turn
Whose glorious clusters glow and burn.
[pg 320]
Those trees in yellow robes behold,
Like giants decked with burnished gold.
Ah me, Sumitrá's son, the spring
Dear to sweet birds who love and sing,
Wakes in my lonely breast the flame
Of sorrow as I mourn my dame.
Love strikes me through with darts of fire,
And wakes in vain the sweet desire.
Hark, the loud Koïl swells his throat,
And mocks me with his joyful note.
I hear the happy wild-cock call
Beside the shady waterfall.
His cry of joy afflicts my breast
By love's absorbing might possessed.
My darling from our cottage heard
One morn in spring this shrill-toned bird,
And called me in her joy to hear
The happy cry that charmed her ear.
See, birds of every varied voice
Around us in the woods rejoice,
On creeper, shrub, and plant alight,
Or wing from tree to tree their flight.
Each bird his kindly mate has found,
And loud their notes of triumph sound,
Blending in sweetest music like
The distant warblings of the shrike.
See how the river banks are lined
With birds of every hue and kind.
Here in his joy the Koïl sings,
There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings.
The blooms of bright Aśokas526 where
The song of wild bees fills the air,
And the soft whisper of the boughs
Increase my longing for my spouse.
The vernal flush of flower and spray
Will burn my very soul away.
What use, what care have I for life
If I no more may see my wife
Soft speaker with the glorious hair,
And eyes with silken lashes fair?
Now is the time when all day long
The Koïls fill the woods with song.
And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch
Which my beloved loved so much.
Ah me, Sumitrá's son, the fire
Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire,
Fanned by the charms the spring time shows,
Will burn my heart and end my woes,
Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree,
But my sweet love no more may see.
Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour
Love in my soul will wax in power,
And spring, upon whose charms I gaze,
Whose breath the heat of toil allays,
With thoughts of her for whom I strain
My hopeless eyes, increase my pain.
As fire in summer rages through
The forests thick with dry bamboo,
So will my fawn eyed love consume
My soul o'erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom.
Behold, beneath each spreading tree
The peacocks dance527 in frantic glee,
And, stirred by all the gales that blow,
Their tails with jewelled windows glow,
Each bird, in happy love elate,
Rejoices with his darling mate.
But sights like these of joy and peace
My pangs of hopeless love increase.
See on the mountain slope above
The peahen languishing with love.
Behold her now in amorous dance
Close to her consort's side advance.
He with a laugh of joy and pride
Displays his glittering pinions wide;
And follows through the tangled dell
The partner whom he loves so well.
Ah happy bird! no giant's hate
Has robbed him of his tender mate;
And still beside his loved one he
Dances beneath the shade in glee.
Ah, in this month when flowers are fair
My widowed woe is hard to bear.
See, gentle love a home may find
In creatures of inferior kind.
See how the peahen turns to meet
Her consort now with love-drawn feet.
[pg 321]
So, Lakshmaṇ, if my large-eyed dear,
The child of Janak still were here,
She, by love's thrilling influence led,
Upon my breast would lay her head.
These blooms I gathered from the bough
Without my love are useless now.
A thousand blossoms fair to see
With passing glory clothe each tree
That hangs its cluster-burthened head
Now that the dewy months528 are fled,
But, followed by the bees that ply
Their fragrant task, they fall and die.
A thousand birds in wild delight
Their rapture-breathing notes unite;
Bird calls to bird in joyous strain,
And turns my love to frenzied pain.
O, if beneath those alien skies,
There be a spring where Sítá lies,
I know my prisoned love must be
Touched with like grief, and mourn with me.
But ah, methinks that dreary clime
Knows not the touch of spring's sweet time.
How could my black eyed love sustain,
Without her lord, so dire a pain?
Or if the sweet spring come to her
In distant lands a prisoner,
How may his advent and her met
On every side with taunt and threat?
Ah, if the springtide's languor came
With soft enchantment o'er my dame,
My darling of the lotus eye,
My gently speaking love, would die;
For well my spirit knows that she
Can never live bereft of me
With love that never wavered yet
My Sítá's heart, on me is set,
Who, with a soul that ne'er can stray,
With equal love her love repay.
In vain, in vain the soft wind brings
Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings;
Delicious from his native snow,
To me like fire he seems to glow.
O, how I loved a breeze like this
When darling Sítá shared the bliss!
But now in vain for me it blows
To fan the fury of my woes.
That dark-winged bird that sought the skies
Foretelling grief with warning cries,
Sits on the tree where buds are gay,
And pours glad music from the spray.
That rover of the fields of air
Will aid my love with friendly care,
And me with gracious pity guide
To my large-eyed Videhan's side.529
Hark, Lakshmaṇ, how the woods around
With love-inspiring chants resound,
Where birds in every bloom-crowned tree
Pour forth their amorous minstrelsy.
As though an eager gallant wooed
A gentle maid by love subdued,
Enamoured of her flowers the bee
Darts at the wind-rocked Tila tree.530
Aśoka, brightest tree that grows,
That lends a pang to lovers' woes,
Hangs out his gorgeous bloom in scorn
And mocks me as I weep forlorn.
O Lakshmaṇ, turn thine eye and see
Each blossom-laden Mango tree,
Like a young lover gaily dressed
Whom fond desire forbids to rest.
Look, son of Queen Sumitrá through
The forest glades of varied hue,
Where blooms are bright and grass is green
The Kinnars531 with their loves are seen.
See, brother, see where sweet and bright
Those crimson lilies charm the sight,
And o'er the flood a radiance throw
Fair as the morning's roseate glow.
See, Pampá, most divinely sweet,
The swan's and mallard's loved retreat,
Shows her glad waters bright and clear,
Where lotuses their heads uprear
From the pure wave, and charm the view
With mingled tints of red and blue.
Each like the morning's early beams
Reflected in the crystal gleams;
And bees on their sweet toil intent
Weigh down each tender filament.
There with gay lawns the wood recedes;
There wildfowl sport amid the reeds,
There roedeer stand upon the brink,
And elephants descend to drink.
The rippling waves which winds make fleet
Against the bending lilies beat,
And opening bud and flower and stem
Gleam with the drops that hang on them.
Life has no pleasure left for me
While my dear queen I may not see,
[pg 322]
Who loved so well those blooms that vie
With the full splendour of her eye.
O tyrant Love, who will not let
My bosom for one hour forget
The lost one whom I yearn to meet,
Whose words were ever kind and sweet.
Ah, haply might my heart endure
This hopeless love that knows not cure,
If spring with all his trees in flower
Assailed me not with ruthless power.
Each lovely scene, each sound and sight
Wherein, with her, I found delight,
Has lost the charm so sweet of yore,
And glads my widowed heart no more.
On lotus buds I seem to gaze,
Or blooms that deck Paláśa532 sprays;533
But to my tortured memory rise
The glories of my darling's eyes.
Cool breezes through the forest stray
Gathering odours on their way,
Enriched with all the rifled scent
Of lotus flower and filament.
Their touch upon my temples falls
And Sítá's fragrant breath recalls.
Now look, dear brother, on the right
Of Pampá towers a mountain height
Where fairest Cassia trees unfold
The treasures of their burnished gold.
Proud mountain king! his woody side
With myriad ores is decked and dyed,
And as the wind-swept blossoms fall
Their fragrant dust is stained with all.
To yon high lands thy glances turn:
With pendent fire they flash and burn,
Where in their vernal glory blaze
Paláśa flowers on leafless sprays.
O Lakshmaṇ, look! on Pampá's side
What fair trees rise in blooming pride!
What climbing plants above them show
Or hang their flowery garlands low!
See how the amorous creeper rings
The wind-rocked trees to which she clings,
As though a dame by love impelled
With clasping arms her lover held.
Drunk with the varied scents that fill
The balmy air, from hill to hill,
From grove to grove, from tree to tree,
The joyous wind is wandering free.
These gay trees wave their branches bent
By blooms, of honey redolent.
There, slowly opening to the day,
Buds with dark lustre deck the spray.
The wild bee rests a moment where
Each tempting flower is sweet and fair,
Then, coloured by the pollen dyes,
Deep in some odorous blossom lies.
Soon from his couch away he springs:
To other trees his course he wings,
And tastes the honeyed blooms that grow
Where Pampá's lucid waters flow.
See, Lakshmaṇ, see, how thickly spread
With blossoms from the trees o'erhead,
That grass the weary traveller woos
With couches of a thousand hues,
And beds on every height arrayed
With red and yellow tints are laid,
No longer winter chills the earth:
A thousand flowerets spring to birth,
And trees in rivalry assume
Their vernal garb of bud and bloom.
How fair they look, how bright and gay
With tasselled flowers on every spray!
While each to each proud challenge flings
Borne in the song the wild bee sings.
That mallard by the river edge
Has bathed amid the reeds and sedge:
Now with his mate he fondly plays
And fires my bosom as I gaze.
Mandákiní534 is far renowned:
No lovelier flood on earth is found;
But all her fairest charms combined
In this sweet stream enchant the mind.
O, if my love were here to look
With me upon this lovely brook,
Never for Ayodhyá would I pine,
Or wish that Indra's lot were mine.
If by my darling's side I strayed
O'er the soft turf which decks the glade,
Each craving thought were sweetly stilled,
Each longing of my soul fulfilled.
But, now my love is far away,
Those trees which make the woods so gay,
In all their varied beauty dressed,
Wake thoughts of anguish in my breast.
That lotus-covered stream behold
Whose waters run so fresh and cold,
[pg 323]
Sweet rill, the wildfowl's loved resort,
Where curlew, swan, and diver sport;
Where with his consort plays the drake,
And tall deer love their thirst to slake,
While from each woody bank is heard
The wild note of each happy bird.
The music of that joyous quire
Fills all my soul with soft desire;
And, as I hear, my sad thoughts fly
To Sítá of the lotus eye,
Whom, lovely with her moonbright cheek,
In vain mine eager glances seek.
Now turn, those chequered lawns survey
Where hart and hind together stray.
Ah, as they wander at their will
My troubled breast with grief they fill,
While torn by hopeless love I sigh
For Sítá of the fawn-like eye.
If in those glades where, touched by spring,
Gay birds their amorous ditties sing,
Mine own beloved I might see,
Then, brother, it were well with me:
If by my side she wandered still,
And this cool breeze that stirs the rill
Touched with its gentle breath the brows
Of mine own dear Videhan spouse.
For, Lakshmaṇ, O how blest are those
On whom the breath of Pampá blows,
Dispelling all their care and gloom
With sweets from where the lilies bloom!
How can my gentle love remain
Alive amid the woe and pain,
Where prisoned far away she lies,—
My darling of the lotus eyes?
How shall I dare her sire to greet
Whose lips have never known deceit?
How stand before the childless king
And meet his eager questioning?
When banished by my sire's decree,
In low estate, she followed me.
So pure, so true to every vow,
Where is my gentle darling now?
How can I bear my widowed lot,
And linger on where she is not,
Who followed when from home I fled
Distracted, disinherited?
My spirit sinks in hopeless pain
When my fond glances yearn in vain
For that dear face with whose bright eye
The worshipped lotus scarce can vie.
Ah when, my brother, shall I hear
That voice that rang so soft and clear,
When, sweetly smiling as she spoke,
From her dear lips gay laughter broke?
When worn with toil and love I strayed
With Sítá through the forest shade,
No trace of grief was seen in her,
My kind and thoughtful comforter.
How shall my faltering tongue relate
To Queen Kauśalyá Sítá's fate?
How answer when in wild despair
She questions, Where is Sítá, where?
Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie,
On whose fond love I still rely.
My life can be no longer borne,
Since Sítá from my side is torn.”
Thus like a helpless mourner, bent
By sorrow, Ráma made lament;
And with wise counsel Lakshmaṇ tried
To soothe his care, and thus replied:
“O best of men, thy grief oppose,
Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes.
Not thus despond the great and pure
And brave like thee, but still endure.
Reflect what anguish wrings the heart
When loving souls are forced to part;
And, mindful of the coming pain,
Thy love within thy breast restrain.
For earth, though cooled by wandering streams,
Lies scorched beneath the midday beams.
Rávaṇ his steps to hell may bend,
Or lower yet in flight descend;
But be thou sure, O Raghu's son,
Avenging death he shall not shun.
Rise, Ráma, rise: the search begin,
And track the giant foul with sin.
Then shall the fiend, though far he fly,
Resign his prey or surely die.
Yea, though the trembling monster hide
With Sítá close to Diti's535 side,
E'en there, unless he yield the prize,
Slain by this wrathful hand he dies.
Thy heart with strength and courage stay,
And cast this weakling mood away.
Our fainting hopes in vain revive
Unless with firm resolve we strive.
The zeal that fires the toiler's breast
Mid earthly powers is first and best.
Zeal every check and bar defies,
And wins at length the loftiest prize,
In woe and danger, toil and care,
Zeal never yields to weak despair.
With zealous heart thy task begin,
And thou once more thy spouse shalt win.
Cast fruitless sorrow from thy soul,
Nor let this love thy heart control.
Forget not all thy sacred lore,
But be thy noble self once more.”
He heard, his bosom rent by grief,
The counsel of his brother chief;
Crushed in his heart the maddening pain,
And rose resolved and strong again.
Then forth upon his journey went
The hero on his task intent,
Nor thought of Pampá's lovely brook,
[pg 324]
Or trees which murmuring breezes shook,
Though on dark woods his glances fell,
On waterfall and cave and dell;
And still by many a care distressed
The son of Raghu onward pressed.
As some wild elephant elate
Moves through the woods in pride,
So Lakshmaṇ with majestic gait
Strode by his brother's side.
He, for his lofty spirit famed,
Admonished and consoled;
Showed Raghu's son what duty claimed,
And bade his heart be bold.
Then as the brothers strode apace
To Rishyamúka's height,
The sovereign of the Vánar race536
Was troubled at the sight.
As on the lofty hill he strayed
He saw the chiefs draw near:
A while their glorious forms surveyed,
And mused in restless fear.
His slow majestic step he stayed
And gazed upon the pair.
And all his spirit sank dismayed
By fear too great to bear.
When in their glorious might the best
Of royal chiefs came nigh,
The Vánars in their wild unrest
Prepared to turn and fly.
They sought the hermit's sacred home537
For peace and bliss ordained,
And there, where Vánars loved to roam,
A sure asylum gained.
Canto II. Sugríva's Alarm.

Sugríva moved by wondering awe
The high-souled sons of Raghu saw,
In all their glorious arms arrayed;
And grief upon his spirit weighed.
To every quarter of the sky
He turned in fear his anxious eye,
And roving still from spot to spot
With troubled steps he rested not.
He durst not, as he viewed the pair,
Resolve to stand and meet them there;
And drooping cheer and quailing breast
The terror of the chief confessed.
While the great fear his bosom shook,
Brief counsel with his lords he took;
Each gain and danger closely scanned,
What hope in flight, what power to stand,
While doubt and fear his bosom rent,
On Raghu's sons his eyes he bent,
And with a spirit ill at ease
Addressed his lords in words like these:
“Those chiefs with wandering steps invade
The shelter of our pathless shade,
And hither come in fair disguise
Of hermit garb as Báli's spies.”
Each lord beheld with troubled heart
Those masters of the bowman's art,
And left the mountain side to seek
Sure refuge on a loftier peak.
The Vánar chief in rapid flight
Found shelter on a towering height,
And all the band with one accord
Were closely gathered round their lord.
Their course the same, with desperate leap
Each made his way from steep to steep,
And speeding on in wild career
Filled every height with sudden fear.
Each heart was struck with mortal dread,
As on their course the Vánars sped,
While trees that crowned the steep were bent
And crushed beneath them as they went.
As in their eager flight they pressed
For safety to each mountain crest,
The wild confusion struck with fear
Tiger and cat and wandering deer.
The lords who watched Sugríva's will
Were gathered on the royal hill,
And all with reverent hands upraised
Upon their king and leader gazed.
Sugríva feared some evil planned,
Some train prepared by Báli's hand.
But, skilled in words that charm and teach,
Thus Hanumán538 began his speech:
“Dismiss, dismiss thine idle fear,
Nor dread the power of Báli here.
For this is Malaya's glorious hill539
Where Báli's might can work no ill.
I look around but nowhere see
The hated foe who made thee flee,
Fell Báli, fierce in form and face:
Then fear not, lord of Vánar race.
Alas, in thee I clearly find
The weakness of the Vánar kind,
[pg 325]
That loves from thought to thought to range,
Fix no belief and welcome change.
Mark well each hint and sign and scan,
Discreet and wise, thine every plan.
How may a king, with sense denied,
The subjects of his sceptre guide?”
Hanúmán,540 wise in hour of need,
Urged on the chief his prudent rede.
His listening ear Sugríva bent,
And spake in words more excellent:
“Where is the dauntless heart that free
From terror's chilling touch can see
Two stranger warriors, strong as those,
Equipped with swords and shafts and bows,
With mighty arms and large full eyes,
Like glorious children of the skies?
Báli my foe, I ween, has sent
These chiefs to aid his dark intent.
Hence doubt and fear disturb me still,
For thousands serve a monarch's will,
In borrowed garb they come, and those
Who walk disguised are counted foes.
With secret thoughts they watch their time,
And wound fond hearts that fear no crime.
My foe in state affairs is wise,
And prudent kings have searching eyes.
By other hands they strike the foe:
By meaner tools the truth they know.
Now to those stranger warriors turn,
And, less than king, their purpose learn.
Mark well the trick and look of each;
Observe his form and note his speech.
With care their mood and temper sound,
And, if their minds be friendly found,
With courteous looks and words begin
Their confidence and love to win.
Then as my friend and envoy speak,
And question what the strangers seek.
Ask why equipped with shaft and bow
Through this wild maze of wood they go.
If they, O chief, at first appear
Pure of all guile, in heart sincere,
Detect in speech and look the sin
And treachery that lurk within.”
He spoke: the Wind-God's son obeyed.
With ready zeal he sought the shade,
And reached with hasty steps the wood
Where Raghu's son and Lakshmaṇ stood.541
Canto III. Hanumán's Speech.

The envoy in his faithful breast
Pondered Sugríva's high behest.
From Rishyamúka's peak he hied
And placed him by the princes' side.
The Wind-God's son with cautious art
Had laid his Vánar form apart,
And wore, to cheat the strangers eyes,
A wandering mendicant's disguise.542
Before the heroes' feet he bent
And did obeisance reverent,
And spoke, the glorious pair to praise,
His words of truth in courteous phrase,
High honour duly paid, the best
Of all the Vánar kind addressed,
With free accord and gentle grace,
Those glories of their warrior race:
“O hermits, blest in vows, who shine
Like royal saints or Gods divine,
O best of young ascetics, say
How to this spot you found your way,
Scaring the troops of wandering deer
And silvan things that harbour here
Searching amid the trees that grow
Where Pampá's gentle waters flow.
And lending from your brows a gleam
Of glory to the lovely stream.
Who are you, say, so brave and fair,
Clad in the bark which hermits wear?
I see you heave the frequent sigh,
I see the deer before you fly.
While you, for strength and valour dread,
The earth, like lordly lions, tread,
Each bearing in his hand a bow,
Like Indra's own, to slay the foe.
With the grand paces of a bull,
So bright and young and beautiful.
The mighty arms you raise appear
Like trunks which elephants uprear,
And as you move this mountain-king543
Is glorious with the light you bring.
How have you reached, like Gods in face,
Best lords of earth, this lonely place,
[pg 326]
With tresses coiled in hermit guise,544
And splendours of those lotus eyes?
As Gods who leave their heavenly sphere,
Alike your beauteous forms appear.
The Lords of Day and Night545 might thus
Stray from the skies to visit us.
Heroic youth, so broad of chest,
Fair with the beauty of the Blest,
With lion shoulders, tall and strong,
Like bulls who lead the lowing throng,
Your arms, unmatched for grace and length,
With massive clubs may vie in strength.
Why do no gauds those limbs adorn
Where priceless gems were meetly worn?
Each noble youth is fit, I deem,
To guard this earth, as lord supreme,
With all her woods and seas, to reign
From Meru's peak to Vindhya's chain.
Your smooth bows decked with dyes and gold
Are glorious in their masters' hold,
And with the arms of Indra546 vie
Which diamond splendours beautify.
Your quivers glow with golden sheen,
Well stored with arrows fleet and keen,
Each gleaming like a fiery snake
That joys the foeman's life to take.
As serpents cast their sloughs away
And all their new born sheen display,
So flash your mighty swords inlaid
With burning gold on hilt and blade.
Why are you silent, heroes? Why
My questions hear nor deign reply?
Sugríva, lord of virtuous mind,
The foremost of the Vánar kind,
An exile from his royal state,
Roams through the land disconsolate.
I, Hanumán, of Vánar race,
Sent by the king have sought this place,
For he, the pious, just, and true,
In friendly league would join with you.
Know, godlike youths, that I am one
Of his chief lords, the Wind-God's son.
With course unchecked I roam at will,
And now from Rishyamúka's hill,
To please his heart, his hope to speed,
I came disguised in beggar's weed.”
Thus Hanúmán, well trained in lore
Of language, spoke, and said no more.
The son of Raghu joyed to hear
The envoy's speech, and bright of cheer
He turned to Lakshmaṇ by his side,
And thus in words of transport cried:
“The counselor we now behold
Of King Sugríva righteous-souled.
His face I long have yearned to see,
And now his envoy comes to me
With sweetest words in courteous phrase
Answer this mighty lord who slays
His foemen, by Sugríva sent,
This Vánar chief most eloquent.
For one whose words so sweetly flow
The whole Rig-veda547 needs must know,
And in his well-trained memory store
The Yajush and the Sáman's lore.
He must have bent his faithful ear
All grammar's varied rules to hear.
For his long speech how well he spoke!
In all its length no rule he broke.
In eye, on brow, in all his face
The keenest look no guile could trace.
No change of hue, no pose of limb
Gave sign that aught was false in him.
Concise, unfaltering, sweet and clear,
Without a word to pain the ear.
From chest to throat, nor high nor low,
His accents came in measured flow.
How well he spoke with perfect art
That wondrous speech that charmed the heart,
With finest skill and order graced
In words that knew nor pause nor haste!
That speech, with consonants that spring
From the three seats of uttering,548
Would charm the spirit of a foe
Whose sword is raised for mortal blow.
How may a ruler's plan succeed
Who lacks such envoy good at need?
How fail, if one whose mind is stored
With gifts so rare assist his lord?
What plans can fail, with wisest speech
Of envoy's lips to further each?”
Thus Ráma spoke; and Lakshmaṇ taught
In all the art that utters thought,
To King Sugríva's learned spy
Thus made his eloquent reply:
“Full well we know the gifts that grace
Sugríva, lord of Vánar race,
And hither turn our wandering feet
That we that high-souled king may meet.
So now our pleasant task shall be
To do the words he speaks by thee.”
His prudent speech the Vánar heard,
And all his heart with joy was stirred.
And hope that league with them would bring
Redress and triumph to his king.
[pg 327]
Canto IV. Lakshman's Reply.

Cheered by the words that Ráma spoke,
Joy in the Vánar's breast awoke,
And, as his friendly mood he knew,
His thoughts to King Sugríva flew:
“Again,” he mused, “my high-souled lord
Shall rule, to kingly state restored;
Since one so mighty comes to save,
And freely gives the help we crave.”
Then joyous Hanumán, the best
Of all the Vánar kind, addressed
These words to Ráma, trained of yore
In all the arts of speakers' lore:549
“Why do your feet this forest tread
By silvan life inhabited,
This awful maze of tree and thorn
Which Pampá's flowering groves adorn?”
He spoke: obedient to the eye
Of Ráma, Lakshmaṇ made reply,
The name and fortune to unfold
Of Raghu's son the lofty-souled:
“True to the law, of fame unstained,
The glorious Daśaratha reigned,
And, steadfast in his duty, long
Kept the four castes550 from scathe and wrong.
Through his wide realm his will was done,
And, loved by all, he hated none.
Just to each creature great and small,
Like the Good Sire he cared for all.
The Ágnishṭom,551 as priests advised,
And various rites he solemnized,
Where ample largess ever paid
The Bráhmans for their holy aid.
Here Ráma stands, his heir by birth,
Whose name is glorious in the earth:
Sure refuge he of all oppressed,
Most faithful to his sire's behest.
He, Daśaratha's eldest born
Whom gifts above the rest adorn,
Lord of each high imperial sign,552
The glory of his kingly line,
Reft of his right, expelled from home,
Came forth with me the woods to roam.
And Sítá too, his faithful dame,
Forth with her virtuous husband came,
Like the sweet light when day is done
Still cleaving to her lord the sun.
And me his sweet perfections drew
To follow as his servant true.
Named Lakshmaṇ, brother of my lord
Of grateful heart with knowledge stored
Most meet is he all bliss to share,
Who makes the good of all his care.
While, power and lordship cast away,
In the wild wood he chose to stay,
A giant came,—his name unknown,—
And stole the princess left alone.
Then Diti's son553 who, cursed of yore,
The semblance of a Rákshas wore,
To King Sugríva bade us turn
The robber's name and home to learn.
For he, the Vánar chief, would know
The dwelling of our secret foe.
Such words of hope spake Diti's son,
And sought the heaven his deeds had won.
Thou hast my tale. From first to last
Thine ears have heard whate'er has past.
Ráma the mighty lord and I
For refuge to Sugríva fly.
The prince whose arm bright glory gained,
O'er the whole earth as monarch reigned,
And richest gifts to others gave,
Is come Sugríva's help to crave;
Son of a king the surest friend
Of virtue, him who loved to lend
His succour to the suffering weak,
Is come Sugríva's aid to seek.
Yes, Raghu's son whose matchless hand
Protected all this sea-girt land,
The virtuous prince, my holy guide,
For refuge seeks Sugríva's side.
His favour sent on great and small
Should ever save and prosper all.
He now to win Sugríva's grace
Has sought his woodland dwelling-place.
[pg 328]
Son of a king of glorious fame;—
Who knows not Daśaratha's name?—
From whom all princes of the earth
Received each honour due to worth;—
Heir of that best of earthly kings,
Ráma the prince whose glory rings
Through realms below and earth and skies,
For refuge to Sugríva flies.
Nor should the Vánar king refuse
The boon for which the suppliant sues,
But with his forest legions speed
To save him in his utmost need.”
Sumitrá's son, his eyes bedewed
With piteous tears, thus sighed and sued.
Then, trained in all the arts that guide
The speaker, Hanumán replied:
“Yea, lords like you of wisest thought,
Whom happy fate has hither brought,
Who vanquish ire and rule each sense,
Must of our lord have audience.
Reft of his kingdom, sad, forlorn,
Once Báli's hate now Báli's scorn,
Defeated, severed from his spouse,
Wandering under forest boughs,
Child of the Sun, our lord and king
Sugríva will his succours bring,
And all our Vánar hosts combined
Will trace the dame you long to find.”
With gentle tone and winning grace
Thus spake the chief of Vánar race,
And then to Raghu's son he cried:
“Come, haste we to Sugríva's side.”
He spoke, and for his words so sweet
Good Lakshmaṇ paid all honour meet;
Then turned and cried to Raghu's son:
“Now deem thy task already done,
Because this chief of Vánar kind,
Son of the God who rules the wind,
Declares Sugríva's self would be
Assisted in his need by thee.
Bright gleams of joy his cheek o'erspread
As each glad word of hope he said;
And ne'er will one so valiant deign
To cheer our hearts with hope in vain.”
He spoke, and Hanumán the wise
Cast off his mendicant disguise,
And took again his Vánar form,
Son of the God of wind and storm.
High on his ample back in haste
Raghu's heroic sons he placed,
And turned with rapid steps to find
The sovereign of the Vánar kind.
Canto V. The League.

From Rishyamúka's rugged side
To Malaya's hill the Vánar hied,
And to his royal chieftain there
Announced the coming of the pair:
“See, here with Lakshmaṇ Ráma stands
Illustrious in a hundred lands.
Whose valiant heart will never quail
Although a thousand foes assail;
King Daśaratha's son, the grace
And glory of Ikshváku's race.
Obedient to his father's will
He cleaves to sacred duty still.
With rites of royal pomp and pride
His sire the Fire-God gratified;
Ten hundred thousand kine he freed,
And priests enriched with ample meed;
And the broad land protected, famed
For truthful lips and passions tamed.
Through woman's guile his son has made
His dwelling in the forest shade,
Where, as he lived with every sense
Subdued in hermit abstinence,
Fierce Rávaṇ stole his wife, and he
Is come a suppliant, lord, to thee.
Now let all honour due be paid
To these great chiefs who seek thine aid.”
Thus spake the Vánar prince, and, stirred
With friendly thoughts, Sugríva heard.
The light of joy his face o'erspread,
And thus to Raghu's son he said:
“O Prince, in rules of duty trained,
Caring for all with love unfeigned,
Hanúmán's tongue has truly shown
The virtues that are thine alone.
My chiefest glory, gain, and bliss,
O stranger Prince, I reckon this,
That Raghu's son will condescend
To seek the Vánar for his friend.
If thou my true ally wouldst be
Accept the pledge I offer thee,
This hand in sign of friendship take,
And bind the bond we ne'er will break.”
He spoke, and joy thrilled Ráma's breast;
Sugríva's hand he seized and pressed
And, transport beaming from his eye,
Held to his heart his new ally.
In wanderer's weed disguised no more,
His proper form Hanúmán wore.
Then, wood with wood engendering,554 came
Neath his deft hands the kindled flame.
Between the chiefs that fire he placed
[pg 329]
With wreaths of flowers and worship graced.
And round its blazing glory went
The friends with slow steps reverent.
Thus each to other pledged and bound
In solemn league new transport found,
And bent upon his dear ally
The gaze he ne'er could satisfy.
“Friend of my soul art thou: we share
Each other's joy, each other's care;”
Thus in the bliss that thrilled his breast
Sugríva Raghu's son addressed.
From a high Sál a branch he tore
Which many a leaf and blossom bore,
And the fine twigs beneath them laid
A seat for him and Ráma made.
Then Hanumán with joyous mind,
Son of the God who rules the wind,
To Lakshmaṇ gave, his seat to be,
The gay branch of a Sandal tree.
Then King Sugríva with his eyes
Still trembling with the sweet surprise
Of the great joy he could not hide,
To Raghu's noblest scion cried:
“O Ráma, racked with woe and fear,
Spurned by my foes, I wander here.
Reft of my spouse, forlorn I dwell
Here in my forest citadel.
Or wild with terror and distress
Roam through the distant wilderness.
Vext by my brother Báli long
My soul has borne the scathe and wrong.
Do thou, whose virtues all revere,
Release me from my woe and fear.
From dire distress thy friend to free
Is a high task and worthy thee.”
He spoke, and Raghu's son who knew
All sacred duties men should do.
The friend of justice, void of guile,
Thus answered with a gentle smile:
“Great Vánar, friends who seek my aid
Still find their trust with fruit repaid.
Báli, thy foe, who stole away
Thy wife this vengeful hand shall slay.
These shafts which sunlike flash and burn,
Winged with the feathers of the hern,
Each swift of flight and sure and dread,
With even knot and pointed head,
Fierce as the crashing fire-bolt sent
By him who rules the firmament,555
Shall reach thy wicked foe and like
Infuriate serpents hiss and strike.
Thou, Vánar King, this day shalt see
The foe who long has injured thee
Lie, like a shattered mountain, low,
Slain by the tempest of my bow.”
Thus Ráma spake: Sugríva heard,
And mighty joy his bosom stirred:
As thus his champion he addressed:
“Now by thy favour, first and best
Of heroes, shall thy friend obtain
His realm and darling wife again
Recovered from the foe.
Check thou mine elder brother's might;
That ne'er again his deadly spite
May rob me of mine ancient right,
Or vex my soul with woe.”
The league was struck, a league to bring
To Sítá fiends, and Vánar king556
Apportioned bliss and bale.
Through her left eye quick throbbings shot,557
Glad signs the lady doubted not,
That told their hopeful tale.
The bright left eye of Báli felt
An inauspicious throb that dealt
A deadly blow that day.
The fiery left eyes of the crew
Of demons felt the throb, and knew
The herald of dismay.
Canto VI. The Tokens.

With joy that sprang from hope restored
To Ráma spake the Vánar lord:
“I know, by wise Hanúmán taught,
Why thou the lonely wood hast sought.
Where with thy brother Lakshmaṇ thou
Hast sojourned, bound by hermit vow;
Have heard how Sítá, Janak's child,
Was stolen in the pathless wild,
How by a roving Rákshas she
Weeping was reft from him and thee;
How, bent on death, the giant slew
The vulture king, her guardian true,
And gave thy widowed breast to know
A solitary mourner's woe.
But soon, dear Prince, thy heart shall be
From every trace of sorrow free;
[pg 330]
For I thy darling will restore,
Lost like the prize of holy lore.558
Yea, though in heaven the lady dwell,
Or prisoned in the depths of hell,
My friendly care her way shall track
And bring thy ransomed darling back.
Let this my promise soothe thy care,
Nor doubt the words I truly swear.
Saints, fiends, and dwellers of the skies
Shall find thy wife a bitter prize,
Like the rash child who rues too late
The treacherous lure of poisoned cate.
No longer, Prince, thy loss deplore:
Thy darling wife will I restore.
'Twas she I saw: my heart infers
That shrinking form was doubtless hers,
Which gaint Rávaṇ, fierce and dread,
Bore swiftly through the clouds o'erhead
Still writhing in his strict embrace
Like helpless queen of serpent race,559
And from her lips that sad voice came
Shrieking thine own and Lakshmaṇ's name.
High on a hill she saw me stand
With comrades twain on either hand.
Her outer robe to earth she threw,
And with it sent her anklets too.
We saw the glittering tokens fall,
We found them there and kept them all.
These will I bring: perchance thine eyes
The treasured spoils will recognize.”
He ceased: then Raghu's son replied
To the glad tale, and eager cried:
“Bring them with all thy speed: delay
No more, dear friend, but haste away.”
Thus Ráma spoke. Sugríva hied
Within the mountain's caverned side,
Impelled by love that stirred each thought
The precious tokens quickly brought,
And said to Raghu's son: Behold
This garment and these rings of gold.
In Ráma's hand with friendly haste
The jewels and the robe he placed.
Then, like the moon by mist assailed,
The tear-dimmed eyes of Ráma failed;
That burst of woe unmanned his frame,
Woe sprung from passion for his dame,
And with his manly strength o'erthrown,
He fell and cried, Ah me! mine own!
Again, again close to his breast
The ornaments and robe he pressed,
While the quick pants that shook his frame
As from a furious serpent came.
On his dear brother standing nigh
He turned at length his piteous eye;
And, while his tears increasing ran,
In bitter wail he thus began:
“Look, brother, and behold once more
The ornaments and robe she wore,
Dropped while the giant bore away
In cruel arras his struggling prey,
Dropped in some quiet spot, I ween,
Where the young grass was soft and green;
For still untouched by spot or stain
Their former beauty all retain.”
He spoke with many a tear and sigh,
And thus his brother made reply:
“The bracelets thou hast fondly shown,
And earrings, are to me unknown,
But by long service taught I greet
The anklets of her honoured feet.”560
Then to Sugríva Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, these words addressed:
“Say to what quarter of the sky
The cruel fiend was seen to fly,
Bearing afar my captured wife,
My darling dearer than my life.
Speak, Vánar King, that I may know
Where dwells the cause of all my woe;
The fiend for whose transgression all
The giants by this hand shall fall.
He who the Maithil lady stole
And kindled fury in my soul,
Has sought his fate in senseless pride
And opened Death's dark portal wide.
Then tell me, Vánar lord, I pray,
The dwelling of my foe,
And he, beneath this hand, to-day
To Yáma's halls shall go.”
[pg 331]
Canto VII. Ráma Consoled.

With longing love and woe oppressed
The Vánar chief he thus addressed:
And he, while sobs his utterance broke,
Raised up his reverent hands and spoke:
“O Raghu's son, I cannot tell
Where now that cruel fiend may dwell,
Declare his power and might, or trace
The author of his cursed race.
Still trust the promise that I make
And let thy breast no longer ache.
So will I toil, nor toil in vain,
That thou thy consort mayst regain.
So will I work with might and skill
That joy anew thy heart shall fill:
The valour of my soul display,
And Rávaṇ and his legions slay.
Awake, awake! unmanned no more
Recall the strength was thine of yore.
Beseems not men like thee to wear
A weak heart yielding to despair.
Like troubles, too, mine eyes have seen,
Lamenting for a long-lost queen;
But, by despair unconquered yet,
My strength of mind I ne'er forget.
Far more shouldst thou of lofty soul
Thy passion and thy tears control,
When I, of Vánar's humbler strain,
Weep not for her in ceaseless pain.
Be firm, be patient, nor forget
The bounds the brave of heart have set
In loss, in woe, in strife, in fear,
When the dark hour of death is near.
Up! with thine own brave heart advise:
Not thus despond the firm and wise.
But he who gives his childish heart
To choose the coward's weakling part,
Sinks, like a foundered vessel, deep
In waves of woe that o'er him sweep.
See, suppliant hand to hand I lay,
And, moved by faithful love, I pray.
Give way no more to grief and gloom,
But all thy native strength resume.
No joy on earth, I ween, have they
Who yield their souls to sorrow's sway.
Their glory fades in slow decline:
'Tis not for thee to grieve and pine.
I do but hint with friendly speech
The wiser part I dare not teach.
This better path, dear friend, pursue,
And let not grief thy soul subdue.”
Sugríva thus with gentle art
And sweet words soothed the mourner's heart,
Who brushed off with his mantle's hem
Tears from the eyes bedewed with them.
Sugríva's words were not in vain,
And Ráma was himself again,
Around the king his arms he threw
And thus began his speech anew:
“Whate'er a friend most wise and true,
Who counsels for the best, should do,
Whate'er his gentle part should be,
Has been performed, dear friend, by thee.
Taught by thy counsel, O my lord,
I feel my native strength restored.
A friend like thee is hard to gain,
Most rare in time of grief and pain.
Now strain thine utmost power to trace
The Maithil lady's dwelling place,
And aid me in my search to find
Fierce Rávaṇ of the impious mind.
Trust thou, in turn, thy loyal friend,
And say what aid this arm can lend
To speed thy hopes, as fostering rain
Quickens in earth the scattered grain.
Deem not those words, that seemed to spring
From pride, are false, O Vánar King.
None from these lips has ever heard,
None e'er shall hear, one lying word.
Again I promise and declare,
Yea, by my truth, dear friend, I swear.”
Then glad was King Sugríva's breast,
And all his lords their joy confessed,
Stirred by sure hope of Ráma's aid,
And promise which the prince had made.
Canto VIII. Ráma's Promise.

Doubt from Sugríva's heart had fled,
And thus to Raghu's son he said:
“No bliss the Gods of heaven deny.
Each views me with a favouring eye,
When thou, whom all good gifts attend,
Hast sought me and become my friend.
Leagued, friend, with thee in bold emprise
My arm might win the conquered skies;
And shall our banded strength be weak
To gain the realm which now I seek?
A happy fate was mine above
My kith and kin and all I love,
When, near the witness fire, I won
Thy friendship, Raghu's glorious son.
Thou too in ripening time shall see
Thy friend not all unworthy thee.
What gifts I have shall thus be shown:
Not mine the tongue to make them known.
Strong is the changeless bond that binds
The friendly faith of noble minds,
In woe, in danger, firm and sure
Their constancy and love endure.
Gold, silver, jewels rich and rare
They count as wealth for friends to share.
[pg 332]
Yea, be they rich or poor and low,
Blest with all joys or sunk in woe,
Stained with each fault or pure of blame,
Their friends the nearest place may claim;
For whom they leave, at friendship's call,
Their gold, their bliss, their homes and all.”
He spoke by generous impulse moved,
And Raghu's son his speech approved
Glancing at Lakshmaṇ by his side,
Like Indra in his beauty's pride.
The Vánar monarch saw the pair
Of mighty brothers standing there,
And turned his rapid eye to view
The forest trees that near him grew.
He saw, not far from where he stood,
A Sál tree towering o'er the wood.
Amid the thick leaves many a bee
Graced the scant blossoms of the tree,
From whose dark shade a bough, that bore
A load of leafy twigs, he tore,
Which on the grassy ground he laid
And seats for him and Ráma made.
Hanúmán saw them sit, he sought
A Sál tree's leafy bough and brought
The burthen, and with meek request
Entreated Lakshmaṇ, too, to rest.
There on the noble mountain's brow,
Strewn with the young leaves of the bough,
Sat Raghu's son in placid ease
Calm as the sea when sleeps the breeze.
Sugríva's heart with rapture swelled,
And thus, by eager love impelled,
He spoke in gracious tone, that, oft
Checked by his joy, was low and soft:
“I, by my brother's might oppressed,
By ceaseless woe and fear distressed,
Mourning my consort far away,
On Rishyamúka's mountain stray.
Expelled by Báli's cruel hate
I wander here disconsolate.
Do thou to whom all sufferers flee,
From his dread hand deliver me.”
He spoke, and Ráma, just and brave,
Whose pious soul to virtue clave,
Smiled as in conscious might he eyed
The king of Vánars, and replied:
“Best fruit of friendship is the deed
That helps the friend in hour of need;
And this mine arm in death shall lay
Thy robber ere the close of day.
For see, these feathered darts of mine
Whose points so fiercely flash and shine,
And shafts with golden emblem, came
From dark woods known by Skanda's name,561
Winged from the pinion of the hern
Like Indra's bolts they strike and burn.
With even knots and piercing head
Each like a furious snake is sped;
With these, to-day, before thine eye
Shall, like a shattered mountain, lie
Báli, thy dread and wicked foe,
O'erwhelmed in hideous overthrow.”
He spoke: Sugríva's bosom swelled
With hope and joy unparalleled.
Then his glad voice the Vánar raised,
And thus the son of Raghu praised:
“Long have I pined in depth of grief;
Thou art the hope of all, O chief.
Now, Raghu's son, I hail thee friend,
And bid thee to my woes attend;
For, by my truth I swear it, now
Not life itself is dear as thou,
Since by the witness fire we met
And friendly hand in hand was set.
Friend communes now with friend, and hence
I tell with surest confidence,
How woes that on my spirit weigh
Consume me through the night and day.”
For sobs and sighs he scarce could speak,
And his sad voice came low and weak,
As, while his eyes with tears o'erflowed,
The burden of his soul he showed.
Then by strong effort, bravely made,
The torrent of his tears he stayed,
Wiped his bright eyes, his grief subdued,
And thus, more calm, his speech renewed:
“By Báli's conquering might oppressed,
Of power and kingship dispossessed,
Loaded with taunts of scorn and hate
I left my realm and royal state.
He tore away my consort: she
Was dearer than my life to me,
And many a friend to me and mine
In hopeless chains was doomed to pine.
With wicked thoughts, unsated still,
Me whom he wrongs he yearns to kill;
And spies of Vánar race, who tried
To slay me, by this hand have died.
Moved by this constant doubt and fear
I saw thee, Prince, and came not near.
When woe and peril gather round
A foe in every form is found.
Save Hanumán, O Raghu's son,
And these, no friend is left me, none.
Through their kind aid, a faithful band
Who guard their lord from hostile hand,
Rest when their chieftain rests and bend
Their steps where'er he lists to wend,—
Through them alone, in toil and pain,
My wretched life I still sustain.
[pg 333]
Enough, for thou hast heard in brief
The story of my pain and grief.
His mighty strength all regions know,
My brother, but my deadly foe.
Ah, if the proud oppressor fell,
His death would all my woe dispel.
Yea, on my cruel conqueror's fall
My joy depends, my life, my all.
This were the end and sure relief,
O Ráma, of my tale of grief.
Fair be his lot or dark with woe,
No comfort like a friend I know.”
Then Ráma spoke: “O friend, relate
Whence sprang fraternal strife and hate,
That duly taught by thee, I may
Each foeman's strength and weakness weigh:
And skilled in every chance restore
The blissful state thou hadst before.
For, when I think of all the scorn
And bitter woe thou long hast borne,
My soul indignant swells with pain
Like waters flushed with furious rain.
Then, ere I string this bended bow,
Tell me the tale I long to know,
Ere from the cord my arrow fly,
And low in death thy foeman lie.”
He spoke: Sugríva joyed to hear,
Nor less his lords were glad of cheer:
And thus to Ráma mighty-souled
The cause that moved their strife he told:
Canto IX. Sugríva's Story.562

“My brother, known by Báli's name,
Had won by might a conqueror's fame.
My father's eldest-born was he,
Well honoured by his sire and me.
My father died, and each sage lord
Named Báli king with one accord;
And he, by right of birth ordained,
The sovereign of the Vánars reigned.
He in his royal place controlled
The kingdom of our sires of old,
And I all faithful service lent
To aid my brother's government.
The fiend Máyáví,—him of yore
To Dundubhi563 his mother bore,—
For woman's love in strife engaged,
A deadly war with Báli waged.
When sleep had chained each weary frame
To vast Kishkindhá564 gates he came,
And, shouting through the shades of night,
Challenged his foeman to the fight.
My brother heard the furious shout,
And wild with rage rushed madly out,
Though fain would I and each sad wife
Detain him from the deadly strife.
He burned his demon foe to slay,
And rushed impetuous to the fray.
His weeping wives he thrust aside,
And forth, impelled by fury, hied;
While, by my love and duty led,
I followed where my brother sped.
Máyáví looked, and at the sight
Fled from his foes in wild affright.
The flying fiend we quickly viewed,
And with swift feet his steps pursued.
Then rose the moon, whose friendly ray
Cast light upon our headlong way.
By the soft beams was dimly shown
A mighty cave with grass o'ergrown.
Within its depths he sprang, and we
The demon's form no more might see.
My brother's breast was all aglow
With fury when he missed the foe,
And, turning, thus to me he said
With senses all disquieted:
“Here by the cavern's mouth remain;
Keep ear and eye upon the strain,
While I the dark recess explore
And dip my brand in foeman's gore.”
I heard his angry speech, and tried
To turn him from his plan aside.
He made me swear by both his feet,
And sped within the dark retreat.
While in the cave he stayed, and I
Watched at the mouth, a year went by.
For his return I looked in vain,
And, moved by love, believed him slain.
I mourned, by doubt and fear distressed,
And greater horror seized my breast
When from the cavern rolled a flood,
A carnage stream of froth and blood;
And from the depths a sound of fear,
The roar of demons, smote mine ear;
But never rang my brother's shout
Triumphant in the battle rout.
I closed the cavern with a block,
Huge as a hill, of shattered rock.
Gave offerings due to Báli's shade,
And sought Kishkindhá, sore dismayed.
Long time with anxious care I tried
From Báli's lords his fate to hide,
But they, when once the tale was known,
Placed me as king on Báli's throne.
There for a while I justly reigned
[pg 334]
And all with equal care ordained,
When joyous from the demon slain
My brother Báli came again.
He found me ruling in his stead,
And, fired with rage, his eyes grew red.
He slew the lords who made me king,
And spoke keen words to taunt and sting.
The kingly rank and power I held
My brother's rage with ease had quelled,
But still, restrained by old respect
For claims of birth, the thought I checked.
Thus having struck the demon down
Came Báli to his royal town.
With meek respect, with humble speech,
His haughty heart I strove to reach.
But all my arts were tried in vain,
No gentle word his lips would deign,
Though to the ground I bent and set
His feet upon my coronet:
Still Báli in his rage and pride
All signs of grace and love denied.”
Canto X. Sugríva's Story.

“I strove to soothe and lull to rest
The fury of his troubled breast:
“Well art thou come, dear lord,” I cried.
“By whose strong arm thy foe has died.
Forlorn I languished here, but now
My saviour and defence art thou.
Once more receive this regal shade565
Like the full moon in heaven displayed;
And let the chouries,566 thus restored,
Wave glorious o'er the rightful lord.
I kept my watch, thy word obeyed,
And by the cave a year I stayed.
But when I saw that stream of blood
Rush from the cavern in a flood,
My sad heart broken with dismay,
And every wandering sense astray,
I barred the entrance with a stone,—
A crag from some high mountain thrown—
Turned from the spot I watched in vain,
And to Kishkindhá came again.
My deep distress and downcast mien
By citizen and lord were seen.
They made me king against my will:
Forgive me if the deed was ill.
True as I ever was I see
My honoured king once more in thee;
I only ruled a while the state
When thou hadst left us desolate.
This town with people, lords, and lands,
Lay as a trust in guardian hands:
And now, my gracious lord, accept
The kingdom which thy servant kept.
Forgive me, victor of the foe,
Nor let thy wrath against me glow.
See joining suppliant hands I pray,
And at thy feet my head I lay.
Believe my words: against my will
The royal seat they made me fill.
Unkinged they saw the city, hence
They made me lord for her defence.”
But Báli, though I humbly sued,
Reviled me in his furious mood:
“Out on thee, wretch!” in wrath he cried
With many a bitter taunt beside.
He summoned every lord, and all
His subjects gathered at his call.
Then forth his burning anger broke,
And thus amid his friends he spoke:
“I need not tell, for well ye know,
How fierce Máyáví, fiend and foe,
Came to Kishkindhá's gate by night,
And dared me in his wrath to fight.
I heard each word the demon said:
Forth from my royal hall I sped;
And, foe in brother's guise concealed,
Sugríva followed to the field.
The mighty demon through the shade
Beheld me come with one to aid:
Then shrinking from unequal fight,
He turned his back in swiftest flight.
From vengeful foes his life to save
He sought the refuge of a cave.
Then when I saw the fiend had fled
Within that cavern dark and dread,
Thus to my brother cruel-eyed,
Impatient in my wrath, I cried:
“I seek no more my royal town
Till I have struck the demon down.
Here by the cavern's mouth remain
Until my hand the foe have slain.”
Upon his faith my heart relied,
And swift within the depths I hied.
A year went by: in every spot
I sought the fiend, but found him not.
At length my foe I saw and slew,
Whom long I feared when lost to view;
And all his kinsmen by his side
Beneath my vengeful fury died.
The monster, as he reeled and fell,
Poured forth his blood with roar and yell;
And, filling all the cavern, dyed
The portal with the crimson tide.
Upon my foeman slain at last
One look, one pitying look, I cast.
I sought again the light of day:
The cave was closed and left no way.
To the barred mouth I sadly came,
And called aloud Sugríva's name.
But all was still: no voice replied,
[pg 335]
And hope within my bosom died.
With furious efforts, vain at first,
Through bars of rock my way I burst.
Then, free once more, the path that brought
My feet in safety home I sought.
'Twas thus Sugríva dared despise
The claim of brothers' friendly ties.
With crags of rock he barred me in,
And for himself the realm would win.”
Thus Báli spoke in words severe;
And then, unmoved by ruth or fear,
Left me a single robe and sent
His brother forth in banishment.
He cast me out with scathe and scorn,
And from my side my wife was torn.
Now in great fear and ill at ease
I roam this land with woods and seas,
Or dwell on Rishyamúka's hill,
And sorrow for my consort still.
Thou hast the tale how first arose
This bitter hate of brother foes.
Such are the griefs neath which I pine,
And all without a fault of mine.
O swift to save in hour of fear,
My prayer who dread this Báli, hear
With gracious love assistance deign,
And mine oppressor's arm restrain.”
Then Raghu's son, the good and brave,
With a gay laugh his answer gave:
“These shafts of mine which ne'er can fail,
Before whose sheen the sun grows pale,
Winged by my fury, fleet and fierce,
The wicked Báli's heart shall pierce.
Yea, mark the words I speak, so long
Shall live that wretch who joys in wrong,
Until these angered eyes have seen
The robber of thy darling queen.
I, taught by equal suffering, know
What waves of grief above thee flow.
This hand thy captive wife shall free,
And give thy kingdom back to thee.”
Sugríva joyed as Ráma spoke,
And valour in his breast awoke.
His eye grew bright, his heart grew bold,
And thus his wondrous tale he told:
Canto XI. Dundubhi.

“I doubt not, Prince, thy peerless might,
Armed with these shafts so keen and bright,
Like all-destroying fires of fate,
The worlds could burn and devastate.
But lend thou first thy mind and ear
Of Báli's power and might to hear.
How bold, how firm, in battle tried,
Is Báli's heart; and then decide.
From east to west, from south to north
On restless errand hurrying forth,
From farthest sea to sea he flies
Before the sun has lit the skies.
A mountain top he oft will seek,
Tear from its root a towering peak,
Hurl it aloft, as 'twere a ball,
And catch it ere to earth it fall.
And many a tree that long has stood
In health and vigour in the wood,
His single arm to earth will throw,
The marvels of his might to show.
Shaped like a bull, a monster bore
The name of Dundubhi of yore:
He matched in size a mountain height,
A thousand elephants in might.
By pride of wondrous gifts impelled,
And strength he deemed unparalleled,
To Ocean, lord of stream and brook,
Athirst for war, his way he took.
He reached the king of rolling waves
Whose gems are piled in sunless caves,
And threw his challenge to the sea;
“Come forth, O King, and fight with me.”
He spoke, and from his ocean bed
The righteous567 monarch heaved his head,
And gave, sedate, his calm reply
To him whom fate impelled to die:
“Not mine, not mine the power,” he cried,
“To cope with thee in battle tried;
But listen to my voice, and seek
The worthier foe of whom I speak.
The Lord of Hills, where hermits live
And love the home his forests give,
Whose child is Śankar's darling queen,568
The King of Snows is he I mean.
Deep caves has he, and dark boughs shade
The torrent and the wild cascade.
From him expect the fierce delight
Which heroes feel in equal fight.”
He deemed that fear checked ocean's king,
And, like an arrow from the string,
To the wild woods that clothe the side
Of Lord Himálaya's hills he hied.
Then Dundubhi, with hideous roar,
Huge fragments from the summit tore
Vast as Airávat,569 white with snow,
And hurled them to the plains below.
Then like a white cloud soft, serene,
The Lord of Mountains' form was seen.
It sat upon a lofty crest,
And thus the furious fiend addressed:
“Beseems thee not, O virtue's friend,
My mountain tops to rive and rend;
[pg 336]
For I, the hermit's calm retreat,
For deeds of war am all unmeet.”
The demon's eye with rage grew red,
And thus in furious tone he said:
“If thou from fear or sloth decline
To match thy strength in war with mine,
Where shall I find a champion, say,
To meet me burning for the fray?”
He spoke: Himálaya, skilled in lore
Of eloquence, replied once more,
And, angered in his righteous mind,
Addressed the chief of demon kind:
“The Vánar Báli, brave and wise,
Son of the God who rules the skies,570
Sways, glorious in his high renown,
Kishkindhá his imperial town.
Well may that valiant lord who knows
Each art of war his might oppose
To thine, in equal battle set,
As Namuehi571 and Indra met.
Go, if thy soul desire the fray;
To Báli's city speed away,
And that unconquered hero meet
Whose fame is high for warlike feat.”
He listened to the Lord of Snow,
And, his proud heart with rage aglow,
Sped swift away and lighted down
By vast Kishkindhá, Báli's town.
With pointed horns to strike and gore
The semblance of a bull he bore,
Huge as a cloud that downward bends
Ere the full flood of rain descends.
Impelled by pride and rage and hate,
He thundered at Kishkindhá's gate;
And with his bellowing, like the sound
Of pealing drums, he shook the ground,
He rent the earth and prostrate threw
The trees that near the portal grew.
King Báli from the bowers within
Indignant heard the roar and din.
Then, moonlike mid the stars, with all
His dames he hurried to the wall;
And to the fiend this speech, expressed
In clear and measured words, addressed:
“Know me for monarch. Báli styled,
Of Vánar tribes that roam the wild.
Say why dost thou this gate molest,
And bellowing thus disturb our rest?
I know thee, mighty fiend: beware
And guard thy life with wiser care.”
He spoke: and thus the fiend returned,
While red with rage his eyeballs burned:
“What! speak when all thy dames are nigh
And hero-like thy foe defy?
Come, meet me in the fight this day,
And learn my strength by bold assay.
Or shall I spare thee, and relent
Until the coming night be spent?
Take then the respite of a night
And yield thee to each soft delight.
Then, monarch of the Vánar race
With loving arms thy friends embrace.
Gifts on thy faithful lords bestow,
Bid each and all farewell, and go.
Show in the streets once more thy face,
Install thy son to fill thy place.
Dally a while with each dear dame;
And then my strength thy pride shall tame
For, should I smite thee drunk with wine
Enamoured of those dames of thine,
Beneath diseases bowed and bent,
Or weak, unarmed, or negligent,
My deed would merit hate and scorn
As his who slays the child unborn.”
Then Báli's soul with rage was fired,
Queen Tára and the dames retired;
And slowly, with a laugh of pride,
The king of Vánars thus replied:
“Me, fiend, thou deemest drunk with wine:
Unless thy fear the fight decline,
Come, meet me in the fray, and test
The spirit of my valiant breast.”
He spoke in wrath and high disdain;
And, laying down his golden chain,
Gift of his sire Mahendra, dared
The demon, for the fray prepared;
Seized by the horns the monster, vast
As a huge hill, and held him fast,
Then fiercely dragged him round and round,
And, shouting, hurled him to the ground.
Blood streaming from his ears, he rose,
And wild with fury strove the foes.
Then Báli, match for Indra's might,
With every arm renewed the fight.
He fought with fists, and feet, and knees,
With fragments of the rock, and trees.
At last the monster's strength, assailed
By Śakra's572 conquering offspring, failed.
Him Báli raised with mighty strain
And dashed upon the ground again;
Where, bruised and shattered, in a tide
Of rushing blood, the demon died.
King Báli saw the lifeless corse,
And bending, with tremendous force
Raised the huge bulk from where it lay,
And hurled it full a league away.
As through the air the body flew,
Some blood-drops, caught by gales that blew,
Welled from his shattered jaw and fell
By Saint Matanga's hermit cell:
Matanga saw, illustrious sage,
Those drops defile his hermitage,
[pg 337]
And, as he marvelled whence they came,
Fierce anger filled his soul with flame:
“Who is the villain, evil-souled,
With childish thoughts unwise and bold,
Who is the impious wretch,” he cried,
“By whom my grove with blood is dyed?”
Thus spoke Matanga in his rage,
And hastened from the hermitage,
When lo, before his wondering eyes
Lay the dead bull of mountain size.
His hermit soul was nothing slow
The doer of the deed to know,
And thus the Vánar in a burst
Of wild tempestuous wrath he cursed:
“Ne'er let that Vánar wander here,
For, if he come, his death is near,
Whose impious hand with blood has dyed
The holy place where I abide,
Who threw this demon corse and made
A ruin of the pleasant shade.
If e'er he plant his wicked feet
Within one league of my retreat;
Yea, if the villain come so nigh
That very hour he needs must die.
And let the Vánar lords who dwell
In the dark woods that skirt my cell
Obey my words, and speeding hence
Find them some meeter residence.
Here if they dare to stay, on all
The terrors of my curse shall fall.
They spoil the tender saplings, dear
As children which I cherish here,
Mar root and branch and leaf and spray,
And steal the ripening fruit away.
One day I grant, no further hour,
To-morrow shall my curse have power,
And then each Vánar I may see
A stone through countless years shall be.”
The Vánars heard the curse and hied
From sheltering wood and mountain side.
King Báli marked their haste and dread,
And to the flying leaders said:
“Speak, Vánar chiefs, and tell me why
From Saint Matanga's grove ye fly
To gather round me: is it well
With all who in those woodlands dwell?”
He spoke: the Vánar leaders told
King Báli with his chain of gold
What curse the saint had on them laid,
Which drove them from their ancient shade.
Then royal Báli sought the sage,
With reverent hands to soothe his rage.
The holy man his suppliant spurned,
And to his cell in anger turned.
That curse on Báli sorely pressed,
And long his conscious soul distressed.
Him still the curse and terror keep
Afar from Rishyamúka's steep.
He dares not to the grove draw nigh,
Nay scarce will hither turn his eye.
We know what terrors warm him hence,
And roam these woods in confidence.
Look, Prince, before thee white and dry
The demon's bones uncovered lie,
Who, like a hill in bulk and length,
Fell ruind for his pride of strength.
See those high Sál trees seven in row
That droop their mighty branches low,
These at one grasp would Báli seize,
And leafless shake the trembling trees.
These tales I tell, O Prince, to show
The matchless power that arms the foe.
How canst thou hope to slay him? how
Meet Báli in the battle now?”
Sugríva spoke and sadly sighed:
And Lakshmaṇ with a laugh replied:
“What show of power, what proof and test
May still the doubts that fill thy breast?”
He spoke. Sugríva thus replied:
“See yonder Sál trees side by side.
King Báli here would take his stand
Grasping his bow with vigorous hand,
And every arrow, keen and true,
Would strike its tree and pierce it through.
If Ráma now his bow will bend,
And through one trunk an arrow send;
Or if his arm can raise and throw
Two hundred measures of his bow,
Grasped by a foot and hurled through air,
The demon bull that moulders there,
My heart will own his might and fain
Believe my foe already slain.”
Sugríva spoke inflamed with ire,
Scanned Ráma with a glance of fire,
Pondered a while in silent mood.
And thus again his speech renewed:
“All lands with Báli's glories ring,
A valiant, strong, and mighty king;
In conscious power unused to yield,
A hero first in every field.
His wondrous deeds his might declare,
Deeds Gods might scarcely do or dare;
And on this power reflecting still
I roam on Rishyamúka's hill.
Awed by my brother's might I rove,
In doubt and fear, from grove to grove,
While Hanumán, my chosen friend,
And faithful lords my steps attend;
And now, O true to friendship's tie,
I hail in thee my best ally.
My surest refuge from my foes,
And steadfast as the Lord of Snows.
Still, when I muse how strong and bold
Is cruel Báli, evil-souled,
But ne'er, O chief of Raghu's line,
Have seen what strength in war is thine,
Though in my heart I may not dare
Doubt thy great might, despise, compare,
Thoughts of his fearful deeds will rise
And fill my soul with sad surmise.
Speech, form, and trust which naught may move
[pg 338]
Thy secret strength and glory prove,
As smouldering ashes dimly show
The dormant fires that live below.”
He ceased: and Ráma answered, while
Played o'er his lips a gracious smile:
“Not yet convinced? This clear assay
Shall drive each lingering doubt away.”
Thus Ráma spoke his heart to cheer,
To Dundubhi's vast frame drew near:
He touched it with his foot in play
And sent it twenty leagues away.
Sugríva marked what easy force
Hurled through the air that demon's corse
Whose mighty bones were white and dried,
And to the son of Raghu cried:
“My brother Báli, when his might
Was drunk and weary from the fight,
Hurled forth the monster body, fresh
With skin and sinews, blood and flesh.
Now flesh and blood are dried away,
The crumbling bones are light as hay,
Which thou, O Raghu's son, hast sent
Flying through air in merriment.
This test alone is weak to show
If thou be stronger or the foe.
By thee a heap of mouldering bone,
By him the recent corse was thrown.
Thy strength, O Prince, is yet untried:
Come, pierce one tree: let this decide.
Prepare thy ponderous bow and bring
Close to thine ear the straining string.
On yonder Sál tree fix thine eye,
And let the mighty arrow fly,
I doubt not, chief, that I shall see
Thy pointed shaft transfix the tree.
Then come, assay the easy task,
And do for love the thing I ask.
Best of all lights, the Day-God fills
With glory earth and sky:
Himálaya is the lord of hills
That heave their heads on high.
The royal lion is the best
Of beasts that tread the earth;
And thou, O hero, art confessed
First in heroic worth.”
Canto XII. The Palm Trees.

Then Ráma, that his friend might know
His strength unrivalled, grasped his bow,
That mighty bow the foe's dismay,—
And on the string an arrow lay.
Next on the tree his eye he bent,
And forth the hurtling weapon went.
Loosed from the matchless hero's hold,
That arrow, decked with burning gold,
Cleft the seven palms in line, and through
The hill that rose behind them flew:
Six subterranean realms it passed,
And reached the lowest depth at last,
Whence speeding back through earth and air
It sought the quiver, and rested there.573
Upon the cloven trees amazed,
The sovereign of the Vánars gazed.
With all his chains and gold outspread
Prostrate on earth he laid his head.
Then, rising, palm to palm he laid
In reverent act, obeisance made,
And joyously to Ráma, best
Of war-trained chiefs, these words addressed:
“What champion, Raghu's son, may hope
With thee in deadly fight to cope,
Whose arrow, leaping from the bow,
Cleaves tree and hill and earth below?
Scarce might the Gods, arrayed for strife
By Indra's self, escape, with life
Assailed by thy victorious hand:
And how may Báli hope to stand?
All grief and care are past away,
And joyous thoughts my bosom sway,
Who have in thee a friend, renowned,
As Varuṇ574 or as Indra, found.
Then on! subdue,—'tis friendship's claim,—
My foe who bears a brother's name.
Strike Báli down beneath thy feet:
With suppliant hands I thus entreat.”
Sugríva ceased, and Ráma pressed
The grateful Vánar to his breast;
And thoughts of kindred feeling woke
In Lakshmaṇ's bosom, as he spoke:
“On to Kishkindhá, on with speed!
Thou, Vánar King, our way shalt lead,
Then challenge Báli forth to fight.
Thy foe who scorns a brother's right.”
They sought Kishkindhá's gate and stood
Concealed by trees in densest wood,
Sugríva, to the fight addressed,
More closely drew his cinctured vest,
And raised a wild sky-piercing shout
[pg 339]
To call the foeman Báli out.
Forth came impetuous Báli, stirred
To fury by the shout he heard.
So the great sun, ere night has ceased,
Springs up impatient to the east.
Then fierce and wild the conflict raged
As hand to hand the foes engaged,
As though in battle mid the stars
Fought Mercury and fiery Mars.575
To highest pitch of frenzy wrought
With fists like thunderbolts they fought,
While near them Ráma took his stand,
And viewed the battle, bow in hand.
Alike they stood in form and might,
Like heavenly Aśvins576 paired in fight,
Nor might the son of Raghu know
Where fought the friend and where the foe;
So, while his bow was ready bent,
No life-destroying shaft he sent.
Crushed down by Báli's mightier stroke
Sugríva's force now sank and broke,
Who, hoping naught from Ráma's aid,
To Rishyamúka fled dismayed,
Weary, and faint, and wounded sore,
His body bruised and dyed with gore,
From Báli's blows, in rage and dread,
Afar to sheltering woods he fled.
Nor Báli farther dared pursue,
The curbing curse too well he knew.
“Fled from thy death!” the victor cried,
And home the mighty warrior hied.
Hanúmán, Lakshmaṇ, Raghu's son
Beheld the conquered Vánar run,
And followed to the sheltering shade
Where yet Sugríva stood dismayed.
Near and more near the chieftains came,
Then, for intolerable shame,
Not daring yet to lift his eyes,
Sugríva spoke with burning sighs:
“Thy matchless strength I first beheld,
And dared my foe, by thee impelled.
Why hast thou tried me with deceit
And urged me to a sure defeat?
Thou shouldst have said, “I will not slay
Thy foeman in the coming fray.”
For had I then thy purpose known
I had not waged the fight alone.”
The Vánar sovereign, lofty-souled,
In plaintive voice his sorrows told.
Then Ráma spake: “Sugríva, list,
All anger from thy heart dismissed,
And I will tell the cause that stayed
Mine arrow, and withheld the aid.
In dress, adornment, port, and height,
In splendour, battle-shout, and might,
No shade of difference could I see
Between thy foe, O King, and thee.
So like was each, I stood at gaze,
My senses lost in wildering maze,
Nor loosened from my straining bow
A deadly arrow at the foe,
Lest in my doubt the shaft should send
To sudden death our surest friend.
O, if this hand in heedless guilt
And rash resolve thy blood had spilt,
Through every land, O Vánar King,
My wild and foolish act would ring.
Sore weight of sin on him must lie
By whom a friend is made to die;
And Lakshmaṇ, I, and Sítá, best
Of dames, on thy protection rest.
On, warrior! for the fight prepare;
Nor fear again thy foe to dare.
Within one hour thine eye shall view
My arrow strike thy foeman through;
Shall see the stricken Báli lie
Low on the earth, and gasp and die.
But come, a badge about thee bind,
O monarch of the Vánar kind,
That in the battle shock mine eyes
The friend and foe may recognize.
Come, Lakshmaṇ, let that creeper deck
With brightest bloom Sugríva's neck,
And be a happy token, twined
Around the chief of lofty mind.”
Upon the mountain slope there grew
A threading creeper fair to view,
And Lakshmaṇ plucked the bloom and round
Sugríva's neck a garland wound.
Graced with the flowery wreath he wore,
The Vánar chief the semblance bore
Of a dark cloud at close of day
Engarlanded with cranes at play,
In glorious light the Vánar glowed
As by his comrade's side he strode,
And, still on Ráma's word intent,
His steps to great Kishkindhá bent.
[pg 340]
Canto XIII. The Return To Kishkindhá.

Thus with Sugríva, from the side
Of Rishyamúka, Ráma hied,
And stood before Kishkindhá's gate
Where Báli kept his regal state.
The hero in his warrior hold
Raised his great bow adorned with gold,
And drew his pointed arrow bright
As sunbeams, finisher of fight.
Strong-necked Sugríva led the way
With Lakshmaṇ mighty in the fray.
Nala and Níla came behind
With Hanumán of lofty mind,
And valiant Tára, last in place,
A leader of the Vánar race.
They gazed on many a tree that showed
The glory of its pendent load,
And brook and limpid rill that made
Sweet murmurs as they seaward strayed.
They looked on caverns dark and deep,
On bower and glen and mountain steep,
And saw the opening lotus stud
With roseate cup the crystal flood,
While crane and swan and coot and drake
Made pleasant music on the lake,
And from the reedy bank was heard
The note of many a happy bird.
In open lawns, in tangled ways,
They saw the tall deer stand at gaze,
Or marked them free and fearless roam,
Fed with sweet grass, their woodland home.
At times two flashing tusks between
The wavings of the wood were seen,
And some mad elephant, alone,
Like a huge moving hill, was shown.
And scarcely less in size appeared
Great monkeys all with dust besmeared.
And various birds that roam the skies,
And silvan creatures, met their eyes,
As through the wood the chieftains sped,
And followed where Sugríva led.
Then Ráma, as their way they made,
Saw near at hand a lovely shade,
And, as he gazed upon the trees,
Spake to Sugríva words like these;
“Those stately trees in beauty rise,
Fair as a cloud in autumn skies.
I fain, my friend, would learn from thee
What pleasant grove is that I see.”
Thus Ráma spake, the mighty souled;
And thus his tale Sugríva told:
“That, Ráma, is a wide retreat
That brings repose to weary feet.
Bright streams and fruit and roots are there,
And shady gardens passing fair.
There, neath the roof of hanging boughs,
The sacred Seven maintained their vows.
Their heads in dust were lowly laid,
In streams their nightly beds were made.
Each seventh night they broke their fast,
But air was still their sole repast,
And when seven hundred years were spent
To homes in heaven the hermits went.
Their glory keeps the garden yet,
With walls of stately trees beset.
Scarce would the Gods and demons dare,
By Indra led, to enter there.
No beast that roams the wood is found,
No bird of air, within the bound;
Or, thither if they idly stray,
They find no more their homeward way.
You hear at times mid dulcet tones
The chime of anklets, rings, and zones.
You hear the song and music sound,
And heavenly fragrance breathes around,
There duly burn the triple fires577
Where mounts the smoke in curling spires,
And, in a dun wreath, hangs above
The tall trees, like a brooding dove.
Round branch and crest the vapours close
Till every tree enveloped shows
A hill of lazulite when clouds
Hang round it with their misty shrouds.
With Lakshmaṇ, lord of Raghu's line,
In reverent guise thine head incline,
And with fixt heart and suppliant hand
Give honour to the sainted band.
They who with faithful hearts revere
The holy Seven who harboured here,
Shall never, son of Raghu, know
In all their lives an hour of woe.”
Then Ráma and his brother bent,
And did obeisance reverent
With suppliant hand and lowly head,
Then with Sugríva onward sped.
Beyond the sainted Seven's abode
Far on their way the chieftains strode,
And great Kishkindhá's portal gained,
The royal town where Báli reigned.
Then by the gate they took their stand
All ready armed a noble band,
And burning every one
To slay in battle, hand to hand,
Their foeman, Indra's son.
Canto XIV. The Challenge.

They stood where trees of densest green
Wove round their forms a veiling screen.
O'er all the garden's pleasant shade
The eyes of King Sugríva strayed,
[pg 341]
And, as on grass and tree he gazed,
The fires of wrath within him blazed.
Then like a mighty cloud on high,
When roars the tempest through the sky,
Girt by his friends he thundered out
His dread sky-rending battle-shout
Like some proud lion in his gait,
Or as the sun begins his state,
Sugríva let his quick glance rest
On Ráma whom he thus addressed:
“There is the seat of Báli's sway,
Where flags on wall and turret play,
Which mighty bands of Vánars hold,
Rich in all arms and store of gold.
Thy promise to thy mind recall
That Báli by thy hand shall fall.
As kindly fruits adorn the bough.
So give my hopes their harvest now.”
In suppliant tone the Vánar prayed,
And Raghu's son his answer made:
“By Lakshmaṇ's hand this flowery twine
Was wound about thee for a sign.
The wreath of giant creeper throws
About thy form its brillant glows,
As though about the sun were set
The bright stars for a coronet.
One shaft of mine this day, dear friend,
Thy sorrow and thy fear shall end.
And, from the bowstring freed, shall be
Giver of freedom, King, to thee.
Then come, Sugríva, quickly show,
Where'er he lie, thy bitter foe;
And let my glance the wretch descry
Whose deeds, a brother's name belie.
Yea, soon in dust and blood o'erthrown
Shall Báli fall and gasp and groan.
Once let this eye the foeman see,
Then, if he live to turn and flee,
Despise my puny strength, and shame
With foul opprobrium Ráma's name.
Hast thou not seen his hand, O King,
Through seven tall trees one arrow wing?
Still in that strength securely trust,
And deem thy foeman in the dust.
In all my days, though surely tried
By grief and woe, I ne'er have lied;
And still by duty's law restrained
Will ne'er with falsehood's charge be stained.
Cast doubt away: the oath I sware
Its kindly fruit shall quickly bear,
As smiles the land with golden grain
By mercy of the Lord of rain.
Oh, warrior to the gate I defy
Thy foe with shout and battle-cry,
Till Báli with his chain of gold
Come speeding from his royal hold.
Proud hearts, with warlike fire aglow,
Brook not the challenge of a foe:
Each on his power and might relies,
And most before his ladies eyes.
King Báli loves the fray too well
To linger in his citadel,
And, when he hears thy battle-shout,
All wild for war will hasten out.”
He spoke. Sugríva raised a cry
That shook and rent the echoing sky,
A shout so fierce and loud and dread
That stately bulls in terror fled,
Like dames who fly from threatened stain
In some ignoble monarch's reign.
The deer in wild confusion ran
Like horses turned in battle's van.
Down fell the birds, like Gods who fall
When merits fail,578 at that dread call.
So fiercely, boldened for the fray,
The offspring of the Lord of Day
Sent forth his furious shout as loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud,
Or, where the gale blows fresh and free,
The roaring of the troubled sea.
Canto XV. Tárá.

That shout, which shook the land with fear,
In thunder smote on Báli's ear,
Where in the chamber barred and closed
The sovereign with his dame reposed.
Each amorous thought was rudely stilled,
And pride and rage his bosom filled.
His angry eyes flashed darkly red,
And all his native brightness fled,
As when, by swift eclipse assailed,
The glory of the sun has failed.
While in his fury uncontrolled
He ground his teeth, his eyeballs rolled,
He seemed a lake wherein no gem
Of blossom decks the lotus stem.
He heard, and with indignant pride
Forth from the bower the Vánar hied.
And the earth trembled at the beat
And fury of his hastening feet.
But Tárá to her consort flew,
Her loving arms around him threw,
And trembling and bewildered, gave
Wise counsel that might heal and save:
“O dear my lord, this rage control
That like a torrent floods thy soul,
And cast these idle thoughts away
Like faded wreath of yesterday,
O tarry till the morning light,
Then, if thou wilt, go forth and fight.
[pg 342]
Think not I doubt thy valour, no;
Or deem thee weaker than thy foe,
Yet for a while would have thee stay
Nor see thee tempt the fight to-day.
Now list, my loving lord, and learn
The reason why I bid thee turn.
Thy foeman came in wrath and pride,
And thee to deadly fight defied.
Thou wentest out: he fought, and fled
Sore wounded and discomfited.
But yet, untaught by late defeat,
He comes his conquering foe to meet,
And calls thee forth with cry and shout:
Hence spring, my lord, this fear and doubt.
A heart so bold that will not yield,
But yearns to tempt the desperate field,
Such loud defiance, fiercely pressed,
On no uncertain hope can rest.
So lately by thine arm o'erthrown,
He comes not back, I ween, alone.
Some mightier comrade guards his side,
And spurs him to this burst of pride.
For nature made the Vánar wise:
On arms of might his hope relies;
And never will Sugríva seek
A friend whose power to save is weak.
Now listen while my lips unfold
The wondrous tale my Angad told.
Our child the distant forest sought,
And, learnt from spies, the tidings brought.
Two sons of Daśaratha, sprung
From old Ikshváku, brave and young,
Renowned in arms, in war untamed—
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ are they named—
Have with thy foe Sugríva made
A league of love and friendly aid.
Now Ráma, famed for exploit high,
Is bound thy brother's firm ally,
Like fires of doom579 that ruin all
He makes each foe before him fall.
He is the suppliant's sure defence,
The tree that shelters innocence.
The poor and wretched seek his feet:
In him the noblest glories meet.
With skill and knowledge vast and deep
His sire's commands he loved to keep;
With princely gifts and graces stored
As metals deck the Mountains' Lord.580
Thou canst not, O my hero, stand
Before the might of Ráma's hand;
For none may match his powers or dare
With him in deeds of war compare.
Hear, I entreat, the words I say,
Nor lightly turn my rede away.
O let fraternal discord cease,
And link you in the bonds of peace.
Let consecrating rites ordain
Sugríva partner of thy reign.
Let war and thoughts of conflict end,
And be thou his and Ráma's friend,
Each soft approach of love begin,
And to thy soul thy brother win;
For whether here or there he be,
Thy brother still, dear lord, is he.
Though far and wide these eyes I strain
A friend like him I seek in vain.
Let gentle words his heart incline,
And gifts and honours make him thine,
Till, foes no more, in love allied,
You stand as brothers side by side.
Thou in high rank wast wont to hold
Sugríva, formed in massive mould;
Then come, thy brother's love regain,
For other aids are weak and vain.
If thou would please my soul, and still
Preserve me from all fear and ill,
I pray thee by thy love be wise
And do the thing which I advise.
Assuage thy fruitless wrath, and shun
The mightier arms of Raghu's son;
For Indra's peer in might is he,
A foe too strong, my lord, for thee.”
Canto XVI. The Fall Of Báli.

Thus Tárá with the starry eyes581
Her counsel gave with burning sighs.
But Báli, by her prayers unmoved,
Spurned her advice, and thus reproved:
“How may this insult, scathe, and scorn
By me, dear love, be tamely born?
My brother, yea my foe, comes nigh
And dares me forth with shout and cry.
Learn, trembler! that the valiant, they
Who yield no step in battle fray,
Will die a thousand deaths but ne'er
An unavenged dishonour bear.
Nor, O my love, be thou dismayed
Though Ráma lend Sugríva aid,
For one so pure and duteous, one
Who loves the right, all sin will shun,
Release me from thy soft embrace,
And with thy dames thy steps retrace:
Enough already, O mine own,
Of love and sweet devotion shown.
Drive all thy fear and doubt away;
I seek Sugríva in the fray
His boisterous rage and pride to still,
And tame the foe I would not kill.
My fury, armed with brandished trees,
Shall strike Sugríva to his knees:
[pg 343]
Nor shall the humbled foe withstand
The blows of my avenging hand,
When, nerved by rage and pride, I beat
The traitor down beneath my feet.
Thou, love, hast lent thine own sweet aid,
And all thy tender care displayed;
Now by my life, by these who yearn
To serve thee well, I pray thee turn.
But for a while, dear dame, I go
To come triumphant o'er the foe.”
Thus Báli spake in gentlest tone:
Soft arms about his neck were thrown;
Then round her lord the lady went
With sad steps slow and reverent.
She stood in solemn guise to bless
With prayers for safety and success,
Then with her train her chamber sought
By grief and racking fear distraught.
With serpent's pantings fierce and fast
King Báli from the city passed.
His glance, as each quick breath he drew,
Around to find the foe he threw,
And saw where fierce Sugríva showed
His form with golden hues that glowed,
And, as a fire resplendent, stayed
To meet his foe in arms arrayed.
When Báli, long-armed chieftain, found
Sugríva stationed on the ground,
Impelled by warlike rage he braced
His warrior garb about his waist,
And with his mighty arm raised high
Rushed at Sugríva with a cry.
But when Sugríva, fierce and bold,
Saw Báli with his chain of gold,
His arm he heaved, his hand he closed,
And face to face his foe opposed.
To him whose eyes with fury shone,
In charge impetuous rushing on,
Skilled in each warlike art and plan,
Báli with hasty words began:
“My ponderous hand, to fight addressed
With fingers clenched and arm compressed
Shall on thy death doomed brow descend
And, crashing down, thy life shall end.”
He spoke; and wild with rage and pride,
The fierce Sugríva thus replied:
“Thus let my arm begin the strife
And from thy body crush the life.”
Then Báli, wounded and enraged,
With furious blows the battle waged.
Sugríva seemed, with blood-streams dyed,
A hill with fountains in his side.
But with his native force unspent
A Sál tree from the earth he rent,
And like the bolt of Indra smote
On Báli's head and chest and throat.
Bruised by the blows he could not shield,
Half vanquished Báli sank and reeled,
As sinks a vessel with her freight
Borne down by overwhelming weight.
Swift as Suparṇa's582 swiftest flight
In awful strength they rushed to fight:
So might the sun and moon on high
Encountering battle in the sky.
Fierce and more fierce, as fought the foes,
The furious rage of combat rose.
They warred with feet and arms and knees,
With nails and stones and boughs and trees,
And blows descending fast as rain
Dyed each dark form with crimson stain,
While like two thunder-clouds they met
With battle-cry and shout and threat.
Then Ráma saw Sugríva quail,
Marked his worn strength grow weak and fail.
Saw how he turned his wistful eye
To every quarter of the sky.
His friend's defeat he could not brook,
Bent on his shaft an eager look,
Then burned to slay the conquering foe,
And laid his arrow on the bow.
As to an orb the bow he drew
Forth from the string the arrow flew
Like Fate's tremendous discus hurled
By Yáma583 forth to end the world.
So loud the din that every bird
The bow-string's clans with terror heard,
And wildly fled the affrighted deer
As though the day of doom were near.
So, deadly as the serpent's fang,
Forth from the string the arrow sprang.
Like the red lightning's flash and flame
It flew unerring to its aim,
And, hissing murder through the air,
Pierced Báli's breast, and quivered there.
Struck by the shaft that flew so well
The mighty Vánar reeled and fell,
As earthward Indra's flag they pull
When Aśvíní's fair moon is full.584
Canto XVII. Báli's Speech.

Like some proud tree before the blast
Brave Báli to the ground was cast,
Where prostrate in the dust he rolled
Clad in the sheen of glistening gold,
[pg 344]
As when uptorn the standard lies
Of the great God who rules the skies.
When low upon the earth was laid
The lord whom Vánar tribes obeyed,
Dark as a moonless sky no more
His land her joyous aspect wore.
Though low in dust and mire was rolled
The form of Báli lofty-souled,
Still life and valour, might and grace
Clung to their well-loved dwelling-place.
That golden chain with rich gems set,
The choicest gift of Sákra,585 yet
Preserved his life nor let decay
Steal strength and beauty's light away.
Still from that chain divinely wrought
His dusky form a glory caught,
As a dark cloud, when day is done,
Made splendid by the dying sun.
As fell the hero, crushed in fight,
There beamed afar a triple light
From limbs, from chain, from shaft that drank
His life-blood as the warrior sank.
The never-failing shaft, impelled
By the great bow which Ráma held,
Brought bliss supreme, and lit the way
To Brahmá's worlds which ne'er decay.586
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ nearer drew
The mighty fallen foe to view,
Mahendra's son, the brave and bold,
The monarch with his chain of gold,
With lustrous face and tawny eyes,
Broad chest, and arms of wondrous size,
Like Lord Mahendra fierce in fight,
Or Vishṇu's never-conquered might,
Now fallen like Yayáti587 sent
From heaven, his store of merit spent,
Like the bright flame that pales and dies,
Like the great sun who fires the skies,
Doomed in the general doom to fall
When time shall end and ruin all.
The wounded Báli, when he saw
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ nearer draw,
Keen words to Raghu's son, impressed
With justice' holy stamp, addressed:
“What fame, from one thou hast not slain
In front of battle, canst thou gain,
Whose secret hand has laid me low
When madly fighting with my foe?
From every tongue thy glory rings,
A scion of a line of kings,
True to thy vows, of noblest race,
With every gentle gift and grace:
Whose tender heart for woe can feel,
And joy in every creature's weal:
Whose breast with high ambition swells,
Knows duty's claim and ne'er rebels.
They praise thy valour, patience, ruth,
Thy firmness, self-restraint, and truth:
Thy hand prepared for sin's control,
All virtues of a princely soul.
I thought of all these gifts of thine,
And glories of an ancient line,
I set my Tárá's tears at naught,
I met Sugríva and we fought.
O Ráma, till this fatal morn
I held that thou wouldst surely scorn
To strike me as I fought my foe
And thought not of a stranger's blow,
But now thine evil heart is shown,
A yawning well with grass o'ergrown.
Thou wearest virtue's badge,588 but guile
And meanest sin thy soul defile.
I took thee not for treacherous fire,
A sinner clad in saint's attire;
Nor deemed thou idly wouldst profess
The show and garb of righteousness.
In fenced town, in open land,
Ne'er hast thou suffered at this hand,
Nor canst of proud contempt complain:
Then wherefore is the guiltless slain?
My harmless life in woods I lead,
On forest fruits and roots I feed.
My foeman in the field I sought,
And ne'er with thee, O Ráma, fought.
Upon thy limbs, O King, I see
The raiment of a devotee;
And how can one like thee, who springs
From a proud line of ancient kings,
Beneath fair virtue's mask, disgrace
His lineage by a deed so base?
From Raghu is thy long descent,
For duteous deeds prëeminent:
Why, sinner clad in saintly dress,
Roamest thou through the wilderness?
Truth, valour, justice free from spot,
The hand that gives and grudges not,
The might that strikes the sinner down,
These bring a prince his best renown.
Here in the woods, O King, we live
On roots and fruit which branches give.589
[pg 345]
Thus nature framed our harmless race:
Thou art a man supreme in place.
Silver and gold and land provoke
The fierce attack, the robber's stroke,
Canst thou desire this wild retreat,
The berries and the fruit we eat?
'Tis not for mighty kings to tread
The flowery path, by pleasure led.
Theirs be the arm that crushes sin,
Theirs the soft grace to woo and win:
The steadfast will that guides the state,
Wise favour to the good and great;
And for all time are kings renowned
Who blend these arts and ne'er confound.
But thou art weak and swift to ire,
Unstable, slave of each desire.
Thou tramplest duty in the dust,
And in thy bow is all thy trust.
Thou carest naught for noble gain,
And treatest virtue with disdain,
While every sense its captive draws
To follow pleasure's changing laws.
I wronged thee not in word or deed,
But by thy deadly dart I bleed.
What wilt thou, mid the virtuous, say
To purge thy lasting stain away?
All these, O King, must sink to hell,
The regicide, the infidel,
He who in blood and slaughter joys,
A Bráhman or a cow destroys,
Untimely weds in law's despite
Scorning an elder brother's right,590
Who dares his Teacher's bed ascend,
The miser, spy, and treacherous friend.
These impious wretches, one and all,
Must to the hell of sinners fall.
My skin the holy may not wear,
Useless to thee my bones and hair;
Nor may my slaughtered body be
The food of devotees like thee.
These five-toed things a man may slay
And feed upon the fallen prey;
The mailed rhinoceros may die,
And, with the hare his food supply.
Iguanas he may kill and eat,
With porcupine and tortoise meat.591
But all the wise account it sin
To touch my bones and hair and skin.
My flesh they may not eat; and I
A useless prey, O Ráma, die.
In vain my Tárá reasoned well,
On dull deaf ears her counsel fell.
I scorned her words though sooth and sweet,
And hither rushed my fate to meet.
Ah for the land thou rulest! she
Finds no protection, lord, from thee,
Neglected like some noble dame
By a vile husband dead to shame.
Mean-hearted coward, false and vile,
Whose cruel soul delights in guile,
Could Daśaratha, noblest king,
Beget so mean and base a thing?
Alas! an elephant, in form
Of Ráma, in a maddening storm
Of passion casting to the ground
The girth of law592 that clipped him round,
Too wildly passionate to feel
The prick of duty's guiding steel,593
Has charged me unawares, and dead
I fall beneath his murderous tread.
How, stained with this my base defeat,
How wilt thou dare, where good men meet,
To speak, when every tongue will blame
With keen reproach this deed of shame?
Such hero strength and valour, shown
Upon the innocent alone,
Thou hast not proved in manly strife
On him who robbed thee of thy wife.
Hadst thou but fought in open field
And met me boldly unconcealed,
This day had been thy fate to fall,
Slain by this hand, to Yáma's hall.
In vain I strove, and struck by thee
Fell by a hand I could not see.
Thus bites a snake, for sins of yore,
A sleeping man who wakes no more.
Sugríva's foeman thou hast killed,
And thus his heart's desire fulfilled;
But, Ráma, hadst thou sought me first,
And told the hope thy soul has nursed,
That very day had I restored
The Maithil lady to her lord;
And, binding Rávaṇ with a chain,
Had laid him at thy feet unslain.
[pg 346]
Yea, were she sunk in deepest hell,
Or whelmed beneath the ocean's swell,
I would have followed on her track
And brought the rescued lady back,
As Hayagríva594 once set free
From hell the white Aśvatarí.595
That when my spirit wings its flight
Sugríva reign, is just and right.
But most unjust, O King, that I,
Slain by thy treacherous hand, should lie.
Be still, my heart: this earthly state
Is darkly ruled by sovereign Fate.
The realm is lost and won: defy
Thy questioners with apt reply.”596
Canto XVIII. Ráma's Reply.

He ceased: and Ráma's heart was stirred
At every keen reproach he heard.
There Báli lay, a dim dark sun,
His course of light and glory run:
Or like the bed of Ocean dried
Of his broad floods from side to side,
Or helpless, as the dying fire,
Hushed his last words of righteous ire.
Then Ráma, with his spirit moved,
The Vánar king in turn reproved:
“Why dost thou, Báli, thus revile,
And castest not a glance the while
On claims of duty, love, and gain,
And customs o'er the world that reign?
Why dost thou blame me, rash and blind,
Fickle as all thy Vánar kind,
Slighting each rule of ancient days
Which all the good and prudent praise?
This land, each hill and woody chase,
Belongs to old Ikshváku's race:
With bird and beast and man, the whole
Is ours to cherish and control.
Now Bharat, prompt at duty's call,
Wise, just, and true, is lord of all.
Each claim of law, love, gain he knows,
And wrath and favour duly shows.
A king from truth who never bends,
And grace with vigour wisely blends;
With valour worthy of his race,
He knows the claims of time and place.
Now we and other kings of might,
By his ensample taught aright,
The lands of every region tread
That justice may increase and spread.
While royal Bharat, wise and just,
Rules the broad earth, his glorious trust,
Who shall attempt, while he is lord,
A deed by Justice held abhorred?
We now, as Bharat has decreed,
Let justice guide our every deed,
And toil each sinner to repress
Who scorns the way of righteousness.
Thou from that path hast turned aside,
And virtue's holy law defied,
Left the fair path which kings should tread,
And followed pleasure's voice instead.
The man who cleaves to duty's law
Regards these three with filial awe—
The sire, the elder brother, third
Him from whose lips his lore he heard.
Thus too, for duty's sake, the wise
Regard with fond paternal eyes
The well-loved younger brother, one
Their lore has ripened, and a son.
Fine are the laws which guide the good,
Abstruse, and hardly understood;
Only the soul, enthroned within
The breast of each, knows right from sin.
But thou art wild and weak of soul,
And spurnest, like thy race, control;
The true and right thou canst not find,
The blind consulting with the blind.
Incline thine ear and I will teach
The cause that prompts my present speech.
This tempest of thy soul assuage,
Nor blame me in thine idle rage.
On this great sin thy thoughts bestow,
The sin for which I lay thee low.
Thou, Báli, in thy brother's life
Hast robbed him of his wedded wife,
And keepest, scorning ancient right,
His Rumá for thine own delight.
Thy son's own wife should scarcely be
More sacred in thine eyes than she.
All duty thou hast scorned, and hence
Comes punishment for dire offence.
For those who blindly do amiss
There is, I ween, no way but this:
To check the rash who dare to stray
From customs which the good obey,
I may not, sprung of Kshatriya line,
[pg 347]
Forgive this heinous sin of thine:
The laws for those who sin like thee
The penalty of death decree.
Now Bharat rules with sovereign sway,
And we his royal word obey.
There was no hope of pardon, none,
For the vile deed that thou hast done,
That wisest monarch dooms to die
The wretch whose crimes the law defy;
And we, chastising those who err,
His righteous doom administer.
My soul accounts Sugríva dear
E'en as my brother Lakshmaṇ here.
He brings me blessing, and I swore
His wife and kingdom to restore:
A bond in solemn honour bound
When Vánar chieftains stood around.
And can a king like me forsake
His friend, and plighted promise break?
Reflect, O Vánar, on the cause,
The sanction of eternal laws,
And, justly smitten down, confess
Thou diest for thy wickedness.
By honour was I bound to lend
Assistance to a faithful friend;
And thou hast met a righteous fate
Thy former sins to expiate.
And thus wilt thou some merit win
And make atonement for thy sin.
For hear me, Vánar King, rehearse
What Manu597 spake in ancient verse,—
This holy law, which all accept
Who honour duty, have I kept:
“Pure grow the sinners kings chastise,
And, like the virtuous, gain the skies;
By pain or full atonement freed,
They reap the fruit of righteous deed,
While kings who punish not incur
The penalties of those who err.”
Mándhátá598 once, a noble king,
Light of the line from which I spring,
Punished with death a devotee
When he had stooped to sin like thee;
And many a king in ancient time
Has punished frantic sinners' crime,
And, when their impious blood was spilt,
Has washed away the stain of guilt.
Cease, Báli, cease: no more complain:
Reproaches and laments are vain,
For thou art justly punished: we
Obey our king and are not free.
Once more, O Báli, lend thine ear
Another weightiest plea to hear.
For this, when heard and pondered well,
Will all complaint and rage dispel.
My soul will ne'er this deed repent,
Nor was my shaft in anger sent.
We take the silvan tribes beset
With snare and trap and gin and net,
And many a heedless deer we smite
From thickest shade, concealed from sight.
Wild for the slaughter of the game,
At stately stags our shafts we aim.
We strike them bounding scared away,
We strike them as they stand at bay,
When careless in the shade they lie,
Or scan the plain with watchful eye.
They turn away their heads; we aim,
And none the eager hunter blame.
Each royal saint, well trained in law
Of duty, loves his bow to draw
And strike the quarry, e'en as thou
Hast fallen by mine arrow now,
Fighting with him or unaware,—
A Vánar thou.—I little care.599
But yet, O best of Vánars, know
That kings who rule the earth bestow
Fruit of pure life and virtuous deed,
And lofty duty's hard-won meed.
Harm not thy lord the king: abstain
From act and word that cause him pain;
For kings are children of the skies
Who walk this earth in men's disguise.
But thou, in duty's claims untaught,
Thy breast with blinding passion fraught,
Assailest me who still have clung
To duty, with thy bitter tongue.”
He ceased: and Báli sore distressed
The sovereign claims of law confessed,
And freed, o'erwhelmed with woe and shame,
The lord of Raghu's race from blame.
Then, reverent palm to palm applied,
To Ráma thus the Vánar cried:
“True, best of men, is every word
That from thy lips these ears have heard,
It ill beseems a wretch like me
To bandy empty words with thee.
Forgive the angry taunts that broke
From my wild bosom as I spoke.
And lay not to my charge, O King,
[pg 348]
My mad reproaches' idle sting.
Thou, in the truth by trial trained,
Best knowledge of the right hast gained:
And layest, just and pure within,
The meetest penalty on sin.
Through every bond of law I burst,
The boldest sinner and the worst.
O let thy right-instructing speech
Console my heart and wisely teach.”
Like some sad elephant who stands
Fast sinking in the treacherous sands,
Thus Báli raised despairing eyes;
Then spake again with sobs and sighs:
“Not for myself, O King, I grieve,
For Tárá or the friends I leave,
As for sweet Angad, my dear son,
My noble, only little one.
For, nursed in luxury and bliss,
His father he will mourn and miss,
And like a stream whose fount is dry
Will waste away and sink and die,—
My own dear child, my only boy,
His mother Tárá's hope and joy.
Spare him, O son of Raghu, spare
The child entrusted to thy care.
My Angad and Sugríva treat
E'en as thy heart considers meet,
For thou, O chief of men, art strong
To guard the right and punish wrong.
O, if thou wilt thine ear incline
To hear these dying words of mine,
He and Sugríva will to thee
As Bharat and as Lakshmaṇ be.
Let not my Tárá, left forlorn,
Weep for Sugríva's wrathful scorn;
Nor let him, for her lord's offence,
Condemn her faithful innocence.
And well and wisely may he reign
If thy dear grace his power sustain:
If, following thee his friend and guide,
He turn not from thy hest aside:
Thus may he reign with glory, nay
Thus to the skies will win his way.
Though stayed by Tárá's fond recall,
By thy dear hand I longed to fall.
Against my brother rushed and fought,
And gained the death I long have sought.”
Then Ráma thus the prince consoled
From whose clear eyes the mists were rolled:
“Grieve not for those thou leavest thus,
Nor tremble for thyself or us,
For we will deal with thine and thee
As duty and the laws decree.
He who exacts and he who pays,
Is justly slain or justly slays,
Shall in the life to come have bliss;
For each has done his task in this.
Thou, wandering from the right, art made
Pure by the forfeit thou hast paid.
Thy weight of sins is cast aside,
And duty's claim is satisfied.
Then grieve no more, O Prince, but clear
Thy bosom from all doubt and fear,
For fate, inexorably stern,
Thou hast no power to move or turn.
Thy princely Angad still will share
My tender love, Sugríva's care;
And to thy offspring shall be shown
Affection that shall match thine own.”
Canto XIX. Tárá's Grief.

No answer gave the Vánar king
To Ráma's prudent counselling.
Battered and bruised by tree and stone,
By Ráma's arrow overthrown,
Fainting upon the ground he lay,
Gasping his troubled life away.
But Tárá in the Vánar's hall
Heard tidings of her husband's fall;
Heard that a shaft from Ráma's bow
Had laid the royal Báli low.
Her darling Angad by her side,
Distracted from her home she hied.
Then nigh the place of battle drew
The Vánars, Angad's retinue.
They saw the bow-armed Ráma: dread
Fell on them, and they turned and fled.
Like helpless deer, their leaders slain,
So wildly fled the startled train.
But Tárá saw, and nearer pressed,
And thus the flying band addressed:
“O Vánars, ye who ever stand
About our king, a trusty band,
Where is the lion master? why
Forsake ye thus your lord and fly?
Say, lies he dead upon the plain,
A brother by a brother slain,
Or pierced by shafts from Ráma's bow
That rain from far upon the foe?”
Thus Tárá questioned, and was still:
Then, wearers of each shape at will,
The Vánars thus with one accord
Answered the Lady of their lord:
“Turn, Tárá turn, and half undone
Save Angad thy beloved son.
There Ráma stands in death's disguise,
And conquered Báli faints and dies.
He by whose strong arm, thick and fast,
Uprooted trees and rocks were cast,
Lies smitten by a shaft that came
Resistless as the lightning flame.
When he, whose splendour once could vie
With Indra's, regent of the sky,
Fell by that deadly arrow, all
The Vánars fled who marked his fall.
Let all our chiefs their succours bring,
And Angad be anointed king;
[pg 349]
For all who come of Vánar race
Will serve him set in Báli's place.
Or else our conquering foes to-day
Within our wall will force their way,
Polluting with their hostile feet
The chambers of thy loved retreat.
Great fear is on us, all and one.
Those who have wives and who have none,
They lust for power, are fierce and bold,
Or hate us for the strife of old.”
She heard their speech as, sore afraid,
Arrested in their flight, they stayed,
And gave her answer as became
The spirit of so true a dame:
“Nay, what have I to do with pelf,
With son, with kingdom, or with self,
When he, my noble lord, who leads
The Vánars like a lion, bleeds?
His high-souled victor will I meet,
And throw me prostrate at his feet.”
She hastened forth, her bosom rent
With anguish, weeping as she went,
And striking, mastered by her woes,
Her head and breast with frantic blows.
She hurried to the field and found
Her husband prostrate on the ground,
Who quelled the hostile Vánars' might,
Whose bank was never turned in flight:
Whose arm a massy rock could throw
As Indra hurls his bolts below:
Fierce as the rushing tempest, loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud:
Whene'er he roared his voice of fear
Struck terror on the boldest ear:
Now slain, as, hungry for the prey,
A tiger might a lion slay:
Or when, his serpent foe to seek,
Suparṇa600 with his furious beak
Tears up a sacred hillock, long
The reverence of a village throng,
Its altar with their offerings spread,
And the gay flag that waved o'erhead.
She looked and saw the victor stand
Resting upon his bow his hand:
And fierce Sugríva she descried,
And Lakshmaṇ by his brother's side.
She passed them by, nor stayed to view,
Swift to her husband's side she flew;
Then as she looked, her strength gave way,
And in the dust she fell and lay.
Then, as if startled ere the close
Of slumber, from the earth she rose.
Upon her dying husband, round
Whose soul the coils of Death were wound,
Her eyes in agony she bent
And called him with a shrill lament.
Sugríva, when he heard her cries,
And saw the queen with weeping eyes,
And youthful Angad standing there,
His load of grief could hardly bear.
Canto XX. Tárá's Lament.

Again she bent her to the ground,
Her arms about her husband wound.
Sobbed on his breast, and sick and faint
With anguish poured her wild complaint:
“Brave in the charge of battle, boast
And glory of the Vánar host,
Why on the cold earth wilt thou lie
And give no answer when I cry?
Up, warrior, from thy lowly bed!
A meeter couch for thee is spread.
It ill beseems a glorious king
On the bare ground his limbs to fling.
Ah, surely must thy love be strong
For her whom thou hast governed long,
If thou, my hero, canst recline
On her cold breast forsaking mine.
Or, famed for justice through the land,
Thou on the road to heaven hast planned
Some city fairer far than this
To be thy new metropolis.
Are all our pleasures ended now,
With those delicious hours which thou
And I, dear lord, together spent
In woods that breathed the honey's scent?
Whelmed in my sorrow's boundless sea,
There is no joy, no hope, for me,
When my beloved lord, who led
The Vánars to the fight, is dead,
My widowed heart is stern and cold.
Or, at the sight mine eyes behold,
O'ermastered would it end this ache
And in a thousand fragments break.
Ah noble Vánar, doomed to pay
The penalty of all today—
Sugríva from his home expelled,
And Rumá601 from his arms withheld.
Our Vánar race and thee to save,
Wise counsel for thy weal I gave;
But thou, by wildest folly stirred,
Wouldst give no credence to my word,
And now wilt woo the nymphs above,
And shake their souls with pangs of love.
Ah, never could it be that thou
Beneath Sugríva's power shouldst bow,
Thy conqueror is none but Fate
Whose mandates all who breathe await.
And does no thrill of anguish run
Through the stern breast of Raghu's son,
Whose base hand dealt a coward's blow,
And smote thee fighting with thy foe?
Reft of my lord my days, alas!
[pg 350]
In bitter bitter woe will pass:
And I, long blest with every good,
Must bear my dreary widowhood.
And when his uncle's brow is stern,
When his fierce eyes with fury burn,
Ah, what will be my Angad's fate,
So fair and young and delicate?
Come, darling, for the last sad sight,
Of thy dear sire who loved the right;
For soon thine eyes will long in vain
A look at that loved face to gain.
And, hero, as thy child draws near,
With tender words his spirit cheer;
Thy dying wishes gently speak,
And kiss him on the brows and cheek.
High fame, I ween, has Ráma won
By this great deed his hand has done,
His debt to brave Sugríva paid
And kept the promise that he made.
Be happy, King Sugríva, lord
Of Ramá to thine arms restored:
Enjoy uninterrupted reign,
For he, thy foe, at length is slain.
Dost thou not hear me speak, and why
Hast thou no word of soft reply?
Will thou not lift thine eyes and see
These dames who look to none but thee?”
From their sad eyes, as Tárá spoke,
The floods of bitter sorrow broke:
Then, pressing close to Angad's side,
Each lifted up her voice and cried:
“How couldst thou leave thine Angad thus,
And go, for ever go, from us—
Thy child so dear in brave attire,
Graced with the virtues of his sire?
If e'er in want of thought, O chief,
One deed of mine have caused thee grief,
Forgive my folly, I entreat,
And with my head I touch thy feet.”
Again the hapless Tárá wept
As to her husband's side she crept,
And wild with sorrow and dismay
Sat on the ground where Báli lay.
Canto XXI. Hanumán's Speech.

There, like a fallen star, the dame
Fell by her lord's half lifeless frame;
And Hanumán drew softly near,
And strove her grieving heart to cheer:
“By changeless law our bliss and woe
From ancient worth and folly flow.
What fruits soe'er we cull, the seeds
Were scattered by our former deeds.602
Why mourn another's mournful fate,
And weep, thyself unfortunate?
Be calm, O thou whose heart is wise,
For none deserves another's sighs.
Look up, with idle sorrow strive:
Thy child, his heir, is yet alive.
Let needful rites be duly done,
Nor in thy woe forget thy son.
Regard the law which all obey:
They spring to life, they pass away.
Begin the task that bids thee rise,
And stay these tears, for thou art wise.
Our lord the king is doomed to die,
On whom ten million hearts rely.
Kind, liberal, patient, true, and just
Was he in whom they place their trust,
And now he seeks the land of those
Who for the right subdue their foes.
Each Vánar lord with all his train,
Each ranger of this wild domain,
And Angad here, thy darling, see
A governor and friend in thee.
These twain603 whose hearts with sorrow ache
The funeral rites shall undertake,
And Angad by his mother's care
Be king, his father's rightful heir.
Now let him pay, as laws require,
His sacred duty to his sire,
Nor one solemnity omit
Of all that mighty kings befit.
And when thy fond eye sees thine own
Dear Angad on his father's throne,
Then, lightened of its load of pain,
Thy spirit will have rest again.”
She heard his speech, she heaved her head,
Looked upon Hanumán and said:
“Sweeter my slain lord's limbs to touch,
Than Angad or a hundred such.
No rule or right, a widowed dame,
O'er Angad or the realm I claim.
Sugríva is the uncle, he
In every act supreme must be.
I pray thee, chief, this plan resign,
Nor claim from me what ne'er is mine.
The father with his tender care
Guards the dear child the mother bare,
Where'er I be, no sweeter task,
No happier joy I hope or ask
Than thus to sit with loving eyes
And watch the bed where Báli lies.
Canto XXII. Báli Dead.

There breathing still with slow faint sighs
Lay Báli on the ground: his eyes,
[pg 351]
Damp with the tears of death, he raised,
On conquering Sugríva gazed,
And then in clearest speech expressed
The tender feelings of his breast:
“Not to my charge, Sugríva, lay
Thine injuries avenged to-day;
But rather blame resistless Fate
That urged me on infuriate.
Fate ne'er agreed our lives to bless
With simultaneous happiness:
To dwell like brothers side by side
In tender love was still denied.
The Vánars' realm is thine to-day:
Begin, O King, thy rightful sway;604
For I must go at Yáma's call
To sojourn in his gloomy hall;
Must part and leave this very hour
My life, my realm, my kingly power,
And go instead of these to gain
Bright glory free from spot and stain.
Now at thy hands one boon I seek
With the last words my lips shall speak,
And, though it be no easy thing,
Perform the task I give thee, King.
This son of mine, no foolish boy,
Worthy of bliss and nursed in joy,—
See, prostrate on the ground he lies,
The hot tears welling from his eyes—
The child I love so well, more sweet
Than life itself, for woe unmeet,—
To him be kindly favour shown:
O guard and keep him as thine own.
Retain him ever by thy side,
His father, helper, friend, and guide.
From fear and woe his young life save,
And give him all his father gave.
Then Tárá's son in time shall be
Brave, resolute, and famed like thee,
And march before thee to the fight
Where stricken fiends shall own his might.
While yet a tender stripling, fame
Shall bruit abroad his warrior name,
And brightly shall his glory shine
For exploits worthy of his line.
Child of Susheṇ,605 my Tárá well
Obscurest lore can read and tell;
And, trained in wondrous art, divines
Each mystery of boding signs.
Her solemn warning ne'er despise,
Do boldly what her lips advise;
For things to come her eye can see,
And with her words events agree.
And for the son of Raghu's sake
The toil and danger undertake:
For breach of faith were grievous wrong,
Nor wouldst thou be unpunished long.
Now, brother, take this chain of gold,
Gift of celestial hands of old,
Or when I die its charm will flee,
And all its might be lost with me.”
The loving speech Sugríva heard,
And all his heart with woe was stirred.
Remorse and gentle pity stole
Each thought of triumph from his soul:
Thus fades the light when Ráhu606 mars
The glory of the Lord of Stars.607
All angry thoughts were stayed and stilled
And kindly love his bosom filled.
His brother's word the chief obeyed
And took the chain as Báli prayed.
On little Angad standing nigh
The dying hero fixed his eye,
And, ready from this world to part,
Spoke the fond utterance of his heart:
“Let time and place thy thoughts employ:
In woe be strong, be meek in joy.
Accept both pain and pleasure, still
Obedient to Sugríva's will.
Thou hast, my darling, from the first
With tender care been softly nursed;
But harder days, if thou wouldst win
Sugríva's love, must now begin.
To those who hate him ne'er incline,
Nor count his foe a friend of thine.
In all thy thoughts his welfare seek,
Obedient, lowly, faithful, meek.
Let no rash suit his bosom pain,
Nor yet from due requests abstain.608
Each is a grievous fault, between
The two is found the happy mean.”
Then Báli ceased: his eyeballs rolled
In stress of anguish uncontrolled
His massive teeth were bared to view,
And from the frame the spirit flew.
Their lord and leader dead, the crowd
Of noblest Vánars shrieked aloud:
“Since thou, O King, hast sought the skies
All desolate Kishkindhá lies.
Her woods, where Vánars loved to rove,
Are empty now, and hill and grove.
From every eye the light is fled,
Since thou, our mighty lord, art dead.
Thine was the unwearied arm that bore
The brunt of deadly fight of yore
With Golabh the Gandharva, when,
Lasting through five long years and ten,
[pg 352]
The dreadful conflict knew no stay
In gloom of night, in glare of day;
And when the fifteenth year had past
Thy dire opponent fell at last.
If such a foeman fell beneath
Our hero's arm and awful teeth
Who freed us from our terror, how
Is conquering Báli fallen now?”
Then when they saw their leader slain
Great anguish seized the Vánar train,
Weeping their mighty chief, as when
In pastures near a lion's den
The cows by sudden fear are stirred,
Slain the bold bull who led the herd.
And hapless Tárá sank below
The whelming waters of her woe,
Looked upon Báli's face and fell
Beside him whom she loved go well,
Like a young creeper clinging round
A tall tree prostrate on the ground.
Canto XXIII. Tárá's Lament.

She kissed her lifeless husband's face,
She clasped him in a close embrace,
Laid her soft lips upon his head;
Then words like these the mourner said:
“No words of mine wouldst thou regard,
And now thy bed is cold and hard.
Upon the rude rough ground o'erthrown,
Beneath thee naught but sand and stone.
To thee the earth is dearer far
Than I and my caresses are,
If thou upon her breast wilt lie,
And to my words make no reply.
Ah my beloved, good and brave,
Bold to attack and strong to save,
Fate is Sugríva's thrall, and we
In him our lord and master see.
Lo, by thy bed, a mournful band,
Thy Vánar chiefs lamenting stand.
O hear thy nobles' groans and cries,
O mark thy Angad's weeping eyes,
O list to my entreaties, break
The chains of slumber and awake.
Ah me, my lord, this lowly bed
Where rest thy limbs and fallen head,
Is the cold couch where smitten lay
Thy foemen in the bloody fray.
O noble heart from blemish free,
Lover of war, beloved by me.
Why hast thou fled away and left
Thy Tárá of all hope bereft?
Unwise the father who allows
His child to be a warrior's spouse,
For, hero, see thy consort's fate,
A widow now most desolate,
For ever broken is my pride,
My hope of lasting bliss has died,
And sinking in the lowest deep
Of sorrow's sea I pine and weep.
Ah, surely not of earthly mould,
This stony heart is stern and cold,
Or, in a hundred pieces rent,
It had not lingered to lament.
Dead, dead! my husband, friend, and lord
In whom my loving hopes were stored,
First in the field, his foemen's dread,
My own victorious Báli, dead!
A woman when her lord has died,
Though children flourish by her side,
Though stores of gold her coffers fill,
Is called a lonely widow still.
Alas, thy bleeding gashes make
Around thy limbs a purple lake:
Thus slumbering was thy wont to lie
On cushions bright with crimson dye.
Dark streams of welling blood besmear
Thy limbs where dust and mire adhere,
Nor have I strength, weighed down by woe,
Mine arms about thy form to throw.
The issue of this day has brought
Sugríva all his wishes sought,
For Ráma shot one shaft and he
Is freed from fear and jeopardy.
Alas, alas, I may not rest
My head upon thy wounded breast,
Obstructed by the massive dart
Deep buried in thy bleeding heart.”
Then Níla from his bosom drew
The fatal shaft that pierced him through,
Like some tremendous serpent deep
In caverns of a hill asleep.
As from the hero's wound it came,
Shot from the shaft a gleam of flame,
Like the last flashes of the sun
Descending when his course is run.
From the wide rent in crimson flood
Rushed the full stream of Báli's blood,
Like torrents down a mountain's side
With golden ore and copper dyed.
Then Tárá brushed with tender care
The dust of battle from his hair,
While her sad eyes poured down their rain
Upon her lord untimely slain.
Once more she looked upon the dead;
Then to her bright-eyed child she said:
“Turn hither, turn thy weeping eyes
Where low in death thy father lies.
By sinful deed and bitter hate
Our lord has met his mournful fate.
Bright as the sun at early morn
To Yáma's halls is Báli borne.
Then go, my child, salute the king,
From whom our bliss and honour spring.”
Obedient to his mother's hest
His father's feet he gently pressed
[pg 353]
With twining arms and lingering hands:
“Father,” he cried, “here Angad stands.”
Then Tárá: “Art thou stern and mute,
Regardless of thy child's salute?
Hast thou no blessing for thy son,
No word for little Angad, none?
O, hero, at thy lifeless feet
Here with my boy I take my seat,
As some sad mother of the herd,
By the fierce lion undeterred,
Lies moaning by the grassy dell
Wherein her lord and leader fell.
How, having wrought that awful rite,
The sacrifice of deadly fight,
Wherein the shaft by Ráma sped
Supplied the place of water shed,
How hast thou bathed thee at the end
Without thy wife her aid to lend?609
Why do mine eyes no more behold
Thy bright beloved chain of gold,
Which, pleased with thee, the Immortals' King
About thy neck vouchsafed to fling?
Still lingering on thy lifeless face
I see the pride of royal race:
Thus when the sun has set, his glow
Still rests upon the Lord of Snow.
Alas my hero! undeterred
Thou wouldst not listen to my word.
With tears and prayers I sued in vain:
Thou wouldst not listen, and art slain.
Gone is my bliss, my glory: I
And Angad now with thee will die.”
Canto XXIV. Sugríva's Lament.

But when Sugríva saw her weep
O'erwhelmed in sorrow's rushing deep,
Swift through his bosom pierced the sting
Of anguish for the fallen king.
At the sad sight his eyes beheld
A flood of bitter tears outwelled,
And, with his bosom racked and rent,
To Ráma with his train he went.
He came with faltering steps and slow
Where Ráma held his mighty bow
And arrow like a venomed snake,
And to the son of Raghu spake:
“Well hast thou kept, O King, thy vow:
The promised fruit is gathered now.
But life is marred, my soul to-day
Turns sickening from all joy away.
For, while this queen laments and sighs
Amid a mourning people's cries,
And Angad weeps his father slain,
How can my heart delight to reign?
For outrage, fury, senseless pride,
My brother, doomed of yore, has died.
Yet, Raghu's son, in bitter woe
I mourn his fated overthrow.
Ah, better far in pain and ill
To dwell on Rishyamúka still
Than gain the heaven of Gods and all
Its pleasures by my brother's fall.
Did not he cry,—great-hearted foe,—
“Go, for I will not slay thee, Go”?
With his brave soul those words agree:
My speech, my deeds, are worthy me.
How can a brother counterweigh
His grievous loss with joys of sway,
And see with dull unpitying eye
So brave and good a brother die?
His lofty soul was nobly blind:
My death alas, he ne'er designed;
But I, urged blindly on by hate,
Sought with his life my rage to sate.
He smote me with a splintered tree:
I groaned aloud and turned to flee,
From stern reproaches he forbore,
And gently bade me sin no more.
Serene and dutiful and good
He kept the laws of brotherhood:
I, fierce and greedy, vengeful, base,
Showed all the vices of our race.
Ah me, dear friend, my brother's fate
Lays on my soul a crushing weight:
A sin no heart should e'er conceive,
But at the thought each soul should grieve:
Sin such as Indra's when his blow
Laid heavenly Viśvarúpa610 low.
Yet earth, the waters of the seas,
The race of women and the trees
Were fain upon themselves to take
The weight of sin for Indra's sake.
But who a Vánar's soul will free,
Or ease the load that crushes me?
Wretch that I am, I may not claim
The reverence due to royal name.
How shall I reign supreme, or dare
Affect the power I should not share?
Ah me, I sorrow for my sin,
The ruin of my race and kin,
Polluted by a hideous crime
World-hated till the end of time.
Alas, the floods of sorrow roll
With whelming force upon my soul:
So gathers the descending rain
In the deep hollow of the plain.”
[pg 354]
Canto XXV. Ráma's Speech.

Then Raghu's son, whose feeling breast
Shared the great woe that moved the rest,
Strove with wise charm their grief to ease
And gently spoke in words like these:
“You ne'er can raise the dead to bliss
By agony of grief like this.
Cease your lament, nor leave undone
The funeral task you may not shun.
As nature orders o'er the dead.
Your tributary tears are shed,
But Fate, directing each event,
Is still the lord preëminent.
Yes, all obey the changeless laws
Of Fate the universal cause.
By Fate, the lives of all proceed,
That governs every word and deed,
None acts, none sees his hest obeyed,
But each and all by Fate are swayed.
The world its ordered course maintains,
And o'er that course Fate ever reigns.
Fate ne'er exceeds the rule of Fate:
Is ne'er too swift, is ne'er too late,
And making nature its ally
Forgets no life, nor passes by.
No kith and kin, no power and force
Can check or stay its settled course,
No friend or client, grace or charm,
That victor of the world disarm.
So all who see with prudent eyes
The hand of Fate must recognize,
For virtue rules, or love, or gain,
As Fate's unchanged decrees ordain.
Báli has died and won the meed
That waits in heaven on noble deed,
Throned in the seats the brave may reach
By liberal hand and gentle speech,
True to a warrior's duty, bold
In fight, the hero lofty-souled
Deigned not to guard his life: he died,
And now in heaven is glorified.
Then cease these tears and wild despair:
Turn to the task that claims your care,
For Báli's is the glorious fate
Which warriors count most fortunate.”
When Ráma's speech had found a close,
Brave Lakshmaṇ, terror of his foes,
With wise and soothing words addressed
Sugríva still with woe oppressed:
“Arise Sugríva,” thus he said,
“Perform the service of the dead.
Prepare with Tárá and her son
That Báli's rites be duly done.
A store of funeral wood provide
Which wind and sun and time have dried
And richest sandal fit to grace
The pyre of one of royal race.
With words of comfort soft and kind
Console poor Angad's troubled mind,
Nor let thy heart be thus cast down,
For thine is now the Vánars' town.
Let Angad's care a wreath supply,
And raiment rich with varied dye,
And oil and perfumes for the fire,
And all the solemn rites require.
Go, hasten to the town, O King,
And Tárá's little quickly bring.
A virtue is despatch: and speed
Is best of all in hour of need.
Go, let a chosen band prepare
The litter of the dead to bear.
For stout and tall and strong of limb
Must be the chiefs who carry him.”
He spoke,—his friends' delight and pride,—
Then stood again by Ráma's side.
When Tára611 heard the words he said
Within the town he quickly sped,
And brought, on stalwart shoulders laid,
The litter for the rites arrayed,
Framed like a car for Gods, complete
With painted sides and royal seat,
With latticed windows deftly made,
And golden birds and trees inlaid:
Well joined and wrought in every part,
A marvel of ingenious art.
Where pleasure mounds in carven wood
And many a graven figure stood.
The best of jewels o'er it hung,
And wreaths of flowers around it clung,
And over all was raised on high
A canopy of saffron dye,
While like the sun of morning shone
The brilliant blooms that lay thereon.
That glorious litter Ráma eyed.
And spake to Lakshmaṇ by his side:
“Let Báli on the bier be placed
And with all funeral service graced.”
Sugríva then with many a tear
Drew Báli's body to the bier
Whereon, with weeping Angad's aid,
The relics of the chief were laid
Neath many a vesture's varied fold,
And wreaths and ornaments and gold.
Then King Sugríva bade them speed
The obsequies by law decreed:
“Let Vánars lead the way and throw
Rich gems around them as they go,
And be the chosen bearers near
Behind them laden with the bier.
No costly rite may you deny,
Used when the proudest monarchs die:
As for a king of widest sway.
Perform his obsequies to-day.”
[pg 355]
Sugríva gave his high behest;
Then Princely Tára and the rest,
With little Angad weeping, led
The long procession of the dead.
Behind the funeral litter came,
With Tárá first, each widowed dame,
In tears and shrieks her loss deplored,
Add cried aloud, My lord! My lord!
While wood and hill and valley sent
In echoes back the shrill lament.
Then on a low and sandy isle
Was reared the hero's funeral pile
By crowds of toiling Vánars, where
The mountain stream ran fresh and fair,
The Vánar chiefs, a noble band,
Had laid the litter on the sand,
And stood a little space apart,
Each mourning in his inmost heart.
But Tárá, when her weeping eye
Saw Báli, on the litter lie,
Laid his dear head upon her lap,
And wailed aloud her dire mishap;
“O mighty Vánar, lord and king,
To whose fond breast I loved to cling,
Of goodly arms, wise, brave, and bold,
Rise, look upon me as of old.
Rise up, my sovereign, dost thou see
A crowd of subjects weep for thee?
Still o'er thy face, though breath has fled,
The joyous light of life is spread:
Thus around the sun, although he set,
A crimson glory lingers yet.
Death clad in Ráma's form to-day
Hast dragged thee from the world away.
One shaft from his tremendous bow
Dooms us to widowhood and woe.
Hast thou, O Vánar King, no eyes
Thy weeping wives to recognize,
Who for the length of way unmeet
Have followed thee with weary feet?
Yet every moon-faced beauty here
By thee, O King was counted dear.
Lord of the Vánar race, hast thou
No eyes to see Sugríva now?
About thee stands in mournful mood
A sore-afflicted multitude,
And Tára and thy lords of state
Around their monarch weep and wait.
Arise my lord, with gentle speech,
As was thy wont, dismissing each,
Then in the forest will we play
And love shall make our spirits gay.”
The Vánar dames raised Tárá, drowned
In floods of sorrow, from the ground;
And Angad with Sugríva's aid,
O'erwhelmed with anguish and dismayed,
Weeping for his departed sire,
Placed Báli's body on the pyre:
Then lit the flame, and round the dead
Passed slowly with a mourner's tread.
Thus with full rites the funeral train
Performed the service for the slain,
Then sought the flowing stream and made
Libations to the parted shade.
There, setting Angad first in place,
The chieftains of the Vánar race,
With Tárá and Sugríva, shed
The water that delights the dead.
Canto XXVI. The Coronation.

Each Vánar councillor and peer
In crowded numbers gathered near
Sugríva, mournful king, while yet
His vesture from the wave was wet,
Before the chief of Raghu's seed
Unwearied in each arduous deed,
They stood and raised the reverent hand
As saints before Lord Brahmá stand.
Then Hanumán of massive mould,
Like some tall hill of glistering gold,
Son of the God whose wild blasts shake
The forest, thus to Ráma spake:
“By thy kind favour, O my lord,
Sugríva, to his home restored
Triumphant, has regained to-day
His rank and power and royal sway.
He now will call each faithful friend,
Enter the city, and attend
With sage advice and prudent care
To every task that waits him there.
Then balm and unguent shall anoint
Our monarch, as the laws appoint,
And gems and precious wreaths shall be
His grateful offering, King, to thee.
Do thou, O Ráma, with thy friend
Thy steps within the city bend;
Our ruler on his throne install,
And with thy presence cheer us all.”
Then, skilled in lore and arts that guide
The speaker, Raghu's son replied:
“For fourteen years I might not break
The mandate that my father spake;
Nor can I, till that time be fled,
The street of town or village tread.
Let King Sugríva seek the town
Most worthy of her high renown,
There let him be without delay
Anointed, and begin his sway.”
This answered, to Sugríva then
Thus spake anew the king of men:
“Do thou who knowest right ordain
Prince Angad consort of thy reign;
For he is noble, true, and bold,
And trained a righteous course to hold
Gifts like his sire's that youth adorn
Born eldest to the eldest born.
[pg 356]
This is the month of Śrávaṇ,612 first
Of those that see the rain-clouds burst.
Four months, thou knowest well, extends
The season when the rain descends.
No time for deeds of war is this:
Seek thou thy fair metropolis,
And I with Lakshmaṇ, O my friend,
The time upon this hill will spend.
An ample cavern opens there
Made lovely by the mountain air,
And lotuses and lilies fill
The pleasant lake and murmuring rill.
When Kártik's613 month shall clear the skies,
Then tempt the mighty enterprise.
Now, chieftain to thy home repair,
And be anointed sovereign there.”
Sugríva heard: he bowed his head:
Within the lovely town he sped
Which Báli's royal will had swayed,
Where thousand Vánar chiefs arrayed
Gathered in order round their king,
And led him on with welcoming.
Low on the earth the lesser crowd
Fell in prostration as they bowed.
Sugríva looked with grateful eyes,
Spake to them all and bade them rise.
Then through the royal bowers he strode
Wherein the monarch's wives abode.
Soon from the inner chambers came
The Vánar of exalted fame;
And joyful friends drew near and shed
King-making balm upon his head,
Like Gods anointing in the skies
Their sovereign of the thousand eyes.614
Then brought they, o'er their king to hold
The white umbrella decked with gold,
And chouries with their waving hair
In golden handles wondrous fair;
And fragrant herbs and seed and spice,
And sparkling gems exceeding price,
And every bloom from woods and leas,
And gum distilled from milky trees;
And precious ointment white as milk,
And spotless robes of cloth and silk,
Wreaths of sweet flowers whose glories gleam
In grassy grove, on lake or stream.
And fragrant sandal and each scent
That makes the soft breeze redolent;
Grain, honey, odorous seed, and store
Of oil and curd and golden ore;
A noble tiger's skin, a pair
Of sandals wrought with costliest care,
Eight pairs of damsels drawing nigh
Brought unguents stained with varied dye.
Then gems and cates and robes displayed
Before the twice-born priests were laid,
That they would deign in order due
To consecrate the king anew.
The sacred grass was duly spread
And sacrificial flame was fed,
Which Scripture-learned priests supplied
With oil which texts had sanctified.
Then, with all rites ordained of old,
High on the terrace bright with gold,
Whereon a glorious carpet lay,
And fresh-culled garlands sweet and gay,
Placed on his throne, Sugríva bent
His looks toward the Orient.
In horns from forehead of the bull,
In pitchers bright and beautiful,
In urns of gold the Vánara took
Pure water brought from stream and brook,
From every consecrated strand
And every sea that beats the land.
Then, as prescribed by sacred lore
And many a mighty sage of yore,615
The leaders of the Vánars poured
The sacred water on their lord.616
From every Vánar at the close
Of that imperial rite arose
Shouts of glad triumph, loud and long
Repeated by the high-souled throng.
Sugríva, when the rite was done,
Obeyed the hest of Raghu's son,
Prince Angad to his breast he strained,
And partner of his sway ordained.
Once more from all the host rang out
The loud huzza and jovful shout.
“Well done! well done!” each Vánar cried,
And good Sugríva glorified.
[pg 357]
Then with glad voices loudly raised
Were Ráma and his brother praised;
And bright Kishkindhá shone that day
With happy throngs and banners gay.
Canto XXVII. Ráma On The Hill.

But when the solemn rite was o'er,
And bold Sugríva reigned once more,
The sons of Raghu sought the hill,
Praśravaṇ of the rushing rill,
Where roamed the tiger and the deer,
And lions raised their voice of fear;
Thick set with trees of every kind,
With trailing shrubs and plants entwined;
Home of the ape and monkey, lair
Of mountain cat and pard and bear.
In cloudy gloom against the sky
The sanctifying hills rose high.
Pierced in their crest, a spacious cave
To Raghu's sons a shelter gave.
Then Ráma, pure from every crime,
In words well suited to the time
To Lakshmaṇ spake, whose faithful zeal
Watched humbly for his brother's weal:
“I love this spacious cavern where
There breathes a fresh and pleasant air.
Brave brother, let us here remain
Throughout the season of the rain.
For in mine eyes this mountain crest
Is above all, the loveliest.
Where copper-hued and black and white
Show the huge blocks that face the height;
Where gleams the shine of varied ore,
Where dark clouds hang and torrents roar;
Where waving woods are fair to see,
And creepers climb from tree to tree;
Where the gay peacock's voice is shrill,
And sweet birds carol on the hill;
Where odorous breath is wafted far
From Jessamine and Sinduvár;617
And opening flowers of every hue
Give wondrous beauty to the view.
See, too, this pleasant water near
Our cavern home is fresh and clear;
And lilies gay with flower and bud
Are glorious on the lovely flood.
This cave that fares north and east
Will shelter us till rain has ceased;
And towering hills that rise behind
Will screen us from the furious wind.
Close by the cavern's portal lies
And level stone of ample size
And sable hue, a mighty block
Long severed from the parent rock.
Now let thine eye bent northward rest
A while upon that mountain crest,
High as a cloud that brings the rain,
And dark as iron rent in twain.
Look southward, brother, now and view
A cloudy pile of paler hue
Like Mount Kailása's topmost height
Where ores of every tint are bright.
See, Lakshman, see before our cave
That clear brook eastward roll its wave
As though 'twere Gangá's infant rill
Down streaming from the three-peaked hill.
See, by the water's gentle flow
Aśoka, sál, and sandal grow.
And every lovely tree most fair
With leaf and bud and flower is there.
See there, beneath the bending trees
That fringe her bank, the river flees,
Clothed with their beauty like a maid
In all her robes and gems arrayed,
While from the sedgy banks are heard
The soft notes of each amorous bird.
O see what lovely islets stud
Like gems the bosom of the flood,
And sárases and wild swans crowd
About her till she laughs aloud.
See, lotus blooms the brook o'erspread,
Some tender blue, some dazzling red,
And opening lilies white as snow
Their buds in rich profusion show.
There rings the joyous peacock's scream,
There stands the curlew by the stream,
And holy hermits love to throng
Where the sweet waters speed along.
Ranged on the grassy margin shine
Gay sandal trees in glittering line,
And all the wondrous verdure seems
The offspring of creative dreams.
O conquering Prince, there cannot be
A lovelier place than this we see.
Here sheltered on the beauteous height
Our days will pass in calm delight.
Nor is Kishkindhá's city, gay
With grove and garden, far away.
Thence will the breeze of evening bring
Sweet music as the minstrels sing;
And, when the Vánars dance, will come
The sound of tabour and of drum.
Again to spouse and realm restored,
Girt by his friends, the Vánar lord
Great glory has acquired; and how
Can he be less than happy now?”
This said, the son of Raghu made
His dwelling in that pleasant shade
Upon the mountain's shelving side
That sweetly all his wants supplied.
But still the hero's troubled mind
No comfort in his woe could find,
Yet mourning for his stolen wife
Dearer to Ráma than his life,
Chief when he saw the Lord of Night
Rise slowly o'er the eastern height,
[pg 358]
He tossed upon his leafy bed
With eyes by sleep unvisited.
Outwelled the tears in ceaseless flow,
And every sense was numbed by woe.
Each pang that pierced the mourner through
Smote Lakshmaṇ's faithful bosom too,
Who, troubled for his brother's sake,
With wisest words the prince bespake:
“Arise, my brother, and be strong:
Thy hero heart has mourned too long.
Thou knowest well that tears and sighs
Will mar the mightiest enterprise.
Thine was the soul that loved to dare:
To serve the Gods was still thy care;
And ne'er may sorrow's sting subdue
A heart so resolute and true.
How canst thou hope to slay in fight
The giant cruel in his might?
Unwearied must the champion be
Who strives with such a foe as he.
Tear out this sorrow by the root;
Again be bold and resolute.
Arise, my brother, and subdue
The demon and his wicked crew.
Thou canst destroy the earth, her seas,
Her rooted hills and giant trees
Unseated by thy furious hand:
And shall one fiend thy power withstand?
Wait through this season of the rain
Till suns of autumn dry the plain,
Then shall thy giant foe, and all
His host and realm, before thee fall.
I wake thy valour that has slept
Amid the tears thine eyes have wept;
As drops of oil in worship raise
The dormant flame to sudden blaze.”
The son of Raghu heard: he knew
His brother's rede was wise and true;
And, honouring his friendly guide,
In gentle words he thus replied:
“Whate'er a hero firm and bold,
Devoted, true, and lofty-souled
Should speak by deep affection led,
Such are the words which thou hast said.
I cast away each pensive thought
That brings the noblest plans to naught,
And each uninjured power will strain
Until the purposed end we gain.
Thy prudent words will I obey,
And till the close of rain-time stay,
When King Sugríva will invite
To action, and the streams be bright.
The hero saved in hour of need
Repays the debt with friendly deed:
But hated by the good are they
Who take the boon and ne'er repay.”
Canto XXVIII. The Rains.

“See, brother, see” thus Ráma cried
On Mályavat's618 dark-wooded side,
“A chain of clouds, like lofty hills,
The sky with gathering shadow fills.
Nine months those clouds have borne the load
Conceived from sunbeams as they glowed,
And, having drunk the seas, give birth,
And drop their offspring on the earth.
Easy it seems at such a time
That flight of cloudy stairs to climb,
And, from their summit, safely won,
Hang flowery wreaths about the sun.
See how the flash of evening's red
Fringes the fleecy clouds o'erhead
Till all the sky is streaked and lined
With bleeding wounds incarnadined,
Or the wide firmament above
Shows like a lover sick with love
And, pale with cloudlets, heaves a sigh
In the soft breeze that wanders by.
See, by the fervent heat embrowned,
How drenched with recent showers, the ground
Pours out in floods her gushing tears,
Like Sítá wild with torturing fears.
So softly blows this cloud-born breeze
Cool through the boughs of camphor trees
That one might hold it in the cup
Of hollowed hands and drink it up.
See, brother, where that rocky steep,
Where odorous shrubs in rain-drops weep,
Shows like Sugríva when they shed
Tne royal balm upon his head.
Like students at their task appear
These hills whose misty peaks are near:
Black deerskin619 garments wrought of cloud
Their forms with fitting mantles shroud,
Each torrent from the summit poured
Supplies the place of sacred cord.620
And winds that in their caverns moan
[pg 359]
Sound like the voice's undertone.621
From east to west red lightnings flash,
And, quivering neath the golden lash,
The great sky like a generous steed
Groans inly at each call to speed.
Yon lightning, as it flashes through
The giant cloud of sable hue,
Recalls my votaress Sítá pressed
Mid struggles to the demon's breast.
See, on those mountain ridges stand
Sweet shrubs that bud and bloom expand.
The soft rain ends their pangs of grief,
And drops its pearls on flower and leaf.
But all their raptures stab me through
And wake my pining love anew.622
Now through the air no wild bird flies,
Each lily shuts her weary eyes;
And blooms of opening jasmin show
The parting sun has ceased to glow.
No captain now for conquest burns,
But homeward with his host returns;
For roads and kings' ambitious dreams
Have vanished neath descending streams.
This is the watery month623 wherein
The Sámar's624 sacred chants begin.
Áshádha625 past, now Kośal's lord626
The harvest of the spring has stored,627
And dwells within his palace freed
From every care of pressing need.
Full is the moon, and fierce and strong
Impetuous Sarjú628 roars along
As though Ayodhyá's crowds ran out
To greet their king with echoing shout.
In this sweet time of ease and rest
No care disturbs Sugríva's breast,
The foe that marred his peace o'erthrown,
And queen and realm once more his own.
Alas, a harder fate is mine,
Reft both of realm and queen to pine,
And, like the bank which floods erode,
I sink beneath my sorrow's load.
Sore on my soul my miseries weigh,
And these long rains our action stay,
While Rávan seems a mightier foe
Than I dare hope to overthrow.
I saw the roads were barred by rain,
I knew the hopes of war were vain;
Nor could I bid Sugríva rise,
Though prompt to aid my enterprise.
E'en now I scarce can urge my friend
On whom his house and realm depend,
Who, after toil and peril past,
Is happy with his queen at last.
Sugríva after rest will know
The hour is come to strike the blow,
Nor will his grateful soul forget
My succour, or deny the debt
I know his generous heart, and hence
Await the time with confidence
When he his friendly zeal will show,
And brooks again untroubled flow.”629
Canto XXIX. Hanumán's Counsel.

No flash of lightning lit the sky,
No cloudlet marred the blue on high.
The Saras630 missed the welcome rain,
The moon's full beams were bright again.
Sugríva, lapped in bliss, forgot
The claims of faith, or heeded not;
And by alluring joys misled
The path of falsehood learned to tread.
In careless ease he passed each hour,
And dallied in his lady's bower.
Each longing of his heart was stilled,
And every lofty hope fulfilled.
With royal Rumá by his side,
Or Tárá yet a dearer bride,
[pg 360]
He spent each joyous day and night
In revelry and wild delight,
Like Indra whom the nymphs entice
To taste the joys of Paradise.
The power to courtiers' hands resigned,
To all their acts his eyes were blind.
All doubt, all fear he cast aside
And lived with pleasure for his guide.
But sage Hanúmán, firm and true,
Whose heart the lore of Scripture knew,
Well trained to meet occasion, trained
In all by duty's law ordained,
Strove with his prudent speech to find
Soft access to the monarch's mind.
He, skilled in every gentle art
Of eloquence that wins the heart,
Sugríva from his trance to wake,
His salutary counsel spake:
“The realm is won, thy name advanced,
The glory of thy house enhanced,
And now thy foremost care should be
To aid the friends who succoured thee.
He who is firm and faithful found
To friendly ties in honour bound,
Will see his name and fame increase
And his blest kingdom thrive in peace.
Wide sway is his who truly boasts
That friends and treasure, self and hosts,
All blent in one harmonious whole,
Are subject to his firm control.
Do thou, whose footsteps never stray
From the clear bounds of duty's way,
Assist, as honour bids thee, now
Thy friends, observant of thy vow.
For if all cares we lay not by,
And to our friend's assistance fly,
We, after, toil in idle haste,
And all the late endeavour waste.
Up! nor the promised help delay
Until the hour have slipped away.
Up! and with Raghu's son renew
The search for Sítá lost to view.
The hour is come: he hears the call,
But not on thee reproaches fall
From him who labours to repress
His eager spirit's restlessness.
Long joined to thee in friendly ties
He made thy fame and fortune rise,
In gentle gifts by none excelled.
In splendid might unparalleled.
Up, to his succour, King! repay
The favour of that prosperous day,
And to thy bravest captains send
Prompt mandates to assist thy friend.
The cry for help thou wilt not spurn
Although no grace demands return:
And wilt thou not thine aid afford
To him who realm and life restored?
Exert thy power, and thou hast won
The love of Daśaratha's son:
And wilt thou for his summons wait,
And, till he call thee, hesitate?
Think not the hero needs thy power
To save him in the desperate hour:
He with his arrows could subdue
The Gods and all the demon crew,
And only waits that he may see
Redeemed the promise made by thee.
For thee he risked his life and fought,
For thee that great deliverance wrought.
Then let us trace through earth and skies
His lady wheresoe'er she lies.
Through realms above, beneath, we flee,
And plant our footsteps on the sea.
Then why, O Lord of Vánars, still
Delay us waiting for thy will?
Give thy commands, O King, and say
What task has each and where the way.
Before thee myriad Vánars stand
To sweep through heaven, o'er seas and land.”
Sugríva heard the timely rede
That roused him in the day of need,
And thus to Níla prompt and brave
His hest the imperial Vánar gave:
“Go, Níla, to the distant hosts
That keep in arms their several posts,
And all the armies that protect
The quarters,631 with their chiefs, collect.
To all the luminaries placed
In intermediate regions haste,
And bid each captain rise and lead
His squadrons to their king with speed.
Do thou meanwhile with strictest care
All that the time requires prepare.
The loitering Vánar who delays
To gather here ere thrice five days,
Shall surely die for his offence,
Condemned for sinful negligence.”
Canto XXX. Ráma's Lament.

But Ráma in the autumn night
Stood musing on the mountain height,
While grief and love that scorned control
Shook with wild storms the hero's soul.
Clear was the sky, without a cloud
The glory of the moon to shroud.
And bright with purest silver shone
Each hill the soft beams looked upon.
He knew Sugríva's heart was bent
On pleasure, gay and negligent.
He thought on Janak's child forlorn
From his fond arms for ever torn.
He mourned occasion slipping by,
And faint with anguish heaved each sigh.
[pg 361]
He sat where many a varied streak
Of rich ore marked the mountain peak.
He raised his eyes the sky to view,
And to his love his sad thoughts flew.
He heard the Sáras cry, and faint
With sorrow poured his love-born plaint:
“She, she who mocked the softest tone
Of wild birds' voices with her own,—
Where strays she now, my love who played
So happy in our hermit shade?
How can my absent love behold
The bright trees with their flowers of gold,
And all their gleaming glory see
With eyes that vainly look for me?
How is it with my darling when
From the deep tangles of the glen
Float carols of each bird elate
With rapture singing to his mate?
In vain my weary glances rove
From lake to hill, from stream to grove:
I find no rapture in the scene,
And languish for my fawn-eyed queen.
Ah, does strong love with wild unrest,
Born of the autumn, stir her breast?
And does the gentle lady pine
Till her bright eyes shall look in mine?”
Thus Raghu's son in piteous tone,
O'erwhelmed with sorrow, made his moan.
E'en as the bird that drinks the rains632
To Indra thousand-eyed complains.
Then Lakshmaṇ who had wandered through
The copses where the berries grew,
Returning to the cavern found
His brother chief in sorrow drowned,
And pitying the woes that broke
The spirit of the hero spoke:
“Why cast thy strength of soul away,
And weakly yield to passion's sway?
Arise, my brother, do and dare
Ere action perish in despair.
Recall the firmness of thy heart,
And nerve thee for a hero's part.
Whose is the hand unscathed to sieze
The red flame quickened by the breeze?
Where is the foe will dare to wrong
Or keep the Maithil lady long?”
Then with pale lips that sorrow dried
The son of Raghu thus replied:
“Lord Indra thousand-eyed, has sent
The sweet rain from the firmament,
Sees the rich promise of the grain,
And turns him to his rest again.
The clouds with voices loud and deep,
Veiling each tree upon the steep,
Up on the thirsty earth have shed
Their precious burden and are fled.
Now in kings' hearts ambition glows:
They rush to battle with their foes;633
But in Sugríva's sloth I see
No care for deeds of chivalry.
See, Lakshmaṇ, on each breezy height
A thousand autumn blooms are bright.
See how the wings of wild swans gleam
On every islet of the stream.
Four months of flood and rain are past:
A hundred years they seemed to last
To me whom toil and trouble tried,
My Sítá severed from my side.
She, gentlest woman, weak and young,
Still to her lord unwearied clung.
Still by the exile's side she stood
In the wild ways of Daṇḍak wood,
Like a fond bird disconsolate
If parted from her darling mate.
Sugríva, lapped in soft repose,
Untouched by pity for my woes,
Scorns the poor exile, dispossessed,
By Rávaṇ's mightier arm oppressed,
The wretch who comes to sue and pray
From his lost kingdom far away.
Hence falls on me the Vánar's scorn,
A suitor friendless and forlorn.
The time is come: with heedless eye
He sees the hour of action fly,—
Unmindful, now his hopes succeed,
Of promise made in stress of need.
Go seek him sunk in bliss and sloth,
Forgetful of his royal oath,
And as mine envoy thus upbraid
The monarch for his help delayed:
“Vile is the wretch who will not pay
The favour of an earlier day,
Hope in the supplicant's breast awakes,
And then his plighted promise breaks.
Noblest, mid all of women born,
Who keeps the words his lips have sworn,
Yea, if those words be good or ill,
Maintains his faith unbroken still.
The thankless who forget to aid
The friend who helped them when they prayed,
Dishonoured in their death shall lie,
And dogs shall pass their corpses by.
Sure thou wouldst see my strained arm hold
My bow of battle backed with gold,
Wouldst gaze upon its awful form
Like lightning flashing through the storm,
And hear the clanging bowstring loud
As thunder from a labouring cloud.”
His valour and his strength I know:
But pleasure's sway now sinks them low,
With thee, my brother, for ally
That strength and valour I defy.
[pg 362]
He promised, when the rains should end,
The succour of his arm to lend.
Those months are past: he dares forget,
And, lapped in pleasure, slumbers yet.
No thought disturbs his careless breast
For us impatient and distressed,
And, while we sadly wait and pine,
Girt by his lords he quaffs the wine.
Go, brother, go, his palace seek,
And boldly to Sugríva speak,
Thus give the listless king to know
What waits him if my anger glow:
Still open, to the gloomy God,
Lies the sad path that Báli trod.
“Still to thy plighted word be true,
Lest thou, O King, that path pursue.
I launched the shaft I pointed well.
And Báli, only Báli, fell.
But, if from truth thou dare to stray,
Both thee and thine this hand shall slay.”
Thus be the Vánar king addressed,
Then add thyself what seems the best.”
Canto XXXI. The Envoy.

Thus Ráma spoke, and Lakshmaṇ then
Made answer to the prince of men:
“Yea, if the Vánar, undeterred
By fear of vengeance, break his word,
Loss of his royal power ere long
Shall pay the traitor for the wrong.
Nor deem I him so void of sense
To brave the bitter consequence.
But if enslaved to joy he lie,
And scorn thy grace with blinded eye,
Then let him join his brother slain:
Unmeet were such a wretch to reign.
Quick rises, kindling in my breast,
The wrath that will not be repressed,
And bids me in my fury slay
The breaker of his faith to-day.
Let Báli's son thy consort trace
With bravest chiefs of Vánar race.”
Thus spoke the hero, and aglow
With rage of battle seized his bow.
But Ráma thus in gentler mood
With fitting words his speech renewed:
“No hero with a soul like thine
To paths of sin will e'er incline,
He who his angry heart can tame
Is worthiest of a hero's name.
Not thine, my brother, be the part
So alien from the tender heart,
Nor let thy feet by wrath misled
Forsake the path they loved to tread.
From harsh and angry words abstain:
With gentle speech a hearing gain,
And tax Sugríva with the crime
Of failing faith and wasted time.”
Then Lakshmaṇ, bravest of the brave,
Obeyed the hest that Ráma gave,
To whom devoting every thought
The Vánar's royal town he sought.
As Mandar's mountain heaves on high
His curved peak soaring to the sky,
So Lakshmaṇ showed, his dread bow bent
Like Indra's634 in the firmament.
His brother's wrath, his brother's woe
Inflamed his soul to fiercest glow.
The tallest trees to earth were cast
As furious on his way he passed,
And where he stepped, so fiercely fleet,
The stones were shivered by his feet.
He reached Kishkindhá's city deep
Embosomed where the hills were steep,
Where street and open square were lined
With legions of the Vánar kind.
Then, as his lips with fury swelled,
The lord of Raghu's line beheld
A stream of Vánar chiefs outpoured
To do obeisance to their lord.
But when the mighty prince in view
Of the thick coming Vánars drew,
They turned them in amaze to seize
Crags of the rock and giant trees.
He saw, and fiercer waxed his ire,
As oil lends fury to the fire.
Scarce had the Vánar chieftains seen
That wrathful eye, that troubled mien
Fierce as the God's who rules the dead,
When, turned in wild affright, they fled.
Speeding in breathless terror all
Sought King Sugríva's council hall,
And there made known their tale of fear,
That Lakshmaṇ wild with rage, was near.
The king, untroubled by alarms,
Held Tárá in his amorous arms,
And in the distant bower with her
Heard not each clamorous messenger.
Then, summoned at the lords' behest
Forth from the city portals pressed,
Each like some elephant or cloud,
The Vánars in a trembling crowd:
Fierce warriors all with massive jaws
And terrors of their tiger claws,
Some matched ten elephants, and some
A hundred's strength could overcome.
Some chieftains, mightier than the rest,
Ten times a hundred's force possessed.
With eyes of fury Lakshmaṇ viewed
The Vánars' tree-armed multitude.
Thus garrisoned from side to side
The city walls assault defied.
Beyond the moat that girt the wall
Advanced the Vánar chiefs; and all
Upon the plain in firm brigade,
Impetuous warriors, stood arrayed.
[pg 363]
Red at the sight flashed Lakshmaṇ's eyes,
His bosom heaved tumultuous sighs,
And forth the fire of fury broke
Like flame that flashes through the smoke.
Like some fierce snake the hero stood:
His bow recalled the expanded hood,
And in his shaft-head bright and keen
The flickering of its tongue was seen:
And in his own all-conquering might
The venom of its deadly bite.
Prince Angad marked his angry look,
And every hope his heart forsook.
Then, his large eyes with fury red,
To Angad Lakshmaṇ turned and said:
“Go tell the king that Lakshmaṇ waits
For audience at the city gates,
Whose heart, O tamer of thy foes,
Is heavy with his brother's woes.
Bid him to Ráma's word attend,
And ask if he will aid his friend.
Go, let the king my message learn:
Then hither with all speed return.”
Prince Angad heard and wild with grief
Cried as he looked upon the chief:
“'Tis Lakshmaṇ's self: impelled by ire
He seeks the city of my sire.”
At the fierce words and furious look
Of Raghu's son he quailed and shook.
Back through the city gates he sped,
And, laden with the tale of dread,
Sought King Sugríva, filled his ears
And Rumá's with his doubts and fears.
To Rumá and the king he bent,
And clasped their feet most reverent,
Clasped the dear feet of Tárá, too,
And told the startling tale anew.
But King Sugríva's ear was dulled,
By love and wine and languor lulled,
Nor did the words that Angad spake
The slumberer from his trance awake.
But soon as Raghu's son came nigh
The startled Vánars raised a cry,
And strove to win his grace, while dread
Each anxious heart disquieted.
They saw, and, as they gathered round,
Rose from the mighty throng a sound
Like torrents when they downward dash,
Or thunder with the lightning's flash.
The shouting of the Vánars broke
Sugríva's slumber, and he woke:
Still with the wine his eyes were red,
His neck with flowers was garlanded.
Roused at the voice of Angad came
Two Vánar lords of rank and fame;
One Yaksha, one Prabháva hight,—
Wise counsellors of gain and right.
They came and raised their voices high,
And told that Raghu's son was nigh:
“Two brothers steadfast in their truth,
Each glorious in the bloom of youth,
Worthy of rule, have left the skies,
And clothed their forms in men's disguise.
One at thy gates, in warlike hands
Holding his mighty weapon, stands.
His message is the charioteer
That brings the eager envoy near,
Urged onward by his bold intent,
And by the hest of Ráma sent.”
The gathered Vánars saw and fled,
And raised aloud their cry of dread.
Son of Queen Tárá, Angad ran
To parley with the godlike man.
Still fiery-eyed with rage and hate
Stands Lakshmaṇ at the city gate,
And trembling Vánars scarce can fly
Scathed by the lightning of his eye.
“Go with thy son, thy kith and kin,
The favour of the prince to win,
And bow thy reverent head that so
His fiery wrath may cease to glow.
What righteous Ráma bids thee, do,
And to thy plighted word be true.”
Canto XXXII. Hanumán's Counsel.

Sugríva heard, and, trained and tried
In counsel, to his lords replied:
“No deed of mine, no hasty word
The anger of the prince has stirred.
But haply some who hate me still
And watch their time to work me ill,
Have slandered me to Raghu's son,
Accused of deeds I ne'er have done.
Now, O my lords—for you are wise—
Speak truly what your hearts advise,
And, pondering each event, inquire
The reason of the prince's ire.
No fear have I of Lakshmaṇ: none:
No dread of Raghu's mightier son.
But wrath, that fires a friendly breast
Without due cause, disturbs my rest.
With labour light is friendship gained,
But with severest toil maintained.
And doubt is strong, and faith is weak,
[pg 364]
And friendship dies when traitors speak.
Hence is my troubled bosom cold
With fear of Ráma lofty-souled;
For heavy on my spirit weigh
His favours I can ne'er repay.”
He ceased: and Hanumán of all
The Vánars in the council hall
In wisdom first, and rank, expressed
The thoughts that filled his prudent breast:
“No marvel thou rememberest yet
The service thou shouldst ne'er forget,
How the brave prince of Raghu's seed
Thy days from fear and peril freed;
And Báli for thy sake o'erthrew,
Whom Indra's self might scarce subdue.
I doubt not Ráma's anger burns
For the scant love thy heart returns.
For this he sends his brother, him
Whose glory never waxes dim.
Sunk in repose thy careless eye
Marks not the seasons as they fly,
Nor sees that autumn has begun
With dark blooms opening to the sun.
Clear is the sky: no cloudlet mars
The splendour of the shining stars.
The balmy air is soft and still,
And clear and bright are lake and rill.
Thou heedest not with blinded eyes
The hour for warlike enterprise.
Hence Lakshmaṇ hither comes to break
Thy slothful trance and bid thee wake.
Then, Monarch, with a patient ear
The high-souled Ráma's message hear,
Which, reft of wife and realm and friends,
Thus by another's mouth he sends.
Thou, Vánar King, hast done amiss:
And now I see no way but this:
Before his envoy humbly stand
And sue for peace with suppliant hand.
High duty bids a courtier seek
His master's weal, and freely speak.
So by no thought of fear controlled
My speech, O King, is free and bold,
For Ráma, if his anger glow,
Can, with the terrors of his bow
This earth with all the Gods subdue,
Gandharvas,635 and the demon crew.
Unwise to stir his wrathful mood
Whose favour must again be wooed.
And, most of all, unwise for one
Grateful like thee for service done.
Go with thy son and kinsmen: bend
Thy humble head and greet thy friend.
And, like a fond obedient spouse,
Be faithful to thy plighted vows.”
Canto XXXIII. Lakshman's Entry.

Through the fair city Lakshmaṇ came,
Invited in Sugríva's name.
Within the gates the guardian bands,
Of Vánars raised their suppliant hands,
And in their ordered ranks, amazed,
Upon the princely hero gazed,
They marked each burning breath he drew,
The fury of his soul they knew.
Their hearts were chilled with sudden fear:
They gazed, but dared not venture near,
Before his eyes the city, gay
With gems and flowery gardens, lay,
Where fane and palace rose on high,
And things of beauty charmed the eye.
Where trees of every blossom grew
Yielding their fruit in season due
To Vánars of celestial seed
Who wore each varied form at need,
Fair-faced and glorious with the shine
Of heavenly robes and wreaths divine.
There sandal, aloe, lotus bloomed,
And there delicious breath perfumed
The city's broad street, redolent
Of sugary mead636 and honey scent.
There many a lofty palace rose
Like Vindhya or the Lord of Snows,
And with sweet murmur sparkling rills
Leapt lightly down the sheltering hills.
On many a glorious palace, raised
For prince and noble,637 Lakshmaṇ gazed:
Like clouds of paly hue they shone
With fragrant wreaths that hung thereon:
There wealth of jewels was enshrined,
And fairer gems of womankind.
There gleamed, of noble height and size,
Like Indra's mansion in the skies,
Protected by a crystal fence
Of rock, the royal residence,
With roof and turret high and bright
Like Mount Kailása's loftiest height.
There blooming trees, Mahendra's gift,
High o'er the walls were seen to lift
Their golden fruited boughs, that made
With leaf and flower delicious shade.
He saw a band of Vánars wait,
[pg 365]
Wielding their weapons, at the gate
Where golden portals flashed between
Celestial garlands red and green.
Within Sugríva's fair abode
Unchecked the mighty hero strode,
As when the sun of autumn shrouds
His glory in a pile of clouds.
Through seven wide courts he quickly passed,
And reached the royal tower at last,
Where seats were set with couch and bed
Of gold and silver richly spread.
While the young chieftain's feet drew near
The sound of music reached his ear,
As the soft breathings of the flute
Came blending with the voice and lute.
Then beauty showed her youth and grace
And varied charm of form and face:
Soft bright-eyed creatures, fair and young,—
Gay garlands round their necks were hung,
And greater charms to each were lent
By richest dress and ornament.
He saw the calm attendants wait
About their lord in careless state,
Heard women's girdles chime in sweet
Accordance with their tinkling feet.
He heard the anklet's silvery sound,
He saw the calm that reigned around,
And o'er him, as he listened, came
A rush of rage, a flood of shame.
He drew his bowstring: with the clang
From ease to west the welkin rang:
Then in his modest mood withdrew
A little from the ladies' view.
And sternly silent stood apart,
While wrath for Ráma filled his heart.
Sugríva knew the sounding string,
And at the call the Vánar king
Sprang swiftly from his golden seat,
And feared the coming prince to meet.
Then with cold lips that terror dried
To beauteous Tárá thus he cried:
“What cause of anger, O my spouse
Fair with the charm of lovely brows,
Sets Lakshmaṇ's gentle breast on fire,
And brings him in unwonted ire?
Say, canst thou see, O faultless dame,
A cause to fill his soul with flame?
For there must be a reason when
Such fury stirs the king of men.
Reveal the sin, if sin of mine
Anger the lord of Raghu's line.
Or go thyself, his rage subdue,
And with soft words his favour woo.
Soon as on thee his eyes are set
His heart this anger will forget,
For men like him of lofty mind
Are never stern with womankind.
First let thy gentle speech disarm
His fury, and his spirit charm,
And I, from fear of peril free,
The conqueror of his foes will see.”
She heard: with faltering steps and slow,
With eyes that shone with trembling glow,
With gold-girt body gently bent
To meet the stranger prince she went.
When Lakshmaṇ saw the Vánar queen
With tranquil eyes and modest mien,
Before the dame he bent his head,
And anger, at her presence, fled.
Made bold by draughts of wine, and cheered
By Lakshmaṇ's look no more she feared,
And in the trust his favour lent
She thus addressed him eloquent:
“Whence springs thy burning fury? say:
Who dares thy will to disobey?
Who checks the maddened flames that seize
On forests full of withered trees?”
Then Lakshmaṇ spoke, her mind to ease,
His kind reply in words like these:
“Thy lord his days in pleasure spends,
Heedless of duty and of friends,
Nor dost thou mark, though fondly true,
The evil path his steps pursue.
He cares not for affairs of state,
Nor us forlorn and desolate,
But sits a mere spectator still,
A sensual slave to pleasure's will.
Four months were fixed, the time agreed
When he should help us in our need:
But, bound in toils of pleasure fast,
He sees not that the months are past.
Where beats the heart which draughts of wine
To virtue or to gain incline?
Hast thou not heard those draughts destroy
Virtue and gain and love and joy?
For those who, helped at need, refuse
Their aid in turn, their virtue lose:
And they who scorn a friend disdain
A treasure naught may buy again.
Thy lord has cast his friend away,
Nor feared from virtue's path to stray,
If this be true, declare, O dame
Who knowest duty's every claim,
What further work remains for us
Deceived and disappointed thus.”
She listened, for his words were kind,
Where virtue showed with gain combined,
And thus in turn the prince addressed,
As hope was rising in his breast:
“No time, no cause of wrath I see
With those who live and honour thee:
And thou shouldst bear without offence
Thy servant's fitful negligence.
I know the seasons glide away,
While Ráma maddens at delay
I know what deed our thanks has earned,
I know that grace should be returned.
But still I know, whate'er befall,
That conquering love is lord of all;
[pg 366]
Know where Sugríva's thoughts, possessed
By one absorbing passion, rest.
But he whom sensual joys debase
Heeds not the claim of time and place,
And sees not with his blinded sight
His duty or his gain aright.
O pardon him who loves me! spare
The Vánar caught in pleasure's snare,
And once again let Ráma grace
With favour him who rules our race.
E'en royal saints, whose chief delight
Was penance and austerest rite,
At love's commandment have unbent,
Beguiled by sweetest blandishment.
And know, Sugríva, roused at last,
The order to his lords has passed,
And, long by love and bliss delayed,
Wakes all on fire your hopes to aid.
A countless host his city fills,
New-gathered from a thousand hills:
Impetuous chiefs, who wear at need
Each varied form, his legions lead.
Come then, O hero, kept aloof
By modest awe, nor fear reproof:
A faithful friend untouched by blame
May look upon another's dame.”
He passed within, by Tárá pressed,
And by his own impatient breast,
Refulgent there in sunlike sheen
Sugríva on his throne was seen.
Gay garlands round his neck were twined,
And Rumá by her lord recline.
Canto XXXIV. Lakshman's Speech.

Sugríva started from his rest
With doubt and terror in his breast.
He heard the prince's furious tread
He saw his eyes glow fiercely red.
Swift sprang the monarch to his feet
Upstarting from his golden seat.
Rose Rumá and her fellows, too,
And closely round Sugríva drew,
As round the moon's full glory stand
Attendant stars in glittering band.
Sugríva glanced with reddened eyes,
Raised his joined hands in suppliant guise
Flew to the door, and rooted there
Stood like the tree that grants each prayer.638
And Lakshmaṇ saw, and, fiercely moved,
With angry speech the king reproved:
“Famed is the prince who loves the truth,
Whose soul is touched with tender ruth,
Who, liberal, keeps each sense subdued,
And pays the debt of gratitude.
But all unmeet a king to be,
The meanest of the mean is he
Who basely breaks the promise made
To trusting friends who lent him aid.
He sins who for a steed has lied,
As if a hundred steeds had died:
Or if he lie, a cow to win,
Tenfold as heavy is the sin.
But if the lie a man betray,
Both he and his shall all decay.639
O Vánar King, the thankless man
Is worthy of the general ban,
Who takes assistance of his friends,
And in his turn no service lends.
This verse of old by Brahmá sung
Is echoed now by every tongue.
Hear what He cried in angry mood
Bewailing man's ingratitude:
“For draughts of wine, for slaughtered cows,
For treacherous theft, for broken vows
A pardon is ordained: but none
For thankless scorn of service done.”
Ungrateful, Vánar King, art thou,
And faithless to thy plighted vow.
For Ráma brought thee help, and yet
Thou shunnest to repay the debt:
Or, grateful, thou hadst surely pressed
To aid the hero in his quest.
Thou art, in vulgar pleasures drowned,
False to thy bond in honour bound.
Nor yet has Ráma's guileless heart
Discerned thee for the thing thou art—
A snake who holds the frogs that cries
And lures fresh victims as it dies.
Brave Ráma, born for glorious fate,
Has set thee in thy high estate,
And to the Vánars' throne restored,
Great-souled himself, their mean-souled lord.
Now if thy pride disown what he,
High thoughted prince, has done for thee,
Struck by his arrows shalt thou fall,
And Báli meet in Yáma's hall.
Still open, to the gloomy God,
Lies the sad path thy brother trod.
Then to thy plighted word be true,
Nor let thy steps that path pursue.
Methinks the shafts of Ráma, shot
Like thunderbolts, thou heedest not,
Who canst, absorbed in sensual bliss,
Thy promise from thy mind dismiss.”
[pg 367]
Canto XXXV. Tárá's Speech.

He ceased: and Tárá starry-eyed
Thus to the angry prince replied:
“Not to my lord shouldst thou address
A speech so fraught with bitterness:
Not thus reproached my lord should be,
And least of all, O Prince, by thee.
He is no thankless coward—no—
With spirit dead to valour's glow.
From paths of truth he never strays,
Nor wanders in forbidden ways.
Ne'er will Sugríva's heart forget,
By Ráma saved, the lasting debt.
Still in his grateful breast will live
The succour none but he could give.
Restored to fame by Ráma's grace,
To empire o'er the Vánar race,
From ceaseless dread and toil set free,
Restored to Rumá and to me:
By grief and care and exile tried,
New to the bliss so long denied,
Like Viśvámitra once, alas,
He marks not how the seasons pass.
That saint ten thousand years remained,
By sweet Ghritáchí's640 love enchained,
And deemed those years, that flew away
So lightly, but a single day.
O, if those years unheeded flew
By him who times and seasons knew,
Unequalled for his lofty mind,
What marvel meaner eyes are blind?
Then be not angry, Raghu's son,
And let thy brother feel for one
Who many a weary year has spent
Stranger to love and blandishment.
Let not this wrath thy soul inflame,
Like some mean wretch unknown to fame:
For high and noble hearts like thine
Love mercy and to ruth incline,
Calm and deliberate, and slow
With anger's raging fire to glow.
At length, O righteous prince, relent,
Nor let my words in vain be spent,
This sudden blaze of fury slake,
I pray thee for Sugríva's sake.
He would renounce at Ráma's call
Rumá and Angad, me and all
Who call him lord: his gold and grain,
The favour of his friend to gain.
His arm shall slay the fiend more base
In soul than all his impious race,
And happy Ráma reunite
To Sítá, rival in delight
Of the triumphant Moon when he
Rejoins his darling Rohiṇí.641
Ten million million demons guard
The gates of Lanká firmly barred.
All hope until that host be slain,
To smite the robber king is vain.
Nor with Sugríva's aid alone
May king and host be overthrown.
Thus ere he died—for well he knew—
Spake Báli, and his words are true.
I know not what his proofs might be,
But speak the words he spake to me.
Hence far and wide our lords are sent
To raise the mightiest armament,
For their return Sugríva waits
Ere he can sally from his gates.
Still is the oath Sugríva swore
Kept firmly even as before:
And the great host this day will be
Assembled by the king's decree,
Ten thousand thousand troops, who wear
The form of monkey and of bear,
Prepared for thee the war to wage:
Then let thy wrath no longer rage.
The matrons of the Vánar race
See marks of fury in thy face;
They see thine eyes like blood are red,
And will not yet be comforted.”
Canto XXXVI. Sugríva's Speech.

She ceased: and Lakshmaṇ gave assent,
Won by her gentle argument.
So Tárá's pleading, just and mild,
His softening heart had reconciled.
His altered mood Sugríva saw,
And cast aside the fear and awe
Like raiment heavy with the rain
Which on his troubled soul had lain.
Then quickly to the ground he threw
His flowery garland, bright of hue,
Which round his royal neck he wore,
And, sobered, was himself once more.
Then turning to the princely man
In soothing words the king began:
“My glory, wealth, and royal sway
To other hands had passed away:
But Ráma to my rescue came,
And gave me back my power and fame.
O Lakshmaṇ, say, whose grateful heart
[pg 368]
Could nurse the hope to pay in part,
By service of a life, the deed
Of Ráma sprung of heavenly seed?
His foeman Rávaṇ shall be slain,
And Sítá shall be his again.
The hero's side I will not leave,
But he the conquest shall achieve.
What need of help has he who drew
His bow, and one great arrow flew
Through seven tall trees, a mountain rent,
And cleft the earth with force unspent?
What aid needs he who shook his bow,
And at the sound the earth below
With hill and wood and rooted rock
Quaked feverous with the thunder shock?
Yet all my legions will I bring,
And follow close the warrior king
Marching on his impetuous way
Fierce Rávaṇ and his hosts to slay.
If I be guilty of offence,
Careless through love or negligence,
Let him his loyal slave forgive;
For error cleaves to all who live.”
Thus king Sugríva, good and brave,
In humble words his answer gave,
Softened was Lakshmaṇ's angry mood
Who thus his friendly speech renewed:
“My brother, Vánar King, will see
A champion and a friend in thee.
So strong art thou, so brave and bold,
So pure in thought, so humble-souled,
That thou deservest well to reign
And all a monarch's bliss to gain.
Lend thou my brother aid, and all
His foes beneath his arm will fall.
Full well the words thou speakest suit
A chieftain wise and resolute.
With grateful heart that loves the right,
And foot that never yields in fight.
O come, and my sad brother cheer
Who mourns the wife he holds so dear.
O pardon, friend, my harsh address,
And Ráma's frantic bitterness.”
Canto XXXVII. The Gathering.

He ceased: and King Sugríva cried
To sage Hanúmán642 by his side:
“Summon the Vánar legions, those
Who dwell about the Lord of Snows:
Those who in Vindhyan groves delight,
Kailása's, or Mahendra's height,
Dwell on the Five bright Peaks, or where
Mandar's white summit cleaves the air:
Wherever they are wandring free
In highlands by the western sea,
On that east hill whence springs the sun,
Or where he sinks when day is done.
Call the great chiefs whose legions fill
The forests of the Lotus Hill,643
Where every one in strength and size
With the stupendous Anjan644 vies.
Call those, with tints of burnished gold
Whom Maháśaila's caverns hold:
Those who on Dhúmra roam, or hide
In the wild woods on Meru's side.
Call those who, brilliant as the sun,
On high Maháruṇ leap and run,
Quaffing sweet juices that distil
From odorous trees upon the hill,
Call those whom tranquil haunts delight,
Where dwell the sage and anchorite
In groves that through their wide extent
Exhale a thousand blossoms' scent.
Send out, send out: from coast to coast
Assemble all the Vánar host:
With force, with words, with gifts of price
Compel, admonish and entice.
Already envoys have been sent
To warn them of their lord's intent.
Let others urged by thee repeat
My mandate that their steps be fleet.
Those lords who yielding to the sway
Of love's delight would fain delay,
Urge hither with the utmost speed,
Or with thee to my presence lead:
And those who linger to the last
Until ten days be come and passed,
And dare their sovereign to defy,
For their offence shall surely die.
Thousands, yea millions, shall there be,
Obedient to their king's decree,
The lions of the Vánar race,
Assembled from each distant place,
Forth shall they haste like hills in size,
Or mighty clouds that veil the skies,
And swiftly speeding on their way
Bring all our legions in array.”
[pg 369]
He ceased: the son of Váyu645 heard,
Submissive to his sovereign's word;
And sent his rapid envoys forth
To east and west and south and north.
They bent their airy course afar
Along the paths of bird and star,
And sped through ether farther yet
Where Vishṇu's splendid sphere is set.646
By sea, on hill, by wood and lake
They called to arms for Ráma's sake,
As each with terror in his breast
Obeyed his awful king's behest.
Three million Vánars, fierce and strong
As Anjan's self, a wondrous throng
Sped from the spot where Ráma still
Gazed restless from the woody hill.
Ten million others, brave and bold,
With coats that shone like burning gold,
Came flying from the mountain crest
Where sinks the weary sun to rest.
Impetuous from the northern skies,
Where Mount Kailása's summits rise,
Ten hundred millions hasted, hued
Like manes of lions, ne'er subdued:
The dwellers on Himálaya's side,
Whose food his roots and fruit supplied,
With rangers of the Vindhyan chain
And neighbours of the Milky Main.647
Some from the palm groves where they fed,
Some from the woods of betel sped:
In countless numbers, fierce and brave,
They came from mountain, lake, and cave.
As on their way the Vánars went
To rouse each distant armament,
They chanced that wondrous tree to view
That on Himálaya's summit grew.
Of old upon that sacred height
Was wrought Maheśvar's648 glorious rite,
Which every God in heaven beheld,
And his glad heart with triumph swelled.
There from pure seed at random sown
Bright plants with luscious fruit had grown,
And, sweet as Amrit to the taste,
The summit of the mountain graced.
Who once should eat the virtuous fruit
That sprang from so divine a root,
One whole revolving moon should be
From every pang of hunger free.
The Vánars culled the fruit they found
Ripe on the sacrificial ground
With rare celestial odours sweet,
To lay them at Sugríva's feet.
Those noble envoys scoured the land
To summon every Vánar band
Then swiftly homeward at the head
Of countless armaments they sped.
They gathered by Kishkindhá's wall.
They thronged Sugríva's palace hall,
And, richly laden, bare within
That fruit of heavenly origin.
Their gifts before their king they spread,
And thus in tones of triumph said:
“Through every land our way we took
To visit hill and wood and brook,
And all thy hosts from east to west
Flock hither at their lord's behest.”
Sugríva with delighted look
The present of his envoys took,
Then bade them go, with gracious speech
Rewarding and dismissing each.
Canto XXXVIII. Sugríva's Departure.

Thus all the princely Vánars, true
To their appointed tasks, withdrew.
Sugríva deemed already done
The work he planned for Raghu's son.
Then Lakshmaṇ gently spoke and cheered
Sugríva for his valour feared:
“Now, chieftain, if thy will be so,
Forth from Kishkindhá let us go.”
Sugríva's heart swelled high with pride
As to the prince he thus replied:
“Come, speed we forth without delay:
'Tis mine thy mandate to obey.”
Sugríva bade the dames adieu,
And Tárá and the rest withdrew.
Then at their chieftain's summons came
The Vánars first in rank and fame,
A trusty brave and reverent band,
Meet e'en before a queen to stand.
They at his call made haste to bring
The litter of the glorious king.
“Mount, O my friend.” Sugríva cried,
And straight Sumitrá's son complied.
Then took by Lakshmaṇ's side his place
The sovereign of the woodland race,
Upraised by Vánars, fleet and strong,
Who bore the glittering load along.
On high above his royal head
A paly canopy was spread,
And chouries white in many a hand
The forehead of the monarch fanned,
And shell and drum and song and shout
Pealed round him as the king passed out.
[pg 370]
About the monarch went a throng
Of Vánar warriors brave and strong,
As onward to the mountain shade
Where Ráma dwelt his way he made.
Soon as the lovely spot he viewed
Where Ráma lived in solitude,
The Vánar monarch, far-renowed,
With Lakshmaṇ, lightly stepped to ground,
And to the son of Raghu went
Joining his raised hands reverent.
As their great leader raised his hands,
So suppliant stood the Vánar bands.
Well pleased the son of Raghu saw
Those legions, hushed in reverent awe,
Stand silent like the tranquil floods
That raise their hands of lotus buds.
But Ráma, when the king, to greet
His friend, had bowed him at his feet,
Raised him who ruled the Vánar race,
And held him in a close embrace:
Then, when his arms he had unknit,
Besought him by his side to sit,
And thus with gentle words the best
Of men the Vánar king addressed:
“The prince who well his days divides,
And knows aright the times and tides
To follow duty, joy, or gain,
He, only he, deserves to reign.
But he who wealth and virtue leaves,
And every hour to pleasure cleaves,
Falls from his bliss like him who wakes
From slumber on a branch that breaks.
True king is he who smites his foes,
And favour to his servants shows,
And of that fruit makes timely use
Which virtue, wealth, and joy produce.
The hour is come that bids thee rise
To aid me in my enterprise.
Then call thy nobles to debate,
And with their help deliberate.”
“Lost was my power,” the king replied,
“All strength had fled, all hope had died.
The Vánars owned another lord,
But by thy grace was all restored.
All this, O conqueror of the foe,
To thee and Lakshmaṇ's aid I owe.
And his should be the villain's shame
Who durst deny the sacred claim.
These Vánar chiefs of noblest birth
Have at my bidding roamed the earth,
And brought from distant regions all
Our legions at their monarch's call:
Fierce bears with monkey troops combined,
And apes of every varied kind,
Terrific in their forms, who dwell
In grove and wood and bosky dell:
The bright Gandharvas' brood, the seed
Of Gods,649 they change their shapes at need.
Each with his legions in array,
Hither, O Prince, they make their way.
They come: and tens of millions swell
To numbers that no tongue may tell.650
For thee their armies will unite
With chiefs, Mahendra's peers in might.
From Meru and from Vindhya's chain
They come like clouds that bring the rain.
These round thee to the war will go,
To smite to earth thy demon foe;
Will slay the Rákshas and restore
Thy consort when the fight is o'er.”
Canto XXXIX. The Vánar Host.

Then Ráma, best of all who guide
Their steps by duty, thus replied:
“What marvel if Lord Indra send
The kindly rain, O faithful friend?
If, thousand-rayed, the God of Day
Drive every darksome cloud away?
Or, rising high, the Lord of Night
Flood the broad heaven with silver light?
What marvel, King, that one like thee
The glory of his friends should be?
No marvel, O my lord, that thou
Hast shown thy noble nature now.
Thy heart, Sugríva, well I know:
Naught from thy lips but truth may flow,
With thee for friend and champion all
My foes beneath my arm will fall.
The Rákshas, when my queen he stole,
Brought sure destruction on his soul,
Like Anuhláda651 who beguiled
Queen Śachí called Puloma's child.
Yes, near, Sugríva, is the day
When I my demon foe shall slay,
As conquering Indra in his ire
Slew Queen Paulomí's haughty sire.”652
[pg 371]
He ceased: thick clouds of dust rose high
To every quarter of the sky:
The very sun grew faint and pale
Behind the darkly-gathering veil.
The mighty clouds that hung o'erhead
From east to west thick darkness spread,
And earth to her foundations shook
With hill and forest, lake and brook.
Then hidden was the ground beneath
Fierce warriors armed with fearful teeth,
Hosts numberless, each lord in size
A match for him who rules the skies:
From many a sea and distant hill,
From rock and river, lake and rill.
Some like the morning sun were bright,
Some, like the moon, were silver white:
These green as lotus fibres, those
White-coated from their native snows.653
Then Śatabali came in view
Girt by a countless retinue.
Like some gold mountain high in air
Tárá's illustrious sire654 was there.
There Rumá`s father,655 far-renowned,
With tens of thousands ranged around.
There, tinted like the tender green
Of lotus filaments, was seen,
Compassed by countless legions, one
Whose face was as the morning sun,
Hanúmán's father good and great,
Kesarí,656 wisest in debate.
There the proud king Gaváksha, feared
For his strong warrior arm, appeared.
There Dhúmra, mighty lord, the dread
Of foes, his ursine legions led.
There Panas, first for warlike fame,
With twenty million warriors came.
There glorious Níla, dark of hue,
Arrayed his countless troops in view.
There moved lord Gavaya brave and bold,
Resplendent like a hill of gold,
And near him Darímukha stood
With millions from the hill and wood
And Dwivid famed for strength and speed,
And Mamda, both of Aśvin seed.
There Gaja, strong and glorious, led
The countless troops around him spread,
And Jámbaván657 the king whose sway
The bears delighted to obey,
With swarming myriads onward pressed
True to his lord Sugríva's hest;
And princely Ruman, dear to fame,
Led millions whom no hosts could tame,
All these and many a chief beside658
Came onward fierce in warlike pride.
They covered all the plain, and still
Pressed forward over wood and hill.
In rows for many a league around
They rested on the grassy ground;
Or to Sugríva made their way,
Like clouds about the Lord of Day,
And to the king their proud heads bent
In power and might preeminent.
Sugríva then to Ráma sped,
And raised his reverent hands, and said
That every chief from coast to coast
Was present with his warrior host.
Canto XL. The Army Of The East.

With practised eye the king reviewed
The Vánars' countless multitude,
And, joying that his hest was done,
Thus spake to Raghu's mighty son:
“See, all the Vánar hosts who fear
My sovereign might are gathered here.
Chiefs strong as Indra's self, who speed
Wher'er they list, these armies lead.
Fierce and terrific to the view
As Daityas or the Dánav659 crew,
[pg 372]
Famed in all lands for souls afire
With lofty thoughts, they never tire,
O'er hill and vale they wander free,
And islets of the distant sea.
And these gathered myriads, all
Will serve thee, Ráma, at thy call.
Whate'er thy heart advises, say:
Thy mandates will the host obey.”
Then answered Ráma, as he pressed
The Vánar monarch to his breast:
“O search for my lost Sítá, strive
To find her if she still survive:
And in thy wondrous wisdom trace
Fierce Rávaṇ to his dwelling-place.
And when by toil and search we know
Where Sítá lies and where the foe,
With thee, dear friend, will I devise
Fit means to end the enterprise.
Not mine, not Lakshmaṇ's is the power
To guide us in the doubtful hour.
Thou, sovereign of the Vánars, thou
Must be our hope and leader now.”
He ceased: at King Sugríva's call
Near came a Vánar strong and tall.
Huge as a towering mountain, loud
As some tremendous thunder cloud,
A prince who warlike legions led:
To him his sovereign turned and said:
“Go, take ten thousand660 of our race
Well trained in lore of time and place,
And search the eastern region; through
Groves, woods, and hills thy way pursue.
There seek for Sítá, trace the spot
Where Rávaṇ hides, and weary not.
Search for the captive in the caves
Of mountains, and by woods and waves.
To Sarjú,661 Kauśikí,662 repair,
Bhagírath's daughter663 fresh and fair.
Search mighty Yamun's664 peak, explore
Swift Yamuná's665 delightful shore,
Sarasvati666 and Sindhu's667 tide,
And rapid Śona's668 pebbly side.
Then roam afar by Mahí's669 bed
Where Kálamahí's groves are spread.
Go where the silken tissue shines,
Go to the land of silver mines.670
Visit each isle and mountain steep
And city circled by the deep,
And distant villages that high
About the peaks of Mandar lie.
Speed over Yavadwipa's land,671
And see Mount Śiśir672 proudly stand
Uplifting to the skies his head
By Gods and Dánavs visited.
Search each ravine and mountain pass,
Each tangled thicket deep in grass.
Search every cave with utmost care
If haply Ráma's queen be there.
Then pass beyond the sounding sea
Where heavenly beings wander free,
And Śona's673 waters swift and strong
With ruddy billows foam along.
Search where his shelving banks descend,
Search where the hanging woods extend.
Try if the pathless thickets screen
The robber and the captive queen.
Search where the torrent floods that rend
The mountain to the plains descend:
Search dark abysses where they rave,
Search mountain slope and wood and cave
Then on with rapid feet and gain
The inlands of the fearful main
Where, tortured by the tempest's lash,
Against rude rocks the billows dash:
An ocean like a sable cloud,
Whose margent monstrous serpents crowd:
[pg 373]
An ocean rising with a roar
To beat upon an iron shore.
On, onward still! your feet shall tread
Shores of the sea whose waves are red,
Where spreading wide your eyes shall see
The guilt-tormenting cotton tree674
And the wild spot where Garuḍ675 dwells
Which gems adorn and ocean shells,
High as Kailása, nobly decked,
Wrought by the heavenly architect.676
Huge giants named Mandehas677 there
In each foul shape they love to wear,
Numbing the soul with terror's chill,
Hang from the summit of the hill.
When darts the sun his earliest beam
They plunge them in the ocean stream,
New vigour from his rays obtain,
And hang upon the rocks again.
Speed onward still: your steps shall be
At length beside the Milky Sea
Whose every ripple as it curls
Gleams glorious with its wealth of pearls.
Amid that sea like pale clouds spread
The white Mount Rishabh678 rears his head.
About the mountain's glorious waist
Woods redolent of bloom are braced.
A lake where lotuses unfold
Their silver buds with threads of gold,
Sudarśan ever bright and fair
Where white swans sport, lies gleaming there,
The wandering Kinnar's679 dear resort,
Where heavenly nymphs and Yakshas680 sport.
On! leave the Milky Sea behind:
Another flood your search shall find,
A waste of waters, wild and drear,
That chills each living heart with fear.
There see the horse's awful head,
Wrath-born, that flames in Ocean's bed.681
There rises up a fearful cry
From the sea things that move thereby,
When, helpless, powerless for flight,
They gaze upon the horrid sight.
Past to the northern shore, and then
Beyond the flood three leagues and ten
Your wondering glances will behold
Mount Játarúpa682 bright with gold.
There like the young moon pale of hue
The monstrous serpent683 will ye view,
The earth's supporter, whose bright eyes
Resemble lotus leaves in size.
He rests upon the mountain's brow,
And all the Gods before him bow.
Ananta with a thousand heads
His length in robes of azure spreads.
A triple-headed palm of gold—
Meet standard for the lofty-souled—
Springs towering from the mountain's crest
Beneath whose shade he loves to rest,
So that in eastern realms each God
May use it as a measuring-rod.
Beyond, with burning gold aglow,
The eastern steep his peaks will show,
Which in unrivalled glory rise
A hundred leagues to pierce the skies,
And all the neighbouring air is bright
With golden trees that clothe the height.
A lofty peak uprises there
Ten leagues in height and one league square
Saumanas, wrought of glistering gold,
Ne'er to be loosened from its hold.
There his first step Lord Vishṇu placed
When through the universe he paced,
And with his second lightly pressed
The loftiest peak of Meru's crest.
When north of Jambudwíp684 the sun
[pg 374]
A portion of his course has run,
And hangs above this mountain height,
Then creatures see the genial light.
Vaikhánases,685 saints far renowned,
And Bálakhilyas686 love the ground
Where in their glory half divine,
Touched by the morning glow, they shine
The light that flashes from that steep
Illumines all Sudarśandwíp,687
And on each creature, as it glows,
The sight and strength of life bestows.
Search well that mountain's woody side
If Rávaṇ there his captive hide.
The rising sun, the golden hill
The air with growing splendours fill,
Till flashes from the east the red
Of morning with the light they shed.
This, where the sun begins his state,
Is earth and heaven's most eastern gate.
Through all the mountain forest seek
By waterfall and cave and peak.
Search every nook and bosky dell,
If Rávaṇ there with Sítá dwell.
There, Vánars, there your steps must stay:
No farther eastward can ye stray.
Beyond no sun, no moon gives light,
But all is sunk in endless night.
Thus far, O Vánar lords, may you
O'er sea and land your search pursue.
But wild and dark and known to none
Is the drear space beyond the sun.
That mountain whence the sun ascends
Your long and weary journey ends.688
Now go, and in a month return,
And let success my praises earn.
He who beyond tho month shall stay
Will with his life the forfeit pay.”
Canto XLI. The Army Of The South.

He gathered next a chosen band
For service in the southern land.
He summoned Níla son of Fire,
And, offspring of the eternal Sire,
Jámbaván bold and strong and tall,
And Hanumán, the best of all,
And many a valiant lord beside,689
With Angad for their chief and guide.
“Go forth,” he cried, “with all this host
Exploring to the southern coast:
The thousand peaks that Vindhya shows
Where every tree and creeper grows:
Where Narmadá's690 sweet waters run,
And serpents bask them in the sun:
Where Krishṇaveṇí's691 currents flee,
And sparkles fair Godávarí.692
Through Mekhal693 pass and Utkal's694 land:
Go where Daśárṇa's695 cities stand.
Avantí696 seek, of high renown,
And Abravanti's697 glorious town.
Search every hill and brook and cave
Where Daṇḍak's woods their branches wave
Ayomukh's698 woody hill explore
Whose sides are bright with richest ore,
Lifting his glorious head on high
From bloomy groves that round him lie.
[pg 375]
Search well his forests where the breeze
Blows fragrant from the sandal trees.
Then will you see Káverí's699 stream
Whose pleasant waters glance and gleam,
And to the lovely banks entice
The sportive maids of Paradise.
High on the top of Malaya's700 hill,
In holy musing, calm and still,
Sits, radiant as the Lord of Light,
Agastya,701 noblest anchorite.
Soon as that lofty-thoughted lord
His high permission shall accord,
Pass Támraparṇí's702 flood whose isles
Are loved by basking crocodiles.
The sandal woods that fringe her side
Those islets and her waters hide;
While, like an amorous matron, she
Speeds to her own dear lord the sea.
Thence hasting on your way behold
The Páṇḍyas'703 gates of pearl and gold.
Then, with your task maturely planned,
On ocean's shore your feet will stand.
Where, by Agastya's high decree,
Mahendra,704 planted in the sea,
With tinted peaks against the tide
Rises in solitary pride,
And glorious in his golden glow
Spurns back the waves that beat below.
Fair mountain, bright with creepers' bloom
And every tint that trees assume,
Where Yaksha, God, and heavenly maid
Meet wandering in the lovely shade,
At changing moon and solemn tide
By Indra's presence glorified.
One hundred leagues in fair extent
An island705 fronts the continent:
No man may tread its glittering shore,
With utmost heed that isle explore,
For the fair country owns the sway
Of Rávaṇ whom we burn to slay.
A mighty monster stands to keep
The passage of the southern deep.
Lifting her awful arms on high
She grasps e'en shadows as they fly.
Speed through that isle, and onward still
Where in mid sea the Flowery Hill706
Raises on high his bloomy head
By saints and angels visited.
There, with a hundred gleaming peaks
Bright as the sun, the sky he seeks,
One glorious peak the Lord of Day
Gilds ever with his loving ray;
Thereon ne'er yet the glances fell
Of thankless wretch or infidel.
Bow to that hill in reverence due,
And then once more your search pursue.
Beyond that glorious mountain hie,
And Súryaván,707 proud hill is nigh.
Your rapid course yet farther bend
Where Vaidyut's708 airy peaks ascend.
There trees of noblest sort, profuse
Of wealth, their kindly gifts produce.
Their precious fruits, O Vánars, taste,
The honey sip, and onward haste.
Next will ye see Mount Kunjar rise,
Who cheers with beauty hearts and eyes.
There is Agastya's709 mansion, decked
By heaven's all moulding architect.
Near Bhogavatí710 stands, the place
Where dwell the hosts of serpent race:
A broad-wayed city, walled and barred,
Which watchful legions keep and guard,
The fiercest of the serpent youth,
Each awful for his venomed tooth:
And throned in his imperial hall
Is Vásuki711 who rules them all.
Explore the serpent city well,
Search town and tower and citadel,
And scan each field and wood that lies
Around it, with your watchful eyes.
Beyond that spot your way pursue:
A noble mountain shall ye view,
Named Rishabh, like a mighty bull,
With gems made bright and beautiful.
[pg 376]
All trees of sandal flourish there
Of heavenly fragrance, rich and rare.
But, though they tempt your longing eyes,
Avoid to touch them, and be wise.
For Rohitas, a guardian band
Of fierce Gandharvas, round them stand,
Who five bright sovereign lords712 obey,
In glory like the God of Day.
Here by good deeds a home is won
With shapes like fire, the moon, the sun.
Here they who merit heaven by worth
Dwell on the confines of the earth.
There stay: beyond it, dark and drear,
Lies the departed spirits' sphere,
And, girt with darkness, far from bliss,
Is Yáma's sad metropolis.713
So far, my lords, o'er land and sea
Your destined course is plain and free.
Beyond your steps you may not set,
Where living thing ne'er journeyed yet.
With utmost care these realms survey,
And all you meet upon the way.
And, when the lady's course is traced,
Back to your king, O Vánars, haste.
And he who tells me he has seen.
After long search, the Maithil queen,
Shall gain a noble guerdon: he
In power and bliss shall equal me.
Dear as my very life, above
His fellows in his master's love;
I call him, yea though stained with crime.
My kinsman from that happy time.”
Canto XLII. The Army Of The West.

Then to Susheṇ Sugríva bent,
And thus addressed him reverent:
“Two hundred thousand of our best
With thee, my lord, shall seek the west.
Explore Suráshṭra's714] distant plain,
Explore Váhlíka's715 wild domain,
And all the pleasant brooks that flee
Through mountains to the western sea.
Search clustering groves on mountain heights,
And woods the home of anchorites.
Search where the breezy hills are high,
Search where the desert regions lie.
Search all the western land beset
With woody mountains like a net.
The country`s farthest limit reach,
And stand upon the ocean beach.
There wander through the groves of palm
Where the soft air is full of balm.
Through grassy dell and dark ravine
Seek Rávaṇ and the Maithil queen.
Go visit Somagiri's716 steep
Where Sindhu717 mingles with the deep.
There lions, borne on swift wings, roam
The levels of their mountain home,
And elephants and monsters bear,
Caught from the ocean, to their lair.
You Vánars, changing forms at will,
With rapid search must scour the hill,
And his sky-kissing peak of gold
Where loveliest trees their blooms unfold.
There golden-peaked, ablaze with light,
Uprises Páriyátra's718 height
Where wild Gandharvas, fierce and fell,
In bands of countless myriads dwell.
Pluck ye no fruit within the wood;
Beware the impious neighbourhood,
Where, very mighty, strong, and hard
To overcome, the fruit they guard.
Yet search for Janak's daughter still,
For Vánars there need fear no ill.
Near, bright as turkis, Vajra719 named,
There stands a hill of diamond framed.
Soaring a hundred leagues in pride,
With trees and creepers glorified.
Search there each cave and dark abyss
By waterfall and precipice.
Far in that sea the wild waves beat
On Chakraván's720 firm-rooted feet.
Where the great discus,721 thousand rayed,
By Vísvakarmá's722 art was made.
When Panchajan723 the fiend was slain.
And Hayagríva,724 fierce in vain,
[pg 377]
Thence taking shell and discus went
Lord Vishṇu, God preëminent.
On! sixty thousand hills of gold
With wondering eyes shall ye behold,
Where in his glory every one
Is brilliant as the morning sun.
Full in the midst King Meru,725 best
Of mountains, lifts his lofty crest,
On whom of yore, as all have heard,
The sun well-pleased this boon conferred:
“On thee, O King, on thee and thine
Light, day and night, shall ever shine.
Gandharvas, Gods who love thee well
And on thy sacred summits dwell,
Undimmed in lustre, bright and fair,
The golden sheen shall ever share.”
The Viśvas,726 Vasus,727 they who ride
The tempest,728 every God beside,
Draw nigh to Meru's lofty crest
When evening darkens in the west,
And to the parting Lord of Day
The homage of their worship pay,
Ere yet a while, unseen of all,
Behind Mount Asta's729 peaks he fall.
Wrought by the heavenly artist's care
A glorious palace glitters there,
And round about it sweet birds sing
Where the gay trees are blossoming:
The home of Varuṇ730 high-souled lord,
Wrist-girded with his deadly cord.731
With ten tall stems, a palm between
Meru and Asta's hill is seen:
Pure silver from the base it springs,
And far and wide its lustre flings.
Seek Rávaṇ and the dame by brook,
In pathless glen, in leafy nook
On Meru's crest a hermit lives
Bright with the light that penance gives:
Sávarṇi732 is he named, renowned
As Brahmá's peer, with glory crowned.
There bowing down in reverence speak
And ask him of the dame you seek.
Thus far the splendid Lord of Day
Pursues through heaven his ceaseless way,
Shedding on every spot his light;
Then sinks behind Mount Asta's height,
Thus far advance: the sunless sea
Beyond is all unknown to me.
Susheṇ of mighty arm, long tried
In peril, shall your legions guide.
Receive his words with high respect,
And ne'er his lightest wish neglect.
He is my consort's sire, and hence
Deserves the utmost reverence.”
Canto XLIII. The Army Of The North.

Forth went the legions of the west:
And wise Sugríva addressed
Śatabal, summoned from the crowd.
To whom the sovereign cried aloud:
“Go forth, O Vánar chief, go forth,
Explore the regions of the north.
Thy host a hundred thousand be,
And Yáma's sons733 attend on thee.
With dauntless courage, strength, and skill
Search every river, wood, and hill.
Through every land in order go
Right onward to the Hills of Snow.
Search mid the peaks that shine afar,
In woods of Lodh and Deodár.734
Search if with Janak's daughter, screened
By sheltering rocks, there lie the fiend.
[pg 378]
The holy grounds of Soma tread
By Gods and minstrels visited.
Reach Kála's mount, and flats that lie
Among the peaks that tower on high.
Then leave that hill that gleams with ore,
And fair Sudarśan's heights explore.
Then on to Devasakhá735 hie,
Loved by the children of the sky.
A dreary land you then will see
Without a hill or brook or tree,
A hundred leagues, bare, wild, and dread
In lifeless desolation, spread.
Pursue your onward way, and haste
Through the dire horrors of the waste
Until triumphant with delight
You reach Kailása's glittering height.
There stands a palace decked with gold,
For King Kuvera736 wrought of old,
A home the heavenly artist planned
And fashioned with his cunning hand.
There lotuses adorn the flood
With full-blown flower and opening bud
Where swans and mallards float, and gay
Apsarases737 come down to play.
There King Vaiśravaṇ's738 self, the lord
By all the universe adored,
Who golden gifts to mortals sends,
Lives with the Guhyakas739 his friends.
Search every cavern in the steep,
And green glens where the moonbeams sleep,
If haply in that distant ground
The robber and the dame be found.
Then on to Krauncha's hill,740 and through
His fearful pass your way pursue:
Though dark and terrible the vale
Your wonted courage must not fail.
There through abyss and cavern seek,
On lofty ridge, and mountain peak,
On, on! pursue your journey still
By valley, lake, and towering hill.
Reach the North Kurus' land, where rest
The holy spirits of the blest:
Where golden buds of lilies gleam
Resplendent on the silver stream,
And leaves of azure turkis throw
Soft splendour on the waves below.
Bright as the sun at early morn
Fair pools that happy clime adorn,
Where shine the loveliest flowers on stems
Of crystal and all valued gems.
Blue lotuses through all the land
The glories of their blooms expand,
And the resplendent earth is strown
With peerless pearl and precious stone.
There stately trees can scarce uphold
The burthen of their fruits of gold,
And ever flaunt their gay attire
Of flower and leaf like flames of fire.
All there sweet lives untroubled spend
In bliss and joy that know not end,
While pearl-decked maidens laugh, or sing
To music of the silvery string.741
Still on your forward journey keep,
And rest you by the northern deep,
Where springing from the billows high
Mount Somagiri742 seeks the sky,
And lightens with perpetual glow
The sunless realm that lies below.
There, present through all life's extent,
Dwells Brahmá Lord preëminent,
And round the great God, manifest
In Rudra743 forms high sages rest.
Then turn, O Vánars: search no more,
Nor tempt the sunless, boundless shore.”
Canto XLIV. The Ring.

But special counselling he gave
To Hanumán the wise and brave:
[pg 379]
To him on whom his soul relied,
With friendly words the monarch cried:
“O best of Vánars, naught can stay
By land or sea thy rapid way,
Who through the air thy flight canst bend,
And to the Immortals' home ascend.
All realms, I ween, are known to thee
With every mountain, lake, and sea.
In strength and speed which naught can tire
Thou, worthy rival of thy sire
The mighty monarch of the wind,
Where'er thou wilt a way canst find.
Exert thy power, O swift and strong,
Bring back the lady lost so long,
For time and place, O thou most wise,
Lie open to thy searching eyes.”
When Ráma heard that special hest
To Hanumán above the rest,
He from the monarch's favour drew
Hope of success and trust anew
That he on whom his lord relied,
In toil and peril trained and tried,
Would to a happy issue bring
The task commanded by the king.
He gave the ring that bore his name,
A token for the captive dame,
That the sad lady in her woe
The missive of her lord might know.
“This ring,” he said, “my wife will see,
Nor fear an envoy sent by me.
Thy valour and thy skill combined,
Thy resolute and vigorous mind,
And King Sugríva's high behest,
With joyful hopes inspire my breast.”
Canto XLV. The Departure.

Away, away the Vánars sped
Like locusts o'er the land outspread.
To northern realms where rising high
The King of Mountains cleaves the sky,
Fierce Śatabal with vast array
Of Vánar warriors led the way.
Far southward, as his lord decreed,
Wise Hanumán, the Wind-God's seed,
With Angad his swift way pursued,
And Tára's warlike multitude,
Strong Vinata with all his band
Betook him to the eastern land,
And brave Susheṇ in eager quest
Sped swiftly to the gloomy west.
Each Vánar chieftain sought with speed
The quarter by his king decreed,
While from his legions rose on high
The shout and boast and battle cry:
“We will restore the dame and beat
The robber down beneath our feet.
My arm alone shall win the day
From Rávaṇ met in single fray,
Shall rob the robber of his life,
And rescue Ráma's captive wife
All trembling in her fear and woe.
Here, comrades, rest: no farther go:
For I will vanquish hell, and she
Shall by this arm again be free.
The rooted mountains will I rend,
The mightiest trees will break and bend,
Earth to her deep foundations cleave,
And make the calm sea throb and heave.
A hundred leagues from steep to steep
In desperate bound my feet shall leap.
My steps shall tread unchecked and free,
Through woods, o'er land and hill and sea,
Range as they list from flood to fell,
And wander through the depths of hell.”
Canto XLVI. Sugríva's Tale.

“How, King,” cried Ráma, “didst thou gain
Thy lore of sea and hill and plain?”
“I told thee how,” Sugríva said,
“From Báli's arm Máyáví fled744
To Malaya's hill, and strove to save
His life by hiding in the cave.
I told how Báli sought, to kill
His foe, the hollow of the hill;
Nor need I, King, again unfold
The wondrous tale already told.
Then, wandering forth, my way I took
By many a town and wood and brook.
I roamed the earth from place to place,
Till, like a mirror's polished face,
The whole broad disk, that lies between
Its farthest bounds, mine eyes had seen.
I wandered first to eastern skies
Where fairest trees rejoiced mine eyes,
And many a cave and wooded hill
Where lilies robed the lake and rill.
There metal dyes that hill745 adorn
Whence springs the sun to light the morn.
There, too, I viewed the Milky sea,
Where nymphs of heaven delight to be.
Then to the south I made my way
From regions of the rising day,
And roamed o'er Vindhya, where the breeze
Is odorous of sandal trees.
Still in my fear I found no rest:
I sought the regions of the west,
And gazed on Asta,746 where the sun
[pg 380]
Sinks when his daily course is run.
Then from that noblest hill I fled
And to the northern country sped,
Saw Himaván,747 and Meru's steep,
And stood beside the northern deep.
But when, by Báli's might oppressed,
E'en in those wilds I could not rest,
Came Hanumán the wise and brave,
And thus his prudent counsel gave:
“'I told thee how Matanga748 cursed
Thy tyrant, that his head should burst
In pieces, should he dare invade
The precincts of that tranquil shade.
There may we dwell in peace and be
From thy oppressor's malice free.”
We went to Rishyamúka's hill,
And spent our days secure from ill
Where, with that curse upon his head,
The cruel Báli durst not tread.”
Canto XLVII. The Return.

Thus forth in quest of Sítá went
The legions King Sugríva sent.
To many a distant town they hied
By many a lake and river's side.
As their great sovereign's order taught,
Through valleys, plains, and groves they sought.
They toiled unresting through the day:
At night upon the ground they lay
Where the tall trees, whose branches swayed
Beneath their fruit, gave pleasant shade.
Then, when a weary month was spent,
Back to Praśravaṇ's hill they went,
And stood with faces of despair
Before their king Sugríva there.
Thus, having wandered through the east,
Great Vinata his labours ceased,
And weary of the fruitless pain
Returned to meet the king again,
Brave Śatabali to the north
Had led his Vánar legions forth.
Now to Sugríva he sped
With all his host dispirited.
Susheṇ the western realms had sought,
And homeward now his legions brought.
All to Sugríva came, where still
He sat with Ráma on the hill.
Before their sovereign humbly bent
And thus addressed him reverent:
“On every hill our steps have been,
By wood and cave and deep ravine;
And all the wandering brooks we know
Throughout the land that seaward flow,
Our feet by thy command have traced
The tangled thicket and the waste,
And dens and dingles hard to pass
for creeping plants and matted grass.
Well have we searched with toil and pain,
And monstrous creatures have we slain
But Hanumán of noblest mind
The Maithil lady yet will find;
For to his quarter of the sky749
The robber fiend was seen to fly.”
Canto XLVIII. The Asur's Death.

But Hanumán still onward pressed
With Tára, Angad, and the rest,
Through Vindhya's pathless glens he sped
And left no spot unvisited.
He gazed from every mountain height,
He sought each cavern dark as night,
And wandered through the bloomy shade
By pool and river and cascade,
But, though they sought in every place,
Of Sítá yet they found no trace.
On fruit and woodland berries fed
Through many a lonely wild they sped,
And reached at last, untouched by fear,
A desert terrible and drear:
A fruitless waste, a land of gloom
Where trees were bare of leaf and bloom,
Where every scanty stream was dried,
And niggard earth her roots denied.
No elephants through all the ground,
No buffaloes or deer are found.
There roams no tiger, pard, or bear,
No creature of the wood is there.
No bird displays his glittering wings,
No tree, no shrub, no creeper springs.
There rise no lilies from the flood,
Resplendent with their flower and bud,
Where the delighted bees may throng
About the fragrance with their song.
There lived a hermit Kaṇdu named,
For truth and wealth of penance famed.
Whom fervent zeal and holy rite
Had dowered with all-surpassing might.
His little son, a ten year child—
So chanced it—perished in the wild.
His death with fury stirred the sage,
Who cursed the forest in his rage,
Doomed from that hour to shelter none,
A waste for bird and beast to shun.
[pg 381]
They searched by every forest edge,
They searched each cave and mountain ledge,
And thickets whence the water fell
Wandering through the tangled dell.
Striving to do Sugríva's will
They roamed along each leafy rill.
But vain were all endeavours, vain
The careful search, the toil and pain.
Through one dark grove they scarce could wind,
So thick were creepers intertwined.
There as they struggled through the wood
Before their eyes an Asur750 stood.
High as a towering hill, his pride
The very Gods in heaven defied.
When on the fiend their glances fell
Each braced him for the combat well.
The demon raised his arm on high,
And rushed upon them with a cry.
Him Angad smote,—for, sure, he thought
This was the fiend they long had sought.
From his huge mouth by Angad felled,
The blood in rushing torrents welled,
As, like a mountain from his base
Uptorn, he dropped upon his face.
Thus fell the mighty fiend: and they
Through the thick wood pursued their way;
Then, weary with the toil, reclined
Where leafy boughs to shade them twined.
Canto XLIX. Angad's Speech.

Then Angad spake: “We Vánars well
Have searched each valley, cave, and dell,
And hill, and brook, and dark recess,
And tangled wood, and wilderness.
But all in vain: no eye has seen
The robber or the Maithil queen.
A dreary time has passed away,
And stern is he we all obey.
Come, cast your grief and sloth aside:
Again be every effort tried;
So haply may our toil attain
The sweet success that follows pain.
Laborious effort, toil, and skill,
The firm resolve, the constant will
Secure at last the ends we seek:
Hence, O my friends, I boldly speak.
Once more then, noble hearts, once more
Let us to-day this wood explore,
And, languor and despair subdued,
Purchase success with toil renewed.
Sugríva is a king austere,
And Ráma's wrath we needs must fear.
Come, Vánars, ye think it wise,
And do the thing that I advise.”
Then Gandhamádan thus replied
With lips that toil and thirst had dried;
“Obey his words, for wise and true
Is all that he has counselled you.
Come, let your hosts their toil renew
And search each grove and desert through,
Each towering hill and forest glade.
By lake and brook and white cascade,
Till every spot, as our great lord
Commanded, be again explored.”
Uprose the Vánars one and all,
Obedient to the chieftain's call,
And over the southern region sped
Where Vindhya's tangled forests spread.
They clomb that hill that towers on high
Like a huge cloud in autumn's sky,
Where many a cavern yawns, and streaks
Of radiant silver deck the peaks.
In eager search they wandered through
The forests where the Lodh trees grew,
Where the dark leaves were thick and green,
But found not Ráma's darling queen.
Then faint with toil, their hearts depressed,
Descending from the mountain's crest,
Their weary limbs a while to ease
They lay beneath the spreading trees.
Canto L. The Enchanted Cave.

Angad and Tára by his side,
Again rose Hanumán and tried
Each mountain cavern, dark and deep,
And stony pass and wooded steep,
The lion's and the tiger's home,
By rushing torrents white with foam.
Then with new ardour, south and west,
O'er Vindhya's height the search they pressed.
The day prescribed was near and they
Still wandered on their weary way.
They reached the southern land beset
With woody mountains like a net.
At length a mighty cave they spied
That opened in a mountain's side.
Where many a verdant creeper grew
And o'er the mouth its tendrils threw.
Thence issued crane, and swan, and drake,
And trooping birds that love the lake.
The Vánars rushed within to cool
Their fevered lips in spring or pool.
Vast was the cavern dark and dread,
Where not a ray of light was shed;
Yet not the more their eyesight failed,
[pg 382]
Their courage sank or valour quailed.
On through the gloom the Vánars pressed
With hunger, thirst, and toil distressed,
Poor helpless wanderers, sad, forlorn,
With wasted faces wan and worn.
At length, when life seemed lost for aye,
They saw a splendour as of day,
A wondrous forest, fair and bright,
Where golden trees shot flamy light.
And lotus-covered pools were there
With pleasant waters fresh and fair,
And streams their rippling currents rolled
By seats of silver and of gold.
Fair houses reared their stately height
Of burnished gold and lazulite,
And glorious was the lustre thrown
Through lattices of precious stone.
And there were flowers and fruit on stems
Of coral decked with rarest gems,
And emerald leaves on silver trees,
And honeycomb and golden bees.
Then as the Vánars nearer drew,
A holy woman met their view,
Around her form was duly tied
A garment of the blackdeer's hide.751
Pure votaress she shone with light
Of fervent zeal and holy rite.
Then Hanumán before the rest
With reverent words the dame addressed:
“Who art thou? say: and who is lord
Of this vast cave with treasures stored?”
Canto LI. Svayamprabhá.

“Assailed by thirst and hunger, dame,
Within a gloomy vault we came.
We saw the cavern opening wide,
And straight within its depths we hied.
But utterly amazed are we
At all the marvels that we see.
Whose are the golden trees that gleam
With splendour like the morning's beam?
These cates of noblest sort? these roots?
This wondrous store of rarest fruits?
Whose are these calm and cool retreats,
These silver homes and golden seats,
And lattices of precious stones?
Who is the happy lord that owns
The golden trees, of rarest scent,
Neath loads of fruit and blossom bent?
Who, strong in holy zeal, had power
To deck the streams with richest dower,
And bade the lilies bright with gold
The glory of their blooms unfold,
Where fish in living gold below
The sheen of changing colours show?
Thine is the holy power, I ween,
That beautified the wondrous scene;
But if another's, lady, deign
To tell us, and the whole explain.”
To him the lady of the cave
In words like these her answer gave:
“Skilled Maya framed in days of old
This magic wood of growing gold.
The chief artificer in place
Was he of all the Dánav race.
He, for his wise enchantments famed,
This glorious dwelling planned and framed
He for a thousand years endured
The sternest penance, and secured
From Brahmá of all boons the best,
The knowledge Uśanas752 possessed.
Lord, by that boon, of all his will,
He fashioned all with perfect skill;
And, with his blissful state content,
In this vast grove a season spent.
By Indra's jealous bolt he fell
For loving Hemá's753 charms too well.
And Brahmá on that nymph bestowed
The treasures of this fair abode,
Wherein her tranquil days to spend
In happiness that ne'er may end.
Sprung of a lineage old and high,
Merusávarṇi's754 daughter, I
Guard ever for that heavenly dame
This home, Svayamprabhá755 my name,—
For I have loved the lady long,
So skilled in arts of dance and song.
But say what cause your steps has led
The mazes of this grove to tread.
[pg 383]
How, strangers did ye chance to spy
The wood concealed from wanderer's eye?
Tell clearly why ye come: but first
Eat of this fruit and quench your thirst.”
Canto LII. The Exit.

“Ráma,” he cried, “a prince whose sway
All peoples of the earth obey,
To Daṇḍak's tangled forest came
With his brave brother and his dame.
From that dark shade of forest boughs
The giant Rávaṇ stole his spouse.
Our king Sugríva's orders send
These Vánars forth to aid his friend,
That so the lady be restored
Uninjured to her sorrowing lord.
With Angad and the rest, this band
Has wandered through the southern land,
With careful search in every place
The lady and the fiend to trace.
We roamed the southern region o'er,
And stood upon the ocean's shore.
By hunger pressed our strength gave way;
Beneath the spreading trees we lay,
And cried, worn out with toil and woe,
“No farther, comrades, can we go.”
Then as our sad eyes looked around
We spied an opening in the ground,
Where all was gloomy dark behind
The creeping plants that o'er it twined.
Forth trooping from the dark-recess
Came swans and mallards numberless,
With drops upon their shining wings
As newly bathed where water springs.
“On, comrades, to the cave,” I cried
And all within the portal hied.
Each clasping fast another's hand
Far onward pressed the Vánar band;
And still, as thirst and hunger drove,
We traced the mazes of the grove.
Here thou with hospitable care
Hast fed us with the noblest fare,
Preserving us, about to die,
With this thy plentiful supply.
But how, O pious lady, say,
May we thy gracious boon repay?”
He ceased: the ascetic dame replied:
“Well, Vánars, am I satisfied.
A life of holy works I lead,
And from your hands no service need.”
Then spake again the Vánar chief:
“We came to thee and found relief.
Now listen to a new distress,
And aid us, holy votaress.
Our wanderings in this vasty cave
Exhaust the time Sugríva gave.
Once more then, lady, grant release,
And let thy suppliants go in peace
Again upon their errand sped,
For King Sugríva's ire we dread.
And the great task our sovereign set,
Alas, is unaccomplished yet.”
Thus Hanumán their leader prayed,
And thus the dame her answer made:
“Scarce may the living find their way
Returning hence to light of day;
But I will free you through the might
Of penance, fast, and holy rite.
Close for a while your eyes, or ne'er
May you return to upper air.”
She ceased: the Vánars all obeyed;
Their fingers on their eyes they laid,
And, ere a moment's time had fled,
Were through the mazy cavern led.
Again the gracious lady spoke,
And joy in every bosom woke:
“Lo, here again is Vindhya's hill,
Whose valleys trees and creepers fill;
And, by the margin of the sea,
Praśravaṇ where you fain would be.”
With blessings then she bade adieu,
And swift within the cave withdrew.
Canto LIII. Angad's Counsel.

They looked upon the boundless main
The awful seat of Varuṇ's reign.
And heard his waters roar and rave
Terrific with each crested wave.
Then, in the depths of sorrow drowned,
They sat upon the bosky ground,
And sadly, as they pondered, grieved
For days gone by and naught achieved.
Pain pierced them through with sharper sting
When, gazing on the trees of spring,
They saw each waving bough that showed
The treasures of its glorious load,
And helpless, fainting with the weight
Of woe they sank disconsolate.
Then, lion-shouldered, stout and strong,
The noblest of the Vánar throng,
Angad the prince imperial rose,
And, deeply stricken by the woes
That his impetuous spirit broke,
Thus gently to the chieftains spoke:
“Mark ye not, Vánars, that the day
Our monarch fixed has passed away?
The month is lost in toil and pain,
And now, my friends, what hopes remain?
On you, in lore of counsel tried,
Our king Sugríva most relied.
Your hearts, with strong affection fraught,
[pg 384]
His weal in every labour sought,
And the true valour of your band
Was blazoned wide in every land.
Forth on the toilsome search you sped,
By me—for so he willed it—led,
To us, of every hope bereft,
Death is the only refuge left.
For none a happy life may see
Who fails to do our king's decree.
Come, let us all from food abstain,
And perish thus, since hope is vain.
Stern is our king and swift to ire,
Imperious, proud, and fierce like fire,
And ne'er will pardon us the crime
Of fruitless search and wasted time.
Far better thus to end our lives,
And leave our wealth, our homes and wives,
Leave our dear little ones and all,
Than by his vengeful hand to fall.
Think not Sugríva's wrath will spare
Me Báli's son, imperial heir:
For Raghu's royal son, not he,
To this high place anointed me.
Sugríva, long my bitter foe,
With eager hand will strike the blow,
And, mindful of the old offence,
Will slay me now for negligence,
Nor will my pitying friends have power
To save me in the deadly hour.
No—here, O chieftains, will I lie
By ocean's marge, and fast and die.”
They heard the royal prince declare
The purpose of his fixt despair;
And all, by common terror moved,
His speech in these sad words approved:
“Sugríva's heart is hard and stern,
And Ráma's thoughts for Sítá yearn.
Our forfeit lives will surely pay
For idle search and long delay,
And our fierce king will bid us die
The favour of his friend to buy.”
Then Tára softly spake to cheer
The Vánars' hearts oppressed by fear:
“Despair no more, your doubts dispel:
Come in this ample cavern dwell.
There may we live in blissful ease
Mid springs and fruit and bloomy trees,
Secure from every foe's assault,
For magic framed the wondrous vault.
Protected there we need not fear
Though Ráma and our king come near;
Nor dread e'en him who batters down
The portals of the foeman's town.”756
Canto LIV. Hanumán's Speech.

But Hanumán, while Tára, best
Of splendid chiefs his thought expressed,
Perceived that Báli's princely son
A kingdom for himself had won.757
His keen eye marked in him combined
The warrior's arm, the ruler's mind,
And every noble gift should grace
The happy sovereign of his race:
Marked how he grew with ripening age
More glorious and bold and sage,—
Like the young moon that night by night
Shines on with ever waxing light,—
Brave as his royal father, wise
As he who counsels in the skies:758
Marked how, forwearied with the quest,
He heeded not his liege's hest,
But Tára's every word obeyed
Like Indra still by Śukra759 swayed.
Then with his prudent speech he tried
To better thoughts the prince to guide,
And by division's skilful art
The Vánars and the youth to part:
“Illustrious Angad, thou in fight
Hast far surpassed thy father's might,
Most worthy, like thy sire of old,
The empire of our race to hold.
The Vánars' fickle people range
From wish to wish and welcome change.
Their wives and babes they will not leave
And to their new-made sovereign cleave.
No art, no gifts will draw away
The Vánars from Sugríva's sway,
Through hope of wealth, through fear of pain
Still faithful will they all remain.
Thou fondly hopest in this cave
The vengeance of the foe to brave.
But Lakshmaṇ's arm a shower will send
Of deadly shafts those walls to rend.
Like Indra's bolts his shafts have power
To cleave the mountain like a flower.
O Angad, mark my counsel well:
If in this cave thou choose to dwell,
[pg 385]
These Vánar hosts with one accord
Will quit thee for their lawful lord,
And turn again with thirsty eyes
To wife and babe and all they prize.
Thou in the lonely cavern left
Of followers and friends bereft,
Wilt be in all thy woe, alas,
Weak as a blade of trembling grass:
And Lakshmaṇ's arrows, keen and fierce
From his strong bow, thy heart will pierce.
But if in lowly reverence meek
Sugríva's court with us thou seek,
He, as thy birth demands, will share
The kingdom with the royal heir.
Thy loving kinsman, true and wise,
Looks on thee still with favouring eyes.
Firm in his promise, pure is he,
And ne'er will vex or injure thee.
He loves thy mother, lives for her
A faithful friend and worshipper.
That mother's love thou mayst not spurn:
Her only child, return, return.”
Canto LV. Angad's Reply.

“What truth or justice canst thou find,”
Cried Angad, “in Sugríva's mind?
Where is his high and generous soul,
His purity and self-control?
How is he worthy of our trust,
Righteous, and true, and wise, and just,
Who, shrinking not from sin and shame,
Durst take his living brother's dame?
Who, when, in stress of mortal strife
His noble brother fought for life,
Against the valiant warrior barred
The portal which he stood to guard?
Can he be grateful—he who took
The hand of Ráma, and forsook
That friend who saved him in his woes,
To whom his life and fame he owes?
Ah no! his heart is cold and mean,
What bids him search for Ráma's queen?
Not honour's law, not friendship's debt,
But angry Lakshmaṇ's timely threat.
No prudent heart will ever place
Its trust in one so false and base,
Who heeds not friendship, kith or kin,
Who scorns the law and cleaves to sin.
But true or false, whate'er he be,
One consequence I clearly see;
Me, in my youth anointed heir
Against his wish, he will not spare,
But strike with eager hand the blow
That rids him of a household foe.
Shall I of power and friends despoiled,
In all my purpose crossed and foiled,—
Shall I Kishkindhá seek, and wait,
Like some poor helpless thing, my fate?
The cruel wretch through lust of sway
Will seize upon his hapless prey,
And to a prison's secret gloom
The remnant of my years will doom.
'Tis better far to fast and die
Than hopeless bound in chains to lie,
Your steps, O Vánars, homeward bend
And leave me here my life to end.
Better to die of hunger here
Than meet at home the fate I fear.
Go, bow you at Sugríva's feet,
And in my name the monarch greet.
Before the sons of Raghu bend,
And give the greeting that I send.
Greet kindly Rumá too, for she
A son's affection claims from me,
And gently calm with friendly care
My mother Tárá's wild despair;
Or when she hears her darling's fate
The queen will die disconsolate.”
Thus Angad bade the chiefs adieu:
Then on the ground his limbs he threw
Where sacred Darbha760 grass was spread,
And wept as every hope had fled.
The moving words of Angad drew
Down aged cheeks the piteous dew.
And, as the chieftains' eyes grew dim,
They swore to stay and die with him.
On holy grass whose every blade
Was duly, pointing southward, laid,
The Vánars sat them down and bent
Their faces to the orient,
While “Here, O comrades, let us die
With Angad,” was the general cry.
Canto LVI. Sampáti.

Then came the vultures' mighty king
Where sat the Vánars sorrowing,—
Sampáti,761 best of birds that fly
On sounding pinions through the sky,
Jaṭáyus' brother, famed of old,
Most glorious and strong and bold.
Upon the slope of Vindhya's hill
He saw the Vánars calm and still.
[pg 386]
These words he uttered while the sight
Filled his fierce spirit with delight:
“Behold how Fate with changeless laws
Within his toils the sinner draws,
And brings me, after long delay,
A rich and noble feast to-day,
These Vánars who are doomed to die
My hungry maw to satisfy.”
He spoke no more: and Angad heard
The menace of the mighty bird;
And thus, while anguish filled his breast,
The noble Hanumán addressed:
“Vivasvat's762 son has sought this place
For vengeance on the Vánar race.
See, Yáma, wroth for Sítá's sake,
Is come our guilty lives to take.
Our king's decree is left undone,
And naught achieved for Raghu's son.
In duty have we failed, and hence
Comes punishment for dire offence.
Have we not heard the marvels wrought
By King Jaṭáyus,763 how he fought
With Rávaṇ's might, and, nobly brave,
Perished, the Maithil queen to save?
There is no living creature, none,
But loves to die for Raghu's son,
And in long toils and dangers we
Have placed our lives in jeopardy.
Blest is Jaṭáyus, he who gave
His life the Maithil queen to save,
And proved his love for Ráma well
When by the giant's hand he fell.
Now raised to bliss and high renown
He fears not fierce Sugríva's frown.
Alas, alas! what miseries spring
From that rash promise of the king!764
His own sad death, and Ráma sent
With Lakshmaṇ forth to banishment:
The Maithil lady borne away:
Jaṭáyus slain in mortal fray:
The fall of Báli when the dart
Of Ráma quivered in his heart:
And, after toil and pain and care,
Our misery and deep despair.”
He ceased: the feathered monarch heard,
His heart with ruth and wonder stirred:
“Whose is that voice,” the vulture cried,
“That tells me how Jaṭáyus died,
And shakes my inmost soul with woe
For a loved brother's overthrow?
After long days at length I hear
The glorious name of one so dear.
Once more, O Vánar chieftains, tell
How King Jaṭáyus fought and fell.
But first your aid, I pray you, lend,
And from this peak will I descend.
The sun has burnt my wings, and I
No longer have the power to fly.”
Canto LVII. Angad's Speech.

Though grief and woe his utterance broke
They trusted not the words he spoke;
But, looking still for secret guile,
Reflected in their hearts a while:
“If on our mangled limbs he feed,
We gain the death ourselves decreed.”
Then rose the Vánar chiefs, and lent
Their arms to aid the bird's descent;
And Angad spake: “There lived of yore
A noble Vánar king who bore
The name of Riksharajas, great
And brave and strong and fortunate.
His sons were like their father: fame
Knows Báli and Sugríva's name.
Praised in all lands, a glorious king
Was Báli, and from him I spring.
Brave Ráma, Daśaratha's heir,
A glorious prince beyond compare,
His sire and duty's law obeyed,
And sought the depths of Daṇḍak' shade
Sítá his well-beloved dame,
And Lakshmaṇ, with the wanderer came.
A giant watched his hour, and stole
The sweet delight of Ráma's soul.
Jaṭáyus, Daśaratha's friend,
Swift succour to the dame would lend.
Fierce Rávaṇ from his car he felled,
And for a time the prize withheld.
But bleeding, weak with years, and tired,
Beneath the demon's blows expired,
Due rites at Ráma's hands obtained,
And bliss that ne'er shall minish, gained.
Then Ráma with Sugríva made
A covenant for mutual aid,
And Báli, to the field defied,
By conquering Ráma's arrow died.
Sugríva then, by Ráma's grace,
Was monarch of the Vánar race.
By his command a mighty host
Seeks Ráma's queen from coast to coast.
Sent forth by him, in every spot
We looked for her, but find her not.
Vain is the toil, as though by night
We sought to find the Day-God's light.
In lands unknown at length we found
A spacious cavern under ground,
Whose vaults that stretch beneath the hill
Were formed by Maya's magic skill.
Through the dark maze our steps were bent,
And wandering there a month we spent,
[pg 387]
And lost, in fruitless error, thus
The days our king allotted us.
Thus we though faithful have transgressed,
And failed to keep our lord's behest.
No chance of safety can we see,
No lingering hope of life have we.
Sugríva's wrath and Ráma's hate
Press on our souls with grievous weight:
And we, because 'tis vain to fly,
Resolve at length to fast and die.”
Canto LVIII. Tidings Of Sítá.

The piteous tears his eye bedewed
As thus his speech the bird renewed;
“Alas my brother, slain in fight
By Rávaṇ's unresisted might!
I, old and wingless, weak and worn,
O'er his sad fate can only mourn.
Fled is my youth: in life's decline
My former strength no more is mine.
Once on the day when Vritra765 died,
We brothers, in ambitious pride,
Sought, mounting with adventurous flight,
The Day-God garlanded with light.
On, ever on we urged our way
Where fields of ether round us lay,
Till, by the fervent heat assailed,
My brother's pinions flagged and failed.
I marked his sinking strength, and spread
My stronger wings to screen his head,
Till, all my feathers burnt away,
On Vindhya's hill I fell and lay.
There in my lone and helpless state
I heard not of my brother's fate.”
Thus King Sampáti spoke and sighed:
And royal Angad thus replied:
“If, brother of Jatáyus, thou
Hast heard the tale I told but now,
Obedient to mine earnest prayer
The dwelling of that fiend declare.
O, say where cursed Rávaṇ dwells,
Whom folly to his death impels.”
He ceased. Again Sampáti spoke,
And hope in every breast awoke:
“Though lost my wings, and strength decayed,
Yet shall my words lend Ráma aid.
I know the worlds where Vishṇu trod,766
I know the realm of Ocean's God;
How Asurs fought with heavenly foes,
And Amrit from the churning rose.767
A mighty task before me lies,
To prosper Ráma's enterprise,
A task too hard for one whom length
Of days has rifled of his strength.
I saw the cruel Rávaṇ bear
A gentle lady through the air.
Bright was her form, and fresh and young,
And sparkling gems about her hung.
“O Ráma, Ráma!” cried the dame,
And shrieked in terror Lakshmaṇ's name,
As, struggling in the giant's hold,
She dropped her gauds of gems and gold.
Like sun-light on a mountain shone
The silken garments she had on,
And glistened o'er his swarthy form
As lightning flashes through the storm.
That giant Rávaṇ, famed of old,
Is brother of the Lord of Gold.768
The southern ocean roars and swells
Round Lanká, where the robber dwells
In his fair city nobly planned
And built by Viśvakarmá's769 hand.
Within his bower securely barred,
With monsters round her for a guard,
Still in her silken vesture clad
Lies Sítá, and her heart is sad.
A hundred leagues your course must be
Beyond this margin of the sea.
Still to the south your way pursue,
And there the giant Rávaṇ view.
Then up, O Vánars, and away!
For by my heavenly lore I say,
There will you see the lady's face,
And hither soon your steps retrace.
In the first field of air are borne
The doves and birds that feed on corn.
The second field supports the crows
And birds whose food on branches grows.
Along the third in balanced flight
Sail the keen osprey and the kite.
Swift through the fourth the falcon springs
The fifth the slower vulture wings.
Up to the sixth the gay swans rise,
[pg 388]
Where royal Vainateya770 flies.
We too, O chiefs, of vulture race,
Our line from Vinatá may trace,
Condemned, because we wrought a deed
Of shame, on flesh and blood to feed.
But all Suparṇa's771 wondrous powers
And length of keenest sight are ours,
That we a hundred leagues away
Through fields of air descry our prey.
Now from this spot my gazing eye
Can Rávaṇ and the dame descry.
Devise some plan to overleap
This barrier of the briny deep.
Find the Videhan lady there,
And joyous to your home repair.
Me too, O Vánars, to the side
Of Varuṇ's772 home the ocean, guide,
Where due libations shall be paid
To my great-hearted brother's shade.”
Canto LIX. Sampáti's Story.

They heard his counsel to the close,
Then swiftly to their feet they rose;
And Jámbaván with joyous breast
The vulture king again addressed:
“Where, where is Sítá? who has seen,
Who borne away the Maithil queen?
Who would the lightning flight withstand
by Lakshmaṇ's hand?”
Again Sampáti spoke to cheer
The Vánars as they bent to hear:
“Now listen, and my words shall show
What of the Maithil dame I know,
And in what distant prison lies
The lady of the long dark eyes.
Scorched by the fiery God of Day,
High on this mighty hill I lay.
A long and weary time had passed,
And strength and life were failing fast.
Yet, ere the breath had left my frame,
My son, my dear Supárśva, came.
Each morn and eve he brought me food,
And filial care my life renewed.
But serpents still are swift to ire,
Gandharvas slaves to soft desire,
And we, imperial vultures, need
A full supply our maws to feed.
Once he turned at close of day,
Stood by my side, but brought no prey.
He looked upon my ravenous eye,
Heard my complaint and made reply:
“Borne on swift wings ere day was light
I stood upon Mahendra's773 height,
And, far below, the sea I viewed
And birds in countless multitude.
Before mine eyes a giant flew
Whose monstrous form was dark of hue
And struggling in his grasp was borne
A lady radiant as the morn.
Swift to the south his course he bent,
And cleft the yielding element.
The holy spirits of the air
Came round me as I marvelled there,
And cried as their bright legions met:
“O say, is Sítá living yet?”
Thus cried the saints and told the name
Of him who held the struggling dame.
Then while mine eye with eager look
Pursued the path the robber took,
I marked the lady's streaming hair,
And heard her cry of wild despair.
I saw her silken vesture rent
And stripped of every ornament,
Thus, O my father, fled the time:
Forgive, I pray, the heedless crime.”
In vain the mournful tale I heard
My pitying heart to fury stirred,
What could a helpless bird of air,
Reft of his boasted pinions, dare?
Yet can I aid with all that will
And words can do, and friendly skill.”
Canto LX. Sampáti's Story.

Then from the flood Sampáti paid
Due offerings to his brother's shade.
He bathed him when the rites were done,
And spake again to Báli's son:
“Now listen, Prince, while I relate
How first I learned the lady's fate.
Burnt by the sun's resistless might
I fell and lay on Vindhya's height.
Seven nights in deadly swoon I passed,
But struggling life returned at last.
Around I bent my wondering view,
But every spot was strange and new.
I scanned the sea with eager ken,
And rock and brook and lake and glen,
I saw gay trees their branches wave,
And creepers mantling o'er the cave.
I heard the wild birds' joyous song,
And waters as they foamed along,
And knew the lovely hill must be
Mount Vindhya by the southern sea.
[pg 389]
Revered by heavenly beings, stood
Near where I lay, a sacred wood,
Where great Niśakar dwelt of yore
And pains of awful penance bore.
Eight thousand seasons winged their flight
Over the toiling anchorite—
Upon that hill my days were spent,—
And then to heaven the hermit went.
At last, with long and hard assay,
Down from that height I made my way,
And wandered through the mountain pass
Rough with the spikes of Darbha grass.
I with my misery worn, and faint
Was eager to behold the saint:
For often with Jaṭáyus I
Had sought his home in days gone by.
As nearer to the grove I drew
The breeze with cooling fragrance blew,
And not a tree that was not fair,
With richest flower and fruit was there.
With anxious heart a while I stayed
Beneath the trees' delightful shade,
And soon the holy hermit, bright
With fervent penance, came in sight.
Behind him bears and lions, tame
As those who know their feeder, came,
And tigers, deer, and snakes pursued
His steps, a wondrous multitude,
And turned obeisant when the sage
Had reached his shady hermitage.
Then came Niśakar to my side
And looked with wondering eyes, and cried:
“I knew thee not, so dire a change
Has made thy form and feature strange.
Where are thy glossy feathers? where
The rapid wings that cleft the air?
Two vulture brothers once I knew:
Each form at will could they endue.
They of the vulture race were kings,
And flew with Mátariśva's774 wings.
In human shape they loved to greet
Their hermit friend, and clasp his feet.
The younger was Jaṭáyus, thou
The elder whom I gaze on now.
Say, has disease or foeman's hate
Reduced thee from thy high estate?”
Canto LXI. Sampáti's Story.

“Ah me! o'erwhelmed with shame and weak
With wounds,” I cried, “I scarce can speak.
My hapless brother once and I
Our strength of flight resolved to try.
And by our foolish pride impelled
Our way through realms of ether held.
We vowed before the saints who tread
The wilds about Kailása's head,
That we with following wings would chase
The swift sun to his resting place.
Up on our soaring pinions through
The fields of cloudless air we flew.
Beneath us far, and far away,
Like chariot wheels bright cities lay,
Whence in wild snatches rose the song
Of women mid the gay-clad throng,
With sounds of sweetest music blent
And many a tinkling ornament.
Then as our rapid wings we strained
The pathway of the sun we gained.
Beneath us all the earth was seen
Clad in her garb of tender green,
And every river in her bed
Meandered like a silver thread.
We looked on Meru far below
And Vindhya and the Lord of Snow,
Like elephants that bend to cool
Their fever in a lilied pool.
But fervent heat and toil o'ercame
The vigour of each yielding frame,
Our weary hearts began to quail,
And wildered sense to reel and fail.
We knew not, fainting and distressed,
The north or south or east or west.
With a great strain mine eyes I turned
Where the fierce sun before me burned,
And seemed to my astonished eyes
The equal of the earth in size.775
At length, o'erpowered, Jaṭáyus fell
Without a word to say farewell,
And when to earth I saw him hie
I followed headlong from the sky.776
With sheltering wings I intervened
And from the sun his body screened,
But lost, for heedless folly doomed,
My pinions which the heat consumed.
In Janasthán, I hear them say,
My hapless brother fell and lay.
I, pinionless and faint and weak,
Dropped upon Vindhya's woody peak.
Now with my swift wings burnt away,
Reft of my brother and my sway,
From this tall mountain's summit I
Will cast me headlong down and die.”
[pg 390]
Canto LXII. Sampáti's Story.

“As to the saint I thus complained
My bitter tears fell unrestrained.
He pondered for a while, then broke
The silence, and thus calmly spoke:
“Forth from thy sides again shall spring,
O royal bird, each withered wing,
And all thine ancient power and might
Return to thee with strength of sight.
A noble deed has been foretold
In prophecy pronounced of old:
Nor dark to me are future things,
Seen by the light which penance brings.
A glorious king shall rise and reign,
The pride of old Ikshváku's strain.
A good and valiant prince, his heir,
Shall the dear name of Ráma bear.
With his brave brother Lakshmaṇ he
An exile in the woods shall be,
Where Rávaṇ, whom no God may slay,777
Shall steal his darling wife away.
In vain the captive will be wooed
With proffered love and dainty food,
She will not hear, she will not taste:
But, lest her beauty wane and waste,
Lord Indra's self will come to her
With heavenly food, and minister.
Then envoys of the Vánar race
By Ráma sent will seek this place.
To them, O roamer of the air,
The lady's fate shalt thou declare.
Thou must not move—so maimed thou art
Thou canst not from this spot depart.
Await the day and moment due,
And thy burnt wings will sprout anew.
I might this day the boon bestow
And bid again thy pinions grow,
But wait until thy saving deed
The nations from their fear have freed.
Then for this glorious aid of thine
The princes of Ikshváku's line,
And Gods above and saints below
Eternal gratitude shall owe.
Fain would mine aged eyes behold
That pair of whom my lips have told,
Yet wearied here I must not stay,
But leave my frame and pass away.”
Canto LXIII. Sampáti's Story.

“With this and many a speech beside
My failing heart he fortified,
With glorious hope my breast inspired,
And to his holy home retired.
I scaled the mountain height, to view
The region round, and looked for you.
In ceaseless watchings night and day
A hundred seasons passed away,
And by the sage's words consoled
I wait the hour and chance foretold.
But since Niśakar sought the skies.
And cast away all earthly ties,
Full many a care and doubt has pressed
With grievous weight upon my breast.
But for the saint who turned aside
My purpose I had surely died.
Those hopeful words the hermit spake,
That bid me live for Ráma's sake,
Dispel my anguish as the light
Of lamp and torch disperse the night.”
He ceased: and in the Vánars' view
Forth from his side young pinions grew,
And boundless rapture filled his breast
As thus the chieftains he addressed:
“Joy, joy! the pinions, which the Lord
Of Day consumed, are now restored
Through the dear grace & boundless might
Of that illustrious anchorite.
The fire of youth within me burns,
And all my wonted strength returns.
Onward, ye Vánars, toil strive,
And you shall find the dame alive.
Look on these new-found wings, and hence
Be strong in surest confidence.”
Swift from the crag he sprang to try
His pinions in his native sky.
His words the chieftains' doubts had stilled,
And every heart with courage filled.778
Canto LXIV. The Sea.

Shouts of triumphant joy outrang
As to their feet the Vánars sprang:
And, on the mighty task intent,
Swift to the sea their steps they bent.
They stood and gazed upon the deep,
Whose billows with a roar and leap
On the sea banks ware wildly hurled,—
The mirror of the mighty world.
There on the strand the Vánars stayed
And with sad eyes the deep surveyed,
Here, as in play, his billows rose,
And there he slumbered in repose.
Here leapt the boisterous waters, high
As mountains, menacing the sky,
And wild infernal forms between
The ridges of the waves were seen.
[pg 391]
They saw the billows rave and swell,
And their sad spirits sank and fell;
For ocean in their deep despair
Seemed boundless as the fields of air.
Then noble Angad spake to cheer
The Vánars and dispel their fear:
“Faint not: despair should never find
Admittance to a noble mind.
Despair, a serpent's mortal bite,
Benumbs the hero's power and might.”
Then passed the weary night, and all
Assembled at their prince's call,
And every lord of high estate
Was gathered round him for debate.
Bright was the chieftains' glorious band
Round Angad on the ocean strand,
As when the mighty Storm-Gods meet
Round Indra on his golden seat.
Then princely Angad looked on each,
And thus began his prudent speech:
“What chief of all our host will leap
A hundred leagues across the deep?
Who, O illustrious Vánars, who
Will make Sugríva's promise true,
And from our weight of fear set free
The leaders of our band and me?
To whom, O warriors, shall we owe
A sweet release from pain and woe,
And proud success, and happy lives
With our dear children and our wives,
Again permitted by his grace
To look with joy on Ráma's face,
And noble Lakshmaṇ, and our lord
The king, to our sweet homes restored?”
Thus to the gathered lords he spoke;
But no reply the silence broke.
Then with a sterner voice he cried:
“O chiefs, the nation's boast and pride,
Whom valour strength and power adorn,
Of most illustrious lineage born,
Where'er you will you force a way,
And none your rapid course can stay.
Now come, your several powers declare.
And who this desperate leap will dare?”
Canto LXV. The Council.

But none of all the host was found
To clear the sea with desperate bound,
Though each, as Angad bade, declared
His proper power and what he dared.779
Then spake good Jámbaván the sage,
Chief of them all for reverend age;
“I, Vánar chieftains, long ago
Limbs light to leap could likewise show,
But now on frame and spirit weighs
The burthen of my length of days.
Still task like this I may not slight,
When Ráma and our king unite.
So listen while I tell, O friends,
What lingering strength mine age attends.
If my poor leap may aught avail,
Of ninety leagues, I will not fail.
Far other strength in youth's fresh prime
I boasted, in the olden time,
When, at Prahláda's780 solemn rite,
I circled in my rapid flight
Lord Vishṇu, everlasting God,
When through the universe he trod.
But now my limbs are weak and old,
My youth is fled, its fire is cold,
And these exhausted nerves to strain
In such a task were idle pain.”
Then Angad due obeisance paid,
And to the chief his answer made:
“Then I, ye noble Vánars, I
Myself the mighty leap will try:
Although perchance the power I lack
To leap from Lanká's island back.”
Thus the impetuous chieftain cried,
And Jámbaván the sage replied:
“Whate'er thy power and might may be,
This task, O Prince, is not for thee.
Kings go not forth themselves, but send
The servants who their best attend.
Thou art the darling and the boast,
The honoured lord of all the host.
In thee the root, O Angad, lies
Of our appointed enterprise;
And thee, on whom our hopes depend,
Our care must cherish and defend.”
Then Báli's noble son replied:
“Needs must I go, whate'er betide,
For, if no chief this exploit dare,
What waits us all save blank despair,—
Upon the ground again to lie
In hopeless misery, fast, and die?
For not a hope of life I see
If we neglect our king's decree.”
Then spoke the aged chief again:
“Nay our attempt shall not be vain,
For to the task will I incite
A chieftain of sufficient might.”
[pg 392]
Canto LXVI. Hanumán.

The chieftain turned his glances where
The legions sat in mute despair;
And then to Hanumán, the best
Of Vánar lords, these words addressed:
“Why still, and silent, and apart,
O hero of the dauntless heart?
Thou keepest treasured in thy mind
The laws that rule the Vánar kind,
Strong as our king Sugríva, brave
As Ráma's self to slay or save.
Through every land thy praise is heard,
Famous as that illustrious bird,
Aríshṭanemi's son,781 the king
Of every fowl that plies the wing.
Oft have I seen the monarch sweep
With sounding pinions o'er the deep,
And in his mighty talons bear
Huge serpents struggling through the air.
Thy arms, O hero, match in might
The ample wings he spreads for flight;
And thou with him mayest well compare
In power to do, in heart to dare.
Why, rich in wisdom, power, and skill,
O hero, art thou lingering still?
An Apsaras782 the fairest found
Of nymphs for heavenly charms renowned,
Sweet Punjikasthalá, became
A noble Vánar's wedded dame.
Her heavenly title heard no more,
Anjaná was the name she bore,
When, cursed by Gods, from heaven she fell
In Vánar form on earth to dwell,
New-born in mortal shape the child
Of Kunjar monarch of the wild.
In youthful beauty wondrous fair,
A crown of flowers about her hair,
In silken robes of richest dye
She roamed the hills that kiss the sky.
Once in her tinted garments dressed
She stood upon the mountain crest,
The God of Wind beside her came,
And breathed upon the lovely dame.
And as he fanned her robe aside
The wondrous beauty that he eyed
In rounded lines of breast and limb
And neck and shoulder ravished him;
And captured by her peerless charms
He strained her in his amorous arms.
Then to the eager God she cried
In trembling accents, terrified:
“Whose impious love has wronged a spouse
So constant in her nuptial vows?”
He heard, and thus his answer made:
“O, be not troubled, nor afraid,
But trust, and thou shalt know ere long
My love has done thee, sweet, no wrong,
So strong and brave and wise shall be
The glorious child I give to thee.
Might shall be his that naught can tire,
And limbs to spring as springs his sire.”
Thus spoke the God; the conquered dame
Rejoiced in heart nor feared the shame.
Down in a cave beneath the earth
The happy mother gave thee birth.
Once o'er the summit of the wood
Before thine eyes the new sun stood.
Thou sprangest up in haste to seize
What seemed the fruitage of the trees.
Up leapt the child, a wondrous bound,
Three hundred leagues above the ground,
And, though the angered Day-God shot
His fierce beams on him, feared him not.
Then from the hand of Indra came
A red bolt winged with wrath and flame.
The child fell smitten on a rock,
His cheek was shattered by the shock,
Named Hanumán783 thenceforth by all
In memory of the fearful fall.
The wandering Wind-God saw thee lie
With bleeding cheek and drooping eye,
And stirred to anger by thy woe
Forbade each scented breeze to blow.
The breath of all the worlds was stilled,
And the sad Gods with terror filled
Prayed to the Wind, to calm the ire
And soothe the sorrow of the sire.
His fiery wrath no longer glowed,
And Brahmá's self the boon bestowed
That in the brunt of battle none
Should slay with steel the Wind-God's son.
Lord Indra, sovereign of the skies,
Bent on thee all his thousand eyes,
And swore that ne'er the bolt which he
Hurls from the heaven should injure thee.
'Tis thine, O mighty chief, to share
The Wind-God's power, his son and heir.
Sprung from that glorious father thou,
And thou alone, canst aid us now.
This earth of yore, through all her climes,
I circled one-and-twenty times,
And gathered, as the Gods decreed,
Great store of herbs from hill and mead,
Which, scattered o'er the troubled wave,
The Amrit to the toilers gave.
[pg 393]
But now my days are wellnigh told,
My strength is gone, my limbs are old,
And thou, the bravest and the best,
Art the sure hope of all the rest.
Now, mighty chief, the task assay:
Thy matchless power and strength display.
Rise up, O prince, our second king,
And o'er the flood of ocean spring.
So shall the glorious exploit vie
With his who stepped through earth and sky.”784
He spoke: the younger chieftain heard,
His soul to vigorous effort stirred,
And stood before their joyous eyes
Dilated in gigantic size.
Canto LXVII. Hanumán's Speech.

Soon as his stature they beheld,
Their fear and sorrow were dispelled;
And joyous praises loud and long
Rang out from all the Vánar throng.
On the great chief their eyes they bent
In rapture and astonishment,
As, when his conquering foot he raised,
The Gods upon Náráyaṇ785 gazed.
He stood amid the joyous crowd,
Bent to the chiefs, and cried aloud:
“The Wind-God, Fire's eternal friend,
Whose blasts the mountain summits rend,
With boundless force that none may stay,
Takes where he lists his viewless way.
Sprung from that glorious father, I
In power and speed with him may vie,
A thousand times with airy leap
Can circle loftiest Meru's steep:
With my fierce arms can stir the sea
Till from their bed the waters flee
And rush at my command to drown
This land with grove and tower and town.
I through the fields of air can spring
Far swifter than the feathered King,
And leap before him as he flies,
On sounding pinions through the skies.
I can pursue the Lord of Light
Uprising from the eastern height,
And reach him ere his course be sped
With burning beams engarlanded.
I will dry up the mighty main,
Shatter the rocks and rend the plain.
O'er earth and ocean will I bound,
And every flower that grows on ground,
And bloom of climbing plants shall show
Strewn on the ground, the way I go,
Bright as the lustrous path that lies
Athwart the region of the skies.786
The Maithil lady will I find,—
Thus speaks mine own prophetic mind,—
And cast in hideous ruin down
The shattered walls of Lanká's town.”
Still on the chief in rapt surprise
The Vánar legions bent their eyes,
And thus again sage Jámbaván
Addressed the glorious Hanumán:
“Son of the Wind, thy promise cheers
The Vánars' hearts, and calms their fears,
Who, rescued from their dire distress,
With prospering vows thy way will bless.
The holy saints their favour lend,
And all our chiefs the deed commend
Urging thee forward on thy way:
Arise then, and the task assay.
Thou art our only refuge; we,
Our lives and all, depend on thee.”
Then sprang the Wind-God's son the best
Of Vánars, on Mahendra's crest,
And the great mountain rocked and swayed
By that unusual weight dismayed,
As reels an elephant beneath
The lion's spring and rending teeth.
The shady wood that crowned him shook,
The trembling birds the boughs forsook,
And ape and pard and lion fled
From brake and lair disquieted.
[pg 394]
BOOK V.787

Canto I. Hanumán's Leap.

Thus Rávaṇ's foe resolved to trace
The captive to her hiding-place
Through airy pathways overhead
Which heavenly minstrels visited.
With straining nerve and eager brows,
Like some strong husband of the cows,
In ready might he stood prepared
For the bold task his soul has dared.
O'er gem-like grass that flashed and glowed
The Vánar like a lion strode.
Roused by the thunder of his tread,
The beasts to shady coverts fled.
Tall trees he crushed or hurled aside,
And every bird was terrified.
Around him loveliest lilies grew,
Pale pink, and red, and white, and blue,
And tints of many a metal lent
The light of varied ornament.
Gandharvas, changing forms at will,
And Yakshas roamed the lovely hill,
And countless Serpent-Gods were seen
Where flowers and grass were fresh and green.
As some resplendent serpent takes
His pastime in the best of lakes,
So on the mountain's woody height
The Vánar wandered with delight.
Then, standing on the flowery sod,
He paid his vows to saint and God.
Svayambhu788 and the Sun he prayed,
And the swift Wind to lend him aid,
And Indra, sovereign of the skies,
To bless his hardy enterprise.
Then once again the chief addressed
The Vánars from the mountain crest:
“Swift as a shaft from Ráma's bow
To Rávaṇ's city will I go,
And if she be not there will fly
And seek the lady in the sky;
Or, if in heaven she be not found,
Will hither bring the giant bound.”
He ceased; and mustering his might
Sprang downward from the mountain height,
While, shattered by each mighty limb,
The trees unrooted followed him.
The shadow on the ocean cast
By his vast form, as on he passed,
Flew like a ship before the gale
When the strong breeze has filled the sail,
And where his course the Vánar held
The sea beneath him raged and swelled.
Then Gods and all the heavenly train
Poured flowerets down in gentle rain;
Their voices glad Gandharvas raised,
And saints in heaven the Vánar praised.
Fain would the Sea his succour lend
And Raghu's noble son befriend.
He, moved by zeal for Ráma's sake,
The hill Maináka789 thus bespake:
“O strong Maináka, heaven's decree
In days of old appointed thee
To be the Asurs bar, and keep
The rebels in the lowest deep.
Thou guardest those whom heaven has cursed
Lest from their prison-house they burst,
And standest by the gates of hell
Their limitary sentinel.
To thee is given the power to spread
Or spring above thy watery bed.
Now, best of noble mountains, rise
And do the thing that I advise.
E'en now above thy buried crest
Flies mighty Hanumán, the best
Of Vánars, moved for Ráma's sake
A wonderous deed to undertake.
Lift up thy head that he may stay
And rest him on his weary way.”
He heard, and from his watery shroud,
As bursts the sun from autumn cloud,
Rose swifty, crowned with plant and tree,
And stood above the foamy sea.790
There with his lofty peaks upraised
Bright as a hundred suns he blazed,
And crest and crag of burnished gold
Flashed on the flood that round him rolled.
[pg 395]
The Vánar thought the mountain rose
A hostile bar to interpose,
And, like a wind-swept cloud, o'erthrew
The glittering mountain as he flew.
Then from the falling hill rang out
A warning voice and joyful shout.
Again he raised him high in air
To meet the flying Vánar there,
And standing on his topmost peak
In human form began to speak:791
“Best of the Vánars' noblest line,
A mighty task, O chief, is thine.
Here for a while, I pray thee, light
And rest upon the breezy height.
A prince of Raghu's line was he
Who gave his glory to the Sea,792
Who now to Ráma's envoy shows
High honour for the debt he owes.
He bade me lift my buried head
Uprising from my watery bed,
And woo the Vánar chief to rest
A moment on my glittering crest.
Refresh thy weary limbs, and eat
My mountain fruits for they are sweet.
I too, O chieftain, know thee well;
Three worlds thy famous virtues tell;
And none, I ween, with thee may vie
Who spring impetuous through the sky.
To every guest, though mean and low.
The wise respect and honour show;
And how shall I neglect thee, how
Slight the great guest so near me now?
Son of the Wind, 'tis thine to share
The might of him who shakes the air;
And,—for he loves his offspring,—he
Is honoured when I honour thee.
Of yore, when Krita's age793 was new,
The little hills and mountains flew
Where'er they listed, borne on wings
More rapid than the feathered king's.794
But mighty terror came on all
The Gods and saints who feared their fall.
And Indra in his anger rent
Their pinions with the bolts he sent.
When in his ruthless fury he
Levelled his flashing bolt at me,
The great-souled Wind inclined to save,
And laid me neath the ocean's wave.
Thus by the favour of the sire
I kept my cherished wings entire;
And for this deed of kindness done
I honour thee his noble son.
O come, thy weary limbs relieve,
And honour due from me receive.”
“I may not rest,” the Vánar cried;
“I must not stay or turn aside.
Yet pleased am I, thou noblest hill,
And as the deed accept thy will.”
Thus as he spoke he lightly pressed
With his broad hand the mountain's crest,
Then bounded upward to the height
Of heaven, rejoicing in his might,
And through the fields of boundless blue,
The pathway of his father, flew.
Gods, saints, and heavenly bards beheld
That flight that none had paralleled,
Then to the Nágas' mother795 came
And thus addressed the sun-bright dame:
“See, Hanumán with venturous leap
Would spring across the mighty deep,—
A Vánar prince, the Wind-God's seed:
Come, Surasá, his course impede.
In Rákshas form thy shape disguise,
Terrific, like a hill in size:
Let thy red eyes with fury glow,
And high as heaven thy body grow.
With fearful tusks the chief defy,
That we his power and strength may try.
He will with guile thy hold elude,
Or own thy might, by thee subdued.”
Pleased with the grateful honours paid,
The godlike dame their words obeyed,
Clad in a shape of terror she
Sprang from the middle of the sea,
And, with fierce accents that appalled
All creatures, to the Vánar called:
“Come, prince of Vánars, doomed to be
My food this day by heaven's decree.
Such boon from ages long ago
To Brahmá's favouring will I owe.”
She ceased, and Hanumán replied,
By shape and threat unterrified:
“Brave Ráma with his Maithil spouse
Lodged in the shade of Daṇḍak's boughs,
Thence Rávan king of giants stole
Sítá the joy of Ráma's soul.
[pg 396]
By Ráma's high behest to her
I go a willing messenger;
And never shouldst them hinder one
Who toils for Daśaratha's son.
First captive Sítá will I see,
And him who sent and waits for me,
Then come and to thy will submit,
Yea, by my truth I promise it.”
“Nay, hope not thus thy life to save;
Not such the boon that Brahmá gave.
Enter my mouth,” was her reply,
“Then forward on thy journey hie!”796
“Stretch, wider stretch thy jaws,” exclaimed
The Vánar chief, to ire inflamed;
And, as the Rákshas near him drew,
Ten leagues in height his stature grew.
Then straight, her threatening jaws between,
A gulf of twenty leagues was seen.
To fifty leagues he waxed, and still
Her mouth grew wider at her will.
Then smaller than a thumb became,
Shrunk by his power, the Vánar's frame.797
He leaped within, and turning round
Sprang through the portal at a bound.
Then hung in air a moment, while
He thus addressed her with a smile:
“O Daksha's child,798 farewell at last!
For I within thy mouth have passed.
Thou hast the gift of Brahmá's grace:
I go, the Maithil queen to trace.”
Then, to her former shape restored,
She thus addressed the Vánar lord:
“Then forward to the task, and may
Success and joy attend thy way!
Go, and the rescued lady bring
In triumph to her lord and king.”
Then hosts of spirits as they gazed
The daring of the Vánar praised.
Through the broad fields of ether, fast
Garuḍ's royal self, he passed,
The region of the cloud and rain,
Loved by the gay Gandharva train,
Where mid the birds that came and went
Shone Indra's glorious bow unbent,
And like a host of wandering stars
Flashed the high Gods' celestial cars.
Fierce Sinhiká799 who joyed in ill
And changed her form to work her will,
Descried him on his airy way
And marked the Vánar for her prey.
“This day at length,” the demon cried,
“My hunger shall be satisfied,”
And at his passing shadow caught
Delighted with the cheering thought.
The Vánar felt the power that stayed
And held him as she grasped his shade,
Like some tall ship upon the main
That struggles with the wind in vain.
Below, above, his eye he bent
And scanned the sea and firmament.
High from the briny deep upreared
The monster's hideous form appeared,
“Sugríva's tale,” he cried, “is true:
This is the demon dire to view
Of whom the Vánar monarch told,
Whose grasp a passing shade can hold.”
Then, as a cloud in rain-time grows
His form, dilating, swelled and rose.
Wide as the space from heaven to hell
Her jaws she opened with a yell,
And rushed upon her fancied prey
With cloud-like roar to seize and slay.
The Vánar swift as thought compressed
His borrowed bulk of limb and chest,
And stood with one quick bound inside
The monstrous mouth she opened wide.
Hid like the moon when Ráhu draws
The orb within his ravening jaws.
Within that ample cavern pent
The demon's form he tore and rent,
And, from the mangled carcass freed,
Came forth again with thought-like speed.800
[pg 397]
Thus with his skill the fiend he slew,
Then to his wonted stature grew.
The spirits saw the demon die
And hailed the Vánar from the sky:
“Well hast thou fought a wondrous fight
Nor spared the fiend's terrific might,
On, on! perform the blameless deed,
And in thine every wish succeed.
Ne'er can they fail in whom combine
Such valour, thought, and skill as thine.”
Pleased with their praises as they sang,
Again through fields of air he sprang,
And now, his travail wellnigh done,
The distant shore was almost won.
Before him on the margent stood
In long dark line a waving wood,
And the fair island, bright and green
With flowers and trees, was clearly seen,
And every babbling brook that gave
Her lord the sea a tribute wave.
He lighted down on Lamba's peak
Which tinted metals stain and streak,
And looked where Lanká's splendid town
Shone on the mountain like a crown.
Canto II. Lanká.

The glorious sight a while he viewed,
Then to the town his way pursued.
Around the Vánar as he went
Breathed from the wood delicious scent,
And the soft grass beneath his feet
With gem-like flowers was bright and sweet.
Still as the Vánar nearer drew
More clearly rose the town to view.
The palm her fan-like leaves displayed,
Priyálas801 lent their pleasant shade,
And mid the lower greenery far
Conspicuous rose the Kovidár.802
A thousand trees mid flowers that glowed
Hung down their fruit's delicious load,803
And in their crests that rocked and swayed
Sweet birds delightful music made.
And there were pleasant pools whereon
The glories of the lotus shone;
And gleams of sparkling fountains, stirred
By many a joyous water-bird.
Around, in lovely gardens grew
Blooms sweet of scent and bright of hue,
And Lanká, seat of Rávaṇ's sway,
Before the wondering Vánar lay:
With stately domes and turrets tall,
Encircled by a golden wall,
And moats whose waters were aglow
With lily blossoms bright below:
For Sítá's sake defended well
With bolt and bar and sentinel,
And Rákshases who roamed in bands
With ready bows in eager hands.
He saw the stately mansions rise
Like pale-hued clouds in autumn skies;
Where noble streets were broad and bright,
And banners waved on every height.
Her gates were glorious to behold
Rich with the shine of burnished gold:
A lovely city planned and decked
By heaven's creative architect,804
Fairest of earthly cities meet
To be the Gods' celestial seat.
The Vánar by the northern gate
Thus in his heart began debate
“Our mightiest host would strive in vain
To take this city on the main:
A city that may well defy
The chosen warriors of the sky;
A city never to be won
E'en by the arm of Raghu's son.
Here is no hope by guile to win
The hostile hearts of those within.
'Twere vain to war, or bribe, or sow
Dissension mid the Vánar foe.
But now my search must I pursue
Until the Maithil queen I view:
And, when I find the captive dame,
Make victory mine only aim.
But, if I wear my present shape,
How shall I enter and escape
The Rákshas troops, their guards and spies,
And sleepless watch of cruel eyes?
The fiends of giant race who hold
This mighty town are strong and bold;
And I must labour to elude
The fiercely watchful multitude.
I in a shape to mock their sight
Must steal within the town by night,
Blind with my art the demons' eyes,
And thus achieve my enterprise.
How may I see, myself unseen
Of the fierce king, the captive queen,
And meet her in some lonely place,
With none beside her, face to face?”
When the bright sun had left the skies
The Vánar dwarfed his mighty size,
[pg 398]
And, in the straitest bounds restrained,
The bigness of a cat retained.805
Then, when the moon's soft light was spread,
Within the city's walls he sped.
Canto III. The Guardian Goddess.

There from the circling rampart's height
He gazed upon the wondrous sight;
Broad gates with burnished gold displayed,
And courts with turkises inlaid;
With gleaming silver, gems, and rows
Of crystal stairs and porticoes.
In semblance of a Rákshas dame
The city's guardian Goddess came,—
For she with glances sure and keen
The entrance of a foe had seen,—
And thus with fury in her eye
Addressed him with an angry cry:
“Who art thou? what has led thee, say,
Within these walls to find thy way?
Thou mayst not enter here in spite
Of Rávaṇ and his warriors' might.”
“And who art thou?” the Vánar cried,
By form and frown unterrified,
“Why hast thou met me by the gate,
And chid me thus infuriate?”
He ceased: and Lanká made reply:
“The guardian of the town am I,
Who watch for ever to fulfil
My lord the Rákshas monarch's will.
But thou shalt fall this hour, and deep
Shall be thy never-ending sleep.”
Again he spake: “In spite of thee
This golden city will I see.
Her gates and towers, and all the pride
Of street and square from side to side,
And freely wander where I please
Amid her groves of flowering trees;
On all her beauties sate mine eye.
Then, as I came, will homeward hie.”
Swift with an angry roar she smote
With her huge hand the Vánar's throat.
The smitten Vánar, rage-impelled,
With fist upraised the monster felled:
But quick repented, stirred with shame
And pity for a vanquished dame,
When with her senses troubled, weak
With terror, thus she strove to speak:
“O spare me thou whose arm is strong:
O spare me, and forgive the wrong.
The brave that law will ne'er transgress
That spares a woman's helplessness.
Hear, best of Vánars, brave and bold,
What Brahmá's self of yore foretold;
“Beware,” he said, “the fatal hour
When thou shalt own a Vánar's power.
Then is the giants' day of fear,
For terror and defeat are near.”
Now, Vánar chief, o'ercome by thee,
I own the truth of heaven's decree.
For Sítá's sake will ruin fall
On Rávaṇ, and his town, and all.”
Canto IV. Within The City.

The guardian goddess thus subdued,
The Vánar chief his way pursued,
And reached the broad imperial street
Where fresh-blown flowers were bright and sweet.
The city seemed a fairer sky
Where cloud-like houses rose on high,
Whence the soft sound of tabors came
Through many a latticed window frame,
And ever and anon rang out
The merry laugh and joyous shout.
From house to house the Vánar went
And marked each varied ornament,
Where leaves and blossoms deftly strung
About the crystal columns hung.
Then soft and full and sweet and clear
The song of women charmed his ear,
And, blending with their dulcet tones,
Their anklets' chime and tinkling zones.
He heard the Rákshas minstrel sing
The praises of their matchless king;
And softly through the evening air
Came murmurings of text and prayer.
Here moved a priest with tonsured head,
And there an eager envoy sped,
Mid crowds with hair in matted twine
Clothed in the skins of deer and kine,—
Whose only arms, which none might blame,
Were blades of grass and holy flame806
There savage warriors roamed in bands
With clubs and maces in their hands,
Some dwarfish forms, some huge of size,
With single ears and single eyes.
Some shone in glittering mail arrayed
With bow and mace and flashing blade;
Fiends of all shapes and every hue,
Some fierce and foul, some fair to view.
[pg 399]
He saw the grisly legions wait
In strictest watch at Rávaṇ's gate,
Whose palace on the mountain crest
Rose proudly towering o'er the rest,
Fenced with high ramparts from the foe,
And lotus-covered moats below.
But Hanumán, unhindered, found
Quick passage through the guarded bound,
Mid elephants of noblest breed,
And gilded car and neighing steed.
[I omit Canto V. which corresponds to chapter XI. in Gorresio's edition. That scholar justly observes: “The eleventh chapter, Description of Evening, is certainly the work of the Rhapsodists and an interpolation of later date. The chapter might be omitted without any injury to the action of the poem, and besides the metre, style, conceits and images differ from the general tenour of the poem; and that continual repetition of the same sounds at the end of each hemistich which is not exactly rime, but assonance, reveals the artificial labour of a more recent age.” The following sample will probably be enough.

Fair shone the moon, as if to lend
His cheering light to guide a friend,
And, circled by the starry host,
Looked down upon the wild sea-coast.
The Vánar cheiftain raised his eyes,
And saw him sailing through the skies
Like a bright swan who joys to take
His pastime on a silver lake;
Fair moon that calms the mourner's pain.
Heaves up the waters of the main,
And o'er the life beneath him throws
A tender light of soft repose,
The charm that clings to Mandar's hill,
Gleams in the sea when winds are still,
And decks the lilly's opening flower,
Showed in that moon her sweetest power.
I am unable to show the difference of style in a translation.]

Canto VI. The Court.

The palace gates were guarded well
By many a Rákshas sentinel,
And far within, concealed from view,
Were dames and female retinue
For charm of form and face renowned;
Whose tinkling armlets made a sound,
Clashed by the wearers in their glee,
Like music of a distant sea.
The hall beyond the palace gate,
Rich with each badge of royal state,
Where lines of noble courtiers stood,
Showed like a lion-guarded wood.
There the wild music rose and fell
Of drum and tabor and of shell,
Through chambers at each holy tide
By solemn worship sanctified.
Through grove and garden, undismayed,
From house to house the Vánar strayed,
And still his wondering glances bent
On terrace, dome, and battlement:
Then with a light and rapid tread
Prahasta's807 home he visited,
And Kumbhakarṇa's808 courtyard where
A cloudy pile rose high in air;
And, wandering o'er the hill, explored
The garden of each Rákshas lord.
Each court and grove he wandered through,
Then nigh to Rávaṇ's palace drew.
She-demons watched it foul of face,
Each armed with sword and spear and mace,
And warrior fiends of every hue,
A strange and fearful retinue.
There elephants in many a row,
The terror of the stricken foe.
Huge Airávat,809 deftly trained
In battle-fields, stood ready chained.
Fair litters on the ground were set
Adorned with gems and golden net.
Gay bloomy creepers clothed the walls;
Green bowers were there and picture halls,
And chambers made for soft delight.
Broad banners waved on every height.
And from the roof like Mandar's hill
The peacock's cry came loud and shrill.810
Canto VII. Rávan's Palace.

He passed within the walls and gazed
On gems and gold that round him blazed,
And many a latticed window bright
With turkis and with lazulite.
[pg 400]
Through porch and ante-rooms he passed
Each richer, fairer than the last;
And spacious halls where lances lay,
And bows and shells, in fair array:
A glorious house that matched in show
All Paradise displayed below.
Upon the polished floor were spread
Fresh buds and blossoms white and red,
And women shone, a lovely crowd,
As lightning flashes through a cloud:
A palace splendid as the sky
Which moon and planets glorify:
Like earth whose towering hills unfold
Their zones and streaks of glittering gold;
Where waving on the mountain brows
The tall trees bend their laden boughs,
And every bough and tender spray
With a bright load of bloom is gay,
And every flower the breeze has bent
Fills all the region with its scent.
Near the tall palace pale of hue
Shone lovely lakes where lilies blew,
And lotuses with flower and bud
Gleamed on the bosom of the flood.
There shone with gems that flashed afar
The marvel of the Flower-named811 car,
Mid wondrous dwellings still confessed
Supreme and nobler than the rest.
Thereon with wondrous art designed
Were turkis birds of varied kind.
And many a sculptured serpent rolled
His twisted coil in burnished gold.
And steeds were there of noblest form
With flying feet as fleet as storm:
And elephants with deftest skill
Stood sculptured by a silver rill,
Each bearing on his trunk a wreath
Of lilies from the flood beneath.
There Lakshmí,812 beauty's heavenly queen,
Wrought by the artist's skill, was seen
Beside a flower-clad pool to stand
Holding a lotus in her hand.
Canto VIII. The Enchanted Car.

There gleamed the car with wealth untold
Of precious gems and burnished gold;
Nor could the Wind-God's son withdraw
His rapt gaze from the sight he saw,
By Viśvakarmá's813 self proclaimed
The noblest work his hand had framed.
Uplifted in the air it glowed
Bright as the sun's diurnal road.
The eye might scan the wondrous frame
And vainly seek one spot to blame,
So fine was every part and fair
With gems inlaid with lavish care.
No precious stones so rich adorn
The cars wherein the Gods are borne,
Prize of the all-resistless might
That sprang from pain and penance rite,814
Obedient to the master's will
It moved o'er wood and towering hill,
A glorious marvel well designed
By Viśvakarmá's artist mind,
Adorned with every fair device
That decks the cars of Paradise.
Swift moving as the master chose
It flew through air or sank or rose,815
And in its fleetness left behind
The fury of the rushing wind:
Meet mansion for the good and great,
The holy, wise, and fortunate.
Throughout the chariot's vast extent
Were chambers wide and excellent,
All pure and lovely to the eyes
As moonlight shed from cloudless skies.
Fierce goblins, rovers of the night
Who cleft the clouds with swiftest flight
In countless hosts that chariot drew,
With earrings clashing as they flew.
Canto IX. The Ladies' Bower.

Where stately mansions rose around,
A palace fairer still he found,
Whose royal height and splendour showed
Where Rávaṇ's self, the king, abode.
A chosen band with bow and sword
Guarded the palace of their lord,
Where Ráksha's dames of noble race
And many a princess fair of face
Whom Rávaṇ's arm had torn away
From vanquished kings in slumber lay.
[pg 401]
There jewelled arches high o'erhead
An ever-changing lustre shed
From ruby, pearl, and every gem
On golden pillars under them.
Delicious came the tempered air
That breathed a heavenly summer there,
Stealing through bloomy trees that bore
Each pleasant fruit in endless store.
No check was there from jealous guard,
No door was fast, no portal barred;
Only a sweet air breathed to meet
The stranger, as a host should greet
A wanderer of his kith and kin
And woo his weary steps within.
He stood within a spacious hall
With fretted roof and painted wall,
The giant Rávaṇ's boast and pride,
Loved even as a lovely bride.
'Twere long to tell each marvel there,
The crystal floor, the jewelled stair,
The gold, the silver, and the shine
Of chrysolite and almandine.
There breathed the fairest blooms of spring;
There flashed the proud swan's silver wing,
The splendour of whose feathers broke
Through fragrant wreaths of aloe smoke.
“'Tis Indra's heaven,” the Vánar cried,
Gazing in joy from side to side;
“The home of all the Gods is this,
The mansion of eternal bliss.”
There were the softest carpets spread,
Delightful to the sight and tread,
Where many a lovely woman lay
O'ercome by sleep, fatigued with play.
The wine no longer cheered the feast,
The sound of revelry had ceased.
The tinkling feet no longer stirred,
No chiming of a zone was heard.
So when each bird has sought her nest,
And swans are mute and wild bees rest,
Sleep the fair lilies on the lake
Till the sun's kiss shall bid them wake.
Like the calm field of winter's sky
Which stars unnumbered glorify,
So shone and glowed the sumptuous room
With living stars that chased the gloom.
“These are the stars,” the chieftain cried,
“In autumn nights that earth-ward glide,
In brighter forms to reappear
And shine in matchless lustre here.”
With wondering eyes a while he viewed
Each graceful form and attitude.
One lady's head was backward thrown,
Bare was her arm and loose her zone.
The garland that her brow had graced
Hung closely round another's waist.
Here gleamed two little feet all bare
Of anklets that had sparkled there,
Here lay a queenly dame at rest
In all her glorious garments dressed.
There slept another whose small hand
Had loosened every tie and band,
In careless grace another lay
With gems and jewels cast away,
Like a young creeper when the tread
Of the wild elephant has spread
Confusion and destruction round,
And cast it flowerless to the ground.
Here lay a slumberer still as death,
Save only that her balmy breath
Raised ever and anon the lace
That floated o'er her sleeping face.
There, sunk in sleep, an amorous maid
Her sweet head on a mirror laid,
Like a fair lily bending till
Her petals rest upon the rill.
Another black-eyed damsel pressed
Her lute upon her heaving breast,
As though her loving arms were twined
Round him for whom her bosom pined.
Another pretty sleeper round
A silver vase her arms had wound,
That seemed, so fresh and fair and young
A wreath of flowers that o'er it hung.
In sweet disorder lay a throng
Weary of dance and play and song,
Where heedless girls had sunk to rest
One pillowed on another's breast,
Her tender cheek half seen beneath
Bed roses of the falling wreath,
The while her long soft hair concealed
The beauties that her friend revealed.
With limbs at random interlaced
Round arm and leg and throat and waist,
That wreath of women lay asleep
Like blossoms in a careless heap.
Canto X. Rávan Asleep.

Apart a dais of crystal rose
With couches spread for soft repose,
Adorned with gold and gems of price
Meet for the halls of Paradise.
A canopy was o'er them spread
Pale as the light the moon beams shed,
And female figures,816 deftly planned,
The faces of the sleepers fanned,
There on a splendid couch, asleep
On softest skins of deer and sheep.
Dark as a cloud that dims the day
The monarch of the giants lay,
Perfumed with sandal's precious scent
And gay with golden ornament.
[pg 402]
His fiery eyes in slumber closed,
In glittering robes the king reposed
Like Mandar's mighty hill asleep
With flowery trees that clothe his steep.
Near and more near the Vánar
The monarch of the fiends to view,
And saw the giant stretched supine
Fatigued with play and drunk with wine.
While, shaking all the monstrous frame,
His breath like hissing serpents' came.
With gold and glittering bracelets gay
His mighty arms extended lay
Huge as the towering shafts that bear
The flag of Indra high in air.
Scars by Airávat's tusk impressed
Showed red upon his shaggy breast.
And on his shoulders were displayed
The dints the thunder-bolt had made.817
The spouses of the giant king
Around their lord were slumbering,
And, gay with sparkling earrings, shone
Fair as the moon to look upon.
There by her husband's side was seen
Mandodarí the favourite queen,
The beauty of whose youthful face
Beamed a soft glory through the place.
The Vánar marked the dame more fair
Than all the royal ladies there,
And thought, “These rarest beauties speak
The matchless dame I come to seek.
Peerless in grace and splendour, she
The Maithil queen must surely be.”
Canto XI. The Banquet Hall.

But soon the baseless thought was spurned
And longing hope again returned:
“No: Ráma's wife is none of these,
No careless dame that lives at ease.
Her widowed heart has ceased to care
For dress and sleep and dainty fare.
She near a lover ne'er would lie
Though Indra wooed her from the sky.
Her own, her only lord, whom none
Can match in heaven, is Raghu's son.”
Then to the banquet hall intent
On strictest search his steps he bent.
He passed within the door, and found
Fair women sleeping on the ground,
Where wearied with the song, perchance,
The merry game, the wanton dance,
Each girl with wine and sleep oppressed
Had sunk her drooping head to rest.
That spacious hall from side to side
With noblest fare was well supplied,
There quarters of the boar, and here
Roast of the buffalo and deer,
There on gold plate, untouched as yet
The peacock and the hen were set.
There deftly mixed with salt and curd
Was meat of many a beast and bird,
Of kid and porcupine and hare,
And dainties of the sea and air.
There wrought of gold, ablaze with shine
Of precious stones, were cups of wine.
Through court and bower and banquet hall
The Vánar passed and viewed them all;
From end to end, in every spot,
For Sítá searched, but found her not.
Canto XII. The Search Renewed.

Again the Vánar chief began
Each chamber, bower, and hall to scan.
In vain: he found not her he sought,
And pondered thus in bitter thought:
“Ah me the Maithil queen is slain:
She, ever true and free from stain,
The fiend's entreaty has denied,
And by his cruel hand has died.
Or has she sunk, by terror killed,
When first she saw the palace filled
With female monsters evil miened
Who wait upon the robber fiend?
No battle fought, no might displayed,
In vain this anxious search is made;
Nor shall my steps, made slow by shame,
Because I failed to find the dame,
Back to our lord the king be bent,
For he is swift to punishment.
In every bower my feet have been,
The dames of Rávaṇ have I seen;
But Ráma's spouse I seek in vain,
And all my toil is fruitless pain.
How shall I meet the Vánar band
I left upon the ocean strand?
How, when they bid me speak, proclaim
These tidings of defeat and shame?
How shall I look on Angad's eye?
What words will Jámbaván reply?
Yet dauntless hearts will never fail
To win success though foes assail,
And I this sorrow will subdue
And search the palace through and through,
Exploring with my cautious tread
Each spot as yet unvisited.”
Again he turned him to explore
Each chamber, hall, and corridor,
And arbour bright with scented bloom,
And lodge and cell and picture-room.
[pg 403]
With eager eye and noiseless feet
He passed through many a cool retreat
Where women lay in slumber drowned;
But Sítá still was nowhere found.
Canto XIII. Despair And Hope.

Then rapid as the lightning's flame
From Rávaṇ's halls the Vánar came.
Each lingering hope was cold and dead,
And thus within his heart he said:
“Alas, my fruitless search is done:
Long have I toiled for Raghu's son;
And yet with all my care have seen
No traces of the ravished queen.
It may be, while the giant through
The lone air with his captive flew,
The Maithil lady, tender-souled,
Slipped struggling from the robber's hold,
And the wild sea is rolling now
O'er Sítá of the beauteous brow.
Or did she perish of alarm
When circled by the monster's arm?
Or crushed, unable to withstand
The pressure of that monstrous hand?
Or when she spurned his suit with scorn,
Her tender limbs were rent and torn.
And she, her virtue unsubdued,
Was slaughtered for the giant's food.
Shall I to Raghu's son relate
His well-beloved consort's fate,
My crime the same if I reveal
The mournful story or conceal?
If with no happier tale to tell
I seek our mountain citadel,
How shall I face our lord the king,
And meet his angry questioning?
How shall I greet my friends, and brook
The muttered taunt, the scornful look?
How to the son of Raghu go
And kill him with my tale of woe?
For sure the mournful tale I bear
Will strike him dead with wild despair.
And Lakshmaṇ ever fond and true,
Will, undivided, perish too.
Bharat will learn his brother's fate,
And die of grief disconsolate,
And sad Śatrughna with a cry
Of anguish on his corpse will die.
Our king Sugríva, ever found
True to each bond in honour bound,
Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave,
And die with him he could not save.
Then Rumá his devoted wife
For her dead lord will leave her life,
And Tárá, widowed and forlorn,
Will die in anguish, sorrow-worn.
On Angad too the blow will fall
Killing the hope and joy of all.
The ruin of their prince and king
The Vánars' souls with woe will wring.
And each, overwhelmed with dark despair,
Will beat his head and rend his hair.
Each, graced and honoured long, will miss
His careless life of easy bliss,
In happy troops will play no more
On breezy rock and shady shore,
But with his darling wife and child
Will seek the mountain top, and wild
With hopeless desolation, throw
Himself, his wife, and babe, below.
Ah no: unless the dame I find
I ne'er will meet my Vánar kind.
Here rather in some distant dell
A lonely hermit will I dwell,
Where roots and berries will supply
My humble wants until I die;
Or on the shore will raise a pyre
And perish in the kindled fire.
Or I will strictly fast until
With slow decay my life I kill,
And ravening dogs and birds of air
The limbs of Hanumán shall tear.
Here will I die, but never bring
Destruction on my race and king.
But still unsearched one grove I see
With many a bright Aśoka tree.
There will I enter in, and through
The tangled shade my search renew.
Be glory to the host on high,
The Sun and Moon who light the sky,
The Vasus818 and the Maruts'819 train,
Ádityas820 and the Aśvins821 twain.
So may I win success, and bring
The lady back with triumphing.”
Canto XIV. The Asoka Grove.

He cleared the barrier at a bound;
He stood within the pleasant ground,
[pg 404]
And with delighted eyes surveyed
The climbing plants and varied shade,
He saw unnumbered trees unfold
The treasures of their pendent gold,
As, searching for the Maithil queen,
He strayed through alleys soft and green;
And when a spray he bent or broke
Some little bird that slept awoke.
Whene'er the breeze of morning blew,
Where'er a startled peacock flew,
The gaily coloured branches shed
Their flowery rain upon his head
That clung around the Vánar till
He seemed a blossom-covered hill,822
The earth, on whose fair bosom lay
The flowers that fell from every spray,
Was glorious as a lovely maid
In all her brightest robes arrayed,
He saw the breath of morning shake
The lilies on the rippling lake
Whose waves a pleasant lapping made
On crystal steps with gems inlaid.
Then roaming through the enchanted ground,
A pleasant hill the Vánar found,
And grottoes in the living stone
With grass and flowery trees o'ergrown.
Through rocks and boughs a brawling rill
Leapt from the bosom of the hill,
Like a proud beauty when she flies
From her love's arms with angry eyes.
He clomb a tree that near him grew
And leafy shade around him threw.
“Hence,” thought the Vánar, “shall I see
The Maithil dame, if here she be,
These lovely trees, this cool retreat
Will surely tempt her wandering feet.
Here the sad queen will roam apart.
And dream of Ráma in her heart.”
Canto XV. Sítá.

Fair as Kailása white with snow
He saw a palace flash and glow,
A crystal pavement gem-inlaid,
And coral steps and colonnade,
And glittering towers that kissed the skies,
Whose dazzling splendour charmed his eyes.
There pallid, with neglected dress,
Watched close by fiend and giantess,
Her sweet face thin with constant flow
Of tears, with fasting and with woe;
Pale as the young moon's crescent when
The first faint light returns to men:
Dim as the flame when clouds of smoke
The latent glory hide and choke;
Like Rohiṇí the queen of stars
Oppressed by the red planet Mars;
From her dear friends and husband torn,
Amid the cruel fiends, forlorn,
Who fierce-eyed watch around her kept,
A tender woman sat and wept.
Her sobs, her sighs, her mournful mien,
Her glorious eyes, proclaimed the queen.
“This, this is she,” the Vánar cried,
“Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed,
I saw the giant Rávan bear
A captive through the fields of air.
Such was the beauty of the dame;
Her form, her lips, her eyes the same.
This peerless queen whom I behold
Is Ráma's wife with limbs of gold.
Best of the sons of men is he,
And worthy of her lord is she.”
Canto XVI. Hanumán's Lament.

Then, all his thoughts on Sítá bent,
The Vánar chieftain made lament:
“The queen to Ráma's soul endeared,
By Lakshmaṇ's pious heart revered,
Lies here,—for none may strive with Fate,
A captive, sad and desolate.
The brothers' might full well she knows,
And bravely bears the storm of woes,
As swelling Gangá in the rains
The rush of every flood sustains.
Her lord, for her, fierce Báli slew,
Virádha's monstrous might o'erthrew,
For her the fourteen thousand slain
In Janasthán bedewed the plain.
And if for her Ikshváku's son
Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done.
This, this is she, so far renowned,
Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,823
Child of the high-souled king whose sway
The men of Míthilá obey:
The glorious lady wooed and won
By Daśaratha's noblest son;
And now these sad eyes look on her
Mid hostile fiends a prisoner.
From home and every bliss she fled
By wifely love and duty led,
And heedless of a wanderer's woes,
A life in lonely forests chose.
This, this is she so fair of mould.
Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold.
[pg 405]
Whose voice was ever soft and mild,
Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled.
O, what is Ráma's misery! how
He longs to see his darling now!
Pining for one of her fond looks
As one athirst for water brooks.
Absorbed in woe the lady sees
No Rákshas guard, no blooming trees.
Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they
Are fixed on Ráma far away.”
Canto XVII. Sítá's Guard.

His pitying eyes with tears bedewed,
The weeping queen again he viewed,
And saw around the prisoner stand
Her demon guard, a fearful band.
Some earless, some with ears that hung
Low as their feet and loosely swung:
Some fierce with single ears and eyes,
Some dwarfish, some of monstrous size:
Some with their dark necks long and thin
With hair upon the knotty skin:
Some with wild locks, some bald and bare,
Some covered o'er with bristly hair:
Some tall and straight, some bowed and bent
With every foul disfigurement:
All black and fierce with eyes of fire,
Ruthless and stern and swift to ire:
Some with the jackal's jaw and nose,
Some faced like boars and buffaloes:
Some with the heads of goats and kine,
Of elephants, and dogs, and swine:
With lions' lips and horses' brows,
They walked with feet of mules and cows:
Swords, maces, clubs, and spears they bore
In hideous hands that reeked with gore,
And, never sated, turned afresh
To bowls of wine and piles of flesh.
Such were the awful guards who stood
Round Sítá in that lovely wood,
While in her lonely sorrow she
Wept sadly neath a spreading tree.
He watched the spouse of Ráma there
Regardless of her tangled hair,
Her jewels stripped from neck and limb,
Decked only with her love of him.
Canto XVIII. Rávan.

While from his shelter in the boughs
The Vánar looked on Ráma's spouse
He heard the gathered giants raise
The solemn hymn of prayer and praise.—
Priests skilled in rite and ritual, who
The Vedas and their branches824 knew.
Then, as loud strains of music broke
His sleep, the giant monarch woke.
Swift to his heart the thought returned
Of the fair queen for whom he burned;
Nor could the amorous fiend control
The passion that absorbed his soul.
In all his brightest garb arrayed
He hastened to that lovely shade,
Where glowed each choicest flower and fruit,
And the sweet birds were never mute,
And tall deer bent their heads to drink
On the fair streamlet's grassy brink.
Near that Aśoka grove he drew,—
A hundred dames his retinue.
Like Indra with the thousand eyes
Girt with the beauties of the skies.
Some walked beside their lord to hold
The chouries, fans, and lamps of gold.
And others purest water bore
In golden urns, and paced before.
Some carried, piled on golden plates,
Delicious food of dainty cates;
Some wine in massive bowls whereon
The fairest gems resplendent shone.
Some by the monarch's side displayed,
Wrought like a swan, a silken shade:
Another beauty walked behind,
The sceptre to her care assigned.
Around the monarch gleamed the crowd
As lightnings flash about a cloud,
And each made music as she went
With zone and tinkling ornament.
Attended thus in royal state
The monarch reached the garden gate,
While gold and silver torches, fed
With scented oil a soft light shed.825
[pg 406]
He, while the flame of fierce desire
Burnt in his eyes like kindled fire,
Seemed Love incarnate in his pride,
His bow and arrows laid aside.826
His robe, from spot and blemish free
Like Amrit foamy from the sea,827
Hung down in many a loosened fold
Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold.
The Vánar from his station viewed,
Amazed, the wondrous multitude,
Where, in the centre of that ring
Of noblest women, stood the king,
As stands the full moon fair to view,
Girt by his starry retinue.
Canto XIX. Sítá's Fear.

Then o'er the lady's soul and frame
A sudden fear and trembling came,
When, glowing in his youthful pride,
She saw the monarch by her side.
Silent she sat, her eyes depressed,
Her soft arms folded o'er her breast,
And,—all she could,—her beauties screened
From the bold gazes of the fiend.
There where the wild she-demons kept
Their watch around, she sighed and wept.
Then, like a severed bough, she lay
Prone on the bare earth in dismay.
The while her thoughts on love's fleet wings
Flew to her lord the best of kings.
She fell upon the ground, and there
Lay struggling with her wild despair,
Sad as a lady born again
To misery and woe and pain,
Now doomed to grief and low estate,
Once noble fair and delicate:
Like faded light of holy lore,
Like Hope when all her dreams are o'er;
Like ruined power and rank debased,
Like majesty of kings disgraced:
Like worship foiled by erring slips,
The moon that labours in eclipse;
A pool with all her lilies dead,
An army when its king has fled:
So sad and helpless wan and worn,
She lay among the fiends forlorn.
Canto XX. Rávan's Wooing.

With amorous look and soft address
The fiend began his suit to press:
“Why wouldst thou, lady lotus-eyed,
From my fond glance those beauties hide?
Mine eager suit no more repel:
But love me, for I love thee well.
Dismiss, sweet dame, dismiss thy fear;
No giant and no man is near.
Ours is the right by force to seize
What dames soe'er our fancy please.828
But I with rude hands will not touch
A lady whom I love so much.
Fear not, dear queen: no fear is nigh:
Come, on thy lover's love rely,
Some little sign of favor show,
Nor lie enamoured of thy woe.
Those limbs upon that cold earth laid,
Those tresses twined in single braid,829
The fast and woe that wear thy frame,
Beseem not thee, O beauteous dame.
For thee the fairest wreaths were meant,
The sandal and the aloe's scent,
Rich ornaments and pearls of price,
And vesture meet for Paradise.
With dainty cates shouldst thou be fed,
And rest upon a sumptuous bed.
And festive joys to thee belong,
The music, and the dance and song.
Rise, pearl of women, rise and deck
With gems and chains thine arms and neck.
Shall not the dame I love be seen
In vesture worthy of a queen?
Methinks when thy sweet form was made
His hand the wise Creator stayed;
For never more did he design
A beauty meet to rival thine.
Come, let us love while yet we may,
For youth will fly and charms decay,
Come cast thy grief and fear aside,
And be my love, my chosen bride.
The gems and jewels that my hand
Has reft from every plundered land,—
To thee I give them all this day,
And at thy feet my kingdom lay.
[pg 407]
The broad rich earth will I o'errun,
And leave no town unconquered, none;
Then of the whole an offering make
To Janak,830 dear, for thy sweet sake.
In all the world no power I see
Of God or man can strive with me.
Of old the Gods and Asurs set
In terrible array I met:
Their scattered hosts to earth I beat,
And trod their flags beneath my feet.
Come, taste of bliss and drink thy fill,
And rule the slave who serves thy will.
Think not of wretched Ráma: he
Is less than nothing now to thee.
Stript of his glory, poor, dethroned,
A wanderer by his friends disowned,
On the cold earth he lays his head,
Or is with toil and misery dead.
And if perchance he lingers yet,
His eyes on thee shall ne'er be set.
Could he, that mighty monarch, who
Was named Hiraṇyakaśipu,
Could he who wore the garb of gold
Win Glory back from Indra's hold?831
O lady of the lovely smile,
Whose eyes the sternest heart beguile,
In all thy radiant beauty dressed
My heart and soul thou ravishest.
What though thy robe is soiled and worn,
And no bright gems thy limbs adorn,
Thou unadorned art dearer far
Than all my loveliest consorts are.
My royal home is bright and fair;
A thousand beauties meet me there,
But come, my glorious love, and be
The queen of all those dames and me.”
Canto XXI. Sítá's Scorn.

She thought upon her lord and sighed,
And thus in gentle tones replied:
“Beseems thee not, O King, to woo
A matron, to her husband true.
Thus vainly one might hope by sin
And evil deeds success to win.
Shall I, so highly born, disgrace
My husband's house, my royal race?
Shall I, a true and loyal dame,
Defile my soul with deed of shame?”
Then on the king her back she turned,
And answered thus the prayer she spurned:
“Turn, Rávaṇ, turn thee from thy sin;
Seek virtue's paths and walk therein.
To others dames be honour shown;
Protect them as thou wouldst thine own.
Taught by thyself, from wrong abstain
Which, wrought on thee, thy heart would pain.832
Beware: this lawless love of thine
Will ruin thee and all thy line;
And for thy sin, thy sin alone,
Will Lanká perish overthrown.
Dream not that wealth and power can sway
My heart from duty's path to stray.
Linked like the Day-God and his shine,
I am my lord's and he is mine.
Repent thee of thine impious deed;
To Ráma's side his consort lead.
Be wise; the hero's friendship gain,
Nor perish in his fury slain.
Go, ask the God of Death to spare,
Or red bolt flashing through the air,
But look in vain for spell or charm
To stay my Ráma's vengeful arm.
Thou, when the hero bends his bow,
Shalt hear the clang that heralds woe,
Loud as the clash when clouds are rent
And Indra's bolt to earth is sent.
Then shall his furious shafts be sped,
Each like a snake with fiery head,
And in their flight shall hiss and flame
Marked with the mighty archer's name.833
Then in the fiery deluge all
Thy giants round their king shall fall.”
[pg 408]
Canto XXII. Rávan's Threat.

Then anger swelled in Rávaṇ's breast,
Who fiercely thus the dame addressed:
“'Tis ever thus: in vain we sue
To woman, and her favour woo.
A lover's humble words impel
Her wayward spirit to rebel.
The love of thee that fills my soul
Still keeps my anger in control,
As charioteers with bit and rein
The swerving of the steed restrain.
The love that rules me bids me spare
Thy forfeit life, O thou most fair.
For this, O Sítá, have I borne
The keen reproach, the bitter scorn,
And the fond love thou boastest yet
For that poor wandering anchoret;
Else had the words which thou hast said
Brought death upon thy guilty head.
Two months, fair dame, I grant thee still
To bend thee to thy lover's will.
If when that respite time is fled
Thou still refuse to share my bed,
My cooks shall mince thy limbs with steel
And serve thee for my morning meal.”834
The minstrel daughters of the skies
Looked on her woe with pitying eyes,
And sun-bright children of the Gods835
Consoled the queen with smiles and nods.
She saw, and with her heart at ease,
Addressed the fiend in words like these;
“Hast thou no friend to love thee, none
In all this isle to bid thee shun
The ruin which thy crime will bring
On thee and thine, O impious King?
Who in all worlds save thee could woo
Me, Ráma's consort pure and true,
As though he tempted with his love
Queen Śachí836 on her throne above?
How canst thou hope, vile wretch, to fly
The vengeance that e'en now is nigh,
When thou hast dared, untouched by shame,
To press thy suit on Ráma's dame?
Where woods are thick and grass is high
A lion and a hare may lie;
My Ráma is the lion, thou
Art the poor hare beneath the bough.
Thou railest at the lord of men,
But wilt not stand within his ken.
What! is that eye unstricken yet
Whose impious glance on me was set?
Still moves that tongue that would not spare
The wife of Daśaratha's heir?”
Then, hissing like a furious snake,
The fiend again to Sítá spake:
“Deaf to all prayers and threats art thou,
Devoted to thy senseless vow.
No longer respite will I give,
And thou this day shalt cease to live;
For I, as sunlight kills the morn,
Will slay thee for thy scathe and scorn.”
The Rákshas guard was summoned: all
The monstrous crew obeyed the call,
And hastened to the king to take
The orders which he fiercely spake:
“See that ye guard her well, and tame,
Like some wild thing, the stubborn dame,
Until her haughty soul be bent
By mingled threat and blandishment.”837
The monsters heard: away he strode,
And passed within his queens' abode.
Canto XXIII. The Demons' Threats.

Then round the helpless Sítá drew
With fiery eyes the hideous crew,
And thus assailed her, all and each,
With insult, taunt, and threatening speech:
“What! can it be thou prizest not
This happy chance, this glorious lot,
To be the chosen wife of one
So strong and great, Pulastya's son?
Pulastya—thus have sages told—
Is mid the Lords of Life838 enrolled.
Lord Brahmá's mind-born son was he,
Fourth of that glorious company.
Viśravas from Pulastya sprang,—
Through all the worlds his glory rang.
And of Viśravas, large-eyed dame!
Our king the mighty Rávaṇ came.
His happy consort thou mayst be:
Scorn not the words we say to thee.”
One awful demon, fiery-eyed,
Stood by the Maithil queen and cried:
'Come and be his, if thou art wise,
Who smote the sovereign of the skies,
And made the thirty Gods and three,839
O'ercome in furious battle, flee.
[pg 409]
Thy lover turns away with scorn
From wives whom grace and youth adorn.
Thou art his chosen consort, thou
Shall be his pride and darling now.”
Another, Vikatá by name,
In words like these addressed the dame:
“The king whose blows, in fury dealt,
The Nágas840 and Gandharvas841 felt,
In battle's fiercest brunt subdued,
Has stood by thee and humbly wooed.
And wilt thou in thy folly miss
The glory of a love like this?
Scared by his eye the sun grows chill,
The wanderer wind is hushed and still.
The rains at his command descend,
And trees with new-blown blossoms bend.
His word the hosts of demons fear,
And wilt thou, dame, refuse to hear?
Be counselled; with his will comply,
Or, lady, thou shalt surely die.”
Canto XXIV. Sítá's Reply.

Still with reproaches rough and rude
Those fiends the gentle queen pursued:
“What! can so fair a life displease,
To dwell with him in joyous ease?
Dwell in his bowers a happy queen
In silk and gold and jewels' sheen?
Still must thy woman fancy cling
To Ráma and reject our king?
Die in thy folly, or forget
That wretched wandering anchoret.
Come, Sítá, in luxurious bowers
Spend with our lord thy happy hours;
The mighty lord who makes his own
The treasures of the worlds o'erthrown.”
Then, as a tear bedewed her eye,
The hapless lady made reply:
“I loathe, with heart and soul detest
The shameful life your words suggest.
Eat, if you will, this mortal frame:
My soul rejects the sin and shame.
A homeless wanderer though he be,
In him my lord, my life I see,
And, till my earthly days be done,
Will cling to great Ikshváku's son.”
Then with fierce eyes on Sítá set
They cried again with taunt and threat:
Each licking with her fiery tongue
The lip that to her bosom hung,
And menacing the lady's life
With axe, or spear or murderous knife:
“Hear, Sítá, and our words obey,
Or perish by our hands to-day.
Thy love for Raghu's son forsake,
And Rávaṇ for thy husband take,
Or we will rend thy limbs apart
And banquet on thy quivering heart.
Now from her body strike the head,
And tell the king the dame is dead.
Then by our lord's commandment she
A banquet for our band shall be.
Come, let the wine be quickly brought
That frees each heart from saddening thought.
Then to the western gate repair,
And we will dance and revel there.”
Canto XXV. Sítá's Lament.

On the bare earth the lady sank,
And trembling from their presence shrank
Like a strayed fawn, when night is dark,
And hungry wolves around her bark.
[pg 410]
Then to a shady tree she crept,
And thought upon her lord and wept.
By fear and bitter woe oppressed
She bathed the beauties of her breast
With her hot tears' incessant flow,
And found no respite from her woe.
As shakes a plantain in the breeze
She shook, and fell on trembling knees;
While at each demon's furious look
Her cheek its native hue forsook.
She lay and wept and made her moan
In sorrow's saddest undertone,
And, wild with grief, with fear appalled,
On Ráma and his brother called:
“O dear Kauśalyá,842 hear me cry!
Sweet Queen Sumitrá,843 list my sigh!
True is the saw the wise declare:
Death comes not to relieve despair.
'Tis vain for dame or man to pray;
Death will not hear before his day;
Since I, from Ráma's sight debarred,
And tortured by my cruel guard,
Still live in hopeless woe to grieve
And loathe the life I may not leave,
Here, like a poor deserted thing,
My limbs upon the ground I fling,
And, like a bark beneath the blast,
Shall sink oppressed with woes at last.
Ah, blest are they, supremely blest,
Whose eyes upon my lord may rest;
Who mark his lion port, and hear
His gentle speech that charms the ear.
Alas, what antenatal crime,
What trespass of forgotten time
Weighs on my soul, and bids me bow
Beneath this load of misery now?”
Canto XXVI. Sítá's Lament.

“I Ráma's wife, on that sad day,
By Rávaṇ's arm was borne away,
Seized, while I sat and feared no ill,
By him who wears each form at will.
A helpless captive, left forlorn
To demons' threats and taunts and scorn,
Here for my lord I weep and sigh,
And worn with woe would gladly die.
For what is life to me afar
From Ráma of the mighty car?
The robber in his fruitless sin
Would hope his captive's love to win.
My meaner foot shall never touch
The demon whom I loathe so much.
The senseless fool! he knows me not,
Nor the proud soul his love would blot.
Yea, limb from limb will I be rent,
But never to his prayer consent;
Be burnt and perish in the fire,
But never meet his base desire.
My lord was grateful, true and wise,
And looked on woe with pitying eyes;
But now, recoiling from the strife
He pities not his captive wife.
Alone in Janasthán he slew
The thousands of the Rákshas crew.
His arm was strong, his heart was brave,
Why comes he not to free and save?
Why blame my lord in vain surmise?
He knows not where his lady lies.
O, if he knew, o'er land and sea
His feet were swift to set me free;
This Lanká, girdled by the deep,
Would fall consumed, a shapeless heap,
And from each ruined home would rise
A Rákshas widow's groans and cries.”
Canto XXVII. Trijatá's Dream.

Their threats unfeared, their counsel spurned,
The demons' breasts with fury burned.
Some sought the giant king to bear
The tale of Sítá's fixt despair.
With threats and taunts renewed the rest
Around the weeping lady pressed.
But Trijaṭá, of softer mould,
A Rákshas matron wise and old,
With pity for the captive moved,
In words like these the fiends reproved:
“Me, me,” she cried, “eat me, but spare
The spouse of Daśaratha's heir.
Last night I dreamt a dream; and still
The fear and awe my bosom chill;
For in that dream I saw foreshown
Our race by Ráma's hand o'erthrown.
I saw a chariot high in air,
Of ivory exceeding fair.
A hundred steeds that chariot drew
As swiftly through the clouds it flew,
And, clothed in white, with wreaths that shone,
The sons of Raghu rode thereon.
I looked and saw this lady here,
Clad in the purest white, appear
High on the snow white hill whose feet
The angry waves of ocean beat.
And she and Ráma met at last
Like light and sun when night is past.
Again I saw them side by side.
On Rávaṇ's car they seemed to ride,
And with the princely Lakshmaṇ flee
To northern realms beyond the sea.
[pg 411]
Then Rávaṇ, shaved and shorn, besmeared
With oil from head to foot, appeared.
He quaffed, he raved: his robes were red:
Fierce was his eye, and bare his head.
I saw him from his chariot thrust;
I saw him rolling in the dust.
A woman came and dragged away
The stricken giant where he lay,
And on a car which asses drew
The monarch of our race she threw.
He rose erect, he danced and laughed,
With thirsty lips the oil he quaffed,
Then with wild eyes and streaming mouth
Sped on the chariot to the south.844
Then, dropping oil from every limb,
His sons the princes followed him,
And Kumbhakarṇa,845 shaved and shorn,
Was southward on a camel borne.
Then royal Lanká reeled and fell
With gate and tower and citadel.
This ancient city, far-renowned:
All life within her walls was drowned;
And the wild waves of ocean rolled
O'er Lanká and her streets of gold.
Warned by these signs I bid you fly;
Or by the hand of Ráma die,
Whose vengeance will not spare the life
Of one who vexed his faithful wife.
Your bitter taunts and threats forgo:
Comfort the lady in her woe,
And humbly pray her to forgive;
For so you may be spared and live.”
[I omit the 28th and 29th Cantos as an unmistakeable interpolation. Instead of advancing the story it goes back to Canto XVII, containing a lamentation of Sítá after Rávaṇ has left her, and describes the the auspicious signs sent to cheer her, the throbbing of her left eye, arm, and side. The Canto is found in the Bengal recension. Gorresio translates it. and observes: “I think that Chapter XXVIII.—The Auspicious Signs—is an addition, a later interpolation by the Rhapsodists. It has no bond of connexion either with what precedes or follows it, and may be struck out not only without injury to, but positively to the advantage of the poem. The metre in which this chapter is written differs from that which is generally adopted in the course of the poem.”]

Canto XXX. Hanumán's Deliberation.

The Vánar watched concealed: each word
Of Sítá and the fiends he heard,
And in a maze of anxious thought
His quick-conceiving bosom wrought.
“At length my watchful eyes have seen,
Pursued so long, the Maithil queen,
Sought by our Vánar hosts in vain
From east to west, from main to main.
A cautious spy have I explored
The palace of the Rákhshas lord,
And thoroughly learned, concealed from sight,
The giant monarch's power and might.
And now my task must be to cheer
The royal dame who sorrows here.
For if I go, and soothe her not,
A captive in this distant spot,
She, when she finds no comfort nigh,
Will sink beneath her woes and die.
How shall my tale, if unconsoled
I leave her, be to Ráma told?
How shall I answer Raghu's son,
“No message from my darling, none?”
The husband's wrath, to fury fanned,
Will scorch me lifeless where I stand,
Or if I urge my lord the king
To Lanká's isle his hosts to bring,
In vain will be his zeal, in vain
The toil, the danger, and the pain.
Yea, this occasion must I seize
That from her guard the lady frees,846
To win her ear with soft address
And whisper hope in dire distress.
Shall I, a puny Vánar, choose
The Sanskrit men delight to use?
If, as a man of Bráhman kind,
I speak the tongue by rules refined,
The lady, yielding to her fears,
Will think 'tis Rávaṇ's voice she hears.
I must assume my only plan—
The language of a common847 man.
Yet, if the lady sees me nigh,
[pg 412]
In terror she will start and cry;
And all the demon band, alarmed,
Will come with various weapons armed,
With their wild shouts the grove will fill,
And strive to take me, or to kill.
And, at my death or capture, dies
The hope of Ráma`s enterprise.
For none can leap, save only me,
A hundred leagues across the sea.
It is a sin in me, I own,
To talk with Janak's child alone.
Yet greater is the sin if I
Be silent, and the lady die.
First I will utter Ráma's name,
And laud the hero's gifts and fame.
Perchance the name she holds so dear
Will soothe the faithful lady's fear.”
Canto XXXI. Hanumán's Speech.

Then in sweet accents low and mild
The Vánar spoke to Janak's child:
“A noble king, by sin unstained,
The mighty Daśaratha reigned.
Lord of the warrior's car and steed,
The pride of old Ikshváku's seed.
A faithful friend, a blameless king,
Protector of each living thing.
A glorious monarch, strong to save,
Blest with the bliss he freely gave.
His son, the best of all who know
The science of the bended bow,
Was moon-bright Ráma, brave and strong,
Who loved the right and loathed the wrong,
Who ne'er from kingly duty swerved,
Loved by the lands his might preserved.
His feet the path of law pursued;
His arm rebellious foes subdued.
His sire's command the prince obeyed
And, banished, sought the forest shade,
Where with his wife and brother he
Wandered a saintly devotee.
There as he roamed the wilds he slew
The bravest of the Rákshas crew.
The giant king the prince beguiled,
And stole his consort, Janak's child.
Then Ráma roamed the country round,
And a firm friend, Sugríva, found,
Lord of the Vánar race, expelled
From his own realm which Báli held,
He conquered Báli and restored
The kingdom to the rightful lord.
Then by Sugríva's high decree
The Vánar legions searched for thee,
Sampáti's counsel bade me leap
A hundred leagues across the deep.
And now my happy eyes have seen
At last the long-sought Maithil queen.
Such was the form, the eye, the grace
Of her whom Ráma bade me trace.”
He ceased: her flowing locks she drew
To shield her from a stranger's view;
Then, trembling in her wild surprise,
Raised to the tree her anxious eyes.
Canto XXXII. Sítá's Doubt.

Her eyes the Maithil lady raised
And on the monkey speaker gazed.
She looked, and trembling at the sight
Wept bitter tears in wild affright.
She shrank a while with fear distraught,
Then, nerved again, the lady thought:
“Is this a dream mine eyes have seen,
This creature, by our laws unclean?
O, may the Gods keep Ráma, still,
And Lakshmaṇ, and my sire, from ill!
It is no dream: I have not slept,
But, trouble-worn, have watched and wept
Afar from that dear lord of mine
For whom in ceaseless woe I pine,
No art may soothe my wild distress
Or lull me to forgetfulness.
I see but him: my lips can frame
No syllable but Ráma's name.
Each sight I see, each sound I hear,
Brings Ráma to mine eye or ear,
The wish was in my heart, and hence
The sweet illusion mocked my sense.
'Twas but a phantom of the mind,
And yet the voice was soft and kind.
Be glory to the Eternal Sire,848
Be glory to the Lord of Fire,
The mighty Teacher in the skies,849
And Indra with his thousand eyes,
And may they grant the truth to be
E'en as the words that startled me.”
[pg 413]
Canto XXXIII. The Colloquy.

Down from the tree Hanumán came
And humbly stood before the dame.
Then joining reverent palm to palm
Addressed her thus with words of balm:
“Why should the tears of sorrow rise,
Sweet lady, to those lovely eyes,
As when the wind-swept river floods
Two half expanded lotus buds?
Who art thou, O most fair of face?
Of Asur,850 or celestial race?
Did Nága mother give thee birth?
For sure thou art no child of earth.
Do Rudras851 claim that heavenly form?
Or the swift Gods852 who ride the storm?
Or art thou Rohiṇí853 the blest,
That star more lovely than the rest,—
Reft from the Moon thou lovest well
And doomed a while on earth to dwell?
Or canst thou, fairest wonder, be
The starry queen Arundhatí,854
Fled in thy wrath or jealous pride
From her dear lord Vaśishṭha's side?
Who is the husband, father, son
Or brother, O thou loveliest one,
Gone from this world in heaven to dwell,
For whom those eyes with weeping swell?
Yet, by the tears those sweet eyes shed,
Yet, by the earth that bears thy tread,855
By calling on a monarch's name,
No Goddess but a royal dame.
Art thou the queen, fair lady, say,
Whom Rávaṇ stole and bore away?
Yea, by that agony of woe,
That form unrivalled here below,
That votive garb, thou art, I ween,
King Janak's child and Ráma's queen.”
Hope at the name of Ráma woke,
And thus the gentle lady spoke:
“I am that Sítá wooed and won
By Daśaratha's royal son,
The noblest of Ikshváku's line;
And every earthly joy was mine.
But Ráma left his royal home
In Daṇḍak's tangled wilds to roam.
Where with Sumitrá's son and me,
He lived a saintly devotee.
The giant Rávaṇ came with guile
And bore me thence to Lanká's isle.
Some respite yet the fiend allows,
Two months of life, to Ráma's spouse.
Two moons of hopeless woe remain,
And then the captive will be slain.”
Canto XXXIV. Hanumán's Speech.

Thus spoke the dame in mournful mood,
And Hanumán his speech renewed:
“O lady, by thy lord's decree
I come a messenger to thee.
Thy lord is safe with steadfast friends,
And greeting to his queen he sends,
And Lakshmaṇ, ever faithful bows
His reverent head to Ráma's spouse.”
Through all her frame the rapture ran,
As thus again the dame began:
“Now verily the truth I know
Of the wise saw of long ago:
“Once only in a hundred years
True joy to living man appears.”
He marked her rapture-beaming hue,
And nearer to the lady drew,
But at each onward step he took
Suspicious fear her spirit shook.
“Alas, Alas,” she cried in fear.
“False is the tale I joyed to hear.
'Tis Rávaṇ, 'tis the fiend, who tries
To mock me with a new disguise.
If thou, to wring my woman's heart,
Hast changed thy shape by magic art,
And wouldst a helpless dame beguile,
The wicked deed is doubly vile.
But no: that fiend thou canst not be:
Such joy I had from seeing thee.
But if my fancy does not err,
And thou art Ráma's messenger,
The glories of my lord repeat:
For to these ears such words are sweet.”
The Vánar knew the lady's thought,856
And gave the answer fondly sought:
[pg 414]
“Bright as the sun that lights the sky
Dear as the Moon to every eye.
He scatters blessings o'er the land
Like bounties from Vaiśravaṇ's857 hand.
Like Vishṇu strong and unsubdued,
Unmatched in might and fortitude.
Wise, truthful as the Lord of Speech,
With gentle words he welcomes each.
Of noblest mould and form is he,
Like love's incarnate deity.
He quells the fury of the foe,
And strikes when justice prompts the blow.
Safe in the shadow of his arm
The world is kept from scathe and harm.
Now soon shall Rávaṇ rue his theft,
And fall, of realm and life bereft.
For Ráma's wrathful hand shall wing
His shafts against the giant king.
The day, O Maithil Queen, is near
When he and Lakshmaṇ will be here,
And by their side Sugríva lead
His countless hosts of Vánar breed.
Sugríva's servant, I, by name
Hanumán, by his order came.
With desperate leap I crossed the sea
To Lanká's isle in search of thee,
No traitor, gentle dame, am I:
Upon my word and faith rely.”
Canto XXXV. Hanumán's Speech.

With joyous heart she heard him tell
Of the great lord she loved so well,
And in sweet accents, soft and low,
Spoke, half forgetful of her woe:
“How didst thou stand by Ráma's side?
How came my lord and thou allied?
How met the people of the wood
With men on terms of brotherhood?
Declare each grace and regal sign
That decks the lords of Raghu's line.
Each circumstance and look relate:
Tell Ráma's form and speech, and gait.”
“Thy fear and doubt,” he cried, “dispelled,
Hear, lady, what mine eyes beheld.
Hear the imperial signs that grace
The glory of Ikshváku's race.
With moon-bright face and lotus eyes,
Most beautiful and good and wise,
With sun-like glory round his head,
Long-suffering as the earth we tread,
He from all foes his realm defends.
Yea, o'er the world his care extends.
He follows right in all his ways,
And ne'er from royal duty strays.
He knows the lore that strengthens kings;
His heart to truth and honour clings.
Each grace and gift of form and mind
Adorns that prince of human kind;
And virtues like his own endue
His brother ever firm and true.
O'er all the land they roamed distraught,
And thee with vain endeavour sought,
Until at length their wandering feet
Trod wearily our wild retreat.
Our banished king Sugríva spied
The princes from the mountain side.
By his command I sought the pair
And led them to our monarch there.
Thus Ráma and Sugríva met,
And joined the bonds that knit them yet,
When each besought the other's aid,
And friendship and alliance made.
An arrow launched from Ráma's bow
Laid Báli dead, Sugríva's foe.
Then by commandment of our lord
The Vánar hosts each land explored.
We reached the coast: I crossed the sea
And found my way at length to thee.”858
Canto XXXVI. Ráma's Ring.

“Receive,” he cried, “this precious ring,859
Sure token from thy lord the king:
The golden ring he wont to wear:
See, Ráma's name engraven there.”
Then, as she took the ring he showed,
The tears that spring of rapture flowed.
She seemed to touch the hand that sent
The dearly valued ornament,
And with her heart again at ease,
Replied in gentle words like these:
“O thou, whose soul no fears deter,
Wise, brave, and faithful messenger!
And hast thou dared, o'er wave and foam,
To seek me in the giants' home?
In thee, true messenger, I find
The noblest of thy woodland kind.
Who couldst, unmoved by terror, brook
On Rávaṇ, king of fiends, to look.
[pg 415]
Now may we commune here as friends,
For he whom royal Ráma sends
Must needs be one in danger tried,
A valiant, wise, and faithful guide.
Say, is it well with Ráma still?
Lives Lakshmaṇ yet untouched by ill?
Then why should Ráma's hand be slow
To free his consort from her woe?
Why spare to burn, in search of me,
The land encircled by the sea?
Can Bharat send no army out
With banners, cars and battle shout?
Cannot thy king Sugríva lend
His legions to assist his friend?”
His hands upon his head he laid
And thus again his answer made:
“Not yet has Ráma learnt where lies
His lady of the lotus eyes,
Or he like Indra from the sky
To Śachí's860 aid, to thee would fly.
Soon will he hear the tale, and then,
Roused to revenge, the lord of men
Will to the giants' island lead
Fierce myriads of the woodland breed,
Bridging his conquering way, and make
The town a ruin for thy sake.
Believe my words, sweet dame; I swear
By roots and fruit, my woodland fare,
By Meru's peak and Vindhva's chain,
And Mandar of the Milky Main,
Soon shalt thou see thy lord, though now
He waits upon Praśravaṇ's861 brow,
Come glorious as the breaking morn,
Like Indra on Airávat862 borne.
For thee he looks with longing eyes;
The wood his scanty food supplies.
For thee his brow is pale and worn,
For thee are meat and wine forsworn.
Thine image in his heart he keeps,
For thee by night he wakes and weeps.
Or if perchance his eyes he close
And win brief respite from his woes,
E'en then the name of Sítá slips
In anguish from his murmuring lips.
If lovely flowers or fruit he sees,
Which women love, upon the trees,
To thee, to thee his fancy flies.
And ‘Sítá! O my love!’ he cries.”
Canto XXXVII. Sítá's Speech.

“Thou bringest me,” she cried again,
“A mingled draught of bliss and pain:
Bliss, that he wears me in his heart,
Pain, that he wakes and weeps apart,
O, see how Fate is king of all,
Now lifts us high, now bids us fall,
And leads a captive bound with cord
The meanest slave, the proudest lord,
Thus even now Fate's stern decree
Has struck with grief my lord and me.
Say, how shall Ráma reach the shore
Of sorrow's waves that rise and roar,
A shipwrecked sailor, well nigh drowned
In the wild sea that foams around?
When will he smite the demon down,
Lay low in dust the giants' town,
And, glorious from his foes' defeat,
His wife, his long-lost Sítá, meet?
Go, bid him speed to smite his foes
Before the year shall reach its close.
Ten months are fled but two remain,
Then Rávaṇ's captive must be slain.
Oft has Vibhishaṇ,863 just and wise,
Besought him to restore his prize.
But deaf is Rávaṇ's senseless ear:
His brother's rede he will not hear.
Vibhishaṇ's daughter864 loves me well:
From her I learnt the tale I tell.
Avindhva865 prudent, just, and old,
The giant's fall has oft foretold;
But Fate impels him to despise
His word on whom he most relies.
In Ráma's love I rest secure,
For my fond heart is true and pure,
And him, my noblest lord, I deem
In valour, power, and might supreme.”
As from her eyes the waters ran,
The Vánar chief again began:
“Yea, Ráma, when he hears my tale,
Will with our hosts these walls assail.
Or I myself, O Queen, this day
Will bear thee from the fiend away,
Will lift thee up, and take thee hence
To him thy refuge and defence;
Will take thee in my arms, and flee
To Ráma far beyond the sea;
Will place thee on Praśravaṇ hill
Where Raghu's son is waiting still.”
[pg 416]
“How canst thou bear me hence?” she cried,
“The way is long, the sea is wide.
To bear my very weight would be
A task too hard for one like thee.”866
Swift rose before her startled eyes
The Vánar in his native size,
Like Mandar's hill or Meru's height,
Encircled with a blaze of light.
“O come,” he cried, “thy fears dispel,
Nor doubt that I will bear thee well.
Come, in my strength and care confide,
And sit in joy by Ráma's side.”
Again she spake: “I know thee now,
Brave, resolute, and strong art thou;
In glory like the Lord of Fire
With storm-swift feet which naught may tire
But yet with thee I may not fly:
For, borne so swiftly through the sky,
Mine eyes would soon grow faint and dim,
My dizzy brain would reel and swim,
My yielding arms relax their hold,
And I in terror uncontrolled
Should fall into the raging sea
Where hungry sharks would feed on me.
Nor can I touch, of free accord,
The limbs of any save my lord.
If, by the giant forced away,
In his enfolding arms I lay,
Not mine, O Vánar, was the blame;
What could I do, a helpless dame?
Go, to my lord my message bear,
And bid him end my long despair.”
Canto XXXVIII. Sítá's Gem.

Again the Vánar chief replied,
With her wise answer satisfied:
“Well hast thou said: thou canst not brave
The rushing wind, the roaring wave.
Thy woman's heart would sink with fear
Before the ocean shore were near.
And for thy dread lest limb of thine
Should for a while be touched by mine,
The modest fear is worthy one
Whose cherished lord is Raghu's son.
Yet when I sought to bear thee hence
I spoke the words of innocence,
Impelled to set the captive free
By friendship for thy lord and thee.
But if with me thou wilt not try
The passage of the windy sky,
Give me a gem that I may show,
Some token which thy lord may know.”
Again the Maithil lady spoke,
While tears and sobs her utterance broke:
“The surest of all signs is this,
To tell the tale of vanished bliss.
Thus in my name to Ráma speak:
“Remember Chitrakúṭa's peak
And the green margin of the rill867
That flows beside that pleasant hill,
Where thou and I together strayed
Delighting in the tangled shade.
There on the grass I sat with thee
And laid my head upon thy knee.
There came a greedy crow and pecked
The meat I waited to protect
And, heedless of the clods I threw,
About my head in circles flew,
Until by darling hunger pressed
He boldly pecked me on the breast.
I ran to thee in rage and grief
And prayed for vengeance on the thief.
Then Ráma868 from his slumber rose
And smiled with pity at my woes.
Upon my bleeding breast he saw
The scratches made by beak and claw.
He laid an arrow on his bow,
And launched it at the shameless crow.
That shaft, with magic power endued,
The bird, where'er he flew, pursued,
Till back to Raghu's son he fled
And bent at Ráma's feet his head.869
Couldst thou for me with anger stirred
Launch that dire shaft upon a bird,
And yet canst pardon him who stole
The darling of thy heart and soul?
Rise up, O bravest of the brave,
And come in all thy might to save.
Come with the thunders of thy bow,
And smite to earth the Rákshas foe.”
She ceased; and from her glorious hair
She took a gem that sparkled there
A token which her husband's eyes
With eager love would recognize.
His head the Vánar envoy bent
In low obeisance reverent.
And on his finger bound the gem
She loosened from her diadem.
[I omit two Cantos of dialogue. Sítá tells Hanumán again to convey her message to Ráma and bid him hasten to rescue her. Hanumán replies as before that there is no one on earth equal to Ráma, who will soon come and destroy Rávaṇ. There is not a new idea in the two Cantos: all is reiteration.]

[pg 417]
Canto XLI. The Ruin Of The Grove.

Dismissed with every honour due
The Vánar from the spot withdrew.
Then joyous thought the Wind-God's son:
“The mighty task is wellnigh done.
The three expedients I must leave;
The fourth alone can I achieve.870
These dwellers in the giants' isle
No arts of mine can reconcile.
I cannot bribe: I cannot sow
Dissension mid the Rákshas foe.
Arts, gifts, address, these fiends despise;
But force shall yet their king chastise.
Perchance he may relent when all
The bravest of his chieftains fall.
This lovely grove will I destroy,
The cruel Rávaṇ's pride and joy.
The garden where he takes his ease
Mid climbing plants and flowery trees
That lift their proud tops to the skies,
Dear to the tyrant as his eyes.
Then will he rouse in wrath, and lead
His legions with the car and steed
And elephants in long array,
And seek me thirsty for the fray.
The Rákshas legions will I meet,
And all his bravest host defeat;
Then, glorious from the bloody plain,
Turn to my lord the king again.”
Then every lovely tree that bore
Fair blossoms, from the soil he tore,
Till each green bough that lent its shade
To singing birds on earth was laid.
The wilderness he left a waste,
The fountains shattered and defaced:
O'erthrew and levelled with the ground
Each shady seat and pleasure-mound.
Each arbour clad with climbing bloom,
Each grotto, cell, and picture room,
Each lawn by beast and bird enjoyed,
Each walk and terrace was destroyed.
And all the place that was so fair
Was left a ruin wild and bare,
As if the fury of the blast
Or raging fire had o'er it passed.
Canto XLII. The Giants Roused.

The cries of startled birds, the sound
Of tall trees crashing to the ground,
Struck with amaze each giant's ear,
And filled the isle with sudden fear.
Then, wakened by the crash and cries,
The fierce shefiends unclosed their eyes,
And saw the Vánar where he stood
Amid the devastated wood.
The more to scare them with the view
To size immense the Vánar grew;
And straight the Rákshas warders cried
Janak's daughter terrified
“Whose envoy, whence, and who is he,
Why has he come to talk with thee?
Speak, lady of the lovely eyes,
And let not fear thy joy disguise.”
Then thus replied the Maithil dame
Of noble soul and perfect frame.
“Can I discern, with scanty skill,
These fiends who change their forms at will?
'Tis yours to say: your kin you meet;
A serpent knows a serpent's feet.
I weet not who he is: the sight
Has filled my spirit with affright.”
Some pressed round Sítá in a ring;
Some bore the story to their king:
“A mighty creature of our race,
In monkey form, has reached the place.
He came within the grove,” they cried,
“He stood and talked by Sítá's side,
He comes from Indra's court to her,
Or is Kuvera's messenger;
Or Ráma sent the spy to seek
His consort, and her wrongs to wreak.
His crushing arm, his trampling feet
Have marred and spoiled that dear retreat,
And all the pleasant place which thou
So lovest is a ruin now.
The tree where Sítá sat alone
Is spared where all are overthrown.
Perchance he saved the dame from harm:
Perchance the toil had numbed his arm.”
Then flashed the giant's eye with fire
Like that which lights the funeral pyre.
He bade his bravest Kinkars871 speed
[pg 418]
And to his feet the spoiler lead.
Forth from the palace, at his hest,
Twice forty thousand warriors pressed.
Burning for battle, strong and fierce,
With clubs to crush and swords to pierce,
They saw Hanúmán near a porch,
And, thick as moths around a torch,
Rushed on the foe with wild attacks
Of mace and club and battle-axe.
As round him pressed the Rákshas crowd,
The wondrous monkey roared aloud,
That birds fell headlong from the sky:
Then spake he with a mighty cry:
“Long life to Daśaratha's heir,
And Lakshmaṇ, ever-glorious pair!
Long life to him who rules our race,
Preserved by noblest Ráma's grace!
I am the slave of Kośal's king,872
Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing.
Hanúmán I, the Wind-God's seed:
Beneath this arm the foemen bleed.
I fear not, unapproached in might,
A thousand Rávaṇ's ranged for fight,
Although in furious hands they rear
The hill and tree for sword and spear,
I will, before the giants' eyes,
Their city and their king chastise;
And, having communed with the dame,
Depart in triumph as I came.”
At that terrific roar and yell
The heart of every giant fell.
But still their king's command they feared
And pressed around with arms upreared.
Beside the porch a club was laid:
The Vánar caught it up, and swayed
The weapon round his head, and slew
The foremost of the Rákshas crew.
Thus Indra vanquished, thousand-eyed,
The Daityas who the Gods defied.
Then on the porch Hanúmán sprang,
And loud his shout of triumph rang.
The giants looked upon the dead,
And turning to their monarch fled.
And Rávaṇ with his spirit wrought
To frenzy by the tale they brought,
Urged to the fight Prahasta's son,
Of all his chiefs the mightiest one.
Canto XLIII. The Ruin Of The Temple.

The Wind-God's son a temple873 scaled
Which, by his fury unassailed,
High as the hill of Meru, stood
Amid the ruins of the wood;
And in his fury thundered out
Again his haughty battle-shout:
“I am the slave of Kośal's King
Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing.”
Forth hurried, by that shout alarmed,
The warders of the temple armed
With every weapon haste supplied,
And closed him in on every side,
With bands that strove to pierce and strike
With shaft and axe and club and pike.
Then from its base the Vánar tore
A pillar with the weight it bore.
Against the wall the mass he dashed,
And forth the flames in answer flashed,
That wildly ran o'er roofs and wall
In hungry rage consuming all.
He whirled the pillar round his head
And struck a hundred giants dead.
Then high upheld on air he rose
And called in thunder to his foes:
“A thousand Vánar chiefs like me
Roam at their will o'er land and sea,
Terrific might we all possess:
Our stormy speed is limitless.
And all, unconquered in the fray,
Our king Sugríva's word obey.
Backed by his bravest myriads, he
Our warrior lord will cross the sea.
Then Lanká's lofty towers, and all
Your hosts and Rávaṇ's self shall fall.
None shall be left unslaughtered; none
Who braves the wrath of Raghu's son.”
Canto XLIV. Jambumáli's Death.

Then Jambumáli, pride and boast
For valour of the Rákshas host,
Prahasta's son supremely brave,
Obeyed the hest that Rávaṇ gave:
Fierce warrior with terrific teeth,
With saguine robes and brilliant wreath.
A bow like Indra's own874, and store
[pg 419]
Of glittering shafts the chieftain bore.
And ever as the string he tried
The weapon with a roar replied,
Loud as the crashing thunder sent
By him who rules the firmament.
Soon as the foeman came in view
Borne on a car which asses drew,
The Vánar chieftain mighty-voiced
Shouted in triumph and rejoiced.
Prahasta's son his bow-string drew,
And swift the winged arrows flew,
One in the face the Vánar smote,
Another quivered in his throat.
Ten from the deadly weapon sent
His brawny arms and shoulders rent.
Then as he felt each galling shot
The Vánar's rage waxed fiercely hot.
He looked, and saw a mass of stone
That lay before his feet o'erthrown.
The mighty block he raised and threw,
And crashing through the air it flew.
But Jambumáli shunned the blow,
And rained fresh arrows from his bow.
The Vánar's limbs were red with gore:
A Sál tree from the earth he tore,
And, ere he hurled it undismayed,
Above his head the missile swayed.
But shafts from Jambumáli's bow
Cut through it ere his hand could throw.
And thigh and arm and chest and side
With streams of rushing blood were dyed.
Still unsubdued though wounded oft
The shattered trunk he raised aloft,
And down with well-directed aim
On Jambumáli's chest it came.
There crushed upon the trampled grass
He lay an undistinguished mass,
The foeman's eye no more could see
His head or chest or arm or knee.
And bow and car and steeds875 and store
Of glittering shafts were seen no more.
When Jambumáli's death he heard,
King Rávaṇ's heart with rage was stirred
And forth his general's sons he sent,
For power and might preeminent.
Canto XLV. The Seven Defeated.

Forth went the seven in brave attire,
In glory brilliant as the fire,
Impetuous chiefs with massive bows,
The quellers of a host of foes:
Trained from their youth in martial lore,
And masters of the arms they bore:
Each emulous and fiercely bold,
And banners wrought with glittering gold
Waved o'er their chariots, drawn at speed
By coursers of the noblest breed.
On through the ruins of the grove
At Hanumán they fiercely drove,
And from the ponderous bows they strained
A shower of deadly arrows rained.
Then scarce was seen the Vánar's form
Enveloped in the arrowy storm.
So stands half veiled the Mountains' King
When rainy clouds about him cling.
By nimble turn, by rapid bound
He shunned the shafts that rained around,
Eluding, as in air he rose,
The rushing chariots of his foes.
The mighty Vánar undismayed
Amid his archer foemen played,
As plays the frolic wind on high
Mid bow-armed876 clouds that fill the sky.
He raised a mighty roar and yell
That fear on all the army fell,
And then, his warrior soul aglow
With fury, rushed upon the foe,
Some with his open hand he beat
To death and trampled with his feet;
Some with fierce nails he rent and slew,
And others with his fists o'erthrew;
Some with his legs, as on he rushed,
Some with his bulky chest he crushed;
While some struck senseless by his roar
Dropped on the ground and breathed no more,
The remnant, seized with sudden dread,
Turned from the grove and wildly fled.
The trampled earth was thickly strown
With steed and car and flag o'erthrown,
And the red blood in rivers flowed
From slaughtered fiends o'er path and road.
Canto XLVI. The Captains.

Mad with the rage of injured pride
King Rávaṇ summoned to his side
The valiant five who led his host,
Supreme in war and honoured most.
“Go forth,” he cried, “with car and steed,
And to my feet this monkey lead,
But watch each chance of time and place
To seize this thing of silvan race.
For from his wondrous exploits he
No monkey of the woods can be,
[pg 420]
But some new kind of creature meant
To work us woe, by Indra sent.
Gandharvas, Nágas, and the best
Of Yakshas have our might confessed.
Have we not challenged and subdued
The whole celestial multitude?
Yet will you not, if you are wise,
A chief of monkey race despise.
For I myself have Báli known,
And King Sugríva's power I own.
But none of all their woodland throng
Was half so terrible and strong.”
Obedient to the words he spake
They hastened forth the foe to take.
Swift were the cars whereon they rode,
And bright their weapons flashed and glowed.
They saw: they charged in wild career
With sword and mace and axe and spear.
From Durdhar's bow five arrows sped
And quivered in the Vánar's head.
He rose and roared: the fearful sound
Made all the region echo round.
Then from above his weight he threw
On Durdhar's car that near him drew.
The weight that came with lightning speed
Crushed pole and axle, car and steed.
It shattered Durdhar's head and neck,
And left him lifeless mid the wreck.
Yúpáksha saw the warrior die,
And Virúpáksha heard his cry,
And, mad for vengeance for the slain,
They charged their Vánar foe again.
He rose in air: they onward pressed
And fiercely smote him on the breast.
In vain they struck his iron frame:
With eagle swoop to earth he came,
Tore from the ground a tree that grew
Beside him, and the demons slew.
Then Bhásakama raised his spear,
And Praghas with a laugh drew near,
And, maddened at the sight, the two
Against the undaunted Vánar flew.
As from his wounds the torrents flowed,
Like a red sun the Vánar showed.
He turned, a mountain peak to seize
With all its beasts and snakes and trees.
He hurled it on the pair: and they
Crushed, overwhelmed, beneath it lay.
Canto XLVII. The Death Of Aksha.

But Rávaṇ, as his fury burned,
His eyes on youthful Aksha877 turned,
Who rose impetuous at his glance
And shouted for his bow and lance.
He rode upon a glorious car
That shot the light of gems afar.
His pennon waved mid glittering gold
And bright the wheels with jewels rolled,
By long and fierce devotion won
That car was splendid as the sun.
With rows of various weapons stored;
And thought-swift horses whirled their lord
Racing along the earth, or rose
High through the clouds whene'er he chose.
Then fierce and fearful war between
The Vánar and the fiend was seen.
The Gods and Asurs stood amazed,
And on the wondrous combat gazed.
A cry from earth rose long and shrill,
The wind was hushed, the sun grew chill.
The thunder bellowed from the sky,
And troubled ocean roared reply.
Thrice Aksha strained his dreadful bow,
Thrice smote his arrow on the foe,
And with full streams of crimson bled
Three gashes in the Vánar's head.
Then rose Hanúmán in the air
To shun the shafts no life could bear.
But Aksha in his car pursued,
And from on high the fight renewed
With storm of arrows, thick as hail
When angry clouds some hill assail.
Impatient of that arrowy shower
The Vánar chief put forth his power,
Again above his chariot rose
And smote him with repeated blows.
Terrific came each deadly stroke:
Breast neck and arm and back he broke;
And Aksha fell to earth, and lay
With all his life-blood drained away.
Canto XLVIII. Hanumán Captured.

To Indrajít878 the bold and brave
The giant king his mandate gave:
“O trained in warlike science, best
In arms of all our mightiest,
Whose valour in the conflict shown
To Asurs and to Gods is known,
The Kinkars whom I sent are slain,
And Jambumálí and his train;
The lords who led our giant bands
Have fallen by the monkey's hands;
With shattered cars the ground is spread,
And Aksha lies amid the dead.
Thou art my best and bravest: go,
Unmatched in power, and slay the foe.”
[pg 421]
He heard the hest: he bent his head;
Athirst for battle forth he sped.
Four tigers fierce, of tawny hue,
With fearful teeth, his chariot drew.
Hanúmán heard his strong bow clang,
And swiftly from the earth he sprang,
While weak and ineffective fell
The archer's shafts though pointed well.
The Rákshas saw that naught might kill
The wondrous foe who mocked his skill,
And launched a magic shaft to throw
A binding spell about his foe.
Forth flew the shaft: the mystic charm
Stayed his swift feet and numbed his arm,
Through all his frame he felt the spell,
And motionless to earth he fell.
Nor would the reverent Vánar loose
The bonds that bound him as a noose.
He knew that Brahmá's self had charmed
The weapon that his might disarmed.
They saw him helpless on the ground,
And all the giants pressed around,
And bonds of hemp and bark were cast
About his limbs to hold him fast.
They drew the ropes round feet and wrists;
They beat him with their hands and fists,
And dragged him as they strained the cord
With shouts of triumph to their lord.879
Canto XLIX. Rávan.

On the fierce king Hanúmán turned
His angry eyes that glowed and burned.
He saw him decked with wealth untold
Of diamond and pearl and gold,
And priceless was each wondrous gem
That sparkled in his diadem.
About his neck rich chains were twined,
The best that fancy e'er designed,
And a fair robe with pearls bestrung
Down from his mighty shoulders hung.
Ten heads he reared,880 as Mandar's hill
Lifts woody peaks which tigers fill,
Bright were his eyes, and bright, beneath,
The flashes of his awful teeth.
His brawny arms of wondrous size
Were decked with rings and scented dyes.
His hands like snakes with five long heads
Descending from their mountain beds.
He sat upon a crystal throne
Inlaid with wealth of precious stone,
Whereon, of noblest work, was set
A gold-embroidered coverlet.
Behind the monarch stood the best
Of beauteous women gaily dressed,
And each her giant master fanned,
Or waved a chourie in her hand.
Four noble courtiers881 wise and good
In counsel, near the monarch stood,
As the four oceans ever stand
About the sea-encompassed land.
Still, though his heart with rage was fired,
The Vánar marvelled and admired:
“O what a rare and wondrous sight!
What beauty, majesty, and might!
All regal pomp combines to grace
This ruler of the Rákshas race.
He, if he scorned not right and law,
Might guide the world with tempered awe:
Yea, Indra and the Gods on high
Might on his saving power rely.”
Canto L. Prahasta's Questions.

Then fierce the giant's fury blazed
As on Hanúmán's form he gazed,
And shaken by each wild surmise
He spake aloud with flashing eyes:
“Can this be Nandi882 standing here,
The mighty one whom all revere?
Who once on high Kailása's hill
Pronounced the curse that haunts me still?
Or is the woodland creature one
Of Asur race, or Bali's883 son?
The wretch with searching question try:
Learn who he is, and whence; and why
He marred the glory of the grove,
And with my captains fiercely strove.”
[pg 422]
Prahasta heard his lord's behest,
And thus the Vánar chief addressed:
“O monkey stranger be consoled:
Fear not, and let thy heart be bold.
If thou by Indra's mandate sent
Thy steps to Lanká's isle hast bent,
With fearless words the cause explain,
And freedom thou shalt soon regain.
Or if thou comest as a spy
Despatched by Vishṇu in the sky,
Or sent by Yáma, or the Lord
Of Riches, hast our town explored;
Proved by the prowess thou hast shown
No monkey save in form alone;
Speak boldly all the truth, and be
Released from bonds, unharmed and free.
But falsehood spoken to our king
Swift punishment of death will bring.”
He ceased: the Vánar made reply;
“Not Indra's messenger am I,
Nor came I hither to fulfil
Kuvera's hest or Vishṇu's will.
I stand before the giants here
A Vánar e'en as I appear.
I longed to see the king: 'twas hard
To win my way through gate and guard.
And so to gain my wish I laid
In ruin that delightful shade.
No fiend, no God of heavenly kind
With bond or chain these limbs may bind.
The Eternal Sire himself of old
Vouchsafed the boon that makes me bold,
From Brahmá's magic shaft released884
I knew the captor's power had ceased,
The fancied bonds I freely brooked,
And thus upon the king have looked.
My way to Lanká have I won,
A messenger from Raghu's son.”
Canto LI. Hanumán's Reply.

“My king Sugríva greets thee fair,
And bids me thus his rede declare.
Son of the God of Wind, by name
Hanumán, to this isle I came.
To set the Maithil lady free
I crossed the barrier of the sea.
I roamed in search of her and found
Her weeping in that lovely ground.
Thou in the lore of duty trained,
Who hast by stern devotion gained
This wondrous wealth and power and fame
Shouldst fear to wrong another's dame.
Hear thou my counsel, and be wise:
No fiend, no dweller in the skies
Can bear the shafts by Lakshmaṇ shot,
Or Ráma when his wrath is hot.
O Giant King, repent the crime
And soothe him while there yet is time.
Now be the Maithil queen restored
Uninjured to her sorrowing lord.
Soon wilt thou rue thy dire mistake:
She is no woman but a snake,
Whose very deadly bite will be
The ruin of thy house and thee.
Thy pride has led thy thoughts astray,
That fancy not a hand may slay
The monarch of the giants, screened
From mortal blow of God and fiend.
Sugríva still thy death may be:
No Yaksha, fiend, or God is he,
And Ráma from a woman springs,
The mortal seed of mortal kings.
O think how Báli fell subdued;
Think on thy slaughtered multitude.
Respect those brave and strong allies;
Consult thy safety, and be wise.
I, even I, no helper need
To overthrow, with car and steed,
Thy city Lanká half divine:
The power but not the will is mine.
For Raghu's son, before his friend
The Vánar monarch, swore to end
With his own conquering arm the life
Of him who stole his darling wife.
Turn, and be wise, O Rávaṇ turn;
Or thou wilt see thy Lanká burn,
And with thy wives, friends, kith and kin
Be ruined for thy senseless sin.”
Canto LII. Vibhishan's Speech.

Then Rávaṇ spake with flashing eye:
“Hence with the Vánar: let him die.”
Vibhishaṇ heard the stern behest,
And pondered in his troubled breast;
Then, trained in arts that soothe and please
Addressed the king in words like these:
“Revoke, my lord, thy fierce decree,
And hear the words I speak to thee.
Kings wise and noble ne'er condemn
To death the envoys sent to them.
Such deed the world's contempt would draw
On him who breaks the ancient law.885
Observe the mean where justice lies,
And spare his life but still chastise.”
[pg 423]
Then forth the tyrant's fury broke,
And thus in angry words he spoke:
“O hero, when the wicked bleed
No sin or shame attends the deed.
The Vánar's blood must needs be spilt,
The penalty of heinous guilt.”
Again Vibhishaṇ made reply:
“Nay, hear me, for he must not die.
Hear the great law the wise declare:
“Thy foeman's envoy thou shalt spare.”
'Tis true he comes an open foe:
'Tis true his hands have wrought us woe,
But law allows thee, if thou wilt,
A punishment to suit the guilt.
The mark of shame, the scourge, the brand,
The shaven head, the wounded hand.
Yea, were the Vánar envoy slain,
Where, King of giants, were the gain?
On them alone, on them who sent
The message, be the punishment.
For spake he well or spake he ill,
He spake obedient to their will,
And, if he perish, who can bear
Thy challenge to the royal pair?
Who, cross the ocean and incite
Thy death-doomed enemies to fight?”
Canto LIII. The Punishment.

King Rávaṇ, by his pleading moved,
The counsel of the chief approved:
“Thy words are wise and true: to kill
An envoy would beseem us ill.
Yet must we for his crime invent
Some fitting mode of punishment.
The tail, I fancy, is the part
Most cherished by a monkey's heart.
Make ready: set his tail aflame,
And let him leave us as he came,
And thus disfigured and disgraced
Back to his king and people haste.”
The giants heard their monarch's speech;
And, filled with burning fury, each
Brought strips of cotton cloth, and round
The monkey's tail the bandage wound.
As round his tail the bands they drew
His mighty form dilating grew
Vast as the flame that bursts on high
Where trees are old and grass is dry.
Each band and strip they soaked in oil,
And set on fire the twisted coil.
Delighted as they viewed the blaze,
The cruel demons stood at gaze:
And mid loud drums and shells rang out
The triumph of their joyful shout.
They pressed about him thick and fast
As through the crowded streets he passed,
Observing with attentive care
Each rich and wondrous structure there,
Still heedless of the eager cry
That rent the air, The spy! the spy!
Some to the captive lady ran,
And thus in joyous words began:
“That copper-visaged monkey, he
Who in the garden talked with thee,
Through Lanká's town is led a show,
And round his tail the red flames glow.”
The mournful news the lady heard
That with fresh grief her bosom stirred.
Swift to the kindled fire she went
And prayed before it reverent:
“If I my husband have obeyed,
And kept the ascetic vows I made,
Free, ever free, from stain and blot,
O spare the Vánar; harm him not.”
Then leapt on high the flickering flame
And shone in answer to the dame.
The pitying fire its rage forbore:
The Vánar felt the heat no more.
Then, to minutest size reduced,
The bonds that bound his limbs he loosed,
And, freed from every band and chain,
Rose to his native size again.
He seized a club of ponderous weight
That lay before him by the gate,
Rushed at the fiends that hemmed him round,
And laid them lifeless on the ground.
Through Lanká's town again he strode,
And viewed each street and square and road,—
Still wreathed about with harmless blaze,
A sun engarlanded with rays.
[pg 424]
Canto LIV. The Burning Of Lanká.

“What further deed remains to do
To vex the Rákshas king anew?
The beauty of his grove is marred,
Killed are the bravest of his guard.
The captains of his host are slain;
But forts and palaces remain,
Swift is the work and light the toil
Each fortress of the foe to spoil.”
Reflecting thus, his tail ablaze
As through the cloud red lightning plays,
He scaled the palaces and spread
The conflagration where he sped.
From house to house he hurried on,
And the wild flames behind him shone.
Each mansion of the foe he scaled,
And furious fire its roof assailed
Till all the common ruin shared:
Vibhishaṇ's house alone was spared.
From blazing pile to pile he sprang,
And loud his shout of triumph rang,
As roars the doomsday cloud when all
The worlds in dissolution fall.
The friendly wind conspired to fan
The hungry flames that leapt and ran,
And spreading in their fury caught
The gilded walls with pearls inwrought,
Till each proud palace reeled and fell
As falls a heavenly citadel.
Loud was the roar the demons raised
Mid walls that split and beams that blazed,
As each with vain endeavour strove
To stay the flames in house or grove.
The women, with dishevelled hair,
Flocked to the roofs in wild despair,
Shrieked out for succour, wept aloud,
And fell, like lightning from a cloud.
He saw the flames ascend and curl
Round turkis, diamond, and pearl,
While silver floods and molten gold
From ruined wall and latice rolled.
As fire grows fiercer as he feeds
On wood and grass and crackling reeds,
So Hanúmán the ruin eyed
With fury still unsatisfied.
Canto LV. Fear For Sítá.

But other thoughts resumed their sway
When Lanká's town in ruin lay;
And, as his bosom felt their weight
He stood a while to meditate.
“What have I done?”, he thought with shame,
“Destroyed the town with hostile flame.
O happy they whose firm control
Checks the wild passion of the soul;
Who on the fires of anger throw
The cooling drops that check their glow.
But woe is me, whom wrath could lead
To do this senseless shameless deed.
The town to fire and death I gave,
Nor thought of her I came to save,—
Doomed by my own rash folly, doomed
To perish in the flames consumed.
If I, when anger drove me wild,
Have caused the death of Janak's child,
The kindled flame shall end my woe,
Or the deep fires that burn below,886
Or my forsaken corse shall be
Food for the monsters of the sea.
How can I meet Sugríva? how
Before the royal brothers bow,—
I whose rash deed has madly foiled,
The noble work in which we toiled?
Or has her own bright virtue shed
Its guardian influence round her head?
She lives untouched,—the peerless dame;
Flame has no fury for the flame.887
The very fire would ne'er consent
To harm a queen so excellent,—
The high-souled Ráma's faithful wife,
Protected by her holy life.
She lives, she lives. Why should I fear
For one whom Raghu's sons hold dear?
Has not the pitying fire that spared
The Vánar for the lady cared?”
Such were his thoughts: he pondered long,
And fear grew faint and hope grew strong.
Then round him heavenly voices rang,
And, sweetly tuned, his praises sang:
“O glorious is the exploit done
By Hanumán the Wind-God's son.
The flames o'er Lanká's city rise:
The giants' home in ruin lies.
O'er roof and wall the fires have spread,
Nor harmed a hair of Sítá's head.”
Canto LVI. Mount Arishta.

He looked upon the burning waste,
Then sought the queen in joyous haste,
With words of hope consoled her heart,
And made him ready to depart.
[pg 425]
He scaled Arishṭa's glorious steep
Whose summits beetled o'er the deep.
The woods in varied beauty dressed
Hung like a garland round his crest,
And clouds of ever changing hue
A robe about his shoulders threw.
On him the rays of morning fell
To wake the hill they loved so well,
And bid unclose those splendid eyes
That glittered in his mineral dyes.
He woke to hear the music made
By thunders of the white cascade,
While every laughing rill that sprang
From crag to crag its carol sang.
For arms, he lifted to the stars
His towering stems of Deodárs,
And morning heard his pealing call
In tumbling brook and waterfall.
He trembled when his woods were pale
And bowed beneath the autumn gale,
And when his vocal reeds were stirred
His melancholy moan was heard.
Far down against the mountain's feet
The Vánar heard the wild waves beat;
Then turned his glances to the north.
Sprang from the peak and bounded forth,
The mountain felt the fearful shock
And trembled through his mass of rock.
The tallest trees were crushed and rent
And headlong to the valley sent,
And as the rocking shook each cave
Loud was the roar the lions gave.
Forth from the shaken cavern came
Fierce serpents with their tongues aflame;
And every Yaksha, wild with dread,
And Kinnar and Gandharva, fled.
Canto LVII. Hanumán's Return.

Still, like a winged mountain, he
Sprang forward through the airy sea,888
And rushing through the ether drew
The clouds to follow as he flew,
Through the great host around him spread,
Grey, golden, dark, and white, and red.
Now in a sable cloud immersed,
Now from its gloomy pall he burst,
Like the bright Lord of Stars concealed
A moment, and again revealed.
Sunábha889 passed, he neared the coast
Where waited still the Vánar host.
They heard a rushing in the skies,
And lifted up their wondering eyes.
His wild triumphant shout they knew
That louder still and louder grew,
And Jámbaván with eager voice
Called on the Vánars to rejoice:
“Look he returns, the Wind-God's son,
And full success his toils have won;
Triumphant is the shout that comes
Like music of a thousand drums.”
Up sprang the Vánars from the ground
And listened to the wondrous sound
Of hurtling arm and thigh as through
The region of the air he flew,
Loud as the wind, when tempests rave,
Roars in the prison of the cave.
From crag to crag, from height to height;
They bounded in their mad delight,
And when he touched the mountain's crest,
With reverent welcome round him pressed.
They brought him of their woodland fruits,
They brought him of the choicest roots,
And laughed and shouted in their glee
The noblest of their chiefs to see.
Nor Hanumán delayed to greet
Sage Jámbaván with reverence meet;
To Angad and the chiefs he bent
For age and rank preëminent,
And briefly spoke: “These eyes have seen,
These lips addressed, the Maithil queen.”
They sat beneath the waving trees,
And Angad spoke in words like these:
“O noblest of the Vánar kind
For valour power and might combined,
To thee triumphant o'er the foe
Our hopes, our lives and all we owe.
O faithful heart in perils tried,
[pg 426]
Which toil nor fear could turn aside,
Thy deed the lady will restore,
And Ráma's heart will ache no more.”890
Canto LVIII. The Feast Of Honey.

They rose in air: the region grew
Dark with their shadow as they flew.
Swift to a lovely grove891 they came
That rivalled heavenly Nandan's892 fame;
Where countless bees their honey stored,—
The pleasance of the Vánars' lord,
To every creature fenced and barred,
Which Dadhimukh was set to guard,
A noble Vánar, brave and bold,
Sugríva's uncle lofty-souled.
To Angad came with one accord
The Vánars, and besought their lord
That they those honeyed stores might eat
That made the grove so passing sweet.
He gave consent: they sought the trees
Thronged with innumerable bees.
They rifled all the treasured store,
And ate the fruit the branches bore,
And still as they prolonged the feast
Their merriment and joy increased.
Drunk with the sweets, they danced and bowed,
They wildly sang, they laughed aloud,
Some climbed and sprang from tree to tree,
Some sat and chattered in their glee.
Some scaled the trees which creepers crowned,
And rained the branches to the ground.
There with loud laugh a Vánar sprang
Close to his friend who madly sang,
In doleful mood another crept
To mix his tears with one who wept.
Then Dadhimukh with fury viewed
The intoxicated multitude.
He looked upon the rifled shade,
And all the ruin they had made;
Then called with angry voice, and strove
To save the remnant of the grove.
But warning cries and words were spurned,
And angry taunt and threat returned.
Then fierce and wild contention rose:
With furious words he mingled blows.
They by no shame or fear withheld,
By drunken mood and ire impelled,
Used claws, and teeth, and hands, and beat
The keeper under trampling feet.
[Three Cantos consisting of little but repetitions are omitted. Dadhimukh escapes from the infuriated monkeys and hastens to Sugríva to report their misconduct. Sugríva infers that Hanumán and his band have been successful in their search, and that the exuberance of spirits and the mischief complained of, are but the natural expression of their joy. Dadhimukh obtains little sympathy from Sugríva, and is told to return and send the monkeys on with all possible speed.]

Canto LXV. The Tidings.

On to Praśravaṇ's hill they sped
Where blooming trees their branches spread.
To Raghu's sons their heads they bent
And did obeisance reverent.
Then to their king, by Angad led,
Each Vánar chieftain bowed his head;
And Hanumán the brave and bold
His tidings to the monarch told;
But first in Ráma's hand he placed
The gem that Sítá's brow had graced:
“I crossed the sea: I searched a while
For Sítá in the giants' isle.
I found her vext with taunt and threat
By demon guards about her set.
Her tresses twined in single braid,
On the bare earth her limbs were laid.
Sad were her eyes: her cheeks were pale
As shuddering flowers in winter's gale.
I stood beside the weeping dame,
And gently whispered Ráma's name:
With cheering words her grief consoled,
And then the whole adventure told.
She weeps afar beyond the sea,
And her true heart is still with thee.
She gave a sign that thou wouldst know,
She bids thee think upon the crow,
And bright mark pressed upon her brow
When none was nigh but she and thou.
She bids thee take this precious stone,
The sea-born gem thou long hast known.
“And I,” she said, “will dull the sting
Of woe by gazing on the ring.
One little month shall I sustain
This life oppressed with woe and pain:
And when the month is ended, I
The giants' prey must surely die.’ ”
[pg 427]
Canto LXVI. Ráma's Speech.

There ceased the Vánar: Ráma pressed
The treasured jewel to his breast,
And from his eyes the waters broke
As to the Vánar king he spoke:
“As o'er her babe the mother weeps,
This flood of tears the jewel steeps.
This gem that shone on Sítá's head
Was Janak's gift when we were wed,
And the pure brow that wore it lent
New splendour to the ornament.
This gem, bright offspring of the wave,
The King of Heaven to Janak gave,
Whose noble sacrificial rite
Had filled the God with new delight.
Now, as I gaze upon the prize,
Methinks I see my father's eyes.
Methinks I see before me stand
The ruler of Videha's land.893
Methinks mine arms are folded now
Round her who wore it on her brow.
Speak, Hanumán, O say, dear friend,
What message did my darling send?
O speak, and let thy words impart
Their gentle dew to cool my heart.
Ah, 'tis the crown of woe to see
This gem and ask “Where, where is she?”
If for one month her heart be strong,
Her days of life will yet be long.
But I, with naught to lend relief,
This very day must die of grief.
Come, Hanumán, and quickly guide
The mourner to his darling's side.
O lead me—thou hast learnt the way—
I cannot and I will not stay.
How can my gentle love endure,
So timid, delicate, and pure,
The dreadful demons fierce and vile
Who watch her in the guarded isle?
No more the light of beauty shines
From Sítá as she weeps and pines.
But pain and sorrow, cloud on cloud
Her moonlight glory dim and shroud.
O speak, dear Hanumán, and tell
Each word that from her sweet lips fell,
Her words, her words alone can give
The healing balm to make me live.”894
BOOK VI.895

Canto I. Ráma's Speech.

The son of Raghu heard, consoled,
The wondrous tale Hanumán told;
And, as his joyous hope grew high,
In friendly words he made reply:
“Behold a mighty task achieved,
Which never heart but his conceived.
Who else across the sea can spring,
Save Váyu896 and the Feathered King?897
Who, pass the portals strong and high
Which Nágas,898 Gods, and fiends defy,
Where Rávaṇ's hosts their station keep,—
And come uninjured o'er the deep?
By such a deed the Wind-God's son
Good service to the king has done,
And saved from ruin and disgrace
Lakshmaṇ and me and Raghu's race.
Well has he planned and bravely fought,
And with due care my lady sought.
But of the sea I sadly think,
And the sweet hopes that cheered me sink.
How can we cross the leagues of foam
That keep us from the giant's home?
What can the Vánar legions more
Than muster on the ocean shore?”
Canto II. Sugríva's Speech.

He ceased: and King Sugríva tried
To calm his grief, and thus replied:
“'Be to thy nobler nature true,
Nor let despair thy soul subdue.
This cloud of causeless woe dispel,
For all as yet has prospered well,
And we have traced thy queen, and know
The dwelling of our Rákshas foe.
Arise, consult: thy task must be
To cast a bridge athwart the sea,
The city of our foe to reach
That crowns the mountain by the beach;
[pg 428]
And when our feet that isle shall tread,
Rejoice and deem thy foeman dead.
The sea unbridged, his walls defy
Both fiends and children of the sky,
Though at the fierce battalions' head
Lord Indra's self the onset led.
Yea, victory is thine before
The long bridge touch the farther shore,
So fleet and fierce and strong are these
Who limb them as their fancies please.
Away with grief and sad surmise
That mar the noblest enterprise,
And with their weak suspicion blight
The sage's plan, the hero's might.
Come, this degenerate weakness spurn,
And bid thy dauntless heart return,
For each fair hope by grief is crossed
When those we love are dead or lost.
Arise, O best of those who know,
Arm for the giant's overthrow.
None in the triple world I see
Who in the fight may equal thee;
None who before thy face may stand
And brave the bow that arms thy hand,
Trust to these mighty Vánars: they
With full success thy trust will pay,
When thou shalt reach the robber's hold,
And loving arms round Sítá fold.”
Canto III. Lanká.

He ceased: and Raghu's son gave heed,
Attentive to his prudent rede:
Then turned again, with hope inspired,
To Hanumán, and thus inquired:
“Light were the task for thee, I ween,
To bridge the sea that gleams between
The mainland and the island shore.
Or dry the deep and guide as o'er.
Fain would I learn from thee whose feet
Have trod the stones of every street,
Of fenced Lanká's towers and forts,
And walls and moats and guarded ports,
And castles where the giants dwell,
And battlemented citadel.
O Váyu's son, describe it all,
With palace, fort, and gate, and wall.”
He ceased: and, skilled in arts that guide
The eloquent, the chief replied:
“Vast is the city, gay and strong,
Where elephants unnumbered throng,
And countless hosts of Rákshas breed
Stand ready by the car and steed.
Four massive gates, securely barred,
All entrance to the city guard,
With murderous engines fixt to throw
Bolt, arrow, rock to check the foe,
And many a mace with iron head
That strikes at once a hundred dead.
Her golden ramparts wide and high
With massy strength the foe defy,
Where inner walls their rich inlay
Of coral, turkis, pearl display.
Her circling moats are broad and deep,
Where ravening monsters dart and leap.
By four great piers each moat is spanned
Where lines of deadly engines stand.
In sleepless watch at every gate
Unnumbered hosts of giants wait,
And, masters of each weapon, rear
The threatening pike and sword and spear.
My fury hurled those ramparts down,
Filled up the moats that gird the town,
The piers and portals overturned,
And stately Lanká spoiled and burned.
Howe'er we Vánars force our way
O'er the wide seat of Varuṇ's899 sway,
Be sure that city of the foe
Is doomed to sudden overthrow,
Nay, why so vast an army lead?
Brave Angad, Dwivid good at need,
Fierce Mainda, Panas famed in fight,
And Níla's skill and Nala's might,
And Jámbaván the strong and wise,
Will dare the easy enterprise.
Assailed by these shall Lanká fall
With gate and rampart, tower and wall.
Command the gathering, chief: and they
In happy hour will haste away.”
Canto IV. The March.

He ceased; and spurred by warlike pride
The impetuous son of Raghu cried:
“Soon shall mine arm with wrathful joy
That city of the foe destroy.
Now, chieftain, now collect the host,
And onward to the southern coast!
The sun in his meridian tower
Gives glory to the Vánar power.
The demon lord who stole my queen
By timely flight his life may screen.
She, when she knows her lord is near,
Will cling to hope and banish fear,
Saved like a dying wretch who sips
The drink of Gods with fevered lips.
Arise, thy troops to battle lead:
All happy omens counsel speed.
The Lord of Stars in favouring skies
Bodes glory to our enterprise.
This arm shall slay the fiend; and she,
My consort, shall again be free.
[pg 429]
Mine upward-throbbing eye foreshows
The longed-for triumph o'er my foes.
Far in the van be Níla's post,
To scan the pathway for the host,
And let thy bravest and thy best,
A hundred thousand, wait his hest.
Go forth, O warrior Níla, lead
The legions on through wood and mead
Where pleasant waters cool the ground,
And honey, flowers, and fruit abound.
Go, and with timely care prevent
The Rákshas foeman's dark intent.
With watchful troops each valley guard
Ere brooks and fruits and roots be marred
And search each glen and leafy shade
For hostile troops in ambuscade.
But let the weaklings stay behind:
For heroes is our task designed.
Let thousands of the Vánar breed
The vanguard of the armies lead:
Fierce and terrific must it be
As billows of the stormy sea.
There be the hill-huge Gaja's place,
And Gavaya's, strongest of his race,
And, like the bull that leads the herd,
Gaváksha's, by no fears deterred
Let Rishabh, matchless in the might
Of warlike arms, protect our right,
And Gandhamádan next in rank
Defend and guide the other flank.
I, like the God who rules the sky
Borne on Airávat900 mounted high
On stout Hanúmán's back will ride,
The central host to cheer and guide.
Fierce as the God who rules below,
On Angad's back let Lakshmaṇ show
Like him who wealth to mortals shares,901
The lord whom Sárvabhauma902 bears.
The bold Susheṇ's impetuous might,
And Vegadarśí's piercing sight,
And Jámbaván whom bears revere,
Illustrious three, shall guard the rear.”
He ceased, the royal Vánar heard,
And swift, obedient to his word,
Sprang forth in numbers none might tell
From mountain, cave, and bosky dell,
From rocky ledge and breezy height,
Fierce Vánars burning for the fight.
And Ráma's course was southward bent
Amid the mighty armament.
On, joyous, pressed in close array
The hosts who owned Sugríva's sway,
With nimble feet, with rapid bound
Exploring, ere they passed, the ground,
While from ten myriad throats rang out
The challenge and the battle shout.
On roots and honeycomb they fed,
And clusters from the boughs o'erhead,
Or from the ground the tall trees tore
Rich with the flowery load they bore.
Some carried comrades, wild with mirth,
Then cast their riders to the earth,
Who swiftly to their feet arose
And overthrew their laughing foes.
While still rang out the general cry,
“King Rávaṇ and his fiends shall die,”
Still on, exulting in the pride
Of conscious strength, the Vánars hied,
And gazed where noble Sahya, best
Of mountains, raised each towering crest.
They looked on lake and streamlet, where
The lotus bloom was bright and fair,
Nor marched—for Ráma's hest they feared
Where town or haunt of men appeared.
Still onward, fearful as the waves
Of Ocean when he roars and raves,
Led by their eager chieftains, went
The Vánars' countless armament.
Each captain, like a noble steed
Urged by the lash to double speed.
Pressed onward, filled with zeal and pride,
By Ráma's and his brother's side,
Who high above the Vánar throng
On mighty backs were borne along,
Like the great Lords of Day and Night
Seized by eclipsing planets might.
Then Lakshmaṇ radiant as the morn,
On Angad's shoulders high upborne.
With sweet consoling words that woke
New ardour, to his brother spoke:
“Soon shalt thou turn, thy queen regained
And impious Rávaṇ's life-blood drained,
In happiness and high renown
To dear Ayodhyá's happy town.
I see around exceeding fair
All omens of the earth and air.
Auspicious breezes sweet and low
To greet the Vánar army blow,
And softly to my listening ear
Come the glad cries of bird and deer.
Bright is the sky around us, bright
Without a cloud the Lord of Light,
And Śukra903 with propitious love
Looks on thee from his throne above.
The pole-star and the Sainted Seven904
Shine brightly in the northern heaven,
And great Triśanku,905 glorious king,
[pg 430]
Ikshváku's son from whom we spring,
Beams in unclouded glory near
His holy priest906 whom all revere.
Undimmed the two Viśákhás907 shine,
The strength and glory of our line,
And Nairrit's908 influence that aids
Our Rákshas foemen faints and fades.
The running brooks are fresh and fair,
The boughs their ripening clusters bear,
And scented breezes gently sway
The leaflet of the tender spray.
See, with a glory half divine
The Vánars' ordered legions shine,
Bright as the Gods' exultant train
Who saw the demon Tárak slain.
O let thine eyes these signs behold,
And bid thy heart be glad and bold.”
The Vánar squadrons densely spread
O'er all the country onward sped,
While rising from the rapid beat
Of bears' and monkeys' hastening feet.
Dust hid the earth with thickest veil,
And made the struggling sunbeams pale.
Now where Mahendra's peaks arise
Came Ráma of the lotus eyes
And the long arm's resistless might,
And clomb the mountain's wood-crowned height.
Thence Daśaratha's son beheld
Where billowy Ocean rose and swelled,
Past Malaya's peaks and Sahya's chain
The Vánar legions reached the main,
And stood in many a marshalled band
On loud-resounding Ocean's strand.
To the fair wood that fringed the tide
Came Daśaratha's son, and cried:
“At length, my lord Sugríva, we
Have reached King Varuṇ's realm the sea,
And one great thought, still-vexing, how
To cross the flood, awaits us now.
The broad deep ocean, that denies
A passage, stretched before us lies.
Then let us halt and plan the while
How best to storm the giant's isle.”
He ceased: Sugríva on the coast
By trees o'ershadowed stayed the host,
That seemed in glittering lines to be
The bright waves of a second sea.
Then from the shore the captains gazed
On billows which the breezes raised
To fury, as they dashed in foam
O'er Varuṇ's realm, the Asurs' home:909
The sea that laughed with foam, and danced
With waves whereon the sunbeams glanced:
Where, when the light began to fade,
Huge crocodiles and monsters played;
And, when the moon went up the sky,
The troubled billows rose on high
From the wild watery world whereon
A thousand moons reflected shone:
Where awful serpents swam and showed
Their fiery crests which flashed and glowed,
Illumining the depths of hell,
The prison where the demons dwell.
The eye, bewildered, sought in vain
The bounding line of sky and main:
Alike in shade, alike in glow
Were sky above and sea below.
There wave-like clouds by clouds were chased,
Here cloud-like billows roared and raced:
Then shone the stars, and many a gem
That lit the waters answered them.
They saw the great-souled Ocean stirred
To frenzy by the winds, and heard,
Loud as ten thousand drums, the roar
Of wild waves dashing on the shore.
They saw him mounting to defy
With deafening voice the troubled sky.
And the deep bed beneath him swell
In fury as the billows fell.
Canto V. Ráma's Lament.

There on the coast in long array
The Vánars' marshalled legions lay,
Where Níla's care had ordered well
The watch of guard and sentinel,
And Mainda moved from post to post
With Dwivid to protect the host.
Then Ráma stood by Lakshmaṇ's side,
And mastered by his sorrow cried:
“My brother dear, the heart's distress,
As days wear on, grows less and less.
But my deep-seated grief, alas,
Grows fiercer as the seasons pass.
Though for my queen my spirit longs,
And broods indignant o'er my wrongs,
Still wilder is my grief to know
That her young life is passed in woe.
Breathe, gentle gale, O breathe where she
Lies prisoned, and then breathe on me,
[pg 431]
And, though my love I may not meet,
Thy kiss shall be divinely sweet.
Ah, by the giant's shape appalled,
On her dear lord for help she called,
Still in mine ears the sad cry rings
And tears my heart with poison stings.
Through the long daylight and the gloom
Of night wild thoughts of her consume
My spirit, and my love supplies
The torturing flame which never dies.
Leave me, my brother; I will sleep
Couched on the bosom of the deep,
For the cold wave may bring me peace
And bid the fire of passion cease.
One only thought my stay must be,
That earth, one earth, holds her and me,
To hear, to know my darling lives
Some life-supporting comfort gives,
As streams from distant fountains run
O'er meadows parching in the sun.
Ah when, my foeman at my feet,
Shall I my queen, my glory, meet,
The blossom of her dear face raise
And on her eyes enraptured gaze,
Press her soft lips to mine again,
And drink a balm to banish pain!
Alas, alas! where lies she now,
My darling of the lovely brow?
On the cold earth, no help at hand,
Forlorn amid the Rákshas band,
King Janak's child still calls on me,
Her lord and love, to set her free.
But soon in glory will she rise
A crescent moon in autumn skies,
And those dark rovers of the night,
Like scattered clouds shall turn in flight.”
Canto VI. Rávan's Speech.

But when the giant king surveyed
His glorious town in ruin laid,
And each dire sign of victory won
By Hanumán the Wind-God's son,
He vailed his angry eyes oppressed
By shame, and thus his lords addressed:
“The Vánar spy has passed the gate
Of Lanká long inviolate,
Eluded watch and ward, and seen
With his bold eyes the captive queen.
My royal roof with flames is red,
The bravest of my lords are dead,
And the fierce Vánar in his hate
Has left our city desolate.
Now ponder well the work that lies
Before us, ponder and advise.
With deep-observing judgment scan
The peril, and mature a plan.
From counsel, sages say, the root,
Springs victory, most glorious fruit.
First ranks the king, when woe impends
Who seeks the counsel of his friends,
Of kinsmen ever faithful found,
Or those whose hopes with his are bound,
Then with their aid his strength applies,
And triumphs in his enterprise.
Next ranks the prince who plans alone,
No counsel seeks to aid his own,
Weighs loss and gain and wrong and right,
And seeks success with earnest might.
Unwisest he who spurns delays,
Who counts no cost, no peril weighs,
Speeds to his aim, defying fate,
And risks his all, precipitate.
Thus too in counsel sages find
A best, a worst, a middle kind.
When gathered counsellors explore
The way by light of holy lore,
And all from first to last agree,
Is the best counsel of the three.
Next, if debate first waxes high,
And each his chosen plan would try
Till all agree at last, we deem
This counsel second in esteem.
Worst of the three is this, when each
Assails with taunt his fellow's speech;
When all debate, and no consent
Concludes the angry argument.
Consult then, lords; my task shall be
To crown with act your wise decree.
With thousands of his wild allies
The vengeful Ráma hither hies;
With unresisted might and speed
Across the flood his troops will lead,
Or for the Vánar host will drain
The channels of the conquered main.”
Canto VII. Rávan Encouraged.

He ceased: they scorned, with blinded eyes,
The foeman and his bold allies,
Raised reverent hands with one accord,
And thus made answer to their lord:
“Why yield thee, King, to causeless fear?
A mighty host with sword and spear
And mace and axe and pike and lance
Waits but thy signal to advance.
Art thou not he who slew of old
The Serpent-Gods, and stormed their hold;
Scaled Mount Kailása and o'erthrew
Kuvera910 and his Yaksha crew,
[pg 432]
Compelling Śiva's haughty friend
Beneath a mightier arm to bend?
Didst thou not bring from realms afar
The marvel of the magic car,
When they who served Kuvera fell
Crushed in their mountain citadel?
Attracted by thy matchless fame
To thee, a suppliant, Maya came,
The lord of every Dánav band,
And won thee with his daughter's hand.
Thy arm in hell itself was felt,
Where Vásuki911 and Śankha dwelt,
And they and Takshak, overthrown,
Were forced thy conquering might to own.
The Gods in vain their blessing gave
To heroes bravest of the brave,
Who strove a year and, sorely pressed,
Their victor's peerless might confessed.
In vain their magic arts they tried,
In vain thy matchless arm defied
King Varuṇ's sons with fourfold force,
Cars, elephants, and foot, and horse,
But for a while thy power withstood,
And, conquered, mourned their hardihood.
Thou hast encountered, face to face,
King Yáma912 with his murdering mace.
Fierce as the wild tempestuous sea,
What terror had his wrath for thee,
Though death in every threatening form,
And woe and torment, urged the storm?
Thine arm a glorious victory won
O'er the dread king who pities none;
And the three worlds, from terror freed,
In joyful wonder praised thy deed.
The tribe of Warriors, strong and dread
As Indra's self, o'er earth had spread;
As giant trees that towering stand
In mountain glens, they filled the land.
Can Raghu's son encounter foes
Fierce, numerous, and strong as those?
Yet, trained in war and practised well,
O'ermatched by thee, they fought and fell,
Stay in thy royal home, nor care
The battle and the toil to share;
But let the easy fight be won
By Indrajít913 thy matchless son.
All, all shall die, if thou permit,
Slain by the hand of Indrajít.”
Canto VIII. Prahasta's Speech.

Dark as a cloud of autumn, dread
Prahasta joined his palms and said:
“Gandharvas, Gods, the hosts who dwell
In heaven, in air, in earth, in hell,
Have yielded to thy might, and how
Shall two weak men oppose thee now?
Hanúmán came, a foe disguised,
And mocked us heedless and surprised,
Or never had he lived to flee
And boast that he has fought with me.
Command, O King, and this right hand
Shall sweep the Vánars from the land,
And hill and dale, to Ocean's shore,
Shall know the death-doomed race no more.
But let my care the means devise
To guard thy city from surprise.”
Then Durmukh cried, of Rákshas race:
“Too long we brook the dire disgrace.
He gave our city to the flames,
He trod the chambers of thy dames.
Ne'er shall so weak and vile a thing
Unpunished brave the giants' king.
Now shall this single arm attack
And drive the daring Vánars back,
Till to the winds of heaven they flee,
Or seek the depths of earth and sea.”
Then, brandishing the mace he bore,
Whose horrid spikes were stained with gore,
While fury made his eyeballs red,
Impetuous Vajradanshṭra said:
“Why waste a thought on one so vile
As Hanúmán the Vánar, while
Sugríva, Lakshmaṇ, yet remain,
And Ráma mightier still, unslain?
This mace to-day shall crush the three,
And all the host will turn and flee.
Listen, and I will speak: incline,
O King, to hear these words of mine,
For the deep plan that I propose
Will swiftly rid thee of thy foes.
Let thousands of thy host assume
The forms of men in youthful bloom,
In war's magnificent array
Draw near to Raghu's son, and say:
“Thy younger brother Bharat sends
This army, and thy cause befriends.”
Then let our legions hasten near
With bow and mace and sword and spear,
And on the Vánar army rain
Our steel and stone till all be slain.
If Raghu's sons will fain believe,
Entangled in the net we weave,
The penalty they both must pay,
And lose their forfeit lives to-day.”
[pg 433]
Then with his warrior soul on fire,
Nikumbha spoke in burning ire:
“I, only I, will take the field,
And Raghu's son his life shall yield.
Within these walls, O Chiefs, abide,
Nor part ye from our monarch's side.”
Canto IX. Vibhishan's Counsel.

A score of warriors914 forward sprang,
And loud the clashing iron rang
Of mace and axe and spear and sword,
As thus they spake unto their lord:
“Their king Sugríva will we slay,
And Raghu's sons, ere close of day,
And strike the wretch Hanúmán down,
The spoiler of our golden town.”
But sage Vibhishaṇ strove to calm
The chieftains' fury; palm to palm
He joined in lowly reverence, pressed915
Before them, and the throng addressed:
“Dismiss the hope of conquering one
So stern and strong as Raghu's son.
In due control each sense he keeps
With constant care that never sleeps.
Whose daring heart has e'er conceived
The exploit Hanumán achieved,
Across the fearful sea to spring,
The tributary rivers' king?
O Rákshas lords, in time be wise,
Nor Ráma's matchless power despise.
And say, what evil had the son
Of Raghu to our monarch done,
Who stole the dame he loved so well
And keeps her in his citadel;
If Khara in his foolish pride
Encountered Ráma, fought, and died,
May not the meanest love his life
And guard it in the deadly strife?
The Maithil dame, O Rákshas King,
Sore peril to thy realm will bring.
Restore her while there yet is time,
Nor let us perish for thy crime.
O, let the Maithil lady go
Ere the avenger bend his bow
To ruin with his arrowy showers
Our Lanká with her gates and towers.
Let Janak's child again be free
Ere the wild Vánars cross the sea,
In their resistless might assail
Our city and her ramparts scale.
Ah, I conjure thee by the ties
Of brotherhood, be just and wise.
In all my thoughts thy good I seek,
And thus my prudent counsel speak.
Let captive Sítá be restored
Ere, fierce as autumn's sun, her lord
Send his keen arrows from the string
To drink the life-blood of our king.
This fury from thy soul dismiss,
The bane of duty, peace, and bliss.
Seek duty's path and walk therein,
And joy and endless glory win.
Restore the captive, ere we feel
The piercing point of Ráma's steel.
O spare thy city, spare the lives
Of us, our friends, our sons and wives.”
Thus spake Vibhishaṇ wise and brave:
The Rákshas king no answer gave,
But bade his lords the council close,
And sought his chamber for repose.
Canto X. Vibhishan's Counsel.

Soon as the light of morning broke,
Vibhishaṇ from his slumber woke,
And, duty guiding every thought,
The palace of his brother sought.
Vast as a towering hill that shows
His peaks afar, that palace rose.
Here stood within the monarch's gate
Sage nobles skilful in debate.
There strayed in glittering raiment through
The courts his royal retinue,
Where in wild measure rose and fell
The music of the drum and shell,
And talk grew loud, and many a dame
Of fairest feature went and came
Through doors a marvel to behold,
With pearl inlaid on burning gold:
Therein Gandharvas or the fleet
Lords of the storm might joy to meet.
He passed within the wondrous pile,
Chief glory of the giants' isle:
Thus, ere his fiery course be done,
An autumn cloud admits the sun.
[pg 434]
He heard auspicious voices raise
With loud accord the note of praise,
And sages, deep in Scripture, sing
Each glorious triumph of the king.
He saw the priests in order stand,
Curd, oil, in every sacred hand;
And by them flowers were laid and grain,
Due offerings to the holy train.
Vibhishaṇ to the monarch bowed,
Raised on a throne above the crowd:
Then, skilled in arts of soft address,
He raised his voice the king to bless,
And sate him on a seat where he
Full in his brother's sight should be.
The chieftain there, while none could hear,
Spoke his true speech for Rávaṇ's ear,
And to his words of wisdom lent
The force of weightiest argument:
“O brother, hear! since Ráma's queen
A captive in thy house has been,
Disastrous omens day by day
Have struck our souls with wild dismay.
No longer still and strong and clear
The flames of sacrifice appear,
But, restless with the frequent spark,
Neath clouds of smoke grow faint and dark.
Our ministering priests turn pale
To see their wonted offerings fail,
And ants and serpents creep and crawl
Within the consecrated hall.916
Dried are the udders of our cows,
Our elephants have juiceless brows,917
Nor can the sweetest pasture stay
The charger's long unquiet neigh.
Big tears from mules and camels flow
Whose staring coats their trouble show,
Nor can the leech's art restore
Their health and vigour as before.
Rapacious birds are fierce and bold:
Not single hunters as of old,
In banded troops they chase the prey,
Or gathering on our temples stay.
Through twilight hours with shriek and howl
Around the city jackals prowl,
And wolves and foul hyænas wait
Athirst for blood at every gate.
One sole atonement still may cure
These evils, and our weal assure.
Restore the Maithil dame, and win
An easy pardon for thy sin.”
The Rákshas monarch heard, and moved
To sudden wrath his speech reproved:
“No danger, brother, can I see:
The Maithil dame I will not free.
Though all the Gods for Ráma fight,
He yields to my superior might.”
Thus the tremendous king who broke
The ranks of heavenly warriors spoke,
And, sternly purposed to resist,
His brother from the hall dismissed.
Canto XI. The Summons.

Still Rávaṇ's haughty heart rebelled,
The counsel of the wise repelled,
And, as his breast with passion burned,
His thoughts again to Sítá turned.
Thus, to each sign of danger blind,
To love and war he still inclined.
Then mounted he his car that glowed
With gems and golden net, and rode
Where, gathered at the monarch's call,
The nobles filled the council hall.
A host of warriors bright and gay
With coloured robes and rich array,
With shield and mace and spear and sword,
Followed the chariot of their lord.
Mid the loud voice of shells and beat
Of drums he raced along the street,
And, ere he came, was heard afar
The rolling thunder of his car.
He reached the doors: the nobles bent
Their heads before him reverent:
And, welcomed with their loud acclaim,
Within the glorious hall he came.
He sat upon a royal seat
With golden steps beneath his feet,
And bade the heralds summon all
His captains to the council hall.
The heralds heard the words he spake,
And sped from house to house to wake
The giants where they slept or spent
The careless hours in merriment.
These heard the summons and obeyed:
From chamber, grove, and colonnade,
On elephants or cars they rode,
Or through the streets impatient strode.
As birds on rustling pinions fly
Through regions of the darkened sky,
Thus cars and mettled coursers through
The crowded streets of Lanká flew.
The council hall was reached, and then,
As lions seek their mountain den,
Through massy doors that opened wide,
With martial stalk the captains hied.
Welcomed with honour as was meet
They stooped to press their monarch's feet,
[pg 435]
And each a place in order found
On stool, on cushion, or the ground.
Nor did the sage Vibhishaṇ long
Delay to join the noble throng.
High on a car that shone like flame
With gold and flashing gems he came,
Drew near and spoke his name aloud,
And reverent to his brother bowed.
Canto XII. Rávan's Speech.

The king in counsel unsurpassed
His eye around the synod cast,
And fierce Prahasta, first and best
Of all his captains, thus addressed:
“Brave master of each warlike art,
Arouse thee and perform thy part.
Array thy fourfold forces918 well
To guard our isle and citadel.”
The captain of the hosts obeyed,
The troops with prudent skill arrayed;
Then to the hall again he hied,
And stood before the king and cried:
“Each inlet to the town is closed
Without, within, are troops disposed.
With fearless heart thine aim pursue
And do the deed thou hast in view.”
Thus spoke Prahasta in the zeal
That moved him for the kingdom's weal.
And thus the monarch, who pursued
His own delight, his speech renewed:
“In ease and bliss, in toil and pain,
In doubts of duty, pleasure, gain,
Your proper path I need not tell,
For of yourselves ye know it well.
The Storm-Gods, Moon, and planets bring
New glory to their heavenly king,919
And, ranged about your monarch, ye
Give joy and endless fame to me.
My secret counsel have I kept,
While senseless Kumbhakarṇa slept.
Six months the warrior's slumbers last
And bind his torpid senses fast;
But now his deep repose he breaks,
The best of all our champions wakes.
I captured, Ráma's heart to wring,
This daughter of Videha's king.
And brought her from that distant land920
Where wandered many a Rákshas band.
Disdainful still my love she spurns,
Still from each prayer and offering turns,
Yet in all lands beneath the sun
No dame may rival Sítá, none,
Her dainty waist is round and slight,
Her cheek like autumn's moon is bright,
And she like fruit in graven gold
Mocks her921 whom Maya framed of old.
Faultless in form, how firmly tread
Her feet whose soles are rosy red!
Ah, as I gaze her beauty takes
My spirit, and my passion wakes.
Looking for Ráma far away
She sought with tears a year's delay
Nor gazing on her love-lit eye
Could I that earnest prayer deny.
But baffled hopes and vain desire
At length my patient spirit tire.
How shall the sons of Raghu sweep
To vengeance o'er the pathless deep?
How shall they lead the Vánar train
Across the monster-teeming main?
One Vánar yet could find a way
To Lanká's town, and burn and slay.
Take counsel then, remembering still
That we from men need fear no ill;
And give your sentence in debate,
For matchless is the power of fate.
Assailed by you the Gods who dwell
In heaven beneath our fury fell.
And shall we fear these creatures bred
In forests, by Sugríva led?
E'en now on ocean's farther strand,
The sons of Daśaratha stand,
And follow, burning to attack
Their giant foes, on Sítá's track.
Consult then, lords for ye are wise:
A seasonable plan devise.
The captive lady to retain,
And triumph when the foes are slain.
No power can bring across the foam
Those Vánars to our island home;
Or if they madly will defy
Our conquering might, they needs must die.”
Then Kumbhakarṇa's anger woke,
And wroth at Rávaṇ's words he spoke:
“O Monarch, when thy ravished eyes
First looked upon thy lovely prize,
Then was the time to bid us scan
Each peril and mature a plan.
Blest is the king who acts with heed,
And ne'er repents one hasty deed;
And hapless he whose troubled soul
Mourns over days beyond control.
[pg 436]
Thou hast, in beauty's toils ensnared,
A desperate deed of boldness dared;
By fortune saved ere Ráma's steel
One wound, thy mortal bane, could deal.
But, Rávaṇ, as the deed is done,
The toil of war I will not shun.
This arm, O rover of the night,
Thy foemen to the earth shall smite,
Though Indra with the Lord of Flame,
The Sun and Storms, against me came.
E'en Indra, monarch of the skies,
Would dread my club and mountain size,
Shrink from these teeth and quake to hear
The thunders of my voice of fear.
No second dart shall Ráma cast:
The first he aims shall be the last.
He falls, and these dry lips shall drain
The blood of him my hand has slain;
And Sítá, when her champion dies,
Shall be thine undisputed prize.”
Canto XIII. Rávan's Speech.

But Mahápárśva saw the sting
Of keen reproach had galled the king;
And humbly, eager to appease
His anger, spoke in words like these:
“And breathes there one so cold and weak
The forest and the gloom to seek
Where savage beasts abound, and spare
To taste the luscious honey there?
Art thou not lord? and who is he
Shall venture to give laws to thee?
Love thy Videhan still, and tread
Upon thy prostrate foeman's head.
O'er Sítá's will let thine prevail,
And strength achieve if flattery fail.
What though the lady yet be coy
And turn her from the proffered joy?
Soon shall her conquered heart relent
And yield to love and blandishment.
With us let Kumbhakarṇa fight,
And Indrajít of matchless might:
We need not other champions, they
Shall lead us forth to rout and slay.
Not ours to bribe or soothe or part
The foeman's force with gentle art,
Doomed, conquered by our might, to feel
The vengeance of the warrior's steel.”
The Rákshas monarch heard, and moved
By flattering hopes the speech approved:
“Hear me,” he cried, “great chieftain, tell
What in the olden time befell,—
A secret tale which, long suppressed,
Lies prisoned only in my breast.
One day—a day I never forget—
Fair Punjikasthalá922 I met,
When, radiant as a flame of fire,
She sought the palace of the Sire.
In passion's eager grasp I tore
From her sweet limbs the robes she wore,
And heedless of her prayers and cries
Strained to my breast the vanquised prize.
Like Naliní923 with soil distained,
The mansion of the Sire she gained,
And weeping made the outrage known
To Brahmá on his heavenly throne.
He in his wrath pronounced a curse,—
That lord who made the universe:
“If, Rávaṇ, thou a second time
Be guilty of so foul a crime,
Thy head in shivers shall be rent:
Be warned, and dread the punishment.”
Awed by the threat of vengeance still
I force not Sítá's stubborn will.
Terrific as the sea in might:
My steps are like the Storm-Gods' flight;
But Ráma knows not this, or he
Had never sought to war with me.
Where is the man would idly brave
The lion in his mountain cave,
And wake him when with slumbering eyes
Grim, terrible as Death, he lies?
No, blinded Ráma knows me not:
Ne'er has he seen mine arrows shot;
Ne'er marked them speeding to their aim
Like snakes with cloven tongues of flame.
On him those arrows will I turn,
Whose fiery points shall rend and burn.
Quenched by my power when I assail
The glory of his might shall fail,
As stars before the sun grow dim
And yield their feeble light to him.”
Canto XIV. Vibhishan's Speech.

He ceased: Vibhishaṇ ill at ease
Addressed the king in words like these:
“O Rávaṇ, O my lord, beware
Of Sítá dangerous as fair,
Nor on thy heedless bosom hang
This serpent with a deadly fang.
O King, the Maithil dame restore
To Raghu's matchless son before
Those warriors of the woodlands, vast
As mountain peaks, approaching fast,
Armed with fierce teeth and claws, enclose
Thy city with unsparing foes.
O, be the Maithil dame restored
Ere loosened from the clanging cord
[pg 437]
The vengeful shafts of Ráma fly,
And low in death thy princes lie.
In all thy legions hast thou one
A match in war for Raghu's son?
Can Kumbhakarṇa's self withstand,
Or Indrajít, that mighty hand?
In vain with Ráma wilt thou strive:
Thou wilt not save thy soul alive
Though guarded by the Lord of Day
And Storm-Gods' terrible array,
In vain to Indra wilt thou fly,
Or seek protection in the sky,
In Yáma's gloomy mansion dwell,
Or hide thee in the depths of hell.”
He ceased; and when his lips were closed
Prahasta thus his rede opposed:
“O timid heart, to counsel thus!
What terrors have the Gods for us?
Can snake, Gandharva, fiend appal
The giants' sons who scorn them all?
And shall we now our birth disgrace,
And dread a king of human race?”
Thus fierce Prahasta counselled ill:
But sage Vibhishaṇ's constant will
The safety of the realm ensued;
Who thus in turn his speech renewed:
“Yes, when a soul defiled with sin
Shall mount to heaven and enter in,
Then, chieftain, will experience teach
The truth of thy disdainful speech.
Can I, or thou, or these or all
Our bravest compass Ráma's fall,
The chief in whom all virtues shine,
The pride of old Ikshváku'a line,
With whom the Gods may scarce compare
In skill to act, in heart to dare?
Yea, idly mayst thou vaunt thee, till
Sharp arrows winged with matchless skill
From Ráma's bowstring, fleet and fierce
As lightning's flame, thy body pierce.
Nikumbha shall not save thee then,
Nor Rávaṇ, from the lord of men.
O Monarch, hear my last appeal,
My counsel for thy kingdom's weal.
This sentence I again declare:
O giant King, beware, beware!
Save from the ruin that impends
Thy town, thy people, and thy friends;
O hear the warning urged once more:
To Raghu's son the dame restore.”
Canto XV. Indrajít's Speech.

He ceased: and Indrajít the pride
Of Rákshas warriors thus replied:
“Is this a speech our king should hear,
This counsel of ignoble fear?
A scion of our glorious race
Should ne'er conceive a thought so base,
But one mid all our kin we find,
Vibhishaṇ, whose degenerate mind
No spark of gallant pride retains,
Whose coward soul his lineage stains.
Against one giant what can two
Unhappy sons of Raghu do?
Away with idle fears, away!
Matched with our meanest, what are they?
Beneath my conquering prowess fell
The Lord of earth and heaven and hell.924
Through every startled region dread
Of my resistless fury spread;
And Gods in each remotest sphere
Confessed the universal fear.
Rending the air with roar and groan,
Airávat925 to the earth was thrown.
From his huge head the tusks I drew,
And smote the Gods with fear anew.
Shall I who tame celestials' pride,
By whom the fiends are terrified,
Now prove a weakling little worth,
And fail to slay those sons of earth?”
He ceased: Vibhishaṇ trained and tried
In war and counsel thus replied
“Thy speech is marked with scorn of truth,
With rashness and the pride of youth.
Yea, to thy ruin like a child
Thou pratest, and thy words are wild.
Most dear, O Indrajít, to thee
Should Rávaṇ's weal and safety be,
For thou art called his son, but thou
Art proved his direst foeman now,
When warned by me thou hast not tried
To turn the coming woe aside.
Both thee and him 'twere meet to slay,
Who brought thee to this hall to-day,
And dared so rash a youth admit
To council where the wisest sit.
Presumptuous, wild, devoid of sense,
Filled full of pride and insolence,
Thy reckless tongue thou wilt not rule
That speaks the counsel of a fool.
Who in the fight may brook or shun
The arrows shot by Raghu's son
With flame and fiery vengeance sped,
Dire as his staff who rules the dead?
O Rávaṇ, let thy people live,
And to the son of Raghu give
Fair robes and gems and precious ore,
And Sítá to his arms restore.”
[pg 438]
Canto XVI. Rávan's Speech.

Then, while his breast with fury swelled,
Thus Rávaṇ spoke, as fate impelled:
“Better with foes thy dwelling make,
Or house thee with the venomed snake,
Than live with false familiar friends
Who further still thy foeman's ends.
I know their treacherous mood, I know
Their secret triumph at thy woe.
They in their inward hearts despise
The brave, the noble, and the wise,
Grieve at their bliss with rancorous hate,
And for their sorrows watch and wait:
Scan every fault with curious eye,
And each slight error magnify.
Ask elephants who roam the wild
How were their captive friends beguiled.
“For fire,” they cry, “we little care,
For javelin and shaft and snare:
Our foes are traitors, taught to bind
The trusting creatures of their kind.”
Still, still, shall blessings flow from cows,926
And Bráhmans love their rigorous vows;
Still woman change her restless will,
And friends perfidious work us ill.
What though with conquering feet I tread
On every prostrate foeman's head;
What though the worlds in abject fear
Their mighty lord in me revere?
This thought my peace of mind destroys
And robs me of expected joys.
The lotus of the lake receives
The glittering rain that gems its leaves,
But each bright drop remains apart:
So is it still with heart and heart.
Deceitful as an autumn cloud
Which, though its thunderous voice be loud,
On the dry earth no torrent sends,
Such is the race of faithless friends.
No riches of the bloomy spray
Will tempt the wandering bee to stay
That loves from flower to flower to range;
And friends like thee are swift to change.
Thou blot upon thy glorious line,
If any giant's tongue but thine
Had dared to give this base advice,
He should not live to shame me twice.”
Then just Vibhishaṇ in the heat
Of anger started from his seat,
And with four captains of the band
Sprang forward with his mace in hand;
Then, fury flashing from his eye,
Looked on the king and made reply:
“Thy rights, O Rávaṇ, I allow:
My brother and mine elder thou.
Such, though from duty's path they stray,
We love like fathers and obey,
But still too bitter to be borne
Is thy harsh speech of cruel scorn.
The rash like thee, who spurn control,
Nor check one longing of the soul,
Urged by malignant fate repel
The faithful friend who counsels well.
A thousand courtiers wilt thou meet,
With flattering lips of smooth deceit:
But rare are they whose tongue or ear
Will speak the bitter truth, or hear.
Unclose thy blinded eyes and see
That snares of death encompass thee.
I dread, my brother, to behold
The shafts of Ráma, bright with gold,
Flash fury through the air, and red
With fires of vengeance strike thee dead.
Lord, brother, King, again reflect,
Nor this mine earnest prayer reject,
O, save thyself, thy royal town,
Thy people and thine old renown.”
Canto XVII. Vibhishan's Flight.

Soon as his bitter words were said,
To Raghu's sons Vibhishaṇ fled.927
Their eyes the Vánar leaders raised
And on the air-borne Rákhshas gazed,
Bright as a thunderbolt, in size
Like Meru's peak that cleaves the skies.
In gorgeous panoply arrayed
Like Indra's self he stood displayed,
And four attendants brave and bold
Shone by their chief in mail and gold.
Sugríva then with dark surmise
Bent on their forms his wondering eyes,
And thus in hasty words confessed
The anxious doubt that moved his breast:
“Look, look ye Vánars, and beware:
That giant chief sublime in air
With other four in bright array
Comes armed to conquer and to slay.”
[pg 439]
Soon as his warning speech they heard,
The Vánar chieftains undeterred
Seized fragments of the rock and trees,
And made reply in words like these:
“We wait thy word: the order give,
And these thy foes shall cease to live.
Command us, mighty King, and all
Lifeless upon the earth shall fall.”
Meanwhile Vibhishaṇ with the four
Stood high above the ocean shore.
Sugríva and the chiefs he spied,
And raised his mighty voice and cried:
“From Rávaṇ, lord of giants, I
His brother, named Vibhishaṇ, fly.
From Janasthán he stole the child
Of Janak by his art beguiled,
And in his palace locked and barred
Surrounds her with a Rákshas guard.
I bade him, plied with varied lore,
His hapless prisoner restore.
But he, by Fate to ruin sent,
No credence to my counsel lent,
Mad as the fevered wretch who sees
And scorns the balm to bring him ease.
He scorned the sage advice I gave,
He spurned me like a base-born slave.
I left my children and my wife,
And fly to Raghu's son for life.
I pray thee, Vánar chieftain, speed
To him who saves in hour of need,
And tell him famed in distant lands
That suppliant here Vibhishaṇ stands.”
The Rákshas ceased: Sugríva hied
To Raghu's noble son and cried:
“A stranger from the giant host,
Borne o'er the sea, has reached the coast;
A secret foe, he comes to slay,
As owls attack their heedless prey.
'Tis thine, O King, in time of need
To watch, to counsel, and to lead,
Our Vánar legions to dispose,
And guard us from our crafty foes.
Vibhishaṇ from the giants' isle,
King Rávaṇ's brother, comes with guile
And, feigning from his king to flee,
Seeks refuge, Raghu's son, with thee.
Arise, O Ráma, and prevent
By bold attack his dark intent.
Who comes in friendly guise prepared
To slay thee by his arts ensnared.”
Thus urged Sugríva famed for lore
Of moving words, and spoke no more.
Then Ráma thus in turn addressed
The bold Hanúmán and the rest:
“Chiefs of the Vánar legions each
Of you heard Sugríva's speech.
What think ye now in time of fear,
When peril and distress are near,
In every doubt the wise depend
For counsel on a faithful friend.”
They heard his gracious words, and then
Spake reverent to the lord of men:
“O Raghu's son, thou knowest well
All things of heaven and earth and hell.
'Tis but thy friendship bids us speak
The counsel Ráma need not seek.
So duteous, brave, and true art thou,
Heroic, faithful to thy vow.
Deep in the scriptures, trained and tried,
Still in thy friends wilt thou confide.
Let each of us in turn impart
The secret counsel of his heart,
And strive to win his chief's assent,
By force of wisest argument.”
They ceased and Angad thus began:
“With jealous eye the stranger scan:
Not yet with trusting heart receive
Vibhishaṇ, nor his tale believe.
These giants wandering far and wide
Their evil nature falsely hide,
And watching with malignant skill
Assail us when we fear no ill.
Well ponder every hope and fear
Until thy doubtful course be clear;
Then own his merit or detect
His guile, and welcome or reject.”
Then Śarabha the bold and brave
In turn his prudent sentence gave:
“Yea, Ráma, send a skilful spy
With keenest tact to test and try.
Then let the stranger, as is just,
Obtain or be refused thy trust.”
Then he whose heart was rich in store
Of scripture's life-directing lore,
King Jámbaván, stood forth and cried:
“Suspect, suspect a foe allied
With Rávaṇ lord of Lanká's isle,
And Rákshas sin and Rákshas guile.”
Then Mainda, wisest chief, who knew
The wrong, the right, the false, the true,
Pondered a while, then silence broke,
And thus his sober counsel spoke:
“Let one with gracious speech draw near
And gently charm Vibhishaṇ's ear,
Till he the soothing witchery feel
And all his secret heart reveal.
So thou his aims and hopes shalt know,
And hail the friend or shun the foe.”
“Not he,” Hanúmán cried, “not he
Who taught the Gods928 may rival thee,
Supreme in power of quickest sense,
First in the art of eloquence.
But hear me soothly speak, O King,
And learn the hope to which I cling.
Vibhishaṇ comes no crafty spy:
Urged by his brother's fault to fly.
With righteous soul that loathes the sin,
He fled from Lanká and his kin.
[pg 440]
If strangers question, doubt will rise
And chill the heart of one so wise.
Marred by distrust the parle will end,
And thou wilt lose a faithful friend.
Nor let it seem so light a thing
To sound a stranger's heart, O King.
And he, I ween, whate'er he say,
Will ne'er an evil thought betray.
He comes a friend in happy time,
Loathing his brother for his crime.
His ear has heard thine old renown,
The might that struck King Báli down,
And set Sugríva on the throne.
And looking now to thee alone
He comes thy matchless aid to win
And punish Rávaṇ for his sin.
Thus have I tried thy heart to move,
And thus Vibhishaṇ's truth to prove.
Still in his friendship I confide;
But ponder, wisest, and decide.”
Canto XVIII. Ráma's Speech.

Then Ráma's rising doubt was stilled,
And friendly thoughts his bosom filled.
Thus, deep in Scripture's lore, he spake:
“The suppliant will I ne'er forsake,
Nor my protecting aid refuse
When one in name of friendship sues.
Though faults and folly blot his fame,
Pity and help he still may claim.”
He ceased: Sugríva bowed his head
And pondered for a while, and said:
“Past number be his faults or few,
What think ye of the Rákshas who,
When threatening clouds of danger rise,
Deserts his brother's side and flies?
Say, Vánars, who may hope to find
True friendship in his faithless kind?”
The son of Raghu heard his speech:
He cast a hasty look on each
Of those brave Vánar chiefs, and while
Upon his lips there played a smile,
To Lakshmaṇ turned and thus expressed
The thoughts that moved his gallant breast:
“Well versed in Scripture's lore, and sage
And duly reverent to age,
Is he, with long experience stored,
Who counsels like this Vánar lord.
Yet here, methinks, for searching eyes
Some deeper, subtler matter lies.
To you and all the world are known
The perils of a monarch's throne,
While foe and stranger, kith and kin
By his misfortune trust to win.
By hope of such advantage led,
Vibhishaṇ o'er the sea has fled.
He in his brother's stead would reign,
And our alliance seeks to gain;
And we his offer may embrace,
A stranger and of alien race.
But if he comes a spy and foe,
What power has he to strike a blow
In furtherance of his close design?
What is his strength compared with mine?
And can I, Vánar King, forget
The great, the universal debt,
Ever to aid and welcome those
Who pray for shelter, friends or foes?
Hast thou not heard the deathless praise
Won by the dove in olden days,
Who conquering his fear and hate
Welcomed the slayer of his mate,
And gave a banquet, to refresh
The weary fowler, of his flesh?
Now hear me, Vánar King, rehearse
What Kaṇdu929 spoke in ancient verse,
Saint Kaṇva's son who loved the truth
And clave to virtue from his youth:
“Strike not the suppliant when he stands
And asks thee with beseeching hands
For shelter: strike him not although
He were thy father's mortal foe.
No, yield him, be he proud or meek,
The shelter which he comes to seek,
And save thy foeman, if the deed
Should cost thy life, in desperate need.”
And shall I hear the wretched cry,
And my protecting aid deny?
Shall I a suppliant's prayer refuse,
And heaven and glory basely lose?
No, I will do for honour sake
E'en as the holy Kaṇdu spake,
Preserve a hero's name from stain,
And bliss in heaven and glory gain.
Bound by a solemn vow I sware
That all my saving help should share
Who sought me in distress and cried,
“Thou art my hope, and none beside.”
Then go, I pray thee, Vánar King,
Vibhishaṇ to my presence bring,
Yea, were he Rávaṇ's self, my vow
Forbids me to reject him now.”
He ceased: the Vánar king approved;
And Ráma toward Vibhishaṇ moved.
So moves, a brother God to greet,
Lord Indra from his heavenly seat.
[pg 441]
Canto XIX. Vibhishan's Counsel.

When Raghu's son had owned his claim
Down from the air Vibhishaṇ came,
And with his four attendants bent
At Ráma's feet most reverent.
“O Ráma,” thus he cried, “in me
Vibhishaṇ, Rávaṇ's brother see.
By him disgraced thine aid I seek,
Sure refuge of the poor and weak.
From Lanká, friends, and wealth I fly,
And reft of all on thee rely.
On thee, the wretch's firmest friend,
My kingdom, joys, and life depend.”
With glance of favour Ráma eyed
The Rákshas chief and thus replied:
“First from thy lips I fain would hear
Each brighter hope, each darker fear.
Speak, stranger, that I well may know
The strength and weakness of the foe.”
He ceased: the Rákshas chief obeyed,
And thus in turn his answer made:
“O Prince, the Self-existent gave
This boon to Rávaṇ; he may brave
All foes in fight; no fiend or snake,
Gandharva, God, his life may take.
His brother Kumbhakarṇa vies
In might with him who rules the skies.
The captain of his armies—fame
Perhaps has taught the warrior's name—
Is terrible Prahasta, who
King Maṇibhadra's930 self o'erthrew.
Where is the warrior found to face
Young Indrajít, when armed with brace
And guard931 and bow he stands in mail
And laughs at spear and arrowy hail?
Within his city Lanká dwell
Ten million giants fierce and fell,
Who wear each varied shape at will
And eat the flesh of those they kill.
These hosts against the Gods he led,
And heavenly might discomfited.”
Then Ráma cried: “I little heed
Gigantic strength or doughty deed.
In spite of all their might has done
The king, the captain, and the son
Shall fall beneath my fury dead,
And thou shalt reign in Rávaṇ's stead.
He, though in depths of earth he dwell,
Or seek protection down in hell,
Or kneel before the Sire supreme,
His forfeit life shall ne'er redeem.
Yea, by my brothers' lives I swear,
I will not to my home repair
Till Rávaṇ and his kith and kin
Have paid in death the price of sin.”
Vibhishaṇ bowed his head and cried:
“Thy conquering army will I guide
To storm the city of the foe,
And aid the tyrant's overthrow.”
Thus spake Vibhishaṇ: Ráma pressed
The Rákshas chieftain to his breast,
And cried to Lakshmaṇ: “Haste and bring
Sea-water for the new-made king.”
He spoke, and o'er Vibhishaṇ's head
The consecrating drops were shed
Mid shouts that hailed with one accord
The giants' king and Lanká's lord.
“Is there no way,” Hanúmán cried,
“No passage o'er the boisterous tide?
How may we lead the Vánar host
In triumph to the farther coast?”
“Thus,” said Vibhishaṇ, “I advise:
Let Raghu's son in suppliant guise
Entreat the mighty Sea to lend
His succour and this cause befriend.
His channels, as the wise have told,
By Sagar's sons were dug of old,932
Nor will high-thoughted Ocean scorn
A prince of Sagar's lineage born.”
He ceased; the prudent counsel won
The glad assent of Raghu's son.
Then on the ocean shore a bed
Of tender sacred grass was spread,
Where Ráma at the close of day
Like fire upon an altar lay.
Canto XX. The Spies.

Śárdúla, Rávaṇ's spy, surveyed
The legions on the strand arrayed.
And bore, his bosom racked with fear,
These tidings to the monarch's ear:
“They come, they come. A rushing tide,
Ten leagues they spread from side to side,
And on to storm thy city press,
Fierce rovers of the wilderness.
Rich in each princely power and grace,
The pride of Daśaratha's race,
Ráma and Lakshmaṇ lead their bands,
And halt them on the ocean sands.
O Monarch, rise, this peril meet;
Risk not the danger of defeat.
[pg 442]
First let each wiser art be tried;
Bribe them, or win them, or divide.”
Such was the counsel of the spy:
And Rávaṇ called to Śuka: “Fly,
Sugríva lord of Vánars seek,
And thus my kingly message speak:
“Great power and might and fame are thine,
Brave scion of a royal line,
King Riksharajas' son, in thee
A brother and a friend I see.
How wronged by me canst thou complain?
What profit here pretend to gain?
If from the wood the wife I stole
Of Ráma of the prudent soul,
What cause hast thou to mourn the theft?
Thou art not injured or bereft.
Return, O King, thy steps retrace
And seek thy mountain dwelling-place.
No, never may thy hosts within
My Lanká's walls a footing win.
A mighty town whose strength defies
The gathered armies of the skies.”
He ceased: obedient Śuka heard;
With wings and plumage of a bird
He rose in eager speed and through
The air upon his errand flew.
Borne o'er the sea with rapid wing
He stood above the Vánar king,
And spoke aloud, sublime in air,
The message he was charged to bear.
The Vánar heard the words he spoke,
And quick redoubling stroke on stroke
On head and pinions hemmed him round
And bore him struggling to the ground.
The Rákshas wounded and distressed
These words to Raghu's son addressed:
“Quick, quick! This Vánar host restrain,
For heralds never must be slain.
To him alone, a wretch untrue,
The punishment of death is due
Who leaves his master's speech unsaid
And speaks another in its stead.”
Moved by the suppliant speech and prayer
Up sprang the prince and cried, forbear.
Saved from his wild assailant's blows
Again the Rákshas herald rose
And borne on light wings to the sky
Addressed Sugríva from on high:
“O Vánar Monarch, chief endued
With power and wonderous fortitude,
What answer is my king, the fear
And scourge of weeping worlds, to hear?”
“Go tell thy lord,” Sugríva cried,
“Thou, Ráma's foe, art thus defied.
His arm the guilty Báli slew;
Thus, tyrant, shalt thou perish too.
Thy sons, thy friends, proud King, and all
Thy kith and kin with thee shall fall;
And, emptied of the giant's brood,
Burnt Lanká be a solitude.
Fly to the Sun-God's pathway, go
And hide thee deep in hell below:
In vain from Ráma shalt thou flee
Though heavenly warriors fight for thee.
Thine arm subdued, securely bold,
The Vulture-king infirm and old:
But will thy puny strength avail
When Raghu's wrathful sons assail?
A captive in thy palace lies
The lady of the lotus eyes:
Thou knowest not how fierce and strong
Is he whom thou hast dared to wrong.
The best of Raghu's lineage, he
Whose conquering hand shall punish thee.”
He ceased: and Angad raised a cry;
“This is no herald but a spy.
Above thee from his airy post
His rapid eye surveyed our host,
Where with advantage he might scan
Our gathered strength from rear to van.
Bind him, Vánars, bind the spy,
Nor let him back to Lanká fly.”
They hurled the Rákshas to the ground,
They grasped his neck, his pinions bound,
And firmly held him while in vain
His voice was lifted to complain.
But Ráma's heart inclined to spare,
He listened to his plaint and prayer,
And cried aloud: “O Vánars, cease;
The captive from his bonds release.”
Canto XXI. Ocean Threatened.

His hands in reverence Ráma raised
And southward o'er the ocean gazed;
Then on the sacred grass that made
His lowly couch his limbs he laid.
His head on that strong arm reclined
Which Sítá, best of womankind,
Had loved in happier days to hold
With soft arms decked with pearls and gold.
Then rising from his bed of grass,
“This day,” he cried, “the host shall pass
Triumphant to the southern shore,
Or Ocean's self shall be no more.”
Thus vowing in his constant breast
Again he turned him to his rest,
And there, his eyes in slumber closed,
Silent beside the sea reposed.
Thrice rose the Day-God thrice he set,
The lord of Ocean came not yet,
Thrice came the night, but Raghu's son
No answer by his service won.
To Lakshmaṇ thus the hero cried,
His eyes aflame with wrath and pride:
“In vain the softer gifts that grace
The good are offered to the base.
Long-suffering, patience, gentle speech
[pg 443]
Their thankless hearts can never reach.
The world to him its honour pays
Whose ready tongue himself can praise,
Who scorns the true, and hates the right,
Whose hand is ever raised to smite.
Each milder art is tried in vain:
It wins no glory, but disdain.
And victory owns no softer charm
Than might which nerves a warrior's arm.
My humble suit is still denied
By Ocean's overweening pride.
This day the monsters of the deep
In throes of death shall wildly leap.
My shafts shall rend the serpents curled
In caverns of the watery world,
Disclose each sunless depth and bare
The tangled pearl and coral there.
Away with mercy! at a time
Like this compassion is a crime.
Welcome, the battle and the foe!
My bow! my arrows and my bow!
This day the Vánars' feet shall tread
The conquered Sea's exhausted bed,
And he who never feared before
Shall tremble to his farthest shore.”
Red flashed his eyes with angry glow:
He stood and grasped his mighty bow,
Terrific as the fire of doom
Whose quenchless flames the world consume.
His clanging cord the archer drew,
And swift the fiery arrows flew
Fierce as the flashing levin sent
By him who rules the firmament.
Down through the startled waters sped
Each missile with its flaming head.
The foamy billows rose and sank,
And dashed upon the trembling bank.
Sea monsters of tremendous form
With crash and roar of thunder storm.
Still the wild waters rose and fell
Crowned with white foam and pearl and shell.
Each serpent, startled from his rest,
Raised his fierce eyes and glowing crest.
And prisoned Dánavs933 where they dwelt
In depths below the terror felt.
Again upon his string he laid
A flaming shaft, but Lakshmaṇ stayed
His arm, with gentle reasoning tried
To soothe his angry mood, and cried:
“Brother, reflect: the wise control
The rising passions of the soul.
Let Ocean grant, without thy threat,
The boon on which thy heart is set.
That gracious lord will ne'er refuse
When Ráma son of Raghu sues.”
He ceased: and voices from the air
Fell clear and loud, Spare, Ráma, spare.
Canto XXII. Ocean Threatened.

With angry menace Ráma, best
Of Raghu's sons, the Sea addressed:
“With fiery flood of arrowy rain
Thy channels will I dry and drain.
And I and all the Vánar host
Will reach on foot the farther coast.
Thou shalt not from destruction save
The creatures of the teeming wave,
And lapse of time shall ne'er efface
The memory of the dire disgrace.”
Thus spoke the warrior, and prepared
The mortal shaft which never spared,
Known mystic weapon, by the name
Of Brahmá, red with quenchless flame.
Great terror, as he strained the bow,
Struck heaven above and earth below.
Through echoing skies the thunder pealed,
And startled mountains rocked and reeled,
The earth was black with sudden night
And heaven was blotted from the sight.
Then ever and anon the glare
Of meteors shot through murky air,
And with a wild terrific sound
Red lightnings struck the trembling ground.
In furious gusts the fierce wind blew:
Tall trees it shattered and o'erthrew,
And, smiting with a giant's stroke,
Huge masses from the mountain broke.
A cry of terror long and shrill
Came from each valley, plain, and hill.
Each ruined dale, each riven peak
Re-echoed with a wail or shriek.
While Raghu's son undaunted gazed,
The waters of the deep were raised,
And, still uplifted more and more,
Leapt in wild flood upon the shore.
Still Ráma looked upon the tide
And kept his post unterrified.
Then from the seething flood upreared
Majestic Ocean's form appeared,
As rising from his eastern height
Springs through the sky the Lord of Light.
Attendant on their monarch came
Sea serpents with their eyes aflame.
Like lazulite mid burning gold
His form was wondrous to behold.
Bright with each fairest precious stone
A chain about his neck was thrown.
Calm shone his lotus eyes beneath
The blossoms of his heavenly wreath,
And many a pearl and sea-born gem
Flashed in the monarch's diadem.
There Gangá, tributary queen,
And Sindhu934 by his lord, were seen,
[pg 444]
And every stream and brook renowned
In ancient story girt him round.
Then, as the waters rose and swelled,
The king with suppliant hands upheld,
His glorious head to Ráma bent
And thus addressed him reverent:
“Air, ether, fire, earth, water, true
To nature's will, their course pursue;
And I, as ancient laws ordain,
Unfordable must still remain.
Yet, Raghu's son, my counsel hear:
I ne'er for love or hope or fear
Will pile my waters in a heap
And leave a pathway through the deep.
Still shall my care for thee provide
An easy passage o'er the tide,
And like a city's paven street
Shall be the road beneath thy feet.”
He ceased: and Ráma spoke again:
“This spell is ne'er invoked in vain.
Where shall the magic shaft, to spend
The fury of its might, descend?”
“Shoot,” Ocean cried, “thine arrow forth
With all its fury to the north,
Where sacred Drumakulya lies,
Whose glory with thy glory vies.
There dwells a wild Abhíra935 race,
As vile in act as foul of face,
Fierce Dasyus936 who delight in ill,
And drink my tributary rill.
My soul no longer may endure
Their neighbourhood and touch impure.
At these, O son of Raghu, aim
Thine arrow with the quenchless flame.”
Swift from the bow, as Ráma drew
His cord, the fiery arrow flew.
Earth groaned to feel the wound, and sent
A rush of water through the rent;
And famed for ever is the well
Of Vraṇa937 where the arrow fell.
Then every brook and lake beside
Throughout the region Ráma dried.
But yet he gave a boon to bless
And fertilize the wilderness:
No fell disease should taint the air,
And sheep and kine should prosper there:
Earth should produce each pleasant root,
The stately trees should bend with fruit;
Oil, milk, and honey should abound,
And fragrant herbs should clothe the ground.
Then spake the king of brooks and seas
To Raghu's son in words like these:
“Now let a wondrous task be done
By Nala, Viśvakarmá's son,
Who, born of one of Vánar race,
Inherits by his father's grace
A share of his celestial art.
Call Nala to perform his part,
And he, divinely taught and skilled,
A bridge athwart the sea shall build.”
He spoke and vanished. Nala, best
Of Vánar chiefs, the king addressed:
“O'er the deep sea where monsters play
A bridge, O Ráma, will I lay;
For, sharer of my father's skill,
Mine is the power and mine the will.
'Tis vain to try each gentler art
To bribe and soothe the thankless heart;
In vain on such is mercy spent;
It yields to naught but punishment.
Through fear alone will Ocean now
A passage o'er his waves allow.
My mother, ere she bore her son,
This boon from Viśvakarmá won:
“O Mandarí, thy child shall be
In skill and glory next to me.”
But why unbidden should I fill
Thine ear with praises of my skill?
Command the Vánar hosts to lay
Foundations for the bridge to-day.”
He spoke: and swift at Ráma's hest
Up sprang the Vánars from their rest,
The mandate of the king obeyed
And sought the forest's mighty shade.
Unrooted trees to earth they threw,
And to the sea the timber drew.
The stately palm was bowed and bent,
Aśokas from the ground were rent,
And towering Sáls and light bamboos,
And trees with flowers of varied hues,
With loveliest creepers wreathed and crowned,
Shook, reeled, and fell upon the ground.
With mighty engines piles of stone
And seated hills were overthrown:
Unprisoned waters sprang on high,
In rain descending from the sky:
And ocean with a roar and swell
Heaved wildly when the mountains fell.
Then the great bridge of wondrous strength
Was built, a hundred leagues in length.
Rocks huge as autumn clouds bound fast
With cordage from the shore were cast,
And fragments of each riven hill,
And trees whose flowers adorned them still.
Wild was the tumult, loud the din
As ponderous rocks went thundering in.
Ere set of sun, so toiled each crew,
Ten leagues and four the structure grew;
The labours of the second day
Gave twenty more of ready way,
And on the fifth, when sank the sun,
The whole stupendous work was done.
O'er the broad way the Vánars sped,
Nor swayed it with their countless tread.
[pg 445]
Exultant on the ocean strand
Vibhishaṇ stood, and, mace in hand,
Longed eager for the onward way,
And chafed impatient at delay.
Then thus to Ráma trained and tried
In battle King Sugríva cried:
“Come, Hanumán's broad back ascend;
Let Angad help to Lakshmaṇ lend.
These high above the sea shall bear
Their burthen through the ways of air.”
So, with Sugríva, borne o'erhead
Ikshváku's sons the legions led.
Behind, the Vánar hosts pursued
Their march in endless multitude.
Some skimmed the surface of the wave,
To some the air a passage gave.
Amid their ceaseless roar the sound
Of Ocean's fearful voice was drowned,
As o'er the bridge by Nala planned
They hastened on to Lanká's strand,
Where, by the pleasant brooks, mid trees
Loaded with fruit, they took their ease.
Canto XXIII. The Omens.

Then Ráma, peerless in the skill
That marks each sign of good and ill,
Strained his dear brother to his breast,
And thus with prudent words addressed:
“Now, Lakshmaṇ, by the water's side
In fruitful groves the host divide,
That warriors of each woodland race
May keep their own appointed place.
Dire is the danger: loss of friends,
Of Vánars and of bears, impends.
Distained with dust the breezes blow,
And earth is shaken from below.
The tall hills rock from foot to crown,
And stately trees come toppling down.
In threatening shape, with voice of fear,
The clouds like cannibals appear,
And rain in fitful torrents, red
With sanguinary drops, is shed.
Long streaks of lurid light invest
The evening skies from east to west.
And from the sun at times a ball
Of angry fire is seen to fall.
From every glen and brake is heard
The boding voice of beast and bird:
From den and lair night-prowlers run
And shriek against the falling sun.
Up springs the moon, but hot and red
Kills the sad night with woe and dread;
No gentle lustre, but the gloom
That heralds universal doom.
A cloud of dust and vapour mars
The beauty of the evening stars,
And wild and fearful is the sky
As though the wreck of worlds were nigh.
Around our heads in boding flight
Wheel hawk and vulture, crow and kite;
And every bird of happy note
Shrieks terror from his altered throat.
Sword, spear and shaft shall strew the plain
Dyed red with torrents of the slain.
To-day the Vánar troops shall close
Around the city of our foes.”
Canto XXIV. The Spy's Return.

As shine the heavens with autumn's moon
Refulgent in the height of noon,
So shone with light which Ráma gave
That army of the bold and brave,
As from the sea it marched away
In war's magnificent array,
And earth was shaken by the beat
And trampling of unnumbered feet.
Then to the giants' ears were borne,
The mingled notes of drum and horn,
And clash of tambours smote the sky,
And shouting and the battle cry.
The sound of martial strains inspired
Each chieftain, and his bosom fired:
While giants from their walls replied,
And answering shouts the foe defied,
Then Ráma looked on Lanká where
Bright banners floated in the air,
And, pierced with anguish at the view,
His loving thoughts to Sítá flew.
“There, prisoned by the giant, lies
My lady of the tender eyes,
Like Rohiṇí the queen of stars
O'erpowered by the fiery Mars.”
Then turned he to his brother chief
And cried in agony of grief:
“See on the hill, divinely planned
And built by Viśvakarmá's hand,
The towers and domes of Lanká rise
In peerless beauty to the skies.
Bright from afar the city shines
With gleam of palaces and shrines,
Like pale clouds through the region spread
By Vishṇu's self inhabited.
Fair gardens grow, and woods between
The stately domes are fresh and green,
Where trees their bloom and fruit display,
And sweet birds sing on every spray.
Each bird is mad with joy, and bees
Sing labouring in the bloomy trees
On branches by the breezes bowed,
Where the gay Koïl's voice is loud.”
This said, he ranged with warlike art
Each body of the host apart.
[pg 446]
“There in the centre,” Ráma cried,
“Be Angad's place by Níla's side.
Let Rishabh of impetuous might
Be lord and leader on the right,
And Gandhamádan, next in rank,
Be captain of the farther flank.
Lakshmaṇ and I the hosts will lead,
And Jámbaván of ursine breed,
With bold Susheṇ unused to fear,
And Vegadarśí, guide the rear.”
Thus Ráma spoke: the chiefs obeyed;
And all the Vánar hosts arrayed
Showed awful as the autumn sky
When clouds embattled form on high.
Their arms were mighty trees o'erthrown,
And massy blocks of mountain stone.
One hope in every warlike breast,
One firm resolve, they onward pressed,
To die in fight or batter down
The walls and towers of Lanká's town.
Those marshalled legions Ráma eyed,
And thus to King Sugríva cried:
“Now, Monarch, ere the hosts proceed,
Let Śuka, Rávaṇ's spy, be freed.”
He spoke: the Vánar gave consent
And loosed him from imprisonment:
And Śuka, trembling and afraid,
His homeward way to Rávaṇ made.
Loud laughed the lord of Lanká's isle:
“Where hast thou stayed this weary while?
Why is thy plumage marred, and why
Do twisted cords thy pinions tie?
Say, comest thou in evil plight
The victim of the Vánars' spite?”
He ceased: the spy his fear controlled,
And to the king his story told:
“I reached the ocean's distant shore,
Thy message to the king I bore.
In sudden wrath the Vánars rose,
They struck me down with furious blows;
They seized me helpless on the ground,
My plumage rent, my pinions bound.
They would not, headlong in their ire,
Consider, listen, or inquire;
So fickle, wrathful, rough and rude
Is the wild forest multitude.
There, marshalling the Vánar bands,
King Ráma with Sugríva stands,
Ráma the matchless warrior, who
Virádha and Kabandha slew,
Khara, and countless giants more,
And tracks his queen to Lanká's shore.
A bridge athwart the sea was cast,
And o'er it have his legions passed.
Hark! heralded by horns and drums
The terrible avenger comes.
E'en now the giants' isle he fills
With warriors huge as clouds and hills,
And burning with vindictive hate
Will thunder soon at Lanká's gate.
Yield or oppose him: choose between
Thy safety and the Maithil queen.”
He ceased: the tyrant's eyeballs blazed
With fury as his voice he raised:
“No, if the dwellers of the sky,
Gandharvas, fiends assail me, I
Will keep the Maithil lady still,
Nor yield her back for fear of ill.
When shall my shafts with iron hail
My foeman, Raghu's son, assail,
Thick as the bees with eager wing
Beat on the flowery trees of spring?
O, let me meet my foe at length,
And strip him of his vaunted strength,
Fierce as the sun who shines afar
Stealing the light of every star.
Strong as the sea's impetuous might
My ways are like the tempest's flight;
But Ráma knows not this, or he
In terror from my face would flee.”
Canto XXV. Rávan's Spies.938

When Ráma and the host he led
Across the sea had safely sped,
Thus Rávaṇ, moved by wrath and pride,
To Śuka and to Sáraṇ cried:
“O counsellors, the Vánar host
Has passed the sea from coast to coast,
And Daśaratha's son has wrought
A wondrous deed surpassing thought.
And now in truth I needs must know
The strength and number of the foe.
Go ye, to Ráma's host repair
And count me all the legions there.
Learn well what power each captain leads
His name and fame for warlike deeds.
Learn by what artist's wondrous aid
That bridge athwart the sea was made;
Learn how the Vánar host came o'er
And halted on the island shore.
Mark Ráma son of Raghu well;
His valour, strength, and weapons tell.
Watch his advisers one by one,
And Lakshmaṇ, Raghu's younger son.
Learn with observant eyes, and bring
“Unerring tidings to your king.
He ceased: then swift in Vánar guise
Forth on their errand sped the spies.
They reached the Vánars, and, dismayed,
Their never-ending lines surveyd:
Nor would they try, in mere despair,
To count the countless legions there,
[pg 447]
That crowded valley, plain and hill,
That pressed about each cave and rill.
Though sea-like o'er the land were spread
The endless hosts which Ráma led,
The bridge by thousands yet was lined,
And eager myriads pressed behind.
But sage Vibhishaṇ's watchful eyes
Had marked the giants in disguise.
He gave command the pair to seize,
And told the tale in words like these:
“O Ráma these, well known erewhile,
Are giant sons of Lanká's isle,
Two counsellors of Rávaṇ sent
To watch the invading armament.”
Vibhishaṇ ceased: at Ráma's look
The Rákshas envoys quailed and shook;
Then suppliant hand to hand they pressed
And thus Ikshváku's son addressed:
“O Ráma, bear the truth we speak:
Our monarch Rávaṇ bade us seek
The Vánar legions and survey
Their numbers, strength, and vast array.”
Then Ráma, friend and hope and guide
Of suffering creatures, thus replied:
“Now giants, if your eyes have scanned
Our armies, numbering every band,
Marked lord and chief, and gazed their fill,
Return to Rávaṇ when ye will.
If aught remain, if aught anew
Ye fain would scan with closer view,
Vibhishaṇ, ready at your call,
Will lead you forth and show you all.
Think not of bonds and capture; fear
No loss of life, no peril here:
For, captive, helpless and unarmed,
An envoy never should be harmed.
Again to Lanká's town repair,
Speed to the giant monarch there,
And be these words to Rávaṇ told,
Fierce brother of the Lord of Gold:
“Now, tyrant, tremble for thy sin:
Call up thy friends, thy kith and kin,
And let the power and might be seen
Which made thee bold to steal my queen.
To-morrow shall thy mournful eye
Behold thy bravest warriors die,
And Lanká's city, tower and wall,
Struck by my fiery shafts, will fall.
Then shall my vengeful blow descend
Its rage on thee and thine to spend,
Fierce as the fiery bolt that flew
From heaven against the Dánav crew,
Mid those rebellious demons sent
By him who rules the firmament.”
Thus spake Ikshváku's son, and ceased:
The giants from their bonds released
Lauded the King with glad accord,
And hasted homeward to their lord.
Before the tyrant side by side
Śuka and Sáraṇ stood and cried:
“Vibhishaṇ seized us, King, and fain
His helpless captives would have slain.
But glorious Ráma saw us; he,
Great-hearted hero, made us free.
There in one spot our eyes beheld
Four chiefs on earth unparalleled,
Who with the guardian Gods may vie
Who rule the regions of the sky.
There Ráma stood, the boast and pride
Of Raghu's race, by Lakshmaṇ's side.
There stood the sage Vibhishaṇ, there
Sugríva strong beyond compare.
These four alone can batter down
Gate, rampart, wall, and Lanká's town.
Nay, Ráma matchless in his form,
A single foe, thy town would storm:
So wondrous are his weapons, he
Needs not the succour of the three.
Why speak we of the countless train
That fills the valley, hill and plain,
The millions of the Vánar breed
Whom Ráma and Sugríva lead?
O King, be wise, contend no more,
And Sítá to her lord restore.”
Canto XXVI. The Vánar Chiefs.

“Not if the Gods in heaven who dwell,
Gandharvas, and the fiends of hell
In banded opposition rise
Against me, will I yield my prize.
Still trembling from the ungentle touch
Of Vánar hands ye fear too much,
And bid me, heedless of the shame,
Give to her lord the Maithil dame.”
Thus spoke the king in stern reproof;
Then mounted to his palace roof
Aloft o'er many a story raised,
And on the lands beneath him gazed.
There by his faithful spies he stood
And looked on sea and hill and wood.
There stretched before him far away
The Vánars' numberless array:
Scarce could the meadows' tender green
Beneath their trampling feet be seen.
He looked a while with furious eye,
Then questioned thus the nearer spy:
“Bend, Sáraṇ, bend thy gaze, and show
The leaders of the Vánar foe.
Tell me their heroes' names, and teach
The valour, power and might of each.”
Obedient Sáraṇ eyed the van,
The leaders marked, and thus began:
“That chief conspicuous at the head
Of warriors in the forest bred,
Who hither bends his ruthless eye
And shouts his fearful battle cry:
[pg 448]
Whose voice with pealing thunder shakes
All Lanká, with the groves and lakes
And hills that tremble at the sound,
Is Níla, for his might renowned:
First of the Vánar lords controlled
By King Sugríva lofty-souled.
He who his mighty arm extends,
And his fierce eye on Lanká bends,
In stature like a stately tower,
In colour like a lotus flower,
Who with his wild earth-shaking cries
Thee, Rávaṇ, to the field defies,
Is Angad, by Sugríva's care
Anointed his imperial heir:
In wondrous strength, in martial fire
Peer of King Báli's self, his sire;
For Ráma's sake in arms arrayed
Like Varuṇ called to Śakra's aid.
Behind him, girt by warlike bands,
Nala the mighty Vánar stands,
The son of Viśvakarmá, he
Who built the bridge athwart the sea.
Look farther yet, O King, and mark
That chieftain clothed in Sandal bark.
'Tis Śweta, famed among his peers,
A sage whom all his race reveres.
See, in Sugríva's ear he speaks,
Then, hasting back, his post reseeks,
And turns his practised eye to view
The squadrons he has formed anew.
Next Kumud stands who roamed of yore
On Gomatí's939 delightful shore,
Feared where the waving woods invest
His seat on Mount Sanrochan's crest.
Next him a chieftain strong and dread,
Comes Chaṇḍa at his legions' head;
Exulting in his warrior might
He hastens, burning for the fight,
And boasts that his unaided powers
Shall cast to earth thy walls and towers.
Mark, mark that chief of lion gait,
Who views thee with a glance of hate
As though his very eyes would burn
The city walls to which they turn:
'Tis Rambha, Vánar king; he dwells
In Krishṇagiri's tangled dells,
Where Vindhya's pleasant slopes are spread
And fair Sudarśan lifts his head.
There, listening with erected ears,
Śarabha, mighty chief, appears.
His soul is burning for the strife,
Nor dreads the jeopardy of life.
He trembles as he moves, for ire,
And bends around his glance of fire.
Next, like a cloud that veils the skies,
A chieftain of terrific size,
Conspicuous mid the Vánars, comes
With battle shout like rolling drums,
'Tis Panas, trained in war and tried,
Who dwells on Páriyátra's side.
He, far away, the chief who throws
A glory o'er the marshalled rows
That ranged behind their captain stand
Exulting on the ocean strand,
Is Vinata the fierce in fight,
Preëminent like Dardur's height.
That chieftain bending down to drink
On lovely Veṇá's verdant brink,
Is Krathan; now he lifts his eyes
And thee to mortal fray defies.
Next Gavaya comes, whose haughty mind
Scorns all the warriors of his kind.
He comes to trample—such his boast—
On Lanká with his single host.”
Canto XXVII. The Vánar Chiefs.

“Yet more remain, brave chiefs who stake
Their noble lives for Ráma's sake.
See, glorious, golden-coated, one
Who glisters like the morning sun,
Whom thousands of his race surround,
'Tis Hara for his strength renowned.
Next comes a mighty chieftain, he
Whose legions, armed with rock and tree,
Press on, in numbers passing tale,
The ramparts of our town to scale.
O Rávaṇ, see the king advance
Terrific with his fiery glance,
Girt by the bravest of his train,
Majestic as the God of Rain,
Parjanya, when his host of clouds
About the king, embattled, crowds:
On Rikshaván's high mountain nursed,
In Narmadá940 he slakes his thirst,
Dhúmra, proud ursine chief, who leads
Wild warriors whom the forest breeds.
His brother, next in strength and age,
In Jámbaván the famous sage.
Of yore his might and skill he lent
To him who rules the firmament,
And Indra's liberal boons repaid
The chieftain for the timely aid.
There like a gloomy cloud that flies
Borne by the tempest through the skies,
Pramáthí stands: he roamed of yore
The forest wilds on Gangá's shore,
Where elephants were struck with dread
And trembling at his coming fled.
There on his foes he loved to sate
The old hereditary hate.941
[pg 449]
Look, Gaja and Gaváksha show
Their lust of battle with the foe.
See Nala burning for the fray,
And Níla chafing at delay.
Behind the eager captains press
Wild hosts in numbers numberless,
And each for Ráma's sake would fall
Or force his way through Lanká's wall.”
Canto XXVIII. The Chieftains.

There Sáraṇ ceased: then Śuka broke
The silence and to Rávaṇ spoke:
“O Monarch, yonder chiefs survey:
Like elephants in size are they,
And tower like stately trees that grow
Where Gangá's nursing waters flow;
Yea, tall as mountain pines that fling
Long shadows o'er the snow-crowned king.
They all in wild Kishkindhá dwell
And serve their lord Sugríva well.
The Gods' and bright Gandharvas' seed,
They take each form that suits their need.
Now farther look, O Monarch, where
Those chieftains stand, a glorious pair,
Conspicuous for their godlike frames;
Dwivid and Mainda are their names.
Their lips the drink of heaven have known,
And Brahmá claims them for his own.
That chieftain whom thine eyes behold
Refulgent like a hill of gold,
Before whose wrathful might the sea
Roused from his rest would turn and flee,
The peerless Vánar, he who came
To Lanká for the Maithil dame,
The Wind-God's son Hanumán; thou
Hast seen him once, behold him now.
Still nearer let thy glance be bent,
And mark that prince preëminent
Mid chieftains for his strength and size
And splendour of his lotus eyes.
Far through the worlds his virtues shine,
The glory of Ikshváku's line.
The path of truth he never leaves,
And still through all to duty cleaves.
Deep in the Vedas, skilled to wield
The mystic shafts to him revealed:
Whose flaming darts to heaven ascend,
And through the earth a passage rend:
In might like him who rules the sky;
Like Yáma, when his wrath grows high:
Whose queen, the darling of his soul,
Thy magic art deceived and stole:
There royal Ráma stands and longs
For battle to avenge his wrongs.
Near on his right a prince, in hue
Like pure gold freshly burnished, view:
Broad is his chest, his eye is red,
His black hair curls about his head:
'Tis Lakshmaṇ, faithful friend, who shares
His brother's joys, his brother's cares.
By Ráma's side he loves to stand
And serve him as his better hand,
For whose dear sake without a sigh
The warrior youth would gladly die.
On Ráma's left Vibhishaṇ view,
With giants for his retinue:
King-making drops have dewed his head,
Appointed monarch in thy stead.
Behold that chieftain sternly still,
High towering like a rooted hill,
Supreme in power and pride of place,
The monarch of the Vánar race.
Raised high above his woodland kind,
In might and glory, frame and mind,
His head above his host he shows
Conspicuous as the Lord of Snows.
His home is far from hostile eyes
Where deep in woods Kishkindhá lies.
A glistering chain which flowers bedeck
With burnished gold adorns his neck.
Queen Fortune, loved by Gods and kings,
To him her chosen favourite clings.
That chain he owes to Ráma's grace,
And Tárá and his kingly place.
In him the great Sugríva know,
Whom Ráma rescued from his foe.”942
Canto XXIX. Sárdúla Captured.

The giant viewed with earnest ken
The Vánars and the lords of men;
Then thus, with grief and anger moved,
In bitter tone the spies reproved:
“Can faithful servants hope to please
Their master with such fates as these?
Or hope ye with wild words to wring
The bosom of your lord and king?
Such words were better said by those
Who come arrayed our mortal foes.
In vain your ears have heard the sage,
And listened to the lore of age,
Untaught, though lectured many a day,
The first great lesson, to obey,
'Tis marvel Rávaṇ reigns and rules
Whose counsellors are blind and fools.
Has death no terrors that ye dare
To tempt your monarch to despair,
[pg 450]
From whose imperial mandate flow
Disgrace and honour, weal and woe?
Yea, forest trees, when flames are fanned
About their scorching trunks, may stand;
But naught can set the sinner free
When kings the punishment decree.
I would not in mine anger spare
The traitorous foe-praising pair,
But years of faithful service plead
For pardon, and they shall not bleed.
Henceforth to me be dead: depart,
Far from my presence and my heart.”
Thus spoke the angry king: the two
Cried, Long live Rávaṇ, and withdrew,
The giant monarch turned and cried
To strong Mahodar at his side:
“Go thou, and spies more faithful bring.
More duteous to their lord the king.”
Swift at his word Mahodar shed,
And came returning at the head
Of long tried messengers, who bent
Before their monarch reverent.
“Go quickly hence,” said Rávaṇ “scan
With keenest eyes the foeman's plan.
Learn who, as nearest friends, advise
And mould each secret enterprise.
Learn when he wakes and goes to rest,
Sound every purpose of his breast.
Learn what the prince intends to-day:
Watch keenly all, and come away.”
With joy they heard the words he said:
Then with Śárdúla at their head
About the giant king they went
With circling paces reverent.
By fair Suvela's grassy side
The chiefs of Raghu's race they spied,
Where, shaded by the waving wood,
Vibhishaṇ and Sugríva stood.
A while they rested there and viewed
The Vánars' countless multitude.
Vibhishaṇ with observant eyes
Knew at a glance the giant spies,
And bade the warriors of his train
Bind the rash foes with cord and chain:
“Śárdúla's is the sin,” he cried.
He neath the Vánars' hands had died,
But Ráma from their fury freed
The captive in his utmost need,
And, merciful at sight of woe,
Loosed all the spies and bade them go.
Then home to Lanká's monarch fled
The giant chiefs discomfited.
Canto XXX. Sárdúla's Speech.

They told their lord that Ráma still
Lay waiting by Suvela's hill.
The tyrant, flushed with angry glow,
Heard of the coming of the foe,
And thus with close inquiry pressed
Śárdúla spokesman for the rest:
“Why art thou sad, night-rover? speak:
Has grief or terror changed thy cheek?
Have the wild Vánars' hostile bands
Assailed thee with their mighty hands?”
Śárdúla heard, but scarce might speak;
His trembling tones were faint and weak:
“O Giant King, in vain we try
The purpose of the foe to spy.
Their strength and number none may tell,
And Ráma guards his legions well.
He leaves no hope to prying eyes,
And parley with the chiefs denies:
Each road and path a Vánar guard,
Of mountain size, has closed and barred.
Soon as my feet an entrance found
By giants was I seized and bound,
And wounded sore I fell beneath
Their fists and knees and hands and teeth.
Then trembling, bleeding, wellnigh dead
To Ráma's presence was I led.
He in his mercy stooped to save,
And freedom to the captive gave.
With rocks and shattered mountains he
Has bridged his way athwart the sea,
And he and all his legions wait
Embattled close to Lanká's gate.
Soon will the host thy wall assail,
And, swarming on, the rampart scale.
Now, O my King, his consort yield,
Or arm thee with the sword and shield.
This choice is left thee: choose between
Thy safety and the Maithil queen.”943
Canto XXXI. The Magic Head.

The tyrant's troubled eye confessed
The secret fear that filled his breast.
With dread of coming woe dismayed
He called his counsellors to aid;
Then sternly silent, deep in thought,
His chamber in the palace sought.
Then, as the surest hope of all,
The monarch bade his servants call
[pg 451]
Vidyujjihva, whom magic skill
Made master of the means of ill.
Then spake the lord of Lanká's isle:
“Come, Sítá with thine arts beguile.
With magic skill and deftest care
A head like Ráma's own prepare.
This head, long shafts and mighty bow,
To Janak's daughter will we show.”
He ceased: Vidyujjihva obeyed,
And wondrous magic skill displayed;
And Rávaṇ for the art he showed
An ornament of price bestowed.
Then to the grove where Sítá lay
The lord of Lanká took his way.
Pale, wasted, weeping, on the ground
The melancholy queen he found,
Whose thoughts in utmost stress of ill
Were fixed upon her husband still.
The giant king approached the dame,
Declared in tones of joy his name;
Then heeding naught her wild distress
Bespake her, stern and pitiless:
“The prince to whom thy fancies cling
Though loved and wooed by Lanká's king,
Who slew the noble Khara,—he
Is slain by warriors sent by me.
Thy living root is hewn away,
Thy scornful pride is tamed to-day.
Thy lord in battle's front has died,
And Sítá shall be Rávaṇ's bride.
Hence, idle thoughts: thy hope is fled;
What wilt thou, Sítá, with the dead?
Rise, child of Janak, rise and be
The queen of all my queens and me.
Incline thine ear, and I will tell,
Dear lady, how thy husband fell.
He bridged his way across the sea
With countless troops to fight with me.
The setting sun had flushed the west
When on the shore they took their rest.
Weary with toil no watch they kept,
Securely on the sands they slept.
Prahasta's troops assailed our foes,
And smote them in their deep repose.
Scarce could their bravest prove their might:
They perished in the dark of night.
Axe, spear, and sword, directed well,
Upon the sleeping myriads fell.
First in the fight Prahasta's sword
Reft of his head thy slumbering lord.
Roused at the din Vibhishaṇ rose,
The captive of surrounding foes,
And Lakshmaṇ through the woods that spread
Around him with his Vánars fled.
Hanúmán fell: one deadly stroke
The neck of King Sugríva broke,
And Mainda sank, and Dwivid lay
Gasping in blood his life away.
The Vánars died, or fled dispersed
Like cloudlets when the storm has burst.
Some rose aloft in air, and more
Ran to the sea and filled the shore.
On shore, in woods, on hill and plain
Our conquering giants left the slain.
Thus my victorious host o'erthrew
The Vánars, and thy husband slew:
See, rudely stained with dust, and red
With dropping blood, the severed head.”
Then, turning to a Rákshas slave,
The ruthless king his mandate gave,
And straight Vidyujjihva who bore
The head still wet with dripping gore,
The arrows and the mighty bow,
Bent down before his master low.
“Vidyujjihva,” cried Rávaṇ, “place
The head before the lady's face,
And let her see with weeping eyes
That low in death her husband lies.”
Before the queen the giant laid
The beauteous head his art had made.
And Rávaṇ cried: “Thine eyes will know
These arrows and the mighty bow.
With fame of this by Ráma strung
The earth and heaven and hell have rung.
Prahasta brought it hither when
His hand had slain thy prince of men.
Now, widowed Queen, thy hopes resign:
Forget thy husband and be mine.”
Canto XXXII. Sítá's Lament.

Again her eyes with tears o'erflowed:
She gazed upon the head he showed,
Gazed on the bow so famed of yore,
The glorious bow which Ráma bore.
She gazed upon his cheek and brows,
The eyes of her beloved spouse;
His lips, the lustre of his hair,
The priceless gem that glittered there.
The features of her lord she knew,
And, pierced with anguish at the view,
She lifted up her voice and cried:
“Kaikeyí, art thou satisfied?
Now all thy longings are fulfilled;
The joy of Raghu's race is killed,
And ruined is the ancient line,
Destroyer, by that fraud of thine.
Ah, what offence, O cruel dame,
What fault in Ráma couldst thou blame,
To drive him clad in hermit dress
With Sítá to the wilderness?”
Great trembling seized her frame, and she
Fell like a stricken plantain tree.
As lie the dead she lay; at length
Slowly regaining sense and strength,
On the dear head she fixed her eye
[pg 452]
And cried with very bitter cry:
“Ah, when thy cold dead cheek I view,
My hero, I am murdered too.
Then first a faithful woman's eyes
See sorrow, when her husband dies.
When thou, my lord, wast nigh to save,
Some stealthy hand thy death wound gave.
Thou art not dead: rise, hero, rise;
Long life was thine, as spake the wise
Whose words, I ween, are ever true,
For faith lies open to their view.
Ah lord, and shall thy head recline
On earth's cold breast, forsaking mine,
Counting her chill lap dearer far
Than I and my caresses are?
Ah, is it thus these eyes behold
Thy famous bow adorned with gold,
Whereon of yore I loved to bind
Sweet garlands that my hands had twined?
And hast thou sought in heaven a place
Amid the founders of thy race,
Where in the home deserved so well
Thy sires and Daśaratha dwell?
Or dost thou shine a brighter star
In skies where blest immortals are,
Forsaking in thy lofty scorn
The race wherein thy sires were born?
Turn to my gaze, O turn thine eye:
Why are thy cold lips silent, why?
When first we met as youth and maid,
When in thy hand my hand was laid,
Thy promise was thy steps should be
Through life in duty's path with me.
Remember, faithful still, thy vow,
And take me with thee even now.
Is that broad bosom where I hung,
That neck to which I fondly clung,
Where flowery garlands breathed their scent
By hungry dogs and vultures rent?
Shall no funereal honours grace
The parted lord of Raghu's race,
Whose bounty liberal fees bestowed,
For whom the fires of worship glowed?
Kauśalyá wild with grief will see
One sole survivor of the three
Who in their hermit garments went
To the dark woods in banishment.
Then at her cry shall Lakshmaṇ tell
How, slain by night, the Vánars fell;
How to thy side the giants crept,
And slew the hero as he slept.
Thy fate and mine the queen will know,
And broken-hearted die of woe.
For my unworthy sake, for mine,
Ráma, the glory of his line,
Who bridged his way across the main,
Is basely in a puddle slain;
And I, the graceless wife he wed,
Have brought this ruin on his head.
Me, too, on him, O Rávaṇ, slay:
The wife beside her husband lay.
By his dear body let me rest,
Cheek close to cheek and breast to breast,
My happy eyes I then will close,
And follow whither Ráma goes.”
Thus cried the miserable dame;
When to the king a warder came,
Before the giant monarch bowed
And said that, followed by a crowd
Of counsellors and lords of state,
Prahasta stood before the gate,
And, sent by some engrossing care,
Craved audience of his master there.
The anxious tyrant left his seat
And hastened forth the chief to meet:
Then summoning his nobles all,
Took counsel in his regal hall.
When Lanká's lord had left the queen,
The head and bow no more were seen.
The giant king his nobles eyed,
And, terrible as Yáma, cried:
“O faithful lords, the time is come:
Gather our hosts with beat of drum.
Nigh to the town our foeman draws:
Be prudent, nor reveal the cause.”
The nobles listened and obeyed:
Swift were the gathered troops arrayed,
And countless rovers of the night
Stood burning for the hour of fight.
Canto XXXIII. Saramá.

But Saramá, of gentler mood,
With pitying eyes the mourner viewed,
Stole to her side and softly told
Glad tidings that her heart consoled,
Revealing with sweet voice and smile
The secret of the giant's guile.
She, one of those who night and day
Watching in turns by Sítá lay,
Though Rákshas born felt pity's touch,
And loved the hapless lady much.
“I heard,” she said, “thy bitter cry,
Heard Rávaṇ's speech and thy reply,
For, hiding in the thicket near,
No word or tone escaped mine ear.
When Rávaṇ hastened forth I bent
My steps to follow as he went,
And learnt the secret cause that drove
The monarch from the Aśoka grove.
Believe me, Queen, thou needst not weep
For Ráma slaughtered in his sleep.
Thy lion lord of men defies
By day attack, by night surprise.
Can even giants slay with ease
Vast hosts who fight with brandished trees,
For whom, with eye that never sleeps,
His constant watch thy Ráma keeps?
[pg 453]
Lord of the mighty arm and chest,
Of earthly warriors first and best,
Whose fame through all the regions rings,
Proud scion of a hundred kings;
Who guards his life and loves to lend
His saving succour to a friend:
Whose bow no hand but his can strain,—
Thy lord, thy Ráma is not slain.
Obedient to his master's will,
A great magician, trained in ill,
With deftest art surpassing thought
That marvellous illusion wrought.
Let rising hope thy grief dispel:
Look up and smile, for all is well,
And gentle Lakshmí, Fortune's Queen,
Regards thee with a favouring mien.
Thy Ráma with his Vánar train
Has thrown a bridge athwart the main,
Has led his countless legions o'er,
And ranged them on this southern shore.
These eyes have seen the hero stand
Girt by his hosts on Lanká's strand,
And breathless spies each moment bring
Fresh tidings to the giant king;
And every peer and lord of state
Is called to counsel and debate.”
She ceased: the sound, long loud and clear,
Of gathering armies smote her ear,
Where call of drum and shell rang out,
The tambour and the battle shout;
And, while the din the echoes woke,
Again to Janak's child she spoke:
“Hear, lady, hear the loud alarms
That call the Rákshas troops to arms,
From stable and from stall they lead
The elephant and neighing steed,
Brace harness on with deftest care,
And chariots for the fight prepare.
Swift o'er the trembling ground career
Mailed horsemen armed with axe and spear,
And here and there in road and street
The terrible battalions meet.
I hear the gathering near and far,
The snorting steed, the rattling car.
Bold chieftains, leaders of the brave,
Press densely on, like wave on wave,
And bright the evening sunbeams glance
On helm and shield, on sword and lance.
Hark, lady, to the ringing steel,
Hark to the rolling chariot wheel:
Hark to the mettled courser's neigh
And drums' loud thunder far away.
The Queen of Fortune holds thee dear,
For Lanká's troops are struck with fear,
And Ráma with the lotus eyes,
Like Indra monarch of the skies,
With conquering arm will slay his foe
And free his lady from her woe.
Soon will his breast support thy head,
And tears of joy thine eyes will shed.
Soon by his mighty arm embraced
The long-lost rapture wilt thou taste,
And Ráma, meet for highest bliss,
Will gain his guerdon in thy kiss.”
Canto XXXIV. Saramá's Tidings.

Thus Saramá her story told:
And Sítá's spirit was consoled,
As when the first fresh rain is shed
The parching earth is comforted.
Then, filled with zeal for Sítá's sake,
Again in gentle tones she spake,
And, skilled in arts that soothe and please,
Addressed the queen in words like these:
“Thy husband, lady, will I seek,
Say the fond words thy lips would speak,
And then, unseen of any eye,
Back to thy side will swiftly fly.
My airy flights are speedier far
Than Garuḍa's and the tempest are.”
Then Sítá spake: her former woe
Still left her accents faint and low:
“I know thy steps, which naught can stay,
Can urge through heaven and hell their way.
Then if thy love and changeless will
Would serve the helpless captive still,
Go forth and learn each plot and guile
Planned by the lord of Lanká's isle.
With magic art like maddening wine
He cheats these weeping eyes of mine,
Torments me with his suit, nor spares
Reproof or flattery, threats or prayers.
These guards surround me night and day;
My heart is sad, my senses stray;
And helpless in my woe I fear
The tyrant Rávaṇ even here.”
Then Saramá replied: “I go
To learn the purpose of thy foe,
Soon by thy side again to stand
And tell thee what the king has planned.”
She sped, she heard with eager ears
The tyrant speak his hopes and fears,
Where, gathered at their master's call,
The nobles filled the council hall;
Then swiftly, to her promise true,
Back to the Aśoka grove she flew.
The lady on the grassy ground,
Longing for her return, she found;
Who with a gentle smile, to greet
The envoy, led her to a seat.
Through her worn frame a shiver ran
As Saramá her tale began:
“There stood the royal mother: she
Besought her son to set thee free,
[pg 454]
And to her counsel, tears and prayers,
The elder nobles added theirs:
“O be the Maithil queen restored
With honour to her angry lord,
Let Janasthán's unhappy fight
Be witness of the hero's might.
Hanúmán o'er the waters came
And looked upon the guarded dame.
Let Lanká's chiefs who fought and fell
The prowess of the leader tell.”
In vain they sued, in vain she wept,
His purpose still unchanged he kept,
As clings the miser to his gold,
He would not loose thee from his hold.
No, never till in death he lies,
Will Lanká's lord release his prize.
Soon slain by Ráma's arrows all
The giants with their king will fall,
And Ráma to his home will lead
His black-eyed queen from bondage freed.”
An awful sound that moment rose
From Lanká's fast-approaching foes,
Where drum and shell in mingled peal
Made earth in terror rock and reel.
The hosts within the walls arrayed
Stood trembling, in their hearts dismayed;
Thought of the tempest soon to burst,
And Lanká's lord, their ruin, cursed.
Canto XXXV. Malyaván's Speech.

The fearful notes of drum and shell
Upon the ear of Rávaṇ fell.
One moment quailed his haughty look,
One moment in his fear he shook,
But soon recalling wonted pride,
His counsellors he sternly eyed,
And with a voice that thundered through
The council hall began anew:
“Lords, I have heard—your tongues have told—
How Raghu's son is fierce and bold.
To Lanká's shore has bridged his way
And hither leads his wild array.
I know your might, in battle tried,
Fighting and conquering by my side.
Why now, when such a foe is near,
Looks eye to eye in silent fear?”
He ceased, his mother's sire well known
For wisdom in the council shown,
Malyaván, sage and faithful guide.
Thus to the monarch's speech replied:
“Long reigns the king in safe repose,
Unmoved by fear of vanquished foes,
Whose feet by saving knowledge led
In justice path delight to tread:
Who knows to sheath the sword or wield,
To order peace, to strike or yield:
Prefers, when foes are stronger, peace,
And bids a doubtful conflict cease.
Now, King, the choice before thee lies,
Make peace with Ráma, and be wise.
This day the captive queen restore
Who brings the foe to Lanká's shore.
The Sire by whom the worlds are swayed
Of yore the Gods and demons made.
With these Injustice sided; those
Fair Justice for her champions chose.
Still Justice dwells with Gods above;
Injustice, fiends and giants love.
Thou, through the worlds that fear thee, long
Hast scorned the right and loved the wrong,
And Justice, with thy foes allied,
Gives might resistless to their side.
Thou, guided by thy wicked will,
Hast found delight in deeds of ill,
And sages in their holy rest
Have trembled, by thy power oppressed.
But they, who check each vain desire,
Are clothed with might which burns like fire.
In them the power and glory live
Which zeal and saintly fervour give.
Their constant task, their sole delight
Is worship and each holy rite,
To chant aloud the Veda hymn,
Nor let the sacred fires grow dim.
Now through the air like thunder ring
The echoes of the chants they sing.
The vapours of their incense rise
And veil with cloudy pall the skies,
And Rákshas might grows weak and faint
Killed by the power of sage and saint.
By Brahmá's boon thy life was screened
From God, Gandharva, Yaksha, fiend;
But Vánars, men, and bears, arrayed
Against thee now, thy shores invade.
Red meteors, heralds of despair
Flash frequent through the lurid air,
Foretelling to my troubled mind
The ruin of the Rákshas kind.
With awful thundering overhead
Clouds black as night are densely spread,
And oozing from the gloomy pall
Great drops of blood on Lanká fall.
Dogs roam through house and shrine to steal
The sacred oil and curd and meal,
Cats pair with tigers, hounds with swine,
And asses' foals are born of kine.
In these and countless signs I trace
The ruin of the giant race.
'Tis Vishṇu's self who comes to storm
Thy city, clothed in Ráma's form;
For, well I ween, no mortal hand
The ocean with a bridge has spanned.
O giant King, the dame release,
And sue to Raghu's son for peace”
[pg 455]
Canto XXXVI. Rávan's Reply.

But Rávaṇ's breast with fury swelled,
And thus he spake by Death impelled,
While, under brows in anger bent,
Fierce glances from his eyes were sent:
“The bitter words which thou, misled
By friendly thought, hast fondly said,
Which praise the foe and counsel fear,
Unheeded fall upon mine ear.
How canst thou deem a mighty foe
This Ráma who, in stress of woe,
Seeks, banished as his sire decreed,
Assistance from the Vánar breed?
Am I so feeble in thine eyes,
Though feared by dwellers of the skies,—
Whose might in many a battle shown
The glorious race of giants own?
Shall I for fear of him restore
The lady whom I hither bore,
Exceeding fair like Beauty's Queen944
Without her well-loved lotus seen?
Around the chief let Lakshmaṇ stand,
Sugríva, and each Vánar band,
Soon, Malyaván, thine eyes will see
This boasted Ráma slain by me.
I in the brunt of war defy
The mightiest warriors of the sky;
And if I stoop to combat men,
Shall I be weak and tremble then?
This mangled trunk the foe may rend,
But Rávaṇ ne'er can yield or bend,
And be it vice or virtue, I
This nature never will belie.
What marvel if he bridged the sea?
Why should this deed disquiet thee?
This, only this, I surely know,
Back with his life he shall not go.”
Thus in loud tones the king exclaimed,
And mute stood Malyaván ashamed,
His reverend head he humbly bent,
And slowly to his mansion went.
But Rávaṇ stayed, and deep in care
Held counsel with his nobles there,
All entrance to secure and close,
And guard the city from their foes.
He bade the chief Prahasta wait,
Commander at the eastern gate,
To fierce Mahodar, strong and brave,
To keep the southern gate, he gave,
Where Mahápárśva's might should aid
The chieftain with his hosts arrayed.
To guard the west—no chief more fit—
He placed the warrior Indrajít,
His son, the giant's joy and boast,
Surrounded by a Rákshas host:
And mighty Sáraṇ hastened forth
With Śuka to protect the north.945
“I will myself,” the monarch cried,
“Be present on the northern side.”
These orders for the walls' defence
The tyrant gave, then parted thence,
And, by the hope of victory fired,
To chambers far within, retired.
Canto XXXVII. Preparations.

Lords of the legions of the wood,
The chieftains with Vibhishaṇ stood,
And, strangers in the foeman's land,
Their hopes and fears in council scanned:
“See, see where Lanká's towers ascend,
Which Rávaṇ's power and might defend,
Which Gods, Gandharvas, fiends would fail
To conquer, if they durst assail.
How shall our legions pass within,
The city of the foe to win,
With massive walls and portals barred
Which Rávaṇ keeps with surest guard?”
With anxious looks the walls they eyed:
And sage Vibhishaṇ thus replied:
“These lords of mine946 can answer: they
Within the walls have found their way,
The foeman's plan and order learned,
And hither to my side returned.
Now, Ráma, let my tongue declare
How Rávaṇ's hosts are stationed there.
Prahasta heads, in warlike state,
His legions at the eastern gate.
To guard the southern portal stands
Mahodar, girt by Rákshas bands,
Where mighty Mahápárśva, sent
By Rávaṇ's hest, his aid has lent.
Guard of the gate that fronts the west
Is valiant Indrajít, the best
Of warriors, Rávaṇ's joy and pride;
And by the youthful chieftain's side
Are giants, armed for fierce attacks
With sword and mace and battle-axe.
North, where approach is dreaded most,
The king, encompassed with a host
Of giants trained in war, whose hands
Wield maces, swords and lances, stands.
[pg 456]
All these are chiefs whom Rávaṇ chose
As mightiest to resist his foes;
And each a countless army947 leads
With elephants and cars and steeds.”
Then Ráma, while his spirit burned
For battle, words like these returned:
“The eastern gate be Níla's care,
Opponent of Prahasta there.
The southern gate, with troops arrayed
Let Angad, Báli's son, invade.
The gate that fronts the falling sun
Shall be by brave Hanúmán won;
Soon through its portals shall he lead
His myriads of Vánar breed.
The gate that fronts the north shall be
Assailed by Lakshmaṇ and by me,
For I myself have sworn to kill
The tyrant who delights in ill.
Armed with the boon which Brahmá gave,
The Gods of heaven he loves to brave,
And through the trembling worlds he flies,
Oppressor of the just and wise.
Thou, Jámbaván, and thou, O King
Of Vánars, all your bravest bring,
And with your hosts in dense array
Straight to the centre force your way.
But let no Vánar in the storm
Disguise him in a human form,
Ye chiefs who change your shapes at will,
Retain your Vánar semblance still.
Thus, when we battle with the foe,
Both men and Vánars will ye know,
In human form will seven appear;
Myself, my brother Lakshmaṇ here;
Vibhishaṇ, and the four he led
From Lanká's city when he fled.”
Thus Raghu's son the chiefs addressed:
Then, gazing on Suvela's crest,
Transported by the lovely sight,
He longed to climb the mountain height.
Canto XXXVIII. The Ascent Of Suvela.

“Come let us scale,” the hero cried,
“This hill with various metals dyed.
This night upon the breezy crest
Sugríva, Lakshmaṇ, I, will rest,
With sage Vibhishaṇ, faithful friend,
His counsel and his lore to lend.
From those tall peaks each eager eye
The foeman's city shall espy,
Who from the wood my darling stole
And brought long anguish on my soul.”
Thus spake the lord of men, and bent
His footsteps to the steep ascent,
And Lakshmaṇ, true in weal and woe,
Next followed with his shafts and bow.
Vibhishaṇ followed, next in place,
The sovereign of the Vánar race,
And hundreds of the forest kind
Thronged with impetuous feet, behind.
The chiefs in woods and mountains bred
Fast followed to Suvela's head,
And gazed on Lanká bright and fair
As some gay city in the air.
On glittering gates, on ramparts raised
By giant hands, the chieftains gazed.
They saw the mighty hosts that, skilled
In arts of war, the city filled,
And ramparts with new ramparts lined,
The swarthy hosts that stood behind.
With spirits burning for the fight
They saw the giants from the height,
And from a hundred throats rang out
Defiance and the battle shout.
Then sank the sun with dying flame,
And soft the shades of twilight came,
And the full moon's delicious light
Was shed upon the tranquil night.
Canto XXXIX. Lanká.

They slept secure: the sun arose
And called the chieftains from repose.
Before the wondering Vánars, gay
With grove and garden, Lanká lay,
Where golden buds the Champak showed,
And bright with bloom Aśoka glowed,
And palm and Sál and many a tree
With leaf and flower were fair to see.
They looked on wood and lawn and glade,
On emerald grass and dusky shade,
Where creepers filled the air with scent,
And luscious fruit the branches bent,
Where bees inebriate loved to throng,
And each sweet bird was loud in song.
The wondering Vánars passed the bound
That circled that enchanting ground,
And as they came a sweet breeze through
The odorous alleys softly blew.
Some Vánars, at their king's behest,
Onward to bannered Lanká pressed,
While, startled by the strangers' tread,
The birds and deer before them fled.
Earth trembled at each step they took,
And Lanká at their shouting shook.
Bright rose before their wondering eyes
Trikúṭa's peak that kissed the skies,
And, clothed with flowers of every hue,
Afar its golden radiance threw.
Most fair to see the mountain's head
[pg 457]
A hundred leagues in length was spread.
There Rávaṇ's town, securely placed,
The summit of Trikúṭa graced.
O'er leagues of land she stretched in pride,
A hundred long and twenty wide.
They saw a lofty wall enfold
The city, built of blocks of gold,
They saw the beams of morning fall
On dome and fane within the wall,
Bright with the shine that mansion gives
Where Vishṇu in his glory lives.
White-crested like the Lord of Snows
Before them Rávaṇ's palace rose.
High on a thousand pillars raised
With gold and precious stone it blazed,
Guarded by giant warders, crown
And ornament of Lanká's town.
Canto XL. Rávan Attacked.

Still stood the son of Raghu where
Suvela's peak rose high in air,
And with Sugríva turned his eye
To scan each quarter of the sky.
There on Trikúṭa, nobly planned
And built by Viśvakarmá's hand,
He saw the lovely Lanká, dressed
In all her varied beauty, rest.
High on a tower above the gate
The tyrant stood in kingly state.
The royal canopy displayed
Above him lent its grateful shade,
And servants, from the giant band,
His cheek with jewelled chowries fanned.
Red sandal o'er his breast was spread,
His ornaments and robe were red:
Thus shows a cloud of darksome hue
With golden sunbeams flashing through.
While Ráma and the chiefs intent
Upon the king their glances bent,
Up sprang Sugríva from the ground
And reached the turret at a bound.
Unterrified the Vánar stood,
And wroth, with wondrous hardihood,
The king in bitter words addressed,
And thus his scorn and hate expressed:
“King of the giant race, in me
The friend and slave of Ráma see.
Lord of the world, he gives me power
To smite thee in thy fenced tower.”
While through the air his challenge rang,
At Rávaṇ's face the Vánar sprang.
Snatched from his head the kingly crown
And dashed it in his fury down.
Straight at his foe the giant flew,
His mighty arms about him threw.
With strength resistless swung him round
And dashed him panting to the ground.
Unharmed amid the storm of blows
Swift to his feet Sugríva rose.
Again in furious fight they met:
With streams of blood their limbs were wet,
Each grasping his opponent's waist.
Thus with their branches interlaced,
Which, crimson with the flowers of spring,
From side to side the breezes swing,
In furious wrestle you may see
The Kinśuk and the Seemal tree.948
They fought with fists and hands, alike
Prepared to parry and to strike.
Long time the doubtful combat, waged
With matchless strength and fury, raged.
Each fiercely struck, each guarded well,
Till, closing, from the tower they fell,
And, grasping each the other's throat,
Lay for an instant in the moat.
They rose, and each in fiercer mood
The sanguinary strife renewed.
Well matched in size and strength and skill
They fought the dubious battle still.
While sweat and blood their limbs bedewed
They met, retreated, and pursued:
Each stratagem and art they tried,
Stood front to front and swerved aside.
His hand a while the giant stayed
And called his magic to his aid.
But brave Sugríva, swift to know
The guileful purpose of the foe,
Gained with light leap the upper air,
And breath and strength and spirit there;
Then, joyous as for victory won,
Returned to Raghu's royal son.
Canto XLI. Ráma's Envoy.

When Ráma saw each bloody trace
On King Sugríva's limbs and face,
He cried, while, sorrowing at the view,
His arms about his friend he threw:
“Too venturous chieftain, kings like us
Bring not their lives in peril thus;
Nor, save when counsel shows the need,
Attempt so bold, so rash a deed.
Remember, I, Vibhishaṇ all
Have sorrowed fearing for thy fall.
O do not—for us all I speak—
These desperate adventures seek.”
“I could not,” cried Sugríva, “brook
Upon the giant king to look,
[pg 458]
Nor challenge to the deadly strife
The fiend who robbed thee of thy wife.”
“Now Lakshmaṇ, marshal,” Ráma cried,
“Our legions where the woods are wide,
And stand we ready to oppose
The fury of our giant foes.
This day our armies shall ascend
The walls which Rávaṇ's powers defend,
And floods of Rákshas blood shall stain
The streets encumbered with the slain.”
Down from the peak he came, and viewed
The Vánars' ordered multitude.
Each captain there for battle burned,
Each fiery eye to Lanká turned.
On, where the royal brothers led
To Lanká's walls the legions sped.
The northern gate, where giant foes
Swarmed round their monarch, Ráma chose
Where he in person might direct
The battle, and his troops protect.
What arm but his the post might keep
Where, strong as he who sways the deep,949
Mid thousands armed with bow and mace,
Stood Rávaṇ mightiest of his race?
The eastern gate was Níla's post,
Where marshalled stood his Vánar host,
And Mainda with his troops arrayed,
And Dwivid stood to lend him aid.
The southern gate was Angad's care,
Who ranged his bold battalions there.
Hanúmán by the port that faced
The setting sun his legions placed,
And King Sugríva held the wood
East of the gate where Rávaṇ stood.
On every side the myriads met,
And Lanká's walls of close beset
That scarce the roving gale could win
A passage to the hosts within.
Loud as the angry ocean's roar
When wild waves lash the rocky shore,
Ten thousand thousand throats upsent
A shout that tore the firmament,
And Lanká with each grove and brook
And tower and wall and rampart shook.
The giants heard, and were appalled:
Then Raghu's son to Angad called,
And, led by kingly duty,950 gave
This order merciful as brave:
“Go, Angad, Rávaṇ's presence seek,
And thus my words of warning speak:
“How art thou changed and fallen now,
O Monarch of the giants, thou
Whose impious fury would not spare
Saint, nymph, or spirit of the air;
Whose foot in haughty triumph trod
On Yaksha, king, and Serpent God:
How art thou fallen from thy pride
Which Brahmá's favour fortified!
With myriads at thy Lanká's gate
I stand my righteous ire to sate,
And punish thee with sword and flame,
The tyrant fiend who stole my dame.
Now show the might, employ the guile,
O Monarch of the giants' isle,
Which stole a helpless dame away:
Call up thy power and strength to-day.
Once more I warn thee, Rákshas King,
This hour the Maithil lady bring,
And, yielding while there yet is time,
Seek, suppliant, pardon for the crime,
Or I will leave beneath the sun
No living Rákshas, no, not one.
In vain from battle wilt thou fly,
Or borne on pinions seek the sky;
The hand of Ráma shall not spare;
His fiery shaft shall smite thee there.’ ”
He ceased: and Angad bowed his head;
Thence like embodied flame he sped,
And lighted from his airy road
Within the Rákshas king's abode.
There sate, the centre of a ring
Of counsellors, the giant king.
Swift through the circle Angad pressed,
And spoke with fury in his breast:
“Sent by the lord of Kośal's land,
His envoy here, O King, I stand,
Angad the son of Báli: fame
Has haply taught thine ears my name.
Thus in the words of Ráma I
Am come to warn thee or defy:
Come forth, and fighting in the van
Display the spirit of a man.
This arm shall slay thee, tyrant: all
Thy nobles, kith and kin shall fall:
And earth and heaven, from terror freed,
Shall joy to see the oppressor bleed.
Vibhishaṇ, when his foe is slain,
Anointed king in peace shall reign.
Once more I counsel thee: repent,
Avoid the mortal punishment,
With honour due the dame restore,
And pardon for thy sin implore.”
Loud rose the king's infuriate cry:
“Seize, seize the Vánar, let him die.”
Four of his band their lord obeyed,
And eager hands on Angad laid.
He purposing his strength to show
Gave no resistance to the foe,
But swiftly round his captors cast
His mighty arms and held them fast.
Fierce shout and cry around him rang:
Light to the palace roof he sprang,
There his detaining arms unwound,
And hurled the giants to the ground.
Then, smiting with a fearful stroke,
A turret from the roof he broke,—
As when the fiery levin sent
[pg 459]
By Indra from the clouds has rent
The proud peak of the Lord of Snow,—
And flung the stony mass below.
Again with loud terrific cry
He sprang exulting to the sky,
And, joyous for his errand done,
Stood by the side of Raghu's son.
Canto XLII. The Sally.

Still was the cry, “The Vánar foes
Around the leaguered city close.”
King Rávaṇ from the terrace gazed
And saw, with eyes where fury blazed,
The Vánar host in serried ranks
Press to the moat and line the banks,
And, first in splendour and in place,
The lion lord of Raghu's race.
And Ráma looked on Lanká where
Gay flags were streaming to the air,
And, while keen sorrow pierced him through,
His loving thoughts to Sítá flew:
“There, there in deep affliction lies
My darling with the fawn-like eyes.
There on the cold bare ground she keeps
Sad vigil and for Ráma weeps.”
Mad with the thought, “Charge, charge,” he cried.
“Let earth with Rákshas blood be dyed.”
Responsive to his call rang out
A loud, a universal shout,
As myriads filled the moat with stone,
Trees, rocks, and mountains overthrown,
And charging at their leader's call
Pressed forward furious to the wall.
Some in their headlong ardour scaled
The rampart's height, the guard assailed,
And many a ponderous fragment rent
From portal, tower, and battlement.
Huge gates adorned with burnished gold
Were loosed and lifted from their hold;
And post and pillar, with a sound
Like thunder, fell upon the ground.
At every portal, east and west
And north and south, the chieftains pressed
Each in his post appointed led
His myriads in the forest bred.
“Charge, let the gates be opened wide:
Charge, charge, my giants,” Rávaṇ cried.
They heard his voice, and loud and long
Rang the wild clamour of the throng,
And shell and drum their notes upsent,
And every martial instrument.
Forth, at the bidding of their lord
From every gate the giants poured,
As, when the waters rise and swell,
Huge waves preceding waves impel.
Again from every Vánar throat
A scream of fierce defiance smote
The welkin: earth and sea and sky
Reëchoed with the awful cry.
The roar of elephants, the neigh
Of horses eager for the fray.
The frequent clash of warriors' steel,
The rattling of the chariot wheel.
Fierce was the deadly fight: opposed
In terrible array they closed,
As when the Gods of heaven enraged
With rebel fiends wild battle waged.
Axe, spear, and mace were wielded well:
At every blow a Vánar fell.
But shivered rock and brandished tree
Brought many a giant on his knee,
To perish in his turn beneath
The deadly wounds of nails and teeth.
Canto XLIII. The Single Combats.

Brave chiefs of each opposing side
Their strength in single combat tried.
Fierce Indrajít the fight began
With Angad in the battle's van.
Sampáti, strongest of his race,
Stood with Prajangha face to face.
Hanúmán, Jambumáli met
In mortal opposition set.
Vibhishaṇ, brother of the lord
Of Lanká, raised his threatening sword
And singled out, with eyes aglow
With wrath, Śatrughna for his foe.
The mighty Gaja Tapan sought,
And Níla with Nikumbha fought.
Sugríva, Vánar king, defied
Fierce Praghas long in battle tried,
And Lakshmaṇ fearless in the fight
Encountered Vírúpáksha's might.
To meet the royal Ráma came
Wild Agniketu fierce as flame;
Mitraghana, he who loved to strike
His foeman and his friend alike:
With Raśmiketu, known and feared
Where'er his ponderous flag was reared;
And Yajnakopa whose delight
Was ruin of the sacred rite.
These met and fought, with thousands more,
And trampled earth was red with gore.
Swift as the bolt which Indra sends
When fire from heaven the mountain rends
Smote Indrajít with furious blows
On Angad queller of his foes.
But Angad from his foeman tore
The murderous mace the warrior bore,
[pg 460]
And low in dust his coursers rolled,
His driver, and his car of gold.
Struck by the shafts Prajangha sped,
The Vánar chief Sampáti bled,
But, heedless of his gashes he
Crushed down the giant with a tree.
Then car-borne Jambumáli smote
Hanumán on the chest and throat;
But at the car the Vánar rushed,
And chariot, steeds, and rider crushed.
Sugríva whirled a huge tree round,
And struck fierce Praghas to the ground.
One arrow shot from Lakshmaṇ's bow
Laid mighty Vírúpáksha low.
His giant foes round Ráma pressed
And shot their shafts at head and breast;
But, when the iron shower was spent,
Four arrows from his bow he sent,
And every missile, deftly sped;
Cleft from the trunk a giant head.951
Canto XLIV. The Night.

The lord of Light had sunk and set:
Night came; the foeman struggled yet;
And fiercer for the gloom of night
Grew the wild fury of the fight.
Scarce could each warrior's eager eye
The foeman from the friend descry.
“Rákshas or Vánar? say;” cried each,
And foe knew foeman by his speech.
“Why wilt thou fly? O warrior, stay:
Turn on the foe, and rend and slay:”
Such were the cries, such words of fear
Smote through the gloom each listening ear.
Each swarthy rover of the night
Whose golden armour flashed with light,
Showed like a towering hill embraced
By burning woods about his waist.
The giants at the Vánars flew,
And ravening ate the foes they slew:
With mortal bite like serpent's fang,
The Vánars at the giants sprang,
And car and steeds and they who bore
The pennons fell bedewed with gore.
No serried band, no firm array
The fury of their charge could stay.
Down went the horse and rider, down
Went giant lords of high renown.
Though midnight's shade was dense and dark,
With skill that swerved not from the mark
Their bows the sons of Raghu drew,
And each keen shaft a chieftain slew.
Uprose the blinding dust from meads
Ploughed by the cars and trampling steeds,
And where the warriors fell the flood
Was dark and terrible with blood.
Six giants952 singled Ráma out,
And charged him with a furious shout
Loud as the roaring of the sea
When every wind is raging free.
Six times he shot: six heads were cleft;
Six giants dead on earth were left.
Nor ceased he yet: his bow he strained,
And from the sounding weapon rained
A storm of shafts whose fiery glare
Filled all the region of the air;
And chieftains dropped before his aim
Like moths that perish in the flame.
Earth glistened where the arrows fell,
As shines in autumn nights a dell
Which fireflies, flashing through the gloom,
With momentary light illume.
But Indrajít, when Báli's son953
The victory o'er the foe had won,
Saw with a fury-kindled eye
His mangled steeds and driver die;
Then, lost in air, he fled the fight,
And vanished from the victor's sight.
The Gods and saints glad voices raised,
And Angad for his virtue praised;
And Raghu's sons bestowed the meed
Of honour due to valorous deed.
Compelled his shattered car to quit,
Rage filled the soul of Indrajít,
Who brooked not, strong by Brahmá's grace
Defeat from one of Vánar race.
In magic mist concealed from view
His bow the treacherous warrior drew,
And Raghu's sons were first to feel
The tempest of his winged steel.
Then when his arrows failed to kill
The princes who defied him still,
He bound them with the serpent noose,954
The magic bond which none might loose.
Canto XLV. Indrajít's Victory.

Brave Ráma, burning still to know
The station of his artful foe,
[pg 461]
Gave to ten chieftains, mid the best
Of all the host, his high behest.
Swift rose in air the Vánar band:
Each region of the sky they scanned:
But Rávaṇ's son by magic skill
Checked them with arrows swifter still,
When streams of blood from chest and side
The dauntless Vánars' limbs had dyed,
The giant in his misty shroud
Showed like the sun obscured by cloud.
Like serpents hissing through the air,
His arrows smote the princely pair;
And from their limbs at every rent
A stream of rushing blood was sent.
Like Kinśuk trees they stood, that show
In spring their blossoms' crimson glow.
Then Indrajít with fury eyed
Ikshváku's royal sons, and cried:
“Not mighty Indra can assail
Or see me when I choose to veil
My form in battle: and can ye,
Children of earth, contend with me?
The arrowy noose this hand has shot
Has bound you with a hopeless knot;
And, slaughtered by my shafts and bow,
To Yáma's hall this hour ye go.”
He spoke, and shouted. Then anew
The arrows from his bowstring flew,
And pierced, well aimed with perfect art,
Each limb and joint and vital part.
Transfixed with shafts in every limb,
Their strength relaxed, their eyes grew dim.
As two tall standards side by side,
With each sustaining rope untied,
Fall levelled by the howling blast,
So earth's majestic lords at last
Beneath the arrowy tempest reeled,
And prostrate pressed the battle field.
Canto XLVI. Indrajít's Triumph.

The Vánar chiefs whose piercing eyes
Scanned eagerly the earth and skies,
Saw the brave brothers wounded sore
Transfixed with darts and stained with gore.
The monarch of the Vánar race,
With wise Vibhishaṇ, reached the place;
Angad and Níla came behind,
And others of the forest kind,
And standing with Hanúmán there
Lamented for the fallen pair.
Their melancholy eyes they raised;
In fruitless search a while they gazed.
But magic arts Vibhishaṇ knew;
Not hidden from his keener view,
Though veiled by magic from the rest,
The son of Rávaṇ stood confessed.
Fierce Indrajít with savage pride
The fallen sons of Raghu eyed,
And every giant heart was proud
As thus the warrior cried aloud:
“Slain by mine arrows Ráma lies,
And closed in death are Lakshmaṇ's eyes.
Dead are the mighty princes who
Dúshaṇ and Khara smote and slew.
The Gods and fiends may toil in vain
To free them from the binding chain.
The haughty chief, my father's dread,
Who drove him sleepless from his bed,
While Lanká, troubled like a brook
In rain time, heard his name and shook:
He whose fierce hate our lives pursued
Lies helpless by my shafts subdued.
Now fruitless is each wondrous deed
Wrought by the race the forests breed,
And fruitless every toil at last
Like cloudlets when the rains are past.”
Then rose the shout of giants loud
As thunder from a bursting cloud,
When, deeming Ráma, dead, they raised
Their voices and the conqueror praised.
Still motionless, as lie the slain,
The brothers pressed the bloody plain,
No sigh they drew, no breath they heaved,
And lay as though of life bereaved.
Proud of the deed his art had done,
To Lanká's town went Rávaṇ's son,
Where, as he passed, all fear was stilled,
And every heart with triumph filled.
Sugríva trembled as he viewed
Each fallen prince with blood bedewed,
And in his eyes which overflowed
With tears the flame of anger glowed.
“Calm,” cried Vibhishaṇ, “calm thy fears,
And stay the torrent of thy tears.
Still must the chance of battle change,
And victory still delight to range.
Our cause again will she befriend
And bring us triumph in the end.
This is not death: each prince will break
The spell that holds him, and awake;
Nor long shall numbing magic bind
The mighty arm, the lofty mind.”
He ceased: his finger bathed in dew
Across Sugríva's eyes he drew;
From dulling mist his vision freed,
And spoke these words to suit the need:
“No time is this for fear: away
With fainting heart and weak delay.
Now, e'en the tear which sorrow wrings
From loving eyes destruction brings.
Up, on to battle at the head
Of those brave troops which Ráma led.
Or guardian by his side remain
Till sense and strength the prince regain.
Soon shall the trance-bound pair revive,
And from our hearts all sorrow drive.
Though prostrate on the earth he lie,
[pg 462]
Deem not that Ráma's death is nigh;
Deem not that Lakshmí will forget
Or leave her darling champion yet.
Rest here and be thy heart consoled;
Ponder my words, be firm and bold.
I, foremost in the battlefield,
Will rally all who faint or yield.
Their staring eyes betray their fear;
They whisper each in other's ear.
They, when they hear my cheering cry
And see the friend of Ráma nigh,
Will cast their gloom and fears away
Like faded wreaths of yesterday.”
Thus calmed he King Sugríva's dread;
Then gave new heart to those who fled.
Fierce Indrajít, his soul on fire
With pride of conquest, sought his sire,
Raised reverent hands, and told him all,
The battle and the princes' fall.
Rejoicing at his foes' defeat
Upsprang the monarch from his seat,
Girt by his giant courtiers: round
His warrior son his arms he wound,
Close kisses on his head applied,
And heard again how Ráma died.
Canto XLVII. Sítá.

Still on the ground where Ráma slept
Their faithful watch the Vánars kept.
There Angad stood o'erwhelmed with grief
And many a lord and warrior chief;
And, ranged in densest mass around,
Their tree-armed legions held the ground.
Far ranged each Vánar's eager eye,
Now swept the land, now sought the sky,
All fearing, if a leaf was stirred,
A Rákshas in the sound they heard.
The lord of Lanká in his hall,
Rejoicing at his foeman's fall,
Commanded and the warders came
Who ever watched the Maithil dame.
“Go,” cried the Rákshas king, “relate
To Janak's child her husband's fate.
Low on the earth her Ráma lies,
And dark in death are Lakshmaṇ's eyes.
Bring forth my car and let her ride
To view the chieftains side by side.
The lord to whom her fancy turned
For whose dear sake my love she spurned,
Lies smitten, as he fiercely led
The battle, with his brother dead.
Lead forth the royal lady: go
Her husband's lifeless body show.
Then from all doubt and terror free
Her softening heart will turn to me.”
They heard his speech: the car was brought;
That shady grove the warders sought
Where, mourning Ráma night and day,
The melancholy lady lay.
They placed her in the car and through
The yielding air they swiftly flew.
The lady looked upon the plain,
Looked on the heaps of Vánar slain,
Saw where, triumphant in the fight,
Thronged the fierce rovers of the night,
And Vánar chieftains, mournful-eyed,
Watched by the fallen brothers' side.
There stretched upon his gory bed
Each brother lay as lie the dead,
With shattered mail and splintered bow
Pierced by the arrows of the foe.
When on the pair her eyes she bent,
Burst from her lips a wild lament
Her eyes o'erflowed, she groaned and sighed
And thus in trembling accents cried:
Canto XLVIII. Sítá's Lament.

“False are they all, proved false to-day,
The prophets of my fortune, they
Who in the tranquil time of old
A blessed life for me foretold,
Predicting I should never know
A childless dame's, a widow's woe,
False are they all, their words are vain,
For thou, my lord and life, art slain.
False was the priest and vain his lore
Who blessed me in those days of yore
By Ráma's side in bliss to reign:
For thou, my lord and life, art slain.
They hailed me happy from my birth,
Proud empress of the lord of earth.
They blessed me—but the thought is pain—
For thou, my lord and life, art slain.
Ah, fruitless hope! each glorious sign
That stamps the future queen is mine,
With no ill-omened mark to show
A widow's crushing hour of woe.
They say my hair is black and fine,
They praise my brows' continuous line;
My even teeth divided well,
My bosom for its graceful swell.
They praise my feet and fingers oft;
They say my skin is smooth and soft,
And call me happy to possess
The twelve fair marks that bring success.955
But ah, what profit shall I gain?
Thou, O my lord and life, art slain.
The flattering seer in former days
My gentle girlish smile would praise,
[pg 463]
And swear that holy water shed
By Bráhman hands upon my head
Should make me queen, a monarch's bride:
How is the promise verified?
Matchless in might the brothers slew
In Janasthán the giant crew.
And forced the indomitable sea
To let them pass to rescue me.
Theirs was the fiery weapon hurled
By him who rules the watery world;956
Theirs the dire shaft by Indra sped;
Theirs was the mystic Brahmá's Head.957
In vain they fought, the bold and brave:
A coward's hand their death-wounds gave.
By secret shafts and magic spell
The brothers, peers of Indra, fell.
That foe, if seen by Ráma's eye
One moment, had not lived to fly.
Though swift as thought, his utmost speed
Had failed him in the hour of need.
No might, no tear, no prayer may stay
Fate's dark inevitable day.
Nor could their matchless valour shield
These heroes on the battle field.
I sorrow for the noble dead,
I mourn my hopes for ever fled;
But chief my weeping eyes o'erflow
For Queen Kauśalyá's hopeless woe.
The widowed queen is counting now
Each hour prescribed by Ráma's vow,
And lives because she longs to see
Once more her princely sons and me.”
Then Trijaṭá,958 of gentler mould
Though Rákshas born, her grief consoled:
“Dear Queen, thy causeless woe dispel:
Thy husband lives, and all is well.
Look round: in every Vánar face
The light of joyful hope I trace.
Not thus, believe me, shine the eyes
Of warriors when their leader dies.
An Army, when the chief is dead,
Flies from the field dispirited.
Here, undisturbed in firm array,
The Vánars by the brothers stay.
Love prompts my speech; no longer grieve;
Ponder my counsel, and believe.
These lips of mine from earliest youth
Have spoken, and shall speak, the truth.
Deep in my heart thy gentle grace
And patient virtues hold their place.
Turn, lady, turn once more thine eye:
Though pierced with shafts the heroes lie,
On brows and cheeks with blood-drops wet
The light of beauty lingers yet.
Such beauty ne'er is found in death,
But vanishes with parting breath.
O, trust the hope these tokens give:
The heroes are not dead, but live.”
Then Sítá joined her hands, and sighed,
“O, may thy words be verified!”
The car was turned, which fleet as thought
The mourning queen to Lanká brought.
They led her to the garden, where
Again she yielded to despair,
Lamenting for the chiefs who bled
On earth's cold bosom with the dead.
Canto XLIX. Ráma's Lament.

Ranged round the spot where Ráma fell
Each Vánar chief stood sentinel.
At length the mighty hero broke
The trance that held him, and awoke.
He saw his senseless brother, dyed
With blood from head to foot, and cried:
“What have I now to do with life
Or rescue of my prisoned wife,
When thus before my weeping eyes,
Slain in the fight, my brother lies?
A queen like Sítá I may find
Among the best of womankind,
But never such a brother, tried
In war, my guardian, friend, and guide.
If he be dead, the brave and true,
I will not live but perish too.
How, reft of Lakshmaṇ, shall I meet
My mother, and Kaikeyí greet?
My brother's eager question brook,
And fond Sumitrá's longing look?
What shall I say, o'erwhelmed with shame
To cheer the miserable dame?
How, when she hears her son is dead,
Will her sad heart be comforted?
Ah me, for longer life unfit
This mortal body will I quit;
For Lakshmaṇ slaughtered for my sake,
From sleep of death will never wake.
Ah when I sank oppressed with care,
Thy gentle voice could soothe despair.
And art thou, O my brother, killed?
Is that dear voice for ever stilled?
Cold are those lips, my brother, whence
Came never word to breed offence?
Ah stretched upon the gory plain
My brother lies untimely slain:
Numbed is the mighty arm that slew
The leaders of the giant crew.
Transfixed with shafts, with blood-streams red,
Thou liest on thy lowly bed:
[pg 464]
So sinks to rest, his journey done,
Mid arrowy rays the crimson sun.
Thou, when from home and sire I fled,
The wood's wild ways with me wouldst tread:
Now close to thine my steps shall be,
For I in death will follow thee.
Vibhishaṇ now will curse my name,
And Ráma as a braggart blame,
Who promised—but his word is vain—
That he in Lanká's isle should reign.
Return, Sugríva: reft of me
Lead back thy Vánars o'er the sea,
Nor hope to battle face to face
With him who rules the giant race.
Well have ye done and nobly fought,
And death in desperate combat sought.
All that heroic might can do,
Brave Vánars, has been done by you.
My faithful friends I now dismiss:
Return: my last farewell is this.”
Bedewed with tears was every cheek
As thus the Vánars heard him speak.
Vibhishaṇ on the field had stayed
The Vánar hosts who fled dismayed.
Now lifting up his mace on high
With martial step the chief drew nigh.
The hosts who watched by Ráma's side
Beheld his shape and giant stride.
'Tis he, 'tis Rávaṇ's son, they thought:
And all in flight their safety sought.
Canto L. The Broken Spell.

Sugríva viewed the flying crowd,
And thus to Angad cried aloud:
“Why run the trembling hosts, as flee
Storm-scattered barks across the sea?”
“Dost thou not mark,” the chief replied,
“Transfixed with shafts, with bloodstreams dyed,
With arrowy toils about them wound,
The sons of Raghu on the ground?”
That moment brought Vibhishaṇ near.
Sugríva knew the cause of fear,
And ordered Jámbaván, who led
The bears, to check the hosts that fled.
The king of bears his hest obeyed:
The Vánars' headlong flight was stayed.
A little while Vibhishaṇ eyed
The brothers fallen side by side.
His giant fingers wet with dew
Across the heroes' eyes he drew,
Still on the pair his sad look bent,
And spoke these word in wild lament:
“Ah for the mighty chiefs brought low
By coward hand and stealthy blow!
Brave pair who loved the open fight,
Slain by that rover of the night.
Dishonest is the victory won
By Indrajít my brother's son.
I on their might for aid relied,
And in my cause they fought and died.
Lost is the hope that soothed each pain:
I live, but live no more to reign,
While Lanká's lord, untouched by ill,
Exults in safe defiance still.”
“Not thus,” Sugríva said, “repine,
For Lanká's isle shall still be thine.
Nor let the tyrant and his son
Exult before the fight be done.
These royal chiefs, though now dismayed,
Freed from the spell by Garuḍ's aid,
Triumphant yet the foe shall meet
And lay the robber at their feet.”
His hope the Vánar monarch told,
And thus Vibhishaṇ's grief consoled.
Then to Susheṇ who at his side
Expectant stood, Sugríva cried:
“When these regain their strength and sense,
Fly, bear them to Kishkindhá hence.
Here with my legions will I stay,
The tyrant and his kinsmen slay,
And, rescued from the giant king,
The Maithil lady will I bring,
Like Glory lost of old, restored
By Śakra, heaven's almighty lord.”
Susheṇ made answer: “Hear me yet:
When Gods and fiends in battle met,
So fiercely fought the demon crew,
So wild a storm of arrows flew,
That heavenly warriors faint with pain,
Sank smitten by the ceaseless rain.
Vṛihaspati,959 with herb and spell,
Cured the sore wounds of those who fell.
And, skilled in arts that heal and save,
New life and sense and vigour gave.
Far, on the Milky Ocean's shore,
Still grow those herbs in boundless store;
Let swiftest Vánars thither speed
And bring them for our utmost need.
Those herbs that on the mountain spring
Let Panas and Sampáti bring,
For well the wondrous leaves they know,
That heal each wound and life bestow.
Beside that sea which, churned of yore,
The amrit on its surface bore,
Where the white billows lash the land,
Chandra's fair height and Droṇa stand.
Planted by Gods each glittering steep
Looks down upon the milky deep.
Let fleet Hanúmán bring us thence
Those herbs of wondrous influence.”
Meanwhile the rushing wind grew loud,
Red lightnings flashed from banks of cloud.
The mountains shook, the wild waves rose,
And smitten with resistless blows
[pg 465]
Unrooted fell each stately tree
That fringed the margin of the sea.
All life within the waters feared
Then, as the Vánars gazed, appeared
King Garuḍ's self, a wondrous sight,
Disclosed in flames of fiery light.
From his fierce eye in sudden dread
All serpents in a moment fled.
And those transformed to shaft that bound
The princes vanished in the ground.
On Raghu's sons his eyes he bent,
And hailed the lords armipotent.
Then o'er them stooped the feathered king,
And touched their faces with his wing.
His healing touch their pangs allayed,
And closed each rent the shafts had made.
Again their eyes were bright and bold,
Again the smooth skin shone like gold.
Again within their shell enshrined
Came memory and each power of mind:
And, from those numbing bonds released,
Their spirit, zeal, and strength increased.
Firm on their feet they stood, and then
Thus Ráma spake, the lord of men:
“By thy dear grace in sorest need
From deadly bonds we both are freed.
To these glad eyes as welcome now
As Aja960 or my sire art thou.
Who art thou, mighty being? say,
Thus glorious in thy bright array.”
He ceased: the king of birds replied,
While flashed his eye with joy and pride:
“In me, O Raghu's son, behold
One who has loved thee from of old:
Garuḍ, the lord of all that fly,
Thy guardian and thy friend am I.
Not all the Gods in heaven could loose
These numbing bonds, this serpent noose,
Wherewith fierce Rávaṇ's son, renowned
For magic arts, your limbs had bound.
Those arrows fixed in every limb
Were mighty snakes, transformed by him.
Blood thirsty race, they live beneath
The earth, and slay with venomed teeth.
On, smite the lord of Lanká's isle,
But guard you from the giants' guile
Who each dishonest art employ
And by deceit brave foes destroy.
So shall the tyrant Rávaṇ bleed,
And Sítá from his power be freed.”
Thus Garuḍ spake: then, swift as thought,
The region of the sky he sought,
Where in the distance like a blaze
Of fire he vanished from the gaze.
Then the glad Vánars' joy rang out
In many a wild tumultuous shout,
And the loud roar of drum and shell
Startled each distant sentinel.
Canto LI. Dhúmráksha's Sally.

King Rávaṇ, where he sat within,
Heard from his hall the deafening din,
And with a spirit ill at ease
Addressed his lords in words like these:
“That warlike shout, those joyous cries,
Loud as the thunder of the skies,
Upsent from every Vánar throat,
Some new-born confidence denote.
Hark, how the sea and trembling shore
Re-echo with the Vánars' roar.
Though arrowy chains, securely twined
Both Ráma and his brother bind,
Still must the fierce triumphant shout
Disturb my soul with rising doubt.
Swift envoys to the army send,
And learn what change these cries portend.”
Obedient, at their master's call,
Fleet giants clomb the circling wall.
They saw the Vánars formed and led:
They saw Sugríva at their head,
The brothers from their bonds released:
And hope grew faint and fear increased.
Their faces pale with doubt and dread,
Back to the giant king they sped,
And to his startled ear revealed
The tidings of the battle field.
The flush of rage a while gave place
To chilling fear that changed his face:
“What?” cried the tyrant, “are my foes
Freed from the binding snakes that close
With venomed clasp round head and limb,
Bright as the sun and fierce like him:
The spell a God bestowed of yore,
The spell that never failed before?
If arts like these be useless, how
Shall giant strength avail us now?
Go forth, Dhúmráksha, good at need,
The bravest of my warriors lead:
Force through the foe thy conquering way,
And Ráma and the Vánars slay.”
Before his king with reverence due
Dhúmráksha bowed him, and withdrew.
Around him at his summons came
Fierce legions led by chiefs of fame.
Well armed with sword and spear and mace,
They hurried to the gathering place,
And rushed to battle, borne at speed
By elephant and car and steed.
Canto LII. Dhúmráksha's Death.

The Vánars saw the giant foe
Pour from the gate in gallant show,
[pg 466]
Rejoiced with warriors' fierce delight
And shouted, longing for the fight.
Near came the hosts and nearer yet:
Dire was the tumult as they met,
As, serried line to line opposed,
The Vánars and the giants closed.
Fierce on the foe the Vánars rushed,
And, wielding trees, the foremost crushed;
But, feathered from the heron's wing,
With eager flight from sounding string,
Against them shot with surest aim
A ceaseless storm of arrows came:
And, pierced in head and chest and side,
Full many a Vánar fell and died.
They perished slain in fierce attacks
With sword and pike and battle-axe;
But myriads following undismayed
Their valour in the fight displayed.
Unnumbered Vánars rent and torn
With shaft and spear to earth were borne.
But crushed by branchy trees and blocks
Of jagged stone and shivered rocks
Which the wild Vánars wielded well
The bravest of the giants fell.
Their trampled banners strewed the fields,
And broken swords and spears and shields;
And, crushed by blows which none might stay,
Cars, elephants, and riders lay.
Dhúmráksha turned his furious eye
And saw his routed legions fly.
Still dauntless, with terrific blows,
He struck and slew his foremost foes.
At every blow, at every thrust,
He laid a Vánar in the dust.
So fell they neath the sword and lance
In battle's wild Gandharva961 dance,
Where clang of bow and clash of sword
Did duty for the silvery chord,
And hoofs that rang and steeds that neighed
Loud concert for the dancers made.
So fiercely from Dhúmráksha's bow
His arrows rained in ceaseless flow,
The Vánar legions turned and fled
To all the winds discomfited.
Hanúmán saw the Vánars fly;
He heaved a mighty rock on high.
His keen eyes flashed with wrathful fire,
And, rapid as the Wind his sire,
Strong as the rushing tempests are,
He hurled it at the advancing car.
Swift through the air the missile sang:
The giant from the chariot sprang,
Ere crushed by that terrific blow
Lay pole and wheel and flag and bow.
Hanúmán's eyes with fury blazed:
A mountain's rocky peak he raised,
Poised it on high in act to throw,
And rushed upon his giant foe.
Dhúmráksha saw: he raised his mace
And smote Hanúmán on the face,
Who maddened by the wound's keen pang
Again upon his foeman sprang;
And on the giant's head the rock
Descended with resistless shock.
Crushed was each limb: a shapeless mass
He lay upon the blood-stained grass.
Canto LIII. Vajradanshtra's Sally.

When Rávaṇ in his palace heard
The mournful news, his wrath was stirred;
And, gasping like a furious snake,
To Vajradanshṭra thus he spake:
“Go forth, my fiercest captain, lead
The bravest of the giants' breed.
Go forth, the sons of Raghu slay
And by their side Sugríva lay.”
He ceased: the chieftain bowed his head
And forth with gathered troops he sped.
Cars, camels, steeds were well arrayed,
And coloured banners o'er them played.
Rings decked his arms: about his waist
The life-protecting mail was braced,
And on the chieftain's forehead set
Glittered his cap and coronet.
Borne on a bannered car that glowed
With golden sheen the warrior rode,
And footmen marched with spear and sword
And bow and mace behind their lord.
In pomp and pride of warlike state
They sallied from the southern gate,
But saw, as on their way they sped,
Dread signs around and overhead.
For there were meteors falling fast,
Though not a cloud its shadow cast;
And each ill-omened bird and beast,
Forboding death, the fear increased,
While many a giant slipped and reeled,
Falling before he reached the field.
They met in mortal strife engaged,
And long and fierce the battle raged.
Spears, swords uplifted, gleamed and flashed,
And many a chief to earth was dashed.
A ceaseless storm of arrows rained,
And limbs were pierced and blood-distained.
Terrific was the sound that filled
The air, and every heart was chilled,
As hurtling o'er the giants flew
The rocks and trees which Vánars threw.
Fierce as a hungry lion when
Unwary deer approach his den,
[pg 467]
Angad, his eyes with fury red,
Waving a tree above his head,
Rushed with wild charge which none could stay
Where stood the giants' dense array.
Like tall trees levelled by the blast
Before him fell the giants fast,
And earth that streamed with blood was strown
With warriors, steeds, and cars o'erthrown.
Canto LIV. Vajradanshtra's Death.

The giant leader fiercely rained
His arrows and the fight maintained.
Each time the clanging cord he drew
His certain shaft a Vánar slew.
Then, as the creatures he has made
Fly to the Lord of Life for aid,
To Angad for protection fled
The Vánar hosts dispirited.
Then raged the battle fiercer yet
When Angad and the giant met.
A hundred thousand arrows, hot
With flames of fire, the giant shot;
And every shaft he deftly sent
His foeman's body pierced and rent.
From Angad's limbs ran floods of gore:
A stately tree from earth he tore,
Which, maddened as his gashes bled,
He hurled at his opponent's head.
His bow the dauntless giant drew;
To meet the tree swift arrows flew,
Checked the huge missile's onward way,
And harmless on the earth it lay.
A while the Vánar chieftain gazed,
Then from the earth a rock he raised
Rent from a thunder-splitten height,
And cast it with resistless might.
The giant marked, and, mace in hand,
Leapt from his chariot to the sand,
Ere the rough mass descending broke
The seat, the wheel, the pole and yoke.
Then Angad seized a shattered hill,
Whereon the trees were flowering still,
And with full force the jagged peak
Fell crashing on the giant's cheek.
He staggered, reeled, and fell: the blood
Gushed from the giant in a flood.
Reft of his might, each sense astray,
A while upon the sand he lay.
But strength and wandering sense returned
Again his eyes with fury burned,
And with his mace upraised on high
He wounded Angad on the thigh.
Then from his hand his mace he threw,
And closer to his foeman drew.
Then with their fists they fought, and smote
On brow and cheek and chest and throat.
Worn out with toil, their limbs bedewed,
With blood, the strife they still renewed,
Like Mercury and fiery Mars
Met in fierce battle mid the stars.
A while the deadly fight was stayed:
Each armed him with his trusty blade
Whose sheath with tinkling bells supplied,
And golden net, adorned his side;
And grasped his ponderous leather shield
To fight till one should fall or yield.
Unnumbered wounds they gave and took:
Their wearied bodies reeled and shook.
At length upon the sand that drank
Streams of their blood the warriors sank,
But as a serpent rears his head
Sore wounded by a peasant's tread,
So Angad, fallen on his knees,
Yet gathered strength his sword to seize;
And, severed by the glittering blade,
The giant's head on earth was laid.
[I omit Cantos LV, LVI, LVII, and LVIII, which relate how Akampan and Prahasta sally out and fall. There is little novelty of incident in these Cantos and the results are exactly the same as before. In Canto LV, Akampan, at the command of Rávaṇ, leads forth his troops. Evil omens are seen and heard. The enemies meet, and many fall on each side, the Vánars transfixed with arrows, the Rákshases crushed with rocks and trees.

In Canto LVI Akampan sees that the Rákshases are worsted, and fights with redoubled rage and vigour. The Vánars fall fast under his “nets of arrows.” Hanumán comes to the rescue. He throws mountain peaks at the giant which are dexterously stopped with flights of arrows; and at last beats him down and kills him with a tree.

In Canto LVII, Rávaṇ is seriously alarmed. He declares that he himself, Kumbhakarṇa or Prahasta, must go forth. Prahasta sallies out vaunting that the fowls of the air shall eat their fill of Vánar flesh.

In Canto LVIII, the two armies meet. Dire is the conflict; ceaseless is the rain of stones and arrows. At last Níla meets Prahasta and breaks his bow. Prahasta leaps from his car, and the giant and the Vánar fight on foot. Níla with a huge tree crushes his opponent who falls like a tree when its roots are cut.]

[pg 468]
Canto LIX. Rávan's Sally.

They told him that the chief was killed,
And Rávaṇ's breast with rage was filled.
Then, fiercely moved by wrath and pride,
Thus to his lords the tyrant cried:
“No longer, nobles, may we show
This lofty scorn for such a foe
By whom our bravest, with his train
Of steeds and elephants, is slain.
Myself this day will take the field,
And Raghu's sons their lives shall yield.”
High on the royal car, that glowed
With glory from his face, he rode;
And tambour shell and drum pealed out,
And joyful was each giant's shout.
A mighty host, with eyeballs red
Like flames of kindled fire, he led.
He passed the city gate, and viewed,
Arrayed, the Vánar multitude,
Those wielding massy rocks, and these
Armed with the stems of uptorn trees,
And Ráma with his eyes aglow
With warlike ardour viewed the foe,
And thus the brave Vibhishaṇ, best
Of weapon-wielding chiefs, addressed:
“What captain leads this bright array
Where lances gleam and banners play,
And thousands armed with spear and sword
Await the bidding of their lord?”
“Seest, thou,” Vibhishaṇ answered, “one
Whose face is as the morning sun,
Preëminent for hugest frame?
Akampan962 is the giant's name.
Behold that chieftain, chariot-borne,
Whom Brahmá's chosen gifts adorn.
He wields a bow like Indra's own;
A lion on his flag is shown,
His eyes with baleful fire are lit:
'Tis Rávaṇ's son, 'tis Indrajít.
There, brandishing in mighty hands
His huge bow, Atikáya stands.
And that proud warrior o'er whose head
A moon-bright canopy is spread:
Whose might, in many a battle tried,
Has tamed imperial Indra's pride;
Who wears a crown of burnished gold,
Is Lanká's lord the lofty-souled.”
He ceased: and Ráma knew his foe,
And laid an arrow on his bow:
“Woe to the wretch,” he cried, “whom fate
Abandons to my deadly hate.”
He spoke, and, firm by Lakshmaṇ's side,
The giant to the fray defied.
The lord of Lanká bade his train
Of warriors by the gates remain,
To guard the city from surprise
By Ráma's forest born allies.
Then as some monster of the sea
Cleaves swift-advancing billows, he
Charged with impetuous onset through
The foe, and cleft the host in two.
Sugríva ran, the king to meet:
A hill uprooted from its seat
He hurled, with trees that graced the height
Against the rover of the night:
But cleft with shafts that checked its way
Harmless upon the earth it lay.
Then fiercer Rávaṇ's fury grew,
An arrow from his side he drew,
Swift as a thunderbolt, aglow
With fire, and launched it at the foe.
Through flesh and bone a way it found,
And stretched Sugríva on the ground.
Susheṇ and Nala saw him fall,
Gaváksha, Gavaya heard their call,
And, poising hills, in act to fling
They charged amain the giant king.
They charged, they hurled the hills in vain,
He checked them with his arrowy rain,
And every brave assailant felt
The piercing wounds his missiles dealt,
Then smitten by the shafts that came
Keen, fleet, and thick, with certain aim,
They fled to Ráma, sure defence
Against the oppressor's violence,
Then, reverent palm to palm applied,
Thus Lakshmaṇ to his brother cried:
“To me, my lord, the task entrust
To lay this giant in the dust.”
“Go, then,” said Ráma, “bravely fight;
Beat down this rover of the night.
But he, unmatched in bold emprise,
Fears not the Lord of earth and skies,
Keep on thy guard: with keenest eye
Thy moments of attack espy.
Let hand and eye in due accord
Protect thee with the bow and sword.”
Then Lakshmaṇ round his brother threw
His mighty arms in honour due,
Bent lowly down his reverent head,
And onward to the battle sped.
Hanúmán from afar beheld
How Rávaṇ's shafts the Vánars quelled:
To meet the giant's car he ran,
Raised his right arm and thus began:
“If Brahmá's boon thy life has screened
From Yaksha, God, Gandharva, fiend,
With these contending fear no ill,
But tremble at a Vánar still.”
With fury flashing from his eye
The lord of Lanká made reply:
“Strike, Vánar, strike: the fray begin,
And hope eternal fame to win.
This arm shall prove thee in the strife
[pg 469]
And end thy glory and thy life.”
“Remember,” cried the Wind-God's son,
“Remember all that I have done,
My prowess, King, thou knowest well,
Shown in the fight when Aksha963 fell.”
With heavy hand the giant smote
Hanúmán on the chest and throat,
Who reeled and staggered to and fro,
Stunned for a moment by the blow.
Till, mustering strength, his hand he reared
And struck the foe whom Indra feared.
His huge limbs bent beneath the shock,
As mountains, in an earthquake, rock,
And from the Gods and sages pealed
Shouts of loud triumph as he reeled.
But strength returning nerved his frame:
His eyeballs flashed with fiercer flame.
No living creature might resist
That blow of his tremendous fist
Which fell upon Hanúmán's flank:
And to the ground the Vánar sank,
No sign of life his body showed:
And Rávaṇ in his chariot rode
At Níla; and his arrowy rain
Fell on the captain and his train.
Fierce Níla stayed his Vánar band,
And, heaving with his single hand
A mountain peak, with vigorous swing
Hurled the huge missile at the king.
Hanúmán life and strength regained,
Burned for the fight and thus complained:
“Why, coward giant, didst thou flee
And leave the doubtful fight with me?”
Seven mighty arrows keen and fleet
The giant launched, the hill to meet;
And, all its force and fury stayed,
The harmless mass on earth was laid.
Enraged the Vánar chief beheld
The mountain peak by force repelled,
And rained upon the foe a shower
Of trees uptorn with branch and flower.
Still his keen shafts which pierced and rent
Each flying tree the giant sent:
Still was the Vánar doomed to feel
The tempest of the winged steel.
Then, smarting from that arrowy storm,
The Vánar chief condensed his form,964
And lightly leaping from the ground
On Rávaṇ's standard footing found;
Then springing unimpeded down
Stood on his bow and golden crown.
The Vánar's nimble leaps amazed
Ikshváku's son who stood and gazed.
The giant, raging in his heart,
Laid on his bow a fiery dart;
The Vánar on his flagstaff eyed,
And thus in tones of fury cried:
“Well skilled in magic lore art thou:
But will thine art avail thee now?
See if thy magic will defend
Thy life against the dart I send.”
Thus Rávaṇ spake, the giant king,
And loosed the arrow from the string.
It pierced, with direst fury sped,
The Vánar with its flaming head.
His father's might, his power innate
Preserved him from the threatened fate.
Upon his knees he fell, distained
With streams of blood, but life remained.
Still Rávaṇ for the battle burned:
At Lakshmaṇ next his car he turned,
And charged amain with furious show,
Straining in mighty hands his bow.
“Come,” Lakshmaṇ cried, “assay the fight:
Leave foes unworthy of thy might.”
Thus Lakshmaṇ spoke: and Lanká's lord
Heard the dread thunder of the cord.
And mad with burning rage and pride
In hasty words like these replied:
“Joy, joy is mine, O Raghu's son:
Thy fate to-day thou canst not shun.
Slain by mine arrows thou shalt tread
The gloomy pathway of the dead.”
Thus as he spoke his bow he drew,
And seven keen shafts at Lakshmaṇ flew,
But Raghu's son with surest aim
Cleft every arrow as it came.
Thus with fleet shafts each warrior shot
Against his foe, and rested not.
Then one choice weapon from his store,
By Brahmá's self bestowed of yore,
Fierce as the flames that end the world,
The giant king at Lakshmaṇ hurled.
The hero fell, and racked with pain,
Scarce could his hand his bow retain.
But sense and strength resumed their seat
And, lightly springing to his feet,
He struck with one tremendous stroke
And Rávaṇ's bow in splinters broke.
From Lakshmaṇ's cord three arrows flew
And pierced the giant monarch through.
Sore wounded Rávaṇ closed, and round
Ikshváku's son his strong arms wound.
With strength unrivalled, Brahmá's gift,
He strove from earth his foe to lift.
“Shall I,” he cried, “who overthrow
Mount Meru and the Lord of Snow,
And heaven and all who dwell therein,
Be foiled by one of Ráma's kin?”
But though he heaved, and toiled, and strained,
Unmoved Ikshváku's son remained.
His frame by those huge arms compressed
The giant's God-given force confessed,
But conscious that himself was part
[pg 470]
Of Vishṇu, he was firm in heart.
The Wind-God's son the fight beheld,
And rushed at Rávaṇ, rage-impelled.
Down crashed his mighty hand; the foe
Full in the chest received the blow.
His eyes grew dim, his knees gave way,
And senseless on the earth he lay.
The Wind-God's son to Ráma bore
Deep-wounded Lakshmaṇ stained with gore.
He whom no foe might lift or bend
Was light as air to such a friend.
The dart that Lakshmaṇ's side had cleft,
Untouched, the hero's body left,
And flashing through the air afar
Resumed its place in Rávaṇ's car;
And, waxing well though wounded sore,
He felt the deadly pain no more.
And Rávaṇ, though with deep wounds pained,
Slowly his sense and strength regained,
And furious still and undismayed
On bow and shaft his hand he laid.
Then Hanumán to Ráma cried:
“Ascend my back, great chief, and ride
Like Vishṇu borne on Garuḍ's wing,
To battle with the giant king.”
So, burning for the dire attack,
Rode Ráma on the Vánar's back,
And with fierce accents loud and slow
Thus gave defiance to the foe,
While his strained bowstring made a sound
Like thunder when it shakes the ground:
“Stay, Monarch of the giants, stay,
The penalty of sin to pay.
Stay! whither wilt thou fly, and how
Escape the death that waits thee now?”
No word the giant king returned:
His eyes with flames of fury burned.
His arm was stretched, his bow was bent,
And swift his fiery shafts were sent.
Red torrents from the Vánar flowed:
Then Ráma near to Rávaṇ strode,
And with keen darts that never failed,
The chariot of the king assailed.
With surest aim his arrows flew:
The driver and the steeds he slew.
And shattered with the pointed steel
Car, flag, and pole and yoke and wheel.
As Indra hurls his bolt to smite
Mount Meru's heaven-ascending height,
So Ráma with a flaming dart
Struck Lanká's monarch near the heart,
Who reeled and fell beneath the blow
And from loose fingers dropped his bow.
Bright as the sun, with crescent head,
From Ráma's bow an arrow sped,
And from his forehead, proud no more,
Cleft the bright coronet he wore.
Then Ráma stood by Rávaṇ's side
And to the conquered giant cried:
“Well hast thou fought: thine arm has slain
Strong heroes of the Vánar train.
I will not strike or slay thee now,
For weary, faint with fight art thou.
To Lanká's town thy footsteps bend,
And there the night securely spend.
To-morrow come with car and bow,
And then my prowess shalt thou know.”
He ceased: the king in humbled pride
Rose from the earth and naught replied.
With wounded limbs and shattered crown
He sought again his royal town.
Canto LX. Kumbhakarna Roused.

With humbled heart and broken pride
Through Lanká's gate the giant hied,
Crushed, like an elephant beneath
A lion's spring and murderous teeth,
Or like a serpent 'neath the wing
And talons of the Feathered King.
Such was the giant's wild alarm
At arrows shot by Ráma's arm;
Shafts with red lightning round them curled,
Like Brahmá's bolts that end the world.
Supported on his golden throne,
With failing eye and humbled tone,
“Giants,” he cried, “the toil is vain,
Fruitless the penance and the pain,
If I whom Indra owned his peer,
Secure from Gods, a mortal fear.
My soul remembers, now too late,
Lord Brahmá's words who spoke my fate:
“Tremble, proud Giant,” thus they ran,
“And dread thy death from slighted man.
Secure from Gods and demons live,
And serpents, by the boon I give.
Against their power thy life is charmed,
But against man is still unarmed.”
This Ráma is the man foretold
By Anaraṇya's965 lips of old:
“Fear, Rávaṇ, basest of the base:
For of mine own imperial race
A prince in after time shall spring
And thee and thine to ruin bring.
And Vedavatí,966 ere she died
Slain by my ruthless insult, cried:
[pg 471]
“A scion of my royal line
Shall slay, vile wretch, both thee and thine.”
She in a later birth became
King Janak's child, now Ráma's dame.
Nandíśvara967 foretold this fate,
And Umá968 when I moved her hate,
And Rambhá,969 and the lovely child
Of Varuṇ970 by my touch defiled.
I know the fated hour is nigh:
Hence, captains, to your stations fly.
Let warders on the rampart stand:
Place at each gate a watchful band;
And, terror of immortal eyes,
Let mightiest Kumbhakarṇa rise.
He, slumbering, free from care and pain,
By Brahmá's curse, for months has lain.
But when Prahasta's death he hears,
Mine own defeat and doubts and fears,
The chief will rise to smite the foe
And his unrivalled valour show.
Then Raghu's royal sons and all
The Vánars neath his might will fall.”
The giant lords his hest obeyed,
They left him, trembling and afraid,
And from the royal palace strode
To Kumbhakarṇa's vast abode.
They carried garlands sweet and fresh,
And reeking loads of blood and flesh.
They reached the dwelling where he lay,
A cave that reached a league each way,
Sweet with fair blooms of lovely scent
And bright with golden ornament.
His breathings came so fierce and fast,
Scarce could the giants brook the blast.
They found him on a golden bed
With his huge limbs at length outspread.
They piled their heaps of venison near,
Fat buffaloes and boars and deer.
With wreaths of flowers they fanned his face,
And incense sweetened all the place.
Each raised his mighty voice as loud
As thunders of an angry cloud,
And conchs their stirring summons gave
That echoed through the giant's cave.
Then on his breast they rained their blows,
And high the wild commotion rose
When cymbal vied with drum and horn.
And war cries on the gale upborne.
Through all the air loud discord spread,
And, struck with fear, the birds fell dead.
But still he slept and took his rest.
Then dashed they on his shaggy chest
Clubs, maces, fragments of the rock:
He moved not once, nor felt the shock.
The giants made one effort more
With shell and drum and shout and roar.
Club, mallet, mace, in fury plied,
Rained blows upon his breast and side.
And elephants were urged to aid,
And camels groaned and horses neighed.
They drenched him with a hundred pails,
They tore his ears with teeth and nails.
They bound together many a mace
And beat him on the head and face;
And elephants with ponderous tread
Stamped on his limbs and chest and head.
The unusual weight his slumber broke:
He started, shook his sides, and woke;
And, heedless of the wounds and blows,
Yawning with thirst and hunger rose,
His jaws like hell gaped fierce and wide,
Dire as the flame neath ocean's tide.
Red as the sun on Meru's crest
The giant's face his wrath expressed,
And every burning breath he drew
Was like the blast that rushes through
The mountain cedars. Up he raised
His awful head with eyes that blazed
Like comets, dire as Death in form
Who threats the worlds with fire and storm.
The giants pointed to their stores
Of buffaloes and deer and boars,
And straight he gorged him with a flood
Of wine, with marrow, flesh, and blood.
He ceased: the giants ventured near
And bent their lowly heads in fear.
Then Kumbhakar[n.]a glared with eyes
Still heavy in their first surprise,
Still drowsy from his troubled rest,
And thus the giant band addressed.
“How have ye dared my sleep to break?
No trifling cause should bid me wake.
Say, is all well? or tell the need
That drives you with unruly speed
To wake me. Mark the words I say,
The king shall tremble in dismay,
[pg 472]
The fire be quenched and Indra slain
Ere ye shall break my rest in vain.”
Yúpáksha answered: “Chieftain, hear;
No God or fiend excites our fear.
But men in arms our walls assail:
We tremble lest their might prevail.
For vengeful Ráma vows to slay
The foe who stole his queen away,
And, matchless for his warlike deeds,
A host of mighty Vánars leads.
Ere now a monstrous Vánar came,
Laid Lanká waste with ruthless flame,
And Aksha, Rávaṇ's offspring, slew
With all his warrior retinue.
Our king who never trembled yet
For heavenly hosts in battle met,
At length the general dread has shared,
O'erthrown by Ráma's arm and spared.”
He ceased: and Kumbhakarṇa spake:
“I will go forth and vengeance take;
Will tread their hosts beneath my feet,
Then triumph-flushed our king will meet.
Our giant bands shall eat their fill
Of Vánars whom this arm shall kill.
The princes' blood shall be my draught,
The chieftains' shall by you be quaffed.”
He spake, and, with an eager stride
That shook the earth, to Rávaṇ hied.
Canto LXI. The Vánars' Alarm.

The son of Raghu near the wall
Saw, proudly towering over all,
The mighty giant stride along
Attended by the warrior throng;
Heard Kumbhakarṇa's heavy feet
Awake the echoes of the street;
And, with the lust of battle fired,
Turned to Vibhishaṇ and inquired:
“Vibhishaṇ, tell that chieftain's name
Who rears so high his mountain frame;
With glittering helm and lion eyes,
Preëminent in might and size
Above the rest of giant birth,
He towers the standard of the earth;
And all the Vánars when they see
The mighty warrior turn and flee.”
“In him,” Vibhishaṇ answered, “know
Viśravas' son, the Immortals' foe,
Fierce Kumbhakarṇa, mightier far
Than Gods and fiends and giants are.
He conquered Yáma in the fight,
And Indra trembling owned his might.
His arm the Gods and fiends subdued,
Gandharvas and the serpent brood.
The rest of his gigantic race
Are wondrous strong by God-giving grace;
But nature at his birth to him
Gave matchless power and strength of limb.
Scarce was he born, fierce monster, when
He killed and ate a thousand men.
The trembling race of men, appalled,
On Indra for protection called;
And he, to save the suffering world,
His bolt at Kumbhakarṇa hurled.
So awful was the monster's yell
That fear on all the nations fell,
He, rushing on with furious roar,
A tusk from huge Airávat tore,
And dealt the God so dire a blow
That Indra reeling left his foe,
And with the Gods and mortals fled
To Brahmá's throne dispirited.
“O Brahmá,” thus the suppliants cried,
“Some refuge for this woe provide.
If thus his maw the giant sate
Soon will the world be desolate.”
The Self-existent calmed their woe,
And spake in anger to their foe:
“As thou wast born, Pulastya's son,
That worlds might weep by thee undone,
Thou like the dead henceforth shalt be:
Such is the curse I lay on thee.”
Senseless he lay, nor spoke nor stirred;
Such was the power of Brahmá's word.
But Rávaṇ, troubled for his sake,
Thus to the Self-existent spake:
“Who lops the tree his care has reared
When golden fruit has first appeared?
Not thus, O Brahmá, deal with one
Descended from thine own dear son.971
Still thou, O Lord, thy word must keep,
He may not die, but let him sleep.
Yet fix a time for him to break
The chains of slumber and awake.”
He ceased: and Brahmá made reply;
“Six months in slumber shall he lie
And then arising for a day
Shall cast the numbing bonds away.”
Now Rávaṇ in his doubt and dread
Has roused the monster from his bed,
Who comes in this the hour of need
On slaughtered Vánars flesh to feed.
Each Vánar, when his awe-struck eyes
Behold the monstrous chieftain, flies.
With hopeful words their minds deceive,
And let our trembling hosts believe
They see no giant, but, displayed,
A lifeless engine deftly made.”
Then Ráma called to Níla: “Haste,
Let troops near every gate be placed,
And, armed with fragments of the rock
And trees, each lane and alley block.”
[pg 473]
Thus Ráma spoke: the chief obeyed,
And swift the Vánars stood arrayed,
As when the black clouds their battle form,
The summit of a hill to storm.
Canto LXII. Rávan's Request.

Along bright Lanká's royal road
The giant, roused from slumber, strode,
While from the houses on his head
A rain of fragrant flowers was shed.
He reached the monarch's gate whereon
Rich gems and golden fretwork shone.
Through court and corridor that shook
Beneath his tread his way he took,
And stood within the chamber where
His brother sat in dark despair.
But sudden, at the grateful sight
The monarch's eye again grew bright.
He started up, forgot his fear,
And drew his giant brother near.
The younger pressed the elder's feet
And paid the King observance meet,
Then cried: “O Monarch, speak thy will,
And let my care thy word fulfil.
What sudden terror and dismay
Have burst the bonds in which I lay?”
Fierce flashed the flame from Rávaṇ's eye,
As thus in wrath he made reply:
“Fair time, I ween, for sleep is this,
To lull thy soul in tranquil bliss,
Unheeding, in oblivion drowned,
The dangers that our lives surround.
Brave Ráma, Daśaratha's son,
A passage o'er the sea has won,
And, with the Vánar monarch's aid,
Round Lanká's walls his hosts arrayed.
Though never in the deadly field
My Rákshas troops were known to yield,
The bravest of the giant train
Have fallen by the Vánars slain.
Hence comes my fear. O fierce and brave,
Go forth, our threatened Lanká save.
Go forth, a dreadful vengeance take:
For this, O chief, I bade thee wake.
The Gods and trembling fiends have felt
The furious blows thine arm has dealt.
Earth has no warrior, heaven has none
To match thy might, Paulastya's son.”
Canto LXIII. Kumbhakarna's Boast.

Then Kumbhakarṇa laughed aloud
And cried; “O Monarch, once so proud,
We warned thee, but thou wouldst not hear;
And now the fruits of sin appear.
We warned thee, I, thy nobles, all
Who loved thee, in thy council hall.
Those sovereigns who with blinded eyes
Neglect the foe their hearts despise,
Soon, falling from their high estate
Bring on themselves the stroke of fate.
Accept at length, thy life to save,
The counsel sage Vibhishaṇ gave,
The prudent counsel spurned before,
And Sítá to her lord restore.”972
The monarch frowned, by passion moved
And thus in angry words reproved:
“Wilt thou thine elder brother school,
Forgetful of the ancient rule
That bids thee treat him as the sage
Who guides thee with the lore of age?
Think on the dangers of the day,
Nor idly throw thy words away:
If, led astray, by passion stirred,
I in the pride of power have erred;
If deeds of old were done amiss,
No time for vain reproach is this.
Up, brother; let thy loving care
The errors of thy king repair.”
To calm his wrath, his soul to ease,
The younger spake in words like these:
“Yea, from our bosoms let us cast
All idle sorrow for the past.
Let grief and anger be repressed:
Again be firm and self-possessed.
This day, O Monarch, shalt thou see
The Vánar legions turn and flee,
And Ráma and his brother slain
With their hearts' blood shall dye the plain.
Yea, if the God who rules the dead,
And Varuṇ their battalions led;
If Indra with the Storm-Gods came
Against me, and the Lord of Flame,
Still would I fight with all and slay
Thy banded foes, my King, to-day.
If Raghu's son this day withstand
The blow of mine uplifted hand,
Deep in his breast my darts shall sink,
And torrents of his life-blood drink.
O fear not, in my promise trust:
This arm shall lay him in the dust,
Shall leave the fierce Sugríva dyed
With gore, and Lakshmaṇ by his side,
And strike the great Hanúmán down,
The spoiler of our glorious town.”973
[pg 474]
Canto LXIV. Mahodar's Speech.

He ceased: and when his lips were closed
Mahodar thus his rede opposed:
“Why wilt thou shame thy noble birth
And speak like one of little worth?
Why boast thee thus in youthful pride
Rejecting wisdom for thy guide?
How will thy single arm oppose
The victor of a thousand foes,
Who proved in Janasthán his might
And slew the rovers of the night?
The remnant of those legions, they
Who saw his power that fatal day,
Now in this leaguered city dread
The mighty chief from whom they fled.
And wouldst thou meet the lord of men,
Beard the great lion in his den,
And, when thine eyes are open, break
The slumber of a deadly snake?
Who may an equal battle wage
With him, so awful in his rage,
Fierce as the God of Death whom none
May vanquish, Daśaratha's son?
But, Rávaṇ, shall the lady still
Refuse compliance with thy will?
No, listen, King, to this design
Which soon shall make the captive thine.
This day through Lanká's streets proclaim
That four of us974 of highest fame
With Kumbhakarṇa at our head
Will strike the son of Raghu dead.
Forth to the battle will we go
And prove our prowess on the foe.
Then, if our bold attempt succeed,
No further plans thy hopes will need.
But if in vain our warriors strive,
And Raghu's son be left alive,
We will return, and, wounded sore,
Our armour stained with gouts of gore,
Will show the shafts that rent each frame,
Keen arrows marked with Ráma's name,
And say we giants have devoured
The princes whom our might o'erpowered.
Then let the joyful tidings spread
That Raghu's royal sons are dead.
To all around thy pleasure show,
Gold, pearls, and precious robes, bestow.
Gay garlands round the portals twine,
Enjoy the banquet and the wine.
Then go, the scornful lady seek,
And woo her when her heart is weak.
Rich robes and gold and gems display,
And gently wile her grief away.
Then will she feel her hopeless state,
Widowed, forlorn, and desolate;
Know that on thee her bliss depends,
Far from her country and her friends;
Then, her proud spirit overthrown,
The lady will be all thine own.”
Canto LXV. Kumbhakarna's Speech.

But haughty Kumbhakarṇa spurned
His counsel, and to Rávaṇ turned:
“Thy life from peril will I free
And slay the foe who threatens thee.
A hero never vaunts in vain,
Like bellowing clouds devoid of rain,
Nor, Monarch, be thine ear inclined
To counsellors of slavish kind,
Who with mean arts their king mislead
And mar each gallant plan and deed.
O, let not words like his beguile
The glorious king of Lanká's isle.”
Thus scornful Kumbhakarṇa cried,
And Rávaṇ with a laugh replied:
“Mahodar fears and fain would shun
The battle with Ikshváku's son.
Of all my giant warriors, who
Is strong as thou, and brave and true?
Ride, conqueror, to the battle ride,
And tame the foeman's senseless pride.
Go forth like Yáma to the field,
And let thine arm thy trident wield.
Scared by the lightning of thine eye
The Vánar hosts will turn and fly;
And Ráma, when he sees thee near,
With trembling heart will own his fear.”
The champion heard, and, well content,
Forth from the hall his footsteps bent.
He grasped his spear, the foeman's dread,
Black iron all, both shaft and head,
Which, dyed in many a battle, bore
Great spots of slaughtered victims' gore.
The king upon his neck had thrown
The jewelled chain which graced his own.
And garlands of delicious scent
About his limbs for ornament.
Around his arms gay bracelets clung,
And pendants in his ears were hung.
Adorned with gold, about his waist
His coat of mail was firmly braced,
And like Náráyaṇ975 or the God
Who rules the sky he proudly trod.
Behind him went a mighty throng
Of giant warriors tall and strong,
[pg 475]
On elephants of noblest breeds.
With cars, with camels, and with steeds:
And, armed with spear and axe and sword
Were fain to battle for their lord.976
Canto LXVI. Kumbhakarna's Sally.

In pomp and pride of warlike state
The giant passed the city gate.
He raised his voice: the hills, the shore
Of Lanká's sea returned the roar.
The Vánars saw the chief draw nigh
Whom not the ruler of the sky,
Nor Yáma, monarch of the dead,
Might vanquish, and affrighted fled.
When royal Angad, Báli's son,
Saw the scared Vánars turn and run,
Undaunted still he kept his ground,
And shouted as he gazed around:
“O Nala, Níla, stay nor let
Your souls your generous worth forget,
O Kumud and Gaváksha, why
Like base-born Vánars will ye fly?
Turn, turn, nor shame your order thus:
This giant is no match for us”
They heard his voice: the flight was stayed;
Again for war they stood arrayed,
And hurled upon the foe a shower
Of mountain peaks and trees in flower.
Still on his limbs their missiles rained:
Unmoved, their blows he still sustained,
And seemed unconscious of the stroke
When rocks against his body broke.
Fierce as the flame when woods are dry
He charged with fury in his eye.
Like trees consumed with fervent heat
They fell beneath the giant's feet.
Some o'er the ground, dyed red with gore,
Fled wild with terror to the shore,
And, deeming that all hope was lost,
Ran to the bridge they erst had crossed.
Some clomb the trees their lives to save,
Some sought the mountain and the cave;
Some hid them in the bosky dell,
And there in deathlike slumber fell.
When Angad saw the chieftains fly
He called them with a mighty cry:
“Once more, O Vánars, charge once more,
On to the battle as before.
In all her compass earth has not,
To hide you safe, one secret spot.
What! leave your arms? each nobler dame
Will scorn her consort for the shame.
This blot upon your names efface,
And keep your valour from disgrace.
Stay, chieftains; wherefore will ye run,
A band of warriors scared by one?”
Scarce would they hear: they would not stay,
And basely spoke in wild dismay:
“Have we not fought, and fought in vain
Have we not seen our mightiest slain?
The giant's matchless force we fear,
And fly because our lives are dear.”
But Báli's son with gentle art
Dispelled their dread and cheered each heart.
They turned and formed and waited still
Obedient to the prince's will.
Canto LXVII. Kumbhakarna's Death.

Thus from their flight the Vánars turned,
And every heart for battle burned,
Determined on the spot to die
Or gain a warrior's meed on high.
Again the Vánars stooped to seize
Their weapons, rocks and fallen trees;
Again the deadly fight began,
And fiercely at the giant ran.
Unmoved the monster kept his place:
He raised on high his awful mace,
Whirled the huge weapon round his head
And laid the foremost Vánars dead.
Eight thousand fell bedewed with gore,
Then sank and died seven hundred more.
Then thirty, twenty, ten, or eight
At each fierce onset met their fate,
And fast the fallen were devoured
Like snakes by Garuḍ's beak o'erpowered.
Then Dwivid from the Vánar van,
Armed with an uptorn mountain, ran,
Like a huge cloud when fierce winds blow,
And charged amain the mountain foe.
With wondrous force the hill he threw:
O'er Kumbhakarṇa's head it flew,
And falling on his host afar
Crushed many a giant, steed, and car.
Rocks, trees, by fierce Hanúmán sped,
Rained fast on Kumbhakarṇa's head.
Whose spear each deadlier missile stopped,
And harmless on the plain it dropped.
[pg 476]
Then with his furious eyes aglow
The giant rushed upon the foe,
Where, with a woody hill upheaved,
Hanúmán's might his charge received.
Through his vast frame the giant felt
The angry blow Hanúmán dealt.
He reeled a moment, sore distressed,
Then smote the Vánar on the breast,
As when the War-God's furious stroke
Through Krauncha's hill a passage broke.977
Fierce was the blow, and deep and wide
The rent: with crimson torrents dyed,
Hanúmán, maddened by the pain,
Roared like a cloud that brings the rain,
And from each Rákshas throat rang out
Loud clamour and exultant shout.
Then Níla hurled with mustered might
The fragment of a mountain height;
Nor would the rock the foe have missed,
But Kumbhakarṇa raised his fist
And smote so fiercely that the mass
Fell crushed to powder on the grass.
Five chieftains of the Vánar race978
Charged Kumbhakarṇa face to face,
And his huge frame they wildly beat
With rocks and trees and hands and feet.
Round Rishabh first the giant wound
His arms and hurled him to the ground,
Where speechless, senseless, wounded sore,
He lay his face besmeared with gore.
Then Níla with his fist he slew,
And Śarabh with his knee o'erthrew,
Nor could Gaváksha's strength withstand
The force of his terrific hand.
At Gandhamádan's eager call
Rushed thousands to avenge their fall,
Nor ceased those Vánars to assail
With knee and fist and tooth and nail.
Around his foes the giant threw
His mighty arms, and nearer drew
The captives subject to his will:
Then snatched them up and ate his fill.
There was no respite then, no pause:
Fast gaped and closed his hell-like jaws:
Yet, prisoned in that gloomy cave,
Some Vánars still their lives could save:
Some through his nostrils found a way,
Some through his ears resought the day.
Like Indra with his thunder, like
The God of Death in act to strike,
The giant seized his ponderous spear,
And charged the foe in swift career.
Before his might the Vánars fell,
Nor could their hosts his charge repel.
Then trembling, nor ashamed to run,
They turned and fled to Raghu's son.
When Báli's warrior son979 beheld
Their flight, his heart with fury swelled.
He rushed, with his terrific shout,
To meet the foe and stay the rout.
He came, he hurled a mountain peak,
And smote the giant on the cheek.
His ponderous spear the giant threw:
Fierce was the cast, the aim was true;
But Angad, trained in war and tried,
Saw ere it came, and leapt aside.
Then with his open hand he smote
The giant on the chest and throat.
That blow the giant scarce sustained;
But sense and strength were soon regained.
With force which nothing might resist
He caught the Vánar by the wrist,
Whirled him, as if in pastime, round,
And dashed him senseless on the ground.
There low on earth his foe lay crushed:
At King Sugríva next he rushed,
Who, waiting for the charge, stood still,
And heaved on high a shattered hill,
He looked on Kumbhakarṇa dyed
With streams of blood, and fiercely cried:
“Great glory has thine arm achieved,
And thousands of their lives bereaved.
Now leave a while thy meaner foes,
And brook the hill Sugríva throws.”
He spoke, and hurled the mass he held:
The giant's chest the stroke repelled,
Then on the Vánars fell despair,
And Rákshas clamour filled the air.
The giant raised his arm, and fast
Came the tremendous980 spear he cast.
Hanúmán caught it as it flew,
And knapped it on his knee in two.
The giant saw the broken spear:
His clouded eye confessed his fear;
Yet at Sugríva's head he sent
A peak from Lanká's mountain rent.
[pg 477]
The rushing mass no might could stay:
Sugríva fell and senseless lay.
The giant stooped his foe to seize,
And bore him thence, as bears the breeze
A cloud in autumn through the sky.
He heard the sad Immortals sigh,
And shouts of triumph long and loud
Went up from all the Rákshas crowd.
Through Lanká's gate the giant passed
Holding his struggling captive fast,
While from each terrace, house, and tower
Fell on his haughty head a shower
Of fragrant scent and flowery rain,
Blossoms and leaves and scattered grain.981
By slow degrees the Vánars' lord
Felt life and sense and strength restored.
He heard the giants' joyful boast:
He thought upon his Vánar host.
His teeth and feet he fiercely plied,
And bit and rent the giant's side,
Who, mad with pain and smeared with gore,
Hurled to the ground the load he bore.
Regardless of a storm of blows
Swift to the sky the Vánar rose,
Then lightly like a flying ball
High overleapt the city wall,
And joyous for deliverance won
Regained the side of Raghu's son.
And Kumbhakarṇa, mad with hate
And fury, sallied from the gate,
The carnage of the foe renewed
And filled his maw with gory food.
Slaying, with headlong frenzy blind,
Both Vánar foes and giant kind.
Nor would Sumitrá's valiant son982
The might of Kumbhakarṇa shun,
Who through his harness felt the sting
Of keen shafts loosened from the string.
His heart confessed the warrior's power,
And, bleeding from the ceaseless shower
That smote him on the chest and side,
With words like these the giant cried:
“Well fought, well fought, Sumitrá's son;
Eternal glory hast thou won,
For thou in desperate fight hast met
The victor never conquered yet,
Whom, borne on huge Airávat's back,
E'en Indra trembles to attack.
Go, son of Queen Sumitrá, go:
Thy valour and thy strength I know.
Now all my hope and earnest will
Is Ráma in the fight to kill.
Let him beneath my weapons fall,
And I will meet and conquer all.”
The chieftain, of Sumitrá born,
Made answer as he laughed in scorn:
“Yea, thou hast won a victor's fame
From trembling Gods and Indra's shame.
There waits thee now a mightier foe
Whose prowess thou hast yet to know.
There, famous in a hundred lands,
Ráma the son of Raghu stands.”
Straight at the king the giant sped,
And earth was shaken at his tread.
His bow the hero grasped and strained,
And deadly shafts in torrents rained.
As Kumbhakarṇa felt each stroke
From his huge mouth burst fire and smoke;
His hands were loosed in mortal pain
And dropped his weapons on the plain.
Though reft of spear and sword and mace
No terror changed his haughty face.
With heavy hands he rained his blows
And smote to death a thousand foes.
Where'er the furious monster strode
While down his limbs the red blood flowed
Like torrents down a mountain's side,
Vánars and bears and giants died.
High o'er his head a rock he swung,
And the huge mass at Ráma flung.
But Ráma's arrows bright as flame
Shattered the mountain as it came.
Then Raghu's son, his eyes aglow
With burning anger, charged the foe,
And as his bow he strained and tried
With fearful clang the cord replied.
Wroth at the bowstring's threatening clang
To meet his foe the giant sprang.
High towering with enormous frame
Huge as a wood-crowned hill he came.
But Ráma firm and self-possessed
In words like these the foe addressed:
“Draw near, O Rákshas lord, draw near,
Nor turn thee from the fight in fear.
Thou meetest Ráma face to face,
Destroyer of the giant race.
Come, fight, and thou shalt feel this hour,
Laid low in death, thy conqueror's power.”
He ceased: and mad with wrath and pride
The giant champion thus replied:
“Come thou to me and thou shalt find
A foeman of a different kind.
No Khara, no Virádha,—thou
Hast met a mightier warrior now.
The strength of Kumbhakarṇa fear,
And dread the iron mace I rear
This mace in days of yore subdued
The Gods and Dánav multitude.
Prove, lion of Ikshváku's line,
Thy power upon these limbs of mine.
Then, after trial, shalt thou bleed,
And with thy flesh my hunger feed.”
He ceased: and Ráma, undismayed,
Upon his cord those arrows laid
[pg 478]
Which pierced the stately Sál trees through,
And Báli king of Vánars slew.
They flew, they smote, but smote in vain
Those mighty limbs that felt no pain.
Then Ráma sent with surest aim
The dart that bore the Wind-God's name.
The missile from the giant tore
His huge arm and the mace it bore,
Which crushed the Vánars where it fell:
And dire was Kumbhakarṇa's yell.
The giant seized a tree, and then
Rushed madly at the lord of men.
Another dart, Lord Indra's own,
To meet his furious onset thrown,
His left arm from the shoulder lopped,
And like a mountain peak it dropped.
Then from the bow of Ráma sped
Two arrows, each with crescent head;
And, winged with might which naught could stay,
They cut the giant's legs away.
They fell, and awful was the sound
As those vast columns shook the ground;
And sky and sea and hill and cave
In echoing roars their answer gave.
Then from his side the hero drew
A dart that like the tempest flew—
No deadlier shaft has ever flown
Than that which Indra called his own—
Nor could the giant's mail-armed neck
The fury of the missile check.
Through skin and flesh and bone it smote
And rent asunder head and throat.
Down with the sound of thunder rolled
The head adorned with rings of gold,
And crushed to pieces in its fall
A gate, a tower, a massive wall.
Hurled to the sea the body fell:
Terrific was the ocean's swell,
Nor could swift fin and nimble leap
Save the crushed creatures of the deep.
Thus he who plagued in impious pride
The Gods and Bráhmans fought and died.
Glad were the hosts of heaven, and long
The air re-echoed with their song.983
Canto LXVIII. Rávan's Lament.

They ran to Rávaṇ in his hall
And told him of his brother's fall:
“Fierce as the God who rules the dead,
Upon the routed foe he fed;
And, victor for a while, at length
Fell slain by Ráma's matchless strength.
Now like a mighty hill in size
His mangled trunk extended lies,
And where he fell, a bleeding mass,
Blocks Lanká's gate that none may pass.”
The monarch heard: his strength gave way;
And fainting on the ground he lay.
Grieved at the giants' mournful tale,
Long, shrill was Atikáya's wail;
And Triśirás in sorrow bowed
His triple head, and wept aloud.
Mahodar, Mahápárśva shed
Hot tears and mourned their brother dead.
At length, his wandering sense restored,
In loud lament cried Lanká's lord:
“Ah chief, for might and valour famed,
Whose arm the haughty foeman tamed,
Forsaking me, thy friends and all,
Why hast thou fled to Yáma's hall?
Why hast thou fled to taste no more
The slaughtered foeman's flesh and gore?
Ah me, my life is done to-day:
My better arm is lopped away.
Whereon in danger I relied,
And, fearless, Gods and fiends defied.
How could a shaft from Ráma's bow
The matchless giant overthrow,
Whose iron frame so strong of yore
The crushing bolt of Indra bore?
This day the Gods and sages meet
And triumph at their foe's defeat.
This day the Vánar chiefs will boast
And, with new ardour fired, their host
In fiercer onset will assail
Our city, and the ramparts scale.
What care I for a monarch's name,
For empire, or the Maithil dame?
What joy can power and riches give,
Or life that I should care to live,
Unless this arm in mortal fray
The slayer of my brother slay?
For me, of Kumbhakarṇa reft,
Death is the only solace left;
And I will seek, o'erwhelmed with woes,
The realm to which my brother goes.
Ah me ill-minded, not to take
His counsel when Vibhishaṇ spake
When he this evil day foretold
My foolish heart was overbold:
I drove my sage adviser hence,
And reap the fruits of mine offence.”
[pg 479]
Canto LXIX. Narántak's Death.

Pierced to the soul by sorrow's sting
Thus wailed the evil-hearted king.
Then Triśirás stood forth and cried:
“Yea, father, he has fought and died,
Our bravest: and the loss is sore:
But rouse thee, and lament no more.
Hast thou not still thy coat of mail,
Thy bow and shafts which never fail?
A thousand asses draw thy car
Which roars like thunder heard afar.
Thy valour and thy warrior skill,
Thy God-given strength, are left thee still.
Unarmed, thy matchless might subdued
The Gods and Dánav multitude.
Armed with thy glorious weapons, how
Shall Raghu's son oppose thee now?
Or, sire, within thy palace stay;
And I myself will sweep away
Thy foes, like Garuḍ when he makes
A banquet of the writhing snakes.
Soon Raghu's son shall press the plain,
As Narak984 fell by Vishṇu slain,
Or Śambar985 in rebellious pride
Who met the King of Gods986 and died.”
The monarch heard: his courage grew,
And life and spirit came anew.
Devántak and Narántak heard,
And their fierce souls with joy were stirred;
And Atikáya987 burned to fight,
And heard the summons with delight;
While from the rest loud rang the cry,
“I too will fight,” “and I,” “and I.”
The joyous king his sons embraced,
With gold and chains and jewels graced,
And sent them forth with stirring speech
Of benison and praise to each.
Forth from the gate the princes sped
And ranged for war the troops they led.
The Vánar legions charged anew,
And trees and rocks for missiles flew.
They saw Narántak's mighty form
Borne on a steed that mocked the storm.
To check his charge in vain they strove:
Straight through their host his way he clove,
As springs a dolphin through the tide:
And countless Vánars fell and died,
And mangled limbs and corpses lay
To mark the chief's ensanguined way,
Sugríva saw them fall or fly
When fierce Narántak's steed was nigh,
And marked the giant where he sped
O'er heaps of dying or of dead.
He bade the royal Angad face
That bravest chief of giant race.
As springs the sun from clouds dispersed,
So Angad from the Vánars burst.
No weapon for the fight he bore
Save nails and teeth, and sought no more.
“Leave, giant chieftain,” thus he spoke,
“Leave foes unworthy of thy stroke,
And bend against a nobler heart
The terrors of thy deadly dart.”
Narántak heard the words he spake:
Fast breathing, like an angry snake,
With bloody teeth his lips he pressed
And hurled his dart at Angad's breast.
True was the aim and fierce the stroke,
Yet on his breast the missile broke.
Then Angad at the giant flew,
And with a blow his courser slew:
The fierce hand crushed through flesh and bone,
And steed and rider fell o'erthrown.
Narántak's eyes with fury blazed:
His heavy hand on high he raised
And struck in savage wrath the head
Of Báli's son, who reeled and bled,
Fainted a moment and no more:
Then stronger, fiercer than before
Smote with that fist which naught could stay,
And crushed to death the giant lay.
Canto LXX. The Death Of Trisirás.

Then raged the Rákshas chiefs, and all
Burned to avenge Narántak's fall.
Devántak raised his club on high
And rushed at Angad with a cry.
Behind came Triśirás, and near
Mahodar charged with levelled spear.
There Angad stood to fight with three:
High o'er his head he waved a tree,
And at Devántak, swift and true
As Indra's flaming bolt, it flew.
But, cut by giant shafts in twain,
With minished force it flew in vain.
A shower of trees and blocks of stone
From Angad's hand was fiercely thrown;
But well his club Devántak plied
And turned each rock and tree aside.
Nor yet, by three such foes assailed,
[pg 480]
The heart of Angad sank or quailed.
He slew the mighty beast that bore
Mahodar: from his head he tore
A bleeding tusk, and blow on blow
Fell fiercely on his Rákshas foe.
The giant reeled, but strength regained,
And furious strokes on Angad rained,
Who, wounded by the storm of blows,
Sank on his knees, but swiftly rose.
Then Triśirás, as up he sprang,
Drew his great bow with awful clang,
And fixed three arrows from his sheaf
Full in the forehead of the chief.
Hanúmán saw, nor long delayed
To speed with Níla to his aid,
Who at the three-faced giant sent
A peak from Lanká's mountain rent.
But Triśirás with certain aim
Shot rapid arrows as it came:
And shivered by their force it broke
And fell to earth with flash and smoke.
Then as the Wind-God's son came nigh,
Devántak reared his mace on high.
Hanúmán smote him on the head
And stretched the monstrous giant dead.
Fierce Triśirás with fury strained
His bow, and showers of arrows rained
That smote on Níla's side and chest:
He sank a moment, sore distressed;
But quickly gathered strength to seize
A mountain with its crown of trees.
Crushed by the hill, distained with gore,
Mahodar fell to rise no more.
Then Triśirás raised high his spear
Which chilled the trembling foe with fear
And, like a flashing meteor through
The air at Hanúmán it flew.
The Vánar shunned the threatened stroke,
And with strong hands the weapon broke.
The giant drew his glittering blade:
Dire was the wound the weapon made
Deep in the Vánar's ample chest,
Who, for a moment sore oppressed,
Raised his broad hand, regaining might,
And struck the rover of the night.
Fierce was the blow: with one wild yell
Low on the earth the monster fell.
Hanúmán seized his fallen sword
Which served no more its senseless lord,
And from the monster triple-necked
Smote his huge heads with crowns bedecked.
Then Mahápárśva burned with ire;
Fierce flashed his eyes with vengeful fire.
A moment on the dead he gazed,
Then his black mace aloft was raised,
And down the mass of iron came
That struck and shook the Vánar's frame.
Hanúmán's chest was wellnigh crushed,
And from his mouth red torrents gushed:
Yet served one instant to restore
His spirit: from the foe he tore
His awful mace, and smote, and laid
The giant in the dust dismayed.
Crushed were his jaws and teeth and eyes:
Breathless and still he lay as lies
A summit from a mountain rent
By him who rules the firmament.
Canto LXXI. Atikáya's Death.

But Atikáya's wrath grew high
To see his noblest kinsmen die.
He, fiercest of the giant race,
Presuming still on Brahmá's grace;
Proud tamer of the Immortals' pride,
Whose power and might with Indra's vied,
For blood and vengeful carnage burned,
And on the foe his fury turned.
High on a car that flashed and glowed
Bright as a thousand suns he rode.
Around his princely brows was set
A rich bejewelled coronet.
Gold pendants in his ears he wore;
He strained and tried the bow he bore,
And ever, as a shaft he aimed,
His name and royal race proclaimed.
Scarce might the Vánars brook to hear
His clanging bow and voice of fear:
To Raghu's elder son they fled,
Their sure defence in woe and dread.
Then Ráma bent his eyes afar
And saw the giant in his car
Fast following the flying crowd
And roaring like a rainy cloud.
He, with the lust of battle fired,
Turned to Vibhishaṇ and inquired:
“Say, who is this, of mountain size,
This archer with the lion eyes?
His car, which strikes our host with awe,
A thousand eager coursers draw.
Surrounded by the flashing spears
Which line his car, the chief appears
Like some huge cloud when lightnings play
About it on a stormy day;
And the great bow he joys to hold
Whose bended back is bright with gold,
As Indra's bow makes glad the skies,
That best of chariots glorifies.
O see the sunlike splendour flung
From the great flag above him hung,
Where, blazoned with refulgent lines,
Ráhu988 the dreadful Dragon shines.
Full thirty quivers near his side,
His car with shafts is well supplied:
[pg 481]
And flashing like the light of stars
Gleam his two mighty scimitars.
Say, best of giants, who is he
Before whose face the Vánars flee?”
Thus Ráma spake. Vibhishaṇ eyed
The giants' chief, and thus replied:
“This Ráma, this is Rávaṇ's son:
High fame his youthful might has won.
He, best of warriors, bows his ear
The wisdom of the wise to hear.
Supreme is he mid those who know
The mastery of sword and bow.
Unrivalled in the bold attack
On elephant's or courser's back,
He knows, beside, each subtler art,
To win the foe, to bribe, or part.
On him the giant hosts rely,
And fear no ill when he is nigh.
This peerless chieftain bears the name
Of Atikáya huge of frame,
Whom Dhanyamáliní of yore
To Rávaṇ lord of Lanká bore.”
Roused by his bow-string's awful clang,
To meet their foes the Vánars sprang.
Armed with tall trees from Lanká's wood,
And rocks and mountain peaks, they stood.
The giant's arrows, gold-bedecked,
The storm of hurtling missiles checked;
And ever on his foemen poured
Fierce tempest from his clanging cord;
Nor could the Vánar chiefs sustain
His shafts' intolerable rain.
They fled: the victor gained the place
Where stood the lord of Raghu's race,
And cried with voice of thunder: “Lo,
Borne on my car, with shaft and bow,
I, champion of the giants, scorn
To fight with weaklings humbly born.
Come forth your bravest, if he dare,
And fight with one who will not spare.”
Forth sprang Sumitrá's noble child,989
And strained his ready bow, and smiled;
And giants trembled as the clang
Through heaven and earth reëchoing rang.
The giant to his string applied
A pointed shaft, and proudly cried;
“Turn, turn, Sumitrá's son and fly,
For terrible as Death am I.
Fly, nor that youthful form oppose,
Untrained in war, to warriors' blows.
What! wilt thou waste thy childish breath
And wake the dormant fire of death?
Cast down, rash boy, that useless bow:
Preserve thy life, uninjured go.”
He ceased: and stirred by wrath & pride
Sumitrá's noble son replied:
“By warlike deed, not words alone,
The valour of the brave is shown.
Cease with vain boasts my scorn to move,
And with thine arm thy prowess prove.
Borne on thy car, with sword and bow,
With all thine arms, thy valour show.
Fight, and my deadly shafts this day
Low in the dust thy head shall lay,
And, rushing fast in ceaseless flood,
Shall rend thy flesh and drink thy blood.”
His giant foe no answer made,
But on his string an arrow laid.
He raised his arm, the cord he drew,
At Lakshmaṇ's breast the arrow flew.
Sumitrá's son, his foemen's dread,
Shot a fleet shaft with crescent head,
Which cleft that arrow pointed well,
And harmless to the earth it fell.
A shower of shafts from Lakshmaṇ's bow
Fell fast and furious on the foe
Who quailed not as the missiles smote
With idle force his iron coat.
Then came the friendly Wind-God near,
And whispered thus in Lakshmaṇ's ear:
“Such shafts as these in vain assail
Thy foe's impenetrable mail.
A more tremendous missile try,
Or never may the giant die.
Employ the mighty spell, and aim
The weapon known by Brahmá's name.”
He ceased; Sumitrá's son obeyed:
On his great bow the shaft was laid,
And with a roar like thunder, true
As Indra's flashing bolt, it flew.
The giant poured his shafts like rain
To check its course, but all in vain.
With spear and mace and sword he tried
To turn the fiery dart aside.
Winged with a force which naught could check,
It smote the monster in the neck,
And, sundered from his shoulders, rolled
To earth his head and helm of gold.
Canto LXXII. Rávan's Speech.

The giants bent, in rage and grief,
Their eyes upon the fallen chief:
Then flying wild with fear and pale
To Rávaṇ bore the mournful tale.
He heard how Atikáya died,
Then turned him to his lords, and cried:
“Where are they now—my bravest—where,
Wise to consult and prompt to dare?
Where is Dhúmráksha, skilled to wield
All weapons in the battle field?
Akampan, and Prahasta's might,
And Kumbhakarṇa bold in fight?
These, these and many a Rákshas more,
Each master of the arms he bore,
[pg 482]
Who every foe in fight o'erthrew,
The victors none could e'er subdue,
Have perished by the might of one,
The vengeful arm of Raghu's son.
In vain I cast mine eyes around,
No match for Ráma here is found,
No chief to stand before that bow
Whose deadly shafts have caused our woe.
Now, warriors, to your stations hence;
Provide ye for the wall's defence,
And be the Aśoka garden, where
The lady lies, your special care.
Be every lane and passage barred,
Set at each gate a chosen guard.
And with your troops, where danger calls,
Be ready to defend the walls.
Each movement of the Vánars mark;
Observe them when the skies grow dark;
Be ready in the dead of night,
And ere the morning bring the light.
Taught by our loss we may not scorn
These legions of the forest-born.”
He ceased: the Rákshas lords obeyed;
Each at his post his troops arrayed:
And, torn with pangs that pierced him through
The monarch from the hall withdrew.
Canto LXXIII. Indrajít's Victory.

But Indrajít the fierce and bold
With words like these his sire consoled:
“Dismiss, O King, thy grief and dread,
And be not thus disquieted.
Against this numbing sorrow strive,
For Indrajít is yet alive;
And none in battle may withstand
The fury of his strong right hand.
This day, O sire, thine eyes shall see
The sons of Raghu slain by me.”
He ceased: he bade the king farewell:
Clear, mid the roar of drum and shell,
The clash of sword and harness rang
As to his car the warrior sprang.
Close followed by his Rákshas train
Through Lanká's gate he reached the plain.
Then down he leapt, and bade a band
Of giants by the chariot stand:
Then with due rites, as rules require,
Did worship to the Lord of Fire.
The sacred oil, as texts ordain,
With wreaths of scented flowers and grain,
Within the flame in order due,
That mightiest of the giants threw.
There on the ground were spear and blade,
And arrowy leaves and fuel laid;
An iron ladle deep and wide,
And robes with sanguine colours dyed.
Beside him stood a sable goat:
The giant seized it by the throat,
And straight from the consuming flame
Auspicious signs of victory came.
For swiftly, curling to the right,
The fire leapt up with willing light
Undimmed by smoky cloud, and, red
Like gold, upon the offering fed.
They brought him, while the flame yet glowed,
The dart by Brahmá's grace bestowed,
And all the arms he wielded well
Were charmed with text and holy spell.
Then fiercer for the fight he burned,
And at the foe his chariot turned,
While all his followers lifting high
Their maces charged with furious cry.
Dire, yet more dire the battle grew,
As rocks and trees and arrows flew.
The giant shot his shafts like rain,
And Vánars fell in myriads slain,
Sugríva, Angad, Níla felt
The wounds his hurtling arrows dealt.
His shafts the blood of Gaya drank;
Hanúmán reeled and Mainda sank.
Bright as the glances of the sun
Came the swift darts they could not shun.
Caught in the arrowy nets he wove,
In vain the sons of Raghu strove;
And Ráma, by the darts oppressed,
His brother chieftain thus addressed:
“See, first this giant warrior sends
Destruction, mid our Vánar friends,
And now his arrows thick and fast
Their binding net around us cast.
To Brahmá's grace the chieftain owes
The matchless power and might he shows;
And mortal strength in vain contends
With him whom Brahmá's self befriends.
Then let us still with dauntless hearts
Endure this storm of pelting darts.
Soon must we sink bereaved of sense;
And then the victor, hurrying hence,
Will seek his father in his hall
And tell him of his foemen's fall.”
He ceased: o'erpowered by shaft and spell
The sons of Raghu reeled and fell.
The Rákshas on their bodies gazed;
And, mid the shouts his followers raised,
Sped back to Lanká to relate
In Rávaṇ's hall the princes' fate.
Canto LXXIV. The Medicinal Herbs.

The shades of falling night concealed
The carnage of the battle field,
[pg 483]
Which, bearing each a blazing brand,
Hanúmán and Vibhishaṇ scanned,
Moving with slow and anxious tread
Among the dying and the dead.
Sad was the scene of slaughter shown
Where'er the torches' light was thrown.
Here mountain forms of Vánars lay
Whose heads and limbs were lopped away,
Arms, legs and fingers strewed the ground,
And severed heads lay thick around.
The earth was moist with sanguine streams,
And sighs were heard and groans and screams.
There lay Sugríva still and cold,
There Angad, once so brave and bold.
There Jámbaván his might reposed,
There Vegadarśí's eyes were closed;
There in the dust was Nala's pride,
And Dwivid lay by Mainda's side.
Where'er they looked the ensanguined plain
Was strewn with myriads of the slain;990
They sought with keenly searching eyes
King Jámbaván supremely wise.
His strength had failed by slow decay,
And pierced with countless shafts he lay.
They saw, and hastened to his side,
And thus the sage Vibhishaṇ cried:
“Thee, monarch of the bears, we seek:
Speak if thou yet art living, speak.”
Slow came the aged chief's reply;
Scarce could he say with many a sigh:
“Torn with keen shafts which pierce each limb,
My strength is gone, my sight is dim;
Yet though I scarce can raise mine eyes,
Thy voice, O chief, I recognize.
O, while these ears can hear thee, say,
Has Hanúmán survived this day?”
“Why ask,” Vibhishaṇ cried, “for one
Of lower rank, the Wind-God's son?
Hast thou forgotten, first in place,
The princely chief of Raghu's race?
Can King Sugríva claim no care,
And Angad, his imperial heir?”
“Yea, dearer than my noblest friends
Is he on whom our hope depends.
For if the Wind-God's son survive,
All we though dead are yet alive.
But if his precious life be fled
Though living still we are but dead:
He is our hope and sure relief.”
Thus slowly spoke the aged chief:
Then to his side Hanúmán came,
And with low reverence named his name.
Cheered by the face he longed to view
The wounded chieftain lived anew.
“Go forth,” he cried, “O strong and brave,
And in their woe the Vánars save.
No might but thine, supremely great,
May help us in our lost estate.
The trembling bears and Vánars cheer,
Calm their sad hearts, dispel their fear.
Save Raghu's noble sons, and heal
The deep wounds of the winged steel.
High o'er the waters of the sea
To far Himálaya's summits flee.
Kailása there wilt thou behold,
And Rishabh, with his peaks of gold.
Between them see a mountain rise
Whose splendour will enchant thine eyes;
His sides are clothed above, below,
With all the rarest herbs that grow.
Upon that mountain's lofty crest
Four plants, of sovereign powers possessed,
Spring from the soil, and flashing there
Shed radiance through the neighbouring air.
One draws the shaft: one brings again
The breath of life to warm the slain;
One heals each wound; one gives anew
To faded cheeks their wonted hue.
Fly, chieftain, to that mountain's brow
And bring those herbs to save us now.”
Hanúmán heard, and springing through
The air like Vishṇu's discus991 flew.
The sea was passed: beneath him, gay
With bright-winged birds, the mountains lay,
And brook and lake and lonely glen,
And fertile lands with toiling men.
On, on he sped: before him rose
The mansion of perennial snows.
There soared the glorious peaks as fair
As white clouds in the summer air.
Here, bursting from the leafy shade,
In thunder leapt the wild cascade.
He looked on many a pure retreat
Dear to the Gods' and sages' feet:
The spot where Brahmá dwells apart,
The place whence Rudra launched his dart;992
Vishṇu's high seat and Indra's home,
And slopes where Yáma's servants roam.
There was Kuvera's bright abode;
There Brahmá's mystic weapon glowed.
There was the noble hill whereon
[pg 484]
Those herbs with wondrous lustre shone,
And, ravished by the glorious sight,
Hanúmán rested on the height.
He, moving down the glittering peak,
The healing herbs began to seek:
But, when he thought to seize the prize,
They hid them from his eager eyes.
Then to the hill in wrath he spake:
“Mine arm this day shall vengeance take,
If thou wilt feel no pity, none,
In this great need of Raghu's son.”
He ceased: his mighty arms he bent
And from the trembling mountain rent
His huge head with the life it bore,
Snakes, elephants, and golden ore.
O'er hill and plain and watery waste
His rapid way again he traced.
And mid the wondering Vánars laid
His burthen through the air conveyed,
The wondrous herbs' delightful scent
To all the host new vigour lent.
Free from all darts and wounds and pain
The sons of Raghu lived again,
And dead and dying Vánars healed
Rose vigorous from the battle field.
Canto LXXV. The Night Attack.

Sugríva spake in words like these:
“Now, Vánar lords, the occasion seize.
For now, of sons and brothers reft,
To Rávaṇ little hope is left:
And if our host his gates assail
His weak defence will surely fail.”
At dead of night the Vánar bands
Rushed on with torches in their hands.
Scared by the coming of the host
Each giant warder left his post.
Where'er the Vánar legions came
Their way was marked with hostile flame
That spread in fury to devour
Palace and temple, gate and tower.
Down came the walls and porches, down
Came stately piles that graced the town.
In many a house the fire was red,
On sandal wood and aloe fed.
And scorching flames in billows rolled
O'er diamonds and pearls and gold.
On cloth of wool, on silk brocade,
On linen robes their fury preyed.
Wheels, poles and yokes were burned, and all
The coursers' harness in the stall;
And elephants' and chariots' gear,
The sword, the buckler, and the spear.
Scared by the crash of falling beams,
Mid lamentations, groans and screams,
Forth rushed the giants through the flames
And with them dragged bewildered dames,
Each, with o'erwhelming terror wild,
Still clasping to her breast a child.
The swift fire from a cloud of smoke
Through many a gilded lattice broke,
And, melting pearl and coral, rose
O'er balconies and porticoes.
The startled crane and peacock screamed
As with strange light the courtyard gleamed,
And fierce unusual glare was thrown
On shrinking wood and heated stone.
From burning stall and stable freed
Rushed frantic elephant and steed,
And goaded by the driving blaze
Fled wildly through the crowded ways.
As earth with fervent heat will glow
When comes her final overthrow;
From gate to gate, from court to spire
Proud Lanká was one blaze of fire,
And every headland, rock and bay
Shone bright a hundred leagues away.
Forth, blinded by the heat and flame
Ran countless giants huge of frame;
And, mustering for fierce attack,
The Vánars charged to drive them back,
While shout and scream and roar and cry
Reëchoed through the earth and sky.
There Ráma stood with strength renewed,
And ever, as the foe he viewed,
Shaking the distant regions rang
His mighty bow's tremendous clang.
Then through the gates Nikumbha hied,
And Kumbha by his brother's side,
Sent forth—the bravest and the best—
To battle by the king's behest.
There fought the chiefs in open field,
And Angad fell and Dwivid reeled.
Sugríva saw: by rage impelled
He crushed the bow which Kumbha held.
About his foe Sugríva wound
His arms, and, heaving from the ground
The giant hurled him o'er the bank;
And deep beneath the sea he sank.
Like mandar hill with furious swell
Up leapt the waters where he fell.
Again he rose: he sprang to land
And raised on high his threatening hand:
Full on Sugríva's chest it came
And shook the Vánar's massy frame,
But on the wounded bone he broke
His wrist—so furious was the stroke.
With force that naught could stay or check,
Sugríva smote him neath the neck.
The fierce blow crashed through flesh and bone
And Kumbha lay in death o'erthrown.
Nikumbha saw his brother die,
And red with fury flashed his eye.
He dashed with mighty sway and swing
[pg 485]
His axe against the Vánar king;
But shattered on that living rock
It split in fragments at the shock.
Sugríva, rising to the blow,
Raised his huge hand and smote his foe.
And in the dust the giant lay
Gasping in blood his soul away.
[I have briefly despatched Kumbha and Nikumbha, each of whom has in the text a long Canto to himself. When they fall Rávaṇ sends forth Makaráksha or Crocodile-Eye, the son of Khara who was slain by Ráma in the forest before the abduction of Sítá. The account of his sallying forth, of his battle with Ráma and of his death by the fiery dart of that hero occupies two Cantos which I entirely pass over. Indrajít again comes forth and, rendered invisible by his magic art slays countless Vánars with his unerring arrows. He retires to the city and returns bearing in his chariot an effigy of Sítá, the work of magic, weeping and wailing by his side. He grasps the lovely image by the hair and cuts it down with his scimitar in the sight of the enraged Hanúmán and all the Vánar host. At last after much fighting of the usual kind Indrajít's chariot is broken in pieces, his charioteer is slain, and he himself falls by Lakshmaṇ's hand, to the inexpressible delight of the high-souled saints, the nymphs of heaven and other celestial beings.]

Canto XCIII. Rávan's Lament.

They sought the king, a mournful train,
And cried, “My lord, thy son is slain.
By Lakshmaṇ's hand, before these eyes,
The warrior fell no more to rise.
No time is this for vain regret:
Thy hero son a hero met;
And he whose might in battle pressed
Lord Indra and the Gods confessed,
Whose power was stranger to defeat,
Has gained in heaven a blissful seat.”
The monarch heard the mournful tale:
His heart was faint, his cheek was pale;
His fleeting sense at length regained,
In trembling tones he thus complained:
“Ah me, my son, my pride: the boast
And glory of the giant host.
Could Lakshmaṇ's puny might defeat
The foe whom Indra feared to meet?
Could not thy deadly arrows split
Proud Mandar's peaks, O Indrajít,
And the Destroyer's self destroy?
And wast thou conquered by a boy?
I will not weep: thy noble deed
Has blessed thee with immortal meed
Gained by each hero in the skies
Who fighting for his sovereign dies.
Now, fearless of all meaner foes,
The guardian Gods993 will taste repose:
But earth to me, with hill and plain,
Is desolate, for thou art slain.
Ah, whither hast thou fled, and left
Thy mother, Lanká, me bereft;
Left pride and state and wives behind,
And lordship over all thy kind?
I fondly hoped thy hand should pay
Due honours on my dying day:
And couldst thou, O beloved, flee
And leave thy funeral rites to me?
Life has no comfort left me, none,
O Indrajít my son, my son.”
Thus wailed he broken by his woes:
But swift the thought of vengeance rose.
In awful wrath his teeth he gnashed,
And from his eyes red lightning flashed.
Hot from his mouth came fire and smoke,
As thus the king in fury spoke:
“Through many a thousand years of yore
The penance and the pain I bore,
And by fierce torment well sustained
The highest grace of Brahmá gained,
His plighted word my life assured,
From Gods of heaven and fiends secured.
He armed my limbs with burnished mail
Whose lustre turns the sunbeams pale,
In battle proof gainst heavenly bands
With thunder in their threatening hands.
Armed in this mail myself will go
With Brahmá's gift my deadly bow,
And, cleaving through the foes my way,
The slayers of my son will slay.”
Then, by his grief to frenzy wrought,
The captive in the grove he sought.
Swift through the shady path he sped:
Earth trembled at his furious tread.
Fierce were his eyes: his monstrous hand
Held drawn for death his glittering brand.
[pg 486]
There weeping stood the Maithil dame:
She shuddered as the giant came.
Near drew the rover of the night
And raised his sword in act to smite;
But, by his nobler heart impelled,
One Rákshas lord his arm withheld:
“Wilt thou, great Monarch,” thus he cried,
“Wilt thou, to heavenly Gods allied,
Blot for all time thy glorious fame,
The slayer of a gentle dame?
What! shall a woman's blood be spilt
To stain thee with eternal guilt,
Thee deep in all the Veda's lore?
Far be the thought for evermore.
Ah look, and let her lovely face
This fury from thy bosom chase.”
He ceased: the prudent counsel pleased
The monarch, and his wrath appeased;
Then to his council hall in haste
The giant lord his steps retraced.
[I omit two Cantos in the first of which Ráma with an enchanted Gandharva weapon deals destruction among the Rákshases sent out by Rávaṇ, and in the second the Rákshas dames lament the slain and mourn over the madness of Rávaṇ.]

Canto XCVI. Rávan's Sally.

The groans and cries of dames who wailed
The ears of Lanká's lord assailed,
For from each house and home was sent
The voice of weeping and lament.
In troubled thought his head he bowed,
Then fiercely loosing on the crowd
Of nobles near his throne he broke
The silence, and in fury spoke:
“This day my deadly shafts shall fly,
And Raghu's sons shall surely die.
This day shall countless Vánars bleed
And dogs and kites and vultures feed.
Go, bid them swift my car prepare,
Bring the great bow I long to bear:
And let my host with sword and shield
And spear be ready for the field.”
From street to street the captains passed
And Rákshas warriors gathered fast.
With spear and sword to pierce and strike,
And axe and club and mace and pike.
[I omit several weapons for which I cannot find distinctive names, and among them the Sataghní or Centicide, supposed by some to be a kind of fire-arms or rocket, but described by a commentator on the Mahábhárata as a stone or cylindrical piece of wood studded with iron spikes.]

Then Rávaṇ's warrior chariot994 wrought
With gold and rich inlay was brought.
Mid tinkling bells and weapons' clang
The monarch on the chariot sprang,
Which, decked with gems of every hue,
Eight steeds of noble lineage drew.
Mid roars of drum and shell rang out
From countless throats a joyful shout.
As, girt with hosts in warlike pride,
Through Lanká's streets the tyrant hied.
Still, louder than the roar of drums,
Went up the cry “He comes, he comes,
Our ever conquering lord who trod
Beneath his feet both fiend and God.”
On to the gate the warriors swept
Where Raghu's sons their station kept.
When Rávaṇ's car the portal passed
The sun in heaven was overcast.
Earth rocked and reeled from side to side
And birds with boding voices cried.
Against the standard of the king
A vulture flapped his horrid wing.
Big gouts of blood before him dropped,
His trembling steeds in terror stopped.
The hue of death was on his cheek,
And scarce his flattering tongue could speak,
When, terrible with flash and flame,
Through murky air a meteor came.
Still by the hand of Death impelled
His onward way the giant held.
The Vánars in the field afar
Heard the loud thunder of his car.
And turned with warriors' fierce delight
To meet the giant in the fight.
He came: his clanging bow he drew
And myriads of the Vánars slew.
Some through the side and heart he cleft,
Some headless on the plain were left.
Some struggling groaned with mangled thighs,
Or broken arms or blinded eyes.
[I omit Cantos XCVII, XCVIII, and XCIX, which describe in the usual way three single combats between Sugríva and Angad on the Vánar side and Virúpáksha, Mahodar, and Mahápárśva on the side of the giants. The weapons of the Vánars are trees and rocks; the giants fight with swords, axes, and bows and arrows. The details are generally the same as those of preceding duels. The giants fall, one in each Canto.]

[pg 487]
Canto C. Rávan In The Field.

The plain with bleeding limbs was spread,
And heaps of dying and of dead.
His mighty bow still Ráma strained,
And shafts upon the giants rained.
Still Angad and Sugríva, wrought
To fury, for the Vánars fought.
Crushed with huge rocks through chest and side
Mahodar, Mahápárśva died,
And Virúpáksha stained with gore
Dropped on the plain to rise no more.
When Rávaṇ saw the three o'erthrown
He cried aloud in furious tone:
“Urge, urge the car, my charioteer,
The haughty Vánars' death is near.
This very day shall end our griefs
For leaguered town and slaughtered chiefs.
Ráma the tree whose lovely fruit
Is Sítá, shall this arm uproot,—
Whose branches with protecting shade
Are Vánar lords who lend him aid.”
Thus cried the king: the welkin rang
As forth the eager coursers sprang,
And earth beneath the chariot shook
With flowery grove and hill and brook.
Fast rained his shafts: where'er he sped
The conquered Vánars fell or fled,
On rolled the car in swift career
Till Raghu's noble sons were near.
Then Ráma looked upon the foe
And strained and tried his sounding bow,
Till earth and all the region rang
Re-echoing to the awful clang.
His bow the younger chieftain bent,
And shaft on shaft at Rávaṇ sent.
He shot: but Rávaṇ little recked;
Each arrow with his own he checked,
And headless, baffled of its aim,
To earth the harmless missile came;
And Lakshmaṇ stayed his arm o'erpowered
By the thick darts the giant showered.
Fierce waxed the fight and fiercer yet,
For Rávaṇ now and Ráma met,
And each on other poured amain
The tempest of his arrowy rain.
While all the sky above was dark
With missiles speeding to their mark
Like clouds, with flashing lightning twined
About them, hurried by the wind.
Not fiercer was the wondrous fight
When Vritra fell by Indra's might.
All arts of war each foeman knew,
And trained alike, his bowstring drew.
Red-eyed with fury Lanká's king
Pressed his huge fingers on the string,
And fixed in Ráma's brows a flight
Of arrows winged with matchless flight.
Still Raghu's son endured, and bore
That crown of shafts though wounded sore.
O'er a dire dart a spell he spoke
With mystic power to aid the stroke.
In vain upon the foe it smote
Rebounding from the steelproof coat.
The giant armed his bow anew,
And wondrous weapons hissed and flew,
Terrific, deadly, swift of flight,
Beaked like the vulture and the kite,
Or bearing heads of fearful make,
Of lion, tiger, wolf and snake.995
Then Ráma, troubled by the storm
Of flying darts in every form
Shot by an arm that naught could tire,
Launched at the foe his dart of fire,
Which, sacred to the Lord of Flame,
Burnt and consumed where'er it came.
And many a blazing shaft beside
The hero to his string applied.
With fiery course of dazzling hue
Swift to the mark each missile flew,
Some flashing like a shooting star,
Some as the tongues of lightning are;
One like a brilliant plant, one
In splendour like the morning sun.
Where'er the shafts of Ráma burned
The giant's darts were foiled and turned.
Far into space his weapons fled,
But as they flew struck thousands dead.
Canto CI. Lakshman's Fall.

When Rávaṇ saw his darts repelled,
With double rage his bosom swelled.
He summoned, wroth but undismayed,
A mightier charm to lend its aid.
And, fierce as fire before the blast,
A storm of missiles thick and fast,
Spear, pike and javelin, mace and brand,
Came hurtling from the giant's hand.
But, mightier still, the arms employed
By Raghu's son their force destroyed,
And every dart fell dulled and spent
By powers the bards of heaven had lent.
With his huge mace Vibhishaṇ slew
The steeds that Rávaṇ's chariot drew.
[pg 488]
Then Rávaṇ hurled in deadly ire
A ponderous spear that flashed like fire:
But Ráma's arrows checked its way,
And harmless on the earth it lay,
The giant seized a mightier spear,
Which Death himself would shun with fear.
Vibhishaṇ with the stroke had died,
But Lakshmaṇ's hand his bowstring plied,
And flying arrows thick as hail
Smote fiercely on the giant's mail.
Then Rávaṇ turned his aim aside,
On Lakshmaṇ looked and fiercely cried:
“Thou, thou again my wrath hast braved,
And from his death Vibhishaṇ saved.
Now in his stead this spear receive
Whose deadly point thy heart shall cleave.”
He ceased: he hurled the mortal dart
By Maya forged with magic art.
The spear, with all his fury flung,
Swift, flickering like a serpent's tongue,
Adorned with many a tinkling bell,
Smote Lakshmaṇ, and the hero fell.
When Ráma saw, he heaved a sigh,
A tear one moment dimmed his eye.
But tender grief was soon repressed
And thoughts of vengeance filled his breast.
The air around him flashed and gleamed
As from his bow the arrows streamed;
And Lanká's lord, the foeman's dread,
O'erwhelmed with terror turned and fled.
Canto CII. Lakshman Healed.

But Ráma, pride of Raghu's race,
Gazed tenderly on Lakshmaṇ's face,
And, as the sight his spirit broke,
Turned to Susheṇ and sadly spoke:
“Where is my power and valour? how
Shall I have heart for battle now,
When dead before my weeping eyes
My brother, noblest Lakshmaṇ, lies?
My tears in blinding torrents flow,
My hand unnerved has dropped my bow.
The pangs of woe have blanched my cheek,
My heart is sick, my strength is weak.
Ah me, my brother! Ah, that I
By Lakshmaṇ's side might sink and die:
Life, war and conquest, all are vain
If Lakshmaṇ lies in battle slain.
Why will those eyes my glances shun?
Hast thou no word of answer, none?
Ah, is thy noble spirit flown
And gone to other worlds alone?
Couldst thou not let thy brother seek
Those worlds with thee? O speak, O speak!
Rise up once more, my brother, rise,
Look on me with thy loving eyes.
Were not thy steps beside me still
In gloomy wood, on breezy hill?
Did not thy gentle care assuage
Thy brother's grief and fitful rage?
Didst thou not all his troubles share,
His guide and comfort in despair?”
As Ráma, vanquished, wept and sighed
The Vánar chieftain thus replied:
“Great Prince, unmanly thoughts dismiss,
Nor yield thy soul to grief like this.
In vain those burning tears are shed:
Our glory Lakshmaṇ is not dead.
Death on his brow no mark has set,
Where beauty's lustre lingers yet.
Clear is the skin, and tender hues
Of lotus flowers his palms suffuse.
O Ráma, cheer thy trembling heart;
Not thus do life and body part.
Now, Hanumán, to thee I speak:
Hie hence to tall Mahodaya's996 peak
Where herbs of sovereign virtue grow
Which life and health and strength bestow
Bring thou the leaves to balm his pain,
And Lakshmaṇ shall be well again.”
He ceased: the Wind-God's son obeyed
Swift through the clouds his way he made.
He reached the hill, nor stayed to find
The wondrous herbs of healing kind,
From its broad base the mount he tore
With all the shrubs and trees it bore,
Sped through the clouds again and showed
To wise Susheṇ his woody load.997
Susheṇ in wonder viewed the hill,
And culled the sovereign salve of ill.
Soon as the healing herb he found,
The fragrant leaves he crushed and ground.
Then over Lakshmaṇ's face he bent,
Who, healed and strengthened by the scent
Of that blest herb divinely sweet,
Rose fresh and lusty on his feet.
Canto CIII. Indra's Car.

Then Raghu's son forgot his woe:
Again he grasped his fallen bow
And hurled at Lanká's lord amain
The tempest of his arrowy rain.
[pg 489]
Drawn by the steeds his lords had brought,
Again the giant turned and fought.
And drove his glittering chariot nigh
As springs the Day-God through the sky.
Then, as his sounding bow he bent,
Like thunderbolts his shafts were sent,
As when dark clouds in rain time shed
Fierce torrents on a mountain's head.
High on his car the giant rode,
On foot the son of Raghu strode.
The Gods from their celestial height
Indignant saw the unequal fight.
Then he whom heavenly hosts revere,
Lord Indra, called his charioteer:
“Haste, Mátali,” he cried, “descend;
To Raghu's son my chariot lend.
With cheering words the chief address;
And all the Gods thy deed will bless.”
He bowed; he brought the glorious car
Whose tinkling bells were heard afar;
Fair as the sun of morning, bright
With gold and pearl and lazulite.
He yoked the steeds of tawny hue
That swifter than the tempest flew.
Then down the slope of heaven he hied
And stayed the car by Ráma's side.
“Ascend, O Chief,” he humbly cried,
“The chariot which the Gods provide.
The mighty bow of Indra see,
Sent by the Gods who favour thee;
Behold this coat of glittering mail,
And spear and shafts which never fail.”
Cheered by the grace the Immortals showed
The chieftain on the chariot rode.
Then as the car-borne warriors met
The awful fight raged fiercer yet.
Each shaft that Rávaṇ shot became
A serpent red with kindled flame,
And round the limbs of Ráma hung
With fiery jaws and quivering tongue.
But every serpent fled dismayed
When Raghu's valiant son displayed
The weapon of the Feathered King,998
And loosed his arrows from the string.
But Rávaṇ armed his bow anew,
And showers of shafts at Ráma flew,
While the fierce king in swift career
Smote with a dart the charioteer.
An arrow shot by Rávaṇ's hand
Laid the proud banner on the sand,
And Indra's steeds of heavenly strain
Fell by the iron tempest slain.
On Gods and spirits of the air
Fell terror, trembling, and despair.
The sea's white billows mounted high
With froth and foam to drench the sky.
The sun by lurid clouds was veiled,
The friendly lights of heaven were paled;
And, fiercely gleaming, fiery Mars
Opposed the beams of gentler stars.
Then Ráma's eyes with fury blazed
As Indra's heavenly spear he raised.
Loud rang the bells: the glistering head
Bright flashes through the region shed.
Down came the spear in swift descent:
The giant's lance was crushed and bent.
Then Rávaṇ's horses brave and fleet
Fell dead beneath his arrowy sleet.
Fierce on his foeman Ráma pressed,
And gored with shafts his mighty breast.
And spouting streams of crimson dyed
The weary giant's limbs and side.
[I omit Cantos CIV and CV in which the fight is renewed and Rávaṇ severely reprimands his charioteer for timidity and want of confidence in his master's prowess, and orders him to charge straight at Ráma on the next occasion.]

Canto CVI. Glory To The Sun.

There faint and bleeding fast, apart
Stood Rávaṇ raging in his heart.
Then, moved with ruth for Ráma's sake,
Agastya999 came and gently spake:
“Bend, Ráma, bend thy heart and ear
The everlasting truth to hear
Which all thy hopes through life will bless
And crown thine arms with full success.
The rising sun with golden rays,
Light of the worlds, adore and praise:
The universal king, the lord
By hosts of heaven and fiends adored.
He tempers all with soft control,
He is the Gods' diviner soul;
And Gods above and fiends below
And men to him their safety owe.
He Brahmá, Vishṇu, Śiva, he
Each person of the glorious Three,
Is every God whose praise we tell,
The King of Heaven,1000 the Lord of Hell:1001
Each God revered from times of old,
The Lord of War,1002 the King of Gold:1003
[pg 490]
Mahendra, Time and Death is he,
The Moon, the Ruler of the Sea.1004
He hears our praise in every form,—
The manes,1005 Gods who ride the storm,1006
The Aśvins,1007 Manu,1008 they who stand
Round Indra,1009 and the Sádhyas'1010 band
He is the air, and life and fire,
The universal source and sire:
He brings the seasons at his call,
Creator, light, and nurse of all.
His heavenly course he joys to run,
Maker of Day, the golden sun.
The steeds that whirl his car are seven,1011
The flaming steeds that flash through heaven.
Lord of the sky, the conqueror parts
The clouds of night with glistering darts.
He, master of the Vedas' lore,
Commands the clouds' collected store:
He is the rivers' surest friend;
He bids the rains, and they descend.
Stars, planets, constellations own
Their monarch of the golden throne.
Lord of twelve forms,1012 to thee I bow,
Most glorious King of heaven art thou.
O Ráma, he who pays aright
Due worship to the Lord of Light
Shall never fall oppressed by ill,
But find a stay and comfort still.
Adore with all thy heart and mind
This God of Gods, to him resigned;
And thou his saving power shalt know
Victorious o'er thy giant foe.”
[This Canto does not appear in the Bengal recension. It comes in awkwardly and may I think be considered as an interpolation, but I paraphrase a portion of it as a relief after so much fighting and carnage, and as an interesting glimpse of the monotheistic ideas which underlie the Hindu religion. The hymn does not readily lend itself to metrical translation, and I have not attempted here to give a faithful rendering of the whole. A literal version of the text and the commentary given in the Calcutta edition will be found in the Additional Notes.

A canto is here omitted. It contains fighting of the ordinary kind between Ráma and Rávaṇ, and a description of sights and sounds of evil omen foreboding the destruction of the giant.]

Canto CVIII. The Battle.

He spoke, and vanished: Ráma raised
His eyes with reverence meet, and praised
The glorious Day-God full in view:
Then armed him for the fight anew.
Urged onward by his charioteer
The giant's foaming steeds came near,
And furious was the battle's din
Where each resolved to die or win.
The Rákshas host and Vánar bands
Stood with their weapons in their hands,
And watched in terror and dismay
The fortune of the awful fray.
The giant chief with rage inflamed
His darts at Ráma's pennon aimed;
But when they touched the chariot made
By heavenly hands their force was stayed.
Then Ráma's breast with fury swelled;
He strained the mighty bow he held,
And straight at Rávaṇ's banner flew
An arrow as the string he drew—
A deadly arrow swift of flight,
Like some huge snake ablaze with light,
Whose fury none might e'er repel,—
And, split in twain, the standard fell.
At Ráma's steeds sharp arrows, hot
With flames of fire, the giant shot.
Unmoved the heavenly steeds sustained
The furious shower the warrior rained,
As though soft lotus tendrils smote
Each haughty crest and glossy coat.
Then volleyed swift by magic art,
Tree, mountain peak and spear and dart,
Trident and pike and club and mace
Flew hurtling straight at Ráma's face.
But Ráma with his steeds and car
Escaped the storm which fell afar
Where the strange missiles, as they rushed
To earth, a thousand Vánars crushed.
[pg 491]
Canto CIX. The Battle.

With wondrous power and might and skill
The giant fought with Ráma still.
Each at his foe his chariot drove,
And still for death or victory strove.
The warriors' steeds together dashed,
And pole with pole reëchoing clashed.
Then Ráma launching dart on dart
Made Rávaṇ's coursers swerve and start.
Nor was the lord of Lanká slow
To rain his arrows on the foe,
Who showed, by fiery points assailed,
No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed.
Dense clouds of arrows Ráma shot
With that strong arm which rested not,
And spear and mace and club and brand
Fell in dire rain from Rávaṇ's hand.
The storm of missiles fiercely cast
Stirred up the oceans with its blast,
And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell
Below were troubled by the swell.
The earth with hill and plain and brook
And grove and garden reeled and shook:
The very sun grew cold and pale,
And horror stilled the rising gale.
God and Gandharva, sage and saint
Cried out, with grief and terror faint:
“O may the prince of Raghu's line
Give peace to Bráhmans and to kine,
And, rescuing the worlds, o'erthrow
The giant king our awful foe.”
Then to his deadly string the pride
Of Raghu's race a shaft applied.
Sharp as a serpent's venomed fang
Straight to its mark the arrow sprang,
And from the giant's body shred
With trenchant steel the monstrous head.
There might the triple world behold
That severed head adorned with gold.
But when all eyes were bent to view,
Swift in its stead another grew.
Again the shaft was pointed well:
Again the head divided fell;
But still as each to earth was cast
Another head succeeded fast.
A hundred, bright with fiery flame,
Fell low before the victor's aim,
Yet Rávaṇ by no sign betrayed
That death was near or strength decayed.
The doubtful fight he still maintained,
And on the foe his missiles rained.
In air, on earth, on plain, on hill,
With awful might he battled still;
And through the hours of night and day
The conflict knew no pause or stay.
Canto CX. Rávan's Death.

Then Mátali to Ráma cried:
“Let other arms the day decide.
Why wilt thou strive with useless toil
And see his might thy efforts foil?
Launch at the foe thy dart whose fire
Was kindled by the Almighty Sire.”
He ceased: and Raghu's son obeyed:
Upon his string the hero laid
An arrow, like a snake that hissed.
Whose fiery flight had never missed:
The arrow Saint Agastya gave
And blessed the chieftain's life to save
That dart the Eternal Father made
The Monarch of the Gods to aid;
By Brahmá's self on him bestowed
When forth to fight Lord Indra rode.
'Twas feathered with the rushing wind;
The glowing sun and fire combined
To the keen point their splendour lent;
The shaft, ethereal element,
By Meru's hill and Mandar, pride
Of mountains, had its weight supplied.
He laid it on the twisted cord,
He turned the point at Lanká's lord,
And swift the limb-dividing dart
Pierced the huge chest and cleft the heart,
And dead he fell upon the plain
Like Vritra by the Thunderer slain.
The Rákahas host when Rávaṇ fell
Sent forth a wild terrific yell,
Then turned and fled, all hope resigned,
Through Lanká's gates, nor looked behind.
His voice each joyous Vánar raised,
And Ráma, conquering Ráma, praised.
Soft from celestial minstrels came
The sound of music and acclaim.
Soft, fresh, and cool, a rising breeze
Brought odours from the heavenly trees,
And ravishing the sight and smell
A wondrous rain of blossoms fell:
And voices breathed round Raghu's son:
“Champion of Gods, well done, well done.”
Canto CXI. Vibhishan's Lament.

Vibhishaṇ saw his brother slain,
Nor could his heart its woe contain.
O'er the dead king he sadly bent
And mourned him with a loud lament:
“O hero, bold and brave,” he cried,
“Skilled in all arms, in battle tried.
Spoiled of thy crown, with limbs outspread,
[pg 492]
Why wilt thou press thy gory bed?
Why slumber on the earth's cold breast,
When sumptuous couches woo to rest?
Ah me, my brother over bold,
Thine is the fate my heart foretold:
But love and pride forbade to hear
The friend who blamed thy wild career.
Fallen is the sun who gave us light,
Our lordly moon is veiled in night.
Our beacon fire is dead and cold
A hundred waves have o'er it rolled.
What could his light and fire avail
Against Lord Ráma's arrowy hail?
Woe for the giants' royal tree,
Whose stately height was fair to see.
His buds were deeds of kingly grace,
His bloom the sons who decked his race.
With rifled bloom and mangled bough
The royal tree lies prostrate now.”
“Nay, idly mourn not,” Ráma cried,
“The warrior king has nobly died,
Intrepid hero, firm through all,
So fell he as the brave should fall;
And ill beseems it chiefs like us
To weep for those who perish thus.
Be firm: thy causeless grief restrain,
And pay the dues that yet remain.”
Again Vibhishaṇ sadly spoke:
“His was the hero arm that broke
Embattled Gods' and Indra's might,
Unconquered ere to-day in fight.
He rushed against thee, fought and fell,
As Ocean, when his waters swell,
Hurling his might against a rock,
Falls spent and shattered by the shock.
Woe for our king's untimely end,
The generous lord the trusty friend:
Our sure defence when fear arose,
A dreaded scourge to stubborn foes.
O, let the king thy hand has slain
The honours of the dead obtain.”
Then Ráma answered. “Hatred dies
When low in dust the foeman lies.
Now triumph bids the conflict cease,
And knits us in the bonds of peace.
Let funeral rites be duly paid.
And be it mine thy toil to aid.”
Canto CXII. The Rákshas Dames.

High rose the universal wail
That mourned the monarch's death, and, pale
With crushing woe, her hair unbound,
Her eyes in floods of sorrow drowned,
Forth from the inner chambers came
With trembling feet each royal dame,
Heedless of those who bade them stay
They reached the field where Rávaṇ lay;
There falling by their husband's side,
“Ah, King! ah dearest lord!” they cried.
Like creepers shattered by the storm
They threw them on his mangled form.
One to his bleeding bosom crept
And lifted up her voice and wept.
About his feet one mourner clung,
Around his neck another hung,
One on the giant's severed head,
Her pearly tears in torrents shed
Fast as the drops the summer shower
Pours down upon the lotus flower.
“Ah, he whose arm in anger reared
The King of Gods and Yáma feared,
While panic struck their heavenly train,
Lies prostrate in the battle slain.
Thy haughty heart thou wouldst not bend,
Nor listen to each wiser friend.
Ah, had the dame, as they implored,
Been yielded to her injured lord,
We had not mourned this day thy fall,
And happy had it been for all.
Then Ráma and thy friends content
In blissful peace their days had spent.
Thine injured brother had not fled,
Nor giant chiefs and Vánars bled.
Yet for these woes we will not blame.
Thy fancy for the Maithil dame,
Fate, ruthless Fate, whom none may bend
Has urged thee to thy hapless end.”
Canto CXIII. Mandodarí's Lament.

While thus they wept, supreme in place,
The loveliest for form and face,
Mandodarí drew near alone,
Looked on her lord and made her moan:
“Ah Monarch, Indra feared to stand
In fight before thy conquering hand.
From thy dread spear the Immortals ran;
And art thou murdered by a man?
Ah, 'twas no child of earth, I know,
That smote thee with that mortal blow.
'Twas Death himself in Ráma's shape,
That slew thee: Death whom none escape.
Or was it he who rules the skies
Who met thee, clothed in man's disguise?
Ah no, my lord, not Indra: he
In battle ne'er could look on thee.
One only God thy match I deem:
'Twas Vishṇu's self, the Lord Supreme,
Whose days through ceaseless time extend
And ne'er began and ne'er shall end:
He with the discus, shell, and mace,
Brought ruin on the giant race.
Girt by the Gods of heaven arrayed
Like Vánar hosts his strength to aid,
He Ráma's shape and arms assumed
[pg 493]
And slew the king whom Fate had doomed.
In Janasthán when Khara died
With giant legions by his side,
No mortal was the unconquered foe
In Ráma's form who struck the blow.
When Hanumán the Vanár came
And burnt thy town with hostile flame,
I counselled peace in anxious fear:
I counselled, but thou wouldst not hear.
Thy fancy for the foreign dame
Has brought thee death and endless shame.
Why should thy foolish fancy roam?
Hadst thou not wives as fair at home?
In beauty, form and grace could she,
Dear lord, surpass or rival me?
Now will the days of Sítá glide
In tranquil joy by Ráma's side:
And I—ah me, around me raves
A sea of woe with whelming waves.
With thee in days of old I trod
Each spot beloved by nymph and God;
I stood with thee in proud delight
On Mandar's side and Meru's height;
With thee, my lord, enchanted strayed
In Chaitraratha's1013 lovely shade,
And viewed each fairest scene afar
Transported in thy radiant car.
But source of every joy wast thou,
And all my bliss is ended now.”
Then Ráma to Vibhishaṇ cried:
“Whate'er the ritual bids, provide.
Obsequial honours duly pay,
And these sad mourners' grief allay.”
Vibhishaṇ answered, wise and true,
For duty's changeless law he knew:
“Nay one who scorned all sacred vows
And dared to touch another's spouse,
Fell tyrant of the human race,
With funeral rites I may not grace.”
Him Raghu's royal son, the best
Of those who love the law, addressed:
“False was the rover of the night,
He loved the wrong and scorned the right.
Yet for the fallen warrior plead
The dauntless heart, the valorous deed.
Let him who ne'er had brooked defeat,
The chief whom Indra feared to meet,
The ever-conquering lord, obtain
The honours that should grace the slain.”
Vibhishaṇ bade his friends prepare
The funeral rites with thoughtful care.
Himself the royal palace sought
Whence sacred fire was quickly brought,
With sandal wood and precious scents
And pearl and coral ornaments.
Wise Bráhmans, while the tears that flowed
Down their wan cheeks their sorrow sowed,
Upon a golden litter laid
The corpse in finest ropes arrayed.
Thereon were flowers and pennons hung,
And loud the monarch's praise was sung.
Then was the golden litter raised,
While holy fire in order blazed.
And first in place Vibhishaṇ led
The slow procession of the dead,
Behind, their cheeks with tears bedewed,
Came sad the widowed multitude.
Where, raised as Bráhmans ordered, stood
Piled sandal logs, and scented wood,
The body of the king was set
High on a deerskin coverlet.
Then duly to the monarch's shade
The offerings for the dead they paid,
And southward on the eastern side
An altar formed and fire supplied.
Then on the shoulder of the dead
The oil and clotted milk were shed.
All rites were done as rules ordain:
The sacrificial goat was slain.
Next on the corpse were perfumes thrown
And many a flowery wreath was strown;
And with Vibhishaṇ's ready aid
Rich vesture o'er the king was laid.
Then while the tears their cheeks bedewed
Parched grain upon the dead they strewed;
Last, to the wood, as rules require,
Vibhishaṇ set the kindling fire.
Then having bathed, as texts ordain,
To Lanká went the mourning train.
Vibhishaṇ, when his task was done,
Stood by the side of Raghu's son.
And Ráma, freed from every foe,
Unstrung at last his deadly bow,
And laid the glittering shafts aside,
And mail by Indra's love supplied.
Canto CXIV. Vibhishan Consecrated.

Joy reigned in heaven where every eye
Had seen the Lord of Lanká die.
In cars whose sheen surpassed the sun's
Triumphant rode the radiant ones:
And Rávaṇ's death, by every tongue,
And Ráma's glorious deeds were sung.
They praised the Vánars true and brave,
The counsel wise Sugríva gave.
The deeds of Hanúmán they told,
The valiant chief supremely bold,
The strong ally, the faithful friend,
And Sítá's truth which naught could bend.
To Mátali, whom Indra sent,
His head the son of Raghu bent:
And he with fiery steeds who clove
The clouds again to Swarga drove.
[pg 494]
Round King Sugríva brave and true
His arms in rapture Ráma threw,
Looked on the host with joy and pride,
And thus to noble Lakshmaṇ cried:
“Now let king-making drops be shed,
Dear brother, on Vibhishaṇ's head
For truth and friendship nobly shown,
And make him lord of Rávaṇ's throne.”
This longing of his heart he told:
And Lakshmaṇ took an urn of gold
And bade the wind-fleet Vánars bring
Sea water for the giants' king.
The brimming urn was swiftly brought:
Then on a throne superbly wrought
Vibhishaṇ sat, the giants' lord,
And o'er his brows the drops were poured.
As Raghu's son the rite beheld
His loving heart with rapture swelled:
But tenderer thoughts within him woke,
And thus to Hanúmán he spoke:
“Go to my queen: this message give:
Say Lakshmaṇ and Sugríva live.
The death of Lanká's monarch tell,
And bid her joy, for all is well.”
Canto CXV. Sítá's Joy.

The Vánar chieftain bowed his head,
Within the walls of Lanká sped,
Leave from the new-made king obtained,
And Sítá's lovely garden gained.
Beneath a tree the queen he found,
Where Rákshas warders watched around.
Her pallid cheek, her tangled hair,
Her raiment showed her deep despair,
Near and more near the envoy came
And gently hailed the weeping dame.
She started up in sweet surprise,
And sudden joy illumed her eyes.
For well the Vánar's voice she knew,
And hope reviving sprang and grew.
“Fair Queen,” he said, “our task is done:
The foe is slain and Lanká won.
Triumphant mid triumphant friends
Kind words of greeting Ráma sends.
“Blest for thy sake, O spouse most true,
My deadly foe I met and slew.
Mine eyes are strangers yet to sleep:
I built a bridge athwart the deep
And crossed the sea to Lanká's shore
To keep the mighty oath I swore.
Now, gentle love, thy cares dispel,
And weep no more, for all is well.
Fear not in Rávaṇ's house to stay
For good Vibhishaṇ now bears sway,
For constant truth and friendship known
Regard his palace as thine own.”
He greets thee thus thy heart to cheer,
And urged by love will soon be here.”
Then flushed with joy the lady's cheek.
Her eyes o'erflowed, her voice was weak;
But struggling with her sobs she broke
Her silence thus, and faintly spoke:
“So fast the flood of rapture came,
My trembling tongue no words could frame.
Ne'er have I heard in days of bliss
A tale that gave such joy as this.
More precious far than gems and gold
The message which thy lips have told.”
His reverent hands the Vánar raised
And thus the lady's answer praised:
“Sweet are the words, O Queen, which thou
True to thy lord, hast spoken now,
Better than gems and pearls of price,
Yea, or the throne of Paradise.
But, lady, ere I leave this place,
Grant me, I pray, a single grace.
Permit me, and this vengeful hand
Shall slay thy guards, this Rákshas band,
Whose cruel insult threat and scorn
Thy gentle soul too long has borne.”
Thus, stern of mood, Hanúmán cried:
The Maithil lady thus replied:
“Nay, be not wroth with servants: they,
When monarchs bid must needs obey.
And, vassals of their lords, fulfil
Each fancy of their sovereign will.
To mine own sins the blame impute,
For as we sow we reap the fruit.
The tyrant's will these dames obeyed
When their fierce threats my soul dismayed.”
She ceased: with admiration moved
The Vánar chief her words approved:
“Thy speech,” he cried, “is worthy one
Whom love has linked to Raghu's son.
Now speak, O Queen, that I may know
Thy pleasure, for to him I go.”
The Vánar ceased: then Janak's child
Made answer as she sweetly smiled:
“'My first, my only wish can be,
O chief, my loving lord to see.”
Again the Vánar envoy spoke,
And with his words new rapture woke:
“Queen, ere this sun shall cease to shine
Thy Ráma's eyes shall look in thine.
Again the lord of Raghu's race
Shall turn to thee his moon-bright face.
His faithful brother shall thou see
And every friend who fought for thee,
And greet once more thy king restored
Like Śachí1014 to her heavenly lord.”
To Raghu's son his steps he bent
And told the message that she sent.
[pg 495]
Canto CXVI. The Meeting.

He looked upon that archer chief
Whose full eye mocked the lotus leaf,
And thus the noble Vánar spake:
“Now meet the queen for whose dear sake
Thy mighty task was first begun,
And now the glorious fruit is won.
O'erwhelmed with woe thy lady lies,
The hot tears streaming from her eyes.
And still the queen must long and pine
Until those eyes be turned to thine.”
But Ráma stood in pensive mood,
And gathering tears his eyes bedewed.
His sad looks sought the ground: he sighed
And thus to King Vibhishaṇ cried:
“Let Sítá bathe and tire her head
And hither to my sight be led
In raiment sweet with precious scent,
And gay with golden ornament.”
The Rákshas king his palace sought,
And Sítá from her bower was brought.
Then Rákshas bearers tall and strong,
Selected from the menial throng,
Through Lanká's gate the queen, arrayed
In glorious robes and gems, conveyed.
Concealed behind the silken screen,
Swift to the plain they bore the queen,
While Vánars, close on every side,
With eager looks the litter eyed.
The warders at Vibhishaṇ's hest
The onward rushing throng repressed,
While like the roar of ocean loud
Rose the wild murmur of the crowd.
The son of Raghu saw and moved
With anger thus the king reproved:
“Why vex with hasty blow and threat
The Vánars, and my rights forget?
Repress this zeal, untimely shown:
I count this people as mine own.
A woman's guard is not her bower,
The lofty wall, the fenced tower:
Her conduct is her best defence,
And not a king's magnificence.
At holy rites, in war and woe,
Her face unveiled a dame may show;
When at the Maiden's Choice1015 they meet,
When marriage troops parade the street.
And she, my queen, who long has lain
In prison racked with care and pain,
May cease a while her face to hide,
For is not Ráma by her side?
Lay down the litter: on her feet
Let Sítá come her lord to meet.
And let the hosts of woodland race
Look near upon the lady's face.”
Then Lakshmaṇ and each Vánar chief
Who heard his words were filled with grief.
The lady's gentle spirit sank,
And from each eye in fear she shrank,
As, her sweet eyelids veiled for shame,
Slowly before her lord she came.
While rapture battled with surprise
She raised to his her wistful eyes.
Then with her doubt and fear she strove,
And from her breast all sorrow drove.
Regardless of the gathering crowd,
Bright as the moon without a cloud,
She bent her eyes, no longer dim,
In joy and trusting love on him.
Canto CXVII. Sítá's Disgrace.

He saw her trembling by his side,
And looked upon her face and cried:
“Lady, at length my task is done,
And thou, the prize of war, art won,
This arm my glory has retrieved,
And all that man might do achieved;
The insulting foe in battle slain
And cleared mine honour from its stain.
This day has made my name renowned
And with success my labour crowned.
Lord of myself, the oath I swore
Is binding on my soul no more.
If from my home my queen was reft,
This arm has well avenged the theft,
And in the field has wiped away
The blot that on mine honour lay.
The bridge that spans the foaming flood,
The city red with giants' blood;
The hosts by King Sugríva led
Who wisely counselled, fought and bled;
Vibhishaṇ's love, our guide and stay—
All these are crowned with fruit to-day.
But, lady, 'twas not love for thee
That led mine army o'er the sea.
'Twas not for thee our blood was shed,
Or Lanká filled with giant dead.
No fond affection for my wife
Inspired me in the hour of strife.
I battled to avenge the cause
Of honour and insulted laws.
My love is fled, for on thy fame
Lies the dark blot of sin and shame;
And thou art hateful as the light
[pg 496]
That flashes on the injured sight.
The world is all before thee: flee:
Go where thou wilt, but not with me.
How should my home receive again
A mistress soiled with deathless stain?
How should I brook the foul disgrace,
Scorned by my friends and all my race?
For Rávaṇ bore thee through the sky,
And fixed on thine his evil eye.
About thy waist his arms he threw,
Close to his breast his captive drew,
And kept thee, vassal of his power,
An inmate of his ladies' bower.”
Canto CXVIII. Sítá's Reply.

Struck down with overwhelming shame
She shrank within her trembling frame.
Each word of Ráma's like a dart
Had pierced the lady to the heart;
And from her sweet eyes unrestrained
The torrent of her sorrows, rained.
Her weeping eyes at length she dried,
And thus mid choking sobs replied:
“Canst thou, a high-born prince, dismiss
A high-born dame with speech like this?
Such words befit the meanest hind,
Not princely birth and generous mind,
By all my virtuous life I swear
I am not what thy words declare.
If some are faithless, wilt thou find
No love and truth in womankind?
Doubt others if thou wilt, but own
The truth which all my life has shown.
If, when the giant seized his prey,
Within his hated arms I lay,
And felt the grasp I dreaded, blame
Fate and the robber, not thy dame.
What could a helpless woman do?
My heart was mine and still was true,
Why when Hanúmán sent by thee
Sought Lanká's town across the sea,
Couldst thou not give, O lord of men,
Thy sentence of rejection then?
Then in the presence of the chief
Death, ready death, had brought relief,
Nor had I nursed in woe and pain
This lingering life, alas in vain.
Then hadst thou shunned the fruitless strife
Nor jeopardied thy noble life,
But spared thy friends and bold allies
Their vain and weary enterprise.
Is all forgotten, all? my birth,
Named Janak's child, from fostering earth?
That day of triumph when a maid
My trembling hand in thine I laid?
My meek obedience to thy will,
My faithful love through joy and ill,
That never failed at duty's call—
O King, is all forgotten, all?”
To Lakshmaṇ then she turned and spoke
While sobs and sighs her utterance broke:
“Sumitrá's son, a pile prepare,
My refuge in my dark despair.
I will not live to bear this weight
Of shame, forlorn and desolate.
The kindled fire my woes shall end
And be my best and surest friend.”
His mournful eyes the hero raised
And wistfully on Ráma gazed,
In whose stern look no ruth was seen,
No mercy for the weeping queen.
No chieftain dared to meet those eyes,
To pray, to question or advise.
The word was passed, the wood was piled
And fain to die stood Janak's child.
She slowly paced around her lord,
The Gods with reverent act adored,
Then raising suppliant hands the dame
Prayed humbly to the Lord of Flame:
“As this fond heart by virtue swayed
From Raghu's son has never strayed,
So, universal witness, Fire
Protect my body on the pyre,
As Raghu's son has idly laid
This charge on Sítá, hear and aid.”
She ceased: and fearless to the last
Within the flame's wild fury passed.
Then rose a piercing cry from all
Dames, children, men, who saw her fall
Adorned with gems and gay attire
Beneath the fury of the fire.
Canto CXIX. Glory To Vishnu.

The shrill cry pierced through Ráma's ears
And his sad eyes o'erflowed with tears,
When lo, transported through the sky
A glorious band of Gods was nigh.
Ancestral shades,1016 by men revered,
In venerable state appeared,
And he from whom all riches flow,1017
And Yáma Lord who reigns below:
King Indra, thousand-eyed, and he
Who wields the sceptre of the sea.1018
The God who shows the blazoned bull,1019
And Brahmá Lord most bountiful
By whose command the worlds were made
All these on radiant cars conveyed,
[pg 497]
Brighter than sun-beams, sought the place
Where stood the prince of Raghu's race,
And from their glittering seats the best
Of blessed Gods the chief addressed:
“Couldst thou, the Lord of all, couldst thou,
Creator of the worlds, allow
Thy queen, thy spouse to brave the fire
And give her body to the pyre?
Dost thou not yet, supremely wise,
Thy heavenly nature recognize?”
They ceased: and Ráma thus began:
“I deem myself a mortal man.
Of old Ikshváku's line, I spring
From Daśaratha Kośal's king.”
He ceased: and Brahmá's self replied:
“O cast the idle thought aside.
Thou art the Lord Náráyaṇ, thou
The God to whom all creatures bow.
Thou art the saviour God who wore
Of old the semblance of a boar;
Thou he whose discus overthrows
All present, past and future foes;
Thou Brahmá, That whose days extend
Without beginning, growth or end;
The God, who, bears the bow of horn,
Whom four majestic arms adorn;
Thou art the God who rules the sense
And sways with gentle influence;
Thou all-pervading Vishṇu Lord
Who wears the ever-conquering sword;
Thou art the Guide who leads aright,
Thou Krishṇa of unequalled might.
Thy hand, O Lord, the hills and plains,
And earth with all her life sustains;
Thou wilt appear in serpent form
When sinks the earth in fire and storm.
Queen Sítá of the lovely brows
Is Lakshmí thy celestial spouse.
To free the worlds from Rávaṇ thou
Wouldst take the form thou wearest now.
Rejoice: the mighty task is done:
Rejoice, thou great and glorious one.
The tyrant, slain, thy labours end:
Triumphant now to heaven ascend.
High bliss awaits the devotee
Who clings in loving faith to thee,
Who celebrates with solemn praise
The Lord of ne'er beginning days.
On earth below, in heaven above
Great joy shall crown his faith and love.
And he who loves the tale divine
Which tells each glorious deed of thine
Through life's fair course shall never know
The fierce assault of pain and woe.”1020
Canto CXX. Sítá Restored.

Thus spoke the Self-existent Sire:
Then swiftly from the blazing pyre
The circling flames were backward rolled,
And, raising in his gentle hold
Alive unharmed the Maithil dame,
The Lord of Fire embodied came.
Fair as the morning was her sheen,
And gold and gems adorned the queen.
Her form in crimson robes arrayed,
Her hair was bound in glossy braid.
Her wreath was fresh and sweet of scent,
Undimmed was every ornament.
Then, standing close to Ráma'a side,
The universal witness cried:
“From every blot and blemish free
Thy faithful queen returns to thee.
In word or deed, in look or mind
Her heart from thee has ne'er declined.
By force the giant bore away
From thy lone cot his helpless prey;
And in his bowers securely kept
She still has longed for thee and wept.
With soft temptation, bribe and threat,
He bade the dame her love forget:
But, nobly faithful to her lord,
Her soul the giant's suit abhorred.
Receive, O King, thy queen again,
Pure, ever pure from spot and stain.”
Still stood the king in thoughtful mood
And tears of joy his eyes bedewed.
Then to the best of Gods the best
Of warrior chiefs his mind expressed:
“'Twas meet that mid the thousands here
The searching fire my queen should clear;
For long within the giant's bower
She dwelt the vassal of his power.
For else had many a slanderous tongue
Reproaches on mine honour flung,
And scorned the king who, love-impelled,
His consort from the proof withheld.
No doubt had I, but surely knew
That Janak's child was pure and true,
That, come what might, in good and ill
Her faithful heart was with me still.
I knew that Rávaṇ could not wrong
My queen whom virtue made so strong.
I knew his heart would sink and fail,
Nor dare her honour to assail,
As Ocean, when he raves and roars,
Fears to o'erleap his bounding shores.
Now to the worlds her truth is shown,
And Sítá is again mine own.
Thus proved before unnumbered eyes,
On her pure fame no shadow lies.
As heroes to their glory cleave,
Mine own dear spouse I ne'er will leave.”
[pg 498]
He ceased: and clasped in fond embrace
On his dear breast she hid her face.
Canto CXXI. Dasaratha.

To him Maheśvar thus replied:
“O strong-armed hero, lotus-eyed,
Thou, best of those who love the right,
Hast nobly fought the wondrous fight.
Dispelled by thee the doom that spread
Through trembling earth and heaven is fled.
The worlds exult in light and bliss,
And praise thy name, O chief, for this.
Now peace to Bharat's heart restore,
And bid Kausalyá weep no more.
Thy face let Queen Kaikeyí see,
Let fond Sumitrá gaze on thee.
The longing of thy friends relieve,
The kingdom of thy sires receive.
Let sons of gentle Sítá born
Ikshváku's ancient line adorn.
Then from all care and foemen freed
Perform the offering of the steed.
In pious gifts thy wealth expend,
Then to the home of Gods ascend,
Thy sire, this glorious king, behold,
Among the blest in heaven enrolled.
He comes from where the Immortals dwell:
Salute him, for he loves thee well.”
His mandate Raghu's sons obeyed,
And to their sire obeisance made,
Where high he stood above the car
In wondrous light that shone afar,
His limbs in radiant garments dressed
Whereon no spot of dust might rest.
When on the son he loved so well
The eyes of Daśaratha fell,
He strained the hero to his breast
And thus with gentle words addressed:
“No joy to me is heavenly bliss,
For there these eyes my Ráma miss.
Enrolled on high with saint and sage,
Thy woes, dear son, my thoughts engage.
Kaikeyí's guile I ne'er forget:
Her cruel words will haunt me yet,
Which sent thee forth, my son, to roam
The forest far from me and home.
Now when I look on each dear face,
And hold you both in fond embrace,
My heart is full of joy to see
The sons I love from danger free.
Now know I what the Gods designed,
And how in Ráma's form enshrined
The might of Purushottam lay,
The tyrant of the worlds to slay.
Ah, how Kausalyá will rejoice
To hear again her darling's voice,
And, all thy weary wanderings o'er,
To gaze upon thy face once more.
Ah blest, for ever blest are they
Whose eyes shall see the glorious day
Of thy return in joy at last,
Thy term of toil and exile past.
Ayodhyá's lord, begin thy reign,
And day by day new glory gain.”
He ceased: and Ráma thus replied:
“Be not this grace, O sire, denied.
Those hasty words, that curse revoke
Which from thy lips in anger broke:
“Kaikeyí, be no longer mine:
I cast thee off, both thee and thine.”
O father, let no sorrow fall
On her or hers: thy curse recall.”
“Yea, she shall live, if so thou wilt,”
The sire replied, “absolved from guilt.”
Round Lakshmaṇ then his arms he threw,
And moved by love began anew:
“Great store of merit shall be thine,
And brightly shall thy glory shine;
Secure on earth thy brother's grace.
And high in heaven shall be thy place.
Thy glorious king obey and fear:
To him the triple world is dear.
God, saint, and sage, by Indra led,
To Ráma bow the reverent head,
Nor from the Lord, the lofty-souled,
Their worship or their praise withhold.
Heart of the Gods, supreme is he,
The One who ne'er shall cease to be.”
On Sítá then he looked and smiled;
“List to my words” he said, “dear child,
Let not thy gentle breast retain
One lingering trace of wrath or pain.
When by the fire thy truth be proved,
By love for thee his will was moved.
The furious flame thy faith confessed
Which shrank not from the awful test:
And thou, in every heart enshrined,
Shalt live the best of womankind.”
He ceased: he bade the three adieu,
And home to heaven exulting flew.
Canto CXXII. Indra's Boon.

Then Indra, he whose fiery stroke
Slew furious Páka, turned and spoke:
“A glorious day, O chief, is this,
Rich with the fruit of lasting bliss.
Well pleased are we: we love thee well
Now speak, thy secret wishes tell.”
Thus spake the sovereign of the sky,
And this was Ráma's glad reply:
“If I have won your grace, incline
To grant this one request of mine.
Restore, O King: the Vánar dead
Whose blood for me was nobly shed.
[pg 499]
To life and strength my friends recall,
And bring them back from Yáma's hall.
When, fresh in might the warriors rise,
Prepare a feast to glad their eyes.
Let fruits of every season glow,
And streams of purest water flow.”
Thus Raghu's son, great-hearted, prayed,
And Indra thus his answer made:
“High is the boon thou seekest: none
Should win this grace but Raghu's son.
Yet, faithful to the word I spake,
I grant the prayer for thy dear sake.
The Vánars whom the giants slew
Their life and vigour shall renew.
Their strength repaired, their gashes healed
Whose torrents dyed the battle field,
The warrior hosts from death shall rise
Like sleepers when their slumber flies.”
Restored from Yáma's dark domain
The Vánar legions filled the plain,
And, round the royal chief arrayed,
With wondering hearts obeisance paid.
Each God the son of Raghu praised,
And cried as loud his voice he raised:
“Turn, King, to fair Ayodhyá speed,
And leave thy friends of Vánar breed.
Thy true devoted consort cheer
After long days of woe and fear.
Bharat, thy loyal brother, see,
A hermit now for love of thee.
The tears of Queen Kauśalyá dry,
And light with joy each stepdame's eye;
Then consecrated king of men
Make glad each faithful citizen.”
They ceased: and borne on radiant cars
Sought their bright home amid the stars.
Canto CXXIII. The Magic Car.

Then slept the tamer of his foes
And spent the night in calm repose.
Vibhishaṇ came when morning broke,
And hailed the royal chief, and spoke:
“Here wait thee precious oil and scents,
And rich attire and ornaments.
The brimming urns are newly filled,
And women in their duty skilled,
With lotus-eyes, thy call attend,
Assistance at thy bath to lend.”
“Let others,” Ráma cried, “desire
These precious scents, this rich attire,
I heed not such delights as these,
For faithful Bharat, ill at ease,
Watching for me is keeping now
Far far away his rigorous vow.
By Bharat's side I long to stand,
I long to see my fatherland.
Far is Ayodhyá: long, alas,
The dreary road and hard to pass.”
“One day,” Vibhishaṇ cried, “one day
Shall bear thee o'er that length of way.
Is not the wondrous chariot mine,
Named Pushpak, wrought by hands divine.
The prize which Rávaṇ seized of old
Victorious o'er the God of Gold?
This chariot, kept with utmost care,
Will waft thee through the fields of air,
And thou shalt light unwearied down
In fair Ayodhyá's royal town.
But yet if aught that I have done
Has pleased thee well, O Raghu's son;
If still thou carest for thy friend,
Some little time in Lanká spend;
There after toil of battle rest
Within my halls an honoured guest.”
Again the son of Raghu spake:
“Thy life was perilled for my sake.
Thy counsel gave me priceless aid:
All honours have been richly paid.
Scarce can my love refuse, O best
Of giant kind, thy last request.
But still I yearn once more to see
My home and all most dear to me;
Nor can I brook one hour's delay:
Forgive me, speed me on my way.”
He ceased: the magic car was brought.
Of yore by Viśvakarmá wrought.
In sunlike sheen it flashed and blazed;
And Raghu's sons in wonder gazed.
Canto CXXIV. The Departure.

The giant lord the chariot viewed,
And humbly thus his speech renewed:
“Behold, O King, the car prepared:
Now be thy further will declared.”
He ceased: and Ráma spake once more:
“These hosts who thronged to Lanká's shore
Their faith and might have nobly shown,
And set thee on the giants' throne.
Let pearls and gems and gold repay
The feats of many a desperate day,
That all may go triumphant hence
Proud of their noble recompense.”
Vibhishaṇ, ready at his call,
With gold and gems enriched them all.
Then Ráma clomb the glorious car
That shone like day's resplendent star.
There in his lap he held his dame
Vailing her eyes in modest shame.
Beside him Lakshmaṇ took his stand,
Whose mighty bow still armed his hand,
“O King Vibhishaṇ,” Ráma cried,
“O Vánar chiefs, so long allied,
[pg 500]
My comrades till the foemen fell,
List, for I speak a long farewell.
The task, in doubt and fear begun,
With your good aid is nobly done.
Leave Lanká's shore, your steps retrace,
Brave warriors of the Vánar race.
Thou, King Sugríva, true, through all,
To friendship's bond and duty's call,
Seek far Kishkindhá with thy train
And o'er thy realm in glory reign.
Farewell, Vibhishaṇ, Lanká's throne
Won by our arms is now thine own,
Thou, mighty lord, hast nought to dread
From heavenly Gods by Indra led.
My last farewell, 0 King, receive,
For Lanká's isle this hour I leave.”
Loud rose their cry in answer: “We,
O Raghu's son, would go with thee.
With thee delighted would we stray
Where sweet Ayodhyá's groves are gay,
Then in the joyous synod view
King-making balm thy brows bedew;
Our homage to Kauśalyá pay,
And hasten on our homeward way.”
Their prayer the son of Raghu heard,
And spoke, his heart with rapture stirred:
“Sugríva, O my faithful friend,
Vibhishaṇ and ye chiefs, ascend.
A joy beyond all joys the best
Will fill my overflowing breast,
If girt by you, O noble band,
I seek again my native land.”
With Vánar lords in danger tried
Sugríva sprang to Ráma's side,
And girt by chiefs of giant kind
Vibhíshan's step was close behind.
Swift through the air, as Ráma chose,
The wondrous car from earth arose.
And decked with swans and silver wings
Bore through the clouds its freight of kings.
Canto CXXV. The Return.

Then Ráma, speeding through the skies,
Bent on the earth his eager eyes:
“Look, Sítá, see, divinely planned
And built by Viśvakarmá's hand,
Lanká the lovely city rest
Enthroned on Mount Trikúṭa's crest
Behold those fields, ensanguined yet,
Where Vánar hosts and giants met.
There, vainly screened by charm and spell,
The robber Rávan fought and fell.
There knelt Mandodarí1021 and shed
Her tears in floods for Rávan dead.
And every dame who loved him sent
From her sad heart her wild lament.
There gleams the margin of the deep,
Where, worn with toil, we sank to sleep.
Look, love, the unconquered sea behold,
King Varuṇ's home ordained of old,
Whose boundless waters roar and swell
Rich with their store of pearl and shell.
O see, the morning sun is bright
On fair Hiraṇyanábha's1022 height,
Who rose from Ocean's sheltering breast
That Hanumán might stay and rest.
There stretches, famed for evermore,
The wondrous bridge from shore to shore.
The worlds, to life's remotest day,
Due reverence to the work shall pay,
Which holier for the lapse of time
Shall give release from sin and crime.
Now thither bend, dear love, thine eyes
Where green with groves Kishkindhá lies,
The seat of King Sugríva's reign,
Where Báli by this hand was slain.1023
There Ríshyamúka's hill behold
Bright gleaming with embedded gold.
There too my wandering foot I set,
There King Sugríva first I met.
And, where yon trees their branches wave,
My promise of assistance gave.
There, flushed with lilies, Pampá shines
With banks which greenest foliage lines,
Where melancholy steps I bent
And mourned thee with a mad lament.
There fierce Kabandha, spreading wide
His giant arms, in battle died.
Turn, Sítá, turn thine eyes and see
In Janasthán that glorious tree:
There Rávaṇ, lord of giants slew
Our friend Jaṭáyus brave and true,
Thy champion in the hopeless strife,
Who gave for thee his noble life.
Now mark that glade amid the trees
Where once we lived as devotees.
See, see our leafy cot between
Those waving boughs of densest green,
Where Rávaṇ seized his prize and stole
My love the darling of my soul.
O, look again: beneath thee gleams
Godávarí the best of streams,
Whose lucid waters sweetly glide
By lilies that adorn her side.
There dwelt Agastya, holy sage,
In plantain-sheltered hermitage.
See Śarabhanga's humble shed
[pg 501]
Which sovereign Indra visited.
See where the gentle hermits dwell
Neath Atri's rule who loved us well;
Where once thine eyes were blest to see
His sainted dame who talked with thee.
Now rest thine eyes with new delight
On Chitrakúṭa's woody height,
See Jumna flashing in the sun
Through groves of brilliant foliage run.
Screened by the shade of spreading boughs.
There Bharadvája keeps his vows,
There Gangá, river of the skies,
Rolls the sweet wave that purifies,
There Śringavera's towers ascend
Where Guha reigns, mine ancient friend.
I see, I see thy glittering spires,
Ayodhyá, city of my sires.
Bow down, bow down thy head, my sweet,
Our home, our long-lost home to greet.”
Canto CXXVI. Bharat Consoled.

But Ráma bade the chariot stay,
And halting in his airy way,
In Bharadvája's holy shade
His homage to the hermit paid.
“O saint,” he cried, “I yearn to know
My dear Ayodhyá's weal and woe.
O tell me that the people thrive,
And that the queens are yet alive.”
Joy gleamed in Bhardvája's eye,
Who gently smiled and made reply:
“Thy brother, studious of thy will,
Is faithful and obedient still.
In tangled twine he coils his hair:
Thy safe return is all his care.
Before thy shoes he humbly bends,
And to thy house and realm attends.
When first these dreary years began,
When first I saw the banished man,
With Sítá, in his hermit coat,
At this sad heart compassion smote.
My breast with tender pity swelled:
I saw thee from thy home expelled,
Reft of all princely state, forlorn,
A hapless wanderer travel-worn,
Firm in thy purpose to fulfil
Thy duty and thy father's will.
But boundless is my rapture now:
Triumphant, girt with friends, art thou.
Where'er thy wandering steps have been,
Thy joy and woe mine eyes have seen.
Thy glorious deeds to me art known,
The Bráhmans saved, the foes o'erthrown.
Such power have countless seasons spent
In penance and devotion lent.
Thy virtues, best of chiefs, I know,
And now a boon would fain bestow.
This hospitable gift1024 receive:
Then with the dawn my dwelling leave.”
The bended head of Ráma showed
His reverence for the grace bestowed;
Then for each brave companion's sake
He sought a further boon and spake:
“O let that mighty power of thine
The road to fair Ayodhyá line
With trees where fruit of every hue
The Vánars' eye and taste may woo,
And flowers of every season, sweet
With stores of honeyed juice, may meet.”
The hero ceased: the hermit bent
His reverend head in glad assent;
And swift, as Bharadvája willed,
The prayer of Ráma was fulfilled.
For many a league the lengthening road
Trees thick with fruit and blossom showed
With luscious beauty to entice
The taste like trees of Paradise.
The Vánars passed beneath the shade
Of that delightful colonnade,
Still tasting with unbounded glee
The treasures of each wondrous tree.
Canto CXXVII. Ráma's Message.

But Ráma, when he first looked down
And saw afar Ayodhyá's town,
Had called Hanumán to his side,
The chief on whom his heart relied,
And said: “Brave Vánar, good at need,
Haste onward, to Ayodhyá speed,
And learn, I pray, if all be well
With those who in the palace dwell.
But as thou speedest on thy way
Awhile at Śringavera stay.
Tell Guha the Nishádas' lord,
That victor, with my queen restored,
In health and strength with many a friend
Homeward again my steps I bend.
Thence by the road that he will show
On to Ayodhyá swiftly go.
There with my love my brother greet,
And all our wondrous tale repeat.
Say that victorious in the strife
I come with Lakshmaṇ and my wife,
Then mark with keenest eye each trace
Of joy or grief on Bharat's face.
Be all his gestures closely viewed,
[pg 502]
Each change of look and attitude.
Where breathes the man who will not cling
To all that glorifies a king?
Where beats the heart that can resign
An ancient kingdom, nor repine
To lose a land renowned for breeds
Of elephants and warrior steeds?
If, won by custom day by day,
My brother Bharat thirsts for sway,
Still let him rule the nations, still
The throne of old Ikshváku fill.
Go, mark him well: his feelings learn,
And, ere we yet be near return.”
He ceased: and, garbed in human form,
Forth sped Hanúmán swift as storm.
Sublime in air he rose, and through
The region of his father flew.
He saw far far beneath his feet
Where Gangá's flood and Jumna meet.
Descending from the upper air
He entered Śringavera, where
King Guha's heart was well content
To hear the message Ráma sent.
Then, with his mighty strength renewed,
The Vánar chief his way pursued,
Válúkiní was far behind,
And Gomatí with forests lined,
And golden fields and pastures gay
With flocks and herds beneath him lay.
Then Nandigráma charmed his eye
Where flowers were bright with every dye,
And trees of lovely foliage made
With meeting boughs delightful shade,
Where women watched in trim array
Their little sons' and grandsons' play.
His eager eye on Bharat fell
Who sat before his lonely cell.
In hermit weed, with tangled hair,
Pale, weak, and worn with ceaseless care.
His royal pomp and state resigned
For Ráma still he watched and pined,
Still to his dreary vows adhered,
And royal Ráma's shoes revered.
Yet still the terror of his arm
Preserved the land from fear and harm.
The Wind-God's son, in form a man,
Raised reverent hands and thus began:
“Fond greeting, Prince, I bring to thee,
And Ráma's self has sent it: he
For whom thy spirit sorrows yet
As for a hapless anchoret
In Daṇḍak wood, in dire distress,
With matted hair and hermit dress.
This sorrow from thy bosom fling,
And hear the tale of joy I bring.
This day thy brother shalt thou meet
Exulting in his foe's defeat,
Freed from his toil and lengthened vow,
The light of victory on his brow,
With Sítá, Lakshmaṇ and his friends
Homeward at last his steps he bends.”
Then joy, too mighty for control,
Rushed in full flood o'er Bharat's soul;
His reeling sense and strength gave way,
And fainting on the earth he lay,
At length upspringing from the ground,
His arms about Hanúmán wound,
With tender tears of rapture sprung,
He dewed the neck to which he clung:
“Art thou a God or man,” he cried,
“Whom love and pity hither guide?
For this a hundred thousand kine,
A hundred villages be thine.
A score of maids of spotless lives
To thee I give to be thy wives,
Of golden hue and bright of face,
Each lovely for her tender grace.”
He ceased a while by joy subdued,
And then his eager speech renewed.
Canto CXXVIII. Hanumán's Story.

“In doubt and fear long years have passed
And glorious tidings come at last.
True, true is now the ancient verse
Which men in time of bliss rehearse:
“Once only in a hundred years
Great joy to mortal men appears.”
But now his woes and triumph tell,
And loss and gain as each befell.”
He ceased: Hanúmán mighty-souled
The tale of Ráma's wanderings told
From that first day on which he stood
In the drear shade of Daṇḍak wood.
He told how fierce Virádha fell;
He told of Śarabhanga's cell
Where Ráma saw with wondering eyes
Indra descended from the skies.
He told how Śúrpaṇakhí came,
Her soul aglow with amorous flame,
And fled repulsed, with rage and tears,
Reft of her nose and severed ears.
He told how Ráma's might subdued
The giants' furious multitude;
How Khara with the troops he led
And Triśirás and Dúshaṇ bled:
How Ráma, tempted from his cot,
The golden deer pursued and shot,
And Rávaṇ came and stole away
The Maithil queen his hapless prey,
When, as he fought, the dame to save,
His noble life Jatáyus gave:
How Ráma still the the search renewed,
The robber to his hold pursued,
Bridging the sea from shore to shore,
And found his queen to part no more.1025
[pg 503]
Canto CXXIX. The Meeting With Bharat.

O'erwhelmed with rapture Bharat heard
The tale that all his being stirred,
And, heralding the glad event,
This order to Śatrughna sent:
“Let every shrine with flowers be gay
Let incense burn and music play.
Go forth, go forth to meet your king,
Let tabours sound and minstrels sing,
Let bards swell high the note of praise
Skilled in the lore of ancient days,
Call forth the royal matrons: call
Each noble from the council hall.
Send all we love and honour most,
Send Bráhmans and the warrior host,
A glorious company to bring
In triumph home our lord the king.”
Great rapture filled Śatrughna's breast,
Obedient to his brother's hest.
“Send forth ten thousand men” he cried,
“Let brawny arms be stoutly plied,
And, smoothing all with skilful care,
The road for Kośal's king prepare.
Then o'er the earth let thousands throw
Fresh showers of water cool as snow,
And others strew with garlands gay
With loveliest blooms our monarch's way.
On tower and temple porch and gate
Let banners wave in royal state,
And be each roof and terrace lined
With blossoms loose and chaplets twined.”
The nobles hasting forth fulfilled
His order as Śatrughna willed.
Sublime on elephants they rode
Whose gilded girths with jewels glowed.
Attended close by thousands more
Gay with the gear and flags they bore.
A thousand chiefs their steeds bestrode,
Their glittering cars a thousand showed.
And countless hosts in rich array
Pursued on foot their eager way.
Veiled from the air with silken screens
In litters rode the widowed queens.
Kausalyá first, acknowledged head
And sovereign of the household, led:
Sumitrá next, and after, dames
Of lower rank and humbler names.
Then compassed by a white-robed throng
Of Bráhmans, heralded with song,
With shouts of joy from countless throats,
And shells' and tambours' mingled notes,
And drums resounding long and loud,
Exulting Bharat joined the crowd.
Still on his head, well-trained in lore
Of duty, Ráma's shoes he bore.
The moon-white canopy was spread
With flowery twine engarlanded,
And jewelled cheuries, meet to hold
O'er Ráma's brow, shone bright with gold,
Though Nandigráma's town they neared,
Of Ráma yet no sign appeared.
Then Bharat called the Vánar chief
And questioned thus in doubt and grief:
“Hast thou uncertain, like thy kind,
A sweet delusive guile designed?
Where, where is royal Ráma? show
The hero, victor of the foe.
I gaze, but see no Vánars still
Who wear each varied shape at will.”
In eager love thus Bharat cried,
And thus the Wind-God's son replied:
“Look, Bharat, on those laden trees
That murmur with the song of bees;
For Ráma's sake the saint has made
Untimely fruits, unwonted shade.
Such power in ages long ago
Could Indra's gracious boon bestow.
O, hear the Vánars' voices, hear
The shouting which proclaims them near.
E'en now about to cross they seem
Sweet Gomatí's delightful stream.
I see, I see the car designed
By Brahmá's own creative mind,
The car which, radiant as the moon,
Moves at the will by Brahmá's boon;
The car which once was Rávan's pride,
The victor's spoil when Rávan died.
Look, there are Raghu's sons: between
The brothers stands the rescued queen.
There is Vibhishaṇ full in view,
Sugríva and his retinue.”
He ceased: then rapture loosed each tongue:
From men and dames, from old and young,
One long, one universal cry,
'Tis he, 'tis Ráma, smote the sky.
All lighted down with eager speed
From elephant and car and steed,
And every joyful eye intent
On Ráma's moonbright face was bent.
Entranced a moment Bharat gazed:
Then reverential hands he raised,
And on his brother humbly pressed
The honours due to welcome guest.
Then Bharat clomb the car to greet
His king and bowed him at his feet,
Till Ráma raised him face to face
And held him in a close embrace.
Then Lakshmaṇ and the Maithil dame
He greeted as he spoke his name1026
He greeted next, supreme in place,
The sovereign of the Vánar race,
And Jámbaván and Báli's son,
[pg 504]
And lords and chiefs, omitting none.1027
Sugríva to his heart he pressed
And thus with grateful words addressed:
“Four brothers, Vánar king, were we,
And now we boast a fifth in thee.
By kindly acts a friend we know:
Offence and wrong proclaim the foe.”
To King Vibhishaṇ then he spake:
“Well hast thou fought for Ráma's sake.”
Nor was the brave Śatrughna slow
His reverential love to show
To both his brothers, as was meet,
And venerate the lady's feet.
Then Ráma to his mother came,
Saw her pale cheek and wasted frame,
With gentle words her heart consoled,
And clasped her feet with loving hold.
Then at Sumitrá's feet he bent,
And fair Kaikeyí's, reverent,
Greeted each dame from chief to least,
And bowed him to the household priest.
Up rose a shout from all the throng:
“O welcome, Ráma, mourned so long.
Welcome, Kausalyá's joy and pride,”
Ten hundred thousand voices cried.
Then Bharat placed, in duty taught,
On Ráma's feet the shoes he brought:
“My King,” he cried, “receive again
The pledge preserved through years of pain,
The rule and lordship of the land
Entrusted to my weaker hand.
No more I sigh o'er sorrows past,
My birth and life are blest at last
In the glad sight this day has shown,
When Ráma comes to rule his own.”
He ceased: the faithful love that moved
The prince's soul each heart approved;
Nor could the Vánar chiefs refrain
From tender tears that fell like rain.
Then Ráma, stirred with joy anew,
His arms about his brother threw,
And to the grove his course he bent
Where Bharat's hermit days were spent.
Alighting in that pure retreat
He pressed the earth with eager feet.
Then, at his hest, the car rose high
And sailing through the northern sky
Sped homeward to the Lord of Gold
Who owned the wondrous prize of old.1028
Canto CXXX. The Consecration.

Then, reverent hand to hand applied,
Thus Bharat to his brother cried:
“Thy realm, O King, is now restored,
Uninjured to the rightful lord.
This feeble arm with toil and pain,
The weighty charge could scarce sustain.
And the great burthen wellnigh broke
The neck untrained to bear the yoke.
The royal swan outspeeds the crow:
The steed is swift, the mule is slow,
Nor can my feeble feet be led
O'er the rough ways where thine should tread.
Now grant what all thy subjects ask:
Begin, O King, thy royal task.
Now let our longing eyes behold
The glorious rite ordained of old,
And on the new-found monarch's head
Let consecrating drops be shed.”
He ceased; victorious Ráma bent
His head in token of assent.
He sat, and tonsors trimmed with care
His tangles of neglected hair
Then, duly bathed, the hero shone
With all his splendid raiment on.
And Sítá with the matrons' aid
Her limbs in shining robes arrayed,
Sumantra then, the charioteer,
Drew, ordered by Śatrughna near,
And stayed within the hermit grove
The chariot and the steeds he drove.
Therein Sugríva's consorts, graced
With gems, and Ráma's queen were placed,
All fain Ayodhyá to behold:
And swift away the chariot rolled.
Like Indra Lord of Thousand Eyes,
Drawn by fleet lions through the skies.
Thus radiant in his glory showed
King Ráma as he homeward rode,
In power and might unparalleled.
The reins the hand of Bharat held.
Above the peerless victor's head
The snow-white shade Śatrughna spread,
And Lakshmaṇ's ever-ready hand
His forehead with a chourie fanned.
Vibhishaṇ close to Lakshmaṇ's side
Sharing his task a chourie plied.
Sugríva on Śatrunjay came,
An elephant of hugest frame:
Nine thousand others bore, behind,
The chieftains of the Vánar kind
All gay, in forms of human mould,
With rich attire and gems and gold.
[pg 505]
Thus borne along in royal state
King Ráma reached Ayodbyá's gate
With merry noise of shells and drums
And joyful shouts, He comes, he comes,
A Bráhman host with solemn tread,
And kine the long procession led,
And happy maids in ordered bands
Threw grain and gold with liberal hands.
Neath gorgeous flags that waved in rows
On towers and roofs and porticoes.
Mid merry crowds who sang and cheered
The palace of the king they neared.
Then Raghu's son to Bharat, best
Of duty's slaves, these words addressed:
“Pass onward to the monarch's hall.
The high-souled Vánars with thee call,
And let the chieftains, as is meet,
The widows of our father greet.
And to the Vánar king assign
Those chambers, best of all, which shine
With lazulite and pearl inlaid,
And pleasant grounds with flowers and shade.”
He ceased: and Bharat bent his head;
Sugríva by the hand he led
And passed within the palace where
Stood couches which Śatrughna's care,
With robes and hangings richly dyed,
And burning lamps, had seen supplied.
Then Bharat spake: “I pray thee, friend,
Thy speedy messengers to send,
Each sacred requisite to bring
That we may consecrate our king.”
Sugríva raised four urns of gold,
The water for the rite to hold,
And bade four swiftest Vánars flee
And fill them from each distant sea.
Then east and west and south and north
The Vánar envoys hastened forth.
Each in swift flight an ocean sought
And back through air his treasure brought,
And full five hundred floods beside
Pure water for the king supplied.
Then girt by many a Bráhman sage,
Vaśishṭha, chief for reverend age,
High on a throne with jewels graced
King Ráma and his Sítá placed.
There by Jábáli, far revered,
Vijay and Kaśyap's son appeared;
By Gautam's side Kátváyan stood,
And Vámadeva wise and good,
Whose holy hands in order shed
The pure sweet drops on Ráma's head.
Then priests and maids and warriors, all
Approaching at Vaśishṭha's call,
With sacred drops bedewed their king,
The centre of a joyous ring,
The guardians of the worlds, on high,
And all the children of the sky
From herbs wherewith their hands were filled
Rare juices on his brow distilled.
His brows were bound with glistering gold
Which Manu's self had worn of old,
Bright with the flash of many a gem
His sire's ancestral diadem.
Śatrughna lent his willing aid
And o'er him held the regal shade:
The monarchs whom his arm had saved
The chouries round his forehead waved.
A golden chain, that flashed and glowed
With gems the God of Wind bestowed:
Mahendra gave a glorious string
Of fairest pearls to deck the king,
The skies with acclamation rang,
The gay nymphs danced, the minstrels sang.
On that blest day the joyful plain
Was clothed anew with golden grain.
The trees the witching influence knew,
And bent with fruits of loveliest hue,
And Ráma's consecration lent
New sweetness to each flowret's scent.
The monarch, joy of Raghu's line,
Gave largess to the Bráhmans, kine
And steeds unnumbered, wealth untold
Of robes and pearls and gems and gold.
A jewelled chain, whose lustre passed
The glory of the sun, he cast
About his friend Sugríva's neck;
And, Angad Báli's son to deck,
He gave a pair of armlets bright
With diamond and lazulite.
A string of pearls of matchless hue
Which gleams like tender moonlight threw
Adorned with gems of brightest sheen,
He gave to grace his darling queen.
The offering from his hand received
A moment on her bosom heaved;
Then from her neck the chain she drew,
A glance on all the Vánars threw,
And wistful eyes on Ráma bent
As still she held the ornament.
Her wish he knew, and made reply
To that mute question of her eye:
“Yea, love; the chain on him bestow
Whose wisdom truth and might we know,
The firm ally, the faithful friend
Through toil and peril to the end.”
Then on Hanúmán's bosom hung
The chain which Sítá's hand had flung:
So may a cloud, when winds are still
With moon-lit silver gird a hill.
To every Vánar Ráma gave
Rich treasures from the mine and wave.
And with their honours well content
Homeward their steps the chieftains bent.
Ten thousand years Ayodhyá, blest
With Ráma's rule, had peace and rest,
No widow mourned her murdered mate,
No house was ever desolate.
The happy land no murrain knew,
The flocks and herds increased and grew.
[pg 506]
The earth her kindly fruits supplied,
No harvest failed, no children died.
Unknown were want, disease, and crime:
So calm, so happy was the time.1029
[pg 507]
APPENDIX.

Section XIII. Rávan Doomed.

Afterwards Rishyaśring said again to the King “I will perform another sacrificial act to secure thee a son.” Then the son of Vibháṇdak, of subdued passions, seeking the happiness of the king, proceeded to perform the sacrifice for the accomplishment of his wishes. Hither were previously collected the gods, with the Gandharvas, the Siddhas and the sages, for the sake of receiving their respective shares, Brahmá too, the sovereign of the gods, with Stháṇu, and Náráyaṇa, chief of beings and the four supporters of the universe, and the divine mothers of all the celestials, met together there. To the Aśvamedha, the great sacrifice of the magnanimous monarch, came also Indra the glorious one, surrounded by the Maruts. Rishyaśring then supplicated the gods assembled for their share of the sacrifice (saying), “This devout king Daśaratha, who, through the desire of offspring, confiding in you, has performed sacred austerities, and who has offered to you the sacrifice called Aśvamedha, is about to perform another sacrifice for the sake of obtaining sons: To him thus desirous of offspring be pleased to grant the blessing: I supplicate you all with joined hands. May he have four sons, renowned through the universe.” The gods replied to the sage's son supplicating with joined hands, “Be it so: thou, O Bráhman, art ever to be regarded by us, as the king is in a peculiar manner. The lord of men by this sacrifice shall obtain the great object of his desires.” Having thus said, the gods preceded by Indra, disappeared.

They all then having seen that (sacrifice) performed by the great sage according to the ordinance went to Prajápati the lord of mankind, and with joined hands addressed Brahmá the giver of blessings, “O Brahmá, the Ráksha Rávaṇa by name, to whom a blessing was awarded by thee, through pride troubleth all of us the gods, and even the great sages, who perpetually practise sacred austerities. We, O glorious one, regarding the promise formerly granted by thy kindness that he should be invulnerable to the gods, the Dánavas and the Yakshas have born (sic) all, (his oppression); this lord of Rákshas therefore distresses the universe; and, inflated by this promise unjustly vexes the divine sages, the Yakshas, and Gandharvas, the Asuras, and men: where Rávaṇa remains there the sun loses his force, the winds through fear of him do not blow; the fire ceases to burn; the rolling ocean, seeing him, ceases to move its waves. Viśravas, distressed by his power, has abandoned Lanká and fled. O divine one save us from Rávaṇa, who fills the world with noise and tumult. O giver of desired things, be pleased to contrive a way for his destruction.”

Brahmá thus informed by the devas, reflecting, replied, “Oh! I have devised the method for slaying this outrageous tyrant. Upon his requesting, ‘May I be invulnerable to the divine sages, the Gaundharvas, the Yakshas, the Rákshasas [pg 508] and the serpents,’ I replied ‘Be it so.’ This Ráksha, through contempt, said nothing respecting man; therefore this wicked one shall be destroyed by man.” The gods, preceded by Śakra, hearing these words spoken by Brahmá, were filled with joy.

At this time Vishṇu the glorious, the lord of the world, arrayed in yellow, with hand ornaments of glowing gold, riding on Vinateya, as the sun on a cloud, arrived with his conch, his discus, and his club in his hand. Being adored by the excellent celestials, and welcomed by Brahmá, he drew near and stood before him. All the gods then addressed Vishṇu, “O Madhusudana, thou art able to abolish the distress of the distressed. We intreat thee, be our sanctuary, O Vishṇu.” Vishṇu replied, “Say, what shall I do?” The celestials hearing these his words added further. “The virtuous, the encourager of excellence, eminent for truth, the firm observer of his vows, being childless, is performing an Aśvamedha for the purpose of obtaining offspring. For the sake of the good of the universe, we intreat thee, O Vishṇu, to become his son. Dividing thyself into four parts, in the wombs of his three consorts equal to Hari, Śrí, and Kirti, assume the sonship of king Daśaratha, the lord of Ayodhyá, eminent in the knowledge of duty, generous and illustrious, as the great sages. Thus becoming man, O Vishṇu, conquer in battle Rávaṇa, the terror of the universe, who is invulnerable to the gods. This ignorant Rákshasa Rávaṇa, by the exertion of his power, afflicts the gods, the Gandharvaa, the Siddhas, and the most excellent sages; these sages, the Gandharvas, and the Apsaras, sporting in the forest Nandana have been destroyed by that furious one. We, with the sages, are come to thee seeking his destruction. The Siddhas, the Gandharvas, and the Yakshas betake themselves to thee, thou art our only refuge; O Deva, afflicter of enemies, regard the world of men, and destroy the enemy of the gods.”

Vishṇu, the sovereign of the gods, the chief of the celestials, adored by all beings, being thus supplicated, replied to all the assembled gods (standing) before Brahmá, “Abandon fear; peace be with you; for your benefit having killed Rávaṇa the cruel, destructively active, the cause of fear to the divine sages, together with all his posterity, his courtiers and counsellors, and his relations, and friends, protecting the earth, I will remain incarnate among men for the space of eleven thousand years.”

Having given this promise to the gods, the divine Vishṇu, ardent in the work, sought a birth-place among men. Dividing himself into four parts, he whose eyes resemble the lotus and the pulasa, the lotus petal-eyed, chose for his father Daśaratha the sovereign of men. The divine sages then with the Gandharvas, the Rudras, and the (different sorts of) Apsaras, in the most excellent strains, praised the destroyer of Madhu, (saying) “Root up Rávaṇa, of fervid energy, the devastator, the enemy of Indra swollen with pride. Destroy him, who causes universal lamentation, the annoyer of the holy ascetics, terrible, the terror of the devout Tapaswis. Having destroyed Rávaṇa, tremendously powerful, who causes universal weeping, together with his army and friends, dismissing all sorrow, return to heaven, the place free from stain and sin, and protected by the sovereign of the celestial powers.”

Thus far the Section, containing the plan for the death of Rávaṇ.

Carey and Marshman.

[pg 509]
Caput XIV. RATIO NECANDI RAVANAE EXCOGITATA.

Prudens ille, voluminum sacrorum gnarus, responsum quod dederat aliquamdiu meditatus, mente ad se revocata regem deuno est effatus: Parabo tibi aliud sacrum, genitale, prolis masculae adipiscendae gratia, cum carminibus in Atharvanis exordio expressis rite peragendum. Tum coepit modestus Vibhândaci filius, regis commodis intentus, parare sacrum, quo eius desiderium expleret. Iam'antea eo convenerant, ut suam quisque portionem acciperent, Dî cum fidicinum coelestium choris, Beatique cum Sapientibus; Brachman Superûm regnator, Sthânus nec non augustus Nârâyanus, Indrasque almus, coram visendus Ventorum cohorte circumdatus, in magno isto sacrificio equino regis magnanimi. Ibidem vates ille deos, qui portiones suas accipiendi gratia advenerant, apprecatus, En inquit, hicce ex Dasarathus filiorum desiderio castimoniis adstrictus, fidei plenus, vestrum numen adoravit sacrificio equino. Nunc iterum accingit se ad aliud sacrum peragendum: quamobrem aequum est, ut filios cupienti vos faveatis. Ille ego, qui manus supplices tendo, vos universos pro eo apprecor: nascantur ei filii quatuor, faina per triplicem mundum clari. Divi supplicem vatis filium invicem affari: Fiat quod petis! Tu nobis, virsancte, imprimis es venerandus, nee minus rex ille; compos fiet voti sui egregii hominum princeps. Ita locuti Dî Indra duce, ex oculis evanuerunt.

Superi vero, legitime in concilio congregati. Brachmanem mundi creatorem his verbis compellarunt: Tuo munere auctus, O Brachman! gigas nomine Râvanas, prae superbia nos omnes vexat, pariterque Sapientes castimoniis gaudentes. A te propitio olim ex voto ei hoc munus concessum fuit, ut ne a diis, Danuidis, Geniisve necari posset. Nos, oraculum tuum reveriti, facinora eius qualiacunque toleramus. At ille gigantum tyrannus ternos mundos gravibus iniuriis vexat Deos, Sapientes, Genios, Fidicines coelestes, Titanes, mortales denique, exsuperat ille aegre cohibendus, tuoque munere demens. Non ibi calet sol, neque Ventus prae timore spirat, nee flagrat ignis, ubi Râvanas versatur. Ipse oceanus, vagis fluctibus redimitus, isto viso stat immotus; eiectus fuit e sede sua Cuvêrus, huius robore vexatus. Ergo ingens nobis periculum imminet ab hoc gigante visu horribili; tuum est, alme Parens! auxilium parare, quo hic deleatur. Ita admonitus ille a diis universis, paulisper meditatus, Ehem! inquit, hancce inveni rationem nefarium istum necandi. Petierat is a me, ut a Gandharvis, a Geniis, a Divis, Danuibus Gigantibusque necari non posset et me annuente voto suo potitus est. Prae contemptu vero monstrum illud homines non commemoravit: ideo ab homine est necandus: nullum aliud exstat leti genus, quod ei sit fatale. Postquam audiverant gratum hunc sermonem Brachmanis ore prolatum, Dî cum duce suo Indra summopere gaudio erecti sunt. Eodem temporis momento Vishnus, istuc accessit, splendore insignis, concham, discum et clavum manibus gestans, croceo vestitu, mundi dominus, vulturis Vinateii dorso, sicuti sol nimbo, vectus, armillas ex auro candente gerens, salutatus a Superûm primoribus. Quem laudibus celebratum reverenter Dî universi compellarunt. Tu animantium afflictorum es vindex, Madhûs interfector! quamobrem nos afflicti te apprecamur. Sis praesidio nobis numine tuo inconcusso. Dicite, inquit Vishnus, quid pro vobis facere [pg 510] me oporteat. Audito eius sermone, Dî hunc in modum respondent: Rex quidam, nomine Dasarathus, austeris castimoniis sese castigavit, litavit sacrificio equino, prolis cupidus et prole carens. Nostro hortatu tu, Vishnus, conditionem natorum eius subeas: ex tribus eius uxoribus, Pudicitiae, Venustatis et Famae similibus, nasci, velis, temetipsum quadrifariam dividens. Ibi tu in humanam naturam conversus Râvanam, gravissimam mundi pestem, diis insuperabilem, O Vishnus! proelio caede. Gigas ille vecors Râvanas Deos cum Fidicinum choris, Beatos et Sapientes praestantissimos vexat, audacia superbiens. Etenim ab hoc furioso Sapientes Fidicines et nymphae, ludentes in Nandano viridario, sunt proculcati. Tu es nostrum omnium summa salus, divine bellator! Ut deoram hostes extinguas, ad sortem humanam animum converte. Augustus ille Nârâyanus, diis hunc in modum coram hortantibus, eosdem apto hoc sermone compellavit: Quare, quaeso, hac in re negotium vestrum a me potissimum, corporea specie palam facto, est peragendum aut unde tantus vobis terror fuit iniectus? His verbis a Vishnû interrogati Dî talia proferre: Terror nobis instat, O Vishnus! a Râvana mundi direptore; a quo nos vindicare, corpore humano assumpto, tuum est. Nemo alius coelicoiarum praeter te hunc scelestum enecare potis est. Nimirum ille, O hostium domitor! per diuturnum tempus sese excruciaverat severissima abstinentia, qua magnus hicce rerum Parens propitius ipsi redditus est. Itaque almus votorum sponsor olim ei concessit securitatem ab ommibus animantibus, hominibus tamen exceptis. Hinc ilium, voti compotem, non aliunde quam ab homine necis periculum urget: tu ergo, humanitate assumpta eum intertice. Sic monitus Vishnus, Superûm princeps, quem mundus universus adorat, magnum Parentem oeterosque deos, in concilio congregatos, recti auctores, affatur: Mittite timorem; bene bobis eveniat! Vestrae salutis gratia, postquam praelio necavero Râvanam cum filiis nepotibusque, cum amicis, ministris, cognatis sociisque, crudelem istum aegre cohibendum, qui divinis Sapientibus terrorem meutit, per decem millia annorum decies centenis additis, commorabor in mortalium sedibus, orbem terrarum imperio regens. Tum divini sapientes et Fidicines conjuncti cum Rudris nympharumque choris celebravere Madhûs interfectorem hymnis, quales sedem aetheriam decent.

“Râvanam ilium insolentem, acri impetu actum, superbia elatum, Superûm hostem, tumultus cientem, bonorum piorumque pestem, humanitate assumpta pessamdare tuum est.”

Schlegel.

Caput XIV. IL MEZZO STABILITO PER UCCIDERE RÁVANO.

Ma Riseyasringo soggiunse poscia al re: Tappresterò io un altro rito santissimo, genitale, onde tu conseguisca la prole che tu bramí. E in quel punto stesso il saggio figliulo di Vibhândaco, intento alla prosperità del re, pose mano al sacro rito per condurre ad effetto il suo desiderio. Già erano prima, per ricevere ciascuno la sua parte, qui convenuti al gran sacrifizio del re magnanimo l'Asvamedha, i Devi coi Gandharvi, i Siddhi e i Muni, Brahma Signor dei Sari, Sthânu e l' Augusto Nârâyana, i quattio custodi dell' universo e le Madri degli Iddu, i Yacsi insieme cogli Dei, e il sovrano, venerando Indra, visibile, circondato [pg 511] dalla schiera dei Maruti. Quivi così parlò Riscyasringo agli Dei venuti a partecipare del sacrifizio: Questo è il re Dasaratha, che per desiderio di progenie già s' astrinse ad osservanze austeré, e testè pieno di fede ha a voi, O eccelsi, sacrificato con un Asvamedha. Ora egli, sollecito d' aver figli, si dispone ad adempiere un nuovo rito; vogliate essere favorevole a lui che sospira progenie. Io alzo a voi supplici le mani, e voi tutti per lui imploro: nascano a lui quattro figli degni d'essere celebrati pei tre mondi. Risposero gli Dei al supplichevole figliuolo del Risci: Sia fatto ciò che chiedi; a te ed al re parimente si debbe da noi, O Brahmano, sommo pregio; canseguirà il re per questo sacro rito il suo suppremo desiderio. Ciò detto disparvero i Numi preceduti da Indra.

Poichè videro gli Dei compiersi debitamente dal gran Risci l'oblazione, venuti al cospetto di Brahma facitor del mondo, signor delle creature, così parlarono reverenti a lui dator di grazie: O Brahma, un Racsaso per nome Râvano, eui tu fosti largo del tuo favore, è per superbia infesto a noi tutti e ai grandi Saggi penitenti. Un di, O Nume, augusto, tu propizio a lui gli accordasti il favore, ch' egli bramava, di non poter essere ucciso dagli Dei, dai Dânavi nè dai Yacsi: noi venerando i tuoi oracoli, ogni cosa sopportiamo da costui. Quindi il signor dei Racsasi infesta con perpetue offese i tre mondi, i Devi, i Risci, i Yacsi ed i Gandharvi, gli Asuri e gli uomini: tutti egli opprime indegnamente inorgoglito pel tuo dono. Colà dove si trova Râvano, più non isfavilla per timore il sole, più non spira il vento, più non fiammeggia il fuoco: l' oceano stesso cui fan corona i vasti flutti, veggendo costui, tutto si turba e si commuove. Stretto dalla forza di costui e ridotto allo stremo dovette Vaisravano abbandonare Lancâ. Da questo Râvano, terror del mondo, tu ne proteggi, O almo Nume: degna, O dator d'ogni bene, trovar modo ad estirpar costui. Fatto di queste cose conscio dai Devi, stette alquanto meditando, poi rispose Brahma: Orsù! è stabilito il modo onde distruggere questo iniquo. Egli a me chiese, ed io gliel concessi, di non poter essere ucciso dai Devi, dai Risci, dai Gandharvi, dai Yacsi, dai Racsasi nè dai Serpenti; ma per disprezzo non fece menzione degli uomini quel Racso: or bene, sarà quell' empio ucciso da un uomo. Udite le fauste parole profferte da Brahma, furono per ogni parte liete gli Iddii col loro duce Indra. In questo mezzo quì sopravvenne raggiante d'immensa luce il venerando Visnu, pensato da Brahma nell' immortal sua mente, siccome atto ad estirpar colui; Allora Brahma colla schiera de' Celesti così parlò a Visnu: Tu sei il conforto delle gente oppresse, O distruttor di Madhu: noi quindi a te supplichiamo afflitti: sia tu nostro sostegno, O Aciuto. Dite, loro rispose Visnu, quale cosa io debba far per voi; e gli Dei, udite queste parole, cosi soggiunsero: Un re per nome Dasaratha, giusto, virtuoso, veridico e pio, non ha progenie e la desidera: ei già s' impose durissime penitenze, ed ora ha sacrificato con un Asvamedha: tu, per nostro consiglio, O Visnu, consenti a divenir suo figlio: fatte di te quattro parti, ti manifesta, O invocato dalle genti, nel seno delle quattro sue consorti, simili alla venusta Dea. Così esortato dagli Dei quivi presenti, l'augusto Nârâyana loro rispose queste opportune parole: Quale opra s'ha da me, fatto visible nel mondo, a compiere per voi, O Devi? e d'onde in voi cotal terrore? Intese le parole di Visnu, così risposero gli Dei: Il nostro terrore. O Visnu, nasce da un Racsaso per nome Râvano, spavento dell' universo. Vestendo umano corpo, tu debbi esterminar costui. Nessuno fra i Celesti, fuorchè tu solo, è valevole ad uccidere quell' iniquo. Egli, O domator de' tuoi nemici, sostenne per lungo tempo acerbissime [pg 512] macerazioni: per esse fu di lui contento l'augusto sommo Genitore: e un di gli accordò propizio la sicurezza da tutti gli esseri, eccettutine gli uomini. Per questo favore a lui concesso nou ha egli a temere offesa da alcuna parte, fuorchè dall' uomo, perciò, assumendo la natura umana, costui tu uccidi. Egli, il peggior di tutti i Racsasi, insano per la forza che gli infonde il dono avuto, da travaglio ai Devi ed ai Gaudharvi, ai Risci, ai Muni ed ai mortali. Egli, sicuro da morte pel favore ottenuto, è turbatore dei sacrifizj, nemico ed uccisor dei Brahmi, divoratore degli uomini, peste del mondo. Da lui furono assaliti re coi loro carri ed elefanti; altri percessi e fugati si dispersero per ogni dove. Da lui furono divorati Risci ed Apsarase: egli insomma oltracotato continuamente e quasi per ischerzo tutti travaglia i sette mondi. Perciò, O terribile ai nemici è stabilita la morte di costui per opra d'un uomo; poich' un di per superbia del dono tutti sprezzò gli uomini. Tu, O supremo fra i Numi, dei, umanandoti, estirpare questo tremendo, superbo Ràvano, oltracotato, a noi nemico, terrore e flagello dei penitenti.

Gorresio.

XIV.

De nouveau Rishyaçringa tint ce langage au Monarque: “Je vais célébrer un autre sacrifice, afin que le ciel accorde à tes vœux les enfants que tu souhaites.” Cela dit, cherchant le bonheur du roi et pour l'accomplissement de son désir, le fils puissant de Vibhándaka se mit à célébrer ce nouveau sacrifice.

Là auparavant, étaient venus déjà recevoir une part de l' offrande les Dieux, accompagnés des Gaudharvas, et les Siddhas avec les Mounis divins, Brahma, le monarque des Souras, l' immuable Śiva, et l' auguste Náráyana, et les quatre gardiens vigilants du monde, et les mères des Immortels, et tous les Dieux, escortés des Yakshas, et le maître éminent du ciel, Indra, qui se manifestait aux yeux, environné par l' essaim des Maroutes. Alors ce jeune anachorète avait supplié tous les Dieux, que le désir d'une part dans l' offrande avait conduits á l' açwamédha, cette grande cérémonie de ce roi magnanime; et, dans ce moment, l' époux de Śántá les conjurait ainsi pour la seconde fois: “Cet homme en prières, c'est le roi Daçaratha, qui est privé de fils. Il est rempli d' une foi vive; il s'est infligé de pénibles austérités; il vous a déjà servi, divinités augustes, le sacrifice d'un açwa-médha, et maintenant il s'étudie encore à vous plaire avec ce nouveau sacrifice dans l'espérance que vous lui donnerez les fils, où tendent ses désirs. Versez donc sur lui votre bienveillance et daignez sourire à son vœu pour des fils. C'est pour lui que moi ici, les mains jointes, je vous adresse à tous mes supplications: envoyez-lui quatre fils, qui soient vantés dans les trois mondes!”

“Ouí! répondirent les Dieux au fils suppliant du rishi; tu mérites que nous t'écoutions avec faveur, toi, brahme saint, et même, en premier lieu, ce roi. Comme récompense de ces différents sacrifices, le monarque obtendra cet objet le plus cher de ses désirs.”

Ayant aussi parlé et vu que le grand saint avait mis fin suivant les rites à son pieux sacrifice, les Dieux, Indra à leur tête, s'évanouissent dans le vide des airs et se rendent vers l' architecte des mondes, le souverain des créatures, le donateur des biens, vers Brahma enfin, auquel tous, les mains jointes, ils adressent les paroles suivantes: “O Brahma, un rakshasa, nommé Râvana, tourne su [pg 513] mal les grâces, qu'il a reçues de toi. Dans son orgueil, il nous opprime tous; il opprime avec nous les grands anchorètes, qui se font un bonheur des macérations: car jadis, ayant su te plaire, O Bhagavat, il a reçu de toi ce don incomparable. ‘Oui, as-tu dit, exauçant le vœu du mauvais Génie; Dieu. Yaksha ou Démon ne pourra jamais causer ta mort!’ Et nous, par qui ta parole est respectée, nous avons tout supporté de ce roi des rakshasas, qui écrase de sa tyrannie les trois mondes, ou il promène l' injure impunément. Enorgueilli de ce don victorieux, il opprime indignement les Dieux, les rishis, les Yakshas, les Gandharvas, les Asouras et les enfants de Manou. Là ou se tient Râvana, la peur empêche le soleil d'échauffer, le vent craint de souffler, et le feu n'ose flamboyer. A son aspect, la guirlande même des grands flots tremble au sein de la mer. Accablé par sa vigueur indomptable, Kouvéra défait lui a cédé Lanká. Suave-nous donc, ô toi, qui reposes daus le bonheur absolu; sauve-nous de Râvana, le fléau des mondes. Daigne, ô toi, qui souris aux vœux du suppliant, daigne imaginer un expedient pour ôter la vie à ce cruel Démon.” Les Dieux ayant ainsi dénoncé leurs maux à Brahma, il réfléchit un instant et leur tint ce langage: “Bien, voici que j'ai découvert un moyen pour tuer ce Génie scélérat. Que ni les Dieux, a-t-il dit, ni les rishis, ni les Gandharvas ni les Yakshas, ni les rakshasas, ni les Nágas même ne puissent me donner la mort! Soit lui ai-je répondu. Mais, par dédain pour la force humaine, les hommes n'ont pas été compris daus sa demande. C'est donc par la main d' un homme, qu'il faut immoler ce méchant.” Ainsi tombée de la bouche du créateur, cette parole salutaire satisfit pleinement le roi des habitants du ciel et tous les Dieux avec lui. Lá, dans ce même instant, survint le fortuné Visnou, revêtu d' une splendeur infinie; car c'était a lui, que Brahma avait pensé dans son âme pour la mort du tyran. Celui-ci donc avec l'essaim des Immortels adresse à Vishnou ces paroles: “Meurtrier de Madhou, comme tu aimes á tirer de l'affliction les êtres malheureux, nous te supplions, nous qui sommes plongés dans la tristesse, Divinité auguste, sois notre asyle!” “Dites! reprit Vishnou; que dois-je faire?” “Ayant oui les paroles de l'ineffable, tous les Dieux repondirent: Il est un roi nommé Daçaratha; il a embrassé une très-duré pénitence; il a célébré même le sacrifice d'un açwa-medha, parce qu'il n'a point de fils et qu'il veut en obtenir du ciel. Il est inébranlable dans sa piété, il est vanté pour ses vertus; la justice est son caractère, la verite est sa parole. Acquiesce donc à notre demande, ô toi, Vishnou, et consens à naître comme son fils. Divisé en quatre portions de toi-même, daigne, ô toi, qui foules aux pieds tes ennemis, daigne t' incarner dans le sein de ses trois épouses, belles comme la déesse de la beauté.” Náráyana, le maître, non perceptible aux sens, mais qui alors s' était rendu visible, Náráyana répondit cette parole salutaire aux Dieux, qui i invitaient à cet heroique avatára. Quelle chose, une fois revêtu de cette incarnation, faudra-t-il encore que je fasse pour vous, et de quelle part vient la terreur, qui vous trouble ainsi? A ces mots du grand Vishnou: “C'est le démon Rávana, reprirent les Dieux; c'est lui, Vishnou, cette désolation des mondes, qui nous inspire un tel effroi. Enveloppe-toi d'un corps, humain, et qu'il te plaise arrâcher du monde cette blessante epine; car nul autre que toi parmi les habitants du ciel n'est capable d'immoler ce pécheur. Sache que longtemps il s'est imposé la plus austére pénitence, et que par elle il s'est rendu agreable au suprême ayeul de toutes les créatures. Aussi le distributeur ineffable des gràces lui a-t-il accordé ce don insigne d'être invulnérable à tous les êtres, l' [pg 514] homme seul excepté. Puisque, doué ainsi de cette faveur, la mort terrible et sûre ne peut venir à lui de nulle autre part que de l'homme, va, dompteur puissant de tes ennemis, va dans la condition humaine, et tue-le. Car ce don, auquel on ne peut résister, élevant au plus haut point l'ivresse de sa force, le vil rakshasa tourmente les Dieux, les rishis, les Gandharvas, les hommes sanctifiés par la pénitence; et, quoique, destructeur des sacrifices, lacérateur des Saintes Ecritures, ennemi des brahmes, dévorateur des hommes, cette faveur incomparable sauve de la mort Rávana le triste fléau des mondes. Il ose attaquer les rois, que défendant les chars de guerre, que remparent les élephants: d'autres blessés et mis en fuite, sont dissipés ça et là devant lui. Il a dévoré des saints, il a dévoré même une foule d'apsaras. Sans cesse, dans son délire, il s'amuse à tourmenter les sept mondes. Comme on vient de nous apprendre qu' il n'a point daigné parler d'eux ce jour, que lui fut donnée cette faveur, dont il abuse, entre dans un corps humain, ô toi, qui peux briser tes ennemis, et jette sans vie à tes pieds, roi puissant des treize Dieux, ce Rávana superbe, d'une force épouvantable, d'un orgueil immense, l'ennemi de tous les ascètes, ce ver, qui les ronge, cette cause de leurs gémissements.”

Ici, dans le premier tome du saint Râmâyana, Finit le quatorzième chapitre, nommé: Un Expédient pour tuer Rávana.

Hippolyte Fauche.

Uttarakánda.

The Rámáyan ends, epically complete, with the triumphant return of Ráma and his rescued queen to Ayodhyá and his consecration and coronation in the capital of his forefathers. Even if the story were not complete, the conclusion of the last Canto of the sixth Book, evidently the work of a later hand than Válmíki's, which speaks of Ráma's glorious and happy reign and promises blessings to those who read and hear the Rámáyan, would be sufficient to show that, when these verses were added, the poem was considered to be finished. The Uttarakáṇḍa or Last Book is merely an appendix or a supplement and relates only events antecedent and subsequent to those described in the original poem. Indian scholars however, led by reverential love of tradition, unanimously ascribe this Last Book to Válmíki, and regard it as part of the Rámáyan.

Signor Gorresio has published an excellent translation of the Uttarakáṇḍa, in Italian prose, from the recension current in Bengal;1030 and Mr. Muir has epitomized a portion of the book in the Appendix to the Fourth Part of his Sanskrit Texts (1862). From these scholars I borrow freely in the following pages, and give them my hearty thanks for saving me much wearisome labour.

[pg 515]
“After Ráma had returned to Ayodhyá and taken possession of the throne, the rishis [saints] assembled to greet him, and Agastya, in answer to his questions recounted many particulars regarding his old enemies. In the Krita Yuga (or Golden Age) the austere and pious Brahman rishi Pulastya, a son of Brahmá, being teased with the visits of different damsels, proclaimed that any one of them whom he again saw near his hermitage should become pregnant. This had not been heard by the daughter of the royal rishi Triṇavindu, who one day came into Pulastya's neighbourhood, and her pregnancy was the result (Sect. 2, vv. 14 ff.). After her return home, her father, seeing her condition, took her to Pulastya, who accepted her as his wife, and she bore a son who received the name of Viśravas. This son was, like his father, an austere and religious sage. He married the daughter of the muni Bharadvája, who bore him a son to whom Brahmá gave the name of Vaiśravaṇ-Kuvera (Sect. 3, vv. 1 ff.). He performed austerities for thousands of years, when he obtained from Brahmá as a boon that he should be one of the guardians of the world (along with Indra, Varuṇa, and Yáma) and the god of riches. He afterwards consulted his father Viśravas about an abode, and at his suggestion took possession of the city of Lanká, which had formerly been built by Viśvakarmán for the Rákshasas, but had been abandoned by them through fear of Vishṇu, and was at that time unoccupied. Ráma then (Sect. 4) says he is surprised to hear that Lanká had formerly belonged to the Rákshasas, as he had always understood that they were the descendants of Pulastya, and now he learns that they had also another origin. He therefore asks who was their ancestor, and what fault they had committed that they were chased away by Vishṇu. Agastya replies that when Brahmá created the waters, he formed certain beings,—some of whom received the name of Rákshasas,—to guard them. The first Rákshasas kings were Heti and Praheti. Heti married a sister of Kála (Time). She bore him a son Vidyutkeśa, who in his turn took for his wife Lankatanka[t.]á, the daughter of Sandhyá (V. 21). She bore him a son Sukeśa, whom she abandoned, but he was seen by Śiva as he was passing by with his wife Párvatí, who made the child as old as his mother, and immortal, and gave him a celestial city. Sukeśa married a Gandharví called Devavatí who bore three sons, Mályavat, Sumáli and Máli. These sons practised intense austerities, when Brahmá appeared and conferred on them invincibility and long life. They then harassed the gods. Viśvakarmá gave them a city, Lanká, on the mountain Trikúṭa, on the shore of [pg 516] the southern ocean, which he had built at the command of Indra.… The three Rákshasa, Mályavat and his two brothers, then began to oppress the gods, rishis, etc.; who (Sect. 6, v. 1 ff.) in consequence resort for aid to Mahádeva, who having regard to his protégé Sukeśa the father of Mályavat, says that he cannot kill the Rákshasas, but advises the suppliants to go to Vishṇu, which they do, and receive from him a promise that he will destroy their enemies. The three Rákshasa kings, hearing of this, consult together, and proceed to heaven to attack the gods. Vishṇu prepares to meet them. The battle is described in the seventh section. The Rákshasas are defeated by Vishṇu with great slaughter, and driven back to Lanká, one of their leaders, Máli, being slain. Mályavat remonstrates with Vishṇu, who was assaulting the rear of the fugitives, for his unwarrior-like conduct, and wishes to renew the combat (Sect. 8, v. 3 ff.). Vishṇu replies that he must fulfil his promise to the gods by slaying the Rákshasas, and that he would destroy them even if they fled to Pátála. These Rákshasas, Agastya says, were more powerful than Rávaṇa, and, could only be destroyed by Náráyaṇa, i.e. by Ráma himself, the eternal, indestructible god. Sumáli with his family lived for along time in Pátála, while Kuvera dwelt in Lanká. In section 9 it is related that Sumáli once happened to visit the earth, when he observed Kuvera going in his chariot to see his father Viśravas. This leads him to consider how he might restore his own fortunes. He consequently desires his daughter Kaikasí to go and woo Viśravas, who receives her graciously. She becomes the mother of the dreadful Rávaṇa, of the huge Kumbhakarṇa, of Śúrpaṇakhá, and of the righteous Vibhishaṇa, who was the last son. These children grow up in the forest. Kumbhakarṇa goes about eating rishis. Kuvera comes to visit his father, when Kaikasí takes occasion to urge her son Rávaṇa to strive to become like his brother (Kuvera) in splendour. This Rávaṇa promises to do. He then goes to the hermitage of Gokarna with his brothers to perform austerity. In section 10 their austere observances are described: after a thousand years' penance Rávaṇa throws his head into the fire. He repeats this oblation nine times after equal intervals, and is about to do it the tenth time, when Brahmá appears, and offers a boon. Rávaṇa asks immortality, but is refused. He then asks that he may be indestructible by all creatures more powerful than men; which boon is accorded by Brahmá together with the recovery of all the heads he had sacrificed and the power of assuming any shape he pleased. Vibhishaṇa asks as his boon that even amid the greatest calamities he may think only of righteousness, and that the weapon of Brahmá may appear to him unlearnt, etc. The god grants his request, and adds the gift of immortality. When Brahmá is about to offer a boon to Kumbhakarṇa, the gods interpose, as, they say, he had eaten seven Apsarases and ten followers of Indra, besides rishis and men; and beg that under the guise of a boon stupefaction may be inflicted on him. Brahmá thinks on Sarasvatí, who arrives and, by Brahmá's command, enters into Kumbhakarṇa's mouth that she may speak for him. Under this influence he asks that he may receive the boon of sleeping for many years, which is granted. When however Sarasvatí has left him, and he recovers his own consciousness, he perceives that he has been deluded. Kuvera by his father's advice, gives up the city of Lanká to Rávaṇ.”1031 Rávaṇa marries (Sect. 12) Mandodarí the beautiful daughter of the Asur Maya whose [pg 517] name has several times occurred in the Rámáyan as that of an artist of wonderful skill. She bears a son Meghanáda or the Roaring Cloud who was afterwards named Indrajít from his victory over the sovereign of the skies. The conquest of Kuvera, and the acquisition of the magic self-moving chariot which has done much service in the Rámáyan, form the subject of sections XIII., XIV. and XV. “The rather pretty story of Vedavatí is related in the seventeenth section, as follows: Rávaṇa in the course of his progress through the world, comes to the forest on the Himálaya, where he sees a damsel of brilliant beauty, but in ascetic garb, of whom he straightway becomes enamoured. He tells her that such an austere life is unsuited to her youth and attractions, and asks who she is and why she is leading an ascetic existence. She answers that she is called Vedavatí, and is the vocal daughter of Vṛihaspati's son, the rishi Kuśadhwaja, sprung from him during his constant study of the Veda. The gods, gandharvas, etc., she says, wished that she should choose a husband, but her father would give her to no one else than to Vishṇu, the lord of the world, whom he desired for his son-in-law. Vedavatí then proceeds: ‘In order that I may fulfil this desire of my father in respect of Náráyaṇa, I wed him with my heart. Having entered into this engagement I practise great austerity. Náráyaṇa and no other than he, Purushottama, is my husband. From the desire of obtaining him, I resort to this severe observance.’ Rávaṇa's passion is not in the least diminished by this explanation and he urges that it is the old alone who should seek to become distinguished by accumulating merit through austerity, prays that she who is so young and beautiful shall become his bride; and boasts that he is superior to Vishṇu. She rejoins that no one but he would thus contemn that deity. On receiving this reply he touches the hair of her head with the tip of his finger. She is greatly incensed, and forthwith cuts off her hair and tells him that as he has so insulted her, she cannot continue to live, but will enter into the fire before his eyes. She goes on ‘Since I have been insulted in the forest by thee who art wicked-hearted, I shall be born again for thy destruction. For a man of evil desire cannot be slain by a woman; and the merit of my austerity would be lost if I were to launch a curse against thee. But if I have performed or bestowed or sacrificed aught may I be born the virtuous daughter, not produced from the womb, of a righteous man.’ Having thus spoken she entered the blazing fire. Then a shower of celestial flowers fell (from every part of the sky). It is she, lord, who, having been Vedavatí in the Krita age, has been born (in the Treta age) as the daughter of the king of the Janakas, and (has become) thy [Ráma's] bride; for thou art the eternal Vishṇu. The mountain-like enemy who was [virtually] destroyed before by her wrath, has now been slain by her having recourse to thy superhuman energy.” On this the commentator remarks: “By this it is signified that Sítá was the principal cause of Rávaṇa's death; but the function of destroying him is ascribed to Ráma.” On the words, “thou art Vishṇu,” in the preceding verse the same commentator remarks: “By this it is clearly affirmed that Sítá was Lakshmí.” This is what Paráśara says: “In the god's life as Ráma, she became Sítá, and in his birth as Krishṇa [she became] Rukminí.”1032

In the following section (XVIII.) “Rávaṇa is described as violently interrupting a sacrifice which is being performed by king Marutta, and the assembled [pg 518] gods in terror assume different shapes to escape; Indra becomes a peacock, Yáma a crow, Kuvera a lizard, and Varuṇa a swan; and each deity bestows a boon on the animal he had chosen. The peacock's tail recalls Indra's thousand eyes; the swan's colour becomes white, like the foam of the ocean (Varuṇa being its lord); the lizard obtains a golden colour; and the crow is never to die except when killed by a violent death, and the dead are to enjoy the funeral oblations when they have been devoured by the crows.”1033

Rávaṇ then attacks Arjuna or Kárttavírya the mighty king of Máhishmati on the banks of the Narmadá, and is defeated, captured and imprisoned by Arjuna. At the intercession of Pulastya (Sect. XXII.) he is released from his bonds. He then visits Kishkindhá where he enters into alliance with Báli the King of the Vánars: “We will have all things in common,” says Rávaṇ, “dames, sons, cities and kingdoms, food, vesture, and all delights.” His next exploit is the invasion of the kingdom of departed spirits and his terrific battle with the sovereign Yáma. The poet in his description of these regions with the detested river with waves of blood, the dire lamentations, the cries for a drop of water, the devouring worm, all the tortures of the guilty and the somewhat insipid pleasures of the just, reminds one of the scenes in the under world so vividly described by Homer, Virgil, and Dante. Yáma is defeated (Sect. XXVI.) by the giant, not so much by his superior power as because at the request of Brahmá Yáma refrains from smiting with his deadly weapon the Rákshas enemy to whom that God had once given the promise that preserved him. In the twenty-seventh section Rávaṇ goes “under the earth into Pátála the treasure-house of the waters inhabited by swarms of serpents and Daityas, and well defended by Varuṇ.” He subdues Bhogavatí the city ruled by Vásuki and reduces the Nágas or serpents to subjection. He penetrates even to the imperial seat of Varuṇ. The God himself is absent, but his sons come forth and do battle with the invader. The giant is victorious and departs triumphant. The twenty-eighth section gives the details of a terrific battle between Rávaṇ and Mándhátá King of Ayodhyá, a distinguished ancestor of Ráma. Supernatural weapons are employed on both sides and the issue of the conflict is long doubtful. But at last Mándhátá prepares to use the mighty weapon “acquired by severe austerities through the grace and favour of Rudra.” The giant would inevitably have been slain. But two pre-eminent Munis Pulastya and Gálava beheld the fight through the power given by contemplation, and with words of exhortation they parted King Mándhátá and the sovereign of the Rákshases. Rávaṇ at last (Sect. XXXII.) returns homeward carrying with him in his car Pushpak the virgin daughters of kings, of Rishis, of Daityas, and Gandharvas whom he has seized upon his way. The thirty-sixth section describes a battle with Indra, in which the victorious Meghanáda son of the giant, makes the King of the Gods his prisoner, binds him with his magic art, and carries him away (Sect. XXVII.) in triumph to Lanká. Brahmá intercedes (Sect. XXXVIII.) and Indrajít releases his prisoner on obtaining in return the boon that sacrifice to the Lord of Fire shall always make him invincible in the coming battle. In sections XXXIX., XL, “we have a legend related to Ráma by the sage Agastya to account for the stupendous strength of the monkey Hanumán, as it had been described in the Rámáyaṇa. Rama naturally wonders (as [pg 519] perhaps many readers of the Rámáyaṇa have done since) why a monkey of such marvellous power and prowess had not easily overcome Báli and secured the throne for his friend Sugríva. Agastya replies that Hanumán was at that time under a curse from a Rishi, and consequently was not conscious of his own might.”1034 The whole story of the marvellous Vánar is here given at length, but nothing else of importance is added to the tale already given in the Rámáyaṇa. The Rishis or saints then (Sect. XL.) return to their celestial seats, and the Vánars, Rákshases and bears also (Sect. XLIII.) take their departure. The chariot Pushpak is restored to its original owner Kuvera, as has already been related in the Rámáyaṇ.

The story of Ráma and Sítá is then continued, and we meet with matter of more human interest. The winter is past and the pleasant spring-time is come, and Ráma and Sítá sit together in the shade of the Aśoka trees happy as Indra and Śachí when they drink in Paradise the nectar of the Gods. “Tell me, my beloved,” says Ráma, “for thou wilt soon be a mother, hast thou a wish in thy heart for me to gratify?” And Sítá smiles and answers: “I long, O son of Raghu, to visit the pure and holy hermitages on the banks of the Ganges and to venerate the feet of the saints who there perform their rigid austerities and live on roots and berries. This is my chief desire, to stand within the hermits' grove were it but for a single day.” And Ráma said: “Let not the thought trouble thee: thou shalt go to the grove of the ascetics.” But slanderous tongues have been busy in Ayodhyá, and Sítá has not been spared. Ráma hears that the people are lamenting his blind folly in taking back to his bosom the wife who was so long a captive in the palace of Rávaṇ. Ráma well knows her spotless purity in thought, word, and deed, and her perfect love of him; but he cannot endure the mockery and the shame and resolves to abandon his unsuspecting wife. He orders the sad but still obedient Lakshmaṇ to convey her to the hermitage which she wishes to visit and to leave her there, for he will see her face again no more. They arrive at the hermitage, and Lakshmaṇ tells her all. She falls fainting on the ground, and when she recovers her consciousness sheds some natural tears and bewails her cruel and undeserved lot. But she resolves to live for the sake of Ráma and her unborn son, and she sends by Lakshmaṇ a dignified message to the husband who has forsaken her: “I grieve not for myself,” she says “because I have been abandoned on account of what the people say, and not for any evil that I have done. The husband is the God of the wife, the husband is her lord and guide; and what seems good unto him she should do even at the cost of her life.”

Sítá is honourably received by the saint Válmíki himself, and the holy women of the hermitage are charged to entertain and serve her. In this calm retreat she gives birth to two boys who receive the names of Kuśa and Lava. They are carefully brought up and are taught by Válmíki himself to recite the Rámáyaṇ. The years pass by: and Ráma at length determines to celebrate the Aśvamedha or Sacrifice of the Steed. Válmíki, with his two young pupils, attends the ceremony, and the unknown princes recite before the delighted father the poem which recounts his deeds. Ráma inquires into their history and recognizes them as his sons. Sítá is invited to return and solemnly affirm her innocence before the great assembly.

“But Sítá's heart was too full; this second ordeal was beyond even her power to submit to, and the poet rose above the ordinary Hindu level of women [pg 520] when he ventured to paint her conscious purity as rebelling: ‘Beholding all the spectators, and clothed in red garments, Sítá clasping her hands and bending low her face, spoke thus in a voice choked with tears: “as I, even in mind, have never thought of any other than Ráma, so may Mádhaví the goddess of Earth, grant me a hiding-place.” As Sítá made this oath, lo! a marvel appeared. Suddenly cleaving the earth, a divine throne of marvellous beauty rose up, borne by resplendent dragons on their heads: and seated on it, the goddess of Earth, raising Sítá with her arm, said to her, “Welcome to thee!” and placed her by her side. And as the queen, seated on the throne, slowly descended to Hades, a continuous shower of flowers fell down from heaven on her head.’1035”

“Both the great Hindu epics thus end in disappointment and sorrow. In the Mahábhárata the five victorious brothers abandon the hardly won throne to die one by one in a forlorn pilgrimage to the Himálaya; and in the same way Ráma only regains his wife, after all his toils, to lose her. It is the same in the later Homeric cycle—the heroes of the Iliad perish by ill-fated deaths. And even Ulysses, after his return to Ithaca, sets sail again to Thesprotia, and finally falls by the hand of his own son. But in India and Greece alike this is an afterthought of a self-conscious time, which has been subsequently added to cast a gloom on the strong cheerfulness of the heroic age.”1036

“The termination of Ráma's terrestrial career is thus told in Sections 116 ff. of the Uttarakáṇda. Time, in the form of an ascetic, comes to his palace gate, and asks, as the messenger of the great rishi (Brahmá) to see Ráma. He is admitted and received with honour, but says, when he is asked what he has to communicate, that his message must be delivered in private, and that any one who witnesses the interview is to lose his life. Ráma informs Lakshmaṇ of all this, and desires him to stand outside. Time then tells Ráma that he has been sent by Brahmá, to say that when he (Ráma, i.e. Vishṇu) after destroying the worlds was sleeping on the ocean, he had formed him (Brahmá) from the lotus springing from his navel, and committed to him the work of creation; that he (Brahmá) had then entreated Ráma to assume the function of Preserver, and that the latter had in consequence become Vishṇu, being born as the son of Aditi, and had determined to deliver mankind by destroying Rávaṇa, and to live on earth ten thousand and ten hundred years; that period, adds Time, was now on the eve of expiration, and Ráma could either at his pleasure prolong his stay on earth, or ascend to heaven and rule over the gods. Ráma replies, that he had been born for the good of the three worlds, and would now return to the place whence he had come, as it was his function to fulfil the purposes of the gods. While they are speaking the irritable rishi Durvásas comes, and insists on seeing Ráma immediately, under a threat, if refused, of cursing Ráma and all his family.”

Lakshmaṇ, preferring to save his kinsman, though knowing that his own death must be the consequence of interrupting the interview of Ráma with Time, enters the palace and reports the rishi's message to Ráma. Ráma comes out, and [pg 521] when Durvásas has got the food he wished, and departed, Ráma reflects with great distress on the words of Time, which require that Lakshmaṇ should die. Lakshmaṇ however exhorts Ráma not to grieve, but to abandon him and not break his own promise. The counsellors concurring in this advice, Ráma abandons Lakshmaṇ, who goes to the river Sarayú, suppresses all his senses, and is conveyed bodily by Indra to heaven. The gods are delighted by the arrival of the fourth part of Vishṇu. Ráma then resolves to install Bharata as his successor and retire to the forest and follow Lakshmaṇ. Bharata however refuses the succession, and determines to accompany his brother. Ráma's subjects are filled with grief, and say they also will follow him wherever he goes. Messengers are sent to Śatrughna, the other brother, and he also resolves to accompany Ráma; who at length sets out in procession from his capital with all the ceremonial appropriate to the “great departure,” silent, indifferent to external objects, joyless, with Śrí on his right, the goddess Earth on his left, Energy in front, attended by all his weapons in human shapes, by the Vedas in the forms of Bráhmans, by the Gáyatrí, the Omkára, the Vashaṭkára, by rishis, by his women, female slaves, eunuchs, and servants. Bharata with his family, and Śatrughna, follow together with Bráhmans bearing the sacred fire, and the whole of the people of the country, and even with animals, etc., etc. Ráma, with all these attendants, comes to the banks of the Sarayú. Brahmá, with all the gods and innumerable celestial cars, now appears, and all the sky is refulgent with the divine splendour. Pure and fragrant breezes blow, a shower of flowers falls. Ráma enters the waters of the Sarayú; and Brahmá utters a voice from the sky, saying: “Approach, Vishṇu; Rághava, thou hast happily arrived, with thy godlike brothers. Enter thine own body as Vishṇu or the eternal ether. For thou art the abode of the worlds: no one comprehends thee, the inconceivable and imperishable, except the large-eyed Máyá thy primeval spouse.” Hearing these words, Ráma enters the glory of Vishṇu with his body and his followers. He then asks Brahmá to find an abode for the people who had accompanied him from devotion to his person, and Brahmá appoints them a celestial residence accordingly.1037

[pg 522]
ADDITIONAL NOTES.

Queen Fortune.

“A curious festival is celebrated in honour of this divinity (Lakshmî) on the fifth lunar day of the light half of the month Mâgha (February), when she is identified with Saraswatí the consort of Brahmá, and the goddess of learning. In his treatise on festivals, a great modern authority, Raghunandana, mentions, on the faith of a work called Samvatsara-sandipa, that Lakshmî is to be worshipped in the forenoon of that day with flowers, perfumes, rice, and water; that due honour is to be paid to inkstand and writing-reed, and no writing to be done. Wilson, in his essay on the Religious Festivals of the Hindus (works, vol. ii, p. 188. ff.) adds that on the morning of the 2nd February, the whole of the pens and inkstands, and the books, if not too numerous and bulky, are collected, the pens or reeds cleaned, the inkstands scoured, and the books wrapped up in new cloth, are arranged upon a platform, or a sheet, and strewn over with flowers and blades of young barley, and that no flowers except white are to be offered. After performing the necessary rites, … all the members of the family assemble and make their prostrations; the books, the pens, and ink having an entire holiday; and should any emergency require a written communication on the day dedicated to the divinity of scholarship, it is done with chalk or charcoal upon a black or white board.”

Chambers's Encyclopædia. Lakshmî.

Indra.

“The Hindu Jove or Jupiter Tonans, chief of the secondary deities. He presides over swarga or paradise, and is more particularly the god of the atmosphere and winds. He is also regent of the east quarter of the sky. As chief of the deities he is called Devapati, Devadeva, Surapati, etc.; as lord of the atmosphere Divaspati; as lord of the eight Vasus or demigods, Fire, etc., Vásava; as breaking cities into fragments, Purandara, Puranda; as lord of a hundred sacrifices (the performance of a hundred Aśvamedhas elevating the sacrificer to the rank of Indra) Śatakratu, Śatamakha; as having a thousand eyes, Sahasráksha; as husband of Śachí, Śachípati. His wife is called Śachí, Indráṇí, Sakráṇí, Maghoni, Indraśakti, Pulomajá, and Paulomí. His son is Jayanta. His pleasure garden or elysium is Nandana; his city, Amarávatí; his palace, Vaijayanta; his horse, Uchchaihśravas, his elephant, Airávata; his charioteer, Mátali.”

Professor M. Williams's English-Sanskrit Dictionary. Indra.

Vishnu.

“The second person of the Hindu triad, and the most celebrated and popular of all the Indian deities. He is the personification of the preserving power, and became incarnate in nine different forms, for the preservation of mankind in various emergencies. Before the creation of the universe, and after its temporary annihilation, he is supposed to sleep on the waters, floating on the serpent Śesha, and is then identified with Náráyaṇa. Brahmá, the creator, is fabled to spring at that time from a lotus which grows from his navel, whilst thus asleep.… His ten avatárs or incarnations are:

[pg 523]
“1. The Matsya, or fish. In this avatár Vishṇu descended in the form of a fish to save the pious king Satyavrata, who with the seven Rishis and their wives had taken refuge in the ark to escape the deluge which then destroyed the earth. 2, The Kúrma, or Tortoise. In this he descended in the form of a tortoise, for the purpose of restoring to man some of the comforts lost during the flood. To this end he stationed himself at the bottom of the ocean, and allowed the point of the great mountain Mandara to be placed upon his back, which served as a hard axis, whereon the gods and demons, with the serpent Vásuki twisted round the mountain for a rope, churned the waters for the recovery of the amrita or nectar, and fourteen other sacred things. 3. The Varáha, or Boar. In this he descended in the form of a boar to rescue the earth from the power of a demon called ‘golden-eyed,’ Hiraṇyáksha. This demon had seized on the earth and carried it with him into the depths of the ocean. Vishṇu dived into the abyss, and after a contest of a thousand years slew the monster. 4. The Narasinha, or Man-lion. In this monstrous shape of a creature half-man, half-lion, Vishṇu delivered the earth from the tyranny of an insolent demon called Hiraṇyakaśipu. 5. Vámana, or Dwarf. This avatár happened in the second age of the Hindús or Tretáyug, the four preceding are said to have occurred in the first or Satyayug; the object of this avatár was to trick Bali out of the dominion of the three worlds. Assuming the form of a wretched dwarf he appeared before the king and asked, as a boon, as much land as he could pace in three steps. This was granted; and Vishṇu immediately expanding himself till he filled the world, deprived Bali at two steps of heaven and earth, but in consideration of some merit, left Pátála still in his dominion. 6. Paraśuráma. 7. Rámchandra. 8. Krishṇa, or according to some Balaráma. 9. Buddha. In this avatár Vishṇu descended in the form of a sage for the purpose of making some reform in the religion of the Brahmins, and especially to reclaim them from their proneness to animal sacrifice. Many of the Hindús will not allow this to have been an incarnation of their favourite god. 10. Kalki, or White Horse. This is yet to come. Vishṇu mounted on a white horse, with a drawn scimitar, blazing like a comet, will, according to prophecy, end this present age, viz. the fourth or Kaliyug, by destroying the world, and then renovating creation by an age of purity.”

William's Dictionary. Vishṇu.

Siva.

“A celebrated Hindú God, the Destroyer of creation, and therefore the most formidable of the Hindú Triad. He also personifies reproduction, since the Hindú philosophy excludes the idea of total annihilation without subsequent regeneration. Hence he is sometimes confounded with Brahmá, the creator or first person of the Triad. He is the particular God of the Tántrikas, or followers of the books called Tantras. His worshippers are termed Śaivas, and although not so numerous as the Vaishṇavas, exalt their god to the highest place in the heavens, and combine in him many of the attributes which properly belong to the other deities. According to them Śiva is Time, Justice, Fire, Water, the Sun, the Destroyer and Creator. As presiding over generation, his type is the Linga, or Phallus, the origin probably of the Phallic emblem of Egypt and Greece. As the God of generation and justice, which latter character he shares with the god Yama, he is represented riding a white bull. His own colour, as well as that of the bull, is generally white, referring probably to the unsullied purity of Justice. [pg 524] His throat is dark-blue; his hair of a light reddish colour, and thickly matted together, and gathered above his head like the hair of an ascetic. He is sometimes seen with two hands, sometimes with four, eight, or ten, and with five faces. He has three eyes, one being in the centre of his forehead, pointing up and down. These are said to denote his view of the three divisions of time, past, present, and future. He holds a trident in his hand to denote, as some say, his relationship to water, or according to others, to show that the three great attributes of Creator, Destroyer, and Regenerator are combined in him. His loins are enveloped in a tiger's skin. In his character of Time, he not only presides over its extinction, but also its astronomical regulation. A crescent or half-moon on his forehead indicates the measure of time by the phases of the moon; a serpent forms one of his necklaces to denote the measure of time by years, and a second necklace of human skulls marks the lapse and revolution of ages, and the extinction and succession of the generations of mankind. He is often represented as entirely covered with serpents, which are the emblems of immortality. They are bound in his hair, round his neck, wrists, waist, arms and legs; they serve as rings for his fingers, and earrings for his ears, and are his constant companions. Śiva has more than a thousand names which are detailed at length in the sixty-ninth chapter of the Śiva Puráṇa.”—Williams's Dictionary, Śiva.

Apsarases.

“Originally these deities seem to have been personifications of the vapours which are attracted by the sun, and form into mist or clouds: their character may be thus interpreted in the few hymns of the Rigveda where mention is made of them. At a subsequent period when the Gandharva of the Rigveda who personifies there especially the Fire of the Sun, expanded into the Fire of Lightning, the rays of the moon and other attributes of the elementary life of heaven as well as into pious acts referring to it, the Apsarasas become divinities which represent phenomena or objects both of a physical and ethical kind closely associated with that life; thus in the Yajurveda Sunbeams are called the Apsarasas associated with the Gandharva who is the Sun; Plants are termed the Apsarasas connected with the Gandharva Fire: Constellations are the Apsarasas of the Gandharva Moon: Waters the Apsarasas of the Gandharva Wind, etc. etc.… In the last Mythological epoch when the Gandharvas have saved from their elementary nature merely so much as to be musicians in the paradise of Indra, the Apsarasas appear among other subordinate deities which share in the merry life of Indra's heaven, as the wives of the Gandharvas, but more especially as wives of a licentious sort, and they are promised therefore, too, as a reward to heroes fallen in battle when they are received in the paradise of Indra; and while, in the Rigveda, they assist Soma to pour down his floods, they descend in the epic literature on earth merely to shake the virtue of penitent Sages and to deprive them of the power they would otherwise have acquired through unbroken austerities.”—Goldstücker's Sanskrit Dictionary.

Vishnu's Incarnation As Ráma.

“Here is described one of the avatárs, descents or manifestations of Vishṇu in a visible form. The word avatár signifies literally descent. The avatár which is here spoken of, that in which, according to Indian traditions, Vishṇu descended [pg 525] and appeared upon earth in the corporeal form of Ráma, the hero of the Rámáyana, is the seventh in the series of Indian avatárs. Much has been said before now of these avatárs, and through deficient knowledge of the ideas and doctrines of India, they have been compared to the sublime dogma of the Christian Incarnation. This is one of the grossest errors that ignorance of the ideas and beliefs of a people has produced. Between the avatárs of India and the Christian Incarnation there is such an immensity of difference that it is impossible to find any reasonable analogy that can approximate them. The idea of the avatárs is intimately united with that of the Trimúrti; the bond of connection between these two ideas is an essential notion common to both, the notion of Vishṇu. What is the Trimúrti? I have already said that it is composed of three Gods, Brahmá (masculine), Vishṇu the God of avatárs, and Śiva. These three Gods, who when reduced to their primitive and most simple expression are but three cosmogonical personifications, three powers or forces of nature, these Gods, I say, are here found, according to Indian doctrines, entirely external to the true God of India, or Brahma in the neuter gender. Brahma is alone, unchangeable in the midst of creation: all emanates from him, he comprehends all, but he remains extraneous to all: he is Being and the negation of beings. Brahma is never worshipped; the indeterminate Being is never invoked; he is inaccessible to the prayers as the actions of man; humanity, as well as nature, is extraneous to him. External to Brahma rises the Trimúrti, that is to say, Brahmá (masculine) the power which creates, Vishṇu the power which preserves, and Śiva the power which destroys: theogony here commences at the same time with cosmogony. The three divinities of the Trimúrti govern the phenomena of the universe and influence all nature. The real God of India is by himself without power; real efficacious power is attributed only to three divinities who exist externally to him. Brahmá, Vishṇu, and Śiva, possessed of qualities in part contradictory and attributes that are mutually exclusive, have no other accord or harmony than that which results from the power of things itself, and which is found external to their own thoughts. Such is the Indian Trimúrti. What an immense difference between this Triad and the wonderful Trinity of Christianity! Here there is only one God, who created all, provides for all, governs all. He exists in three Persons equal to one another, and intimately united in one only infinite and eternal substance. The Father represents the eternal thought and the power which created, the Son infinite love, the Holy Spirit universal sanctification. This one and triune God completes by omnipotent power the great work of creation which, when it has come forth from His hands, proceeds in obedience to the laws which He has given it, governed with certain order by His infinite providence.

“The immense difference between the Trimúrti of India and the Christian Trinity is found again between the avatárs of Vishṇu and the Incarnation of Christ. The avatár was effected altogether externally to the Being who is in India regarded as the true God. The manifestation of one essentially cosmogonical divinity wrought for the most part only material and cosmogonical prodigies. At one time it takes the form of the gigantic tortoise which sustains Mount Mandar from sinking in the ocean; at another of the fish which raises the lost Veda from the bottom of the sea, and saves mankind from the waters. When these avatárs are not cosmogonical they consist in some protection accorded to [pg 526] men or Gods, a protection which is neither universal nor permanent. The very manner in which the avatár is effected corresponds to its material nature, for instance the mysterious vase and the magic liquor by means of which the avatár here spoken of takes place. What are the forms which Vishṇu takes in his descents? They are the simple forms of life; he becomes a tortoise, a boar, a fish, but he is not obliged to take the form of intelligence and liberty, that is to say, the form of man. In the avatár of Vishṇu is discovered the inpress of pantheistic ideas which have always more or less prevailed in India. Does the avatár produce a permanent and definitive result in the world? By no means. It is renewed at every catastrophe either of nature or man, and its effects are only transitory.… To sum up then, the Indian avatár is effected externally to the true God of India, to Brahma; it has only a cosmogonical or historical mission which is neither lasting nor decisive; it is accomplished by means of strange prodigies and magic transformations; it may assume promiscuously all the forms of life; it may be repeated indefinitely. Now let the whole of this Indian idea taken from primitive tradition be compared with the Incarnation of Christ and it will be seen that there is between the two an irreconcilable difference. According to the doctrines of Christianity the Everlasting Word, Infinite Love, the Son of God, and equal to Him, assumed a human body, and being born as a man accomplished by his divine act the great miracle of the spiritual redemption of man. His coming had for its sole object to bring erring and lost humanity back to Him; this work being accomplished, and the divine union of men with God being re-established, redemption is complete and remains eternal.

“The superficial study of India produced in the last century many erroneous ideas, many imaginary and false parallels between Christianity and the Brahmanical religion. A profounder knowledge of Indian civilization and religion, and philological studies enlarged and guided by more certain principles have dissipated one by one all those errors. The attributes of the Christian God, which by one of those intellectual errors, which Vico attributes to the vanity of the learned, had been transferred to Vishṇu, have by a better inspired philosophy been reclaimed for Christianity, and the result of the two religions, one immovable and powerless, the other diffusing itself with all its inherent force and energy, has shown further that there is a difference, a real opposition, between the two principles.”—Gorresio.

Kusa and Lava.

As the story of the banishment of Sítá and the subsequent birth in Válmíki's hermitage of Kuśa and Lava the rhapsodists of the Rámáyan, is intimately connected with the account in the introductory cantos of Válmíki's composition of the poem, I shall, I trust, be pardoned for extracting it from my rough translation of Kálidása's Raghuvaṇśa, parts only of which have been offered to the public.

“Then, day by day, the husband's hope grew high,
Gazing with love on Sítá's melting eye:
With anxious care he saw her pallid cheek,
And fondly bade her all her wishes speak.
“Once more I fain would see,” the lady cried,
“The sacred groves that rise on Gangá's side,
[pg 527]
Where holy grass is ever fresh and green,
And cattle feeding on the rice are seen:
There would I rest awhile, where once I strayed
Linked in sweet friendship to each hermit maid.”
And Ráma smiled upon his wife, and sware,
With many a tender oath, to grant her prayer.
It chanced, one evening, from a lofty seat
He viewed Ayodhyá stretched before his feet:
He looked with pride upon the royal road
Lined with gay shops their glittering stores that showed,
He looked on Sarjú's silver waves, that bore
The light barks flying with the sail and oar;
He saw the gardens near the town that lay,
Filled with glad citizens and boys at play.
Then swelled the monarch's bosom with delight,
And his heart triumphed at the happy sight.
He turned to Bhadra, standing by his side,—
Upon whose secret news the king relied.—
And bade him say what people said and thought
Of all the exploits that his arm had wrought.
The spy was silent, but, when questioned still,
Thus spake, obedient to his master's will:
“For all thy deeds in peace and battle done
The people praise thee, King, except for one:
This only act of all thy life they blame,—
Thy welcome home of her, thy ravished dame.”
Like iron yielding to the iron's blow,
Sank Ráma, smitten by those words of woe.
His breast, where love and fear for empire vied,
Swayed, like a rapid swing, from side to side.
Shall he this rumour scorn, which blots his life,
Or banish her, his dear and spotless wife?
But rigid Duty left no choice between
His perilled honour and his darling queen.
Called to his side, his brothers wept to trace
The marks of anguish in his altered face.
No longer bright and glorious as of old,
He thus addressed them when the tale was told:
“Alas! my brothers, that my life should blot
The fame of those the Sun himself begot:
As from the labouring cloud the driven rain
Leaves on the mirror's polished face a stain.
E'en as an elephant who loathes the stake
And the strong chain he has no power to break,
I cannot brook this cry on every side,
That spreads like oil upon the moving tide.
I leave the daughter of Videha's King,
And the fair blossom soon from her to spring,
[pg 528]
As erst, obedient to my sire's command,
I left the empire of the sea-girt land.
Good is my queen, and spotless; but the blame
Is hard to bear, the mockery and the shame.
Men blame the pure Moon for the darkened ray,
When the black shadow takes the light away.
And, O my brothers, if ye wish to see
Ráma live long from this reproach set free,
Let not your pity labour to control
The firm sad purpose of his changeless soul.”
Thus Ráma spake. The sorrowing brothers heard
His stern resolve, without an answering word;
For none among them dared his voice to raise,
That will to question:—and they could not praise.
“Beloved brother,” thus the monarch cried
To his dear Lakshmaṇ, whom he called aside.—
Lakshmaṇ, who knew no will save his alone
Whose hero deeds through all the world were known:—
“My queen has told me that she longs to rove
Beneath the shade of Saint Válmíki's grove:
Now mount thy car, away my lady bear;
Tell all, and leave her in the forest there.”
The car was brought, the gentle lady smiled,
As the glad news her trusting heart beguiled.
She mounted up: Sumantra held the reins;
And forth the coursers bounded o'er the plains.
She saw green fields in all their beauty dressed,
And thanked her husband in her loving breast.
Alas! deluded queen! she little knew
How changed was he whom she believed so true;
How one she worshipped like the Heavenly Tree
Could, in a moment's time, so deadly be.
Her right eye throbbed,—ill-omened sign, to tell
The endless loss of him she loved so well,
And to the lady's saddening heart revealed
The woe that Lakshmaṇ, in his love, concealed.
Pale grew the bloom of her sweet face,—as fade
The lotus blossoms,—by that sign dismayed.
“Oh, may this omen,”—was her silent prayer,—
“No grief to Ráma or his brothers bear!”
When Lakshmaṇ, faithful to his brother, stood
Prepared to leave her in the distant wood,
The holy Gangá, flowing by the way,
Raised all her hands of waves to bid him stay.
At length with sobs and burning tears that rolled
Down his sad face, the king's command he told;
As when a monstrous cloud, in evil hour,
[pg 529]
Rains from its labouring womb a stony shower.
She heard, she swooned, she fell upon the earth,
Fell on that bosom whence she sprang to birth.
As, when the tempest in its fury flies,
Low in the dust the prostrate creeper lies,
So, struck with terror sank she on the ground,
And all her gems, like flowers, lay scattered round.
But Earth, her mother, closed her stony breast,
And, filled with doubt, denied her daughter rest.
She would not think the Chief of Raghu's race
Would thus his own dear guiltless wife disgrace.
Stunned and unconscious, long the lady lay,
And felt no grief, her senses all astray.
But gentle Lakshmaṇ, with a brother's care,
Brought back her sense, and with her sense, despair.
But not her wrongs, her shame, her grief, could wring
One angry word against her lord the King:
Upon herself alone the blame she laid,
For tears and sighs that would not yet be stayed.
To soothe her anguish Lakshmaṇ gently strove;
He showed the path to Saint Válmíki's grove;
And craved her pardon for the share of ill
He wrought, obedient to his brother's will.
“O, long and happy, dearest brother, live!
I have to praise,” she cried, “and not forgive:
To do his will should be thy noblest praise;
As Vishṇu ever Indra's will obeys.
Return, dear brother: on each royal dame
Bestow a blessing in poor Sítá's name,
And bid them, in their love, kind pity take
Upon her offspring, for the father's sake.
And speak my message in the monarch's ear,
The last last words of mine that he shall hear:
“Say, was it worthy of thy noble race
Thy guiltless queen thus lightly to disgrace?
For idle tales to spurn thy faithful bride,
Whose constant truth the searching fire had tried?
Or may I hope thy soul refused consent,
And but thy voice decreed my banishment?
Hope that no care could turn, no love could stay
The lightning stroke that falls on me to-day?
That sins committed in the life that's fled
Have brought this evil on my guilty head?
Think not I value now my widowed life,
Worthless to her who once was Ráma's wife.
I only live because I hope to see
The dear dear babe that will resemble thee.
And then my task of penance shall be done,
[pg 530]
With eyes uplifted to the scorching sun;
So shall the life that is to come restore
Mine own dear husband, to be lost no more.”
And Lakshmaṇ swore her every word to tell,
Then turned to go, and bade the queen farewell.
Alone with all her woes, her piteous cries
Rose like a butchered lamb's that struggling dies.
The reverend sage who from his dwelling came
For sacred grass and wood to feed the flame,
Heard her loud shrieks that rent the echoing wood,
And, quickly following, by the mourner stood.
Before the sage the lady bent her low,
Dried her poor eyes, and strove to calm her woe.
With blessings on her hopes the blameless man
In silver tones his soothing speech began:
“First of all faithful wives, O Queen, art thou;
And can I fail to mourn thy sorrows now?
Rest in this holy grove, nor harbour fear
Where dwell in safety e'en the timid deer.
Here shall thine offspring safely see the light,
And be partaker of each holy rite.
Here, near the hermits' dwellings, shall thou lave
Thy limbs in Tonse's sin-destroying wave,
And on her isles, by prayer and worship, gain
Sweet peace of mind, and rest from care and pain.
Each hermit maiden with her sweet soft voice,
Shall soothe thy woe, and bid thy heart rejoice:
With fruit and early flowers thy lap shall fill,
And offer grain that springs for us at will.
And here, with labour light, thy task shall be
To water carefully each tender tree,
And learn how sweet a nursing mother's joy
Ere on thy bosom rest thy darling boy.…”
That very night the banished Sítá bare
Two royal children, most divinely fair.…
The saint Válmíki, with a friend's delight,
Graced Sítá's offspring with each holy rite.
Kuśa and Lava—such the names they bore—
Learnt, e'en in childhood, all the Vedas' lore;
And then the bard, their minstrel souls to train,
Taught them to sing his own immortal strain.
And Ráma's deeds her boys so sweetly sang,
That Sítá's breast forgot her bitterest pang.…
[pg 531]
Then Sítá's children, by the saint's command,
Sang the Rámáyan, wandering through the land.
How could the glorious poem fail to gain
Each heart, each ear that listened to the strain!
So sweet each minstrel's voice who sang the praise
Of Ráma deathless in Válmíki's lays.
Ráma himself amid the wondering throng
Marked their fair forms, and loved the noble song,
While, still and weeping, round the nobles stood,
As, on a windless morn, a dewy wood.
On the two minstrels all the people gazed,
Praised their fair looks and marvelled as they praised;
For every eye amid the throng could trace
Ráma's own image in each youthful face.
Then spoke the king himself and bade them say
Who was their teacher, whose the wondrous lay.
Soon as Válmíki, mighty saint, he saw,
He bowed his head in reverential awe.
“These are thy children” cried the saint, “recall
Thine own dear Sítá, pure and true through all.”
“O holy father,” thus the king replied,
“The faithful lady by the fire was tried;
But the foul demon's too successful arts
Raised light suspicions in my people's hearts.
Grant that their breasts may doubt her faith no more,
And thus my Sítá and her sons restore.”
Raghuvaṇśa Cantos XIV, XV.

Parasuráma, Page 87.

“He cleared the earth thrice seven times of the Kshatriya caste, and filled with their blood the five large lakes of Samanta, from which he offered libations to the race of Bhrigu. Offering a solemn sacrifice to the King of the Gods Paraśuráma presented the earth to the ministering priests. Having given the earth to Kaśyapa, the hero of immeasurable prowess retired to the Mahendra mountain, where he still resides; and in this manner was there enmity between him and the race of the Kshatriyas, and thus was the whole earth conquered by Paraśuráma.” The destruction of the Kshatriyas by Paraśuráma had been provoked by the cruelty of the Kshatriyas. Chips from a German Workshop, Vol. II. p. 334.

The scene in which he appears is probably interpolated for the sake of making him declare Ráma to be Vishṇu. “Herr von Schlegel has often remarked to me,” says Lassen, “that without injuring the connexion of the story all the chapters [of the Rámáyan] might be omitted in which Ráma is regarded as an incarnation of Vishṇu. In fact, where the incarnation of Vishṇu as the four sons of Daśaratha is described, the great sacrifice is already ended, and all the priests remunerated at the termination, when the new sacrifice begins at which the Gods appear, then withdraw, and then first propose the incarnation to Vishṇu. [pg 532] If it had been an original circumstance of the story, the Gods would certainly have deliberated on the matter earlier, and the celebration of the sacrifice would have continued without interruption.” Lassen, Indische Alterthumskunde, Vol. I. p. 489.

Yáma, Page 68.

Son of Vivasvat=Jima son of Vivanghvat, the Jamshíd of the later Persians.

Fate, Page 68.

“The idea of fate was different in India from that which prevailed in Greece. In Greece fate was a mysterious, inexorable power which governed men and human events, and from which it was impossible to escape. In India Fate was rather an inevitable consequence of actions done in births antecedent to one's present state of existence, and was therefore connected with the doctrine of metempsychosis. A misfortune was for the most part a punishment, an expiation of ancient faults not yet entirely cancelled.” Gorresio.

Visvámitra, Page 76.

“Though of royal extraction, Viśvámitra conquered for himself and his family the privileges of a Brahman. He became a Brahman, and thus broke through all the rules of caste. The Brahmans cannot deny the fact, because it forms one of the principal subjects of their legendary poems. But they have spared no pains to represent the exertions of Viśvámitra, in his struggle for Brahmanhood, as so superhuman that no one would easily be tempted to follow his example. No mention is made of these monstrous penances in the Veda, where the struggle between Viśvámitra, the leader of the Kuśikas or Bharatas, and the Brahman Vaśishtha, the leader of the white-robed Tritsus, is represented as the struggle of two rivals for the place of Purohita or chief priest and minister at the court of King Sudás, the son of Pijavana.” Chips from a German Workshop, Vol. II. p. 336.

Household Gods, Page 102.

“No house is supposed to be without its tutelary divinity, but the notion attached to this character is now very far from precise. The deity who is the object of hereditary and family worship, the Kuladevatá, is always one of the leading personages of the Hindu mythology, as Śiva, Vishṇu or Durgá, but the Grihadevatá rarely bears any distinct appellation. In Bengal, the domestic god is sometimes the Sálagrám stone, sometimes the tulasi plant, sometimes a basket with a little rice in it, and sometimes a water-jar—to either of which a brief adoration is daily addressed, most usually by the females of the family. Occasionally small images of Lakshmi or Chaṇdi fulfil the office, or should a snake appear, he is venerated as the guardian of the dwelling. In general, however, in former times, the household deities were regarded as the unseen spirits of ill, the ghosts and goblins who hovered about every spot, and claimed some particular sites as their own. Offerings were made to them in the open air, by scattering a little rice with a short formula at the close of all ceremonies to keep them in good humour.

“The household gods correspond better with the genii locorum than with the lares or penates of autiquity.”

H. H. Wilson.

[pg 533]
Page 107.

Śaivya, a king whom earth obeyed,
Once to a hawk a promise made.
The following is a free version of this very ancient story which occurs more than once in the Mahábhárat:

The Suppliant Dove.

Chased by a hawk there came a dove
With worn and weary wing,
And took her stand upon the hand
Of Káśí's mighty king.
The monarch smoothed her ruffled plumes
And laid her on his breast,
And cried, “No fear shall vex thee here,
Rest, pretty egg-born, rest!
Fair Káśí's realm is rich and wide,
With golden harvests gay,
But all that's mine will I resign
Ere I my guest betray.”
But panting for his half won spoil
The hawk was close behind.
And with wild cry and eager eye
Came swooping down the wind:
“This bird,” he cried, “my destined prize,
'Tis not for thee to shield:
'Tis mine by right and toilsome flight
O'er hill and dale and field.
Hunger and thirst oppress me sore,
And I am faint with toil:
Thou shouldst not stay a bird of prey
Who claims his rightful spoil.
They say thou art a glorious king,
And justice is thy care:
Then justly reign in thy domain,
Nor rob the birds of air.”
Then cried the king: “A cow or deer
For thee shall straightway bleed,
Or let a ram or tender lamb
Be slain, for thee to feed.
Mine oath forbids me to betray
My little twice-born guest:
See how she clings with trembling wings
To her protector's breast.”
“No flesh of lambs,” the hawk replied,
“No blood of deer for me;
The falcon loves to feed on doves
And such is Heaven's decree.
But if affection for the dove
[pg 534]
Thy pitying heart has stirred,
Let thine own flesh my maw refresh,
Weighed down against the bird.”
He carved the flesh from off his side,
And threw it in the scale,
While women's cries smote on the skies
With loud lament and wail.
He hacked the flesh from side and arm,
From chest and back and thigh,
But still above the little dove
The monarch's scale stood high.
He heaped the scale with piles of flesh,
With sinews, blood and skin,
And when alone was left him bone
He threw himself therein.
Then thundered voices through the air;
The sky grew black as night;
And fever took the earth that shook
To see that wondrous sight.
The blessed Gods, from every sphere,
By Indra led, came nigh:
While drum and flute and shell and lute
Made music in the sky.
They rained immortal chaplets down,
Which hands celestial twine,
And softly shed upon his head
Pure Amrit, drink divine.
Then God and Seraph, Bard and Nymph
Their heavenly voices raised,
And a glad throng with dance and song
The glorious monarch praised.
They set him on a golden car
That blazed with many a gem;
Then swiftly through the air they flew,
And bore him home with them.
Thus Káśí's lord, by noble deed,
Won heaven and deathless fame:
And when the weak protection seek
From thee, do thou the same.
Scenes from the Rámáyan, &c.

Page 108.

The ceremonies that attended the consecration of a king (Abhikshepa lit. Sprinkling over) are fully described in Goldstücker's Dictionary, from which the following extract is made: “The type of the inauguration ceremony as practised at the Epic period may probably be recognized in the history of the inauguration of Ráma, as told in the Rámáyana, and in that of the inauguration of Yudhishṭhira, as told in the Mahábháratha. Neither ceremony is described in these poems [pg 535] with the full detail which is given of the vaidik rite in the Aitareya-Bráhmaṇam; but the allusion that Ráma was inaugurated by Vaśishṭha and the other Bráhmanas in the same manner as Indra by the Vasus … and the observation which is made in some passages that a certain rite of the inauguration was performed ‘according to the sacred rule’ … admit of the conclusion that the ceremony was supposed to have taken place in conformity with the vaidik injunction.… As the inauguration of Ráma was intended and the necessary preparations for it were made when his father Daśaratha was still alive, but as the ceremony itself, through the intrigues of his step-mother Kaikeyí, did not take place then, but fourteen years later, after the death of Daśaratha, an account of the preparatory ceremonies is given in the Ayodhyákáṇḍa (Book II) as well as in the Yuddha-Káṇḍa (Book VI.) of the Rámáyaṇa, but an account of the complete ceremony in the latter book alone. According to the Ayodhyákáṇḍa, on the day preceding the intended inauguration Ráma and his wife Sítá held a fast, and in the night they performed this preliminary rite: Ráma having made his ablutions, approached the idol of Náráyaṇa, took a cup of clarified butter, as the religious law prescribes, made a libation of it into the kindled fire, and drank the remainder while wishing what was agreeable to his heart. Then, with his mind fixed on the divinity he lay, silent and composed, together with Sítá, on a bed of Kuśa-grass, which was spread before the altar of Vishṇu, until the last watch of the night, when he awoke and ordered the palace to be prepared for the solemnity. At day-break reminded of the time by the voices of the bards, he performed the usual morning devotion and praised the divinity. In the meantime the town Ayodhyá had assumed a festive appearance and the inauguration implements had been arranged … golden water-jars, an ornamented throne-seat, a chariot covered with a splendid tiger-skin, water taken from the confluence of the Ganges and Jumna, as well as from other sacred rivers, tanks, wells, lakes, and from all oceans, honey, curd, clarified butter, fried grain, Kuśa-grass, flowers, milk; besides, eight beautiful damsels, and a splendid furious elephant, golden and silver jars, filled with water, covered with Udumbara branches and various lotus flowers, besides a white jewelled chourie, a white splendid parasol, a white bull, a white horse, all manner of musical instruments and bards.… In the preceding chapter … there are mentioned two white chouries instead of one, and all kinds of seeds, perfumes and jewels, a scimitar, a bow, a litter, a golden vase, and a blazing fire, and amongst the living implements of the pageant, instead of the bards, gaudy courtesans, and besides the eight damsels, professors of divinity, Bráhmaṇas, cows and pure kinds of wild beasts and birds, the chiefs of town and country-people and the citizens with their train.”

Page 109.

Then with the royal chaplains they
Took each his place in long array.
The twice born chiefs, with zealous heed,
Made ready what the rite would need.
“Now about the office of a Purohita (house priest). The gods do not eat the food offered by a king, who has no house-priest (Purohita). Thence the king even when (not) intending to bring a sacrifice, should appoint a Bráhman to the office of house-priest.” Haug's Autareya Bráhmanam. Vol. II. p. 528.

[pg 536]
Page 110.

There by the gate the Sáras screamed.
The Sáras or Indian Crane is a magnificent bird easily domesticated and speedily constituting himself the watchman of his master's house and garden. Unfortunately he soon becomes a troublesome and even dangerous dependent, attacking strangers with his long bill and powerful wings, and warring especially upon “small infantry” with unrelenting ferocity.

Page 120.

My mothers or my sire the king.
All the wives of the king his father are regarded and spoken of by Ráma as his mothers.

Page 125.

Such blessings as the Gods o'erjoyed
Poured forth when Vritra was destroyed.
“Mythology regards Vritra as a demon or Asur, the implacable enemy of Indra, but this is not the primitive idea contained in the name of Vritra. In the hymns of the Veda Vritra appears to be the thick dark cloud which Indra the God of the firmament attacks and disperses with his thunderbolt.” Gorresio.

“In that class of Rig-veda hymns which there is reason to look upon as the oldest portion of Vedic poetry, the character of Indra is that of a mighty ruler of the firmament, and his principal feat is that of conquering the demon Vritra, a symbolical personification of the cloud which obstructs the clearness of the sky, and withholds the fructifying rain from the earth. In his battles with Vritra he is therefore described as ‘opening the receptacles of the waters,’ as ‘cleaving the cloud’ with his ‘far-whirling thunderbolt,’ as ‘casting the waters down to earth,’ and ‘restoring the sun to the sky.’ He is in consequence ‘the upholder of heaven, earth, and firmament,’ and the god ‘who has engendered the sun and the dawn.’ ” Chambers's Cyclopædia, Indra.

“Throughout these hymns two images stand out before us with overpowering distinctness. On one side is the bright god of the heaven, as beneficent as he is irresistible: on the other the demon of night and of darkness, as false and treachorous as he is malignant.… The latter (as his name Vritra, from var, to veil, indicates) is pre-eminently the thief who hides away the rain-clouds.… But the myth is yet in too early a state to allow of the definite designations which are brought before us in the conflicts of Zeus with Typhôn and his monstrous progeny, of Apollôn with the Pythôn, of Bellerophôn with Chimaira of Oidipous with the Sphinx, of Hercules with Cacus, of Sigurd with the dragon Fafnir; and thus not only is Vritra known by many names, but he is opposed sometimes by Indra, sometimes by Agni the fire-god, sometimes by Trita, Brihaspati, or other deities; or rather these are all names of one and the same god.” Cox's Mythology of the Aryan Nations. Vol. II. p. 326.

[pg 537]
Page 125.

And that prized herb whose sovereign power
Preserves from dark misfortune's hour.
“And yet more medicinal is it than that Moly,
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;
He called it Hæmony, and gave it me,
And bade me keep it as of sovereign use
'Gainst all enchantment, mildew, blast, or damp,
Or ghastly furies' apparition.” Comus.
The Moly of Homer, which Dierbach considers to have been the Mandrake, is probably a corruption of the Sanskrit Múla a root.

Page 136.

True is the ancient saw: the Neem
Can ne'er distil a honeyed stream.
The Neem tree, especially in the Rains, emits a strong unpleasant smell like that of onions. Its leaves however make an excellent cooling poultice, and the Extract of Neem is an admirable remedy for cutaneous disorders.

Page 152.

Who of Nisháda lineage came.
The following account of the origin of the Nishádas is taken from Wilson's Vishṇu Puráṇa, Book I. Chap. 15. “Afterwards the Munis beheld a great dust arise, and they said to the people who were nigh: ‘What is this?’ And the people answered and said: ‘Now that the kingdom is without a king, the dishonest men have begun to seize the property of their neighbours. The great dust that you behold, excellent Munis, is raised by troops of clustering robbers, hastening to fall upon their prey.’ The sages, hearing this, consulted, and together rubbed the thigh of the king (Vena), who had left no offspring, to produce a son. From the thigh, thus rubbed, came forth a being of the complexion of a charred stake, with flattened features like a negro, and of dwarfish stature. ‘What am I to do,’ cried he eagerly to the Munis. ‘Sit down (nishída),’ said they. And thence his name was Nisháda. His descendants, the inhabitants of the Vindhyá mountain, great Muni, are still called Nishádas and are characterized by the exterior tokens of depravity.” Professor Wilson adds, in his note on the passage: “The Matsya says that there were born outcast or barbarous races, Mlechchhas, as black as collyrium. The Bhágavata describes an individual of dwarfish stature, with short arms and legs, of a complexion as black as a crow, with projecting chin, broad flat nose, red eyes, and tawny hair, whose descendants were mountaineers and foresters. The Padma (Bhúmi Khaṇḍa) has a similar deccription; adding to the dwarfish stature and black complexion, a wide mouth, large ears, and a protuberant belly. It also particularizes his posterity as Nishádas, Kirátas, Bhillas, and other barbarians and Mlechchhas, living in woods and on mountains. These passages intend, and do not much exaggerate, the uncouth appearance of the Gonds, Koles, Bhils, and other uncivilized tribes, scattered along the forests and mountains of Central India from Behar to Khandesh, and who are, not improbably, the predecessors of the present occupants of the cultivated portions of the country. They are always very black, ill-shapen, and dwarfish, and have countenances of a very African character.”

[pg 538]
Manu gives a different origin of the Nishádas as the offspring of a Bráhman father and a Súdra mother. See Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol. I. p. 481.

Page 157.

Beneath a fig-tree's mighty shade,
With countless pendent shoots displayed.
“So counselled he, and both together went
Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose
The fig-tree: not that kind for fruit renowned,
But such as at this day, to Indians known,
In Malabar or Deccan spreads her arms
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillared shade
High overarched, and echoing walks between.”
Paradise Lost, Book IX.

Page 161.

Now, Lakshmaṇ, as our cot is made,
Must sacrifice be duly paid.
The rites performed in India on the completion of a house are represented in modern Europe by the familiar “house-warming.”

Page 169.

I longed with all my lawless will
Some elephant by night to kill.
One of the regal or military caste was forbidden to kill an elephant except in battle.

Thy hand has made no Bráhman bleed.
“The punishment which the Code of Manu awards to the slayer of a Brahman was to be branded in the forehead with the mark of a headless corpse, and entirely banished from society; this being apparently commutable for a fine. The poem is therefore in accordance with the Code regarding the peculiar guilt of killing Brahmans; but in allowing a hermit who was not a Divija (twice-born) to go to heaven, the poem is far in advance of the Code. The youth in the poem is allowed to read the Veda, and to accumulate merit by his own as well as his father's pious acts; whereas the exclusive Code reserves all such privileges to Divijas invested with the sacred cord.” Mrs. Speir's Life in Ancient India, p. 107.

Page 174. The Praise Of Kings

“Compare this magnificent eulogium of kings and kingly government with what Samuel says of the king and his authority: And Samuel told all the words of the Lord unto the people that asked of him a king.

And he said, This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you: He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen: and some shall run before his chariots.

[pg 539]
And he will appoint him captains over thousands, and captains over fifties, and will set them to work his ground, and to reap his harvest, and to make his instrument of war, and instruments of his chariots.

And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be cooks, and to be bakers.

And he will take your fields, and your vineyards and your oliveyards, even the best of them, and give them to his servants.

And he will take the tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give to his officers, and to his servants.

And he will take your men-servants, and your maid-servants, and your goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work.

He will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants.

And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you. I. Samuel, VIII.

In India kingly government was ancient and consecrated by tradition: whence to change it seemed disorderly and revolutionary: in Judæa theocracy was ancient and consecrated by tradition, and therefore the innovation which would substitute a king was represented as full of dangers.” Gorresio.

Page 176. Sálmalí.

According to the Bengal recension Śálmalí appears to have been another name of the Vipáśá. Śálmalí may be an epithet signifying rich in Bombax heptaphyllon. The commentator makes another river out of the word.

Page 178. Bharat's Return.

“Two routes from Ayodhyá to Rájagriha or Girivraja are described. That taken by the envoys appears to have been the shorter one, and we are not told why Bharat returned by a different road. The capital of the Kekayas lay to the west of the Vipáśá. Between it and the Śatadru stretched the country of the Báhíkas. Upon the remaining portion of the road the two recensions differ. According to that of Bengal there follow towards the east the river Indamatí, then the town Ajakála belonging to the Bodhi, then Bhulingá, then the river Śaradaṇḍá. According to the other instead of the first river comes the Ikshumatí … instead of the first town Abhikála, instead of the second Kulingá, then the second river. According to the direction of the route both the above-mentioned rivers must be tributaries of the Śatadrú.… The road then crossed the Yamuná (Jumna), led beyond that river through the country of the Panchálas, and reached the Ganges at Hástinapura, where the ferry was. Thence it led over the Rámagangá and its eastern tributaries, then over the Gomati, and then in a southern direction along the Málini, beyond which it reached Ayodhyá. In Bharat's journey the following rivers are passed from west to east: Kutikoshṭiká, Uttániká, Kuṭiká, Kapívatí, Gomatí according to Schlegel, and Hiraṇyavatí, Uttáriká, Kuṭilá, Kapívatí, Gomatí according to Gorresio. As these rivers are to be looked for on the east of the Ganges, the first must be the modern Koh, a small affluent of the Rámagangá, over which the highway cannot have gone as it bends too far to the north. The Uttániká or Uttáriká must be the Rámagangá, the Kuṭiká or Kuṭilá its eastern tributary, Kośilá, the Kapívatí the next tributary which on the maps has different names, Gurra or above Kailas, [pg 540] lower down Bhaigu. The Gomatí (Goomtee) retains its old name. The Máliní, mentioned only in the envoys' journey, must have been the western tributary of the Sarayú now called Chuká.” Lassen's Indische Alterthumskunde, Vol. II. P. 524.

Page 183.

What worlds await thee, Queen, for this?
“Indian belief divided the universe into several worlds (lokáh). The three principal worlds were heaven, earth, and hell. But according to another division there were seven: Bhúrloka or the earth, Bhuvarloka or the space between the earth and the sun, the seat of the Munis, Siddhas, &c., Svarloka or the heaven of Indra between the sun and the polar star, and the seventh Brahmaloka or the world of Brahma. Spirits which reached the last were exempt from being born again.” Gorresio.

Page 203.

When from a million herbs a blaze
Of their own luminous glory plays.
This mention of lambent flames emitted by herbs at night may be compared with Lucan's description of a similar phenomenon in the Druidical forest near Marseilles, (Pharsalia, III. 420.).

Non ardentis fulgere incendia silvae.
Seneca, speaking of Argolis, (Thyestes, Act IV), says:—

Tota solet
Micare flamma silva, et excelsae trabes
Ardent sine igni.
Thus also the bush at Horeb (Exod. II.) flamed, but was not consumed.

The Indian explanation of the phenomenon is, that the sun before he sets deposits his rays for the night with the deciduous plants. See Journal of R. As. S. Bengal, Vol. II. p. 339.

Page 219.

We rank the Buddhist with the thief.
Schlegel says in his Preface: “Lubrico vestigio insistit V. Cl. Heerenius, prof. Gottingensis, in libro suo de commerciis veterum populorum (Opp. Vol. Hist. XII, pag. 129,) dum putat, ex mentione sectatorum Buddhae secundo libro Rameidos iniecta de tempore, quo totum carmen sit conditum, quicquam legitime concludi posse.… Sunt versus spurii, reiecti a Bengalis in sola commentatorum recensione leguntur. Buddhas quidem mille fere annis ante Christum natun vixit: sed post multa demumsecula, odiointernecivo inter Brachmanos et Buddhae sectatores orto, his denique ex India pulsis, fingi potuit iniquissima criminatio, eos animi immortalitatem poenasque et praemia in vita futura negare. Praeterea metrum, quo concinnati sunt hi versus, de quo metro mox disseram, recentiorem aetatem arguit.… Poenitet me nunc mei consilii, quod non statim ab initio, … eiecerim cuncta disticha diversis a sloco vulgari metris composita. Metra sunt duo: pariter ambo constant quatuor hemistichiis inter se aequalibus, alterum undenarum syllabarum, alterum duodenarum, hunc in modum:

[pg 541]
[-)] [-] [)] [-]   [-] [)] [)] [-]   [)] [-] [-)]
[)] [-] [)] [-]   [-] [)] [)] [-]   [)] [-] [)] [-)]
Cuius generis versus in primo et secundo Rameidos libro nusquam nisi ad finem capitum apposita inveniuntur, et huic loco unice sunt accommodata, quasi peroratio, lyricis numeris assurgens, quo magis canorae cadant clausulae: sicut musici in concentibus extremis omnium vocum instrumentorumque ictu fortiore aures percellere amant. Igitur disticha illa non ante divisionem per capita illatam addi potuerunt: hanc autem grammaticis deberi argumento est ipse recensionum dissensus, manifesto inde ortus, quod singuli editores in ea constituenda suo quisque iudicio usi sunt; praeterquam quod non credibile est, poetam artis suae peritum narrationem continuam in membra tam minuta dissecuisse. Porro discolor est dictio: magniloquentia affectatur, sed nimis turgida illa atque effusa, nec sententiarum pondere satis suffulta. Denique nihil fere novi affertur: ampli ficantur prius dicta, rarius aliquid ex capite sequente anticipatur. Si quis appendices hosce legendo transiliat, sentiet slocum ultimum cum primo capitis proximi apte coagmentatum, nec sine vi quadam inde avulsum. Eiusmodi versus exhibet utraque recensio, sed modo haec modo illa plures paucioresve numero, et lectio interdum magnopere variat.”

“The narrative of Ráma's exile in the jungle is one of the most obscure portions of the Rámáyana, inasmuch as it is difficult to discover any trace of the original tradition, or any illustration of actual life and manners, beyond the artificial life of self-mortification and selfdenial said to have been led by the Brahman sages of olden time. At the same time, however, the story throws some light upon the significance of the poem, and upon the character in which the Brahmanical author desired to represent Ráma; and consequently it deserves more serious consideration than the nature of the subject-matter would otherwise seem to imply.

“According to the Rámáyana, the hero Ráma spent more than thirteen years of his exile in wandering amongst the different Brahmanical settlements, which appear to have been scattered over the country between the Ganges and the Godáveri; his wanderings extending from the hill of Chitra-kúṭa in Bundelkund, to the modern town of Nasik on the western side of India, near the source of the Godáveri river, and about seventy-five miles to the north-west of Bombay. The appearance of these Brahmanical hermitages in the country far away to the south of the Raj of Kasala, seems to call for critical inquiry. Each hermitage is said to have belonged to some particular sage, who is famous in Brahmanical tradition. But whether the sages named were really contemporaries of Ráma, or whether they could possibly have flourished at one and the same period, is open to serious question. It is of course impossible to fix with any degree of certainty the relative chronology of the several sages, who are said to have been visited by Ráma; but still it seems tolerably clear that some belonged to an age far anterior to that in which the Rámáyana was composed, and probably to an age anterior to that in which Ráma existed as a real and living personage; whilst, at least, one sage is to be found who could only have existed in the age during which the Rámáyana was produced in its present form. The main proofs of these inferences are as follows. An interval of many centuries seems to have elapsed between the composition of the Rig-Veda and that of the Rámáyana: a conclusion [pg 542] which has long been proved by the evidence of language, and is generally accepted by Sanskrit scholars. But three of the sages, said to have been contemporary with Ráma, namely, Viśvámitra, Atri and Agastya, are frequently mentioned in the hymns of the Rig-Veda; whilst Válmíki, the sage dwelling at Chitra-kúṭa, is said to have been himself the composer of the Rámáyana. Again, the sage Atri, whom Ráma visited immediately after his departure from Chitra-kúṭa, appears in the genealogical list preserved in the Mahá Bhárata, as the progenitor of the Moon, and consequently as the first ancestor of the Lunar race: whilst his grandson Buddha [Budha] is said to have married Ilá, the daughter of Ikhsváku who was himself the remote ancestor of the Solar race of Ayodhyá, from whom Ráma was removed by many generations. These conclusions are not perhaps based upon absolute proof, because they are drawn from untrustworthy authorities; but still the chronological difficulties have been fully apprehended by the Pundits, and an attempt has been made to reconcile all contradictions by representing the sages to have lived thousands of years, and to have often re-appeared upon earth in different ages widely removed from each other. Modern science refuses to accept such explanations; and consequently it is impossible to escape the conclusion that if Válmíki composed the Rámáyana in the form of Sanskrit in which it has been preserved, he could not have flourished in the same age as the sages who are named in the Rig-Veda.” Wheeler's History of India, Vol. II, 229.

Page 249.

And King Himálaya's Child.
Umá or Párvatí, was the daughter of Himálaya and Mená. She is the heroine of Kálidása's Kumára-Sambhava or Birth of the War-God.

Page 250.

Strong Kumbhakarṇa slumbering deep
In chains of never-ending sleep.
“Kumbhakarṇa, the gigantic brother of the titanic Rávaṇ,—named from the size of his ears which could contain a Kumbha or large water-jar—had such an appetite that he used to consume six months' provisions in a single day. Brahmá, to relieve the alarm of the world, which had begun to entertain serious apprehensions of being eaten up, decreed that the giant should sleep six months at a time and wake for only one day during which he might consume his six months' allowance without trespassing unduly on the reproductive capabilities of the ” Scenes front the Rámáyan, p. 153, 2nd Edit.

Page 257.

Like Śiva when his angry might
Stayed Daksha's sacrificial rite.
The following spirited version of this old story is from the pen of Mr. W. Waterfield:

“This is a favorite subject of Hindú sculpture, especially on the temples of Shiva, such as the caves of Elephanta and Ellora. It, no doubt, is an allegory of the contest between the followers of Shiva and the worshippers of the Elements, who observed the old ritual of the Vedas; in which the name of Shiva is never mentioned.

[pg 543]
Daksha for devotion
Made a mighty feast:
Milk and curds and butter,
Flesh of bird and beast,
Rice and spice and honey,
Sweetmeats ghí and gur,1038
Gifts for all the Bráhmans,
Food for all the poor.
At the gates of Gangá1039
Daksha held his feast;
Called the gods unto it,
Greatest as the least.
All the gods were gathered
Round with one accord;
All the gods but Umá,
All but Umá's lord.
Umá sat with Shiva
On Kailása hill:
Round them stood the Rudras
Watching for their will.
Who is this that cometh
Lilting to his lute?
All the birds of heaven
Heard his music, mute.
Round his head a garland
Rich of hue was wreathed:
Every sweetest odour
From its blossoms breathed.
'Tis the Muni Nárad;
'Mong the gods he fares,
Ever making mischief
By the tales he bears.
“Hail to lovely Umá!
Hail to Umá's lord!
Wherefore are they absent
For her father's board?
Multiplied his merits
Would be truly thrice,
Could he gain your favour
For his sacrifice.”
Worth of heart was Umá;
To her lord she spake:—
“Why dost thou, the mighty,
Of no rite partake?
Straight I speed to Daksha
Such a sight to see:
If he be my father,
He must welcome thee.”
Wondrous was in glory
Daksha's holy rite;
Never had creation
Viewed so brave a sight.
Gods, and nymphs, find fathers,
Sages, Bráhmans, sprites,—
Every diverge creature
Wrought that rite of rites.
Quickly then a quaking
Fell on all from far;
Umá stood among them
On her lion car.
“Greeting, gods and sages,
Greeting, father mine!
Work hath wondrous virtue,
Where such aids combine.
Guest-hall never gathered
Goodlier company:
Seemeth all are welcome.
All the gods but me.”
Spake the Muni Daksha,
Stern and cold his tone:—
“Welcome thou, too, daughter,
Since thou com'st alone.
But thy frenzied husband
Suits another shrine;
He is no partaker
Of this feast of mine.
He who walks in darkness
Loves no deeds of light:
He who herds with demons
Shuns each kindly sprite.
Let him wander naked.—
Wizard weapons wield,—
Dance his frantic measure
Round the funeral field.
Art thou yet delighted
With the reeking hide,
Body smeared with ashes.
Skulls in necklace tied?
Thou to love this monster?
Thou to plead his part!
Know the moon and Gangá
Share that faithless heart
Vainly art thou vying
With thy rivals' charms.
Are not coils of serpents
Softer than thine arms?”
Words like these from Daksha
Daksha's daughter heard:
Then a sudden passion
All her bosom stirred.
Eyes with fury flashing.
Speechless in her ire,
Headlong did she hurl her
'Mid the holy fire.
Then a trembling terror
Overcame each one,
And their minds were troubled
Like a darkened sun;
[pg 544]
And a cruel Vision,
Face of lurid flame,
Umá's Wrath incarnate,
From the altar came.
Fiendlike forms by thousands
Started from his side,
'Gainst the sacrificers
All their might they plied:
Till the saints availed not
Strength like theirs to stay,
And the gods distracted
Turned and fled away.
Hushed were hymns and chanting,
Priests were mocked and spurned;
Food defiled and scattered;
Altars overturned.—
Then, to save the object
Sought at such a price,
Like a deer in semblance
Sped the sacrifice.
Soaring toward the heavens,
Through the sky it fled?
But the Rudras chasing
Smote away its head.
Prostrate on the pavement
Daksha fell dismayed:—
“Mightiest, thou hast conquered
Thee we ask for aid.
Let not our oblations
All be rendered vain;
Let our toilsome labour
Full fruition gain.”
Bright the broken altars
Shone with Shiva's form;
“Be it so!” His blessing
Soothed that frantic storm.
Soon his anger ceases,
Though it soon arise;—
But the Deer's Head ever
Blazes in the skies.”
Indian Ballads and other Poems.

Page 286. Urvasí.

“The personification of Urvasî herself is as thin as that of Eôs or Selênê. Her name is often found in the Veda as a mere name for the morning, and in the plural number it is used to denote the dawns which passing over men bring them to old age and death. Urvasî is the bright flush of light overspreading the heaven before the sun rises, and is but another form of the many mythical beings of Greek mythology whose names take us back to the same idea or the same root. As the dawn in the Vedic hymns is called Urûkî, the far-going (Têlephassa, Têlephos), so is she also Uruasî, the wide-existing or wide-spreading; as are Eurôpê, Euryanassa, Euryphassa, and many more of the sisters of Athênê and Aphroditê. As such she is the mother of Vasishtha, the bright being, as Oidipous is the son of Iokastê; and although Vasishtha, like Oidipous, has become a mortal bard or sage, he is still the son of Mitra and Varuṇa, of night and day. Her lover Purûravas is the counterpart of the Hellenic Polydeukês; but the continuance of her union with him depends on the condition that she never sees him unclothed. But the Gandharvas, impatient of her long sojourn among mortal men resolved to bring her back to their bright home; and Purûravas is thus led unwitingly to disregard her warning. A ewe with two lambs was tied to her couch, and the Gandharvas stole one of them; Urvasî said, ‘They take away my darling, as if I lived in a land where there is no hero and no man.’ They stole the second, and she upbraided her husband again. Then Purûravas looked and said, ‘How can that be a land without heroes or men where I am?’ And naked he sprang up; he thought it was too long to put on his dress. Then the Gandharvas sent a flash of lighting, and Urvasî saw her husband naked as by daylight. Then she vanished. ‘I come back,’ she said, and went. ‘Then he bewailed his vanished love in bitter grief.’ Her promise to return was fulfilled, but for a moment only, at the Lotos-lake, and Purûravas in vain beseeches her to tarry longer. ‘What shall I do with thy [pg 545] speech?’ is the answer of Urvasî. ‘I am gone like the first of the dawns. Purûravas, go home again. I am hard to be caught like the winds.’ Her lover is in utter despair; but when he lies down to die, the heart of Urvasî was melted, and she bids him come to her on the last night of the year. On that night only he might be with her; but a son should be born to him. On that day he went up to the golden seats, and there Urvasî told him that the Gandharvas would grant him one wish, and that he must make his choice. ‘Choose thou for me,’ he said: and she answered, ‘Say to them, Let me be one of you.’ ”

Cox's Mythology of the Aryan Nations. Vol. I. p. 397.

Page 324.

The sovereign of the Vánar race.
“Vánar is one of the most frequently occurring names by which the poem calls the monkeys of Ráma's army. Among the two or three derivations of which the word Vánar is susceptible, one is that which deduces it from vana which signifies a wood, and thus Vánar would mean a forester, an inhabitant of the wood. I have said elsewhere that the monkeys, the Vánars, whom Ráma led to the conquest of Ceylon were fierce woodland tribes who occupied the mountainous regions of the south of India, where their descendants may still be seen. I shall hence forth promiscuously employ the word Vánar to denote those monkeys, those fierce combatants of Ráma's army.” Gorresio.

Page 326.

No change of hue, no pose of limb
Gave sign that aught was false in him.
Concise, unfaltering, sweet and clear,
Without a word to pain the ear,
From chest to throat, nor high nor low,
His accents came in measured flow.
Somewhat similarly in The Squire's Tale:

“He with a manly voice said his message,
After the form used in his language,
Withouten vice of syllable or of letter.
And for his talë shouldë seem the better
Accordant to his wordës was his chere,
As teacheth art of speech them that it lere.”
Page 329. Ráma's Alliance With Sugríva.

“The literal interpretation of this portion of the Rámáyana is indeed deeply rooted in the mind of the Hindu. He implicitly believes that Ráma is Vishnu, who became incarnate for the purpose of destroying the demon Rávana: that he permitted his wife to be captured by Rávana for the sake of delivering the gods and Bráhmans from the oppressions of the Rákshasa; and that he ultimately assembled an army of monkeys, who were the progeny of the gods, and led them against the strong-hold of Rávana at Lanká, and delivered the world from the tyrant Rákshasa, whilst obtaining ample revenge for his own personal wrongs.

[pg 546]
One other point seems to demand consideration, namely, the possibility of such an alliance as that which Ráma is said to have concluded with the monkeys. This possibility will of course be denied by modern critics, but still it is interesting to trace out the circumstances which seem to have led to the acceptance of such a wild belief by the dreamy and marvel loving Hindi. The south of India swarms with monkeys of curious intelligence and rare physical powers. Their wonderful instinct for organization, their attachment to particular localities, their occasional journeys in large numbers over mountains and across rivers, their obstinate assertion of supposed rights, and the ridiculous caricature which they exhibit of all that is animal and emotional in man, would naturally create a deep impression.… Indeed the habits of monkeys well deserve to be patiently studied; not as they appear in confinement, when much that is revolting in their nature is developed, but as they appear living in freedom amongst the trees of the forest, or in the streets of crowded cities, or precincts of temples. Such a study would not fail to awaken strange ideas; and although the European would not be prepared to regard monkeys as sacred animals he might be led to speculate as to their origin by the light of data, which are at present unknown to the naturalist whose observations have been derived from the menagerie alone.

Whatever, however, may have been the train of ideas which led the Hindú to regard the monkey as a being half human and half divine, there can be little doubt that in the Rámáyana the monkeys of southern India have been confounded with what may be called the aboriginal people of the country. The origin of this confusion may be easily conjectured. Perchance the aborigines of the country may have been regarded as a superior kind of monkeys; and to this day the features of the Marawars, who are supposed to be the aborigines of the southern part of the Carnatic, are not only different from those of their neighbours, but are of a character calculated to confirm the conjecture. Again, it is probable that the army of aborigines may have been accompanied by outlying bands of monkeys impelled by that magpie-like curiosity and love of plunder which are the peculiar characteristics of the monkey race; and this incident may have given rise to the story that the army was composed of Monkeys.”

Wheeler's History of India. Vol. II. pp. 316 ff.

Page 342. The Fall Of Báli.

“As regards the narrative, it certainly seems to refer to some real event amongst the aboriginal tribes: namely, the quarrel between an elder and younger brother for the possession of a Ráj; and the subsequent alliance of Ráma with the younger brother. It is somewhat remarkable that Ráma appears to have formed an alliance with the wrong party, for the right of Báli was evidently superior to that of Sugríva; and it is especially worthy of note that Ráma compassed the death of Báli by an act contrary to all the laws of fair fighting. Again, Ráma seems to have tacitly sanctioned the transfer of Tárá from Báli to Sugríva, which was directly opposed to modern rule, although in conformity with the rude customs of a barbarous age; and it is remarkable that to this day the marriage of both widows and divorced women is practised by the Marawars, or aborigines of the southern Carnatic, contrary to the deeply-rooted prejudice which exists against such unions amongst the Hindús at large.”

Wheeler's History of India, Vol. II. 324.

[pg 547]
Page 370. The Vánar Host.

“The splendid Marutas form the army of Indras, the red-haired monkeys and bears that of Râmas; and the mythical and solar nature of the monkeys and bears of the Râmâyaṇam manifests itself several times. The king of the monkeys is a sun-god. The ancient king was named Bâlin, and was the son of Indras. His younger brother Sugrívas, he who changes his shape at pleasure (Kâmarúpas), who, helped by Râmas, usurped his throne, is said to be own child of the sun. Here it is evident that the Vedic antagonism between Indras and Vishṇus is reproduced in a zoological and entirely apish form. The old Zeus must give way to the new, the moon to the sun, the evening to the morning sun, the sun of winter to that of spring; the young son betrays and overthrows the old one.… Râmas, who treacherously kills the old king of the monkeys, Bâlin, is the equivalent of Vishṇus, who hurls his predecessor Indras from his throne; and Sugrívas, the new king of the monkeys resembles Indras when he promises to find the ravished Sítá, in the same way as Vishṇus in one of his incarnations finds again the lost vedás. And there are other indications in the Râmâyaṇam of opposition between Indras and the monkeys who assist Râmas. The great monkey Hanumant, of the reddish colour of gold, has his jaw broken, Indras having struck him with his thunderbolt and caused him to fall upon a mountain, because, while yet a child, he threw himself off a mountain into the air in order to arrest the course of the sun, whose rays had no effect upon him. (The cloud rises from the mountain and hides the sun, which is unable of itself to disperse it; the tempest comes, and brings flashes of lightning and thunder-bolts, which tear the cloud in pieces.)

The whole legend of the monkey Hanumant represents the sun entering into the cloud or darkness, and coming out of it. His father is said to be now the wind, now the elephant of the monkeys (Kapikunjaras), now Keśarin, the long-haired sun, the sun with a mane, the lion sun (whence his name of Keśariṇah putrah). From this point of view, Hanumant would seem to be the brother of Sugrívas, who is also the offspring of the sun.…

All the epic monkeys of the Râmâyaṇam are described in the twentieth canto of the first book by expressions which very closely resemble those applied in the Vedic hymns to the Marutas, as swift as the tempestuous wind, changing their shape at pleasure, making a noise like clouds, sounding like thunder, battling, hurling mountain-peaks, shaking great uprooted trees, stirring up the deep waters, crushing the earth with their arms, making the clouds fall. Thus Bâlin comes out of the cavern as the sun out of the cloud.…

But the legend of the monkey Hanumant presents another curious resemblance to that of Samson. Hanumant is bound with cords by Indrajit, son of Rávaṇas; he could easily free himself, but does not wish to do so. Rávaṇas to put him to shame, orders his tail to be burned, because the tail is the part most prized by monkeys.…

The tail of Hanumant, which sets fire to the city of the monsters, is probably a personification of the rays of the morning or spring sun, which sets fire to the eastern heavens, and destroys the abode of the nocturnal or winter monsters.”

De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II. pp. 100 ff.

[pg 548]
“The Jaitwas of Rajputana, a tribe politically reckoned as Rajputs, nevertheless trace their descent from the monkey-god Hanuman, and confirm it by alleging that their princes still bear its evidence in a tail-like prolongation of the spine; a tradition which has probably a real ethnological meaning, pointing out the Jaitwas as of non-Aryan race.”1040 Tylor's Primitive Culture, Vol. I. p. 341.

Page 372.

The names of peoples occurring in the following ślokas are omitted in the metrical translation:

“Go to the Brahmamálas,1041 the Videhas,1042 the Málavas,1043 the Káśikośalas,1044 the Mágadnas,1045 the Puṇḍras,1046 and the Angas,1047 and the land of the weavers of silk, and the land of the mines of silver, and the hills that stretch into the sea, and the towns and the hamlets that are about the top of Mandar, and the Karṇaprávaraṇas,1048 and the Oshṭhakarṇakas,1049 and the Ghoralohamukhas,1050 and the [pg 549] swift Ekapádakas,1051 and the strong imperishable Eaters of Men, and the Kirátas1052 with stiff hair-tufts, men like gold and fair to look upon: And the Eaters of Raw Fish, and the Kirátas who dwell in islands, and the fierce Tiger-men1053 who live amid the waters.”

Page 374.

“Go to the Vidarbhas1054 and the Rishṭikas1055 and the Mahishikas,1056 and the Matsyas1057 and Kalingas1058 and the Kauśikas1059 … and the Andhras1060 and the Puṇḍras1061 and the Cholas1062 and the Paṇḍyas1063 and the Keralas,1064 [pg 550] Mlechchhas1065 and the Pulindas1066 and the Śúrasenas,1067 and the Prasthalas and the Bharatas and Madrakas1068 and the Kámbojas1069 and the Yavanas1070 and the towns of the Śakas1071 and the Varadas.”1072

Page 378. Northern Kurus.

Professor Lassen remarks in the Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, ii. 62: “At the furthest accessible extremity of the earth appears Harivarsha with the northern Kurus. The region of Hari or Vishṇu belongs to the system of mythical geography; but the case is different with the Uttara Kurus. Here there is a real basis of geographical fact; of which fable has only taken advantage, without creating it. The Uttara Kurus were formerly quite independent of the mythical system of dvípas, though they were included in it at an early date.” Again the same writer says at p. 65: “That the conception of the Uttara Kurus is based upon an actual country and not on mere invention, is proved (1) by the way in which they are mentioned in the Vedas; (2) by the [pg 551] existence of Uttara Kuru in historical times as a real country; and (3) by the way in which the legend makes mention of that region as the home of primitive customs. To begin with the last point the Mahábhárata speaks as follows of the freer mode of life which women led in the early world, Book I. verses 4719-22: ‘Women were formerly unconfined and roved about at their pleasure, independent. Though in their youthful innocence they abandoned their husbands, they were guilty of no offence; for such was the rule in early times. This ancient custom is even now the law for creatures born as brutes, which are free from lust and anger. This custom is supported by authority and is observed by great rishis, and it is still practiced among the northern Kurus.’

“The idea which is here conveyed is that of the continuance in one part of the world of that original blessedness which prevailed in the golden age. To afford a conception of the happy condition of the southern Kurus it is said in another place (M.-Bh, i. 4346.) ‘The southern Kurus vied in happiness with the northern Kurus and with the divine rishis and bards.’

Professor Lassen goes on to say: ‘Ptolemy (vi. 16.) is also acquainted with Uttara Kuru. He speaks of a mountain, a people, and a city called Ottorakorra. Most of the other ancient authors who elsewhere mention this name, have it from him. It is a part of the country which he calls Serica; according to him the city lies twelve degrees west from the metropolis of Sera, and the mountain extends from thence far to the eastward. As Ptolemy has misplaced the whole of eastern Asia beyond the Ganges, the relative position which he assigns will guide us better that the absolute one, which removes Ottorakorra so far to the east that a correction is inevitable. According to my opinion the Ottorakorra of Ptolemy must be sought for to the east of Kashgar.’ Lassen also thinks that Magasthenes had the Uttara Kurus in view when he referred to the Hyperboreans who were fabled by Indian writers to live a thousand years. In his Indian antiquities, (Ind. Alterthumskunde, i. 511, 512. and note,) the same writer concludes that though the passages above cited relative to the Uttara Kurus indicate a belief in the existence of a really existing country of that name in the far north, yet that the descriptions there given are to be taken as pictures of an ideal paradise, and not as founded on any recollections of the northern origin of the Kurus. It is probable, he thinks, that some such reminiscences originally existed, and still survived in the Vedic era, though there is no trace of their existence in latter times.” Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol. II. pp. 336, 337.

Page 428.

Trust to these mighty Vánars.
The corresponding passage in the Bengal recension has “these silvans in the forms of monkeys, vánaráh kapirupinah.” “Here it manifestly appears,” says Gorresio, “that these hosts of combatants whom Ráma led to the conquest of Lanká (Ceylon) the kingdom and seat of the Hamitic race, and whom the poem calls monkeys, were in fact as I have elsewhere observed, inhabitants of the mountainous and southern regions of India, who were wild-looking and not altogether unlike monkeys. They were perhaps the remote ancestors of the Malay races.”

[pg 552]
Page 431.

"Art thou not he who slew of old
The Serpent-Gods, and stormed their hold."
All these exploits of Rávaṇ are detailed in the Uttarakáṇḍa, and epitomized in the Appendix.

Page 434.

Within the consecrated hall.
The Bráhman householder ought to maintain three sacred fires, the Gárhapatya, the Ahavaniya and the Dakshiṇa. These three fires were made use of in many Brahmanical solemnities, for example in funeral rites when the three fires were arranged in prescribed order.

Page 436.

Fair Punjikasthalá I met.
“I have not noticed in the Úttara Káṇda any story about the daughter of Varuṇa, but the commentator on the text (VI 60, 11) explains the allusion to her thus:

“The daughter of Varuṇa was Punjikasthalí. On her account, a curse of Brahmá, involving the penalty of death, [was pronounced] on the rape of women.” Muir, Sanskrit Texts, Part IV. Appendix.

Page 452.

“Shall no funereal honours grace
The parted lord of Raghu's race?”
“Here are indicated those admirable rites and those funeral prayers which Professor Müller has described in his excellent work, Die Todtenbestattung bei den Brahmanen, Sítá laments that the body of Ráma will not be honoured with those rites and prayers, nor will the Bráhman priest while laying the ashes from the pile in the bosom of the earth, pronounce over them those solemn and magnificent words: ‘Go unto the earth, thy mother, the ample, wide, and blessed earth.… And do thou, O Earth, open and receive him as a friend with sweet greeting: enfold him in thy bosom as a mother wraps her child in her robes.’ ” Gorresio.

Page 462.

Each glorious sign
That stamps the future queen is mine.
We read in Josephus that Caesar was so well versed in chiromancy that when one day a soi-disant son of Herod had audience of him, he at once detected the impostor because his hand was destitute of all marks of royalty.

Page 466.

In battle's wild Gandharva dance.
“Here the commentator explains: ‘the battle resembled the dance of the Gandharvas,’ in accordance with the notion of the Gandharvas entertained in his day. They were regarded as celestial musicians enlivening with their melodies [pg 553] Indra's heaven and the banquets of the Gods. But the Gandharvas before becoming celestial musicians in popular tradition, were in the primitive and true signification of the name heroes, spirited and ardent warriors, followers of Indra, and combined the heroical character with their atmospherical deity. Under this aspect the dance of the Gandharvas may be a very different thing from what the commentator means, and may signify the horrid dance of war.” Gorresio.

The Homeric expression is similar, “to dance a war-dance before Ares.”

Page 470.

By Anaraṇya's lips of old.
“The story of Anaraṇya is told in the Uttara Kaṇḍa of the Rámáyaṇa.… Anaraṇya a descendant of Ixváku and King of Ayodhyá, when called upon to fight with Rávaṇa or acknowledge himself conquered, prefers the former alternative; but his army is overcome, and he himself is thrown from his chariot.

When Rávaṇa triumphs over his prostrate foe, the latter says that he has been vanquished not by him but by fate, and that Rávaṇa is only the instrument of his overthrow; and he predicts that Rávaṇa shall one day be slain by his descendant Ráma.” Sanskrit Texts, IV., Appendix.

Page 497.

“With regard to the magic image of Sítá made by Indrajit, we may observe that this thoroughly oriental idea is also found in Greece in Homer's Iliad, where Apollo forms an image of Æneas to save that hero beloved by the Gods: it occurs too in the Æneid of Virgil where Juno forms a fictitious Æneas to save Turnus:

Tum dea nube cava tenuem sine viribus umbram
In faciem Æneæ (visu mirabile monstrum)
Dardaniis ornat telis; clipeumque jubasque
Divini assimulat capitis; dat inania verba;
Dat sine mente sonum, gressusque effingit euntis.
(Æneidos, lib. X.)” Gorresio.

Page 489.

"To Raghu's son my chariot lend."
“Analogous to this passage of the Rámáyana, where Indra sends to Ráma his own chariot, his own charioteer, and his own arms, is the passage in the Æneid where Venus descending from heaven brings celestial arms to her son Æneas when he is about to enter the battle:

At Venus æthereos inter dea candida nimbos
Dona fereus aderat;…
…
Arma sub adversa posuit radiantia quercum.
Ille, deæ donis et tanto lætus honore,
Expleri nequit, atque oculus per singula volvit,
Miraturque, interque manus et brachia versat
Terribilem cristis galeam flammasque vomentem,
Fatiferumque ensem, loricam ex ære rigentem.
(Æneidos, lib. VIII)” Gorresio.

[pg 554]
Page 489.

Agastya came and gently spake.
“The Muni or saint Agastya, author of several Vedic hymns, was celebrated in Indo-Sanskrit tradition for having directed the first brahmanical settlements in the southern regions of India; and the Mahábhárata gives him the credit of having subjected those countries, expelled the Rákshases. and given security to the solitary ascetics, who were settled there. Hence Agastya was regarded in ancient legend as the conqueror and ruler of the southern country. This tradition refers to the earliest migrations made by the Sanskrit Indians towards the south of India. To Agastya are attributed many marvellous mythic deeds which adumbrate and veil ancient events; some of which are alluded to here and there in the Rámáyana.” Gorresio.

The following is the literal translation of the Canto, text and commentary, from the Calcutta edition:

Having found Ráma weary with fighting and buried in deep thought, and Rávaṇ standing before him ready to engage in battle, the holy Agastya, who had come to see the battle, approached Ráma and spoke to him thus: “O mighty Ráma, listen to the old mystery by which thou wilt conquer all thy foes in the battle. Having daily repeated the Ádityahridaya (the delighter of the mind of the Sun) the holy prayer which destroys all enemies (of him who repeats it) gives victory, removes all sins, sorrows and distress, increases life, and which is the blessing of all blessings, worship the rising and splendid sun who is respected by both the Gods and demons, who gives light to all bodies and who is the rich lord of all the worlds, (To the question why this prayer claims so great reverence; the sage answers) Since yonder1073 sun is full of glory and all gods reside in him (he being their material cause) and bestows being and the active principle on all creatures by his rays; and since he protects all deities, demons and men with his rays.

He is Brahmá,1074 Vishṇu,1075 Śiva,1076 Skanda,1077 Prajápati,1078 Mahendra,1079 Dhanada,1080 Kála,1081 Yáma,1082 Soma,1083 Apàm Pati i.e. The lord of waters, Pitris,1084 Vasus,1085 [pg 555] Sádhyas,1086 Aśvins,1087 Maruts,1088 Manu,1089 Váyu,1090 Vahni,1091 Prajá,1092 Práṇa,1093 Ritukartá,1094 Prabhákara,1095 (Thou,1096 art) Aditya,1097 Savitá,1098 Súrya,1099 Khaga,1100 Púshan,1101 Gabhastimán,1102 Śuvarṇasadriśa,1103 Bhánu,1104 Hiraṇyaretas,1105 Divákara,1106 Haridaśva,1107 Sahasrárchish,1108 Saptasapti,1109 Marichimán,1110 Timironmathana,1111 Sambhu,1112 Twashtá,1113 Mártanda,1114 Anśumán,1115 Hiranyagarbha,1116 Siśira,1117 Tapana,1118 Ahaskara,1119 Ravi,1120 Agnigarbha,1121 Aditiputra,1122 Sankha,1123 Siśiranáśana,1124 Vyomanátha,1125 Tamobhedí,1126 Rigyajussámapáraga,1127 Ghanavríshti,1128 [pg 556] Apám-Mitra,1129 Vindhyavíthíplavangama,1130 Átapí,1131 Mandalí,1132 Mrityu (death), Pingala,1133 Sarvatápana,1134 Kavi,1135 Viśva,1136 Mahátejas,1137 Rakta,1138 Sarvabhavodbhava.1139 The Lord of stars, planets, and other luminous bodies, Viśvabhávana,1140 Tejasvinám-Tejasvi,1141 Dwádaśátman:1142 I salute thee. I salute thee who art the eastern mountain. I salute thee who art the western mountain. I salute thee who art the Lord of all the luminous bodies. I salute thee who art the Lord of days.

I respectfully salute thee who art Jaya,1143 Jayabhadra,1144 Haryaśa,1145 O Thou who hast a thousand rays, I repeatedly salute thee. I repeatedly and respectfully salute thee who art Áditya, I repeatedly salute thee who art Ugra,1146 Víra,1147 and Sáranga.1148 I salute thee who openest the lotuses (or the lotus of the heart). I salute thee who art furious. I salute thee who art the Lord of Brahmá, Śiva and Vishṇu. I salute thee who art the sun, Ádityavarchas,1149 splendid, Sarvabhaksha,1150and Raudravapush.1151

I salute thee who destroyest darkness, cold and enemies: whose form is boundless, who art the destroyer of the ungrateful; who art Deva;1152 who art the Lord of the luminous bodies, and who appearest like the heated gold. I salute thee who art Hari,1153 Viśvakarman,1154 the destroyer of darkness, and who art splendid and Lokasákshin.1155 Yonder sun destroys the whole of the material world and also creates it. Yonder sun dries (all earthly things), destroys them and causes rain with his rays. He wakes when our senses are asleep; and resides within all beings. Yonder sun is Agnihotra1156 and also the fruit obtained by the [pg 557] performer of Agnihotra. He is identified with the gods, sacrifices, and the fruit of the sacrifices. He is the Lord of all the duties known to the world, if any man, O Rághava, in calamities, miseries, forests and dangers, prays to yonder sun, he is never overwhelmed by distress.

Worship, with close attention Him the God of gods and the Lord of the world; and recite these verses thrice, whereby thou wilt be victorious in the battle. O brave one, thou wilt kill Rávaṇa this very instant.”

Thereupon Agastya having said this went away as he came. The glorious Ráma having heard this became free from sorrow. Rághava whose senses were under control, being pleased, committed the hymn to memory, recited it facing the sun, and obtained great delight. The brave Ráma having sipped water thrice and become pure took his bow, and seeing Rávaṇa, was delighted, and meditated on the sun.

[pg 558]
Page 492. Rávan's Funeral.

“In the funeral ceremonies of India the fire was placed on three sides of the pyre; the Dakshiṇa on the south, the Gárhapatya on the west, and the Áhavaníya on the east. The funeral rites are not described in detail here, and it is therefore difficult to elucidate and explain them. The poem assigns the funeral ceremonies of Aryan Brahmans to the Rákshases, a race different from them in origin and religion, in the same way as Homer sometimes introduces into Troy the rites of the Grecian cult.” Gorresio.

Mr. Muir translates the description of the funeral from the Calcutta edition, as follows: “They formed, with Vedic rites, a funeral pile of faggots of sandal-wood, with padmaka wood, uśira grass, and sandal, and covered with a quilt of deer's hair. They then performed an unrivalled obsequial ceremony for the Ráxasa prince, placing the sacrificial ground to the S.E. and the fire in the proper situation. They cast the ladle filled with curds and ghee on the shoulder1157 of the deceased; he (?) placed the car on the feet, and the mortar between the thighs. Having deposited all the wooden vessels, the [upper] and lower fire-wood, and the other pestle, in their proper places, they departed. The Ráxasas having then slain a victim to their prince in the manner prescribed in the Śástras, and enjoined by great rishis, cast [into the fire] the coverlet of the king saturated with ghee. They then, Vibhíshaṇa included, with afflicted hearts, adorned Rávaṇa with perfumes and garlands, and with various vestments, and besprinkled him with fried grain. Vibhíshaṇa having bathed, and having, with his clothes wet, scattered in proper form tila seeds mixed with darbha grass, and moistened with water, applied the fire [to the pile].”

Page 496.

The following is a literal translation of Brahmá's address to Ráma according to the Calcutta edition, text and commentary:

“O Ráma, how dost thou, being the creator of all the world, best of all those who have profound knowledge of the Upanishads and all-powerful as thou art, suffer Sítá to fall in the fire? How dost thou not know thyself as the best of the gods? Thou art one of the primeval Vasus,1158 and also their lord and creator. Thou art thyself the lord and first creator of the three worlds. Thou art the eighth (that is Mahádeva) of the Rudras,1159 and also the fifth1160 of the Sádhyas.1161 (The poet describes Ráma as made of the following gods) The Aśvinikumáras (the twin divine physicians of the gods) are thy ears; the sun and the moon are thy eyes; and thou hast been seen in the beginning and at the end of creation. How dost thou neglect the daughter of Videha (Janaka} like a man whose actions are directed by the dictates of nature?” Thus addressed by Indra, Brahmá and [pg 559] the other gods, Ráma the descendant of Raghu, lord of the world and the best of the virtuous, spoke to the chief of the gods. “As I take myself to be a man of the name of Ráma and son of Daśaratha, therefore, sir, please tell me who I am and whence have I come.” “O thou whose might is never failing,” said Brahmá to Kákutstha the foremost of those who thoroughly know Brahmá, “Thou art Náráyaṇa,1162 almighty, possessed of fortune, and armed with the discus. Thou art the boar1163 with one tusk; the conqueror of thy past and future foes. Thou art Brahmá true and eternal or undecaying. Thou art Viśvaksena,1164 having four arms; Thou art Hrishíkeśa,1165 whose bow is made of horn; Thou art Purusha,1166 the best of all beings; Thou art one who is never defeated by any body; Thou art the holder of the sword (named Nandaka). Thou art Vishṇu (the pervader of all); blue in colour: of great might; the commander of armies; and lord of villages. Thou art truth. Thou art embodied intelligence, forgiveness, control over the senses, creation, and destruction. Thou art Upendra1167 and Madhusúdana.1168 Thou art the creator of Indra, the ruler over all the world, Padmanábha,1169 and destroyer of enemies in the battle. The divine Rishis call thee shelter of refugees, as well as the giver of shelter. Thou hast a thousand horns,1170 a hundred heads.1171 Thou art respected of the respected; and the lord and first creator of the three worlds. Thou art the forefather and shelter of Siddhas,1172 and Sádhyas.1173 Thou art sacrifices; Vashaṭkára,1174 Omkára.1175 Thou art beyond those who are beyond our senses. There is none who knows who thou art and who knows thy beginning and end. Thou art seen in all material objects, in Bráhmans, in cows, and also in all the quarters, sky and streams. Thou hast a thousand feet, a hundred heads, and a thousand eyes. Thou hast borne the material objects and the earth with the mountains; and at the bottom of the ocean thou art seen the great serpent. O Ráma, Thou hast borne the three worlds, gods, Gandharvas,1176 and demons. I am, O Ráma, thy heart; the goddess of learning is thy tongue; the gods are the hairs of thy body; the closing of thy eyelids is called the night: and their opening is called the day. The Vedas are thy Sanskáras.1177 Nothing can exist without thee. The whole world is thy body; the surface of the earth is thy stability.”

[pg 560]
O Śrívatsalakshaṇa, fire is thy anger, and the moon is thy favour. In the time of thy incarnation named Vámana, thou didst pervade the three worlds with thy three steps; and Mahendra was made the king of paradise by thee having confined the fearful Bali.1178 Sítá (thy wife) is Lakshmí; and thou art the God Vishṇu,1179 Krishṇa,1180 and Prajápati. To kill Rávaṇ thou hast assumed the form of a man; therefore, O best of the virtuous, thou hast completed this task imposed by us (gods). O Ráma, Rávaṇa has been killed by thee: now being joyful (i.e. having for some time reigned in the kingdom of Ayodhyá,) go to paradise. O glorious Ráma, thy power and thy valour are never failing. The visit to thee and the prayers made to thee are never fruitless. Thy devotees will never be unsuccessful. Thy devotees who obtain thee (thy favour) who art first and best of mankind, shall obtain their desires in this world as well as in the next. They who recite this prayer, founded on the Vedas (or first uttered by the sages), and the old and divine account of (Ráma) shall never suffer defeat.”

Page 503. The Meeting.

The Bharat-Miláp or meeting with Bharat, is the closing scene of the dramatic representation of Ráma's great victory and triumphant return which takes place annually in October in many of the cities of Northern India. The Rám-Lalá or Play of Ráma, as the great drama is called, is performed in the open air and lasts with one day's break through fifteen successive days. At Benares there are three nearly simultaneous performances, one provided by H. H. the Maharajah of Benares near his palace at Ramnaggur, one by H. H. the Maharajah of Vizianagram near the Missionary settlement at Sigra and at other places in the city, and one by the leading gentry of the city at Chowká Ghát near the College. The scene especially on the great day when the brothers meet is most interesting: the procession of elephants with their gorgeous howdahs of silver and gold and their magnificently dressed riders with priceless jewels sparkling in their turbans, the enthusiasm of the thousands of spectators who fill the streets and squares, the balconies and the housetops, the flowers that are rained down upon the advancing car, the wild music, the shouting and the joy, make an impression that is not easily forgotten.

Still on his head, well trained in lore
Of duty, Ráma's shoes he bore.
Ráma's shoes are here regarded as the emblems of royalty or possession. We may compare the Hebrew “Over Edom will I cast forth my shoe.” A curiously similar passage occurs in Lyschander's Chronicon Greenlandiæ Rhythmicon:

“Han sendte til Irland sin skiden skoe,
Og böd den Konge. Som der monne boe,
Han skulde dem hæderlig bære
Pan Juuledag i sin kongelig Pragt,
Og kjende han havde sit Rige og Magt
Af Norges og Quernes Herre.”
[pg 561]
He sent to Ireland his dirty shoes,
And commanded the king who lived there
To wear them with honour
On Christmas Day in his royal state,
And to own that he had his kingdom and power
From the Lord of Norway and the Isles.
Notes & Queries, March 30, 1872.
Final Notes.

I end these notes with an extract which I translate from Signor Gorresio's Preface to the tenth volume of his Rámáyan, and I take this opportunity of again thankfully acknowledging my great obligations to this eminent Śanskritist from whom I have so frequently borrowed. As Mr. Muir has observed, the Bengal recension which Signor Gorresio has most ably edited is throughout an admirable commentary on the genuine Rámáyan of northern India, and I have made constant reference to the faithful and elegant translation which accompanies the text for assistance and confirmation in difficulties:

“Towards the southern extremity and in the island of Lanká (Ceylon) there existed undoubtedly a black and ferocious race, averse to the Aryans and hostile to their mode of worship: their ramifications extended through the islands of the Archipelago, and some traces of them remain in Java to this day.

The Sanskrit-Indians, applying to this race a name expressive of hatred which occurs in the Vedas as the name of hostile, savage and detested beings, called it the Rákshas race: it is against these Rákshases that the expedition of Ráma which the Rámáyan celebrates is directed. The Sanskrit-Indians certainly altered in their traditions the real character of this race: they attributed to it physical and moral qualities not found in human nature; they transformed it into a race of giants; they represented it as monstrous, hideous, truculent, changing forms at will, blood-thirsty and ravenous, just as the Semites represented the races that opposed them as impious, horrible and of monstrous size. But notwithstanding these mythical exaggerations, which are partly due to the genius of the Aryans so prone to magnify everything without measure, the Rámáyan in the course of its epic narration has still preserved and noted here and there some traits and peculiarities of the race which reveal its true character. It represents the Rákshases as black of hue, and compares them with black clouds and masses of black collyrium; it attributes to them curly woolly hair and thick lips, it depicts them as loaded with chains, collars and girdles of gold, and the other bright ornaments which their race has always loved, and in which the kindred races of the Soudan still delight. It describes them as worshippers of matter and force. They are hostile to the religion of the Aryans whose rites and sacrifices they disturb and ruin … Such is the Rákshas race as represented in the Rámáyan; and the war of the Aryan Ráma forms the subject of the epic, a subject certainly real and historical as far as regards its substance, but greatly exaggerated by the ancient myth. In Sanskrit-Indian tradition are found traces of another struggle of the Aryans with the Rákshas races, which preceded the war of Ráma. According to some pauranic legends, Kárttavírya, a descendant of the royal tribe of the Yádavas, contemporary with Parasurama and a little anterior to Ráma, attacked Lanká and took Rávaṇ prisoner. This well shows how ancient and how deeply rooted in the Aryan race is the thought of this war which the Rámáyan celebrates.

[pg 562]
“But,” says an eminent Indianist1181 whose learning I highly appreciate, “the Rámáyan is an allegorical epic, and no precise and historical value can be assigned to it. Sítá signifies the furrow made by the plough, and under this symbolical aspect has already appeared honoured with worship in the hymns of the Rig-veda; Ráma is the bearer of the plough (this assertion is entirely gratuitous); these two allegorical personages represented agriculture introduced to the southern regions of India by the race of the Kosalas from whom Ráma was descended; the Rákshases on whom he makes war are races of demons and giants who have little or nothing human about them; allegory therefore predominates in the poem, and the exact reality of an historical event must not be looked for in it.” Such is Professor Weber's opinion. If he means to say that mythical fictions are mingled with real events,

Forsan in alcun vero suo arco percuote,
as Dante says, and I fully concede the point. The interweaving of the myth with the historical truth belongs to the essence, so to speak, of the primitive epopeia. If Sítá is born, as the Rámáyan feigns, from the furrow which King Janak opened when he ploughed the earth, not a whit more real is the origin of Helen and Æneas as related in Homer and Virgil, and if the characters in the Rámáyan exceed human nature, and in a greater degree perhaps than is the case in analogous epics, this springs in part from the nature of the subject and still more from the symbol-loving genius of the orient. Still the characters of the Rámáyan, although they exceed more or less the limits of human nature, act notwithstanding in the course of the poem, speak, feel, rejoice and grieve according to the natural impulse of human passions. But if by saying that the Rámáyan is an allegorical epic, it is meant that its fundamental subject is nothing but allegory, that the war of the Aryan Ráma against the Rákshas race is an allegory, that the conquest of the southern region and of the island of Lanká is an allegory, I do not hesitate to answer that such a presumption cannot be admitted and that the thing is in my opinion impossible. Father Paolíno da S. Bartolommeo,1182 had already, together with other strange opinions of his own on Indian matters, brought forward a similar idea, that is to say that the exploit of Ráma which is the subject of the Rámáyan was a symbol and represented the course of the sun: thus he imagined that Brahmá was the earth, Vishṇu the water, and that his avatárs were the blessings brought by the fertilizing waters, etc. But such ideas, born at a time when Indo-sanskrit antiquities were enveloped in darkness, have been dissipated by the light of new studies. How could an epic so dear in India to the memory of the people, so deeply rooted for many centuries in the minds of all, so propagated and diffused through all the dialects and languages of those regions, which had become the source of many dramas which are still represented in India, which is itself represented every year with such magnificence and to such crowds of people in the neighbourhood of Ayodhyá, a poem welcomed at its very birth with such favour, as the legend relates, that the recitation of it by the first wandering Rhapsodists has consecrated and made famous all the places celebrated [pg 563] by them, and where Ráma made a shorter or longer stay, how, I ask, could such an epic have been purely allegorical? How, upon a pure invention, upon a simple allegory, could a poem have been composed of about fifty thousand verses, relating with such force and power the events, and giving details with such exactness? On a theme purely allegorical there may easily be composed a short mythical poem, as for example a poem on Proserpine or Psyche: but never an epic so full of traditions and historical memories, so intimately connected with the life of the people, as the Rámáyan.1183 Excessive readiness to find allegory whenever some traces of symbolism occur, where the myth partly veils the historical reality, may lead and often has led to error. What poetical work of mythical times could stand this mode of trial? could there not be made, or rather has there not been made a work altogether allegorical, out of the Homeric poems? We have all heard of the ingenious idea of the anonymous writer, who in order to prove how easily we may pass beyond the truth in our wish to seek and find allegory everywhere, undertook with keen subtlety to prove that the great personality of Napoleon I. was altogether allegorical and represented the sun. Napoleon was born in an island, his course was from west to east, his twelve marshals were the twelve signs of the zodiac, etc.

I conclude then, that the fundamental theme of the Rámáyan, that is to say the war of the Aryan Ráma against the Rákshases, an Hamitic race settled in the south, ought to be regarded as real and historical as far as regards its substance, although the mythic element intermingled with the true sometimes alters its natural and genuine aspect.

How then did the Indo-Sanskrit epopeia form and complete itself? What elements did it interweave in its progress? How did it embody, how did it clothe the naked and simple primitive datum? We must first of all remember that the Indo-European races possessed the epic genius in the highest degree, and that they alone in the different regions they occupied produced epic poetry … But other causes and particular influences combined to nourish and develop the epic germ of the Sanskrit-Indians. Already in the Rig-veda are found hymns in which the Aryan genius preluded, so to speak, to the future epopeia, in songs that celebrated the heroic deeds of Indra, the combats and the victories of the tutelary Gods of the Aryan races over enemies secret or open, human or superhuman, the exploits and the memories of ancient heroes. More recently, at certain solemn occasions, as the very learned A. Weber remarks, at the solemnity, for example of the Aśvamedha or sacrifice of the horse, the praises of the king who ordained the great rite were sung by bards and minstrels in songs composed for the purpose, the memories of past times were recalled and honourable mention was made of the just and pious kings of old. In the Bráhmaṇas, a sort of prose commentaries annexed to the Vedas, are found recorded stories and legends which allude to historical events of the past ages, to ancient memories, and to mythical events. Such popular legends which the Bráhmaṇas undoubtedly gathered from tradition admirably suited the epic tissue with which they were interwoven by successive hands.… Many and various mythico-historical traditions, suitable for epic development, were diffused among the Aryan races, those for example which are related [pg 564] in the four chapters containing the description of the earth, the Descent of the Ganges, etc. The epic genius however sometimes created beings of its own and gave body and life to ideal conceptions. Some of the persons in the Rámáyan must be, in my opinion, either personifications of the forces of nature like those which are described with such vigour in the Sháhnámah, or if not exactly created, exaggerated beyond human proportions; others, vedic personages much more ancient than Ráma, were introduced into the epic and woven into its narrations, to bring together men who lived in different and distant ages, as has been the case in times nearer to our own, in the epics, I mean, of the middle ages.

In the introduction I have discussed the antiquity of the Rámáyan; and by means of those critical and inductive proofs which are all that an antiquity without precise historical dates can furnish I have endeavoured to establish with all the certainty that the subject admitted, that the original composition of the Rámáyan is to be assigned to about the twelfth century before the Christian era. Not that I believe that the epic then sprang to life in the form in which we now possess it; I think, and I have elsewhere expressed the opinion, that the poem during the course of its rhapsodical and oral propagation appropriated by way of episodes, traditions, legends and ancient myths.… But as far as regards the epic poem properly so called which celebrates the expedition of Ráma against the Rákshases I think that I have sufficiently shown that its origin and first appearance should be placed about the twelfth century B.C.; nor have I hitherto met with anything to oppose this chronological result, or to oblige me to rectify or reject it.… But an eminent philologist already quoted, deeply versed in these studies, A. Weber, has expressed in some of his writings a totally different opinion; and the authority of his name, if not the number and cogency of his arguments, compels me to say something on the subject. From the fact or rather the assumption that Megasthenes1184 who lived some time in India has made no mention either of the Mahábhárat or the Rámáyan Professor Weber argues that neither of these poems could have existed at that time; as regards the Rámáyan, the unity of its composition, the chain that binds together its different parts, and its allegorical character, show it, says Professor Weber, to be much more recent than the age to which I have assigned it, near to our own era, and according to him, later than the Mahábhárat. As for Megasthenes it should be observed, that he did not write a history of India, much less a literary history or anything at all resembling one, but a simple description, in great part physical, of India: whence, from his silence on literary matters to draw inferences regarding the history of Sanskrit literature would be the same thing as from the silence of a geologist with respect to the literature of a country whose valleys, mountains, and internal structure he is exploring, to conjecture that such and such a poem or history not mentioned by him did not exist at his time. We have only to look at the fragments of Megasthenes collected and published by Schwanbeck to see what was the nature and scope of his Indica.… But only a few fragments of Megasthenes are extant; and to pretend that they should be argument and proof enough to judge the antiquity of a poem is to press the laws of criticism too far. To Professor Weber's argument as to the more or [pg 565] less recent age of the Rámáyan from the unity of its composition, I will make one sole reply, which is that if unity of composition were really a proof of a more recent age, it would be necessary to reduce by a thousand years at least the age of Homer and bring him down to the age of Augustus and Virgil; for certainly there is much more unity of composition, a greater accord and harmony of parts in the Iliad and the Odyssey than in the Rámáyan. But in the fine arts perfection is no proof of a recent age: while the experience and the continuous labour of successive ages are necessary to extend and perfect the physical or natural sciences, art which is spontaneous in its nature can produce and has produced in remote times works of such perfection as later ages have not been able to equal.”





GREEK ASTRONOMY TO ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 


I 
SOURCES OF THE HISTORY 


: THE history of Greek astronomy in its beginnings is part of the 

history of Greek philosophy, for it was the first philosophers, 
Tonian, Eleatic, Pythagorean, who were the first astronomers. 
Now only very few of the works of the great original thinkers 
of Greece have survived. We possess the whole of Plato and, say, 
half of Aristotle, namely, those of his writings which were intended 
for the use of his school, but not those which, mainly composed 
in the form of dialogues, were in a more popular style. But the 
whole of the pre-Socratic philosophy is one single expanse of 
ruins ;' so is the Socratic philosophy itself, except for what we 
_can learn of it from Plato and Xenophon. 

But accounts of the life and doctrine of philosophers begin to 
appear quite early in ancient Greek literature (cf. Xenophon, who 
was born between 430 and 425 B.C.); and very valuable are the 
allusions in Plato and Aristotle to the doctrines of earlier philo- 
sophers; those in Plato are not very numerous, but he had the 
_ power of entering into the thoughts of other men and, in stating Ὁ 
_ the views of early philosophers, he does not, as.a rule, read into 
their words meanings which they do not convey. Aristotle, on the 
_ other hand, while making historical surveys of the doctrines of his 
predecessors a regular preliminary to the statement of his own, 
discusses them too much from the point of view of his own system ; 
often even misrepresenting them for the purpose of making a contro- 
_ versial point or finding support for some particular thesis. 

From Aristotle’s time a whole literature on the subject of the 
older philosophy sprang up, partly critical, partly historical. This 

1 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, Ὁ. 419. 


1410 B 


2 SOURCES OF THE HISTORY PARTI 


again has perished except for a large number of fragments. Most 
important for our purpose are the notices in the Doxographi Graeci, 
collected and edited by Diels.1_ The main source from which these 
retailers of the opinions of philosophers drew, directly or indirectly, 
was the great work of Theophrastus, the successor of Aristotle, 
entitled Physical Opinions (Φυσικῶν δοξῶν Tm). It would appear 
that it was Theophrastus’s plan to trace the progress of physics 
from Thales to Plato in separate chapters dealing severally with 
the leading topics, First the leading views were set forth on broad 
lines, in groups, according to the affinity of the doctrine, after 
which the differences between individual philosophers within the 
same group were carefully noted. In the First Book, however, 
dealing with the Principles, Theophrastus adopted the order of the 
various schools, Ionians, Eleatics, Atomists, &c., down to Plato, 
although he did not hesitate to connect Diogenes of Apollonia and 
Archelaus with the earlier physicists, out of their chronological 
order; chronological order was indeed, throughout, less regarded 
than the connexion and due arrangement of subjects. This work 
of Theophrastus was naturally the chief hunting-ground for those 
who collected the ‘ opinions’ of philosophers. There was, however, 
another main stream of tradition besides the doxographic; this 
was in the different form of biographies of the philosophers. The 
first to write a book of ‘successions’ (διαδοχαΐ) of the philosophers 
was Sotion (towards the end of the third century B.C.); others 
who wrote ‘successions’ were a certain Antisthenes (probably 
Antisthenes of Rhodes, second century B.C.), Sosicrates, and 
Alexander Polyhistor. These works gave little in the way ot 
doxography, but were made readable by the incorporation of 
anecdotes and apophthegms, mostly unauthentic. The work 
of Sotion and the ‘Lives of Famous Men’ by Satyrus (about 
160 B.C.) were epitomized by Heraclides Lembus. Another writer 
of biographies was the Peripatetic Hermippus of Smyrna, known as 
the Callimachean, who wrote about Pythagoras in at least two Books, 
and is quoted by Josephus as a careful student of all history.2_ Our 
chief storehouse of biographical details derived from these and all 
other available sources is the great compilation which goes by the 


1 Doxographi Graeci, ed. Diels, Berlin, G. Reimer, 1879. 
* Doxographi Graeci (henceforth generally quoted as D.G.), p. 151. 





CE.I SOURCES OF THE HISTORY 3 


name of Diogenes Laertius (more properly Laertius Diogenes). It 
is a compilation made in the most haphazard way, without the 
exercise of any historical sense or critical faculty. But its value 
for us is enormous because the compiler had access to the whole 
collection of biographies which accumulated from Sotion’s time to 
the first third of the third century A.D. (when Diogenes wrote), and 
consequently we have in him the whole residuum of this literature 
which reached such dimensions in the period. 

' ἴῃ order to show at a glance the conclusions of Diels as to the 
relation of the various representatives of the doxographic and 
biographic traditions to one another and to the original sources 


I append a genealogical table’: 

















: Eusebrus 
Gi Cent AND 
ua pra TACLO 
Bks XIV) ο 


Fig. I 


__-? Cf. Giinther in Windelband, Gesch, der alten Philosophie (Iwan yon Miiller’s 
Handbuch der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft, Band v. 1), 1894, p. 275. 


B2 


4 SOURCES OF THE HISTORY PARTI 


- Only a few remarks need be added. ‘Vetusta Placita’ is the 
name given by Diels to a collection which has disappeared, but 
may be inferred to have existed. It adhered very closely to 
Theophrastus, though it was not quite free from admixture of 
other elements. It was probably divided into the following main 
sections: I. De principiis; II. De mundo; III. De sublimibus; 
IV. De terrestribus; V. De anima; VI. De corpore. The date 
is inferred from the facts that the latest philosophers mentioned 
in it were Posidonius and Asclepiades, and that Varro used it. 
The existence of the collection of Aétius (De placitis, περὶ 
ἀρεσκόντων) is attested by Theodoretus (Bishop of Cyrus), who 
mentions it as accessible, and who certainly used it, since his 
extracts are more complete and trustworthy than those of the 
Placita Philosophorum and Stobaeus. The compiler of the Placita 
was not Plutarch, but an insignificant writer of about the middle 
of the second century A.D., who palmed them off as Plutarch. 
Diels prints the Placita in parallel columns with the corresponding 
parts of the Aclogae, under the title of Aétz Placita; quotations 
from the other writers who give extracts are added in notes 
at the foot of the page. So far as Cicero deals with the earliest 
Greek philosophy, he must be classed with the doxographers ; both 
he and Philodemus (De jietate, περὶ εὐσεβείας, fragments of which 
were discovered on a roll at Herculaneum) seem alike to have used a 
common source which went back to a Stoic epitome of Theophrastus, 
now lost. 

The greater part of the fragment of the Pseudo-Plutarchian 
στρωματεῖς given by Eusebius in Book I. 8 of the Praeparatio 
Evangelica comes from an epitome of Theophrastus, arranged 
according to philosophers. The author of the Stromateis, who 
probably belonged to the same period as the author of the Placita, 
that is, about the middle of the second century A.D., confined 
himself mostly to the sections de principio, de mundo, de astris ; 
hence some things are here better preserved than elsewhere; cf. 
especially the notice about Anaximander. 

The most important of the biographical doxographies is that of 
Hippolytus in Book I of the Refutation of all Heresies (the sub- 
title of the particular Book is φιλοσοφούμενα), probably written 
between 223 and 235 A.D. It is derived from two sources. The 





᾿ 


ΟῚ SOURCES OF THE HISTORY 5 
_ one was a biographical compendium of the διαδοχή type, shorter 


and even more untrustworthy than Diogenes Laertius, but con- 


taining excerpts from Aristoxenus, Sotion, Heraclides Lembus, 
and Apollodorus. The other was an epitome of Theophrastus. 
_ Hippolytus’s plan was to take the philosophers in order and then 
_ to pick out from the successive sections of the epitome of Theo- 


phrastus the views of each philosopher on each topic, and insert 


_them in their order under the particular philosopher. So carefully 


was this done that the divisions of the work of Theophrastus can 


_ practically be restored.1_ Hippolytus began with the idea of dealing 
_with the chief philosophers only, as Thales, Pythagoras, Empedocles, 


Heraclitus. For these he had available only the inferior (biographical) 


source. The second source, the epitome of Theophrastus, then 


came into his hands, and, beginning with Anaximander, he proceeded 
to make a most precious collection of opinions. 

Another of our authorities is Achilles (not Tatius), who wrote 
an Introduction to the Phaenomena of Aratus.* Achilles’ date is 
uncertain, but he probably lived not earlier than the end of the 


second century A.D., and not much later. The foundation of 


Achilles’ commentary was a Stoic compendium of astronomy, 


_ probably by Eudorus, which in its turn was extracted from a work 


by Diodorus of Alexandria, a pupil of Posidonius. But Achilles 
drew from other sources as well, including the Pseudo-Plutarchian 
Placita; he did not hesitate to alter his extracts from the latter, 


and to mix alien matter with them. 


The opinions noted by the Doxographi are largely incorporated 
in Diels’ later work Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker® 

For the earlier period from Thales to Empedocles, Tannery gives 
a translation of the doxographic data and the fragments in his 
work Pour Vhistoive de la science helléne, de Thales ἃ Empédocle, 
Paris, 1887 ; taking account as it does of all the material, this work is 


᾿ the best and most suggestive of the modern studies of the astronomy 
of the period. Equally based on the Dorographi, Max Sartorius’s 


dissertation Die Entwicklung der Astronomie bei den Griechen bis 


* Diels, Doxographi Graeci, p. 153. 

* Excerpts from this are preserved in Cod. Laurentian. xxviii. 44, and are 
included in the Uranologium of Petavius, 1630, pp. 121-64, &c. 

* Second edition in two vols. (the second in two parts), Berlin, 1906-10. 


ό SOURCES OF THE HISTORY 


Anaxagoras und Empedokles (Halle, 1883) is a very concise and 
useful account. Naturally all or nearly all the material is also to 
be found in the monumental work of Zeller and in Professor Burnet’s 
Early Greek Philosophy (second edition, 1908); and picturesque, 
if sometimes too highly coloured, references to the astronomy of 
the ancient philosophers are a feature of vol. i of Gomperz’s 
Griechische Denker (third edition, 1911). 

Eudemus of Rhodes (about 330 B.C.), a pupil of Aristotle, wrote 
a History of Astronomy (as he did a History of Geometry), which 
is lost, but was the source of a number of notices in other writers. 
In particular, the very valuable account of Eudoxus’s and Callip- 
pus’s systems of concentric spheres which Simplicius gives in his 
Commentary on Aristotle’s De caelo is taken from Eudemus through 
Sosigenes as intermediary. A few notices from Eudemus’s work 
are also found in the astronomical portion of Theon of Smyrna’s 
Expositio rerum mathematicarum ad legendum Platonem utilium,: 
which also draws on two other sources, Dercyllides and Adrastus. 
The former was a Platonist with Pythagorean leanings, who wrote 
a book on Plato’s philosophy. His date was earlier than the time 
of Tiberius, perhaps earlier than Varro’s. Adrastus, a Peripatetic 
of about the middle of the second century A.D., wrote historical 
and lexicographical essays on Aristotle ; he also wrote a commentary 
on the Zzmaeus of Plato, which is quoted by Proclus as well as by 
Theon of Smyrna. 


1 Edited by E. Hiller (Teubner, 1878). 





II 


HOMER AND HESIOD 


WE take as our starting-point the conceptions of the structure 
of the world which are to be found in the earliest literary monuments 
of Greece, that is to say, the Homeric poems and the works of 
Hesiod. In their fundamental conceptions Homer and Hesiod 
_ agree. The earth is a flat circular disc; this is not stated in so 
many words, but only on this assumption could Poseidon from 
_ the mountains of Solym in Pisidia see Odysseus at Scheria on the 
further side of Greece, or Helios at his rising and setting descry 
his cattle on the island of Thrinakia. Round this flat disc, on the 
horizon, runs the river Oceanus, encircling the earth and flowing 
back into itself (ἀψόρροος) ; from this all other waters take their 
rise, that is, the waters of Oceanus pass through subterranean 
channels and appear as the springs and sources of other rivers. 
Over the flat earth is the vault of heaven, like a sort of hemi- 
spherical dome exactly covering it ; hence it is that the Aethiopians 
_ dwelling in the extreme east and west are burnt black by the sun. 
Below the earth is Tartarus, covered by the earth and forming 
a sort of vault symmetrical with the heaven; Hades is supposed 
to be beneath the surface of the earth, as far from the height of 
the heaven above as from the depth of Tartarus below, i.e. pre- 
sumably in the hollow of the earth’s disc. The dimensions of the 
heaven and earth are only indirectly indicated; Hephaestus cast 
down from Olympus falls for a whole day till sundown; on the 
other hand, according to Hesiod, an iron anvil would take nine 
days to pass from the heaven to the earth, and again nine days 
from the earth to Tartarus. The vault of heaven remains for ever 
in one position, unmoved ; the sun, moon, and stars move round 
under it, rising from Oceanus in the east and plunging into it again 
in the west. We are not told what happens to the heavenly bodies 


8 HOMER AND HESIOD PARTI 


between their setting and rising; they cannot pass round under 
the earth because Tartarus is never lit up by the sun; possibly 
they are supposed to float round Oceanus, past the north, to the 
points where they next rise in the east, but it is only later writers 
who represent Helios as sleeping and being carried round on the 
water on a golden bed or in a golden bowl.? 

Coming now to the indications of actual knowledge of astronomical 
facts to be found in the poems, we observe in Hesiod a considerable 
advance as compared with Homer. Homer mentions, in addition 
to the sun and moon, the Morning Star, the Evening Star, the 
Pleiades, the Hyades, Orion, the Great Bear (‘which is also called 
by the name of the Wain, and which turns round on the same spot 
and watches Orion; it alone is without lot in Oceanus’s bath’ *), 


1 Athenaeus, Deipnosoph. xi. 38-9. 

2 It seems that some of the seven principal stars of the Great Bear do now 
set in the Mediterranean, e.g.,in places further south in latitude than Rhodes 
(lat. 36°), y, the hind foot, as well as n, the tip of the tail, and at Alexandria all 
the seven stars except a, the head. But this was not so in Homer’s time. In 
proof of this, Sir George Greenhill (in a lecture delivered in 1910 to the Hellenic 
Travellers’ Club) refers to calculations made by Dr. J. B. Pearson of the effect 
of Precession in the interval since 750 B.C., a date taken ‘ without Ὃν pra ; 
(Proceedings of the Cambridge Philosophical Soctety, 1877 and 1881), and to the 
results obtained in a paper by J. Gallenmiiller, Der Fixsternhimmel jetzt und in 
Homers Zeiten mit zwei Sternkarten (Regensburg, 1884/85). Gallenmiiller’s 
charts are for the years 900 B.C. and A.D. 1855 respectively, and the chart for 
goo B.C. shows that the N.P. Ὁ. of both 8, the fore-foot, and η, the tip of the 
tail, was then about 25°. But we also find convincing evidence in the original 
writings of the Greek astronomers. Hipparchus (J Avrati et Eudoxi phaeno- 
mena commentariorum libri tres, ed. Manitius, 1894, p. 114. 9-10) observes that 
Eudoxus [say, in 380 B.C., or 520 years later than the date to which Gallen- 
miiller’s chart refers] made the fore-foot (8) about 24°, and the hind-foot (y) 
about 25°, distant from the-north pole. This was perhaps not very accurate ; 
for Hipparchus says (ibid., p. 30. 2-8), ‘As regards the north pole, Eudoxus is in 
error in stating that “there is a certain star which always remains in the same 
spot, and this star is the pole of the universe”; for in reality there is no star at 
all at the pole, but there is an empty space there, with, however, three stars 
near to it [probably a and κ of Draco and β of the Little Bear], and the point at 
the pole makes with these three stars a figure which is very nearly square, as 
Pytheas of Massalia stated.’ (Pytheas, the great explorer of the northern seas, 
was a contemporary of Aristotle, and perhaps some forty years later than 
Eudoxus.) But, as Hipparchus himself (writing in this case not later than 
134 B.C.) makes the angular radius of the ‘always-visible circle’ 37° at Athens 
and 36° at Rhodes (ibid., pp. 112.16 and 114. 24-6), it is evident that in 
Eudoxus’s time the whole of the Great Bear remained well above the horizon. 
A passage of Proclus (Hyfotyposis, c. 7, δὲ 45-8, p. 234, ed. Manitius) is not 
without interest in this connexion. He is trying to controvert the theory of 
astronomers that the fixed stars themselves have a movement about the pole 
of the ecliptic (as distinct from the pole of the universe) of about 1° in 100 years 








CH. II HOMER AND HESIOD 9 


Sirius (‘the star which rises in late summer . . . which is called 
among men “ Orion’s dog” ; bright it shines forth, yet is a baleful 
sign, for it brings to suffering mortals much fiery heat’), the ‘ late- 
setting Bodtes’ (the ‘ploughman’ driving the Wain, i.e. Arcturus, 
as Hesiod was the first to call it). Since the Great Bear is said 
to be the only constellation which never sets, we may perhaps 
assume that the stars and constellations above named are all that 
_ were definitely recognized at the time, or at least that the Bear 
was the only constellation recognized in the northern sky. There 
is little more that can be called astronomy in Homer. There are 
vague uses of astronomical phenomena for the purpose of fixing 
localities or marking times of day or night; as regards the day, 
the morning twilight, the rising and setting of the sun, midday, 
and the onset of night are distinguished ; the night is divided into 
three thirds. Aristotle was inclined to explain Helios’s seven herds 
of cattle and sheep respectively containing 50 head in each herd 
{i.€. 350 in all of each sort) as a rough representation of the number 
of days in a year. Calypso directed Odysseus to sail in such a way 
as to keep the Great Bear always on his left. One passage,! 
relating to the island called Syrie, ‘which is above Ortygia where 
are the turnings (τροπαΐ) of the sun’, is supposed by some to refer 
to the solstices, but there is no confirmation of this by any other 
‘passage, and it seems safer to take ‘turning’ to mean the turn 
which the sun takes at setting, when of course he begins his return 
journey (travelling round Oceanus or otherwise) to the place of his 


(this is Ptolemy’s estimate). ‘ How is it’, says Proclus, ‘that the Bears, which 
have always been visible above the horizon through countless ages, still remain 
so, if they move by one degree in 100 years about the pole of the zodiac, which 
is different from the world-pole ; for, if they had moved so many degrees as this 
would imply, they should now no longer graze (παραξέειν) the horizon but should 
partly set’! This passage, written (say) 840 years after Eudoxus’s location of 8 and 
y of the Great Bear, shows that the Great Bear was then much nearer to setting 
than it was in Eudoxus’s time, and the fact should have made Proclus speak with 
greater caution. [The star which Eudoxus took as marking the north pole has 
commonly been supposed to be β of the Little Bear; but Manitius (Hipparchi in 
Arati et Eudoxi phaen. comment., 1894, p. 306), as the result of studying a 
*Precession-globe’ designed by Prof. Haas of Vienna, considers that it was 
certainly a different star, namely, ‘Draconis 16,’ which occupies a position 
determined as the intersection of (1) a perpendicular from our Polar Star to the 
straight line joining κ and of Draco and (2) the line joining y and β of the 
Little Bear and produced beyond β.] 
1 Odyssey xv. 403-4. 


10 HOMER AND HESIOD PARTI 


rising, in which case the island would simply be situated on the 
western horizon where the sun se¢s.1 

Hesiod mentions practically the same stars as Homer, the 
Pleiades, the Hyades, Orion, Sirius, and Arcturus. But, as might 
be expected, he makes much more use than Homer does of celestial 
phenomena for the purpose of determining times and seasons in the 
year. Thus, e.g., he marked the time for sowing at the beginning 
of winter by the setting of the Pleiades in the early twilight, or 
again by the early setting of the Hyades or Orion, which means 
the 3rd, 7th, or 15th November in the Julian calendar according to 
the particular stars taken ;* the time for harvest he fixed by the 
early rising of the Pleiades, which means the Julian 19th of May ;* 
threshing-time he marked by the early rising of Orion (Julian gth 
of July), vintage-time by the early rising of Arcturus (Julian 18th 
of September), and so on. With Hesiod, Spring begins with the 
late rising of Arcturus; this would in his time and climate be the 
24th February of the Julian calendar, or 57 days after the winter 
solstice, which in his time would be the 29th December. He him-- 
self makes Spring begin 60 days after the winter solstice ; he may 
be intentionally stating a round figure, but, if he made an error of 


1 Martin has discussed the question at considerable length (‘Comment 
Homére s’orientait’ in Mémoires de ? Académie des Inscriptions et Belles- 
Lettres, xxix, Pt. 2, 1879, pp. 1-28). He strongly holds that τροπαὶ ἠελίοιο can 
only mean the solstice, that by this we must also understand the summer 
solstice, and that the expression ὅθι τροπαὶ ἠελίοιο must therefore be in the 
direction of the place on the horizon where the sun sets at the summer solstice, 
i.e. west-north-west. Martin’s ground is his firm conviction that τροπαὶ nediovo 
has mever, in any Greek poet or prose writer, any other than the technical 
meaning of ‘ solstice’. This is, however, an assumption not susceptible of proof; 
and Martin is not very successful in his search for confirmation of his view. 
Identifying Ortygia with Delos, and Syrie with Syra or Syros, he admits that 
the southern part of Syra is due west of the southern part of Delos ; only the 
northern portion of Syra stretches further north than the northern portion of 
Delos; therefore, geographically, either west or west-north-west would describe 
the direction of Syra relatively to Ortygia well enough. Of the Greek com- 
mentators, Aristarchus of Samothrace and Herodian of Alexandria take rpomai 
to mean ‘ setting’ simply; Martin is driven therefore to make the most he can 
of Hesychius who (s.v. ’Oprvyin) gives as an explanation τοῦτο δέ ἐστιν ὅπου ai 
δύσεις ἄρχονται, ‘This is where the settings commence’, which Martin interprets 
as meaning ‘ where the sun sets a¢ the commencement of the Greek year’, which 
was about the time of the summer solstice ; but this is a great deal to get out 
of ‘commencement of setting’. 

2 Ideler, Handbuch der mathematischen und technischen Chronologie, 1825, 
i, ΡΡ. 242, 246. 

Ibid, p. 242. * Ibid. pp. 246, 247. © 


» 





—_ ἈΨΎΥΥ oan ae 7 
ΕΝ » 


CH. II HOMER AND HESIOD II 


three days, it would not be surprising, seeing that in his time there 
were no available means for accurately observing the times of the 
solstices. His early summer (θέρος), as distinct from late summer 
(ὀπώρα), he makes, in like manner, end 50 days after the sum- 
mer solstice. Thus he was acquainted with the solstices, but he 
says nothing about the equinoxes, and only remarks in one place 
that in late summer the days become shorter and the nights longer. 


_ From the last part of the Works and Days we see that Hesiod had 


an approximate notion of the moon’s period ; he puts it at 30 days, 
and divides the month into three periods of ten days each.! 

Hesiod was also credited with having written a poem under the 
title of ‘Astronomy’. A few fragments of such a poem are pre- 
served ;* Athenaeus, however, doubted whether it was Hesiod’s 
work, for he quotes ‘the author of the poem “ Astronomy” which 
is attributed to Hesiod’ as always speaking of Peleiades. Pliny 
observes that ‘Hesiod (for an Astrology is also handed down 
under his name) stated that the matutinal setting of the Vergiliae 
[Pleiades] took place at the autumnal equinox, whereas Thales 


made the time 25 days from the equinox’. The poem was thought 


to be Alexandrine, but has recently been shown to be old; perhaps, 
if we may judge by the passage of Pliny, it may be anterior to 
Thales. 

1 Sartorius, op. cit., p. 16; Ideler, i, p. 257. 


3 Diels, Vorsokratiker, ii*. 1, 1907, pp. 499, 500. 
5. Pliny, WV. H. xviii, c. 25, ὃ 213 ; Diels, loc. cit. 


III 
THALES 


SUCH astronomy as we find in Homer and Hesiod was of the 
merely practical kind, which uses the celestial recurrences for the 
regulation of daily life; but, as the author of the Epznomis says, 
‘the true astronomer will not be the man who cultivates astronomy 
in the manner of Hesiod and any other writers of that type, concern- 
ing himself only with such things as settings and risings, but the 
man who will investigate the seven revolutions included in the eight 
revolutions and each describing the same circular orbit [i.e. the 
separate motions of the sun, moon, and the five planets combined 
with the eighth motion, that of the sphere of the fixed stars, or the 
daily rotation], which speculations can never be easily mastered by 
the ordinary person but demand extraordinary powers’. The history ἡ 
of Greek astronomy in the sense of astronomy proper, the astronomy 
which seeks to explain the heavenly phenomena and their causes, 
begins with Thales. 

Thales of Miletus lived probably from about 624 to 547 B.C. 
(though according to Apollodorus he was born in 640/39). Accord- 
ing to Herodotus, his ancestry was Phoenician; his mother was 
Greek, to judge by her name Cleobuline, while his father’s name, 
Examyes, is Carian, so that he was of mixed descent. In 582/1 B.C. 
he was declared one of the Seven Wise Men, and indeed his ver- 
satility was extraordinary ; statesman, engineer, mathematician and 
astronomer, he was an acute business man in addition, if we may 
believe the story that, wishing to show that it was easy to get rich, 
he took the opportunity of a year in which he foresaw that there 
would be a great crop of olives to get control of all the oil-presses 
in Miletus and Chios in advance, paying a low rental when there 
was no one to bid against him, and then, when the accommodation 
was urgently wanted, charging as much as he liked for it, with the 
result that he made a large profit For his many-sided culture he 


1 Aristotle, Politics i. 11. 9, 1259 a 6-17. 


“τ <= ea 


eae ae ae ee σον 


THALES ; 13 


was indebted in great measure to what he learnt on long journeys 
which he took, to Egypt in particular ; it was in Egypt that he saw 
in operation the elementary methods of solving problems in prac- 
tical geometry which inspired him with the idea of making 
geometry a deductive science depending on general propositions ; 
and he doubtless assimilated much of the astronomical knowledge 
which had been accumulated there as the result of observations 


recorded through long centuries. 


Thales’ claim to a place in the history of scientific astronomy 
depends almost entirely on one achievement attributed to him, that 
of predicting an eclipse of the sun. There is no trustworthy 
evidence of any other discoveries, or even of any observations, 
made by him, although one would like to believe the story, quoted 
by Plato,! that, when he was star-gazing and fell into a well in con- 
sequence, he was rallied ‘by a clever and pretty maid-servant from 
Thrace’? for being so ‘eager to know what goes on in the heavens 
when he could not see what was in front of him, nay, at his very feet’. 

But did Thales predict a solar eclipse? The story is entirely 
rejected by Martin.* He points out that, while the references to 
the prediction do not exactly agree, it is in fact necessary, if the 
oceurrence of a solar eclipse at any specified place on the earth’s 
surface is to be predicted with any prospect of success, to know 
more of the elements of astronomy than Thales could have known, 
and in particular to allow for parallax, which was not done until 
much later, and then only approximately, by Hipparchus. Further, 
if the prophecy had rested on any scientific basis, it is incredible 
that the basis should not have been known and been used by later 
Ionian philosophers for making other similar predictions, whereas 
we hear of none such in Greece for two hundred years. Indeed, 
only one other supposed prediction of the same kind is referred to. 
Plutarch* relates that, when Plato was on a visit to Sicily and stay- 
ing with Dionysius, Helicon of Cyzicus, a friend of Plato’s, foretold 
a solar eclipse (apparently that which took place on 12th May, 

1 Theaetetus 174 A;.cf. Hippolytus, Refuz. i. 1. 4 (D. G. p. 555. 9-12). 

? There is another version not so attractive, according to which [Diog. Laert. 
i. 34], being taken out of the house by an old woman to look at the stars, he fell 
into a hole and was reproached by her in similarterms. This version might 


suggest that it was the old woman who was the astronomer rather than Thales. 
Revue Archéologique, ix, 1864, pp. 181 sq. “ Life of Dion, c. 19, p. 966A. 


14 THALES PART I 


361 B.C.),1 and, when this took place as predicted, the tyrant was 
filled with admiration and made Helicon a present of a talent of 
silver. This story is, however, not confirmed by any other evidence, 
and the necessary calculations would have been scarcely less im- 
possible for Helicon than for Thales. Martin’s view is that both 
Thales and Helicon merely explained the cause of solar eclipses 
and asserted the necessity of their recurrence within certain limits 
of time, and that these explanations were turned by tradition into 
predictions. In regard to Thales, Martin relies largely on the word- 
ing of a passage in Theon of Smyrna, where he purports to quote 
Eudemus; ‘ Eudemus’, he says, ‘ relates in his Astronomies that... 
Thales was the first to discover (εὗρε πρῶτος understood) the 
eclipse of the sun and the fact that the sun’s period with respect 
to the solstices is not always the same’,? and the natural mean- 
ing of the first part of the sentence is that Thales discovered 
the explanation and the cause of a solar eclipse. It is true that 
Diogenes Laertius says that ‘ Thales appears, according to some, to 
have been the first to study astronomy and to predict both solar 
eclipses and solstices, as Eudemus says in his History of Astronomy ’,® 
and Diogenes must be quoting from the same passage as Theon ; 
but it is pretty clear, as Martin says, that he copied it inaccurately 
and himself inserted the word (προειπεῖν) referring to predictions ; 
indeed the word ‘ predict’ does not go well with ‘solstices’, and is 
suspect for this reason. Nor does any one credit Thales with having 
predicted more than one eclipse. No doubt the original passage 
spoke of ‘ eclipses’ and ‘ solstices’ in the plural and used some word 
like ‘discover’ (Theon’s word), not the word ‘predict’. And I 
think Martin may reasonably argue from the passage of Diogenes 
that the words ‘according to some’ are Eudemus’s words, not his 
own, and therefore may be held to show that the truth of the 
tradition was not beyond doubt. 


1 Boll, art. ‘Finsternisse’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s eal-Encyclopidie der 
classischen Altertumswissenschaft, vi. 2, 1909, pp. 2356-7; Ginzel, Handbuch 
der mathematischen und technischen Chronologie, vol. ii, 1911, p. 527. 

3 Theon of Smyrna, ed. Hiller, p. 198. 14-18. 

® Diog. L. 1.23 (Vorsokratiker, 15, p. 3. 19-21). 

* There is, however, yet another account purporting to be based on Eudemus, 
Clement of Alexandria (S¢vomat. i. 65) says : ‘Eudemus observes in his History 
of Astronomy that Thales predicted the eclipse of the sun which took place at 
the time when the Medes and the Lydians engaged in battle, the king of the 


Sa Se 


CH, ΠῚ THALES ᾿ 15 


Nevertheless, as Tannery observes, Martin’s argument can 
hardly satisfy us so far as it relates to Thales. The evidence 
that Thales actually predicted a solar eclipse is as conclusive as 
ave could expect for an event belonging to such remote times, for 
Diogenes Laertius quotes Xenophanes as well as Herodotus as 
having admired Thales’ achievement, and Xenophanes was almost 
contemporary with Thales. We must therefore accept the fact as 
historic, and it remains to inquire in what sense or form, and on 


- what ground, he made his prediction. The accounts of it vary. 


Herodotus says? that the Lydians and the Medes continued their 
war, and ‘when, in the sixth year, they encountered one another, it 
fell out that, after they had joined battle, the day suddenly turned 
into night. Now that this transformation of day (into night) would 
occur was foretold to the Ionians by Thales of Miletus, who fixed 
as the limit of time this very year in which the change actually 
took place.’* The prediction was therefore at best a rough one, 
Medes being Cyaxares, the father of Astyages, and Alyattes, the son of Croesus, 
being the king of the Lydians; and the time was about the 5oth Olympiad [58ο- 


577].’ The last sentence was evidently taken from Tatian 41 ; but, if the rest of 
the passage correctly quotes Eudemus, it would appear that there must have 


been two passages in Eudemus dealing with the subject. 


1 Tannery, Pour ’histoire de la science helléne, p. 56. 

3 Herodotus, i. 74. 

3. Other references are as follows: Cicero, De Divinatione i. 49. 112, observes 
that Thales was said to have been the first to predict an eclipse of the sun, which 
eclipse took place in the reign of Astyages; Pliny, V.H. ii, c. 12, ὃ 53, ‘Among 
the Greeks Thales first investigated (the cause of the eclipse) in the fourth year of 
the 48th Olympiad [585/4 B.c.], having predicted an eclipse of the sun which 
took place in the reign of Alyattes in the year 170 A.U.C.’; Eusebius, Chron. 
(Hieron.), under year of Abraham 1433, ‘An eclipse of the sun, the occurrence of 
which Thales had predicted: a battle between Alyattes and Astyages’. The 
eclipse so foretold is now most generally taken to be that which took place on- 
the (Julian) 28th May, 585. A difficulty formerly felt in regard to this date 
seems now to have been removed. Herodotus (followed ‘by Clement) says that 
the eclipse took place during a battle between Alyattes and Cyaxares. Now, 
on the usual assumption, based on Herodotus’s chronological data, that Cyaxares 
reigned from about 635 to 595, the eclipse of 585 B.c. must have taken place 
during the reign of his son; and perhaps it was the knowledge of this fact which 
made Eusebius say that the battle was between Alyattes and Astyages. But it 
appears that Herodotus’s reckoning was affected by an error on his part in taking 
the fall of the Median kingdom to be coincident with Cyrus’s accession to 
the throne of Persia, and that Cyaxares really reigned from 624 to 584, and 
Astyages from 584 to 550 B.C. (Ed. Meyer in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclo- 
padie, ii, 1896, p. 1865, ὅς.) ; hence the eclipse of 585 B.c. would after all come 
in Cyaxares’ reign. Oftwo more solar eclipses which took place in the reign of 
Cyaxares one is ruled out, that of 597 B.C., because it took place at sunrise, which 
would not agree with Herodotus’s story. The other was on 30th September, 610, 
and, as regards this, Bailly and Oltmanns showed that it was not total on the 


τό THALES PARTI 


since it only specified that the eclipse would occur within a certain 
year; and the true explanation seems to be that it was a prediction 
of the same kind as had long been in vogue with the Chaldaeans. 
That they had a system enabling them to foretell pretty accurately 
the eclipses of the moon is clear from the fact that some of the 
eclipses said by Ptolemy’ to have been observed in Babylon were so 
partial that they could hardly have been noticed if the observers had 
not been to some extent prepared for them. Three of the eclipses 
mentioned took place during eighteen months in the years 721 
and 720. It is probable that the Chaldaeans arrived at this method 
of approximately predicting the times at which lunar eclipses would 
occur by means of the period of 223 lunations, which was doubt- 
less discovered as the result of long-continued observations. This 
period is mentioned by Ptolemy* as having been discovered by 
astronomers ‘still more ancient’ than those whom he calls ‘the 
ancients’.. Now, while this method would serve well enough for 
lunar eclipses, it would very often fail for solar eclipses, because no 
account was taken of parallax. An excellent illustration of the 
way in which the system worked is on record; it is taken from 
a translation of an Assyrian cuneiform inscription, the relevant words 
being the following : 

1. To the king my lord, thy servant Abil-istar. 

2. May there be peace to the king my lord. May Nebo and 

Merodach 


3. to the king my lord be favourable. Length of days, 
4. health of body and joy of heart may the great gods 


presumed field of battle (in Cappadocia), though it would be total in Armenia 
(Martin, Revue Archéologiqgue, ix, 1864, pp. 183, 190). Tannery, however 
(Pour Phistotre de la science helléne, p. 38), holds that the latter eclipse was that 
associated with Thales. The latest authorities (Boll, art. ‘Finsternisse’, in Pauly- 
Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopidie, vi. 2, 1909, pp.2353-4, and Ginzel, Spesieller Kanon 
der Sonnen- und Mondjinsternisse and Handbuch der mathematischen und tech- 
nischen Chronologie, vol. ii, 1911, p. 525) adhere to the date 28th May, 585. 

1 Ptolemy, Syntaxis iv, c. 6 sq. 

* Ptolemy, Syztaxis iv, c. 2, p. 270, 1 sq., ed. Heiberg. 

* Suidas understands the Chaldaean name for this period to have been savos, 
but this seems to be a mistake. According to Syncellus (Chronographia, p. 17; 
A-B), Berosus expressed his periods in savs, #ers, and sosses, a sar being 3,600 
years, while 2267 meant 600 years, and soss 60 years ; but we learn that the same 
words were also used to denote the same numbers of days respectively 
(Syncellus, p. 32 C). Nor were they used of years and days only; in fact sar, 
2167, and 5055 were collective numerals simply, like our words ‘gross’, ‘ score’, 
ἄς. (Cantor, Gesch. d. Mathematik, 15, p. 36). 

4 See George Smith, Assyrian Discoveries, p. 409. 


‘CH. IM THALES 17 


5. to the king my lord grant. Concerning the eclipse of the 
moon 

6. of which the king my lord sent to me; in the cities of 
Akkad, 

7. Borsippa, and Nipur, observations 

8. they made and then in the city of Akkad 

9. we saw part. ... 

το. The observation was made and the eclipse took place. 


17. And when for the eclipse of the sun we made 

18. an observation, the observation was made and it did not take 
lace. 

19. That which I saw with my eyes to the king my lord 

20. Isend. This eclipse of the moon 

21. which did happen concerns the countries 

22. with their god all. Over Syria 

23. it closes, the country of Phoenicia, 

24. of the Hittites, of the people of Chaldaea, 

25. but to the king my lord it sends peace, and according to 

26. the observation, not the extending 

27. of misfortune to the king my lord 

28. may there be. 


It would seem, as Tannery says,’ that these clever people knew 
how to turn their ignorance to account as well as their knowledge. 
For them it was apparently of less consequence that their predic- 
tions should come true than that they should not let an eclipse take 
place without their having predicted it.* 

As it is with Egypt that legend associates Thales, it is natural 
to ask whether the Egyptians too were acquainted with the period 
of 223 lunations. We have no direct proof; but Diodorus Siculus — 
says that the priests of Thebes predicted eclipses quite as well as 
the Chaldeans,* and it is quite possible that the former had learnt 
from the latter the period and the notions on which the successful 
prediction of eclipses depended. It is not, however, essential to 
suppose that Thales got the information from the Egyptians; he 


_ may have obtained it more directly. Lydia was an outpost of 


Ea ea ν Ἔ4 - 


1. Tannery, op. cit., p. 57. ob τς : 

* Delambre (Hist. de /astronomie ancienne, i, p. 351) quotes a story that in 
China, in 2159 B.C., the astronomers Hi and Ho were put to death, according 
to law, in consequence of an eclipse of the sun occurring which they had not 


3 Cf. Diodorus, i, c. 50; ii, c. 30. 


1410 G 


18 THALES PARTI _ 


Assyrio-Babylonian culture ; this is established by (among other 
things) the fact of the Assyrian protectorate over the kings Gyges 
and Ardys (attested by cuneiform inscriptions); and ‘no doubt the 
inquisitive Ionians who visited the gorgeous capital Sardes, situated 
in their immediate neighbourhood, there first became acquainted 
with the elements of Babylonian science’.? . 

If there happened to be a number of possible solar eclipses in the 
year which (according ‘to Herodotus) Thales fixed, he was not 
taking an undue risk; but it was great luck that it should have 
been total.? 

Perhaps I have delayed too long over the story of the eclipse ; 
but it furnishes a convenient starting-point for a consideration 
of the claim of Thales to be credited with the multitude of other 
discoveries in astronomy attributed to him by the Doxographi and 
others, First, did he know the cause of eclipses? Aétius says 
that he thought the sun was made of an earthy substance,® like 
the moon, and was the first to declare that the sun is eclipsed 
when the moon comes in a direct line below it, the image of the 
moon then appearing on the sun’s disc as on a mirror ;* and again © 
he says that Thales, as. well as Anaxagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and 
the Stoics, in accord with the mathematicians, held that the moon 
is eclipsed by reason of its falling into the shadow made by the 
earth when the earth. is between the two heavenly bodies. But, as 
regards the eclipse of the moon, Thales could not have given this _ 
explanation, because he held that theearth floated on the water ; ° from 
which it may also be inferred that he, like his successors down. to 
Anaxagoras inclusive, thought the earth to be a disc or a short 
cylinder. And if he had given the true explanation of the solar 
eclipse, it.is impossible that all the succeeding Ionian. philosophers 
should have exhausted their imaginations in other fanciful capigee’ 
tions such as we find recorded.” 

We may assume that Thales would regard the sun and the moon 
as discs like the earth, or perhaps as hollow bowls which could 


1 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 15, p. 421. ἃ Torey. op. cit., p. 60. 
® Aét. li. 20. 9 (D. G. p. 349). * Aét. ii. 24.1 (20. Ὁ. pp. 353, 354). 
5 Aét. ii. 29. 6 (D. G. p. 360). 
ὁ. Theophrastus.apud Simpl. zz Phys. p. 23. 24 (D.G. p. 475; Vors. i’, p. 9. 
22); cf. Aristotle, Metaph. A. 3, 983b 21; De caedo ii. 13, hg 28. 
1 Tannery, op. cit., p. 56. 








a 
- rs 


pe ye 





CH.III     THALES 19 


turn so as to show a dark side.1 We must reject the statements 
of Aétius that he was the first to hold that the moon is lit up by 


the sun, and that it seems to suffer its obscurations each month 


when it approaches the sun, because the sun illuminates it from 


‘one side only.2_ For it was Anaxagoras who first gave the true 


Scientific doctrine that the moon is itself opaque but is lit up by 
the sun, and that this is the explanation no less of the moon’s 


_ phases than of eclipses of. the sun and moon; when we read 


in Theon of Smyrna that, according to Eudemus’s History of 
Astronomy, these discoveries were due to Anaximenes,* this would 
seem to be an error, because the Doxographi say nothing of any 
explanations of eclipses by Anaximenes,* while on the other hand 
Aétius does attribute to him the view that the moon was made 
of fire, just as the sun and stars are made of fire.® 

We must reject, so far as Thales is concerned, the traditions that 
*Thales, the Stoics, and their schools, made the earth spherical’,’ 
and that ‘the school of Thales put the earth in the centre’.® 
For (1) we have seen that Thales made the earth a circular or 
cylindrical disc floating on the water like a log® or a cork; and (2), 
so far as we can judge of his conception of the universe, he would 


_ appear to have regarded it as a mass of water (that on which the 


earth floats) with the heavens superposed in the form of a hemisphere 
and also bounded by the primeval water. It follows from this 
conception that for Thales the sun, moon, and stars did not, between 
their setting and rising again, continue their circular path de/ow the 
earth, but (as with Anaximenes later) laterally round the earth. 
Tannery *° compares Thales’ view of the world with that found © 
in the ancient Egyptian papyri. In the beginning existed the Vz, 
a primordial liquid mass in the limitless depths of which floated 
the germs of things. When the sun began to shine, the earth was 
flattened out and the waters separated into two masses. The one 
gave rise to the rivers and the ocean ; the other, suspended above, 


_ formed: the vault of heaven, the waters above, on which the stars 


1 Tannery, op. cit., p. 70. * Aét.ii.28.5; 29.6(D. G. p. 358. 19; p. 360. 16). 
5 Theon of Smyrna, p. 198. Aes 2 


* Tannery, op. cit., pp. 56, I 5 Aét. ii. 25. 2 (D. G. p. 356. 1). 
® Aéte ii. 20. 2 (D. G. p. 348. Ὁ; Hippol. Refut. i. 7. 4 (D. G.-p. ey: 3). 
7 Aét. iii. το. τ (D. G. p. 376. 22). Aét. iti. 11. 1 (D.G. p. 377. 7). 
* Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 294 a 30. 10 Tannery, op. cit., p. 71. 

C2 


20 THALES . PARTI 


and the gods, borne by an eternal current, began to float. The 
sun, standing upright in his sacred barque which had endured 
millions of years, glides slowly, conducted by an army of secondary 
gods, the planets and the fixed stars. The assumption of an 
upper and lower ocean is also old-Babylonian (cf. the division in 
Gen. i. 7 of the waters which were under the firmament from the 
waters which were above the firmament). 

In a passage quoted by Theon of Smyrna, Eudemus attributed 
to Thales the discovery of ‘the fact that the period of the sun with 
respect to the solstices is not always the same’! The expres- 
sion is ambiguous, but it must apparently mean the inequality of 
the length of the four astronomical seasons, that is, the four parts 
of the tropical year? as divided by the solstices and the equinoxes. 
Eudemus referred presumably to the two written works by Thales 
On the Solstice and On the Equinox,’ which again would seem to be 
referred to in a later passage of Diogenes Laertius: ‘Lobon of Argos 
says that his written works extend to 200 verses’. Now Hesiod, 
in the Works and Days, advises the commencement of certain 
operations, such as sowing, reaping, and threshing, when particular 
constellations rise or set in the morning, and he uses the solstices 
as fixed periods, but does not mention the equinoxes. Tannery ἢ 
thinks, therefore, that Thales’ work supplemented Hesiod’s by the 
addition of other data and, in particular, fixed the equinoxes in 
the same way as Hesiod had fixed the solstices. The inequality 
of the intervals between the equinoxes and the solstices in one 
year would thus be apparent. This explanation agrees with the 
remark of Pliny that Thales fixed the matutinal setting of the 
Pleiades on the 25th day from the autumnal equinox. All this 
knowledge Thales probably derived from the Egyptians or the 
Babylonians. The Babylonians, and doubtless the Egyptians also, 


1 Theon of Smyrna, p. 198. 17 (Θαλῆς εὗρε πρῶτος) . . . τὴν κατὰ Tas τροπὰς 
αὐτοῦ περίοδον, ὡς οὐκ ἴση ἀεὶ συμβαίνει. 

3 The ‘tropical year’ is the time required by the sun to return to the same 
position with reference to the equinoctial points, while the ‘sidereal year’ is the 
time taken to return to the same position with reference to the fixed stars. 

8 Diog. L. i. 23 (Vors. i*, p. 3. 18). 

4 Tannery, op. cit., p. 66. 

5 Pliny, ΔΝ. H. xviii, c. 25, ὃ 213 (Vors.i?, p.9. 44). This datum points to Egypt 
as the source of Thales’ information, for the fact only holds good for Egypt and 
not for Greece (Zeller, 15, p. 184; cf. Tannery, op. cit., p. 67). 





μ᾿ Ἢ ’ 





CH. III THALES 21 


were certainly capable of determining more or less roughly the 
solstices and the equinoxes; and they would doubtless do this 
by means of the gzomon, the use of which, with that of the folos, 
the Greeks are said to have learnt from the Babylonians.' 

Thales equally learnt from the Egyptians his division of the 
year into 365 days;* it is possible also that he followed their 
arrangement of months of 30 days each, instead of the practice 


_ already in his time adopted in Greece of reckoning by lunar months. 


The Doxographi associate Thales with Pythagoras and his school 
as having divided the whole sphere of the heaven by five circles, 
the arctic which is always visible, the summer-tropical, the 
equatorial, the winter-tropical, and the antarctic which is always 
invisible ; it is added that the so-called zodiac circle passes obliquely 
to the three middle circles, touching all three, while the meridian 


Ἷ circle, which goes from north to south, is at right angles to all the 


five circles.* But, if Thales had any notion of these circles, it 
must have been of the vaguest; the antarctic circle in particular 


_ presupposes the spherical form for the earth, which was not the 


form which Thales gave it. Moreover, the division into zones is 
elsewhere specifically attributed to Parmenides and Pythagoras; 
and, indeed, Parmenides and Pythagoras were the first to be in 
a position to take this step,* as they were the first to hold that 
the earth is spherical in shape. Again, Eudemus is quoted® as 
distinctly attributing the discovery of the ‘cincture of the zodiac 
(circle)’ to Oenopides, who was at least a century later than Thales. 

Diogenes Laertius says that, according to some authorities, 
Thales was the first to declare the apparent size of the sun (and 
the moon) to be 1/720th part of the circle described by it.6 The 
version of this story given by Apuleius is worth quoting for a human 
touch which it contains: 

? Herodotus, ii. 109. 
- ® Herodotus (ii. 4) says that the Egyptians were the first of men to discover 
the year, and that they divided it into twelve parts, ‘therein adopting a wiser 
system (as it seems to me) than the Greeks, who have to put in an intercalary 


month every third year, in order to keep the seasons right, whereas the Egyptians 
give their twelve months thirty days each and add five every year outside the 


4 number (of twelve times 30)’. As regards Thales, cf. Diog. L. i. 27 and 24 


(Vors. 15, pp. 3. 27; 4. 9). 5. Aét. ii. 12. 1 (D. G. p. 340. 11 sq.). 
* As to Parmenides cf. Aét. iii. 11. 4 (2. G. p. 377. 18-20). Rig τὰ 
® Theon of Smyrna, p. 198. 14. 
-* Diog. L. i. 24 ( Vorsokratiker, i*, p. 3. 25). 


22 THALES “PARTI 


‘The same Thales in his declining years devised a marvellous 
calculation about the sun, which I have not only learnt but verified 
by experiment, showing how often the sun measures by its own 
size the circle which it describes. Thales is said to have communi- 
cated this discovery soon after it was made to Mandrolytus of 
Priene, who was greatly delighted with this new and unexpected 
information and asked Thales to say how much by way of fee he 
required to be paid to him for so important a piece of knowledge. 
“T shall be sufficiently paid”, replied the sage, “1, when you set 
to work to tell people what you have learnt from me, you will not 
take credit for it yourself but will name me, rather than another, 
as the discoverer.” } 

Seeing that in Thales’ system the sun and moon did not pass 
under the earth and describe a complete circle, he could hardly 
have stated the result in the precise form in which Diogenes gives 
it. If, however, he stated its equivalent in some other way, it 
is again pretty certain that he learnt it from the Egyptians or 
Babylonians, Cleomedes,? indeed, says that, by means of a water- 
clock, we can compare the water which flows out during the time 
that it takes the sun when rising to-get just clear of the horizon 
with the amount which flows out in the whole day and night; 
in this way we get a ratio of 1 to 750; and he adds that this 
method is said to have been first devised by the Egyptians. Again, 
it has been suggested® that the Babylonians had already, some 
sixteen centuries before Christ, observed that the sun takes 1/30th 
of an hour to rise. This would, on the assumption of 24 hours for 
a whole day and night, give for the sun’s apparent diameter 1/720th 
of its circle, the same excellent approximation as that attributed 
to Thales. But there is the difficulty that, when the Babylonians 
spoke of 1/goth of an hour in an equinoctial day as being the 
‘measure’ (ὅρος) of the sun’s course, they presumably meant 1/30th 
of their doudble-hour, of which there are 12 in a day and night, 
so that, even if we assume that the measurement of the sun’s 
apparent diameter was what they meant by ὅρος, the equivalent 


? Apuleius, F/or. 18 (Vors. i*, p. 10. 3-11). 

* Cleomedes, De motu circulari corporum caelestium ii. 1, pp. 136. 25-138. 
6, ed. Ziegler. 

* Hultsch, Poseidonios iiber die Grisse und Entfernung der Sonne, 1897, 
pp- 41, 42. Hultsch quotes Achilles, /sagoge in Arati phaen.18(Uranolog. Petavii, 
Paris, 1630, p. 137); Brandis, M/iinz-, Mass- und Gewichtswesen in Vorderasien, 
p. 17 sq.3 Bilfinger, Die babylonische Doppelstunde, Stuttgart, 1888, p. 21 sq. 
The passage of Achilles is quoted 7” extenso by Bilfinger, p. 21. 


= Soe ὑμὴν 
᾿ 


— 





CH. THALES 23 


would be 1°, not 3° as Hultsch supposes.1 However, it is difficult to 
believe that Thales could have made the estimate of 1/720th of 
the sun’s circle known to the Greeks; if he had, it would be very 
strange that it should have been mentioned by no one earlier than 
Archimedes, and that Aristarchus should in the first instance have 
used the grossly excessive value of 2° which he gives as the angular 
diameter of the sun and moon in his treatise On the sizes and 


distances of the sun and moon, and should have been left to dis- 


cover the value of 4° for himself as Archimedes says he did.? 

A few more details of Thales’ astronomy are handed down. He 
said of the Hyades that there are two, one north and the other 
south. According to Callimachus,* he observed the Little Bear ; 


_. ‘he was said to have used as a standard [i.e. for finding the pole] 


the small stars of the Wain, that being the method by which 
Phoenician navigators steer their course. According to Aratus® 
the Greeks sailed by the Great Bear, the Phoenicians by the Little 
Bear. Consequently it would seem that Thales advised the Greeks 
to follow the Phoenician plan in preference to their own. This use 
of the Little Bear was probably noted in the handbook under the 
title of Nautical Astronomy attributed by some to Thales, and 
by others to Phocus of Samos,*® which was no doubt intended to 
improve upon the Astronomy in poetical form attributed to Hesiod, 
as in its turn it was followed by the Astrology of Cleostratus.? 


1 An estimate amounting to 1° is actually on record in Cleomedes (De motu 
circulari, ii. 3, p. 172. 25, Ziegler), who says that ‘ the size of the sun and moon 

ike appears to our perception as 12 dactyli’._ Though this way of describing 
the angle follows the Babylonian method of expressing angular distances   
between stars in terms of the e// (πῆχυς) consisting of 24 dactyli and equivalent 
to 2°, it does not follow that the estimate itself is Babylonian. For the same 
system of expressing angles may have been used by Pytheas and was certainly 


used by Hipparchus (cf. Strabo, ii. 1. 18, p. 75 Cas., Hipparchiin Arati et Eudoxi 
phaenomena 


comment. ii. 5. 1, Ὁ. 186. 11, Manit., and Ptolemy, Syzfazis vii. 1, 
vol. ii, pp. 4-8, Heib.). 
2 Archimedes, ed. Heiberg, vol. ii, p. 248.19; The Works 07 Archimedes, ed. 
Heath, p. 223. 
3 Schol. Arat. 172, p. 369. 24 (Vors. ii. 1*, p. 652). 
* In Diog. L. i. 23 (Vors. i?, p. 3. 14; cf. ii. 2, p. v). 
5 Aratus, lines 27, 37-39; cf. Ovid, 77tstia iv. 3. 1-2: 
‘ Magna minorque ferae, quarum regis altera Graias, 
; Altera Sidonias, utraque sicca, rates’ ; 
Theo in Arati phaen. 27. 39: Scholiast on Plat. Rep. 600 A. 
δ Diog. L. i, p. 23; Simpl. # Phys.p. 23. 29; Plutarch, Pyth. or. 18, 402 F(Vors. 
i?, pp. 3. 125 11. 7, 13). 7 Diels, Vors. ii. 1°, p. 6525 cf. pp. 499, 502. 


IV 
ANAXIMANDER 


ANAXIMANDER of Miletus (born probably in 611/10, died soon 
after 547/6 B.C.), son of Praxiades, was a fellow citizen of Thales, 
with whom he was doubtless associated as a friend if not as a pupil. 
A remarkably original thinker, Anaximander may be regarded as 
the father or founder of Greek, and therefore of western, philosophy. 
He was the first Greek philosopher, so far as is known, who 
ventured to put forward his views in a formal written treatise. 
This was a work Adout Nature? though possibly that title was 
given to it, not by Anaximander himself, but only by later writers.* 
The amount of thought which went to its composition and the 
maturity of the views stated in it are indicated by the fact that 
it was not till the age of 64 that he gave it. to the world. The 
work itself is lost, except for a few lines amounting in no case 
to a complete sentence. 

Anaximander boldly maintained that the earth is in the centre 
of the universe, suspended freely and without support,° whereas 
Thales regarded it as resting on the water, and Anaximenes as 
supported by the air. It remains in its position, says Anaximander, 
because it is at an equal distance from all the rest (of the heavenly 
bodies). Aristotle expands the explanation thus:’ ‘for that 
which is located in the centre and is similarly situated with 
reference to the extremities can no more suitably move up than 


1 Themistius, Orationes, 36, p. 317 C (Vors. i*; p. 12. 43). 

? Ibid. ; Suidas, 5. Ὁ. 

® Zeller, Philosophie der Griechen, ἴδ, p. 197. 

* Diog. L. ii. 2 (Vors. i?, p. 12. 7-10). 

° Hippol. Refuz. i. 6. 3 (D.G. p. 559. 22; Vors. i*, p. 14. 5). 

® Ibid.; cf. Plato’s similar view in Phaedo 108 E-109 A. 

7 De caelo ii. 13, 295 Ὁ 10-16. It is true that Eudemus (in Theon of Smyrna, 
p- 198. 18) is quoted as saying that Anaximander held that ‘the earth is suspended 
freely and moves (κινεῖται) about the centre of the universe’; but there must 
clearly be some mistake here ; perhaps κινεῖται should be κεῖται (‘ lies’). 


; 


, 
β 





5 


3 
: 
᾿ 
ἶ 
᾿ 


as 


ANAXIMANDER 25 


down or laterally, and it is impossible that it should move in 
opposite directions (at the same time), so that it must necessarily 
remain at rest.’ Aristotle admits that the hypothesis is daring 
and brilliant, but argues that it is not true: one of his grounds 
is amusing, namely, that on this showing a hungry and thirsty man 
with food and wine disposed at equal distances all round him would 
have to starve because there would be no reason for him to stretch 
his hand in one direction rather than another! (presumably the first 
occurrence of the well-known dilemma familiar to the schoolmen 
as the ‘ Ass of Buridan’). 

According to Anaximander, the earth has the shape of a cylinder, 
round, ‘like a stone pillar’;* one of its two plane faces is that on 
which we stand, the other is opposite ;* its depth, moreover, is one- 
third of its breadth.* 

Still more original is Anaximander’s conception of the origin and 
substance of the sun, moon, and stars, and of their motion. As 
there is considerable difference of opinion upon the details of the 


_ system, it will be well, first of all, to quote the original authorities, 


beginning with the accounts of the cosmogony. 


‘ Anaximander of Miletus, son of Praxiades, who was the successor 
and pupil of Thales, said that the first principle (i.e. material cause) 
and element of existing things is the Infinite, and he was the first 
to introduce this name for the first principle. He maintains that 
it is neither water nor any other of the so-called elements, but 
another sort of substance, which is infinite, and from which 
all the heavens and the worlds in them are produced ; and into 
that from which existent things arise they pass away once more, — 
“as is ordained ; for they must pay the penalty and make reparation 
to one another for the injustice they have committed, according to 
the Sequence of time”, as he says in these somewhat poetical 
terms.’ 


1 Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 295 Ὁ 32. 

3 Hippol. Refus. i. 6. 3 (D.G. p. 559. 24; Vors. i?, p. 14.6); Aét. iii. το. 2 
(D. G. p. 376; Vors. i*, p. 16. 34). 

3 Hippol., loc. cit. 

* Ps. Plut. Stromat. 2 (D.G. p. 579. 12; Vors. i?, p. 13. 34). 

® Simplicius, ix Phys. p. 24. 13 (Vors. 15, p.13.2-9). The passage is from 
Theophrastus’s Phys. Ofin., and the words in inverted commas at all events are 


_ Anaximander’s own. I follow Burnet (Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 54) in making 


the quotation begin at ‘as is ordained’; Diels includes in it the words just 
preceding ‘and into that from which...’ 


a6 ANAXIMANDER PARTI 


‘ Anaximander said that the Infinite contains the whole cause of 
the generation and destruction of the All; it is from the Infinite 
that the heavens are separated off, and generally all the worlds, 
which are infinite in number. He declared that destruction and, 
long before that, generation came about for all the worlds, which 
arise in endless cycles from infinitely distant ages.’ ὦ 

‘He says that this substance [the Infinite] is eternal and ageless, 
and embraces all the worlds. And in speaking of time he has in 
mind the separate (periods covered by the) three states of coming 
into being, existence, and passing away. ἢ 

‘Besides this (Infinite) he says there is an eternal motion, in the 
course of which the heavens are found to come into being.’ ὃ 

‘Anaximander says eternal motion is a principle older than 
the moist, and it is by this eternal motion that some things are 
generated and others destroyed.’ 

‘ He says that (the first principle or material cause) is boundless, 
in order that the process of coming into being which is set up may 
not suffer any check.’ ὅ 

‘Anaximander was the first to assume the Infinite as first 
principle in order that he may have it available for his new births 
without stint.’ ® 

‘ Anaximander ... said that the world is perishable.’ ἴ 

‘Those who assumed that the worlds are infinite in number, as 
did Anaximander, Leucippus, Democritus, and, in later days, 
Epicurus, assumed that they also came into being and passed 
away, ad infinitum, there being always some worlds coming into 
being and others passing away; and they maintained that motion 
is eternal; for without motion there is no coming into being or 
passing away. ὃ 

‘ Anaximander says that that which is capable of begetting the 
hot and the cold out of the eternal was separated off during the 
coming into being of our world, and from the flame thus produced 
a sort of sphere was made which grew round the air about the 
earth as the bark round the tree; then this sphere was torn off and 


1 Ps. Plut. Stromat.2 (D.G. p. 579; Vors.i*®, p. 13. 29 sq.). This passage 
again is from Theophrastus. 

2 Hippol. Refut. i. 6.1 (D. G. p. 559; Vors. i*, pp. 13. 44-14. 2). 

Z ee 1) 6; ᾿: ive 

ermias, /rris. 10 (D. G. p. 653; Vors. i*, p. 14. 21). 

5 Aét. i. 3. 3 (D. G. Ὁ. 277 ΑΝ ἐδ; 14. An 

δ Simplicius on De caelo, p. 615. 13 (Vors. 13, p. 15. 24). In this passage 
Simplicius calls Anaximander a ‘fellow citizen and friend’ of Thales (Θαλοῦ 
πολίτης καὶ ἑταῖρος) ; these appear to be the terms used by Theophrastus, to 
judge by Cicero’s equivalent ‘ popularis et sodalis’ (Acad. gr. ii. 37. 118). 

7 Aét. ii. 4. 6 (D.G. p. 3315 Vors. 13, p. 15. 33). 

8 Simplicius, 7 Phys. p, 1121. αὶ (Vors. i*, p. 15. 34-8). 


. 


CH. IV ANAXIMANDER 27 


became enclosed in certain circles or rings, and thus were formed 
_ the sun, the moon, and the stars.’! 
_ *The stars are produced as a circle of fire, separated off from the 
_ fire in the universe and enclosed by air. They have as vents certain 
_ pipe-shaped passages at which the stars are seen; it follows that 
it is when the vents are stopped up that eclipses take place.’ * 

‘ The stars are compressed portions of air, in the shape of wheels, 

- filled with fire, and they emit flames at some point from small 
_ openings.’ 8 
ΠΟ *The moon sometimes appears as waxing, sometimes as waning, 
to an extent corresponding to the closing or opening of the 


passages.’ * 
_ Further particulars are given of the circles of the sun and moon, 
including the first speculation about their sizes: 









‘The sun is a circle 28 times the size of the earth; it is like 
a wheel of a chariot the rim of which is hollow and full of fire, 
and lets the fire shine out at a certain point in it through an 
_ opening like the tube of a blow-pipe ; such is the sun.’® 
_ ‘The stars are borne by the circles and the spheres on which 
each (of them) stands.’ ὃ 


1 Ps. Plut. Stromat. loc. cit. 
" Hippol. ἜΡΟΝ bs 4 (D.G. pp. 559 560; ai i*, p. 14. 8). 
Aét. ii. 13. 7 (D.G. p. 342; Vors. i*, Ὁ. 15. 39). 
ἢ * Hippol., loc. ἐς : . 
᾿ς §& Aé€t. ii. 20. 1 (D. G. p. 348; Vors. i*, p. 16. 8). 
ἢ ® Aét. ii. 16. 5 (D.G. p. 345; Vors.i*, p. 15. 43. This sentence presents diffi- 
_ culties. It occurs in a collection of passages headed ‘ Concerning the motion of 
stars’, and reads thus: ᾿Αναξίμανδρος ὑπὸ τῶν κύκλων καὶ τῶν σφαιρῶν, ἐφ᾽ ὧν 
ἕκαστος βέβηκε, φέρεσθαι. If ἕκαστος Means ἕκαστος τῶν ἀστέρων, each of the 
_ stars, the expression ἐφ᾽ ὧν ἕκαστος βέβηκε, ‘on which each of them stands’ or 
‘is fixed’, is certainly altogether inappropriate to Anaximander’s system; it ~ 
suggests Anaximenes’ system of stars ‘fixed like nails on a crystal sphere’; I am 
therefore somewhat inclined to suspect, with Neuhauser (Anaximander Milesius, 
Ρ. 362 note), that the words ἐφ᾽ ὧν ἕκαστος βέβηκε (if not καὶ τῶν σφαιρῶν also) 
are wrongly transferred from later theories to that of Anaximander. It occurred 
to me whether ἕκαστος could be ἕκαστος τῶν κύκλων, ‘each of the circles’ ; for it 
would be possible, I think, to regard the circles as ‘standing’ or ‘ being fixed’ 
on (imaginary) spheres in order to enable them to revolve about the axis of such 
spheres, it being difficult to suppose a wheel to revolve about its centre when it 
has no spokes to connect the centre with the circumference. 
Diels (‘Ueber Anaximanders Kosmos’ in Archiv fiir Gesch. d. Philosophie, x, 
1897, p. 229) suggests that we may infer from the word ‘spheres’ here used that the 
_ tings are not separate for each star, but that the fixed stars shine through vents 
_ On one ring (which is therefore a sphere); the planets with their different motions 
_ would naturally be separate from this. I doubt, however, whether this is 
_ correct, since @// the rings are supposed to be like wheels; they are certainly 
not spheres. But no doubt the Milky Way may be one ring from which 


28 ANAXIMANDER PART I 


‘The circle of the sun is 27 times as large (as the earth and that) 
of the moon (is 19 times as large as the earth).’ } 

‘ The sun is equal to the earth, and the circle from which the sun 
gets its vent and by which it is borne round is 27 times the size of 
the earth.’ ? 

‘The eclipses of the sun occur through the opening by which the 
fire finds vent being shut up.’ 8 

‘The moon is a circle 19 times as large as the earth; it is 
similar to a chariot-wheel the rim of which is hollow and full 
of fire, like the circle of the sun, and it is placed obliquely like the 
other ; it has one vent like the tube of a blowpipe; the eclipses of 
the moon depend on the turnings of the wheel.’ 5 

‘The moon is eclipsed when the opening in the rim of the wheel 
is stopped up.’® 

‘The sun is placed highest of all, after it the moon, and under 
them the fixed stars and the planets.’ ® 


We are now in a position to make some comments. First, what 
is the nature of the eternal motion which is an older principle than 
water and by which some things are generated and others destroyed ? 
Teichmiiller held it to be circular revolution of the Infinite, which 
he supposed to be a sphere, about its axis ;’ Tannery adopted the 
same view.® Zeller® rejects this for several reasons. There is no 
evidence that Anaximander conceived the spherical envelope of 
fire to be separated off by revolution of the Infinite and spread 
out over the surface of its mass; the spherical envelope lay, not 
round the Infinite, but round the atmosphere of the earth, and it 
was only the world, when separated off, which revolved ; it is the 
world too, not the Infinite, which stretches at equal distances, and 
therefore in the shape of a sphere, round the earth as centre. 
Lastly, a spherical Infinite is in itself a gross and glaring contra- 
diction, which we could not attribute to Anaximander without 
a multitude of stars flame forth at different vents: this may indeed be the idea 
from which the whole theory started (Tannery, op. cit., Ρ. 91; Burnet, Zarly 
Greek Philosophy, p. 69). 

1 Hippol., Refut. i. 6. 5 (D. G. p. 560; Vors. i*, p. 14. 12, and ii. 1°, p. 653). 

? Aét. ii. 21.1 (D.G. p. 351; Vors. i®, pe 16. 11). 

8 Aét. ii, 24. 2 (D.G. p. 354; Vors. 13, p. 16. 13). 

* Aét. ii. 25. 1 (22. α. p. 355; Vors. i*, p. 16. 15). 

5 Aét. ii. 29. 1 (D. G. p. 359; Vors. i*, p. 16. 19). 

6 Aét. ii. 15.6 (D.G. p. 345; Vors. i*, p. 15. 41). 

, Ὁ Teichmiiller, Studien zur Gesch. der Begriffe, Berlin, 1874, pp. 25 564. 


® Tannery, op. cit., pp. 88 sqq. 
9. Zeller, i°, p. 221. 





~~ 


a le 


Se a eee eT eS ae ee ΣΤῊ 


CH. IV ANAXIMANDER 29 


direct evidence. Tannery! gets over the latter difficulty by the 
assumption that the Infinite was not something infinitely extended 
in space but qualitatively indeterminate only, and in fact finite in 


extension. This is rather an unnatural interpretation, especially 


in view of what we are told of the ‘infinite worlds’ which arise 


_ from the Infinite substance. The idea here seems to be that the 


Infinite is a boundless stock from which the waste of existence is 


continually made good? With regard to the ‘infinite worlds’ 
_ Zeller* held that they were an infinity of successive worlds, not 
an unlimited number of worlds existing, or which may exist, at 
_ the same time, though of course all are perishable; but in order 


to sustain this view Zeller was obliged to reject a good deal of the 


evidence. Burnet* has examined the evidence afresh, and adopts 
the other view. In particular, he observes that it would be 
very unnatural to understand the statement that the Boundless 
ἶ ‘encompasses the worlds’ of worlds succeeding one another in 
time; for on this view there is at a given time only one world 


to ‘encompass’. Again, when Cicero says Anaximander’s opinion 


‘was that there were gods who came into being, rising and setting 
_ at long intervals; and that these were the ‘innumerable worlds’ ® (cf. 
_ Aétius’s statement that,according to Anaximander, the ‘innumerable 
_ heavens’ were gods‘), it is more natural to take the long intervals 
_ as intervals of space than as intervals of time ;7 and, whether this 
is so or not, we are distinctly told in a passage of Stobaeus that 
‘of those who declared the worlds to be infinite in number, 


Anaximander said that they were at equal distances from one 
another’, a passage which certainly comes from Aétius.2 Neu- ~ 
hauser,? too, maintains that Anaximander asserted the infinity of 
worlds in two senses, holding both that there are innumerable 
worlds co-existing at one time and separated by equal distances, 
and that these worlds are for ever, at certain (long) intervals of 


1 Tannery, op. cit., pp. 146, 147. 

? Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 55. 

5 Zeller, i5, pp. 229-36. 

* Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, pp. 62-6. 

5 Cicero, De nat. deor. i. το. 25 (Vors. i*, p. 15. 27). 

5 Aét. i. 7. 12 (D. G. p. 302; Vors. i*, p. 15. 26). 

7 Probably, as Burnet says, Cicero found διαστήμασιν in his Epicurean source. 
8. Aét. ii. 1. 8 (D. G. p. 329; Vors. i?, p. 15. 32). 

* Neubauser, Anaximander Milesius, pp. 327-35. 


30 ANAXIMANDER PART I 


time,! passing away into the primordial Infinite, and others con- 
tinually succeeding to their places.” 

The eternal motion of the Infinite would appear to have been 
the ‘separating-out of opposites’,? but in what way this operated 
is not clear. The term suggests some process of shaking and 
sifting as in a sieve.‘ Neuhduser® holds that it is not spatial 
motion at all, but motion in another of the four Aristotelian senses, 
namely generation, which takes the form of the ‘separating-out of 
opposites’, condensation and rarefaction incidentally playing a part 
in the process. 

As regards the motion by which the actual condition of the 
world was brought about (the earth in the centre in the form of 
a flat cylinder, the sun, moon, and stars at different distances from 
the earth, and the heavenly bodies revolving about the axis of the 
universe), Neuhauser ὃ maintains that it was the motion of a vortex 
such as was assumed by Anaxagoras, the earth being formed in 
the centre by virtue of the tendency of the heaviest of the things 
whirled round in a vortex to collect in the centre. But there is 
no evidence of the assumption of a vortex by Anaximander; 
Neuhiuser relies on a single passage of Aristotle, which however — 
does not justify the inference drawn from it." 


1 κατὰ τὴν τοῦ χρόνου τάξιν, Simpl. 7” Phys. p. 24. 20 (Vors. i*, p. 13. 9). 

2 Cf. Simpl. 72 Phys. p. 1121. 5 (Vors. i*, p. 15. 34-8, quoted above, p. 26). 

® of δὲ ἐκ τοῦ ἑνὸς ἐνούσας τὰς ἐναντιότητας ἐκκρίνεσθαι, ὥσπερ ᾿Αναξίμανδρός φησι, 
Aristotle, Phys. i. 4, 187 ἃ 20. 

* Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 61. 

δ᾽ Neuhauser, Anaximander Milesius, pp. 305-15. 

ὁ Neuhduser, Anaximander Milesius, pp. 409-21. 

7 The passage is Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 295 ἃ 9sqq. It is there stated that 
‘if the earth, as things are, is kept dy force where it is, it must also have come 
together (by force) through being carried towards the centre by reason of the 
whirling motion; for this is the cause assumed by everybody on the ground of 
what happens in fluids and with reference to the air, where the bigger and the 
heavier things are always carried towards the middle of the vortex. Hence it is 
that all who describe the coming into being of the heaven say that the earth came 
together at the centre; but the cause of its remaining fixed is still the subject 
of speculation. Some hold...’ Now Neuhauser paraphrases the passage thus: 
‘All philosophers who hold that the world was generated or brought into being 
maintain that the earth is not only kept 4y force in the middle of the world, but 
was, at the beginning, also brought together by force. For all assign as the 
efficient cause of the concentration of the earth in the middle of the world a 
vortex (δίνη), arguing from what happens in vortices in water or air.” It is clear 
that Aristotle says no such thing. He says that the philosophers referred to 
assert that the earth comes together at the centre, but not that they hold that it 
is kept there 4y force ; indeed he expressly says later (295 b 10-16) that Anaxi- 





a ΨΥ 


ΨΥ Ἂς 


CH.IV ANAXIMANDER 31 


We come now to Anaximander’s theory of the sun, moon, and 
stars. The idea of the formation of tubes of compressed air within 
which the fire of each star is shut up except for the one opening 
is not unlike Laplace’s hypothesis with reference to the origin of 
Saturn’s rings.’ A question arises as to how, if rings constituting 
the stars are nearer than the circles of the sun and moon, they fail 
to obstruct the light of the latter. Tannery? suggests that, while 
of course the envelopes of air need not be opaque, the rarefied 


fluid within the hoops, although called by the name of fire, may 


also be transparent, and not be seen as flame except on emerging 
at the opening. The idea that the stars are like gas-jets, as it 
were, burning at holes in transparent tubes made of compressed 
air is a sufficiently original conception. 

_ But the question next arises, in what position do the circles, 
wheels, or hoops carrying the sun, moon, and stars respectively 
revolve about the earth? Zeller and Tannery speak of them as 
‘concentric’, their centres being presumably the same as the centre 
of the earth ; and there is nothing in the texts to suggest any other 
supposition. The hoops carrying the sun and moon ‘lie obliquely’, 
this being no doubt an attempt to explain, in addition to the daily 
rotation, the annual movement of the sun and the monthly move- 
ment of the moon. Tannery raises the question of the heights 
(‘hauteurs’) of these particular hoops, by which he seems to mean 
their dreadihs as they would be seen (if visible) from the centre. 
Thus, if the bore of the sun’s tube were not circular but flattened 
(like a hoop), in the surface which it presents towards the earth, 
to several times the breadth of the sun’s disc, it might be possible . 
to explain the annual motion of the sun by supposing the opening 
through which the sun is seen to change its position continually 
on the surface of the hoop. But there is nothing in the texts to 
support this. Zeller* feels difficulty in accepting the sizes of the 
hoops as given, on the supposition that the earth is the centre. 


mander regarded the earth as remaining at the centre without any force to keep 
it there. Again ‘everybody’ is not ‘all philosophers’, but ‘ people in general’. 
Lastly, the tendency of the heavier things in a vortex to collect at the centre 
might easily suggest that the earth had come together in the centre because it 
was heavy, without its being supposed that a vortex was the only thing that could 
Cause it to come together. 

* Tannery, op. cit., p. 88. 3. Ibid. p. 92. 

* Zeller, i°, pp. 224, 225. 


32 ANAXIMANDER PART I 


For we are told that the sun’s circle or wheel is 27 or 28 times 
the size of the earth, while the sun itself is the same size as the 
earth; this would mean that the apparent diameter of the sun’s 
disc would be a fraction of the whole circumference of the ring 
represented by 1/287, that is, the angular diameter would be about 
360°/88, or a little over 4°, which is eight times too large, and 
would be too great an exaggeration to pass muster even in those 
times. Zeller therefore wonders whether perhaps the sun’s circle 
should be 27 times the moon’s circle, which would make it 513 
times the size of the earth. But the texts, when combined, are 
against this, and further it would make the apparent diameter of 
the sun much too small. According to Anaximander, the sun 
itself is of the same size as the earth; therefore, assuming d to 
be the diameter of the sun’s disc and also the diameter of the earth, 
the circumference of the sun’s hoop would be 5137rd, so that the 
apparent diameter of the sun would be about 1/1600th part of its 
circle, or less than half what it really is. Teichmiiller? and 
Neuhduser® try to increase the size of the sun’s hoop 3-1416 times, 
apparently by taking the diameter of the hoop to be 28 times 
the circumference of the earth, ‘because the measurement clearly 
depended on an unrolling’; but this is hardly admissible; the 
texts must clearly be comparing like with like. Sartorius* feels 
the same difficulty, and has a very interesting hypothesis designed 
to include provision for the sun’s motion in the ecliptic as well 
as the diurnal rotation. He bases himself on a passage of Aristotle 
which, according to a statement of Alexander Aphrodisiensis made 
on the authority of Theophrastus, refers to Anaximander’s system. 
Aristotle speaks of those who explain the sea by saying that 


‘at first all the space about the earth was moist, and then, as it 
was dried up by the sun, one portion evaporated and set up winds 
and the turnings (τροπαί) of the sun and moon, while the remainder 
formed the sea’ ; 5 


1 Teichmiiller, Studien zur Geschichte der Begriff, 1874, pp. 16, 17. 

? Neuhauser, Anaximander Milesius, p. 371. 

5. Sartorius, Die Entwicklung der Astronomte bei den Griechen bis Anaxagoras 
und Empedokles, pp. 29, 30. 

* Aristotle, Metcorologica ii. 1, 353b 6-9. A note of Alexander (in Meteor. 
Ῥ.- 67.3; see D.G. p. 494; Vors. i’, p. 16. 45) explains the passage thus: ‘For, the 
space round the earth being moist, part of the moisture is then evaporated by 
the sun, and from this arise winds and the turnings of the sun and moon, the 


Ε΄ 


CH. IV ANAXIMANDER 33 


and again he says in another place : 


‘The same absurdity also confronts those who say that the earth, 

_ too, was originally moist, and that, when the portion of the world 

_ immediately surrounding the earth was warmed by the sun, air was 

produced and the whole heaven was thus increased, and that this is 

_ how winds were caused and the turnings of the heaven brought 
_ about.’? 


It is on these passages that Zeller® grounds his view that the 
_ heavens are moved by these winds (πνεύματα) and not by the 
eternal rotational movement of the Infinite about its axis assumed 
by Teichmiiller and Tannery; accordingly, Zeller cannot admit 
that the word τροπαΐ in these passages is used in its technical sense 
of ‘solstices’.* Sartorius, however, clearly takes the τροπαί to refer 
_ specially to the solstices (so does Neuhauser*), and he shows how 
the motions of the sun could be represented by two different but 
simultaneous revolutions of the sun’s wheel or hoop. Suppose the 
_wheel to move bodily in such a way that (1) its centre describes 

a circle in the plane of the equator, the centre of which is the 
centre of the earth, while (2) the plane of the wheel is always 
at right angles to the plane of the aforesaid circle, and always 
_ touches its circumference; lastly, suppose the wheel to turn about 





























_ meaning being that it is by reason of these vapours and exhalations that the 
sun and moon execute their turnings, since they turn in the regions where they 
receive abundant supplies of this moisture ; but the part of the moisture which is 
left in the hollow places (of the earth) is the sea.’ 

1 Aristotle, Meteorologica ii. 2, 355 a 21. 3 Zeller, 15, p. 223. 

3 Zeller (15, pp. 223, 224) has a note on the meanings of the word τροπή. Even 
in Aristotle it does not mean ‘solstice’ exclusively, because he speaks of ‘ rporai 
_of the stars’ (De caelo ii. 14, 296 Ὁ 4), “ τροπαί of the sun and moon’ (Meteor. ii. 
I, 353 b 8), and ‘rpomai of the heaven’ (according to the natural meaning of ras 
τροπὰς αὐτοῦ, 3558 25). It is true that τροπαΐ could be used of the moon in 
a sense sufficiently parallel to its use for the solstices, for, as Dreyer says 
(Planetary Systems, p. 17, note 1), the inclination of the lunar orbit to that of 
the sun is so small (se) that the phenomena of ‘turning-back’ of sun and moon 
are very similar. But the use of the word by Aristotle with reference to the 
stars and the Aeaven shows that it need not mean anything more than the 
‘turnings’ or revolutions of the different heavenly bodies. Zeller’s view is, I 
think, strongly supported by a passage in which Anaximenes is made to speak of 
Stars ‘executing their turnings’ (τροπὰς ποιεῖσθαι Aét. ii. 23. 1, D. G. p. 352) and 
the passage in which Anaximander himself is made to say that the eclipses of 
tl “agg rot on ‘the turnings (τροπάς) of its wheel’ (Aét. ii, 25.1, D. G. 

355 D 22). 

* Neuhdauser, op. cit., p. 403. 


1410 D 


34 ANAXIMANDER PARTI 


its own centre at such speed that the opening representing the sun 
completes one revolution about the centre of the wheel in a year, 
and suppose the centre of the wheel to describe the circle in the 
plane of the equator at uniform speed in one day. 
In the figure appended, Z represents the earth, the C’s are posi- 
tions of the centre of the sun’s hoop or wheel ; 
S, represents the sun’s position at the vernal equinox ; 


Se ᾿ “ τῆ οἱ summer solstice ; 
Ss δ: Ἄ τ δ autumnal equinox ; 
S, " i ;: winter solstice. 








Fig. 2. 


At the winter solstice the sun is south of the equator, at the 
summer solstice north of it, and the diameter of the wheel corresponds 
to an angle at E& which is double of the obliquity of the ecliptic, 
say 47°. . Now, as the diameter of the sun’s wheel is 28 times the 
diameter of the earth, i.e. of the sun itself (which is the same size 
as the earth), the angular diameter of the sun at & will be about 
47°/28 or 1°41’. This is still far enough from the real approximate 
value 3°, but it is much nearer than the 4° obtained from the 
hypothesis of a hoop with its centre at the centre of the earth. 





CH. IV ANAXIMANDER 35 


Let us consider what would be the distance of the sun from the 
earth on the assumption that the sun’s diameter (supposed to be 
equal to that of the earth) subtends at Z an angle of 13°. If d 
be the diameter of the earth, and D the distance of the sun from 
the earth, we shall have approximately 
360 d/12 = 27D, 

or D = 34-4 times the diameter of the earth. 

But Sartorius’s hypothesis is nothing more than an ingenious 
guess, as the texts give no colour to the idea that Anaximander 








Fig. 3. 


intended to assign a double motion to the sun, nor is there anything 
to suggest that the hoops of the sun and moon moved in any 
different way from those of the stars, except that they were both 
‘placed obliquely’. 
The hypothesis of concentric rings with centres at the centre of 
the earth seems therefore to be the simplest. 
Neuhiuser,} in his attempted explanation of Anaximander’s theory 
_ of the sun’s motion, contrives to give to τροπαὶ ἡλίου the technical 
_ meaning of solstices, while keeping the ring concentric with the 
earth. The flat cylinder (centre O) is the earth, V.P. and S.P. are 
the north and south poles, the equator is the circle about 4A’ as 


? Neuhdauser, pp. 405-8 and Fig. 2 at end. 
D2 


46 ANAXIMANDER PARTI 


diameter and perpendicular to the plane of the paper. Neuhduser 
then supposes the plane of the sun’s circle or hoop to be differently 
inclined to the circle of the equator at different times of the year, 
making with it at the summer solstice and at the winter solstice 
angles equal to the obliquity of the ecliptic in the manner shown in 
the figure, where the circle on 4A’ as diameter in the plane of the 
paper is the meridian circle and SS’ is the diameter of the sun’s 
ring at the summer solstice, BB’ the diameter of the sun’s ring at 
the winter solstice. Between the extreme positions at the solstices 
the plane of the sun’s hoop changes its inclination slightly day by 
day, its section with the meridian plane moving gradually during 
one half of the year from the position S.S’ to the position B&B’, and 
during the other half of the year from BB’ back to SS” As it 
approaches the summer-solstitial position, it is prevented from 
swinging further by the winds, which are caused by exhalations, and 
which by their pressure on the sun’s ring force it to swing back again. 
The exhalations and winds only arise in the regions where there is 
abundant water. Neuhduser supposes that Anaximander had the 


Mediterranean and the Black Sea in mind, and that their positions — 


sufficiently ‘ correspond’ (?) to the summer-solstitial position SS’ to 
enable the winds to act as described. There is no sea in such 
a position as would enable winds arising from it to repel the sun’s 
ring in the reverse direction from BB’ to SS’; consequently 
Neuhdauser has to suppose that the ring has an automatic tendency 
to swing towards the position SS’ and that it begins to go back 
from BB’, of itself, as soon as the force of the wind which repelled 
it from SS’ ceases to operate. There is, however, no evidence in 
the texts to confirm in its details this explanation of the working of 
Anaximander’s system ; on the contrary, there seems to be positive 
evidence against it in the phrase ‘ /yizg obliquely ’, used of the hoops 
of the sun and moon, which suggests that the hoops remain at fixed 
inclinations to the plane of the equator instead of oscillating, as 
Neuhiuser’s theory requires, between two extreme positions rela- 
tively to the equator. 

In any case Anaximander’s system represented an enormous 
advance in comparison with those of the other Ionian philosophers 
in that it made the sun, moon, and stars describe circles, passing 
right under the earth (which was freely suspended in the middle), 


δον ὦ ἃ 


ek ίλρων. ςς ο.. 


— 





cH.IV ANAXIMANDER . 37 


instead of moving laterally round from the place of setting to the 
place of rising again. 

We are told by Simplicius that 

‘ Anaximander was the first to broach the subject of sizes and 


distances ; this we learn from Eudemus, who however refers to the 
reans the first statement of the order (of the planets) in 
71 


space. 
This brings us back to the question of the sizes of the hoops of 


_ the sun and moon as given by Anaximander. We observe that in 


one passage the sun’s circle is said to be 28 times as large as the 
earth, while in another the circle ‘from which it gets its vent’ is 
27 times as large as the earth. Now, on the hypothesis of 
concentric rings, we, being in the centre, of course see the inner 
circumference at the place where the sun shines through, the 


_ sun’s light falling, like a spoke of the wheel, towards the centre. 


The words, then, used in the second passage, referring to the circle 


Srom which the sun gets tts vent, suggest that the ‘27 times’ refers 
_ to the inner circumference of the wheel, while the ‘28 times’ refers 
_ to the outer ;? the breadth therefore of the sun’s wheel measured 
_ in the direction from centre to circumference is equal to once the 


diameter of the earth. A like consideration suggests that it is the 
outer circumference of the moon’s hoop which is 19 times the size 
of the earth, and that the zaner circumference is 18 times the size 
of the earth ; nothing is said in our texts about the size of the moon 
itself. Nor are we told the size of the hoops from which the stars 
shine, but, as they are in Anaximander’s view nearer to the earth 


1 Simplicius on De caelo, p. 471. 4,ed. Heib. (Vors. i*, p. 15.47). Simplicius 
adds: ‘ Now the sizes and distances of the sun and moon as determined up to 
now were ascertained (by calculations) starting from (observations of) eclipses, 
and the discovery of these things might reasonably be supposed to go back as 
far as Anaximander.’ If by ‘these things’ Simplicius means the use of the 
phenomena of eclipses for the purpose of calculating the sizes and distances of 
the sun and moon, his suggestion is clearly inadmissible. On Anaximander’s 
theory eclipses of the sun and moon were caused by the stopping-up of the vents 
in their respective wheels through which the fire shone out ; moreover, the moon 
was itself bright and was not an opaque body receiving its light from the sun, 
notwithstanding the statement of Diogenes Laertius (ii. 1; Vors. i*, pp. 11. 40- 
12. 1) to the contrary; it is clear, therefore, that Anaximander’s estimates of 
sizes and distances rested on no such basis as the observation of eclipses 
afforded to later astronomers. 

® Diels, ‘ Uber Anaximanders Kosmos’ in Archiv fiir Gesch. d. Philosophie, 
x, 1897, p. 231; cf. Tannery, p. 91. 


48 ANAXIMANDER PART I 


than the sun and moon are, it is perhaps a fair inference that he 
would assume for a third hoop or ring containing stars an inner 
circumference representing 9 times the diameter of the earth ; the 
three rings would then have inner circumferences of 9, 18, 27, 
being multiples of 9 in arithmetical progression, while 9 is the 
square of 3; this is appropriate also to the proportion of 1:3 
between the depth of the disc representing the earth and the 
diameter of one of its faces. These figures suggest that they were 
not arrived at by any calculation based on geometrical construc- 
tions, but that we have merely an illustration of the ancient cult of 
the sacred numbers 3 and ο. 3 is the sacred number in Homer, 
g in Theognis, 9 being the second power of 3. The cult of 3 and 
its multiples 9 and 27 is found among the Aryans, then among 
the Finns and Tartars,and next among the Etruscans (the Semites 
connected similar ideas with 6 and 7). Therefore Anaximander’s 
figures really say little more than what the Indians tell us, namely 
that three Vishnu-steps reach from earth to heaven. 

The story that Anaximander was the first to discover the 
gnomon*® (or sun-dial with a vertical needle) is incorrect, for 
Herodotos says that the Greeks learnt the use of the guomon 
and the golos from the Babylonians.* Anaximander may, however, 
have been the first to ‘introduce’ * or make known the gnomon in 
Greece, and to show on it ‘ the solstices, the times, the seasons, and 
the equinox’. He is said to have set it up in Sparta.® He is 
also credited with constructing a sphere to represent the heavens,’ 
as was Thales before him.® 

But Anaximander has yet another claim to undying fame. He 
was the first who ventured to draw a map of the inhabited earth. 
The Egyptians had drawn maps before, but only of particular dis- 
tricts ;1° Anaximander boldly planned out the whole world with 
‘the circumference of the earth and of the sea’.14 Hecataeus, a 
much-travelled man, is said to have corrected Anaximander’s map, 


1 Diels, loc. cit., p. 233. 2 Diog. L. ii. 1 (Vors. i*, p. 12. 3). 
8. Herodotus, ii. 109. 4 εἰσήγαγε, Suidas (Vors. 15, p. 12. 18). 
δ Euseb. Praep. Evang. x. 14. 11 (Vors. i*, p. 12. 24). 

δ Diog. L. ii. 1. 7 Ibid. ii. 2. 8. Cic. De rep. i. 14. 22. 


* Agathemerus (from Eratosthenes), i. 1 (Vors. i?, p. 12. 36). 
19 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 18, pp. 41, 422. 
1 Diog. L. ii. 2 (Vors. 15, Ὁ. 12. 5). 


ANAXIMANDER 39 


‘so that it became the object of general admiration. According to 
another account, Hecataeus left a written description of the world 
based on the map. In the preparation of the map Anaximander 
_ would of course take account of all the information which reached 
his Ionian home as the result of the many journeys by land and 
sea undertaken from that starting-point, journeys which extended 
to the limits of the then-known world ; the work involved of course 
an attempt to estimate the dimensions of the earth. We have, 
however, no information as to his results.* 

Anaximander’s remarkable theory of evolution does not concern 
us here.? 


-_10On Anaximander’s map see Berger, Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen 
_Erdkunde der Griechen, 2 ed., 1903, pp. 35 544. 
__ 53 See Plut. Symp. viii. 8. 4 ( Vors.i*, p. 17.24) ; Aét. v. 19.4 (D. G. p. 430; Vors. 
2 B17 18); Ps. Plut. Stromat. 2 (D. G. p. $79) ; Hippol. Refut. i. 6. 6 (D. G. 
; 560). According to Anaximander, animals first arose from slime evaporated 
the sun; ote τῷ first lived in the sea and had prickly coverings; men 
at first resembled fishes. 






ν 
ANAXIMENES 


For Anaximenes of Miletus (whose date Diels fixes at 585/4- 
528/4 B.C.) the earth is still flat, like a table,’ but, instead of resting 
on nothing, as with Anaximander, it is supported by air, riding 
upon it, as it were. Aristotle explains this assumption thus :* 


‘Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, and Democritus say that its flatness 
is what makes it remain at rest; for it does not cut the air below 
it but acts like a lid to it, and this appears to be characteristic of 
those bodies which possess breadth. Such bodies are, as we know, 
not easily displaced by winds, because of the resistance they offer. 
The philosophers in question assert that the earth resists the air 
below it, in the same way, by its breadth, and that the air, on the 
other hand, not having sufficient space to move from its position, 
remains in one mass with that which is below it, just as the water 
does in water-clocks.’ 


The sun, moon, and stars are evolved originally from earth; for 
it is from earth that moisture arises ; then, when this is rarefied, fire 
is produced, and the stars are composed of fire which has risen 
aloft. The sun, moon, and stars are all made of fire, and they ride 
on the air because of their breadth. The sun is flat like a leaf ;® 
it derives its very adequate heat from its rapid motion.’ The stars, 
on the other hand, fail to warm because of their distance.® 

The stars are fastened on a crystal sphere, like nails or studs.° 


1 Aét. iii. 10. 3 (D.G. p. 377; Vors. 13, p. 20. 26). 
® Ps. Plut. Stromat. 3 (1). Ο. p. 580; Vors. i’, p. 18.27); Hippol. Refut. i. 7. 
4 (ῦ. G. p. 560; Vors. i*, p. 18. 40); Aét. iii. 15. 8 (D. G. p. 380; Vors. 1, 
. 20. 34). 
He De caelo ii. 13, 294 Ὁ 13 (Vors. i*, p. 20. 27). 
* Ps, Plut. Stromat. 3 (D.G. p. 580; Vors. i*, p. 18.27); Hippol. Refud. i. 
7.5 (D.G. p. 561; Vors. i*, p. 18. 42). ν 
δ Hippol., loc. cit. (Vors. 15, p. 18. 41). 
6 Aét. ii, 22. 1 (D. G. p. 352; Vors. 15, p. 20. 5). 
7 Ps. Plut. Stromat. 3 (1). G. p. 580; Vors. i*, p, 18. 28). 
8. Hippol., loc. cit. ( Vors. i*, p. 19. 1). 
9. Aét. 11, 14.3 (D. G. p. 3445 Vors. 13, p. 19. 38). 



















ANAXIMENES 41 


_ The stars do not move or revolve under the earth as some suppose, 
gut round the earth, just as a cap can be turned round the head. 
Phe sun i is hidden from sight, not because it is under the earth, but 
Ee ecause it is covered by the higher parts of the earth and because 
5 distance from us is greater.' With this statement may be com- 
d the remark of Aristotle that 


δι τ πον of the ancient meteorologists were persuaded that the sun 
is ποῖ carried under the earth, but round the earth, and in particular 


_our northern portion of it, and that it disappears and produces night 
‘because the earth is lofty towards the north.”? 


es 
* 
4 


‘Th allusion is also to Anaximenes when we are told that some 
(ie. Anaximenes) make the universe revolve like a millstone 
(μυλοειδῶς), others (i.e. Anaximander) like a wheel.* 
_ Now it is difficult to understand how the stars which, being fixed 
ἢ a crystal sphere, move bodily with it round a diameter of the 
sphere, and which are seen to describe circles cutting the plane of 
e horizon at an angle, can do otherwise than describe the portion 
of their paths between their setting and rising again by passing 
4 er the earth; and all sorts of attempts have been made to 
‘explain the contradiction. Schaubach pojnted out that the circles 
‘described by the stars could not all converge and meet, say, on the 
‘horizon to the north; for then they could not be parallel.* 
Ottingey® supposed that the attachment of the stars to the crystal 
sphere only held good while they were above the horizon; then, 
when they reached the horizon, they became detached and passed 
round in the plane of the horizon till they reached the east again! _ 
_ Zeller, Martin, and Teichmiiller all have explanations which are 
More or less violent attempts to make ‘under’ mean pot exactly 
‘under’, but something else. Teichmiiller,* to explain the simile of 
the cap, observes that the ancients wore their caps, not as we wear 
our hats, but tilted back on the neck. The simile of the cap worn 


J Hippol., loc. cit, (Vors. i*, pp. 18. 45-19. 1); cf. Aét. ii, 16. 6 (D.G. p. 346; 
Vers i’, Ρ. 19. 39)- 
3. Aristotle, Meteorologica ii. 1, 354. 28. 
5. Aét. ii. 2. 4 (D. G. p. 329 Ὁ, note; Vors. i*, p. 19. 32). 
45 Geschichte der griechischen Astronomie bis auf Eratosthenes, 


uoted by Sartorius, op. cit; p, 33. 
uller, Studien sur Geschichte der Begriffe, 1874, p. 100. 





42 ANAXIMENES Ρ ΤΙ 


in this way would no doubt be appropriate if Anaximenes >ied 
confined his comparison to some stars only, namely those # ΠῚ 
north which are always above the horizon and never set; b» th 
does not make this limitation; and this view of the cap doe® ,.ἢ 


correspond very well to the revolution ‘like a millstone’. ea 

More important is the distinction between the motion of 2 
fixed stars, which are fastened like nails on the spheres “ἢ 
the motion of the sun and moon. Anaximenes says that ἃ 


‘The sun and the moon and the other stars float on the air 
account of their breadth.’ 1 


This is intelligible as regards the sun, because it is like a leaf; b 

as regards ‘the other stars’ it seems clear that floating on the aix 
inconsistent with their being fastened to the heavenly sphere ; it, 
almost necessary therefore to suppose that ‘the other stars’ q 
here, not the fixed stars, but the planets, and that this ‘ floating « 
the air’ is a hypothesis to explain the disagreement between t 
observed motions of the sun, moon, and planets on the one han 
and the simple rotation of the stars in circles on the other. We ai 
told in another place that, while Anaximenes said that the stars ar, 
fastened like nails on the crystal sphere, ‘some’ say that they arc 
‘leaves of fire, like pictures’ ;? it is tempting, therefore, to read} 
instead of ἔνιοι in the nominative, the accusative ἐνίους (ἀστέρας), 
when the meaning would be ‘ but that some of the stars are leaves 
of fire’, &c. The idea that the planets are meant in the above 
passage is further supported by another statement that 


‘The stars execute their turnings (τὰς τροπὰς ποιεῖσθαι) in conse- 
quence of their being driven out of their course by condensed air 
which resists their free motion.’ 3: 


It seems clear that the ‘turnings’ here referred to are not the 

‘solstices’, but simply the turnings of the stars in the sense of their 

revolution in their respective orbits, so far as they are not fixed on 

the crystal sphere;* that is to say, the statement refers to the 
planets only. 

1 Hippol. Refut. i. 7. 4 

3. Aét. ii. 14. 4 (D.G. p. 

»G. p. 


3 Aét. ii. 23. 1(D. 
* Zeller, 15, p. 250. 


(D. 561; Vors. iP. 18. 41). 


344 ors. it, p, 19. 38). 
seat Vors. i*, p. 20. 5). 


Se Ue 












cH ANAXIMENES 43 


rece’ 7ould seem certain therefore that Anaximenes was the first 
one. ‘inguish the planets from the fixed stars in respect of their 
οἵ lar movements, which he accounted for in the same way as 
_iotions of the sun and moon. This being so, it seems not 
wo’ sible that the passages about the sun and the stars not 
Ἐπ 6 under, but laterally round, the earth refer exclusively to 
ἘΠῚ 4n, moon, and planets;’ the fact of their floating on the air 
-*  t be supposed to be a reason why they should not ever fall 
‘5: w the earth, which itself rests on the air, and in this way the 
ee culty with regard to the motion of the fixed stars would 
£ ppear. 

», snother improvement on the system of Anaximander is the 
ΠΣ gation of the stars to a more distant region than that in which 
@ sun moves. Anaximander had made the sun’s wheel the most 
~~ 0te, the moon’s next to it, and those of the stars nearer still 
_ the earth; Anaximenes, however, explains that the stars do not 
' e warmth because they are too far off, and with this may be 
᾿ς mpared his statement that 
_ ‘The rotation which is the furthest away from the earth is (that 
_ ) the heaven,’? 


‘which view is attributed to him in common with Parmenides. 
_  Anaximenes made yet another innovation of some significance. 
_ He said that 

‘ There are also, in the region occupied by the stars, bodies of an 
earthy nature which are carried round along with them,’ * 


and that, 


‘While the stars are of a fiery nature, they ‘also include (or 
_ contain) certain earthy bodies which are carried round along with 
them but are not visible.’ 5 


Zeller® interprets these passages as ascribing an earthy nucleus 
to the stars; and this is not unnaturally suggested by the second 
of the two passages. But the first passage suggests another possible 


1 This was the suggestion of Heeren (Stobaeus, i, p. 511). 
® Aét. ii. 11. 1 (D.G. p. 339; Vors. i*, p. 19. 34). 

3 Hippol. Refut. i. 7. 5 (2. σ. p. 561; Vors. i, p. 18. 44). 
* Aét. ii. 13. 10 (2. G. p. 342; Vors. i*, p. 19. 36). 

5 Zeller, i*, pp. 247, 248. 


44 ANAXIMENES PAR'I 


interpretation ; bodies of an earthy nature iz the region occufed 
by the stars (ἐν τῷ τόπῳ τῶν ἀστέρων) might be separate frm 
them and not ‘contained in them’, although carried round wih 
them. ‘The stars’ in the two passages no doubt include the sm 
and moon; but the sun is flat like a leaf; why then shotd 
Anaximenes attach to it an earthy substance as well? The object 
of the invisible bodies of an earthy nature carried round along with 
‘the stars’ is clearly to explain eclipses and the phases of the moon. 
If, then, Anaximenes supposed that one side in both the sun and 
the moon was bright and the other dark, his idea would doubtless 
be that they might sometimes turn their dark side to us in such 
a way as to hide from us more or less the bright side. (This was 
the idea of Heraclitus, though with him the heavenly bodies had 
not a flat surface but were hollowed out like a basin or bowl.) But 
the phenomena of eclipses are more simply accounted for if we 
suppose the earthy bodies of Anaximenes to be separate from the 
sun and moon, and to get in front of them; we need not therefore 
hesitate to attribute to him this fruitful idea which ultimately led 
to the true explanation. Anaxagoras said that the moon is eclipsed 
because the earth is interposed, but, not being able to account for 
all the phenomena in this way, he conceived that eclipses were also 
sometimes due to obstruction by bodies ‘below the moon’, which 
he describes in almost the same words as Anaximenes, namely as 
‘certain bodies (in the region) below the stars which are carried 
round with the sun and moon and are invisible to us’. Clearly 
therefore Anaxagoras was indebted to Anaximenes for this con- 
ception ; and again the réle of the counter-earth in the Pythagorean 
system is much the same as that of the ‘earthy bodies’ now in 
question. 

Tannery ' goes further and maintains that Anaximenes’ hypothesis 
was bound to lead to the true explanation of eclipses. ‘ For, if any 
one asked himself why these dark bodies were not seen at all, the 
question of their being illuminated by the sun would present itself, 
and it was easy to recognize that, under the most general conditions, 
the phenomena which such a dark body would necessarily present 
were really similar to the phases of the moon. From this to the 


1 Tannery, Pour l'histoire de la science helldne, pp. 153, 154. 


. 


. recognition of the fact that the moon itself is opaque there was only 
one step more. The réle of the moon in regard to the eclipses 
_ of the sun was easy to deduce, while the question of the lighting 
_ up of the moon by the sun at night naturally brought into play the 
_ shadow of the earth and, through that, led to the discovery of the 

cause of eclipses of the moon. The hypothesis then of Anaximenes 
_ has a true scientific character, and constitutes for him a title to 
fame, the more rare because the conception appears to have been 
absolutely original, while his other ideas are not in general of the 
same stamp.’ While the successive steps towards the discovery 
_ of the truth may no doubt have been taken in the order suggested, 

it must, I think, be admitted that, at the point where the question 
of the illumination of the opaque bodies by the sun would present 


: CH. V ANAXIMENES 45 


— μους ὧν ΡῈ 


itself (‘se posait’), a very active imagination would be required to 

suggest the transition to this question ; and, even after the transition 
_ was made, it would be necessary to assume further that the opaque 
_ bodies are spherical in form, an assumption nowhere suggested by 
_ Anaximenes. 

Tannery ' adds that the only feature of Anaximenes’ system that 
was destined to an enduring triumph is the conception of the stars 
being fixed on a crystal sphere as in a rigid frame. Although 
attempts were made later to arrive at a more immaterial and less 
gross conception of the substance rigidly connecting the fixed stars, 
the character of this connexion was not modified, and the rigidity 
of the sphere really remained the fundamental postulate of all 
astronomy up to Copernicus. The exceptions to the general 
adoption of this view were, curiously enough, the Ionian physicists 
of the century immediately following Anaximenes. 

It would appear that Anaximenes anticipated the Pythagorean 
notion that the world breathes, for he says: 


‘Just as our soul, being air, holds us together, so does breath and 
air encompass the whole world.’ 3 


1 Tannery, op. cit., p. 154. 
3 Fragment in Aét. i. 3. 4 (D.G. p. 278; Vors. i*, p. 21. 17). 


VI 
PYTHAGORAS 


PYTHAGORAS, undoubtedly one of the greatest names in the 
history of science, was an Ionian, born at Samos about 
572 B.C., the son of Mnesarchus. He spent his early manhood 
in Samos, removed in about 532 B.C. to Croton, where he founded 
his school, and died at Metapontium at a great age (75 years 
according to one authority, 80 or more according to others). His 
interests were as various as those of Thales, but with the difference 
that, whereas Thales’ knowledge was mostly of practical application, 
with Pythagoras the subjects of which he treats become sciences 
for the first time. Mathematicians know him of course, mostly 
or exclusively, as the reputed discoverer of the theorem of Euclid 
I. 47; but, while his share in the discovery of this proposition 
is much disputed, there is no doubt that he was the first to make 
theoretical geometry a subject forming part of a liberal education, 
and to investigate its first principles.1 With him, too, began the 
Theory of Numbers. A mathematician then of brilliant achieve- 
ments, he was also the inventor of the science of acoustics, an 
astronomer of great originality, a theologian and moral reformer, 
founder of a brotherhood ‘ which admits comparison with the orders 
of mediaeval chivalry.’ ? 

The epoch-making discovery that musical tones depend on 
numerical proportions, the octave representing the proportion of 
2:1, the fifth 3:2, and the fourth 4: 3, may with sufficient certainty 
be attributed to Pythagoras himself,’ as may the first exposition 
of the theory of means, and of proportion in general applied to 
commensurable quantities, i.e. quantities the ratio between which 
can be expressed as a ratio between whole numbers. The all- 

? Proclus, Comm. on Eucl. I, Ὁ. 65. 15-19. 


3 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 15, pp. 80, 81. 
8. Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 118. 





PYTHAGORAS 47 


pervading character of number being thus shown, what wonder 
- that the Pythagoreans came to declare that number is the essence 
of all things? The connexion so discovered between number and 
music would also lead not unnaturally to the idea of the ‘harmony 
of the heavenly bodies’. 

Pythagoras left no written exposition of his doctrines, nor did 
_ any of his immediate successors in the school; this statement is 
_ true even of Hippasus, about whom the different stories arose 
_ (1) that he was expelled from the school because he published 
_ doctrines of Pythagoras,! (2) that he was drowned at sea for 
revealing the construction of the dodecahedron in a sphere and 
claiming it as his own,? or (as others have it) for making known 
the discovery of the irrational or incommensurable.* Nor is the 
absence of any written record of early Pythagorean doctrine to 
_ be put down to any pledge of secrecy binding the school; there 
_ does not seem to have been any secrecy observed at all unless 
perhaps in matters of religion or ritual; the supposed secrecy 
_ seems to have been invented to explain the absence of any trace 
_ of documents before Philolaus. The fact appears to be merely 
that oral communication was the tradition of the school, and the 
_ closeness of their association enabled it to be followed without 
_ inconvenience, while of course their doctrine would be mainly too 
abstruse to be understood by the generality of people outside. 

Philolaus was the first Pythagorean to write an exposition of 
the Pythagorean system. He was a contemporary of Socrates and 
Democritus, probably older than either, and we know that he lived 
in Thebes in the last decades of the fifth century.* 

It is difficult in these circumstances to disentangle the portions 
of the Pythagorean philosophy which may safely be attributed to 
the founder of the school. Aristotle evidently felt this difficulty ; 
he clearly knew nothing for certain of any ethical or physical 
doctrines going back to Pythagoras himself; and, when he speaks 
of the Pythagorean system, he always refers it to ‘ the Pythagoreans’, 
Ἷ sometimes even to ‘the so-called Pythagoreans’.6 The account 
  2 Clem. Stromat. v. 58 (Vors. i®, p. 30.18); Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. 246, 247 
(Vors. i, p. 30. 10, 14). 

* Iamblichus, Vit. Pyth. 88 (Vors. 15, p. 30. 2). 


* Ibid. 247 (Vors. i*, p. 30. 17). 
* Zeller, i°, pp. 337, 338. 5 Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 100. 


48 PYTHAGORAS PART: 


which he gives of the Pythagorean planetary system correspond: 
to the system of Philolaus as we know it from the Dorographi. 

For Pythagoras’s own system, therefore, that of Philolaus afford: 
no guide; we have to seek for traces, in the other writers of the 
end of the sixth and the beginning of the fifth centuries, of opinions 
borrowed from him or of polemics directed against him. On thess 
principles we have seen reason to believe that he was the first tc 
maintain that the earth is spherical and, on the basis of thi: 
assumption, to distinguish the five zones. 

How Pythagoras came to conclude that the earth is spherica 
in shape is uncertain. There is at all events no evidence that he 
borrowed the theory from any non-Greek source. On the assump. 
tion, then, that it was his own discovery, different suggestions ὃ have 
been put forward as to the considerations by which Pythagoras 
convinced himself of its truth. One suggestion is that he may 
have based his opinion upon the correct interpretation of phenomena 
and above all, on the round shadow cast by the earth in the eclipses 
of the moon. But it is certain that Anaxagoras was the first te 
suggest this, the true explanation of eclipses. The second possibility 
is that Pythagoras may have extended his assumption of a spherical 
sky to the separate luminaries of heaven; the third is that hi: 
ground was purely mathematical, or mathematico-aesthetical, and 
that he attributed spherical shape to the earth for the simple reason 
that ‘the sphere is the most beautiful of solid figures’ I prefe: 
the third of these hypotheses, though the second and third have the 
point of contact that the beauty of the spherical shape may have 


1 Tannery, op. cit., p. 203. 

* The question is discussed by Berger (Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen 
Erdkunde der Griechen, pp. 171-7) who is inclined to think that, along with the 
facts about the planets and their periods discovered, as the result of observations 
continued through long ages, by the Egyptians and Babylonians, the doctrine οἱ 
a suspended spherical earth also reached the Greeks from Lydia, Egypt, οἱ 
Cyprus. Berger admits, however, that Diodorus (ii. 31) denies to the Babylonians 
any knowledge of the earth’s sphericity. Martin, it is true, in a paper quoted 
by Berger (p. 177, note), assumed that the Egyptians had grasped the idea οἱ 
a spherical earth, but, as Gomperz observes (Grtechische Denker, i®, p. 430), this 
assumption is inconsistent with the Egyptian representation of the earth's shape 
as explained by one of the highest authorities on the subject, Maspero, in his 
Hist. ancienne des peuples de l’ Orient classique, Les origines, pp. 16, 17. 

8. Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 15, p. 90. : 

4 Diog. L. viii. 35 (Vors. 13, p. 280. 1) attributes this statement to the 
Pythagoreans, 


Ι CH. VI PYTHAGORAS 49 


4 


ὲ dictated its application doth to the universe and to the earth. But, 
bs whatever may have been the ground, the declaration that the earth 
‘ is spherical was a great step towards the true, the Copernican 
_ view of the universe.!_ It may well be (though we are not told) 
that Pythagoras, for the same reason, gave the same spherical 
_ shape to the sun and moon and even to the stars, in which case 
_ the way lay open for the discovery of the true cause of eclipses and 
_ of the phases of the moon. 
_ There is no doubt that Pythagoras’s own system was geocentric. 
_ The very fact that he is credited with distinguishing the zones is 
an indication of this; the theory of the zones is incompatible with 
_ the notion of the earth moving in space as it does about the central 
_ fire of Philolaus. But we are also directly told that he regarded 
_ the universe as living, intelligent, spherical, enclosing the earth 
_ in the middle, the earth, too, being spherical in shape.* Further, 
_ it seems clear that he held that the universe rotated about an axis 
_ passing through the centre of the earth. Thus we are told by 
Aristotle that 


‘Some (of the Pythagoreans) say that ¢¢me is the motion of the 
whole (universe), others that it is the sphere itself’ ; ὃ 


and by Aétius that 


᾿ς ‘Pythagoras held time to be the sphere of the enveloping 
eaven).’ + 


᾿ς Alemaeon, a doctor of Croton, although expressly distinguished 
_ from the Pythagoreans by Aristotle,° is said to have been a pupil 
_ of Pythagoras ;*® even Aristotle says that, in the matter of the 


Pythagorean pairs of opposites, Alemaeon, who was a young man 
* 


_ when Pythagoras was old, expressed views similar to those of the 
_ Pythagoreans, ‘ whether he got them from the Pythagoreans or they 
  from him’. Hence he was clearly influenced by Pythagorean 


i] 
δ 


* Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, p. 90. 

® Alexander Polyhistor in Diog. L, viii. 

5 Aristotle, Phys. iv. 10, 218 a 33. 

* Aét. i. 21. 1 (D.G. p. 318; Vors. i*, p. 277. 19). 

® Aristotle, Metaph. A. 5, ee 27-31. 

5 Diog. L. viii. 83 (Vors. i*, p. 100. 19); Iamblichus, #4. Pyth. 104. 
7 Aristotle, Metaph. i. 5, οἶδα 28 


1410 Ἑ 








5ο PYTHAGORAS PART I 


doctrines. Now the doxographers’ account of his astronomy includes 
one important statement, namely that 


‘Alcmaeon and the mathematicians hold that the planets have 
a motion from west to east, in a direction opposite to that of the 
fixed stars.’ ἢ 


Incidentally, the assumption of the motion of the fixed stars 
suggests the immobility of the earth. But this passage is also the 
first we hear of the important distinction between the diurnal 
revolution of the fixed stars from east to west and the independent 
movement of the planets zz the opposite direction; the Ionians say 
nothing of it (though perhaps Anaximenes distinguished the planets 
as having a different movement from that of the fixed stars); 
Anaxagoras and Democritus did not admit it; the discovery, 
therefore, appears to belong to the Pythagorean school and, in view 
of its character, it is much more likely to have been made by the 
Master himself than by the physician of Croton. For the rest 
of Alcmaeon’s astronomy is on a much lower level ; he thought 
the sun was flat,? and, like Heraclitus, he explained eclipses and 
the phases of the moon as being due to the turning of the moon’s 
bowl-shaped envelope.* It is right to add that Burnet® thinks 


that the fact of the discovery in question being attributed to © 


Alcmaeon implies that it was zo¢ due to Pythagoras. Presumably 
this is inferred from the words of Aristotle distinguishing Alemaeon 
from the Pythagoreans; but either inference is possible, and 
I prefer Tannery’s. It is difficult to account for Alcmaeon being 
credited with the discovery if, as Burnet thinks, it was really Plato’s. 

But we have also the evidence of -Theon of Smyrna, who states 
categorically that Pythagoras was the first to notice that the 
planets move in independent circles : 


‘The impression of variation in the movement of the planets 
is produced by the fact that they appear to us to be carried through 
the signs of the zodiac in certain circles of their own, being fastened 
in spheres of their own and moved by their motion, as Pythagoras 


1 Aét. ii. 16. 2-3 (D. G. p. 345; Vors. 15, p, 101. 8). 

3 Tannery, op. cit., p. 208. 

3 Aét. ii. 22. 4 ΤΑ G. p. 352; Vors. i?, p. τοι. 10). 

* Aét. ii. 29. 3 (29, G. p. 359; Vors. 15, p. 101. 10-12), 
5 Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 123, note. 















HI PYTHAGORAS 51 


was the first to observe, a certain varied and irregular motion being 
thus grafted, as a qualification, upon their simply and uniformly 
ordered motion in one and the same sense’ [i.e. that of the daily 
_ rotation from east to west]. 


It appears probable, therefore, that the theory of Pythagoras 
himself was that the universe, the earth, and the other heavenly 
bodies are spherical in shape, that the earth is at rest in the centre, 

at the sphere of the fixed stars has a daily rotation from east to 
st about an axis passing through the centre of the earth, and 
that the planets have an independent movement of their own in 
a sense opposite to that of the daily rotation, i.e. from west to east. 


* Theon of Smyrna, p. 150. 12-18. 





VII 
XENOPHANES 


XENOPHANES of Colophon was probably born about 570 an 
died after 478 B.c. What we know for certain is that he spoke c 
Pythagoras in the past tense,’ that Heraclitus mentions him alon 
with Pythagoras,? and that he says of himself that, from the ti 
when he was 25 years of age, three-score years and seven hai 
‘tossed his care-worn soul up and down the land of Hellas.’ 
He may have left his home at the time when Ionia became a Persia 
province (545 B.C.) and gone with the Phocaeans to Elea,* found 
by them in 540/39 B.C., six years after they left Phocaea.6 As he w 
writing poetry at 92 and is said to have been over 100 when h 
died,* the above dates are consistent with the statement that he w 
a contemporary of Hieron, who reigned from 478 to 467 B.C. 
According to Theophrastus, he had ‘ heard’ Anaximander. ; 

Xenophanes was more a poet and satirist than a natural phil 
sopher, but Heraclitus credited him with wide learning,® and h 
is said to have opposed certain doctrines of Pythagoras and Thales,! 
We are told that he wrote epics as well as elegies and iambic 
attacking Homer and Hesiod. In particular, 2,000 verses on th 
foundation of Colophon and the settlement at Elea are attribute 
to him. He is supposed to have written a philosophical poem ; 
Diels refers about sixteen fragments to such a poem, to which th 















1 Fr. 7 (Vors. i?, p. 47. 20-23). 2 Heraclitus, Fr. 40 ( Vors. 13, p. 68. το). 

3 Fr. 8 (Vors. i’, p. 48. 3-6). 

* Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 15, pp. 127, 436. 

5 Herodotus, i. 164-7. 

® Censorinus, De die natali c. 15. 3, p. 28. 21, ed. Hultsch. 

7 Timaeus in Clem. Stromat. i. 14, p.353 (Vors. 15, p. 35. 2). 

8. Diog. L. ix. 21 (Vors. i*, p. 34. 35). 

9. Heraclitus, loc. cit.: ‘Wide learning does not teach one to have under- 
standing ; if it did, it would have taught Hesiod and Pythagoras, and again 
Xenophanes and Hecataeus.’   

10 Diog. L. ix. 18 (Vors. 15, p. 34. 12). 1 Ibid. ix. 20 (Vors. i*, p. 34. 26). 


. 












=. XENOPHANES 53 


name On Nature (Περὶ φύσεως) was given; but such titles are 
of later date than Xenophanes, and Burnet? holds that all the 
‘fragments might have come into the poems directed against Homer 
and Hesiod, the fact that a considerable number of them come 
from commentaries on Homer being significant in this connexion. 

Xenophanes attacked the popular mythology, proving that God 
‘must be one, not many (for God is supreme and there can only 
‘be one supreme power),? eternal and not born (for it is as impious 
to say that the gods are born as it would be to say that they die; 
in either case there would be a time when the gods would not be) ;* 
he reprobated the scandalous stories about the gods in Homer and 
Hesiod * and ridiculed the anthropomorphic view which gives the 
bodies, voices, and dress like ours, observing that the Thracians 
made them blue-eyed and red-haired, the Aethiopians snub-nosed 
_and black,® while, if oxen or horses or lions had hands and could 
ἔχων, they would draw them as oxen, horses, and lions respectively.® 
God is the One and the All, the universe ;7 God remains unmoved 
in one and the same place ;* God is eternal, one, alike every way, 
"finite, spherical and sensitive in all parts,? but does not breathe.?° 
‘It is difficult to reconcile the finite and spherical God with 
_ Xenophanes’ description of the world, which may be summarized 
as follows. 

The world was evolved from a mixture of earth and water," 
and the earth will gradually be dissolved again by moisture; this 
he infers from the fact that shells are found far inland and on 
mountains, and in the quarries of Syracuse there have been found 
imprints (fossils) of a fish and of seaweed, and so on, these 
imprints showing that everything was covered in mud long ago, 


? Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 128. 
* Simpl. iw Phys. p. 22. 31 (Vors. i*, p. 40. 30). 
® Aristotle, Rhetoric ii. 23, 1399 Ὁ 6. 
* Fr. 11 (Vors. i, p. 48. 13). 5 Fr. 14, 16 (Vors. i?, p. 49. 2, 11). 
® Fr. 15 (Vors. 1", Ρ 49. 5). 
_," Aristotle, Metaph. A. 5, οΒ6 Ὁ 21 (Vors. i, p. 40. 15); Simpl., loc. cit. (Vors. 
ΠΡ. 40. 29); cf. Cicero, De nat, deor.i. ττ. 28 ( Vors. #, p. 41. 44); Acad. pr. ii. 37. 
118 (Vors. i*, p. 41. 42). 
® Fr. 26 (Vors. i*, p. 50. 22). 
" Hippol. Refut. i. 14. 2 (D. G. p. 565; Vors. i*, p. 41. 26). 
39 Diog. L. ix. 19 (Vors. i*, p. 34. 18). 
4 Fr. 29. 33 (Vors.i*, p. 51. 5, 20). 
᾿Ξ I read, with Burnet, after Gomperz φυκῶν (seaweed) instead of φωκῶν. 


54 XENOPHANES PARTI 


arid that the imprints dried on the mud. All men will disappear 
when the earth is absorbed into the sea and becomes mud, after 
which the process of coming into being starts again; all the worlds — 
(alike) suffer this change.! This is, of course, the theory οὗ 
_Anaximander. ᾿ 
As regards the earth we are told that » 


‘This upper side of the earth is seen, at our feet, to touch the air, © 
but the lower side reaches to infinity.’ ? 

‘This is why some say that the lower portion of the earth is 
infinite, asserting, as Xenophanes of Colophon does, that its roots 
extend without limit, in order that they may not have the trouble 
of investigating the cause (of its being at rest). Hence Empedocles’ 
rebuke in the words “if the depths of the earth are without limit 
and the vast aether (above it) is so also, as has been said by the 
tongues of many and vainly spouted forth from the mouths of men 
who have seen little of the whole ”.’* 

‘Xenophanes said that on its lower side the earth has roots 
extending without limit.’ * 

‘The earth is infinite, and is neither surrounded by air nor by the 
heaven.’ ὅ 


Simplicius ® (on the second of the above passages) observes that, 
not having seen Xenophanes’ own verses on the subject, he cannot _ 
say whether Xenophanes meant that the under side of the earth — 
extends without limit, and that this is the reason why it is at rest, or 
meant to assert that the space below the earth, and the aether, is 
infinite, and consequently the earth, though it is in fact being carried 
downwards without limit, appears to be at rest ; for neither Aristotle 
nor Empedocles made this clear. Presumably, however, as 
Simplicius had not seen Xenophanes’ original poem, he had not 
seen Fr. 28, the first of the above passages; for this passage seems 
to be decisive ; there is nothing in it to suggest motion downwards, 
and, if it meant that there was infinite air below the earth as there 
is above, there would be no contrast between the upper and the 
under side such as it is the obvious intention of the author to draw.’ 

1 i ἢ ps . 12 is 

: Fes (Vee fie Asha G. p. 566; Vors. i*, p. 41. 33-41). 

5 Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 294 ἃ 21-28. 

* Aét. iii. 9.45 11. 1,2 (D. G. pp. 376, 377; Vors. i*, p. 43. 33, 35). 

5 Hippol. Refut. i. 14. 3 (D. G. p. 565; Vors. i?, p. 41. 29). 


® Simplicius on De cae/o, Ρ. 522. 7, ed. Heib. ( Vors. i*, p. 43. 28). 
7 As witness the μέν and the δέ and the clear opposition of ‘touching the air’ 

































‘CH.VII XENOPHANES 55 


According to Xenophanes the stars, including comets and 
meteors, are made of clouds set on fire; they are extinguished 
each day and are kindled at night like coals, and these happenings 
' constitute their setting and rising respectively.1 The so-called 
_Dioscuri are small clouds which emit light in virtue of the motion, 
_ whatever it is, that they have.? 
_ Similarly the sun is made of clouds set on fire; clouds formed 
_ from moist exhalation take fire, and the sun is formed from the 
resulting fiery particles collected together.* The moon is likewise 
80 formed, the cloud being here described as ‘compressed’ 
(πεπιλημένον),, following an expression of Anaximander’s for 
_ compressed portions of air; the moon’s light is its own.® 
  When the sun sets, it is extinguished, and when it next rises, it is 
a fresh one; it is likewise extinguished when there is an eclipse.® 


_ of the fragment and the passage of Aristotle other than the literal interpretation. 
_ The significant words in the passage of Aristotle are ‘saying that it (the earth) 
_ is rected ad infinitum (ἐπ᾿ ἄπειρον ἐρριζῶσθαι)᾽. Berger (p.194, note) holds that the 
᾿ ession is not used in the literal sense of having roots extending ad infinitum, 
that ‘ we use the word ἐρριζῶσθαι only as an expression for a supporting force 
_ hot capable of closer definition’; he can only quote in favour of this certain 
_ metaphorical uses of ῥίζα ‘ root’ and other words connected with it, ῥιζώματα and 
_ pases, which of course do not in the least prove that ἐρριζῶσθαι is used in 
a metaphorical sense in our passage; indeed, if it is used in so vague a sense, it 
‘is difficult to see how Xenophanes thereby absolved himself from giving a further 
explanation of the cause of the earth’s remaining at rest, which, according to 
Aristotle, was his object. As regards the fragment from Xenophanes’ own 
poem, Berger says that he prefers to regard it as an attempt to give in few 
words an idea of the Aorizon which divides earth and heaven into an upper, 
visible, half, and an invisible lower half. This again leaves no contrast between 
the upper and lower sides of the earth such as the fragment is obviously intended 
to draw. On both points Berger’s arguments are of the nature of special 
pleading, which can hardly carry conviction. 
* A&t. ii. 13. 14, iii. 2. 11 (D. G. pp- 343, 367 ; Vors. i?, pp. 42. 39, 43. 15). 

_. * Aét. ii. 18. 1 (2. G. p. 347; Vors.i®, p. 42. 42). 
ἥ Coy ii. 20. 3 (D. G. p. 348; Vors. i*, p. 42. 45) ; Hippol. Refut. i. 14. 3 (D.C. 
ΟΡ. 505). 
 * Aét. ii. 25. 4 (D.G. p. 356; Vors. 13, p. 43. 12). 
_ + 5 Aét. ii. 28. 1 (2. G. p. 358; Vors. i?, p. 43. 13). 
᾿ς * Aét. ii. 24. 4 (2. G. p. 354; Vors. i*, p. 43. 1). The passage, which is under 
_ the heading ‘ On eclipse of the sun’, implies that it is an eclipse which comes 
about by way of extinguishment (xara σβέσιν), but the next words to the effect 
_ that the sun is a new one on rising again suggest that it is ‘setting’ rather 
‘than ‘ eclipse’, which should be understood. 







56 XENOPHANES PARTI 


The phases of the moon are similarly caused by (partial) ex- 
tinction.? 

According to Xenophanes, the sun is useful with reference to the 
coming into being and the ordering of the earth and of living things 
in it; the moon is, in this respect, otiose.? 

More remarkable are Xenophanes’ theory of a multiplicity of suns 
and moons, and his view of the nature of the sun’s motion; and 
here it is necessary to quote the actual words of Aétius : 


‘Xenophanes says that there are many suns and moons according 
to the regions (κλίματα), divisions (ἀποτομαί) and zones of the 
earth; and at certain times the disc lights upon some division of 
the earth not inhabited by us and so, as it were, stepping on 
emptiness, suffers eclipse. 

‘The same philosopher maintains that the sun goes forward ad 
infinitum, and that it only appears to revolve in a circle owing to it 
distance (away from us).’ ὃ 


The idea that the sun, on arriving ‘at an uninhabited part of ’ 
earth, straightway goes out, as it were, is a curious illustratior 
the final cause. For the rest, the passage, according to the n _ 
natural interpretation of it, implies that the sun does not rev 
about the earth in a circle, but moves in a straight line ad infini- 
that the earth is flat, and that its surface extends without li 
On this interpretation we are presumably to suppose that the 
of any one day passes out of our sight and is seen successive’ 
regions further and further distant towards the west until it is f 
extinguished, while in the meantime the new sun of the nex ~ 
follows the first, at an interval of 24 hours, over our part « 
earth, and so on, with the result that at any given time the 
many suns all travelling in the same straight direction ad injfim 
If this is the correct interpretation of Xenophanes’ theory (and 
is the way in which it is generally understood), it shows no advan 
upon, but a distinct falling off from, the systems of Anaximande. 
and Anaximenes. Berger,’ deeming it incredible that Xenophanes 
could have put forward views so crude, not to say childish, at 
a time when the notion of the sphericity of the earth discovered by 

1 Aét. ii, 29. 5 G. p. 360; Vors. i*, p. 43.14). 

2 Aét, ii. 30. 8 (D. G. p. 362; Vors. i*, p. 43. 9). 

> Aét. ii. 24. 9 (D.G. p. 355; Vors. i*, p. 43. 3-8). 

* Tannery, op. cit., p. 133. ° Berger, op. cit., pp. 190 sqq. 


. 


᾿ 
Ϊ 


Se et aA ae τινα 





CH. VII XENOPHANES 57 


the earliest Pythagoreans and by Parmenides must already have 
spread far and wide, seeks to place a new interpretation upon the 
passages in question. 

For the Ionians, with their flat earth, there was necessarily one 
horizon, so that the solar illumination and the length of the day 
were the same for all parts of the inhabited earth. As soon, how- 
ever, as the spherical shape of the earth was realized, it would 
necessarily appear that there were different horizons according to 
the particular spot occupied by an observer on the earth’s surface. 
It was then, argues Berger, the different horizons which Xenophanes 
_ had in view when he spoke of many suns and moons according to 
_ the different regions or climates, divisions and zones of the earth ; 
' he realized the difference in the appearances and the effects of the 

_ same phenomena at different places on the earth’s surface, and he 
Ss “nay have been the first to introduce, in this way, the mode of 
' «pression by which we commonly speak of different suns, the 
a Spical sun, the Indian sun, the midnight sun, and the like. This 
_ ‘ingenious, but surely not reconcilable with other elementary 

- hions stated by Xenophanes, such as that there is a new sun 

“ty day. Then again, Berger has to explain the sun’s ‘going- 
Ward ad infinitum’ as contrasted with circular motion; as, on 

"theory, it cannot be motion zz a straight line without limit, he 
οἴ it to be the motion in a sfiral which the sun actually exhibits 

‘4g to the combination of its two motions, that of the daily 

_ ‘fon, and its yearly motion in the ecliptic, which causes a slight 

τὰ in its latitude day by day. But in the first place this 

ὅπ in a spiral is not motion forward ad infinitum, for the spiral Ὁ 

‘ns on itself in a year just as a simple circular motion would in 

“hours. Indeed, Berger’s interpretation would make Xeno- 

‘ines’ system purely Pythagorean, and advanced at that, for 

ve do not hear of the spiral till we find it in Plato.1 And, if 

‘Heraclitus’s system also represents (as we shall find it does) a set- 

j back in astronomical theory, why should not Xenophanes’ ideas 
ie have been equally retrograde? 

There remains the story that Xenophanes told of an eclipse of 

Mf the sun which lasted a whole month.2_ Could he have intended, by 


1 Plato, Timaeus 39 A. 
* Aét. il. 24. 4 (D.G. p. 354 ; Vors. i, p. 43. 2-3). 


TO eee ee 


= 





58 XENOPHANES 


this statement, to poke fun at Thales?! Berger, full of his theory 
that Xenophanes’ ideas were based on the sphericity of the earth, 
thinks that he must have inferred that the length of the day would 
vary in different latitudes and according to the position of the sun 
in the ecliptic, and must have seen that, at the winter solstice for 
example, there would be a point on the earth’s surface at which the 
longest night would last 24 hours, another point nearer the north 
pole where there would be a night lasting a month, and so on, and 
finally that at the north pole itself there would be a night six 
months long as soon as the sun passes to the south of the equator ; 
Xenophanes therefore, according to Berger, must simply have been 
alluding to the existence of a place where a night may last a month. 
If, as seems certain, Xenophanes’ earth was flat, this explanation 
too must fall to the ground. 


1 Tannery, op. cit., p. 132. 


AS ar er eg ee Heal ge, ---,..ὕ»ὕ. Ξ =: 





Vill 


HERACLITUS 


  
: 
  
q 
β 
᾿ 
f 






















IF the astronomy of Xenophanes represents a decided set-back 
_ in comparison with the speculations of Anaximander and Anaxi- 
_menes, this is still more the case with Heraclitus of Ephesus 
(fil. 504/0, and therefore born about 544/0B.C.); he was indeed no 
astronomer, and he scarcely needs mention in a history of astronomy 
except as an illustration of the vicissitudes, the ups and downs, 
through which a science in its beginnings may have to pass. Hera- 
clitus’s astronomy, if it can be called such, is of the crudest descrip- 
tion. He does not recognize daily rotation; he leaves all the 
‘apparent motions of the heavenly bodies to be explained by a 
' continued interchange of matter between the earth and the heaven." 
His original element, fire, condenses into water, and water into 
earth ; this is the downward course. The earth, on the other hand, 
may partly melt; this produces water, and water again vaporizes 
into air and fire; this is the upward course. There are two kinds 
_ of exhalations which arise from the earth and from the sea; the one 
kind is bright and pure, the other dark; night and day, the months, 
seasons of the year, the years, the rains and the winds, &c., are 


_ exhalations. In the heavens are certain basins or bowls (σκάφαι) 
_ turned with their concave sides towards us, which collect the bright 
alations or-vaporizations, producing flames; these are the 
2 The sun and the ὭΡΩΝ are bowl-shaped, like the stars, and 
are ee: lit up.2 The flame of the sun is brightest 


τ δὰ 


60 HERACLITUS PARTI 


consequently they give out less light and warmth. The moon, 
although nearer the earth, moves in less pure air and is conse- 
quently dimmer than the sun; the sun itself moves in pure and 
transparent air and is at a moderate distance from us, so that it 
warms and illuminates more.’ ‘If there were no sun, it would be 
night for anything the other stars could do.* Both the sun and 
the moon are eclipsed when the bowls are turned upwards (i.e. so 
that the concave side faces upwards and the convex side faces in 
our direction); the changes in the form of the moon during the 
months are caused by gradual turning of the bowl.’ 

According to Heraclitus there is a new sun every day,* by which 
is apparently meant that, on setting in the west, it is extinguished 
or spent,’ and then, on the morrow, it is produced afresh in the 
east by exhalation from the sea.° 

The question arises, what happens to the bowl or basin supposed 
to contain the sun if the sun has to be re-created in this way each 
morning? Either a fresh envelope must be produced every day 
for the rising of the sun in the east or, if the envelope is supposed 
to be the same day after day, it must travel round from the west to 
the east, presumably in the encircling water, laterally.’ Diogenes 
Laertius (i.e. in this case Theophrastus) complains that Heraclitus 


1 Diog. L., loc. cit.; Aét. ii. 28. 6 (D. G. p. 358; Vors. i’, p. 59. 10). 

? Plutarch, De fort. 3, p. 98 c ( Vors. 13, p. 76. 8). 

5 Diog. ἴω, loc. cit.; Aét. ii. 24. 3 (D. G. p. 354; Vors. i*, p. 59. 5). T 
explanation that the hollow side of the basins is turned towards us itself sho 
how crude were the ideas of Heraclitus. For it is clear that to account for t 
actual variations which we’see in the shape of the moon, it is the ouf¢er side 
a hemispherical bowl which should be supposed bright and turned towards 
when the moon is full. 

* Aristotle, Meteor. ii. 2, 355 a 14. 

® Plato, Rep. vi. 498 A. 

®° Aristotelian Problems, xxiii. 30, 934b 35. It is true that a certain passage 
of Aristotle may be held to imply that Heraclitus did not maintain that the 
moon and the stars, as well as the sun, are fed and renewed by exhalations. 
Aristotle (AZeZeor. ii. 2, 354 Ὁ 33 5644.) is speaking of those who maintain that 
the sun is fed by moisture. He first argues that, although fire may be said to 
be nourished by water (the flame arising through continuous alternation between 
the moist and the dry), this cannot take place with the sun; ‘and if the sun 
were fed in this same way, then it is clear that not only is the sun new every 
day, as Heraclitus says, but it is continuously becoming new (every moment) ’ 
(355 a 11-15). ‘ And,’ he adds (355 a 18-21), ‘it is absurd that these thinkers 
should only concern themselves with the sun, and neglect the conservation of 
the other stars, seeing that their number and their size is so-great.’ 

7 Zeller, 1δ, p. 684. 


_ . alia « ee a ae eee 
2 a Dn rns 2 AG 





CH. VIII HERACLITUS 61 


gave no information as to the nature of these cups or basins. The 
idea, however, of the sun and moon being carried round in these 
σκάφαι reminds us forcibly of the Egyptian notion of the sun in 
his barque floating over the waters above, accompanied by a host 
of secondary gods, the planets and the fixed stars. 

Heraclitus held (as Epicurus did long afterwards) that the 
diameter of the sun is one foot,? and that its actual size is the 
same as its apparent size.* This in itself shows that Heraclitus 
was no mathematician; as Aristotle says, ‘it is too childish to 
suppose that each of the moving heavenly bodies is small in size 
because it appears so to us observing it from where we stand.’ * 

He called the arctic circle by the more poetical name of ‘the 
Bear’, saying that ‘the Bear represents the limits of morning and 
evening’. .. whereas of course it is the arctic circle, not the Bear 
itself, which is the confine of setting and rising® (i.e. the stars 
_ within the arctic circle never set). 

According to Diogenes Laertius, Heraclitus said absolutely 
nothing about the nature of the earth;® but we may judge that 
_in his conception of the universe he was closer to Thales than to 
_ Anaximander; that is, he would regard the universe as a hemi- 
' sphere rather than a sphere, and the base of the hemisphere as 
"a plane containing the surface of the earth surrounded by the 

sea; if he recognized a subterranean region, under the name of 
᾿ς “ades, he does not seem to have formed any idea with regard to 
3 Ἐν beyond what was contained in the current mythology.’ 
τ δ ~, When he gave 10,800 solar years as the length of a Great Year,* 
᾿ ect no astronomical Great Year, but the period of duration ἢ 
᾿ς of the world from its birth to its resolution again into fire and 

' vice versa. He arrived at it, apparently, by taking a generation 
of 30 years as τ day and multiplying it by 360 as the number of 
ἃ yi in a year.” 


_ +} See pp. 19, 20 above. 3 Aét. ii. 21. 4 (D. G. p. 351; Vors. 15, p. 62. 7). 
:. ; Diog. L. ix. 7 (Vors. 15, p. 55. 12). 
__ * Aristotle, 2Ze¢eor. i. 3, 339 534. 
5. Strabo, i: 1. 6, p. 3 (Vors. i*, p. 78. 15). 
' * Diog. L. ix. 11 (Vors. ®, p. 55. 46). ; 
᾿ς ἢ Tannery, op. cit., p. 169. 
fe > Aét.’ ii. 32. 3 (D. G. p. 364: Vors. i*, p. 59. 13); Censorinus, De die natalt 
᾿ 18. 11 (Vors. i*, p. 59. 16). 
5 Tannery, op. cit., p. 168. : 





ΙΧ 
PARMENIDES 


WITH regard to the date of Parmenides there is a conflict of 
authority. On the one hand Plato says that Parmenides and Zeno 
paid a visit to Athens, Parmenides being then about 65 and Zeno 
nearly 40 years of age, and that Socrates, who was then very 
young (σφόδρα νέος), conversed with them on this occasion! Now 
if we assume that Socrates was about 18 or 20 years of age at 
this time, the date of the meeting would be about 451 or 449 B.C., 
and this would give 516 or 514 as the date of Parmenides’ birth. On 
the other hand, Diogenes Laertius* says (doubtless on the authority 
of Apollodorus) that Parmenides flourished in Ol. 69 (504/0 B.C.), 
in which case he myst have been born about 540 B.C. In view of 
the number of cases in which, for artistic reasons, Plato indulged in 
anachronisms, it is not unnatural to feel doubt as to whether the 
meeting of Socrates with Parmenides was a historical fact. Zeller® 
firmly maintained that it was a poetic fiction on the part of Plato; 
but Burnet, on grounds which seem to be convincing, accepts it 
as a fact, exposing at the same time the rough and ready methods 
on which Apollodorus proceeded in fixing his dates.‘ 


1 Plato, Parmenides 127 A-C. 2 Diog. ἵν. ix. 23 ( Vors. i*, p, 106. 10) 

ἢ Zeller, ἢ, pp. 555, 556. , 

* Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, pp. 192,193. The story was early qnestic 
Athenaeus (xi. 15,p.505¥; Vors. 12, p. 106, 47) doubted whether the age of Sc 
would make it possible for him to have conyersed with Parmenides or at a1 
to have held or listened to such a discourse, But Plato refers to the mee 
two other places (Zheaet. 183 Ἔ, Sophist 217 Ο), and (as Brandis and I 
also pointed out) we should have to assume a deliberate falsification of { 
the part of Plato if he had inserted these two allusions solely for the pu 
inducing people to believe a fiction contained in another dialogue, ¥ 
too, independent evidence of the visit of Zeno to Athens. Plutarch 


4. 3) says that Pericles ‘heard’ Zeno. The date given by Apollodoru oa 


other hand, seems to be based solely on that of the foundation of Elea 
adopts that date as the loruit of Xenophanes, so he makes it the δὲ 
Parmenides’ birth. In like manner he makes Zeno’s birth contem, 


ν 





—— Δι με σὠ- νων 


4 
Γ, 
§ 








PARMENIDES 63 


Parmenides is said to have been a disciple of Xenophanes;! he 
was also closely connected with the Pythagorean school, being 
specially associated with a Pythagorean, Ameinias Diochaites, for 
whom he conceived such an affection that he erected a ἡρῷον to 
him after his death;? Proclus quotes Nicomachus as authority 
for the statement that he actually belonged to the school,* and 
Strabo has a notice to the same effect.‘ It is not therefore 
unnatural that Parmenides’ philosophical system had points in 
common with that of Xenophanes, while his cosmogony was on 
Pythagorean lines, with of course some differences. Thus his 
Being corresponds to the One of Xenophanes and, like it, is a well- 
rounded sphere always at rest; he excluded, however, any idea 
of its infinite extension; according to Parmenides it is definitely 
limited, rounded off on all sides, extending equally in all directions 


_ from the centre. Parmenides differs from Xenophanes in denying 


genesis and destruction altogether; these phenomena, he holds, 
are only apparent.® Being is identified with Truth; anything else 
is Not-Being, the subject of opinion. Physics belongs to the latter 


_ deceptive domain.” 


_ The main difference between the cosmologies of Parmenides and 
the Pythagoreans appears to be this. It seems almost certain that 
Pythagoras himself conceived the universe to be a sphere, and 
attributed to it daily rotation round an axis® (though this was 
denied by Philolaus afterwards); this involved the assumption 


ΟΠ that it is itself finite but that something exists round it; the 


Pythagoreans, therefore, were bound to hold that, beyond the 


finite rotating sphere, there was limitless void or empty space; 


h Parmenides’ floruit, thereby making Zeno forty years younger than Par- 
ides, whereas Plato makes him about twenty-five years younger. Burnet 
gE. Meyer (Gesch. des Alterth. iv. § 509, note) in support of his view. 
_ssistotle, Me/aph.a.5,986b 22 ; Simplicius, Jz Phys. p.22. 27(Vors. i2, p. 107. 
τ Diog. L. (ix. 21; Vors. 15, p, 105. 26) says that Parmenides ‘heard’ 
» Ranes but did not follow him. 
ig. L. ix. 21 ( Vors. 15, p. 105. 29). 
“slus, Jn Parm., i, ad init. ( Vors. 13, p. τοῦ. 30). 
bo, vi. I. 1, Ὁ. 252 (Vors. i?, p. 107. 39). 
otle, Phys. iii. 6, 207 ἃ 16; Fr. 8, line 42 (Vors. i?, p. 121. 3). 
— De caelo iii. τ, 298 Ὁ 14; Aét. 1. 24.1 (D.G. p. 320; Vors. i2, 


= τς 50-53 (Vors. i*, p. 121. 11-13), 


gry, ΟΡ. cit., p. 123. 


64 PARMENIDES PARTI 


this agrees with their notion that the universe breathes, a supposition 
which Tannery attributes to the Master himself because Xenophanes 
is said to have denied it.2 Parmenides, on the other hand, denied 
the existence of the infinite void, and was therefore obliged to 
make his finite sphere motionless, and to hold that its apparent 
rotation is only an illusion.’ 

As in other respects the cosmology of Parmenides follows so 
closely that of the Pythagoreans, it is not surprising that certain 
astronomical innovations are alternatively attributed to Parmenides 
and to Pythagoras. Parmenides is said to have been the first to 
assert that the earth is spherical in shape and lies in the centre ;* 
this statement has the great authority of Theophrastus in its favour ; 
there was, however, an alternative tradition stating that it was 
Pythagoras who first called the heaven κόσμος, and held the earth 
to be round (στρογγύλην). As the idea that the earth is spherical 
was probably suggested by mathematical considerations, Pythagoras 
is the more likely to have conceived it, though Parmenides may 


have been the first to state it publicly (the Pythagorean secrecy,   


such as it was, seems to have applied only to their ritual, not to their 
mathematics or physics). Parmenides is associated with Democritus 
as having argued that the earth remains in the centre because, 
being equidistant from all points (on the sphere of the universe), 
it is in equilibrium, and there is no more reason why it should 
tend to move in one direction than in another. Parmenides 
therefore here practically repeats the similar argument used by 
Anaximander (see above, p. 24), and we shall find that in other 
physical portions of his system he follows Anaximander and other 
Ionians pretty closely. 


* Aristotle, Phys. iv. 6, 213 Ὁ 24. 

2 Tannery, Op. cit., p. 121. Zeller (i5, p. 525), however, does not believe that 
the remark μὴ μέντοι ἀναπνεῖν, if Xenophanes really made it, is directed against 
the Pythagorean view. He points out, too, that the statement in Diog. L. ix. 19 
(Vors. i*, p. 34. 18), so far as these words (‘but that it does not breathe’) are 
concerned, may only represent an inference from the fact that Fr. 24 only 
mentions seeing, hearing, and thinking. This, however, assumes greater intelli- 
gence on the part of Diogenes than we are justified in attributing to him. 

3. Tannery, op. Cit., p. 125. 

* Diog. L. ix. 21 (Vors. 15, p. 105. 32). 

5 Diog. L. viii. 48 (Vors. 2, p- 111. 38). 

6 Aét. ili. 15. 7 (D. G. p. 380 ; Vors. 15, p. 111. 40); cf. Aristotle, De caelo, i ii. 
13, 295 b 10, and the similar views in Plato, Phaedo 108 E-109 A. 


. 








ΘΗ. ΙΧ PARMENIDES 65 


Secondly, Parmenides is said to have been the first to ‘define 
the habitable regions of the earth under the two tropic zones’ : 1 
on the other hand we are told that Pythagoras and his school 
declared that the sphere of the whole heaven was divided into five 
circles which they called ‘zones’.* Hultsch® bids us reject the 
attribution to Pythagoras on the ground that these zones would 
only be possible on a system in which the axis of the universe 
about which it revolves passes through the centre of the earth; 
the zones are therefore incompatible with the Pythagorean system, 
according to which the earth moves round the central fire. 
Hultsch admits, however, that this argument does not hold if the 
hypothesis of the central fire was not thought of by any one before 
Philolaus; and there is no evidence that it was. As soon as 
Pythagoras had satisfied himself that the universe and the earth 
were concentric spheres, the centre of both being the centre of the 
earth, the definite portion of the heaven marked out by the extreme 
deviations of the sun in latitude (north and south) might easily 
present itself to him as a zone on the heavenly sphere. The Arctic 
Circle, already known in the sense of the circle including within 
it the stars which never set, would make another division, while 
a corresponding Antarctic Circle would naturally be postulated 
by one who had realized the existence of antipodes.* With the 
intervening two zones, five divisions of the heaven were ready to 
hand. It would next be seen that straight lines drawn from the 
centre of the earth to all points on all the dividing circles in the 
heaven would cut the surface of the earth in points lying on exactly 
corresponding circles, and the zone-theory would thus be transferred 
to the earth.2 We are told, however, that Parmenides’ division of 
the earth into zones was different from the division which would 
be arrived at in this way, in that he made his torrid zone about 


1 Aét. iii. 11. 4 (D. G. p. 377). 

2 Aét. ii. 12. 1 (D. G. p. 340). 

5 Hultsch, art. ‘Astronomie’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopddie der 
classischen Altertumswissenschaft, ii. 2, 1896, p. 1834. 

* Alexander Polyhistor in Diog. L. viii. 1. 26. 

5 Aét. iii. 13. 1 (D.G. p. 378), ‘ Pythagoras said that the earth was divided, 
correspondingly to the sphere of the universe, into five zones, the arctic, antarctic, 
summer and winter zones, and the equatorial zone; the middle of these defines 
the middle portion of the earth, and is for this reason called the torrid zone; then 
comes the habitable zone which is temperate.’ 


1410 Ε 


66 PARMENIDES PARTI 


twice as broad as the zone intercepted between the tropic circles, 
so that it spread over each of those circles into the temperate zones.’ 
This seems to be the first appearance of zones viewed from the 
standpoint of physical geography. 

Thirdly, Diogenes Laertius says, on the authority of Favorinus, 
that Parmenides is thought to have been the first to recognize that 
the Evening and the Morning Stars are one and the same, while 
others say that it was Pythagoras.2 In this case, although 
Parmenides may have learnt the fact from the Pythagoreans, it 
is probable that Pythagoras did not know it as the result of 
observations of his own, but acquired the information from Egypt 
or Chaldaea along with other facts about the planets.® 

On the purely physical side Parmenides in the main followed 
one or other of the Ionian philosophers. The earth, he said, was 
formed from a precipitate of condensed air.4 He agreed with 
Heraclitus in regarding the stars as ‘compressed’ fire (literally 
close-pressed packs of fire, πιλήματα πυρός). 


Parmenides’ theory of ‘wreaths’ (στεφάναι) seems to be directly - 


adapted from Anaximander’s theory of hoops or wheels. Anaxi- 
mander had distinguished hoops belonging to the sun, the moon, 
and the stars respectively, which were probably concentric with 
the earth; the hoops were of different sizes, the sun’s being the 
largest, the moon’s next, and those of the stars smaller still. These 
hoops were rings of compressed air filled with fire which burst out 
in flame at outlets, thereby producing what we see as the sun, 
moon, and stars. The corresponding views of Parmenides are not 
easy to understand ; I will therefore begin by attempting a transla- 
tion of the passage of Aétius in which they are set out.® 


‘There are certain wreaths twined round, one above the other 
[relatively to the earth as common centre]; one sort is made of the 
rarefied (element), another of the condensed; and between these 
are others consisting of light and darkness in combination. That 


1 Posidonius in Strabo, ii. 2. 2, p. 94. 

2 Diog. L. ix. 23 (Vors. i*, p. 106. 11). 

8. Tannery, op. cit., p. 229. 

4 Λέγει δὲ τὴν γῆν πυκνοῦ καταρρυέντος ἀέρος γεγονέναι, Ps. Plut. Stromat. § 
(D. G. p. 581.4; Vors. 13, p. 109. 1). 

5 Aét. il. 13. 8 (D. G. p. 342; Vors. 13, p. 111. 25). Cf. Anaximander’s 
πιλήματα ἀέρος. : 


® Aét, ii, 7. 1 (2. G. p. 3353 Vors. 15, p. 111. 5-16). 








CH. Ix PARMENIDES 67 


which encloses them all is solid like a wall, below which is a wreath 
of fire; that which is in the very middle of all the wreaths is solid, 
about which (περὶ 6) [under which (ὑφ᾽ 6, Diels)] again is a wreath 
of fire. And of the mixed wreaths the midmost is to all of them 
the beginning and cause of motion and becoming,‘ and this he calls 
the Deity which directs their course and holds sway (κληροῦχον) 5 
cooks the keys(xAndodxor, Fiilleborn)  , namely Justice and Necessity. 
oreover, the air is thrown off the earth in the form of vapour 
owing to the violent pressure of its condensation ; the sun and the 
Milky Way are an exspiration 5 of the fire; the moon is a mixture 
of both elements, air and fire. And, while the encircling aether 
is uppermost of all, below it is ranged that fiery (thing) which we 
call heaven, under which again are the regions round the earth.’ 


But in addition we are told that 


‘It is the mixture of the dense and the rarefied which produces 
the colour of the Milky Way.’* 

‘The sun and the moon were separated off from the Milky Way, 
the sun arising from the more rarefied mixture which is hot, and 
the moon from the denser which is cold.’® 


The fragments of Parmenides do not add much to this. The 
relevant lines are as follows: 


‘The All is full of light and, at the same time, of invisible 
darkness, which balance each other; for neither of them has any 
share in the other.’ ® 

‘Thou shalt learn the nature of the aether and all the signs in 
the aether, the scorching function of the pure clear sun, and whence 
they came; thou shalt hear the wandering function and the nature 
of the round-eyed moon, and thou shalt learn of the surrounding 
heaven, whence it arose, and how Necessity, guiding it, compelled - 
it to hold fast the bounds of the stars.’ 7 

“(1 will begin by telling) how the earth, the sun and the moon, 
the common aether, the milk of the heaven, furthest Olympus, and 
the hot force of the stars strove to come to birth.’® 


1 I follow the reading adopted by Diels in the Vorsokratiker, ἁπάσαις (ἀρχήν) 
τε καὶ Cairiay) κινήσεως καὶ γενέσεως ὑπάρχειν. 

2 Burnet (Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 219) observes that κλῆρος in the Myth 
of Er suggests κληροῦχον as the right reading. Fiilleborn suggested κληδοῦχον 


_ in view of the use of xAnidas (keys) in Fr. 1. 14. 





* The word ἀναπνοή is of course ambiguous ; I follow Diels’ interpretation, 
* Ausdiinstung’, ‘evaporation’ or ‘exhalation’. Diels (Parmenides Lehrgedicht, 
1897, p. 105) compares ἀναπνοὰς ἴσχον in the Timaecus 85 A. 

* Aét. iii. 1. 4 (D. G. p. 365). 

5 Aét. ii. 20. 8a (D. G. p. 349; Vors. i*, p. 111. 35). 

© Fr. 9 (Vors. i?, p. 122. 11-12). 

7 Fr. τὸ von i’, pp. 122. 21-123. 2). 

® Fr. 11 (Vors. 15, p. 123. 5-7). 


F2 


68 PARMENIDES PARTI 


Of the wreaths he says that 


‘The narrower (wreaths) were filled with unmixed’ fire; those 
next in order to them (were filled) with night, and along with them 
the share of flame spreads itself. In the middle of these is the 
Deity which controls all.’ ? 


It is not surprising that there have been a number of interpreta- 
tions of these passages taken in combination. To begin with the 
outside, there is a doubt as to the relative positions of the ‘ heaven’ 
and the aether. According to Aétius ‘the encircling aether is 
uppermost of all, and below it is ranged that fiery thing which 
we call heaven’, whereas the fragments suggest that the ‘common 
aether’ is within the ‘encircling heaven’ or ‘furthest Olympus’, 
which latter clearly seems to be the solid envelope compared to 
a wall. The fragments presumably better represent Parmenides’ 
own statement, and possibly Aétius’s version (which seems practi- 
cally to interchange the ‘ heaven’ and the ‘aether ’) is due to some 
confusion. 

The next question is, what was the shape of the ‘wreaths’ or 
bands?* Zeller, in view of the spherical form of the envelope, 
does not see how they can be anything but hollow globes.’ But 
surely ‘wreaths’ or ‘garlands’, i.e. bands, would not in that case 
be a proper description. Tannery® takes them to be cylindrical 
bands fixed one inside the other, comparing with our passage the 
description in Plato’s Myth of Er,’ where ‘the distaff of Necessity 
by means of which all the revolutions of the universe are kept up’ 
distinctly suggests that Plato had Parmenides’ system in mind; 
Plato there speaks of eight whorls (σφόνδυλοι), one inside the other, 
‘like those boxes which fit into one another,’ and of the Zs of 

1 Reading dxpyrow, The reading ἀκρίτοιο (literally ‘ confused’ or ‘ undistin- 
guishable’, that is to say, dz/u¢ed fire) is impossible, because (1) it does not give 
the required sense, and (2) it offends against prosody, since ¢ in ἄκριτος is short 
(Diels, Parmenides Lehrgedicht, p. 104). 

2 Fr. 12 (Vors. 13, p. 123. 18-20). 

® Zeller (i°, p. 573) gives references to the explanations suggested by Brandis, 
Karsten, and Krische. More recent views (those of Tannery, Diels, Berger, 
and Otto Gilbert) are referred to in the text above. © 

* στεφάνη is sometimes translated as ‘crown’; but this rendering is open to 
the objection of suggesting a definite shape. Moreover, it is inapplicable to 
a series of wreaths or bands entwined the one within the other. 


® Zeller, i°, p. 572. δ. Tannery, op. cit., p. 230. 
7 Plato, Republic x. 616 D. Υ 


. 








CH. Ix PARMENIDES 69 


the whorls. In the 7imaeus too there are no spheres, but bands 
or strips crossing one another at an angle. We may perhaps take 
the bands to be, not cylinders, but zones of a sphere bisected by 
a great circle parallel to the bounding circles. Burnet? thinks that 
the solid circle which surrounds all the bands cannot be a sphere 
either, because in that case ‘like a wall’ would be inappropriate. 
I do not, however, see any real difficulty in such a use of ‘like 
a wall’, and certainly Parmenides’ All was spherical.* 

We now come to the main question of the nature of the bands, 
their arrangement relatively to one another, and the meaning to 
be attached to them severally. What we learn about them from 
Aétius and the fragments taken together amounts to this. First, 
the material of which they are composed is of two kinds; one is 
alternatively described as the ‘rarefied’ (ἀραιόν), light, flame (φλόξ) 
or fire; the other as the ‘condensed’ (πυκνόν), darkness, or night. 
The bands are of three kinds, the first composed entirely of the 
‘rarefied’ element or fire, the second of the ‘ condensed’ or darkness, 
and the third of a mixture of the two. Secondly, as regards their 
arrangement, we are told that there is a solid envelope, a spherical 
shell, enclosing them all; two bands of unmixed fire are mentioned, 
of which one is immediately under the envelope, the other is about 
(reading περί with the MSS.) or wnder (reading ὑπό with Diels) 
‘that which is in the very midst of all the bands’ and which is 
‘solid’; these two bands are also ‘narrower’ (than something), 
where ‘ narrower’ means that their radii are smaller, that is to say, 
their inner surfaces are nearer (than something) to the centre of. 
the earth, which is the common centre of all the bands. The mixed 
bands, according to Aétius, are ‘ between’ the bands of fire and the 
bands of darkness ; the fragment (12) makes them come next to 
both the ‘narrower’ bands, the bands of fire. 

There seems to be general agreement that the ‘mixed’ bands 
include the sun, the moon, and the planets; it is with regard to 
the meaning and position of the bands of fire, and to the place 
occupied by the Deity called by the names of Justice and Necessity, 
that there has been the greatest difference of opinion. Tannery’s 


1 Plato, Zimaeus 36 B. 3 Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 216. 
* *It is complete on every side, like the mass of a well-rounded sphere poised 
from the centre in every direction’ (Fr. 8. 42-4; Vors. i*, p. 121. 3-5). 


70 PARMENIDES PARTI 


view is that the outermost band of fire under the solid envelope (which 
envelope may be regarded as one of the bands made of the ‘condensed’ 
element) is the Milky Way. In that case, however, the fire is not 
pure; for ‘it is the mixture of the dense and the rarefied which 
produces the colour of the Milky Way’. Tannery would get over 
this difficulty by supposing the band to be only fw// of fire, like 
the hoops of Anaximander, the almost continuous brightness being 
due to exspiration through the covering. But Aétius says that both 
the Milky Way and the sun are an exspiration of fire, and the sun 
is certainly represented by one of the mixed bands, so that the 
Milky Way should also be one of the mixed bands. The band 
of fire which (with the reading περί) is about the solid in the very 
centre of all the bands (i.e. the earth) Tannery takes to be our 
atmosphere. This seems possible, for Parmenides may have re- 
garded air it up as being fire. In Diels’ interpretation a similar 
view seems to be taken of the outermost band of fire which he 
calls ‘aether-fire’; and the assumption that the aether is fire is 
perhaps justified by the fact, if true, that Parmenides declared the 
heaven to be of fire. The intermediate bands consisting of the 
two elements, light and dark, in combination correspond in Tannery’s 
view to the orbits of the moon, the sun, and the planets respectively, 
which (starting from the earth) come in that order; possibly among 
these mixed bands there may be bands entirely dark as well (cf. 
Fr. 12). 

Diels? takes the bands which consist exclusively of the ‘condensed’ 
element to be made of earth simply. There are two of these; 
one is the solid envelope, the solid firmament, ‘Outer Olympus’ ; 
the other is the crust of the earth. Just beneath the solid envelope 
comes the outer band of fire, which is the aether-fire. Next within 
this come the mixed class of bands which are the bands of stars 
containing both elements, earth and fire, not separate from one 
another but mixed together. Such dark rings, out of which the 
fire flashes out here and there, are the Milky Way, the sun, the 
moon, and the planets. After the mixed bands comes the solid 
earth-crust, below which again (reading ὑφ᾽ @, which Diels substitutes 


1 Aét. ii, 11. 4 (D. G. p . 340; Vors. i*, p. 111. 23). 
2 Diels, Vors. ii’, i, p. ‘Gre ; cf. Parmenides οὐ eg εν pp. 104 5644. 





CH. Ix PARMENIDES γι 


for περὶ 6) comes the inner band of fire, which therefore is inside 
the earth and forms a sernel of fire. 

It will be seen that the idea of Anaximander that stars are dark 
rings with fire shining out at certain points is supposed, both by 
Tannery and Diels, to be more or less present in Parmenides’ con- 
ception, though Tannery only assumes it as applying to the Milky 
Way, which he wrongly identifies with the outer band of undiluted 
fire. _ Diels, more correctly, implies that it is the mixed rings made 
up of light and darkness in combination which exhibit the pheno- 
menon of ‘fire shining out here and there’, these mixed rings 
including the Milky Way as well as the sun, moon, and planets. 
It is possible that Aétius’s ‘mixed rings’ may be no more than 
his interpretation of the line in Fr. 12 which says that after the 
‘narrower’ bands ‘filled with unmixed fire’ there come ‘bands 
filled with night and wth them (μετά, which Diels translates by 
‘between’) is spread (or is set in motion, ferac) a share of fire’. 
_ And this line itself may mean either that the bands of night have 
a portion of fire mixed in them, or that each of the bands of night 
has a stream of fire (its ‘share of fire’) coursing through it. If the 
fire were enclosed in the darkness as under the second alternative, 
we should have a fairly exact reproduction of Anaximander’s tubes 
containing fire; but there is nothing in the fragment to suggest 
that fire shines out of vents in the dark covering ; hence the mixture 
of light and dark, with light shining out at certain points (without 
enclosure in tubes), as assumed by Diels, seems to be the safer 
interpretation. 

Tannery and Diels differ fundamentally about the inner band   
of fire. According to the former, it is the atmosphere round the 
earth, and, if the ‘atmosphere’ be taken to include the empty space 
outside the actual atmosphere as far as the nearest of the mixed 
bands, this seems quite possible. Diels, however, (reading ὑφ᾽ 4, 
‘under which’, instead of περὶ 6,‘ round which’), makes it a kernel 
_ of fire zzside the earth and concludes that ‘ Parmenides is for us the - 
first who stated the truth not only as regards the form of the earth 
but also as regards its constitution, whether he guessed the latter 
or inferred it correctly from indications such as volcanoes and hot 
springs’. But it seems to me that there are great difficulties in 

' Diels, Parmenides Lehrgedicht, pp. 105, 106. 


72, PARMENIDES PARTI 


the way of Diels’ interpretation. First, it is difficult to regard 
a kernel of fire, which ‘would presumably be a solid mass of fire, 
spherical in shape, as satisfying the description of a wreath or band. 
Secondly, whereas Fr. 12 speaks of the narrower bands as filled 
with unmixed fire and then of the mixed bands being ‘next to 
these’ (ai δ᾽ ἐπὶ ταῖς νυκτός ...), the mixed bands would, on Diels’ 
interpretation, be next to only one of the bands of fire (the outer 
one) and would not be next to the inner one but would be separated 
from it by the earth’s crust. Diels seems to have anticipated this 
objection, for he explains that it is doth the unmixed kinds of bands 
(i.e. those made of unmixed fire and those of unmixed earth, and 
not only the former, the ‘narrower’ bands) on which the mixed 
bands follow, in the inward direction starting from the outside 
envelope and in the outward direction starting from the centre ;! 
but ταῖς would much more naturally mean the narrower bands 
only. Thirdly, it seems to me to be difficult to assume that there 
is no band intervening between the surface of the earth and the 
nearest of the mixed bands; if there were no intervening band, 
the nearest mixed band, say that of the moon, would have to be 
in contact with the earth, and therefore the moon also, shining out 
of it, must practically touch the earth. Therefore there must be 
some intervening band. But, if there is an intervening band, it 
must be one of three kinds, dense, mixed, or fiery. It cannot 
be a dense band, for, if it were, the sun, moon and stars would never 
be visible; if it were a mixed band, there would again be some 
heavenly body or bodies in the same position of virtual contact 
with the earth; therefore the intervening band can only be a band 
of fire. I am disposed, therefore, to accept Tannery’s view that the 
inner band of fire is our atmosphere with the empty space beyond 
it reaching to the mixed bands. 

If the above arguments are right, the order would be, starting 
from the outside: (1) the solid envelope like a wall; (2) a band 
of fire =the aether-fire; (3) mixed bands, in which are included 
the Milky Way, the planets, the sun, and the moon; (4) a band 
of fire, the inner side of which is our atmosphere, touching the 
earth; (5) the earth itself; which is Diels’ solution except as 
regards (4). 

1 Parmenides Lehrgedicht, p. τοῦ. 





ctx PARMENIDES 73 


Berger! has an ingenious theory as regards the inner band of 
fire round the earth. If I understand him rightly, he argues that 
' the bands in the heaven containing the stars were described in one 
part of Parmenides’ poem, and the zones of the earth in another, 
and that Fr. 12 refers to the zones; that the two descriptions then 
got confused in the Dorographi, and that the inner band of fire 
is really nothing but the ‘orrid zone, which has no business in the 
description at all. Diels has shown that this cannot be correct.? 
Gilbert * disagrees with Diels’ view of the inner band of fire as 
_ a kernel of fire inside the earth; he himself.thinks that there was 
not a band of fire about the earth, but that πυρώδης (with στεφάνη 
understood), ‘a band of fire’, is a mistake for mip,‘ fire’, or πυρῶδες 
in the neuter, and that the meaning is a fire or a fiery space 
_ connected with the earth (περί in that sense being possible) ‘ down- 
wards’, which fire or fiery space he says we must suppose to 
embrace the under surface of the earth’s sphere. 

Lastly, there is a difficulty as to the position occupied by the 
‘ goddess who steers all things’, Justice or Necessity. This mytho- 
logical personification of Necessity and Justice is, of course, after the 
Pythagorean manner,* and reminds us of the similar introduction 
_ of Necessity in Plato’s Myth of Er, which has so many other points 
of resemblance to Parmenides’ theory. Fragment 12 says that this 
_ Deity is ‘in the middle of these’, i.e. presumably ‘these dands’, and 
_ Aétius, that is to say Theophrastus, took this to mean in the midst 
_ of the ‘ bands filled with night but with a share of fire in them’. 
_ Simplicius, on the other hand, takes it to mean ‘in the middle of the 
_ whole system (ἐν μέσῳ πάντων)᾽,5 i.e. in the middle of the whole world, 
clearly identifying the goddess with the central fire or hearth of the 
_Pythagoreans. Diels seems to favour Simplicius’s view, taking the 
centre of the universe to be the centre of the earth,® without, how- 


* Berger, Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen Erdkunde der Griechen, p. 204 sq. 
3 Parmenides Lehrgedicht, p.104. Since the torrid zone, as viewed by Par- 
menides, is twice the size of the zone between the tropics, the ‘ narrower’ zones 
_must be the temperate zones, which requires the impossible reading ἀκρίτοιο ; 
with the true reading dxpyrow, the torrid zone would be ‘broader’, not 
_ ‘narrower’, Besides, Aétius’s paraphrase agrees so closely with the fragment, 
᾿ς especially in the striking introduction of the Deity, that it cannot be regarded 
__as being anything else than Theophrastus’s paraphrase of the verses. 
__ ® Gilbert, ‘ Die δαίμων des Parmenides’, in Archiv fiir Gesch. der Philosophie, 
᾿ Χχ, 1906, pp. 25-45. * Tannery, loc, cit. 
5 Simpl. iz Phys. p. 34. 15 ( Vors. 15, p. 123. 16). 
® Diels, Parmenides Lehrgedicht, pp. 107-8. 


74 PARMENIDES PART I 


ever, attempting to reconcile this with Aétius’s statement that she 
is placed in the middle of the mixed bands. It is in any case 
difficult to suppose that Parmenides treated his goddess who 
‘guides the encircling heaven and compels it to hold fast the 
bounds of the stars’ as shut up within a solid spherical earth with 
no outlet ; the difficulty is even greater than in the Myth of Er, 
where at all events there is ‘a straight light like a pillar which 
extends from above through all the heaven and earth’, and which 
accordingly passes through the place where Necessity is assumed 
to be seated. The statement of Aétius that she is placed in the 
middle of the mixed bands suggested to Berger! the possibility 
that her place was in the sun, in view of the pre-eminent position 
commonly assigned to the sun in the celestial system.? Gilbert 
holds that the goddess had her abode in the fiery space under the 
earth above mentioned; he quotes from other poets, Hesiod, 
Heraclitus, Aeschylus and Sophocles, references to Diké as con- 
nected with the gods of the lower world, his object being to show 
that, in connecting Justice or Necessity with the earth, night, 
and the under-world, Parmenides was only adopting notions 
generally current.*. Gilbert (like Diels) is confronted with the 
difficulty of Aétius’s location of the goddess ‘in the middle of 
the mixed bands,’ and he disposes of this objection by assuming that 
the words were interpolated by some one who wished to find her in 
the sun.*. This, however, seems too violent. 

Both Tannery and Diels specially mention the planets, and Tannery 
makes Parmenides arrange the heavenly bodies in the following order, 
starting from the earth: moon, sun, planets, fixed stars. There 
is, however, nothing in the texts about the bands which distinguishes 
the planets from the fixed stars or indicates their relative distances. 


1 Berger, op. cit., pp. 204, 205. 

2 e.g. Cleanthes (Aét. 11. 4.16) saw in the sun the seat of authority in the 
universe (τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν τοῦ κόσμου) : cf. also such passages as Theon of Smyrna, 
pp. 138. 16, 140. 7, 187. 16; Plut. De fac. in orbe lunae 30, 945 C; Proclus, zn 
Timaeum 258 A, ‘The sun, where the justice ordering the world is placed.’ 

8 Gilbert, loc. cit., p. 36. 

* The text in Diels’ Doxographi (p. 335. 10 sq.) being καὶ τὸ μεσαίτατον 
πασῶν περὶ ὃ πάλιν πυρώδης" τῶν δὲ συμμιγῶν τὴν μεσαιτάτην ἁπάσαις τοκέα πάσης 
κινήσεως καὶ γενέσεως ὑπάρχειν, ἥντινα καὶ δαίμονα κιτ.ἑ., Gilbert would reject τῶν δὲ 
συμμιγῶν τὴν μεσαιτάτην as an interpolation, leaving καὶ τὸ μεσαίτατον πασῶν, 
περὶ ὃ πάλιν πυρώδης (ἢ στεφάνη), ἁπάσαις τοκέα πάσης κινήσεως καὶ γενέσεως 
ὑπάρχειν κιτ.ἕ, 


. 


ΠΘΗΟΙΧ PARMENIDES 75 


i 


  The only passage in the Doxographi throwing light on the matter 
_ is a statement that 


᾿ς *Parmenides places the Morning Star, which he thinks the same 
85 the Evening Star, first in the aether; then, after it, the sun, and 
_ under it again the stars in the fiery (thing) which he calls heaven.’ ὦ 


Tannery thinks that, if Parmenides distinguished Venus, and 
if it was from the first Pythagoreans that he learnt to do so, the 
other planets must equally have been known to the Pythagoreans 
and therefore to Parmenides. Tannery’s view, however, of 
Parmenides’ arrangement of the stars can hardly be reconciled 
with the distinct statement of Aétius that, while Venus is outside 
the sun, the other stars are below it; this, except as regards Venus, 
‘agrees with Anaximander’s order, according to which both the 
planets and the other stars are all placed below the sun and moon. 
Tannery is therefore obliged to assume that Aétius’s remark is an 
‘error based on a too rigorous interpretation of the terms aether 
_and heaven ; this, however, seems somewhat arbitrary. 

_ It remains to deal with the statement of the Doxographi that 
_Parmenides held the moon to be illuminated by the sun: 





_ *The moon Parmenides declared to be equal to the sun; for 
indeed it is illuminated by it.’ ? 

This is the more suspicious because in another place Aétius 
attributes the first discovery of this fact to Thales, and adds that 
Pythagoras, Parmenides, and Empedocles, as well as Anaxagoras 
and Metrodorus, held the same view.* Parmenides was doubtless 
credited with the discovery on the ground of two lines from his 
poem.* The first is quoted by Plutarch : ὃ 





‘For even if a man says that red-hot iron is not fire, or that the 
moon is not a sun because, as Parmenides has it, the moon is 


“a night-shining foreign light wandering round the earth”, 


he does not get rid of the use of iron or of the existence of the 
moon.’ 


? Aét. ii. 15. 7 (2. G. p. 345). 

® Aet. ii. 26. 2 (D. G. "ἢ 357; Vors. i, P- 111. 32). 

3. Aét. ii. 28. 5 (D. G. p. 358; Vors. i*, p. 111. 33). 

4 Fr. 14 and 15 (Vors. 15, p. 124. 6, το). 

5. Plutarch, Adv. Colot. 15, p. 1116 A (Vors. i*, p. 124, 4-7). 


76 ὶ PARMENIDES PARTI 


But, even if the verse is genuine, ‘foreign’ (ἀλλότριον) need not 
have meant ‘ borrowed’; the expression ἀλλότριον φῶς is, as Diels 
says, a witty adaptation of Homer’s ἀλλότριος φῶς used of persons, 
‘a stranger’.2 Tannery thinks that the line is adapted from one 
of Empedocles’, and was probably interpolated in Parmenides’ 
poem by some Neo-Pythagorean who was anxious to refer back 
to the Master the discovery which gives Anaxagoras his greatest 
title to fame. 

Boll,* on the other hand, considers it absolutely certain that 
Parmenides knew of the illumination of the moon by the sun. 
He admits, however, that we cannot suppose Parmenides to 
have discovered the. fact for himself, and that we cannot be 
certain whether he got it from Anaximenes or the Pythagoreans. 
We have seen (p. 19) good reason for thinking that it was not 
Anaximenes who made the discovery; and the only support that 
Boll can find for the alternative hypothesis is the statement of 
Aétius that Pythagoras considered the moon to be a ‘ mirror-like 
_body’ (κατοπτροειδὲς σῶμα). But-this is an uncertain phrase to 
build upon, especially when account is taken of the tendency to 
attribute to Pythagoras himself the views of later Pythagoreans ; 
and indeed the evidence attributing the discovery to Anaxagoras 
is so strong that it really excludes all other hypotheses. 

The other line speaks of the moon as ‘always fixing its gaze 
on the beams of the sun’. This remark is certainly important, 
but is far from explaining the cause of the observed fact. But 
we have positive evidence against the attribution of the discovery 
of the opacity of the moon to Parmenides or even to Pythagoras. 
It is part of the connected prose description of Parmenides’ 
system® that the moon is a mixture of air and fire;’ in other 
passages we are told that Parmenides held the moon to be of fire® 

? Diels, Vors. 112, τ, p. 675 ; Parmenides Lehrgedicht, p. 110. 

3 Homer, ας v. 2143 Od. xviii. 219, &c. 

8 Tannery, op. cit., p. 210. The lines are respectively— 

Νυκτιφαὲς περὶ γαῖαν ἀλώμενον ἀλλότριον φῶς (Parm.). 
Κυκλοτερὲς περὶ γαῖαν ἑλίσσεται ἀλλότριον φῶς (Emped.). 

* Boll, art. ‘Finsternisse’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopadie der classischen 
Altertumswissenschaft, vi. 2, 1909, p. 2342. 

5 Aét. ii. 25. 14 (D. G. p. 357). 

5 Aét. ii, 7. 1 (D.G. p. 335; Vors. ἴδ, p. 111. 5 sqq.). 


7 Ibid. (D. G. p. 335; Vors. i®, p. 111. 13). 
8. Aét. ii. 25. 3 (D. G. p. 356; Vors. 13, p. 111. 31). 








CHIX PARMENIDES 77 


_ and to be an excretion from the denser part of the mixture in the 
. Milky Way; which itself (like the sun) is an exspiration of fire.? 
- More important still is the evidence of Plato, who speaks of ‘the 
fact which Anaxagoras lately asserted, that the moon has its light 
from the sun’.* It seems impossible that Plato should have spoken 
in such terms if the fact had been stated for the first time by 
-Parmenides or the Pythagoreans. 


1 Aét. ii. 20.8 a (D. G. p. 349; Vors. i*, p. 111. 35). 
5 Aét. ii. 7. 1 (2. σ. p. 335; Vors. #, p. 111. 13). 
3 Plato, Cratylus 409 A. 


Χ 
ANAXAGORAS 


ANAXAGORAS was born at Clazomenae in the neighbourhood of 
Smyrna about 500B.c. He neglected his possessions, which were 
considerable, in order to devote himself to science. Some one once 
asked him what was the object of being born, to which he replied, 
‘The investigation of sun, moon, and heaven.’? He seems to have 
been the first philosopher to take up his abode at Athens, where he 
enjoyed the friendship of Pericles, who had probably induced him to 
come thither. When Pericles became unpopular shortly before the 
outbreak of the Peloponnesian war, he was attacked through his 
friends, and Anaxagoras was accused of impiety for holding that 
the sun was a red-hot stone and the moon earth. According to 
one account he was fined five talents and banished ;* another 
account says that he was put in prison and it was intended to put 
him to death, but Pericles got him set at liberty ;° there are other 
variations of the story. He went and lived at Lampsacus, where he 
died at the age of 72. 

A great man of science, Anaxagoras enriched astronomy by one 
epoch-making discovery. This was nothing less than the discovery 
of the fact that the moon does not shine by its own light but 
receives its light from the sun. As a result, he was able to give 
(though not without an admixture of error) the true explanation of 
eclipses. I quote the evidence, which is quite conclusive : 


‘, . . the fact which he (Anaxagoras) recently asserted, namely 
that the moon has its light from the sun.’ ὃ 

‘Now when our comrade, in his discourse, had expounded that 
proposition of Anaxagoras, that “the sun places the brightness in 
the moon”, he was greatly applauded.’ * 


1 Plato, Hippias Major 283 A. 3 Diog. L. ii. 10 (Vors. i*, p. 294. 17). 
8 Plato, Apology 26 D. 4 Diog. L. ii. 12 (Vors. i*, p. 294. 32). 
δ᾽ Ibid. ii. 13 (Vors. i*, p. 294. 42). 5 Plato, Cratylus, p. 409 A. 

7 Plutarch, De facie in orbe lunae 16, p. 929 B (Vors. i*, p. 321. 5-7). 


ANAXAGORAS "9 


‘The moon has a light which is not its own, but comes from the 
sun.’? 

‘The moon is eclipsed through the interposition of the earth, 
sometimes also of the bodies below the moon’? [i.e. the ‘ bodies 
below the stars which are carried round along with the sun and the 
moon but are invisible to us’.*] 

‘The sun is eclipsed at the new moon through the interposition 
of the moon.’* ‘He was the first to set out distinctly the facts 
about eclipses and illuminations.’® 

‘For Anaxagoras, who was the first to put in writing, most 
clearly and most courageously of all men, the explanation of the 
moon's illumination and darkness, did not belong to ancient times, 
and even his account was not common property but was still a 
secret, current only among a few and received by them with caution 
or simply on trust. For in those days they refused to tolerate the 
physicists and star-gazers as they were called, who presumed to 
fritter away the deity into unreasoning causes, blind forces, and 
necessary properties. Thus Protagoras was exiled, and Anaxa- 
_ goras was imprisoned and with difficulty saved by Pericles.’ ὃ 
‘ Anaxagoras, in agreement with the mathematicians, held that 
_ the moon’s obscurations month by month were due to its following 
_the course of the sun by which it is illuminated, and that the 
_ eclipses of the moon were caused by its falling within the shadow 


_ of the earth, which then comes between the sun and the moon, 


_ while the eclipses of the sun were due to the interposition of the 
/ moon,’? 

_ ‘Anaxagoras, as Theophrastus says, held that the moon was 
_ also sometimes eclipsed by the interposition of the (other) bodies 
below the moon.’ ὃ 


Here, then, we have the true explanation of lunar and other 
eclipses, though with the unnecessary addition that, besides the 
earth, there are other dark bodies invisible to us which sometimes 


1 Hippolytus, Refuz. i. 8.8 (from Theophrastus: see D.G. p. 562; Vors. i?, 


Σ 46). 

5 Ibid. i. 8. 9. (D. G. p. 562; Vors. i, p. 301. 47). 

5 Tbid. i. 8. 6 (D.G. p. 562; Vors. i*, p. 301. 41). 

4 Ibid. i. 8. 9 (D. G. p. 562; Vors. i*, p. 301. 48). 

5 Ibid. i. 8. 10 (D. G. p. 562; Vors. 15, p. 302. 3). 

§ Plutarch, Vic. 23 (Vors. i?, p. 297. 40-6). 

7 A&t. ii. 29. 6 (D. G. p. 360; Vors. 13, p. 308.17). I have in the last phrase 
_ translated Diels’ conjecturally emended reading ἥλιον δὲ τῆς σελήνης instead of 


᾿ς μᾶλλον δὲ τῆς σελήνης ἀντιφραττομένης (D.G. pp. 53-4). The difficulty, however, 





  is that, according to the heading, the passage deals with the eclipses of the 
_ moon only. 
8 Aét. ii. 29. 7 (2. G. p. 360; Vors. i*, p. 308. 20). 


80.” ANAXAGORAS PARTI 


obscure the moon and cause eclipses. In this latter hypothesis, as 
in much else, Anaxagoras followed Anaximenes.! 

Whether Anaxagoras reached the true explanation of the phases 
of the moon is much more doubtful. It is true that Parmenides 
had observed that the moon has its bright portion always turned in 
the direction of the sun; when to this was added Anaxagoras’s 
discovery that the moon derived its light from the sun, the explana- 
tion of the phases was ready to hand. But it required that the 
moon should be spherical in shape; Anaxagoras, however, held 
that the earth, and doubtless the other heavenly bodies also, were 


1 The same idea is attributed by Aristotle (De caelo ii. 13, 293 Ὁ 21-25) to 
certain persons whom he does not name: ‘Some think it is possible that more 
bodies of the kind [i.e. such as the Pythagorean counter-earth] may move about 
the centre but may be invisible to us owing to the interposition of the earth. 
This, they say, is the reason why more eclipses of the moon occur than of the 
sun, for each of the bodies in question obscures the moon, and it is not only the 
earth which does so.’ An interesting suggestion has been made (by Boll in art. 
‘Finsternisse’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopadie d. class. Altertumsw, vi. 2, 
p- 2351), which furnishes a conceivable explanation of the persistence of the 
idea that lunar eclipses are sometimes caused by the interposition of dark bodies 
other than the earth. Cleomedes (De motu circulari ii. 6, Ὁ. 218. 8. sqq.) 
mentions that there were stories of extraordinary eclipses which ‘the more 
ancient of the mathematicians’ had vainly tried to explain; the supposed 
‘ paradoxical’ case was that in which, while the sun seems to be still above the 
horizon, the ec/ifsed moon rises in the east. The phenomenon appeared to be 
inconsistent with the explanation of lunar eclipses by the entrance of the moon 
into the earth’s shadow; how could this be if both bodies were above the © 
horizon at the same time? The ‘more ancient’ mathematicians tried to argue 
that it was possible that a spectator standing on an eminence of the spherical 
earth might see along the generators of a cone, i.e. a little downwards on all 
sides, instead of merely in the A/ane of the horizon, and so might see both the 
sun and the moon even when the latter was in the earth’s shadow. Cleomedes 
denies this and prefers to.regard the whole story of such cases as a fiction 
designed merely for the purpose of plaguing astronomers and philosophers ; no 
Chaldean, he says, no Egyptian, and no mathematician or philosopher has 
recorded such a case. But we do not need the evidence of Pliny (V.H. ii, c. 57, 
§ 148) to show that the phenomenon is possible; and Cleomedes himself really 
gives the explanation (pp. 222. 28-226. 3), namely, that it is due to atmospheric 
refraction. Observing that such cases of atmospheric refraction were especially 
noticeable in the neighbourhood of the Black Sea, he goes on to say that it is 
possible that the visual rays going out from our eyes are refracted through falling 
on wet and damp air, and so reach the sun though it is already below the 
horizon ; and he compares the well-known experiment of the ring at the bottom 
of a jug, where the ring, just out of sight when the jug is empty, is brought into 
view when water is poured in. Unfortunately there is nothing to indicate the 
date of the ‘more ancient mathematicians’ who gave the somewhat primitive 
explanation which Cleomedes refutes; but was it the observation of the phe- 
nomenon, and their inability to explain it otherwise, which made Anaxagoras 
and others adhere to the theory that there are other bodies besides the earth 
which sometimes, by their interposition, cause lunar eclipses ? 


CH. X ANAXAGORAS 81 


flat, and accordingly his explanation of the phases could hardly 
have been correct.? 

Anaxagoras’s cosmology contained other fruitful ideas. Accord- 
ing to him the formation of the world began with a vortex set up, 
in a portion of the mixed mass in which ‘all things were together’, 
by his deus ex machina, Nous.2. This rotatory movement began at 
one point and then gradually spread, taking in wider and wider 
circles. The first effect was to separate two great masses, one 
_ consisting of the rare, hot, light, dry, called the ‘aether’, and the 
other of the opposite categories and called ‘air’. The aether or 
fire took the outer position, the air the inner.2 The next step is the 
successive separation, out of the air, of clouds, water, earth, and 
stones. The dense, the moist, the dark and cold, and all the 
heaviest things collect in the centre as the result of the circular 
motion ; and it is from these elements when consolidated that the 
earth is formed.® But, after this, ‘in consequence of the violence of 
the whirling motion, the surrounding fiery aether tore stones away 
from the earth and kindled them into stars.’ Reading this with 
the remark that stones ‘rush outwards more than water’,’ we see 
' that Anaxagoras conceived the idea of a centrifugal force as dis- 
' tinct from that of concentration brought about by the motion of 
_ the vortex, and further that he assumed a series of projections or 
*hurlings-off’ of precisely the same kind as the theory of Kant and 
_ Laplace assumes for the formation of the solar system.® 

Apart from the above remarkable innovations, Anaxagoras did 
not make much advance upon the crude Ionian theories; indeed he 
showed himself in the main a follower of Anaximenes. 

According to Anaxagoras 












‘The earth is flat in form and remains suspended because of its 
size, because there is no void, and because the air is very strong and 
supports the earth which rides upon it.’ ® 

‘The sun, the moon, and all the stars are stones on fire, which 
are carried round by the revolution of the aether.’ 19 


* Tannery, op. cit., p. 278. ? Fragment 13 (Vors. i?, p. 319. 20). 

* Fr. 15 (Vors. 15, p. 320. 11). * Fr. 16 (Vors. 15, p. 320. 20). 

ἢ Hippol. Refut. i. 8. 2 (from Theophrastus); D.G. p. 562; Vors. ιν", p. 301. 
30. ® Aét. ii. 13. 3 (D. G. p. 341 ; Vors. #7, p. 307. 16). 

7 Fr. 16 (Vors. 15, p. 320. 22-3). 

: * Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, p. 176. 

_ 2 Hippol. Refut. i. 8. 3 (D.G. p. 562; Vors. i*, p. 301. 31). 

_ ” Ibid. i. 8. ὁ (Vors. i?, p. 301. 39). 


1410 G 


82 ANAXAGORAS PARTI 


‘The sun is a red-hot mass or a stone on fire.’ ἢ 

‘It is larger’ (or ‘many times larger’*) than the Peloponnese.*® 

‘The moon is of earthy nature and has in it plains and ravines.’ * 

‘The moon is an incandescent solid, having in it plains, moun- 
tains, and ravines.’ ὅ 

‘It is an irregular compound because it has an admixture of cold 
and of earth. It has a surface in some places lofty, in others low, 
in others hollow. And the dark is mixed along with the fiery, the 
joint effect being an impression of the shadowy ; hence it is that 
the moon is said to shine with a false light.’ ® 


Anaxagoras explained the ‘turning’ of the sun at the solstice 
thus: 


‘The turning is caused by the resistance of the air in the north 
which the sun itself compresses and renders strong through its 
condensation.’? 

‘The turnings both of the sun and of the moon are due to their 
being thrust back by the air. The moon’s turnings are frequent 
because it cannot get the better of the cold,’ ὃ 


Again: : 

‘We do not feel the warmth of the stars because they are at 
a great distance from the earth; besides which they are not as hot 
as the sun because they occupy a colder region. The moon is 
below the sun and nearer to us.’ ὃ 

‘ The stars were originally carried round (laterally) like a dome, 
the pole which is always visible being vertically above the earth, 
and it was only afterwards that their course became inclined.’ 19 

‘After the world was formed and the animals were produced 
from the earth, the world received as it were an automatic tilt 
towards its southern part, perhaps by design, in order that some 


1 Aét. ii. 20. 6 (D. G. p. 349; Vors. 13, p. 307. 19). 

2 Aét. ii. 21. 3 (D.G. p. 3513 Vors. i*, p. 307. 20). 

3 Diog. L. ii. 8 (Vors. i*, p. 293. 38). 

4 Hippol. Refuz. i. 8. 10 (D.G. p. 562; Vors. i*, p. 302. 4). 

5 Aét. ii. 25. 9 (D. G. p. 356; Vors. i, p. 308. 10). 

6 Aét. ii, 30. 2 (D. G. p. 361; Vors. 13, p. 308. 12). As Dreyer observes 
(Planetary Systems, p. 32, note), the moon has some light of its own which we 
see during lunar eclipses ; cf. Olympiodorus on Arist. MZe¢eor. (p. 67. 36, ed. 
Stiive ; Zeteor., ed. Ideler, vol. i, p. 200), ‘The moon’s own light is of one kind, 
the sun’s of another; for the moon’s own light is like charcoal (av@pax@des), as 
we can plainly see during an eclipse.’ 

7 Aét. ii. 23. 2 (D.G. p. 352; Vors. i*, p. 307. 20). 

® Hippol. Refuz. i. 8. 9 (D. G. p. 562; Vors. i*, p. 302. 1). 

9 Ibid. i. 8. 7 (D. G. p. 562; Vors. i, p. 301. 42). : 

 Diog. L. ii. 9 (Vors. 13, p. 294. 3). 





CH. xX ANAXAGORAS 83 


parts of the world might become uninhabitable and others inhabit- 
able, according as they are subject to extreme cold, torrid heat, 
or moderate temperature. ἢ 

‘ The revolution of the stars takes them round under the earth.’ 2 


Gomperz®* finds a difficulty in reconciling the last of these 
passages with the other statement that the earth is flat and rests on 
air, in which Anaxagoras had followed Anaximenes. Anaximenes 
seems to have regarded the basis of air on which the flat earth 
rested in the same way as Thales the water on which his earth 
floated ; and Anaximenes said that the stars did not pass under the 
earth but laterally round it. I do not, however, feel sure that 
Anaxagoras could not have supposed the stars to pass in their 
revolution through the basis of air under the earth, although no 
doubt Thales was almost precluded from supposing them to pass 
through his basis of water. If, as Gomperz says, Simplicius * is alone 
in attributing to Anaxagoras’s earth the shape of a drum or cylinder, 
Aristotle as well as Simplicius seems to imply that at all events 
the earth occupied the centre of the universe.® 

_ Anaxagoras put forward a remarkable and original hypothesis to 
explain the Milky Way. As we have seen, he thought the sun to be 
smaller than the earth. Consequently, when the sun in its revolu- 
tion passes below the earth, the shadow cast by the earth extends 
without limit. The trace of this shadow on the heavens is the 
Milky Way. The stars within this shadow are not interfered with 
by the light of the sun, and we therefore see them shining; those 
stars, on the other hand, which are outside the shadow are over- . 
_ powered by the light of the sun, which shines on them even during 
the night, so that we cannot see them. Such appears to be the 
meaning of the passages in which Anaxagoras’s hypothesis is 


explained. According to Aristotle, Anaxagoras and Democritus 
both held that 


_ ‘The Milky Way is the light of certain stars. For when the sun 
is passing below the earth some of the stars are not within its 
vision. Such stars then as are embraced in its view are not seen to 


? Aét. ii. 8. 1 (D. G. p. 3373 Vors. 15, p. 306. 12). 

3 Hippol. Refut. i. 8.8 (D. G. p. 562; Vors. 15, p. 301. 47). 
* Gomperz, Griechische Denker, *, pp. 178, 442. 

* Simplicius on De cae/o, p. 520. 30. 

5 Arist. De caelo ii. 13, 295 a 13. 


G2 


84 ANAXAGORAS PARTI 


give light, for they are overpowered by the rays of the sun ; such of 
the stars, however, as are hidden by the earth, so that they are not 
seen by the sun, form by their own proper light the Milky Way.’ 
᾿ς ‘Anaxagoras held that the shadow of the earth falls in this part 
of the heaven (the Milky Way) when the sun is below the earth and 
does not cast its light about all the stars,’ ? 

‘The Milky Way is the reflection (ἀνάκλασις) of the light of the 
stars which are not shone upon by the sun,’ ὃ 


As Tannery * and Gomperz® point out, this conjecture, however 
ingenious, could easily have been disproved by simple observation. 
For Anaxagoras might have observed the obvious fact, noted as an 
objection by Aristotle,® that the Milky Way always retains the 
same position relatively to the fixed stars, whereas the hypothesis 
would require the trace of it to change its position along with the 
sun; indeed the Milky Way should have coincided with the ecliptic, 
whereas it is actually inclined to it. Again, if the theory were true, 
an eclipse of the moon would have been bound to occur whenever the 
moon passed over the Milky Way, and it would have been easy to 
verify that this is not so. As the Milky Way is much longer than 
it is broad, it would seem that Anaxagoras thought that the flat 
earth was not round but ‘elongated’ (προμήκης), as Democritus 
afterwards conceived it to be,’ though Democritus only made its 
its length half as much again as its breadth.® 

Aristotle ὃ adds an interesting criticism of this theory : ‘ Besides, 
if what is proved in the theorems on astronomy is correct, and the 
size of the sun is greater than that of the earth, and the distance of 
the stars from the earth is many times greater than the distance of 
the sun, just as the distance of the sun is many times greater than 
the distance of the moon, the cone emanating from the sun and 
marking the convergence of the rays would have its vertex not 
very far from the earth, and consequently the shadow of the earth, 


* Arist. Meteorologica i. 8, 345 a 25-31 (Vors. i’, Pp. 308. 26-31). 

2. Aét. iii. 1. 5 (2. G. p . 365; Vors. i*, p. 308. 31 

3 Hippol. on i. 8. és (D. G. p. 561; Vors.i’, p. "302, 5); Diog. L. ii. 9 (Vors. 
» P. 294. 5 

4 Tannery, op. cit., p. 279. 

5 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, p. 179. 

® Aristotle, Meteorologica i, 8, 345 ἃ 32. 

1 Eustathius zm Homer. 11. vii. 446, p. 690 (Vors. ἴδ, p. 367. 42). 

8. Agathemerus, i. 2 ( Vors. 13, p. 393. 10). 

® Aristotle, Meteorologica i. 8, 345 Ὁ 1-9. 


‘ 
  
. 





cH.x ANAXAGORAS 85 


which we call night, would not reach the stars at all. In fact the 
sun must embrace in his view αὐ the stars and the earth cannot hide 
any one of them from him.’ 

According to Proclus,! who quotes the authority of Eudemus, 
Anaxagoras anticipated Plato in holding that in the order of the 
revolution of the sun, moon, and planets round the earth the sun 
came next to the moon, whereas Ptolemy? says that according 
to ‘the more ancient’ astronomers (by which phrase he appears to 
mean the Chaldaeans *) the order (starting from the earth) was 
Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn. 

It seems clear that Anaxagoras held that there were other worlds 
than ours. Aétius,* it is true, includes Anaxagoras among those 
who said that there was only one world; but the fragments must 
be held to be more authoritative, and one of these leaves no room 
for doubt on the subject. According to this fragment 


‘Men were formed and the other animals which have life; the 
men too have inhabited cities and cultivated fields as with us; they 
have also a sun and moon and the rest as with us, and their earth 
produces for them many things of various kinds, the best of which 
they gather together into their dwellings and live upon.’ 

Thus much have I said about separating off, to show that it will 
not be only with us that things are separated off, but elsewhere 
as well.’ 


 Proclus iw Timaeum, p. 258c (on Timaeus 38D); Vors. i*, p. 308. 1-4. 
5. Ptolemy, Syntaxis ix. 1, vol. ii, p. 207, ed. Heiberg. 

* Tannery, op. cit., p. 261. 

* Aét. ii. 1. 2 (D. G. p. 327; Vors. i*, p. 305. 44). 

5. Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, pp. 312, 313. 

§ Fr. 4 (Vors. i*, p. 315. 8-16). 


XI 
EMPEDOCLES 


THE facts enabling the date of Empedocles of Agrigentum to be 
approximately determined are mainly given by Diogenes Laertius.’ 
His grandfather, also called Empedocles, won a victory in the 
horse-race at Olympia in 496/5 B.C.; and Apollodorus said that 
his father was Meton, and that Empedocles himself went to Thurii 
shortly after its foundation. Thurii was founded in 445 B.C. and, 
when Diogenes Laertius says that Empedocles flourished in Ol. 84 
(444/1), it is clear that the visit to Thurii was the basis for this 
assumption. According to Aristotle* he died at the age of sixty; — 
hence, assuming him to be forty in 444 B.c., we should have 484-- 
424 B.C. as the date. But there is no reason why he should be 
assumed to have been just forty at the date of his visit to Thurii ; and 
other facts suggest that the date so arrived at is about ten years too 
late. Theophrastus said that Empedocles was born ‘ not long after 
Anaxagoras’ ;* according to Alcidamas he and Zeno were pupils 
of Parmenides at the same time;* and Satyrus said that Gorgias 
was a disciple of Empedocles.2 Now Gorgias was a little older 
than Antiphon (of Rhamnus), who was, born in 480 B.c.° It 
follows that we must go back az /east to 490 B.C. for the birth of 
Empedocles ; most probably he lived from about 494 to 434 B.C." 

Empedocles is said to have been the inventor of rhetoric;* as 
an active politician of democratic views he seems to have played 


1 Diog. L. viii. 51-74 (Vors. ", pp. 149-53). 

* In Diog. L. viii. 52 (Vors. i?, p. 150. 15). 

* Theophrastus in Simpl. Phys. p. 25. 19 (D. G. p. 477; Vors. i’, p. 154. 33). 

* Diog. L. viii. 56 (Vors. i*, p. 150. 41). 

5 Diog. L. viii. 58 ( Vors. i2, p- 151. 10). 

5 [Plutarch] Vit, X ovat. i. 1. 9, p . 832} (Vors. ii*. 1, p. 546. 25). 

7 Cf. Diels’ ‘ Empedokles und egies » 2 (Berl. Sitsungsb, 1884) ; Burnet, 
Early Greek rhe GAL . 228-9. 

8 Aristotle in Diog. L. vili. 57 (Vors. i?, p. 150. 46). 


EMPEDOCLES 87 


a prominent part in many a stirring incident; he was a religious 
teacher, a physiologist and, according to Galen, the founder of an 
Italian school of Medicine, which vied with those of Cos and 
Cnidus. That he was no mean poet is sufficiently attested by the 
fragments which survive, amounting to 350 (or so) lines or parts 
of lines in the case of the poem Oz Nature and over 100 in the 
case of the Purifications. 

Empedocles followed Anaximenes in holding that the heaven is 

a crystal sphere and that the fixed stars are attached to it.2 The 
sphere, which is ‘solid and made of air condensed or congealed 
by the action of fire, like crystal’? is, however, not quite spherical, 
_ the height from the earth to the heaven being less than its distance 
from it laterally, and the universe being thus shaped like an egg.* 
While the fixed stars are attached to the crystal sphere, the planets 
are ἔτεα. 
_ The sun’s course is round the extreme circumference of the world 
_ (literally ‘is the circuit of the limit of the world’) ;® in this particular 
_Empedocles follows Anaximander. The circuit must be just inside 
' the circumference because, under the heading ‘ tropics’ or ‘turnings’ 
of the sun, Aétius says that, according to Empedocles, the sun is 
_ prevented from moving always in a straight line by the resistance 
_ of the enveloping sphere and by the tropic circles.’ 

A special feature of Empedocles’ system is his explanation (1) of 
day and night, (2) of the nature of the sun. 

(1) Within the crystal sphere, and filling it, is a sphere consisting 
of two hemispheres, one of which is wholly of fire and therefore 
light, while the other is a mixture of air with a little fire, which 
mixture is darkness or night. The revolution of these two hemi- 

1 Galen, Meth. Med. i. 1 (Vors. i*, p. 154. 19-23). 

2 Aét. ii. 13. 11 (D.G. p. 342; Vors. i*, p. 162. 12). 

3 Aét. ii. 11. 2 (D. G. p. 339; Vors. i*, p. 161. 40). 

* Aét. ii. 31. 4 (D. G. p. 363; Vors. i*, p. 161. 34). The statement as to 
_ height and breadth is mathematically inconsistent with the comparison of the 
_ figure to an egg, unless we suppose that Empedocles regarded the section of it 
_ by the plane containing the surface of the earth as an oval and not a circle, 
which does not seem likely. If the said section is a circle, the figure would be 
_ what we call an od/ate spheroid (the solid described by the revolution of an 
_ ellipse about its nor axis) rather than egg-shaped. 


5 Aét. ii. 13. 11 (see above). 
* Aét. ii. 1. 4 (D.G. p. 328; Vors. i*, p. 161. 37) τὸν τοῦ ἡλίου περίδρομον εἶναι 


Ἐ περιγραφὴν τοῦ πέρατος τοῦ κόσμου. 
ΒΕ τ Aét. ii. 23. 3 (2. G. p. 353; Vors. i?, p. 162. 37). 





88 EMPEDOCLES PARTI 


spheres round the earth produces at each point on its surface the 
succession of day and night.1_ The beginning of this motion was 
due to the collection of the mass of fire in one of the hemispheres, 
the result being that the pressure of the fire upset the equilibrium 
of the heaven and caused it to revolve.2 Apparently connected 
with this theory of the two hemispheres is Empedocles’ explanation 
of the difference between winter and summer. It is winter when 
the air (forming one hemisphere) gets the upper hand through 
condensation and is forced upwards (into the fiery hemisphere), and 
summer when the fire gets the upper hand and is forced downwards 
(into the dark hemisphere) ;* that is, in the winter the fire occupies 
less than half of the whole sphere of heaven, while in the summer 
it occupies more than half. The idea seems to be that the greater 
half of the sphere takes longer to revolve about a particular point 
on the earth’s surface than the smaller half, and that this explains 
why the days are longer in the summer than in the winter. We 
are not told what was the axis about which the two hemispheres 
were supposed to revolve, but it seems hardly likely that Empedocles 
could have assumed a definite axis different from that of the daily 
rotation of the heavenly sphere. 

According to Empedocles it was the swiftness of the remalition 
of the heaven which kept the earth in its place, just as we may 
swing a cup with water in it round and round so that in some 
positions the top of the cup may actually be turned downwards 
without the water escaping.t* The analogy is, of course, not a 
good one, because the water in that case is kept in its place by 
centrifugal force which throws it, as it were, against the side of the 
vessel, whereas the earth is presumably at rest in the centre during 
the revolution of the heaven, and is not acted on by such a force. 

Empedocles further held that the revolution of the heaven, which 
now takes 24 hours to complete, was formerly much _ slower. 
At one time a single revolution was only accomplished in a period 
equal to ten of our months; later it required a period equal to seven 


1 Ps, Plut. Stromat. apud Euseb. Praep. Evang. i. 8. 10 (from Theophrastus) ; 
D.G. p. 582; Vors.i*, p. 158. 19-23. 

2 Ps, Plut. Stromat., loc. cit. Vors. i”, p. 158. 33-4). 

5. Aét. iii. 8. 1 (D. G. P- 375; Vors. i*, p. 163. 16). 

* Aristotle, De caelo ii. 13, 295 a 17 (Vors. i’, p. 163. 39). 








CH. XI EMPEDOCLES 89 


of our months. These views have, however, no astronomical basis ; 
they were put forward solely in order to explain the exceptions 
to the usual period of gestation afforded by ten-months’ and seven- 
months’ children, the period being in each case taken as one day ! 

Coming now to Empedocles’s conception of the nature of the sun, 
we find the following opinions attributed to him: 


‘The sun is, in its nature, not fire, but a reflection of fire similar 
to that which takes place from (the surface of) water.’? 

‘There are two suns; one is the original sun which is the fire 
in one hemisphere of the world, filling the whole hemisphere and 
always placed directly opposite the reflection of itself; the other 
is the apparent sun which is a reflection in the other ‘hemisphere 
filled with air and an admixture of fire, and in this reflection what 
happens is that the light is bent back from the earth, which is 
_ circular, and is concentrated into the crystalline sun where it is 
carried round by the motion of the fiery (hemisphere). Or, to 
_ state the fact shortly, the sun is a reflection of the fire about the 
ΘΑ. ὃ 

‘The sun which consists of the reflection is equal in size to 

the earth.’ * 

__*You laugh at Empedocles for saying that the sun is produced 
about the earth by a reflection of the light in the heaven and “ once 
more flashes back to Olympus with fearless countenance ”.’® 


The second of the above passages is scarcely intelligible at the 
point where the reflection is called ‘a reflection iz the other 
hemisphere’; it can hardly be in the other hemisphere because 
that hemisphere is night. Accordingly Tannery conjectures thatthe   
reading should be ‘a reflection (¢zviszb/e) in the other hemisphere ’.6 
The meaning must apparently be that the fire in the fiery hemi- 
sphere is reflected from the earth upon the crystal vault, the 
reflected rays being concentrated in what we see as the sun. The 
equality of the size of the sun and the earth may have been a hasty 
inference founded upon the supposition of an analogy with the 

recently discovered fact that the moon shines with light borrowed 


1 Aét. v. 18. 1 (D. G. p. 427; ΜΝ τ΄, p. 165. 31). 

2. Ps. Plut. Stromat., loc. cit. (D. G. p. 582 ; Ba i*, p. 158. 35). 
3 Aét. ii. 20. 13 (D. a. Ρ. 350; Vors. i*, p. 162. 18-24). 

* Aét. ii. 21. 2 (2. G. p. 351; Vors.i*?, p. 162. 25). 

® Plutarch, De Pyth. or. 12, p. emer i*, p. 188. 8-11). 

* Tannery, op. cit., p. 323. 


90 EMPEDOCLES PART I 


from the sun.!_ The theory that the sun which we see is a concen- 
tration of rays reflected from the earth upon the crystal sphere 
agrees exactly with the statement already quoted that the sun’s 
course is confined just within the inner surface of the spherical 
envelope. Why it is just confined within the tropical circles and 
prevented from deviating further in latitude is not so clear. If, as 
Dreyer supposes,” the airy and the fiery hemispheres, which in turn 
occupy more than half of the heavenly sphere, ‘thereby make 
the sun, the image of the fiery hemisphere, move south or north 
according to the seasons’, it would seem necessary to suppose that 
the advance of the hemisphere of fire in the summer (and its retreat 
in the winter) does not take place uniformly over the whole of its 
circular base (which is the division between the two hemispheres), 
i.e. in such a way that the base of the new hemisphere is parallel 
to the base of the old, but that the advance (or retreat) takes place 
obliquely with reference to the circular base, being greatest at a 
certain point on the rim of that base and least at the opposite 
point, so that the plane base of the new hemisphere is obliquely 
inclined to that of the old; in other words, that the avis of the 
fiery hemisphere changes its position as the advance (or retreat) 
proceeds, and in fact swings gradually (completing an oscillation 
in a year) between two extreme positions inclined to the mean 
position at an angle equal to the obliquity of the ecliptic. But it is 
very unlikely that Empedocles, with his elementary notions hl 
astronomy, worked out his theory in this way. 

It would appear that- Empedocles’ theory of the sun gave a lead 
to the later Pythagoreans, for we shall find Philolaus saying that 
‘there are in a manner two suns .. . unless [in Aétius’s words] 


1 Cf. Plutarch, De fac. in orbe lunae 16, p. 929 E (Vors. i*, p. 187. 21-6): 
‘There remains then the view of Empedocles that the illumination which we 
get here from the moon is produced by a sort of reflection of the sun at the 
moon [the same word ἀνάκλασιν being used in this case]. Hence we get neither 
heat nor brightness from it, whereas we should expect both if there had been 
a kindling and mixing of (the) lights, and, just as when sounds are reflected 
the echo is less distinct than the original sound, .... ‘‘even so the ray which 
struck the moon’s wide orb” passes on tous a reflux which is weak and indistinct, 
owing to the loss of power due to the reflection.’ But, if Empedocles spoke in 
this way of the moon’s light, he could hardly have conceived the light of the 
sun, which is bright and hot, to be a reflection of light in the same sense as the 
light of the moon is; the ‘reflection of light’ which constitutes the sun is more 
like the effect of a burning-glass than ordinary reflection. 

2 Dreyer, Planetary Systems, Ὁ. 25. 


CH. ΧῚ EMPEDOCLES gr 


_we prefer to say that there are three, the third consisting of the 
rays which are reflected again from the mirror or lens [the second 
- sun] and spread in our direction’.! 

Empedocles does not seem to have mentioned the annual motion 

of the sun relatively to the fixed stars, although, as we have seen, 
_ he speaks of the tropic circles as limiting its motion (i.e. motion in 
latitude). 
_ Empedocles, like Anaxagoras, held that the moon shone with 
light borrowed from the sun.2_ The moon itself he regarded as 
‘a mass of frozen air, like hail, surrounded by the sphere of 
fire te or as ‘condensed air, cloudlike, solidified (or congealed) 
by fire, so that it is of mixed composition’. This idea may have 
put forward to account for the apparent change of shape in 
the phases; for we find Plutarch saying that ‘the apparent form 
of the moon, when the month is half past, is not spherical, but 
lentil-shaped and like a disc, and, in the opinion of Empedocles, its 
ctual substance is so too’.® 

The stars he thought to be ‘of fire (arising) out of the fiery 
(element) which the air contained in itself but squeezed out upwards 
the original separation ’.® 
_ We are not definitely told whether Empedocles held the earth 
_ to be spherical or flat. He might, it is true, have adopted the view 
of the Pythagorean school and Parmenides that it was spherical, 
but it is more probable that he considered it to be flat. For we 
are told that he regarded the moon as ‘like a disc’*; in this he 
probably followed Anaxagoras, who undoubtedly thought the earth 
flat, and therefore most probably the moon also. 

He also shared the view of Anaxagoras that the axis of the 
world was originally perpendicular to the surface of the earth, the 
north pole being in the zenith, and that it was displaced afterwards. 
This view Anaxagoras combined with the hypothesis of a flat 














1 Aét. ii. 20, 12 (D.G. p. 349; Vors. i*, p. 237. 39). 
_ ? Fr. 43, quoted in note on preceding page; Aét. ii. 28.5 (D.G. p. 358; 
WVors. 7, p. 162. 48). 
Ε * Plutarch, De fac. in orbe lunae 5, p. 922 C (Vors. 15, p. 162. 43). 
4 * Aét. ii. 25. 15 (D. G. p. 357; Vors. i?, p. 162. 41). 
_ δ᾽ Plutarch, Quaest. Rom. 101, p. 288 B (Vors. i*, p. 162. 45). 
2 5 Aét. ii. 13. 2 (D. G. p. 341; Vors. i, p. 162. το). 
_ * Diog. L. viii. 77 (Vors. i, p. 153. 37); Aét. ii. 27. 3 (D.G. p. 358; Vors. 2, 
4 162. 44). 


92 EMPEDOCLES PART I 


earth; indeed, a flat earth is almost necessary if the axis of the 
universe was originally perpendicular to its surface. Empedocles, 
however, differed from Anaxagoras in his explanation of the cause 
of the subsequent displacement ; whereas Anaxagoras could only 
account for it tentatively by assuming ‘design’, Empedocles gave 
a mechanical explanation :   

‘The air having yielded to the force of the sun, the north pole 


became inclined, the northern parts were heightened, and the 
southern lowered, and the whole universe was thereby affected.’ ? 


‘There are many fires burning beneath the earth’? said 
Empedocles. He seems to have inferred this truth from the 
existence of hot springs, the water of which he supposed to be 
heated, like the water in baths, by running a long course, as it 
were in tubes, through fire.® 

According to Empedocles the sun is a great collection of fire and 
greater than the moon,* and the sun is twice as distant from the 
earth as the moon ἰ5.ὅ 

He was aware of the true explanation of eclipses of the sun, for 
he says that 


‘The moon shuts off the beams of the sun as it passes across it, 
and darkens so much of the earth as the breadth of the blue-eyed 
moon amounts to.’ ® 


With this may be compared his description of night as caused 
by the shadow of the earth which obstructs the rays of the sun 
as the sun passes under the earth.’ 

Empedocles’ one important scientific achievement, so far as we 
know, was his theory that light travels and takes time to pass from 
one point to another. The theory is alluded to by Aristotle in 
the following passages : 


1 Aét. ii. 8. 2 (2. σ. p. 338; Vors. 13, p. 162, 35). 

2 Fr. 52 (Vors. i*, p. 189. 14). 

3. Seneca, Vaz. Quaest. iii. 24, quoted by Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, — 
ate! eam ΝΣ 6) 

log. L. vill. 77 (Vors. i*, p. 153. 36). ' 

5 Aét. ii. 31.1 (D. G. p. ὩΣ : Tors i’, p. 163. 1-3). I follow the text as” 
corrected by Diels after Karsten. The reading of Stobaeus is corrupt. That of 
the ἄναξ says that the moon is twice as far from the sun as it is from the 
earth. 

6 Fr. 42 (Vors. i*, p. 187. 28): cf. Aét. ii, 24. 7 (D. G. p. 354; Vors. i’, 
Ρ. 162. 40). 

7 Fr. 48 (Vors. 13, p. 188. 31). 


[ CH. ΧΙ EMPEDOCLES 93 
ὲ 
ξ 


*Empedocles, for instance, says that the light from the sun 
_ reaches the intervening space before it reaches the eye or the earth. 
- And this might well seem to be the fact. For, when a thing: is 
moved, it is moved from one place to another, and hence a certain 
time must elapse during which it is being moved from the one 
_ place to the other. But every period is divisible. Therefore there 
_ was a time when the ray was not yet seen, but was being trans- 
_ mitted through the medium.’ 
_ *Empedocles represented light as moving in space and arriving 
at a given point of time between the earth and that which surrounds 
it, without our perceiving its motion.’? 









Aristotle of course rejected this theory because he himself held 
a different view, namely, that light was not a movement in space 
but was a qualitative change of the transparent medium which, he 
considered, could be changed all at once and not only (say) half 
at a time, just as a mass of water is all simultaneously congealed.* 
But he had no better argument to oppose to Empedocles than that 
‘though a movement of light might elude our observation within 
a short distance, that it should do so all the way from east to west 
is too much to assume’.* 


* Aristotle, De sensu 6, 446 a 25-b 2. 
3 Aristotle, De anima ii. 7. 418 b21. 
* Aristotle, De sensu 6, 447 a 1-3. 

* Aristotle, De anima ii. 7, 418 b 24. 


ΧΙ 
THE PYTHAGOREANS 


IN a former chapter we tried to differentiate from the astronomical 
system of ‘the Pythagoreans’ the views put forward by the Master 
himself, and we saw reason for believing that he was the first to give 
spherical shape to the earth and the heavenly bodies generally, 
and to assign to the planets a revolution of their own in a sense 
opposite to that of the daily rotation of the sphere of the fixed 
stars about the earth as centre. 

But a much more remarkable development was to follow in the 
Pythagorean school. This was nothing less than the abandonment 
of the geocentric hypothesis, and the reduction of the earth to the 
status of a planet like the others. Aétius (probably on the authority 
of Theophrastus) attributes the resulting system to Philolaus, 
Aristotle to ‘the Pythagoreans’. 

Schiaparelli’ sets out the considerations which may have sug- 
gested to the Pythagoreans the necessity of setting the earth itself 
in motion. If the proper movement of the sun, moon, and planets 
along the zodiac had been a rotation about the same axis as that 
of the daily rotation of the fixed stars, it would have been easy 
to account for the special movements of the former heavenly bodies 
by assuming for each of them a daily rotation somewhat slower 
than that of the fixed stars; if the movement of each of them 
had been thus simple, a moving force at the centre operating 
with various degrees of intensity (depending on distance and the 
numerical laws of harmony) would have served to explain every- 
thing. But, since the daily rotation follows the plane of the 
equator, and while special movement of the planets follows the 
plane of the ecliptic, it is clear that, with one single moving force 

1 Schiaparelli, J precursori di Copernico nell’ antichita (Milano, Hoepli, 
1873), Ρ. 4. 








THE PYTHAGOREANS 95 


situated at the centre, it was not possible to account for both 
movements. Hence the necessity of attributing the daily rotation, 
which is apparently common to the fixed stars and the planets, 
to a motion of the earth itself. But another reason too would 
compel the Pythagoreans to avoid attributing to the sun, moon, 
and planets the movement compounded of the daily rotation and 
the special movement along the zodiac. For such a composite 
movement would take place in a direction and with a velocity 
continually altering and it would follow that, if at a given instant 
the harmonical proportions of the velocities and the distances held 
good, these proportions would not hold good for the next instant. 
Accordingly it was necessary to assign to each heavenly body one 
single simple and uniform movement, and this could not be 
realized except by attributing to the earth that one of the compo- 
nent movements which observation showed to be common to all 
the stars. 

Whether the system attributed to Philolaus was really founded 
_ on arguments so scientific, combining the data furnished by observa- 
_ tions with an antecedent principle based on the nature of things 
_ and on a living spirit animating the world, must be left an open 
~ question. 

_ It is time to attempt a description of the system itself, and 
I think that this can best be done in the words of our authorities. 


Motion round the central fire. 


‘While most philosophers say that the earth lies in the centre... 
the philosophers of Italy, the so-called Pythagoreans, assert the 
contrary. They say that there is fire in the middle, and the earth, 
being one of the stars, is carried round the centre,‘and so produces 
night and day. They also assume another earth opposite to ours, 
which they call counter-earth,and in this they are not seeking explana- 
tions and causes to fit the observed phenomena, but they are rather 
trying to force the phenomena into agreement with explanations 
and views of their own and so adjust things. Many others might 
agree with them that the place in the centre should not be assigned 
to the earth, if they looked for the truth not in the observed 
facts but in @ priort arguments. For they consider that the 
_-worthiest place is appropriate to the worthiest occupant, and fire 
is worthier than earth, the limit worthier than the intervening parts, 
_while the extremity and the centre are limits; arguing from these 
_ considerations they think that it is not the earth which is in the 


96 THE PYTHAGOREANS PART I 


centre of the (heavenly) sphere but rather the fire. Further, the 
Pythagoreans give the additional reason that it is most fitting that 
the most important part of the All—and the centre may be so 
described—should be safe-guarded ; they accordingly give the name 
of “ Zeus’s watch-tower”’ to the fire which occupies this position, 
the term “centre” being here used absolutely and the implication 
being that the centre of the (thing as a) magnitude is also the centre 
of the thing in its nature .... Such are the opinions of certain 
philosophers about the position of the earth; and their opinions 
about its rest or motion correspond. For they do not all take 
the same view; those who say that the earth does not so much 
as occupy the centre make it revolve in a circle round that 
centre, and not only the earth but the counter-earth also, as we 
said before. Some again think that there may be even more 
bodies of the kind revolving round the centre; only they are 
invisible to us because of the interposition of the earth. This they 
give as the reason why there are more eclipses of the moon than of 
the sun; for the moon is obscured by each of the other revolving 
bodies as well, and not only by the earth. The fact that the earth 
is not the centre, but is at a distance represented by the whole 
(depth, i.e. radius) of half the sphere (in which it revolves) con- 
stitutes, in their opinion, no reason why the phenomena should not 
present the same appearance to us if we lived (on an earth) away 
from the centre as they would if our earth were at the centre; 
seeing that, as it is, we are at a distance (from the centre) repre- 
sented by half the earth’s diameter and yet this does not make any 
obvious difference.’ ἢ 

‘The Pythagoreans, on the other hand, say that the earth is not 
at the centre, but that in the centre of the universe is fire, while 
round the centre revolves the counter-earth, itself an earth, and 
called counter-earth because it is opposite to our earth, and next 
to the counter-earth comes our earth, which itself also revolves 
round the centre, and next to the earth the moon; this is stated 
by Aristotle in his work on the Pythagoreans. The earth then, 
being like one of the stars, moves round the centre and, according 
to its position with reference to the sun, makes night and day. The 
counter-earth, as it moves round the centre and accompanies our 
earth, is invisible to us because the body of the earth is continually 
interposed in our way... . The more genuine exponents of the 
doctrine describe as fire at the centre the creative force which from 
the centre imparts life to all the earth and warms afresh the part of 
it which has cooled. Hence some call this fire the Tower of Zeus, 
as Aristotle states in his Pythagorean Philosophy, others the 


1 Aristotle, De caelo ii. 13, 293 a 18-b 30 (partly quoted in Vors. i*, p. 278. 
4-20, 38-40). 


a 


CH. XH THE PYTHAGOREANS 97 


Watch-tower of Zeus, as Aristotle calls it here [De caelo ii. 13], 
and others again the Throne of Zeus, if we may credit different 
authorities. They called the earth a star as being itself too 
_ an instrument of time; for it is the cause of days and nights, 
_ since it makes day when it is lit up in that part of it which 
faces the sun, and it makes night throughout the cone formed by 
its shadow.’ ! 
‘ Philolaus calls the fire in the middle about the centre the Hearth 
_ of the universe, the House of Zeus, the Mother of the Gods, the 
Altar, Bond and Measure of Nature. And again he assumes another 
_ fire in the uppermost place, the fire which encloses (all). Now the 
_ middle is naturally first in order, and round it ten divine bodies 
move as in a dance, [the heaven] and (after the sphere of the fixed 
_stars)* the five planets, after them the sun, under it the moon, 
under the moon the earth, and under the earth the counter-earth ; 
after all these comes the fire which is placed like a hearth round 
the centre. The uppermost part of the (fire) which encloses (all), 
in which the elements exist in all their purity, he calls Olympus, 
and the parts under the moving Olympus, where are ranged the 
five planets with the moon and the sun, he calls the Universe, and 
lastly the part below these, the part below the moon and round 
_the earth, where are the things which suffer change and becoming, 
he calls the Heaven. ? 
_ *Philolaus the Pythagorean places the fire in the middle (for this 
_ is the Hearth of the All), second to it he puts the counter-earth, 
and third the inhabited earth which is placed opposite to, and 
_ revolves with, the counter-earth; this is the reason why those who 
live in the counter-earth are invisible to those who live in our 
earth.’ + 
‘The governing principle is placed in the fire at the very centre, 
and the Creating God established it there as a sort of keel to the 
(sphere) of the All.’® 
‘Others maintain that the earth remains at rest. But Philolaus 
the Pythagorean held that it revolves round the fire in an oblique 
circle in the same way as the sun and moon.’® 














* Simplicius on De caelo ii. 13, 293 a 15, pp. 511. 25-34 and 512. 9-17 Heib. 
(Vors. i*, p. 278. 20-36). 

__# The words are supplied by Diels in view of similar words in a passage of 
_ Alexander Aphrodisiensis quoted below (Alex. on Metaph. 985 Ὁ 26, p. 540 Ὁ 4-7 
_ Brandis, p. 38. 22-39. 3 Hayduck). 
  5 Aét. ἢ. 7.7 (D. G. p. 336-7; Vors. i*, p. 237. 13 sqq.). This and the next 
_ extract probably come from Theophrastus, through Posidonius. 
_ * Aét. iii. 11. 3 (D. G. p. 377; Vors. i*, p. 237. 27 sq.). 
 § Aét. ii. 4. 15 (D.G. p. 332; Vors. i*, p. 237. 31). 
 * Aét. iii. 13. 1,2 (2. Ο. p. 378; Vors. i*, p. 237. 46). 
ΓῚ 


1410 H 





98 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


As regards the assumption of tex bodies we have the following 
further explanations. In a passage of the Metaphysics Aristotle 
is describing how the Pythagoreans find the elements of all existing 
things in numbers; he then proceeds thus : 


‘They conceived that the whole heaven is harmony and number ; 
thus, whatever admitted facts they were in a position to prove in 
the domain of numbers and harmonies, they put these together 
and adapted them to the properties and parts of the heaven and 
its whole arrangement. And if there was anything wanting any- 
where, they left no stone unturned to make their whole system 
coherent. For example, regarding as they do the number ten as 
perfect and as embracing the whole nature of numbers, they say 
that the bodies moving in the heaven are also ten in number, and, 
as those which we see are only nine, they make the counter-earth 
a tenth.’ 


Alexander adds in his note on this passage : 


‘If any of the phenomena of the heaven showed any disagree- 
ment with the sequence in numbers, they made the necessary 
addition themselves, and tried to fill up any gap, in order to make 
their system as a whole agree with the numbers. Thus, considering 
the number ten to be a perfect number, and seeing the number 
of the moving spheres shown by observation to be nine only, those 
of the planets being seven, that of the fixed stars an eighth, and 
the earth a ninth (for they considered that the earth too moved 
in a circle about the Hearth which remains fixed and, in their view, 
is fire), they straightway added to them in their doctrine the 
counter-earth as well, which they supposed to move counter to 
the earth and so to be invisible to the inhabitants of the earth.’? 


Speaking of the sun in an earlier passage, Alexander says: 


‘(The sun) they placed seventh in order among the ten bodies 
which move about the centre, the Hearth ; for the movement of the 
sun comes next after (that of) the sphere of the fixed stars and 
the five movements belonging to the planets, while after the sun 
the moon comes eighth, and the earth ninth, after which again comes 
the counter-earth,’ ὃ 


The system may be described briefly thus. The universe is 
spherical in shape and finite in size. Outside it is infinite void 


1 Aristotle, Metaph. A. 5, 986 a 2-12 (Vors. 15, p. 270. 40-47). 

® Alexander on Metaph. 986 a 3 (p. 542 4 35-b 5 Brandis, p. 40, 24-41. I 
Hayduck). 

* Ibid. 985 Ὁ 26 (p. 540 Ὁ 4-7 Brandis, p. 38. 22-39. 3 Hayduck). 





CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 99 


which enables the universe to breathe, as it were. At the centre is 
the central fire, the Hearth of the universe, called by the various 
names, the Tower or Watch-tower of Zeus, the Throne of Zeus, 
the House of Zeus, the Mother of the Gods, the Altar, Bond and 
Measure of Nature. In this central fire is located the governing 
principle, the force which directs the movement and activity of 
the universe. The outside boundary of the sphere is an envelope 
of fire; this is called Olympus, and in this region the elements 
are found in all their purity; below this is the Universe. In the 
universe there revolve in circles round the central fire the following 
_ bodies. Nearest to the central fire revolves the counter-earth, 
which always accompanies the earth, the orbit of the earth coming 
next to that of the counter-earth; next to the earth, reckoning 
in order from the centre outwards, comes the moon, next to the 
moon the sun, next to the sun the five planets, and last of all, 
_ outside the orbits of the planets, the sphere of the fixed stars, 
_ The counter-earth, which accompanies the earth and revolves 
_ina smaller orbit, is not seen by us because the hemisphere of the 
earth on which we live is turned away from the counter-earth. 
It follows that our hemisphere is always turned away from the 
central fire, that is, it faces outwards from the orbit towards 
_ Olympus (the analogy of the moon which always turns one side 
_ towards us may have suggested this); this involves a rotation of 
the earth about its axis completed in the same time as it takes the 
earth to complete a revolution about the central fire. 

What was the object of introducing the counter-earth which 
we never see? Aristotle says in one place that it was to bring 
up. the number of the moving bodies to ten, the perfect number 
according to the Pythagoreans. But clearly Aristotle knew better ; 
indeed he himself indicates the true reason in another passage 
where he says that eclipses of the moon were considered to be 
due sometimes to the interposition of the earth, sometimes to the 
interposition of the counter-earth (to say nothing of other bodies 
_ of the same sort assumed by ‘some’ in order to explain why there 
_ appear to be more lunar eclipses than solar). The counter-earth, 


  1 Decaelo ii.13,293b21. Cf. Aét.ii.29. 4 (2. σ. Ὁ. 360; Vors.i?, p. 277.46) : 
_ *Some of the Pythagoreans, according to the account of Aristotle and the 
_ statement of Philippus of Opus, say that the moon is eclipsed through reflection 
_ and the interposition sometimes of the earth, sometimes of the counter-earth.’ 

> Η 2 








100 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


therefore, we may take to have been invented for the purpose of 
explaining eclipses of the moon, and particularly the frequency 
with which they occur. 
The earth revolves round the central fire in the same sense as the 
sun and moon (that is, from west to east), but its orbit is obliquely 
inclined ; that is to say, the earth moves in the plane of the equator, 
the sun and the moon in the plane of the zodiac circle. It would 
no doubt be in this way that Philolaus would explain the seasons. 
Next we are told that the revolution of the earth produces day 
and night, which depend on its position relatively to the sun; 
it is day in that part which is lit up by the sun and night in the 
cone formed by the earth’s shadow. As the same hemisphere is 
always turned outwards, it seems to follow from the natural 
meaning of these expressions that the earth completes one revolu- 
tion round the central fire in a day and a night, or in 24 hours.1 
This would, of course, account for the apparent diurnal rotation 
of the heavens from east to west; from this point of view it is 
equivalent to the rotation of the earth on its own axis in 24 hours 
But there is a considerable difficulty here, of which, if we may trust 
Aristotle, the Pythagoreans made light. According to him the 
Pythagoreans said that whether (1) the earth revolves in a circle 
round the centre of the universe or (2) the earth is itself stationary 
at that centre could make no difference in the appearance of the 
phenomena as observed by us. They argued that, even if we 
assume the earth to be at the centre, there is a distance between 
the centre and an observer on the earth’s surface equal to the 
radius of the earth. On their assumption that the earth revolves 
round the centre of the universe, the distance of an observer from 
that centre would be greater than the radius of the earth’s orbit; 
therefore to assert that the phenomena under the two assumptions 
would be exactly the same was to argue in effect that parallax 
is as negligible in one case as in the other. This is a somewhat 
extreme case of making the phenomena fit a preconceived hypo- 
thesis; but we may no doubt infer that the difficulty would lead 
the Pythagoreans to maintain that the distance of the earth from 
the centre of the universe was very small relatively to the distance 


1 Burnet apparently disputes this inference (Early Greek Philosophy, p. 352, 
note). We shall return to the point later. 








CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 101 
of the other heavenly bodies from that centre, and that the radius 


_ of the earth’s orbit was not in fact many times greater than the 


radius of the earth itself.’ 

But a still greater difficulty remains. On the assumption that 
the earth revolves round the central fire in a day and a night, and 
that the sun, the moon, and the five planets complete one revolution 
in their own several periods respectively, the observed movements 
of these heavenly bodies are accounted for. But, since the apparent 
daily rotation of the heavens is due to the revolution of the earth 


_ about the central fire in a day and a night, it would follow that the 


sphere of the fixed stars does not move at all, and therefore it 
could not be said that ‘zen bodies’ (of which that sphere is one) 
revolve about the central fire. 

Boeckh suggested in his Philo/aus that the motion of the sphere 
of the fixed stars could only be the precession of the equinoxes. 
This he thought might have been discovered by the Egyptians,” 
and Lepsius, later, took the same view, even suggesting that the 


_ Egyptians might have communicated the discovery to Eudoxus.® 


3 
ξ. 


Boeckh afterwards, as a result of a study of Egyptian monuments, 


_ withdrew his suggestion ;* but, later still, he seems to have taken 
3 


_ it up again as preferable to the supposition of a very slow movement 


serving no purpose and frankly faked. But, so far as we know, 
Hipparchus was the first to discover precession. Martin passed 
through two stages corresponding to Boeckh’s first and second. 
In his commentary on the Zzmaeus of Plato, Martin observed 
that precession only ‘required long and steady observations, with- 
out any mathematical theory, in order to be recognized’;® but 
Martin, too, changed his opinion later and satisfied himself that 
precession was not known to any of Hipparchus’s predecessors.® 
Schiaparelli thought it probable that Philolaus attributed xo 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, p. 6. 

2 Boeckh, Philolaos des Pythagoreers Lehren, 1819, pp. 118, 119. 
5 Lepsius, Chronologie der alten Aegypter, p. 207. 

* Boeckh, Manetho und die Hundsternperiode, 1845, p. 54. 


᾿ς 5 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée de Platon, ii, p. 98. 


5 Martin, ‘La précession des équinoxes a-t-elle été connue des Egyptiens ou 


de quelque autre peuple avant Hipparque?’ in vol. viii, pt. 1, of Mémotres de 
_ PAcadémie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres, Savants Etrangers, Paris, 1869 ; 


see also Hypothése astronomigque de Philolaus, by the same author, Rome, 1872, 


ΠΡ. 14. ἢ 


102 THE PYTHAGOREANS PART I 


movement to the sphere of the fixed stars,! his ground being the 
following. Censorinus attributes to Philolaus the statements that 
a ‘Great Year’ consists of 59 years, and that the solar year has 
364% days. This gives a Great Year consisting of 21,5052 days, 
which period contains very approximately 2 revolutions of Saturn, 
_ 5 of Jupiter, 31 of Mars, 59 of the sun, Mercury, and Venus, and 
729 of the moon.” If, then, says Schiaparelli, Philolaus had attributed 
any movement to the stars, he would probably have included its 
period in his Great Year; which apparently he did not. Tannery, 
however, has given reason for thinking that the 729 lunations, and 
consequently the 3643 days, were not the result of any independent 
calculation made by Philolaus, but were an arbitrary variation 
from the figures of Oenopides of Chios, of whom we are told by 
Censorinus that he made the year to be 36522 days, so that 59 
years would give 21,557 days or 730 lunations, not 729. Philolaus 
said, as Plato said after him, that the cube of 9 represents the 
number of months in a Great Year, and so it does /ess 1; the 
arbitrary variation is characteristic of the Pythagorean fanciful 
speculations with regard to numbers.® 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 precursorz, p. 7. 
* Schiaparelli (7 Arecursori, p. 8, note) compares the periods of revolution 
based on the figures attributed to Philolaus with the true periods, thus: 





Period of revolution. 
es 2S i. 

Planet. Philolaus. Modern view. 
Saturn 1075275 days 10759-22 days 
Jupiter 4301-10 ,, 433258 ,, 
Mars 693°71 yy 686.98 ,, 
Venus 
Mercury 364-50 , 365-26, 
Sun 
Moon 29°50» 29°53» 


Schiaparelli admits that the number of days for Mars (693-71) is uncertain, 
as it is not clear that Philolaus assumed 31 revolutions of Mars in his Great 
Year. But neither does there appear to be any evidence that he definitely fixed 
the number of revolutions made by the other planets in the Great Year. 

8. Tannery, ‘La grande année d’Aristarque’, in M/émoires de la Société des 
sciences physiques et naturelles de Bordeaux, 3° sér. iv, 1888, p. 90. 

Tannery holds that Philolaus simply took his Great Year, equal to 59 solar 
years, from Oenopides, while Oenopides, arrived at it in a very simple way, 
namely, by taking the number of days in the year as 365, and the period of the 
moon as 29} days, and observing the natural inference that, in whole numbers, 
59 years are equal to 730 lunar months, after which he had only to determine 
the number of days in 730 lunar months. 





CH. ΧΙ THE PYTHAGOREANS 103 


But indeed, as Burnet points out,’ it is incredible that the 
Pythagoreans should have put forward the theory that the sphere 
of the fixed stars is absolutely stationary. Such a suggestion 
would have seemed such a startling paradox that it is inconceivable 
that Aristotle should have said nothing about it, especially as he 
made the circular motion of the heavens the keystone of his own 
system. As it is, he does not attribute to any one the view that 
the heavens are stationary; and, in writing of the Pythagorean 
system, he makes it perfectly clear that the bodies moving in the 
_ heaven are ten in number,” from which it follows that the sphere 
οὕ the fixed stars (which is one of the ten) must move. It may 
be observed, too, that Alcmaeon, whom Aristotle mentions as 
having held views similar to the Pythagoreans, distinctly said that 
‘all the divine bodies, the moon, the sun, the stars, and the whole 
heaven, move continually ᾿.ὅ 

Now, if the Pythagoreans gave a movement of rotation to the 
sphere of the fixed stars, there are three possibilities. The first 
is that they may have assumed the universe as a whole to share 
in the rotation of the sphere of the fixed stars, while the independent 
_ revolutions of the earth, sun, moon, and planets were all 272 addition 
to their rotation as part of the universe. If this were the assumption, 
the rotation of the whole universe might be at any speed whatever 
without altering the phenomena as observed by us; the phenomena 
would present exactly the same appearance to us as they would 
on the assumption that the sphere of the fixed stars is stationary, 
and the planets, sun, moon, earth, and counter-earth have only 
their own proper revolutions round the central fire; only to ἃ 
person situated at the central fire, supposed exempt from the 
general movement, would the general movement of the universe 
be perceptible. Thus the assumption of such a general movement 
would serve no purpose (apart from the objection that it would 
leave the speed of the rotation of the whole universe quite 
indeterminate); indeed, it would defeat what seems to have been 


1 Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 347. 

2 Aristotle, Metaph. A. 5,986.4 10 ra Pepopeva κατὰ τὸν οὐρανὸν δέκα μὲν εἶναί φασιν. 
Cf. the passages of Alexander, quoted above (p. 98); also Simplicius on De cae/o 
293 a 15 (p. 512. 5), ‘ They wished to bring up to ten the number of the bodies 
which have a circular motion (κυκλοφορητικῶν).᾽ 

8. Aristotle, De anima i. 2, 405 a 33. : 


104 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


the whole object of Philolaus’s scheme, namely, to separate the 
daily rotation from the periodical revolutions of the sun, moon, 
earth, and planets, and to account for all the phenomena by simple 
motions instead of a combination of two in each case, 

The second possibility is only slightly different. The sphere of 
the fixed stars might have a movement of rotation and carry with 
it all the heavenly bodies except the earth (and of course its 
inseparable companion, the counter-earth). The effect would be 
that the earth (with the counter-earth) would complete an actual 
revolution round the central fire in a period greater or less than 
24 hours according to the speed and the direction of the rotation 
of the rest of the heavenly bodies ;+ the period would be less than 
24 hours if the latter rotation were in the same sense as that of 
the earth’s revolution from west to east, and greater if it were in the 
opposite sense, from east to west. This alternative is more compli- 
cated than the first, and is open to the same or stronger objections. 

The third possibility is that the sun, moon, planets, earth, and 
counter-earth have their own special movements only, and that 
the sphere of the fixed stars moves very slowly, so slowly that its 
movement is imperceptible. This is the view of Martin? and of 
Apelt,? and it amounts to assuming that Philolaus gave a move- 
ment to the sphere of the fixed stars which, though it is not the 
precession of the equinoxes, is something very like it. If this is 
right, we must suppose that Philolaus gave the sphere of the fixed 
stars a merely nominal rotation for the sake of uniformity and 
nothing else; and perhaps, as Martin says, to assume an imperceptible 
motion would not be a greater difficulty for Philolaus than it was 
to postulate an invisible planet or to maintain that the enormous 
parallaxes which would be produced by the daily revolution of 
the earth about the central fire are negligible. 

It is to be feared that a convincing solution of the puzzle will 


* Martin (7yfothése astronomique de Philolaiis, Rome, 1872, p. 16) compares 
an allusion in Ptolemy's Sy#éaxzs (i.7, p. 24. 11-13 Heib.) to the possibility 
of ‘assuming (as an alternative to a scheme in which the fixed stars are station 
and the earth rotates on its own axis once in twenty-four hours) that do¢/ the 
earth and the sphere of the fixed stars rotate, at different speeds, about one and 
the same axis, the axis of the earth. 

* Martin, /yfothese astronomigue de Philolaiis, pp. 14-16. 

3 Apelt, Untersuchungen iiber die Philosophie und Physik der Alten (Abn. 
der Fries’ schen Schule, Heft 1, p. 68), 


ν 





ha 
" 


~—_ 
rs 


al 


sty. 


CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 508 


never be found. After all that has been written on the subject, 
Gomperz?! still seems to prefer Boeckh’s original suggestion that the 
movement attributed by Philolaus to the fixed stars was actually 
the precession of the equinoxes, but the new matter contained in 
his note on the subject does not help his case. He relies partly 
on the ὦ griori arguments originally put forward by Martin; ‘it 
is’, he suggests, ‘in itself hardly credible that a deviation in the 
position of the luminaries which in the course of a single year 


_ amounts to more than 50 seconds of an arc could remain unnoticed 
- for long’; he is aware, however, that Martin himself, as the result 


of further investigation, could find no confirmation of his earlier 
view. He admits, too, that the Babylonians were still unacquainted 


_ with precession in the third century B.c.2_ The other main argument 


used by Gomperz is that the estimates of the angular velocities 


οὗ the planetary movements which go back to Philolaus or other 
early Pythagoreans are approximately correct, while only prolonged 
observations of the stars could have made them so. But, so far as 
Philolaus is concerned, the data are apparently the same as those 
_ from which Schiaparelli drew the opposite inference, namely, that 
_ Philolaus was not aware of precession and considered the sphere of 
_ the fixed stars to be stationary ! 


Harmony and distances. 

‘Philolaus holds that all things take place by necessity and by 
harmony. ὃ 

“ΤῈ is clear too from this that, when it is asserted that the move- 
ment of the stars produces harmony, the sounds which they make 
being in accord, the statement, although it is a brilliant and remark- 
able suggestion on the part of its authors, does not represent the 
truth. I refer to the view of those who think it inevitable that, 
when bodies of such size move, they must produce a sound; 
this, they argue, is observed even of bodies within our experience 
which neither possess equal mass nor move with the same speed; 
hence, when the sun and moon, and the stars which are so many 


_and of such size move with such a velocity, it is impossible that they 


* Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, p. 93, and note on pp. 430, 431. 
3 Gomperz (p. 431) gives this as the opinion of the highest authority on the 


_ subject, Pater Kugler, who is to argue the point anew in a forthcoming tract, 
_ *Im Bannkreis Babels’. This must be set against the opposite inference drawn 
is by Burnet (Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 25, note) from another work of Kugler’s, 

ool apparently confirmed by Hilprecht (Zhe Babylonian Expedition of the 


niversity of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 1906). 
* Diog. L. viii. 84 (Vors. is, Pp. 233. 33). 


τού THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


should not produce a sound of intolerable loudness, Supposing 
then that this is the case, and that the velocities depending on 
their distances correspond to the ratios representing chords, they 
say that the tones produced by the stars moving in a circle are in 
harmony. But, as it must seem absurd that we should not all hear 
these tones, they say the reason of this is that the sound is already 
going on at the moment we are born, so that it is not distinguishable 
by contrast with its opposite, silence ; for the distinction between 
vocal sound and silence involves comparison between them; thus a 
coppersmith is apparently indifferent to noise through being accus- 
tomed to it, and so it must be with men in general.’? 

‘For (they said that) the bodies which revolve round the centre 
have their distances in proportion, and some revolve more quickly, 
others more slowly, the sound which they make during this motion 
being deep in the case of the slower and high in the case of the 
quicker; these sounds, then, depending on the ratio of their distances, 
are such that their combined effect is harmonious. ... They said 
that those bodies move most quickly which move at the greatest 
distance, that those bodies move most slowly which are at the 


least distance, and that the bodies at intermediate distances move 


at speeds corresponding to the sizes of-their orbits.’ 3 


We have no information as to the actual ratios which the Pytha- 
goreans assumed to exist between the respective distances of the 
earth, moon, sun, and planets from the centre of the universe. 
When Plutarch says that the distances of the ten heavenly bodies 
formed, according to Philolaus, a geometrical progression with 3 as 
the common ratio,? he can only be referring to some much later 
Pythagoreans. For if, on the basis of this progression, the distance 
of the counter-earth is represented by 3, that of the earth by 
9, and that of the moon by 27, it is obvious that the enormous 
parallaxes due to the revolution of the earth round the centre would 


1 Arist. De caelo ii. 9, 290 Ὁ 12-29 (Vors. 13, p. 277. 28-42). Yet when 
Aristotle is trying to prove his own contention that the stars do not move of 
themselves but are carried by spheres which revolve, he does not hesitate to use 
the argument that, if the planets moved freely through a mass of air or fire 
spread through the universe, ‘as is universally alleged’, they would, in conse- 
quence of their size, inevitably produce a sound so overpowering that it would not 
only be transmitted to us but would actually shiver things. He maintains, how- 
ever, that, if a body is carried by something else which moves continuously and 
does not cause actual concussion, it does not produce sound ; hence, in his view, 
the fact that we do not hear sounds from the motion of the planets implies that 
they have no motion of their own but are carried by something (De cae/o ii. 9, 
291 a 16-28). 

* Alexander on Mefaph. A. 5, p. 542 ἃ 5-10, 16-18 Brandis, pp. 39. 24-40. I, 
40. 7-9 Hayduck. 5. Plutarch, De animae procreatione, Cc. 31, p. 1028 Β, 


ν᾿ 


ἄν ὡΣ δε 





= iP? 4 Sees, ae ee 





CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 107 


be quite inconsistent with ‘saving the phenomena’! Moreover, 
the order of the heavenly bodies given in this passage, counter- 
earth, earth, moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, is not the order in 
which they were placed by Philolaus (and by Plato later) but the 
Chaldaean order, which does not seem to have been adopted by any 
Greek before the Stoic Diogenes of Babylon (second century B.C.). 

Of the ‘harmony of the spheres’ there are many divergent 
accounts,* and it would appear that the places and the number of 
the heavenly bodies supposed to take part in it varied at different 
periods. Burnet* suggests that we cannot attribute to Pytha- 
goras himself more than an identification of his newly-discovered 
musical intervals, the fourth, fifth, and octave, with the ¢hree rings 
which we find in Anaximander, that of the stars (nearest to the 
earth), that of the moon (next) and that of the sun (which is the 
furthest from the earth), and that this would be the most natural 


beginning for the later doctrine of the ‘harmony of the spheres’. 


This is an attractive supposition, but it depends on the assumption 
that Pythagoras attributed to the planets and the fixed stars the 
same revolution from east to west; whereas he certainly dis- 
tinguished the planets from the fixed stars, and he must have 
known that their movement was not the same as that of the fixed 
stars (this is clear from his identification of the Morning and 
Evening Stars), even if he -did not assign to the planets the inde- 
pendent movement, in the opposite sense to the daily rotation, 
which Alcmaeon is said to have observed. The original form of 
the theory of the ‘harmony of the spheres’ no doubt had reference 
to the seven planets only (including in that term the sun and moon), 
the seven planets being supposed, by reason of their several motions, 
to give out notes corresponding to the notes of the Heptachord : 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 Zrecursori, pp. 6, 44. 

* I must refer for full details to Boeckh, Studien iii, pp. 87 sqq. (Kleine 
Schriften, iii, pp. 169 sq.), Carl v. Jan, ῥάζίοί. 1893, pp. 13 sqq., and for a 
summary to Zeller, 15, pp. 431-4. 

3 Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 122. 

* Cf. Hippol. Refut. i. 2. 2, (D. G. p. 555), ‘Pythagoras maintained that the 
universe simgs and is constructed in accordance with a harmony ; and he was 
the first to reduce the motion of the seven heavenly bodies to rhythm and song’; 
Censorinus, De die matalz 13. 5, ‘ Pythagoras showed that the whole of our 


_ world constitutes a harmony. Accordingly, Dorylaus wrote that the world 


is an instrument of God ; others added that it is a heptachord, because there 
are seven planets which have the most motion.’ 


108 THE PYTHAGOREANS PART I 


it could not have related to the 2272: heavenly bodies of the Pytha- 
gorean system, for this would have required ten notes, whereas the 
Pythagorean theory of tones only recognized the seven notes of 
the Heptachord. This may, as Zeller says,! be the reason why 
Philolaus himself, so far as we can judge from the fragments, said 
nothing about the harmony of the spheres. Aristotle, however, 
clearly implies that in the harmony of the Pythagoreans whom he 
knew the sphere of the fixed stars took part ; for he speaks of the 
intolerable noise which, on the assumption that the motion of the 
heavenly bodies produced sound, would be caused by ‘the stars 
which are so many in number and so great.’ Consequently eight 
notes are implied: and accordingly we find Plato (in Republic x) 
including in his harmony eight notes produced* by the sphere 
of the fixed stars and by the seven planets respectively, and 
corresponding to the Octachord, the eight-stringed lyre which had 
been invented in the meantime. The old theory being that all the 
heavenly bodies revolved in the same direction from east to west, 


only the planets revolved more slowly, their speeds diminishing in — 


the order of their distances from the sphere of the fixed stars, 
which rotates once in about 24 hours, it would follow that Saturn, 
being the nearest to the said sphere, would be supposed to move the 
most quickly; Jupiter, being next, would be the next quickest ; 
Mars would come next, and so on; while the moon, being the 
innermost, would be the slowest; on this view, therefore, the note 
of Saturn would be the highest (νήτη), that of Jupiter next, and so 
on, that of the moon being the lowest (ὑπάτη) ; and the speeds 


determining this order are absolute speeds in space. Nicomachus,® ἃ 


though he mentions that his predecessors assigned notes to the 
seven planets in this order, himself took the opposite view, 
placing the moon’s tone as the highest and Saturn’s as the lowest 
(incidentally he places the sun in the middle of the seven instead 
of next to the moon as the older system did). Nicomachus’s order 
is explicable if we assume that the independent revolutions of the 
planets (in their orbits) was the criterion for the assignment of the 
notes; for the moon describes its orbit the quickest (in about 
a lunar month), the sun the next quickest (in a year), and so on, 
Saturn being the slowest in describing its orbit; these speeds are 


1 Zeller, i®. p.432,note2. ἢ Aristotle, De caeloii.9,290b18 es i*, p.277. 33). 
* Nicomachus, Harm. 6. 33sq.; cf. Boethius, 7152, AZus, i. 27 


— = ee EE ee ee ee 








᾿ς CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 109 


relative speeds, i.e. relative to the sphere of the fixed stars regarded 
as stationary. The adsolute and relative angular speeds of the 
planets are of course connected in the following way: for any one 
planet its absolute speed is the speed of the sphere of the fixed stars 
minus the relative speed of the planet ; hence their order in respect 
of absolute speed is the reverse of their order in respect of relative 
speed and,so long as only the seven planets (including the sun 
and moon) come into the scale of notes, it is possible to assign 
notes to them in either order. But this is no longer the case when 
the sphere of the fixed stars is brought in as having a note of its 
own, making altogether eight notes corresponding to the Octachord. 
_ The speed of the fixed stars is of course an absolute speed, and it is 
faster than either the absolute or relative speed of any of the 
_ planets; it must, therefore, give out the highest note (νήτη). Now, 
in assigning the rest of the notes, we cannot take the re/ative speeds 
_ of the planets for the purpose of comparison with the absolute 
_ speed of the sphere of the fixed stars; we must compare like with 
_ like; and indeed, on the hypothesis that the body which moves 
_ more swiftly gives out a higher note than the body which moves 
more slowly, it is only the absolute speed of the heavenly bodies 
im space, and nothing else, which can properly be taken as deter- 
Mining the order of their notes. Now Plato says! in the Myth of 
Er that eight different notes forming a harmony are given out by 
the Sirens seated on the eight whorls of the Spindle, which repre- 
sent the sphere of the fixed stars and the seven planets, and that, 
while all the seven inner whorls (representing the planets) are carried 
round bodily in the revolution of the outermost whorl (representing 
the sphere or circle of the fixed stars), each ofthe seven inner 
whorls has a slow independent movement of its own in a sense 
opposite to that of the movement of the whole, the second whorl 
starting from the outside (the first of the seven inner ones) which 
represents Saturn having the slowest movement, the third repre- 
senting Jupiter the next faster, the fourth representing Mars the 
_ next faster, the fifth, sixth, and seventh, which represent Mercury, 
_ Venus, and the Sun respectively and which go ‘together’ (i.e. have 
_ the same angular speed) the fastest but one, and the eighth repre- 
_ senting the moon the fastest of all. Plato, therefore, while speaking 


1 Plato, Republic x. 617 A-B. 


110 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


of absolute angular speed in the case of the circle of the fixed stars, 
refers to the relative speed in the case of the seven planets. To 
get the order of his tones therefore we must turn the relative speeds 
of the planets into absolute speeds by subtracting them respectively 
from the speed of the circle of the fixed stars, and the order of 
their respective notes is then as follows: 


Circle of fixed stars . . . highest note (νήτη) 
Saturn 
Jupiter 
Mars 
Mercury 
Venus 
Sun 
Moon ... . . . lowest note (éaérn). 
1 Dr. Adam, in his edition of the Republic (vol. ii, p. 452), supposes that, after 


the circle of the fixed stars giving the highest note, the seven planets would 
come in the order of their re/ative velocities, thus— 


Circle of the fixed stars . . . highest note (νήτη) 


6 Moon 

EP Sun 

” Venus © + = pean 

τ: Mercury 

sd Mars 

ἣν Jupiter 

Pe Saturn . . . . lowest note (ὑπάτη) 


For the reason given above, I do not think it possible that Plato, who was 
a mathematician, would have assigned the notes to the eight circles in this 
order, though it is likely enough that, when writing the passage, he had not 
in his mind any definite allocation of notes at all. A further difficulty in the 
way of Adam’s order is the following. He observes that, if we understand 
‘together’ (ἅμα ἀλλήλοις), used of the motion of the sun, Venus, and Mercury, 
in a strict sense, there will only be six notes, as the three bodies will have the 
same note. He gets over this difficulty quite properly by supposing that Plato 
really had in his mind the period taken by the three bodies in describing their 
orbits, in other words, their amgu/ar velocity, rather than their linear velocity. 
‘In that case the octave will be complete, because, in order to complete their 
orbits in the same time, the sun, Venus, and Mercury will have to travel at 
different rates of speed.’ True ; but, as the planet with the longer orbit must 
have a /inear velocity greater than the planet with the shorter orbit, it follows 
that the linear velocity of Venus in the above scheme will be greater than that 
of the sun, and the linear velocity of Mercury greater than that of Venus. Thus 
the supposed linear velocities, instead of diminishing all the way from the circle 
of the fixed stars down to Saturn in the above table, will diminish from the 
circle of the fixed stars down to the sun, but will zzcrease after that down to 
Mercury, before they diminish again with Mars and the rest; and this upsets 
the proper order of the notes altogether. On the other hand, with the arrange- 
ment according to absolute speeds, as in the text above, the linear velocities of 
Mercury, Venus, and the sun come in the correct diminishing order. 


ν 


— a ee 


a 














CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS ΤΙΙ 


This order agrees with Cicero’s arrangement, in which the highest 

circle, that of the fixed stars, has the highest note and the moon 
_ the lowest." 
_ Although Alexander clearly says that, in the Pythagorean theory 
of the harmony of the spheres, the different notes correspond to 
the ratios of the distances of the heavenly bodies, we have little 
or no authentic information as to how the early Pythagoreans 
translated the theory into an actual estimate of the relative 
_ distances? It is true that some later writers such as Censorinus 
and Pliny give some definite ratios of distances and, as usual, refer 
_ them back to Pythagoras himself; but their statements contain 
such an admixture of elements foreign to the early Pythagorean 
theory that no certain conclusion can be drawn. 

Plato implies, in his Myth of Er, that the breadths of the whorls 
_ of the spindle represent the distances separating successive planets, 
_ but he does not do more than state the order of magnitude in 
_ which the successive distances come ; he makes no attempt to give 
_ absolute ratios between them. 

Tannery* ingeniously conjectures that Eudoxus’s view of the 
ratio of the distances of the sun and moon from the earth, which 
he put at 9:1, may have been suggested or confirmed by the 
theory of the harmony. The original discovery of the octave, 
the fourth and the fifth, stated in one of its forms,‘ showed that 
they represented ratios of lengths of string assumed to be under 
equal tension as follows, namely 1:2, 3:4, and 2:3 respectively. 
Bringing these ratios to their least common denominator, we see 
that strings at equal tension and of lengths 6, 8, 9, 12 respectively 
give the three intervals. The interval between the first and second 
strings being a fourth, and that between the first and third a fifth, 
the interval between the second and third is a tone, which may 
therefore be regarded as represented by the difference between 

1 Cicero, Somn. Scip. c. 5. 

3 Alexander’s own figures (Alex. on Metaph. 986 a 2, p. 542 a 12-15 Brandis, 
Ῥ. 40. 3-6 Hayduck) seem to be illustrations only: ‘The distance of the sun 
from the earth being, say [φέρε εἰπεῖν), double the distance of the moon, that of 
Aphrodite triple, and that of Hermes quadruple, they considered that there was 
some arithmetical ratio in the case of each of the other planets as well.’ The 
ratios of I, 2, 3, 4 for the distances of the moon, the sun, Venus, and Mercury 
are the same as those indicated by Plato in the 7zmaeus 36D. 


3 Tannery, Recherches sur [histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, pp. 293, 328. 
* Cf. Theon of Smyrna, pp. 59. 21-60. 6, ed. Hiller; Boethius, /nst. Mus. i. το. 


112 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


9 and 8, or 1. Now the Didascalia caelestis of Leptines, known as 
Ars Eudoxi, which was written in Egypt between 193 and 165 B.C. 
contains a number of things derived from Eudoxus, and the ratio 
of the distance of the sun from the earth to the distance of the moon 
from the earth is there said to correspond to the relation of the fifth 
to the tone.’ If we take the respective notes as represented by the 
above numbers, the ratio of the fifth to the tone is 9: (9 --- 8), or 9:1. 

It would appear from passages in Theon of Smyrna? and 
Achilles,’ doubtless taken in substance from Adrastus or Thrasyllus, 
that the harmony was next spoken of in poems by Aratus and 
Eratosthenes (third century B.C.); but there is no indication that 
they did more than point out the correspondence between -the 
planets, in their order from the moon to Saturn or to the sphere 
of the fixed stars, and the notes of the heptachord or octachord 
from the ὑπάτη, the lowest, to the νήτη, the highest (Etatosthenes 
certainly took the octachord for this purpose).* 


Achilles tells us that, after Aratus and Eratosthenes, and before 


Adrastus and Thrasyllus, Hypsicles the mathematician (the author 
of the so-called Book XIV of Euclid) treated of the question of 
the harmony of the spheres; and he proceeds to give, as generally 
accepted by musicians, a remarkable musical scale in which an 
octave is divided into eight intervals and nine notes (including the 
two extreme notes of the octave), the nine notes corresponding 
to the sphere of the fixed stars, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, 
Venus, Sun, Moon, and Earth respectively, in that order, This 
scale is the same as that described in verses quoted by Theon 
of Smyrna from one Alexander (who was not Alexander of 
Aetolia, as Theon wrongly calls him, but Alexander of Ephesus, 
a contemporary of Cicero, or possibly, as Chalcidius calls him, 
Alexander of Miletus, Alexander Polyhistor). The only difference 

The text, indeed, of Leptines has to be filled out in order to get this, and it 
is the sizes of the sun and moon, not their distances respectively from the earth, 
that are mentioned (though the effect is the same on the assumption that their 
apparent angular diameters are equal). The sentence as corrected by Tannery 
is ‘Thus the sun is greater than the moon, and the moon greater than ‘he 
part of ) the earth (which sees the eclipse); the ratio is that of the fifth to (the 
difference between the fifth and) the fourth,’ 

2 Theon of Smyrna, pp. 105. 13-106. 2; pp. 142. 7 sqq. 

8 Petav. Uranolog. p. 136; see Tannery, Recherches sur l’histoire de l’astro- 


nomie ancienne, Ὁ. 330. 
* Theon of Smyrna, loc. cit. 


ΕΟ EE δ δδννυν.. ἰδ ῥενννονμἐ. κ... ὐμμ νμνὰω....- 


Tia 


 CH.XxI THE PYTHAGOREANS 113 


_ is that Alexander has the later order for the planets, his order 


J 








being: sphere of fixed stars, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sun, Venus, 
Mercury, Moon, Earth. Tannery infers that this peculiar division 


_ of the octave, with the order of the planets as given by Achilles, 


is due to Hypsicles.? 

Theon of Smyrna criticizes this peculiar scale of nine notes as 
described by Alexander. First, he observes that in the last of 
the verses Alexander says the heptachord is the image of the 
world, whereas he has made an octave, consisting of six tones, out 


of wine strings; his notes therefore do not. correspond to the 
_ diatonic scale. Again, the lowest note is given to the earth, 
_ whereas, being at rest, it gives out no sound. The sun, too, is 


given the ‘middle’ note (μέση), whereas the interval from the 
lowest (ὑπάτη) to the ‘middle’ is not a fifth but a fourth; and 


so on. 

_ The scale, however, of nine notes with the sun in the middle, 
_ as Alexander has it, is apparently the common foundation of three 
  _ scales of eight intervals given by Censorinus,* Pliny, and Martianus 


~ Capella’ respectively, who apparently got them from a work of 
the encyclopaedic writer Varro (116-27 B.C.). The three scales 


_ given by these three authors differ slightly in that Censorinus’s 


eight intervals add up to 6 tones (the proper amount), Pliny’s to 
7 tones, and Martianus Capella’s to 6% tones; the differences may, 
‘Tannery thinks, be due to errors in the MSS. of Varro, whence 
the one scale which is the foundation of all three was taken. We 
need only set down Censorinus’s version, which is: 








From Earth to Moon I tone) , 
Moon to Mercury 3 
᾽ν ” 1 
». Wenus to Sun ey 
» Sun to Mars Tet >} 
Mars to Jupiter 3 
” ee 1 
τ 2 
, Jupiter to Saturn ΕΣ -25 tones (a fourth) 
»  Saturntofixedstars 2 , 
t 6 tones 
_ 1 Theon of Smyrna, pp. 140. 5-141. 4. ‘ Tannery, loc. cit. 
3 Censorinus, De die matali 13. 3-5. * Pliny, W. H. ii, c. 22, ὃ 84. 


® Mart. Capella, De nuptits philologiae et Mercurii, ii. 169-98. 


1410 I 


114 THE PYTHAGOREANS PARTI 


The difference between this and Pliny’s scale is that Pliny takes 
the distance from Saturn to the sphere of the fixed stars to be 
1% tones instead of half a tone, so that with him the distance 
between the sun and the fixed stars is 34 tones, or a fifth instead 
of a fourth. Both Censorinus and Pliny make the interval from the 
earth to the sun to be a fifth, and from the earth to the moon one tone, 
wherein they agree with the view attributed by Tannery to Eudoxus. 

Both Pliny and Censorinus add a further detail which apparently 
must have come from some source other than the poem of 
Alexander; this is that Pythagoras made the actual distance 
between the moon and the earth, which he called one tone, to 
be 126,000 stades. This would of course enable the other distances 
between the heavenly bodies to be calculated on the basis of the 
scale; e.g. the distance from the earth to the sun would be 3% 
times 126,000 stades, and so on. But this evaluation of the 
distance from the earth to the moon, 126,000 stades, is exactly 
half of 252,000 stades, which is the estimate of the circumference 
of the earth made by Eratosthenes and Hipparchus, This exact 
coincidence is enough to make it plain that the 126,000 stades 
does not go back to Pythagoras, and can hardly have been 
suggested before the second century B.C, 

Pliny, however, in a passage immediately preceding that in 
which he describes his scale, says that Pythagoras made the 
distance from the earth to the moon 126,000 stades, the distance 
from the moon to the sun twice that distance, and the distance from 
the sun to the sphere of the fixed stars thrice the same distance." 
Pliny is here evidently quoting from a quite different authority ; 
as he says that Sulpicius Gallus was of the same opinion, he would 
appear to be citing some book by Sulpicius Gallus, who may have 
got it from some tradition which cannot now be traced. 

It is no doubt possible that, if Pythagoras did not estimate the 
distance of the moon from the earth in stades, he may have 
expressed it in terms of the circumference of the earth. But, seeing 
that Anaximander had already estimated the radius of the orbit of 


the moon at 18 times the radius of the earth, how could Pythagoras © 


have put the distance of the moon so low as half the circumference 
of the earth, or about 3 times the earth’s radius? Tannery 
1 Pliny, V.H. ii, c. 21, ὃ 83. 


i as 


CH, XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 115 


conjectures that in the number οὗ stades (126,000) given by Varro 

there is a mistake, mz/ia having been written instead of myriads 

(pupiddes); in that case the source from which Varro drew might 

have given the distance of the moon as Io times the half- 

circumference of the earth. Hultsch,) however, thinks it incredible 
_ that milia could have been written in error for μυριάδες ; and even 
_ if it had been, and the moon’s distance were thus made up to about 
_ 30 times the earth’s radius, the absurdity would still be left that 
the sun’s distance is only 35 times as great. 

It is true, as Martin observes,” that the sounding by the planets 
of all the notes of an octave at once would produce no ‘harmony’ 
in our sense of the word; but the Pythagoreans would not have 
‘been deterred by this consideration from putting forward their 
fanciful view.* We have, it is true, allusions to other arrangements 
of the notes which would make them cover more than an octave, 
but these must have been later than Plato’s time. Thus Plutarch 
speaks of one view which made the seven planets correspond to 
the seven invariable strings of the fifteen-stringed lyre, and of 
another which made their distances correspond to the five tetra- 
chords of the complete system.* Anatolius® has a peculiar 
‘distribution of tones between the heavenly bodies which gives 


Ψ 


altogether two octaves and a tone. Macrobius® bases his view 
on the successive numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 27 applied to the planets 
in the 7imaeus and supposed to represent their relative distances 
from the earth; Macrobius makes the first four (from 1 to 4) cover 
two octaves, and he seems to make the seven notes cover, in all, 


four octaves, a fifth, and one tone.” 




















The Sun. 


‘The Pythagoreans declared the sur to be spherical.’§ 
*Philolaus the Pythagorean holds that the sun is transparent like 
glass, and that it receives the reflection of the fire in the universe 


+ Hultsch, Poseidonios iiber die Grisse und Entfernung der Sonne, Berlin, 

1897, p. I1, note I. 
Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, p. 37. 3 Zeller, 15, p. 432, note. 

_ * Plutarch, De animae procr. c. 32, p. 1029 A, B. The five distances are 
( Moon to Sun with its concomitants Mercury and Venus, (2) Sun, ἄς. to Mars, 
(3) Mars to Jupiter, (4) Jupiter to Saturn, (5) Saturn to sphere of fixed stars. 
_ ® Anatolius in Iambl. Theol. Ar. p. 56; cf. Zeller, loc. cit. 
_ § Macrobius, Jz Somn. δεῖ. ii, cc. 1, 2. 
_ 7 Zeller, ii*, pp. 777 544. ® Aét. ii. 22. 5 (22. G. p. 352). 
I2 


116 THE PYTHAGOREANS PART I 


and transmits to us both light and warmth, so that there are in 
some sort two suns, the fiery (substance) in the heaven and the fiery 
(emanation) from it which is mirrored, as it were, not to speak of 
a third also, namely the beams which are scattered in our direction 
from the mirror by way of reflection (or refraction); for we give 
this third also the name of sun, which is thus, as it were, an image 
of an image.’ ! 

‘ Philolaus says that the sun receives its fiery and radiant nature 
from above, from the aethereal fire, and transmits the beams to us 
through certain pores, so that according to him the sun is triple, 
one sun being the aethereal fire, the second that which is transmitted 
from it to the glassy thing under it which is called sun, and the 
third that which is transmitted from the sun in this sense to us.’* 


Thus, according to Philolaus, the sun was not a body with light 
of its own, but it was of a substance comparable to glass, and it 
concentrated rays of fire from elsewhere, and transmitted them to 
us. This idea was no doubt suggested in order to give a uniform 
nature to all the moving heavenly bodies. But there are difficulties 


in the descriptions above given of the sources of the beams οὔ 


fire. The natural supposition would be that they would come 
from the central fire; in that case the sun would act like a mirror 
simply; and the phenomena would be accounted for because the 
beams of the fire would always reach the sun except when ob- 
structed by the moon, earth, or counter-earth, and, as the earth and 
counter-earth move in a different plane from the sun and moon, 
eclipses would occur at the proper times. But the first of the above 
passages says that the beams come from the fire in the wiverse, 
and that one of the suns is the fiery substance in the Aeaven, while 
the second passage says that the beams come from adove, from the 
fire of the aether. Burnet takes ‘heaven’ in the narrow sense of the 
‘ portion of the universe below the moon and round about the earth’ 
which, according to the Doxographi, was called ‘heaven’,® and he 
thinks that ‘the fire in the heaven’ is therefore exclusively the 
central fire But this leaves out of account the alternative term 
‘the fire in the universe’ and also Achilles’ ‘ fire from adove’; and, 


' Aét. ii, 20. 12 (D.G. p. 349, 350; Vors. i*, p. 237. 36). 

2 Achilles, Jsugoge in phaenomena (Petav. Uranolog., p. 138; D. G. 
ΡΡ. 349, 350). ἃς ahs 

3. See above, p. 97 (Aét. ii. 7.7; 22. G. p. 337; Vors. i?, p. 237. 22). 

4 Burnet, Zarly Greek Philosophy, p. 348. 


ν 


eS  τὐϑερτάθθνι 








Γ 


+ 


CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS 117 


as the central fire seems in other passages always to be called ‘the 
fire in the middle’, Burnet’s interpretation seems scarcely possible. 
Boeckh originally took the same view that the beams could only 
be those from the central fire, holding to the strict interpretation of 
untverse as being below the outer Olympus; but he afterwards 
admitted,? with Martin, that the beams might come from the outer 
fire, the fire of Olympus, as well. Accordingly the beams coming 
from outside would be refracted by the sun, which would act as 
a sort of lens.* Tannery* takes a similar view, from which he 


_ develops another interesting hypothesis. We are to suppose two 
_ cones opposite to one another and each truncated at the sun, where 


they meet in a common section; these two cones form a luminous 


_ column (that of the Myth of Er) by which a stream of light flows 
_ from the fire of Olympus (supposed ἴο θὲ the Milky Way) in the 
_ direction of the earth. But there remains a difficulty as regards the 
central fire. What is the relation between the central fire and 


the fire of the sun, and why does not the central fire always light 


_ up the moon sufficiently for us to see it full? The beams of the 


central fire must, Tannery conceives, be relatively feeble in com- 


_ parison with those from the Milky Way, and though they may 
_ suitably light up and warm the side of the counter-earth turned 


towards the central fire, they have no appreciable power at the 
distance of the moon, still less at the distance of the sun. The 
outer cone and the inner cone meeting at the sun are supposed 
by Tannery to have a small angular aperture. The base of the 
outer cone is therefore presumably a part of the Milky Way; 
which part is accordingly the first sun of the texts, and Tannery 
suggests that we have in this portion of the Milky Way the ‘enth of 
the heavenly bodies which revolve round the central fire, leaving the 
sphere of the fixed stars motionless, as the complete system of 
Philolaus requires it to be. This suggestion is brilliant but scarcely, 
I think, consistent with what we are told of the tenth body; for 

? Boeckh, Pihilolaus, pp. 123-30. 

3 Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, p. 94: 

* Martin, L’hypothese astronomique de Philolaiis, pp. 9, το. 

* Tannery, Pour Phistoire de la science helléne, pp. 237, 238. 

® Cf. Aét. i. 14. 2 (D. G. p. 312), where it is stated that only the fire in the 
very uppermost place is conical. The passage occurs ina section dealing mainly 
with the shapes of the e/ements, but it may perhaps have strayed into the wrong 
context. 


118 THE PYTHAGOREANS PART I 


on this assumption it would presumably be, from time to time, 
a different portion of the Milky Way varying as the sun revolves. 

With Tannery’s idea of the connexion between the sun and the 
Milky Way, the following passages should be compared : 


‘Of the so-called Pythagoreans some say that this [the Milky 
Way] is the path of one of the stars which fell out of their places 
in the destruction said to have taken place in Phaethon’s time; 
others say that the sun formerly revolved in this circle, and accord- 
ingly this region was, so to say, burnt up, or suffered some such 
change, through the revolution of the sun.’4 

‘Of the Pythagoreans some explain the Milky Way as due to the 
burning-up of a star which fell out of its proper place and set on fire 
the region through which it circulated during the conflagration 
caused by Phaethon; others say that the sun’s course originally lay 
along the Milky Way. Some, again, say that it is the mirrored 
image of the sun as it reflects its rays at the heaven, the process 
being the same as with the rainbow on the clouds.’? 


The Moon. 


A fanciful view of the moon is quoted by the Doxographi as 
held by some of the Pythagoreans, including Philolaus. 


‘Some of the Pythagoreans, among whom is Philolaus, say that 
the moon has an earthy appearance because, like our earth, it is 
inhabited throughout by animals and plants, only larger and more 
beautiful (than ours): for the animals on it are fifteen times stronger 
than those on the earth ... and the day in the moon is correspond- 
ingly longer.’® 


No doubt the fact that the animals on the moon are superior to 
those on the earth ‘in force (τῇ δυνάμει)᾽ to the extent of fifteen 
times is an inference from the fact that the day is fifteen times 
longer than ours. Boeckh points out, as regards the day, that the 
length of it is clearly meant to be half the time occupied by one 
revolution of the moon (in 294 days) round the central fire. Assum- 
ing that, as with the earth, the same hemisphere is always turned 
outwards (which involves one rotation of the moon round its axis in 

1 Aristotle, Aleteorologica i. 8, 345 a 13-18 (Vors. i*, p. 230. 37-41). In the 
last words of this passage Diels (loc. cit.) reads φθορᾶς, ‘destruction’ or 
‘wasting ’, instead of φορᾶς, ‘ revolution’. 


2 Aét. ili, 1. 2 (D. G. p. 364; Vors. 13, p. 278. 42). 
8. Aét. ii. 30. 1 (D.G. p. 3613; Vors. δ, p. 237. 42). 





CH. XII THE PYTHAGOREANS t19 


the same time as it takes the moon to revolve round the central fire), 
an inhabitant of that hemisphere would see the sun, that is, it would 
be day for him, for roughly half the period of the moon’s revolu- 
tion; during the same half of the period an inhabitant of the 
hemisphere turned towards the earth would not see the sun, and it 
would be night for him; and vice versa. Therefore the ‘day’ for 
an inhabitant of the moon, which receives its light from the sun, 
would be equal to fifteen of our days and nights added together. 
According to the actual wording of the text it should be fifteen 
times our day only; this would require that the moon should 
revolve on its axis /wice (instead of the once which is automatic, 
_ as it were) during a lunation. Martin’ develops this supposition, 
_ but it seems clear that the ‘day’ of the inhabitants of the moon 
was meant to be equal to fifteen of our days and nights together, 
and that the form of the statement in the text is due to 
_ inadvertence. 

_ According to ‘other Pythagoreans’ what we see on the moon 
_ is a reflection of the sea which is beyond the torrid circle or zone in 

our earth.” 

Eclipses. 

We have seen that the counter-earth was probably invented in 
order to explain the frequency of eclipses of the moon, and that 
there were some who thought there might be more bodies of the 
kind which by their interposition caused eclipses of the moon. The 
latter bodies would of course, like the counter-earth, be invisible to 
the inhabitants of our hemisphere, from which it follows that they 
would also, like the counter-earth, revolve along with the earth round — 
the central fire and always have the same right ascension with 
the earth. 

Eclipses of the moon are then caused by the interposition either 
of the earth or of the counter-earth (or other similar body) between 
the sun and the moon.* 

Eclipses of the sun on the other hand are, and can only be, caused 
by the moon ‘ getting under the sun’,* i.e. by the interposition of 
the moon between the sun and the earth. 


Martin, Hyfothése astronomique de Philolaiis, p. 22. 
? Aét. ii. 30. 1 (D.G. p. 361 b 10-13). 

3. Aét. ii. 29. 4(D. G. p. 360; Vors. i*, p. 277. 46). 

* σελήνης αὐτὸν ὑπερχομένης, Aét. ii. 24.6 (D. G. p. 354). 


120 THE PYTHAGOREANS 


The Phases of the Moon. 


In the same passage (under the heading ‘On the Eclipse of the 
Moon’) in which Aétius says that ‘some of the Pythagoreans’ give 
the explanation of lunar eclipses just referred to, a curious view 
is mentioned as having been held by ‘some of the later (Pytha- 
goreans)’. The words must apparently (notwithstanding _ their 
context) refer to the phases, and not to eclipses, of the moon; the 
change is said to come about ‘ by way of spreading of flame, which 
is kindled by degrees and in a regular manner until it produces the 
perfect full moon, after which again the flame is curtailed by cor- 
responding degrees until the conjunction, when it is completely 
extinguished’. It would seem that these ‘later’ Pythagoreans had 
forgotten the fact that the moon gets its light from the sun, or at 
least had no clear understanding of the way in which the variations 
in the positions of the sun and moon relatively to the earth produce 
the variations in the shape of the portion of the illuminated half 
which is visible to us from time to time. 


ΧΙ 


THE ATOMISTS, LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS 










LEuciPpus of Elea or Miletus (it is uncertain which’) was 
a contemporary of Anaxagoras and Empedocles; and Democritus 
_of Abdera was also a contemporary of Anaxagoras, though younger, 
for he was, according to his own account,” ‘ young when Anaxagoras 
was old’, from which it is inferred that he was born about 460 B.C. 
The place of the two Atomist philosophers in the history of astronomy 
isnot a large one, for they made scarcely any advance upon their 
_ predecessors; most of the views of Democritus are a restatement of 
_ those of Anaxagoras, even down to the crudest parts of his doctrine. 
_ As Burnet? says, the primitive character of the astronomy taught 
by Democritus as compared with that of Plato is the best evidence 
of the value of the Pythagorean researches. The weakness of 
_ Democritus’s astronomy is the more remarkable because we have 
conclusive evidence that he was a really able mathematician. 
Archimedes* says that Democritus was the first to state that the 
volumes of a cone and a pyramid are one-third of the volumes 
of the cylinder and prism respectively which have the same base 
and height, though he was not able to prove these facts in the 
rigorous manner which alone came up to Archimedes’ standard 
of what a scientific proof should be (the discovery of the proofs 
of the propositions by the powerful ‘method of exhaustion’ was 


3 9am in Phys. p. 28. 4 (from Theophrastus) ; see D. G. p. 483; Vors. 13, 
344. 40. 
Ps Diog. L. ix. 41 (Vors. 15, p. 387. 12). 

3 Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 345. 

* Heiberg, ‘Eine neue Archimedes-Handschrift’ in Hermes, xlii, 1907, 
ΡΡ. 245, 246; cf. the translation and commentary by Heiberg and Zeuthen 
‘mm Bibliotheca Mathematica, viis, 1906-7, p. 323; The Thirteen Books of 
Euclid’s Elements, 1908, vol. iii, pp. 366, 368. 


122 THE ATOMISTS PARTI 


reserved for Eudoxus). There is evidence, too, that Democritus 
investigated (1) the relation in size between two sections of a cone 
parallel to the base and very close to each other, and (2) the nature 
of the contact of a circle or sphere with a tangent. These facts 
taken together suggest that he was on the track of infinitesimals 
and of the Integral Calculus. 

The Great Diakosmos, attributed by Theophrastus to Leucippus, 
is also given in the lists of Democritus’s works;1 indeed no one 
later than Theophrastus seems to have been able to distinguish 
between the work of Leucippus and Democritus, all the writings 
of the school of Abdera being apparently regarded by later authors 
as due to Democritus. However, the information which we possess 
about the cosmology of the two philosophers goes back to Theo- 
phrastus, so that we are not without some guidance as to details 
in which they differed. Diogenes Laertius,? in a passage drawn 
from an epitome of Theophrastus, attributes the following views 
to Leucippus. The worlds, unlimited in number, arise through 
‘bodies’, i.e. atoms, falling into the void and meeting one another. 
By abscission from the infinite many ‘bodies’ of all sorts of shapes 
are borne into a great void, and their coming together sets up 
a vortex. By the usual process, in the case of our world, the earth 
collects at the centre. The earth is like a tambourine in shape and 
rides or floats by virtue of its being whirled round in the centre. 

The sun revolves in a circle, as does the moon; the circle of the 
sun is the outermost, that of the moon the nearest to the earth, and 
the circles of the stars are between. All the stars are set on fire 
because of the swiftness of their motion; the sun is also ignited 
by the stars; the moon has only a little fire in its composition. 

The ‘inclination of the earth’,® ie. the angle between the zenith 


1 Vors. i%, p. 357. 21, p. 387. 4; cf. Achilles, Jsagoge i. 13 (Vors. i, 
P- 349. 29). 

2 Diog. L. ix. 30-33 (Vors. i*, pp. 342. 35 -- 343. 27). 

8 The words ‘inclination of the earth’ are missing in the text of Diogenes. 
Diels (Vors. i*, p. 343. 22) supplies words thus: {τὴν δὲ AdEwow τοῦ ζῳδιακοῦ 
γενέσθαι) τῷ κεκλίσθαι τὴν γῆν πρὸς μεσημβρίαν, ‘{the obliquity of the zodiac 
circle is due) to the tilt of the earth towards the south.’ But this can hardly 
be right ; the reference must be to the same ‘ inclination of the earth (ἔγκλισις 
γῆς), 1.6. the angle between the zenith and the pole or between the earth’s (flat) 
surface and the plane of the apparent circular revolution of a star, which is 
spoken of in Aét. iii. 12. 1-2 (D. G. p. 377; Vors. 3, pp. 348. 15, 367. 47). The 
words which have fallen out may perhaps have been ‘ the obliquity of the circles 


ν 


ΟΗ ΧΙ  LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS 123 


and the visible (north) pole, or the angle between the (flat) surface 
of the earth and the plane of the apparent circular movement of 
a star in the daily rotation, is due to the tilt of the earth towards 
the south, the explanation of this tilt being on lines which recall 
Empedocles rather than Anaxagoras;' the northern parts have 
perpetual snow and are cold and frozen. 

The sun rarely suffers eclipse, while the moon is continually 
darkened, because their circles are unequal. 
_ We have here reminiscences of Anaximander in the description 
_ of the shape of the earth and partly also in the statement about 
_ the relative distances of the sun, moon, and stars from the earth, 
while the idea of the earth riding on the air recalls Anaximenes, 
with a difference. There are traces of Anaxagoras’s views in the 
vortex causing the earth to take the central position, and in the 
kindling of the stars due to their rapid motion; but there is the 
difference that the atoms take the place of the mixture in which 
‘all things are together’, and no force such as Anaxagoras’s Nous 
is considered to be required in order to start the motion of the 
_ vortex, the atoms being held to have been in motion always. 
᾿ς Democritus’s views are much more uniformly those of Anaxagoras. 
_ Thus with him the stars are stones,? the sun is a red-hot mass or 
ἃ stone on fire;* the sun is of considerable size.* The moon has 
_ in it plains, mountains (or, according to one passage, lofty elevations 
casting shadows®), and ravines,® or valleys.° Democritus said that 
the moon is ‘plumb opposite’ to the sun at the conjunctions, and 


of the stars’, or they may have referred to differences of climate in different 
parts of the earth. ; 

1 Leucippus’s explanation of the tilt (Aét., loc. cit.) is that ‘ the earth turned 
sideways towards the southern regions because of the rarefaction (ἀραιότητα) in 
those parts, due to the fact that the northern regions became frozen through 
excessive cold while the southern parts were set on fire’. 

Democritus’s explanation is slightly different: ‘The earth as it grew became 
inclined southwards because the southern portion of the enveloping (substance) 
is weaker (i.e. presumably weaker in resisting power); for the northern regions 
-are intemperate (dxpara), i.e. frigid, the southern temperate (κέκραται) ; hence 
it is in the south that the earth sags (βεβάρηται), namely, where fruits and all 

wth are in excess.’ 

2 Aét. ii, 13. 4 e G. p. 341; Vors. 15, Ὁ. 366. 31). 

5. Aét. ii. 20. 7 (D. G. p. 349; Vors. i*, p. 366. 35). 

* Cicero, De jin. i. 6. 20 (Vors. 13, p. 366. 36). 

5 Aét. ii. 30. 3 (D. G. p. 361; Vors. i*, p. 367. 13). 

® Aé&t. ii, 25. 9 (D. G. p. 356; Vors. i?, p. 308, 11). 








124 THE ATOMISTS PART I 


it is evident that he fully accepted the doctrine that the moon 
receives its light from the sun.* 

As regards the earth, Democritus differed from Anaxagoras in 
that, while Anaxagoras said it was flat, Democritus regarded it as 
‘disc-like but hollowed out in the middle’? (i.e. depressed in the 
middle and raised at the edges); but this latter view was also held 
by Archelaus, a disciple of Anaxagoras, and may therefore have 
been that of Anaxagoras himself; the proof of the hollowness, 
Archelaus thought, was furnished by the fact that the sun does not 
rise and set everywhere on the earth’s surface at the same time, 
as it would have been bound to do if the surface had been 
level.2 How, asks Tannery, did Anaxagoras or Archelaus come 
to draw from the observed facts with regard to the rising and setting 
of the sun a conclusion the very opposite of the truth ἢ 

Again, while Anaxagoras, like Anaximenes, supposed the flat 
earth to ride on the air, being supported by it,° Democritus is 
associated with Parmenides’ view that the earth remains where 
it is because it is in equilibrium and there is no reason why it 
should move one way rather than another.® 

We are told that the ancients represented the inhabited earth 
as circular, and regarded Greece as lying in the middle of it and 
Delphi as being in the centre of Greece, but that Democritus was 
the first to recognize that the earth is elongated, its length being 
1% times its breadth.’ Democritus is also, along with Eudoxus, 
credited with having compiled a geographical and nautical survey 
of the earth as, after Anaximander, Hecataeus of Miletus and 
Damastes of Sigeum had done.® 

Democritus agreed with Anaxagoras’s remarkable view of the 
Milky Way as consisting of the stars which the sun ‘ does not see’ 

1 Plutarch, De facte in orbe lunae 16, Ὁ. 929 C (Vors. 15, p. 367. 9-11). 
Plutarch is arguing that the moon is made of an opaque substance, like earth. 
Were it otherwise, he says, the moon would not be invisible at the conjunctions 
when ‘ plumb opposite’ the sun; if, e.g., the moon were made of a transparent 
material like glass or crystal, then, at the conjunctions, it should not only be 
visible itself, but it should allow the sun’s light to shine through it, whereas it is 
in fact invisible at those times and often actually hides the sun from our sight. 

2 Aét. iii. 10. 5 (D. G. p. 377; Vors. i®, p. 367. 41). 

3 Hippolytus, Refut. i. 9. 4 (D. G. pp. 563-4; Vors. 15, p. 324. 16). 

4 Tannery, Pour l’histoire de la science helldne, p. 279. 

5 Hippol. Refut. i. 8. 3 (D. G. p. 562. 5-73 Vors. i*, p. 301, 32). 


© Aét. iii. 15. 7 (D. G. p. 380; Vors. i*, p. 111. 40). 
7 Agathemerus, i. 1. 2 ( Vors. i*, p. 393. 10). 8. Ibid. 
8 ( Ρ. 393 











CH. XIII LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS _ 195 


when it is passing under the earth during the night ;! but, at the 
same time, he seems to have been the first to appreciate its true 
character as a multitude of small stars so close together that the 
narrow spaces between them seem even to be covered by the 
diffusion of their light in all directions, so that it has the appearance, 
almost, of a continuous body of light.” 

With Anaxagoras he thought that comets were ‘a conjunction 
of planets when they come near and appear to touch one another ’,* 
or a ‘ coalescence of two or more stars so that their rays unite ’.* 

In his remark, too, about the infinite number of worlds he seems 
to have done little more than expand what Anaxagoras had said 
about the men in other worlds than ours who have inhabited 
cities and cultivated fields, a sun and moon of their own, and 
so on.’ It is worth while to quote Democritus’s actual words in 
full, in order to see how slight is the foundation for the rhapsodical 
estimate which Gomperz gives of his significance as a forerunner 
of Copernicus. Hippolytus relates of Democritus that 


He said that there are worlds infinite in number and differing 
in size. In some there is neither sun nor moon, in others the sun 
and moon are greater than with us, in others there are more than 
one sun and moon. The distances between the worlds are unequal, 
in some directions there are more of them, in some fewer, some are 
growing, others are at their prime, and others again declining, in one 
direction they are coming into being, in another they are waning. 
Their destruction comes about through collision with one another. 
Some worlds are destitute of animal and plant life and of all 
moisture. . .. A world is at its prime so long as it is no longer 
capable of taking in anything from without.’ ® 


Let us now hear Gomperz.’? ‘ Democritus’s doctrine was far from 
admitting the plausible division of the universe into essentially 
different regions. It recognized no contrast between the sublunary 
world of change and the changeless steadiness of the divine stars, 
important and fatal though that difference became in the Aristotelian 


1 Aristotle, Meteorologica i. 8, 345 a 25 (Vors. i*, p. 308. 26). 

5 a aa In Somn. Scip. i. 15. 6; Aét. iii. 1.6 (D.G. p. 365; Vors. 13, 
Ρ. 367. 21). 

5 Aristotle, Meteorologica i. 6, 342 Ὁ 27 (Vors. i*, p. 308. 34). 

* Aét. ili. 2. 2 (D. G. p. 366; Vors. i*, p. 308. 37). 

5 Anaxagoras, Fr. 4 ( Vors. 15, p. 315. 8-16). 

5 Hippolytus, γί. i. 13. 2-4 (D. G. p. 565 ; Vors. i*, p. 360. 10-19). 

7 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, 15, pp. 295, 296. 


126 THE ATOMISTS PART I 


system. At this point Democritus was once more fully in agree- 
ment not merely with the opinions of great men like Galilei, who 
released modern science from the fetters of Aristotelianism, but even 
with the actual results of the investigation of the last three centuries. 
It is almost miraculous to observe how the mere dropping of the 
scales from his eyes gave Democritus a glimpse of the revelations 
which we owe to the telescope and to spectrum analysis. In 
listening to Democritus, with his accounts of an infinitely large 
number of worlds, different in size, some of them attended by 
a quantity of moons [why not suns too, as in the fragment ?], others 
without sun or moon, some of them waxing and others waning after 
a collision, others again devoid of every trace of fluid, we seem to 
hear the voice of a modern astronomer who has seen the moons of 
Jupiter, has recognized the lack of moisture in the neighbourhood 
of the moon, and has observed the nebulae and obscured stars which 
the wonderful instruments that have now been invented have made 
visible to his eyes. Yet this consentaneity rested on scarcely any- 
thing else than the absence of a powerful prejudice concealing the 
real state of things, and ona bold, but not an over-bold, assump- 
tion that in the infinitude of time and space the most diverse 
possibilities have been realized and fulfilled. So far as the endless 
multiformity of the atoms is concerned, that assumption has not 
won the favour of modern science, but it has been completely 
vindicated in respect to cosmic processes and transformations. It 
may legitimately be said that the Democritean theory of the 
universe deposed in principle the geocentric point of view. Nor 
would it be unfair to suppose that Democritus smoothed the way 
for its actual deposition at the hands of Aristarchus of Samos.’.. . 
‘Democritus contended that some worlds were without animals 
and plants because the requisite fluid was lacking which should 
supply them with nourishment. And this dictum of the sage 
is especially remarkable inasmuch as it was obviously based on 
the assumption of the uniformity of the universe in the substances 
composing it and in the laws controlling it, which the sidereal 
physics of our own day has proved beyond dispute. He evinced 
the same spirit which animated Metrodorus of Chios, himself a 
Democritean, in his brilliant parable: “a single ear of corn on 
a wide-spreading champaign would not be more wonderful than 


ν 


CH. XIII LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS 127 


a single cosmos in the infinitude of space.” The genius of Democritus 
did not stop at anticipating modern cosmology.’ . . . 
This is a fascinating picture, but surely it is, in any case, much 
overdrawn. And, even if it were true, we cannot but ask, why is 
Anaxagoras, who, before Democritus, spoke of other worlds than 
ours, with their suns and moons, their earths inhabited by men and 
animals, where there are cities and cultivated fields, ‘as with us’, 
given none of the credit for a theory which ‘ deposed in principle the 
_ geocentric hypothesis’? Anaxagoras clearly set no limit to the 
_ number of such worlds, and Democritus added little to his statement 
_ except the details that at any given time some of the infinite number 
_ Of worlds are coming into being, others waxing, others waning, others 
being destroyed, and that they represent all possible varieties of 
composition (some with suns and moons, some without, &c.), instead 
of being more or less on the same plan with ours, as Anaxagoras 
perhaps implied. Again, the abandonment of the geocentric hypo- 
thesis does not carry us a step towards the Copernican theory 
unless some other and truer centre is substituted for the earth. 
_ But Democritus's theory of the infinity of worlds does not suggest 
_ any such centre, nay, it destroys the possibility of there being such 
-acentre at all. 

With regard, however, to our sun and moon, Democritus puts 
forward a rather remarkable hypothesis connected with the infinite 
multiplication of his worlds. With Anaxagoras the stars, and 
presumably the sun and moon also, were stones torn from the 
earth by the whirling motion of the universe, and afterwards 
kindled into fire by the rapidity of that motion. But according to 
Democritus the sun and moon, which at the time’of their coming 
into being ‘had not yet completely acquired the heat characteristic 
of them, still less their great brilliance, but on the contrary were 
assimilated to the nature subsisting in the earth’ were then ‘ moving 
in independent courses of their own (κατ᾽ ἰδίαν) ; ‘for each of the 
‘two bodies, when it first came into being, was still in the nature of 
a separate foundation or nucleus for a world, but afterwards, as the 
circle about the sun became larger, the fire was caught up in it ’.2 





_ 1 Cf. Aristotle’s argument (De cae/o i. 6, 275 Ὁ 13) that the universe cannot 
_be infinite because the infinite cannot have a centre. 
* Ps. Plut. Stromat. (apud Euseb. Pr. Ev. i. 8. 7); D.G. p. 581; Vors. i?, 


ΒΡ. 359. 47. 








128 THE ATOMISTS PARTI 


The last words appear to relate only to the addition of fire to the 
earthy nucleus of the sun, which may be connected with the idea of 
Leucippus that ‘the sun was kindled by the stars’: but it seems to 
be implied by the whole passage that the sun and the moon, after 
beginning to come into being as the nucleus of separate worlds, were 
caught up by the masses moving round the earth and then carried 
round the earth with them so as to form part of our universe. 

As regards the planets, we have seen that Anaxagoras, like 
Plato, placed the moon nearest to the earth, the sun further from 
it, and the planets further still; Democritus made the order, 
reckoning from the earth, to be Moon, Venus, Sun, the other 
planets, the fixed stars.1 ‘Even the planets have not all the same 
height’ (1.6. are not at the same distance from us).2 Seneca 
observes that ‘ Democritus, the cleverest of all the ancients, says 
he suspects that there are several stars which have a motion of 
their own, but he has neither stated their number nor their names, 
the courses of the five planets not having been at that time under- 
stood’.2 This seems to imply that Democritus did not even 
venture to say how many planets there were; Zeller, however, 
holds that he could not but have known of the five planets, 
especially as he wrote a book ‘ about the planets’ ;* it may be that 
he said in this work that there might perhaps be more planets than 
the five generally known, and Seneca, who had this at third hand, 
may have misunderstood the observation.® 

An interesting remark about Democritus’s views on the motion of 
the sun and moon is contained in a passage of Lucretius,® where the 
question is raised, why the sun takes a year to describe the full - 
circle of the zodiac while the moon completes its course in ἃ month ; 
perhaps, says Lucretius, Democritus may be right when he says that 
the nearer any body is to the earth, the less swiftly can it be carried — 
round by the revolution of the heaven; now the moon is nearer 
than the sun, and the sun than the signs of the zodiac; therefore   
the moon seems to get round faster than the sun because, while the 


sun, being lower and therefore slower than the signs, is left behind . 
d 
1 Aét. ii. 15. 3 (D. G. p. 3443 Vors. i*, p. 366. 32). 
2 Hippol. Refut. i. 13. 4 (D. G. p. 565; Vors. 13, p. 360. 17)- 
3. Seneca, Wat. Quaest. vii. 3. 2 (Vors. 13, p. 367. 29). 
* Thrasyllus ap. Diog. L. ix. 46 (Vors. i*, p. 357. 22). 
5 Zeller, i°, p. 896 note. ® Lucretius, v. 621 566. 


. 












ΡΘΗ ΧΠ LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS 129 


by them, the moon, being still lower and therefore slower still, 
_ is still more left behind. Therefore it is the moon which appears 
' to come back to every sign more quickly than the sun does, be- 
_ cause the signs go more quickly back to her. The view that the 
_ bodies which move round at the greatest distance move the most 
_ quickly and vice versa is the same as we find attributed by Alexan- 
_ der Aphrodisiensis to the Pythagoreans.* 
_ Lastly, we are told by Censorinus? that Democritus put the 
ot Year at ‘82 years with the same number, 28, of intercalary 
τῇ s’, where the ‘ same number ’ is the number of ‘oopacadd 


8 years es): which seems probable enough; but, as he says, 

_ it is impossible to draw any certain conclusion from the passage. 

ie 1 Alexander, Jn metaphysica A. 5, p. 542 a 16-18 Brandis, p. 40. 7-9 Hayduck. 
ied Censorinus, De die natali 18. 8 (Vors. i*, p. 390. 


, 19). 
__ * Tannery in Mém. de la Société des sciences phys. et nat. de Bordeaux, 3° sé. 
_ iv, 1888, p. 92. 


1410 K 


XIV 
OENOPIDES 


THE date of Oenopides of Chios is fairly determined by the 
statement of Proclus that he was a little younger than Anaxagoras.* 
He was a geometer of some note; Eudemus credited him with 
having been the first to investigate the problem of Eucl. I. 12 (the 
drawing of a perpendicular to a given straight line from a given 
point outside it), which he ‘thought useful for astronomy’, and 
to discover the problem solved in Eucl. I. 23 (the construction on 
a given straight line and at a point on it of an angle equal to a 
given rectilineal angle). No doubt perpendiculars had previously 
been drawn by means of some mechanical device such as a set 
square, and Oenopides was the first to give the theoretical con- 
struction as we find it in Euclid; and in like manner he probably 
discovered, not the problem of Eucl. I. 23 itself, but the particular 
solution of it given by Euclid. 

In astronomy he is said to have made two discoveries of impor- 
tance. The first is that of the obliquity of the ecliptic. It is true 
that Aétius says that both Thales and Pythagoras, as well as the 
successors of the latter, distinguished the oblique circle of the zodiac — 
as touching or meeting three of the ‘five circles which are called 
zones’;? Aétius further states that ‘Pythagoras is said to have 
been the first to observe the obliquity of the zodiac circle, a fact 
which Oenopides put forward as his own discovery’. Now Thales 
could not possibly have known anything of the zones, and no doubt 
‘Pythagoras and his successors’ may have been substituted for ‘ the 
Pythagoreans’ in accordance with the usual tendency to attribute 
everything to the Master himself; in like manner the second — 


? Proclus, Comm. on Eucl. 7, p. 66. 2 (Vors. i*, p. 229. 36). 
5. Aét. ii, 12. 1 (D.G. p. 340). 
® Aét. ii. 12, 2 (2. G. p. 340-1; Vors. i*, p. 230. 14). 








OENOPIDES 121 


__ passage is probably the result of the same jealousy for the reputa- 
_. tion of Pythagoras. And for the attribution of this particular 
discovery to Oenopides we have the better authority of Eudemus 
in a passage taken from Dercyllides by Theon of Smyrna.’ 
Macrobius observes that Apollo (meaning the sun) is called Loxias, 
_as Oenopides says, because he traverses the oblique circle (λοξὸν 
κύκλον), moving from west to east.2, The Egyptian priests, we 
_ are told, claimed that it was from them that Oenopides learned 
_ that the sun moves in an inclined orbit and in a sense opposite 
_ to that of the motion of the other stars.* It does not appear that 
_ Oenopides made any measurement of the obliquity ; at all events 
_ he cannot be credited with the estimate of 24°, which held its own 
_ till the time of Eratosthenes (circa 275-194 B.C.).* 





1 Theon of Smyrna, p. 198. 14, Hiller ( Vors. 15, p. 230. 11). 
3 Macrobius, Sav. i. 17. 31 (Vors. 13, p. 230. 22). 
* Diodorus Siculus, i. 98. 2 (Vors. i*, p. 230. 19). 
᾿ς * Dercyllides’ quotation from Eudemus (Theon of Smyrna, pp. 198, 199), 
_ which states that Oenopides was the first to discover the obliquity of the zodiac 
circle, also mentions that it was other astronomers not named in the particular 
_ passage who added (among other things) the discovery that the measure of the 
obliquity was the angle subtended at the centre of a circle by the side of a 
_ regular fifteen-angled figure inscribed in the circle, that is to say, 24°. But this 
value was discovered before Euclid’s time, for Proclus, quite credibly, mentions 
_ (Comm. on Excl. I, p. 269. 11-21) that the proposition Eucl. ΓΝ. 16, showing how 
_ to describe a regular fifteen-angled figure in a circle, was inserted in view of its 
use in astronomy. The value was doubtless known to Eudoxus also, if it does 
_ not even go back to the Pythagoreans. The angle might no doubt have been 
calculated by means of Pytheas’s measurement of the midday height of the sun 
_ at Marseilles at the summer solstice. According to Strabo (ii. 5. 8, p. 115, and 
ii. 5. 41, p. 134, Cas.), Pytheas found that the ratio of the gnomon to its midday 
shadow at the summer solstice at Marseilles was 120: 414 (Ptolemy made it 
60:203, or 120: 41%, Synfaztis, ii. 6, p. 110. 5). But we are not told of any 
_ value that Pytheas gave for the latitude of Massalia. According to Strabo, 
Hipparchus said that the same ratio of the gnomon to the shadow as Pytheas 
. found at Massalia held good at Byzantium also, whence, relying on Pytheas’s 
accuracy, he inferred that the two places were on the same parallel of latitude. 
As, however, Marseilles is 2° further north than Byzantium, it is clear that there 
must have been an appreciable error of calculation somewhere. Theon of 
Alexandria (On Ptolemy's Syntaxis, p. 60) states that Eratosthenes discovered 
the distance between the tropic circles to be 11/83rds of the whole meridian 
_circle=47° 42’ 40”, which gives 23° 51’ 20” for the obliquity of the ecliptic. Berger, 
however (Die geographischen Fragmente des Eratosthenes, 1880, Ὁ. 131), is 
inclined to infer from Ptolemy’s language that it was Ptolemy himself who 
invented the ratio 11 : 83, and that Eratosthenes still adhered to the value 24°. 
For Ptolemy (Synfaxis i. 12, p. 67. 22 -- 68. 6) says that he himself found the 
distance between the tropic circles to lie always between 47° 40’ and 47°45’, 
_ *from which we obtain about (σχεδόν) the same ratio as that of Eratosthenes, 
which Hipparchus also used. For the distance between the tropics decomes 
(or zs found to be, γίνεται) very nearly 11 parts out of 83 contained in the whole 


K2 


132 OENOPIDES PARTI 


The second discovery attributed to Oenopides is that of a Great 
Year, the duration of which he put at 59 years! In addition, we 
are told by Censorinus that Oenopides made the length of the year 
to be 36522 days.2, Tannery ὃ suggests the following as the method 
by which he arrived at these figures. Starting first of all with 
365 days as the length of a year, and 29% days as the length of the 
lunar month, approximate values known before his time, Oenopides 
had to find the least integral number of complete years which 
would contain an exact number of lunar months; this is clearly 
59 years, which contains a number of lunar months represented by 
twice 365, or 730. He had then to determine how many days 
there were in 730 months. This his knowledge of the calendar 
would doubtless enable him to do, and he would appear to have 
arrived at 21,557 days as the result,* since this, when divided by 59, 
gives 36522 days as the length of the year. Tannery gives good 


meridian circle.’ The mean between 47° 40’ and 47° 45’ is of course 47° 42’ 30”, 
or only το different from 47° 42’ 40"; but the wording is somewhat curious if 
Ptolemy meant to imply that the actual ratio 11:83 represented Eratosthenes’ 
estimate. For ‘the same ratio’ would them be 11/83 and σχεδόν and ἔγγιστα 
would have te mean exactly the same thing. Moreover, in that case, to make 
a separate sentence of the comparison with the fraction 11/83 was quite un- 
necessary ; all that was necessary was to add to the preceding sentence some 
words such as ‘namely 11/83rds of the meridian circle’ in explanation of ‘the 
same ratio’, On the other hand, if the intention was to compare the mean 
value 47° 42’ 30” with a value 48°, or 2/15ths of a great circle, used by Eratos- 
thenes and Hipparchus, there was a sort of excuse for a separate sentence 
converting 47° 42’ 30” into a fraction of a great circle as nearly as possible equi- 
valent, namely 11/83rds, for the purpose of comparison with 2/15ths, the difference 
between the fractions being 1/1245. Hipparchus, in his Commentary onthe 
Phaenomena of Aratus and Eudoxus (p. 96. 20-21, Manitius) said that the 
summer tropical circle is ‘ very nearly 24° north of the equator’. Another value for 
the obliquity of the ecliptic is derivable from an odzter dictum of Pappus (vi. 35, 
p. 546. 22-7, ed. Hultsch). Pappus, without any indication of his source, there 
says that the value of the ratio which we should call the tangent of the angle is 
10/23. We should scarcely have expected a ratio between such small numbers 
to give a very accurate value, but 10/23 =.0-4347826, which is the tangent of an 
angle of 23° 2955” nearly. 

1 Theon of Smyrna, p. 198. 15 (Vors. i*, p. 230. 13): Aelian, V. H. x. 7 (Vors. 
i”, p. 230. 27); Aét. ii. 32. 2 (D. G. p. 363; Vors. i*, p. 230. 34). 

* Censorinus, De die natali 19. 2. 

3 Tannery in A/ém. de la Société des sciences phys. et nat. de Bordeaux, 
3° sér. iv. 1888, pp. 90, 91. 

4 The true synodic month being 29-53059 days, 730 times this gives, as a 
matter of fact, 215574 days nearly. 

5 This year of a little less than 365 days 9 hours is slightly more correct than 
the average year of the octaéteris of 2923} days, which works out to 365 days 
τοῦ hours (Ginzel; Handbuch der mathematischen und technischen Chronologie, 
vol. ii, 1911, p. 387). 





“᾿ς 


CH. XIV OENOPIDES 133 


ground for thinking that Oenopides cannot have taken account of 
the motion of all the planets as well as of the sun and moon for 
the purpose of calculating the Great Year. He would, no doubt, 
know the approximate periods of revolution of Saturn, Jupiter, 
and Mars, namely 30 years for Saturn, 12 years for Jupiter, and 
2 years for Mars, which figures would give roughly, in his great 
year of 59 years, 2 revolutions of Saturn, 5 of Jupiter, and 30 or 
3t for Mars. Admitting the last number as the more exact, and 
_ dividing 21,557 days by these numbers respectively, we obtain 
_ periods for the revolution of the several planets which, like the 
figures worked out by Schiaparelli for Philolaus, would show errors 
not exceeding I per cent. of the true values. But Tannery considers 
that this is not the proper way to judge of the error; he would 
_ rather judge the degree of inaccuracy by the error in the mean 
position of the planet at the end of the period. He finds that, 
_ calculated on this basis, the error would not reach as much as 
_ 2° in the case of Saturn, and 9° in the case of the sun; but for 
_ Mars the error would exceed 107°, which is quite inadmissible. 
_ If Oenopides had ventured to indicate the sign of the zodiac in 
which each planet would be found at the end of his period, the 
_ error in the case of Mars would have been discovered when the 
time came. 

Aristotle? says that some of the so-called Pythagoreans held 
that the sun at one time moved in the Milky Way. This same 
view is attributed to Oenopides ; for Achilles says * that ‘ According 
to others, among whom is Oenopides of Chios, the sun formerly 
moved through this region [the Milky Way], but because of the 
Thyestes-feast he was diverted and has (since) revolved in a path 
directed the opposite way to the other, that namely which is 
defined by the zodiac circle’. 


1 Aristotle, Mefeorologica i. 8, 345 a 16 (Vors. i*, p. 230. 39). 
2 Achilles, /sagoge ad Arat. 24, p. 55. 18, Maass (Vors. 15, p. 230. 42). 








XV 
PLATO 


IN order to obtain an accurate view of Plato’s astronomical system 
as a whole, and to judge of the value of his contributions to the 
advance of scientific astronomy, it is necessary, first, to collect and 
compare the various passages in his dialogues in which astronomical 
facts or theories are stated or indirectly alluded to ; then, secondly, 
allowance has to be made for the elements of myth, romance, and 
idealism which are, in a greater or less degree depending on the 
character of the particular dialogue, invariably found as a setting 
and embellishment of actual facts and theories. When these ele- 
ments are as far as possible eliminated, we find a tolerably com- 
plete and coherent system which, in spite of slight differences of 
detail and a certain development and even change of view between 
the earlier and the later dialogues, remains essentially the same. 

In considering this system we have further to take into account 
Plato’s own view of astronomy as a science. This is clearly stated 
in Book VII of the Republic, where he is describing the curriculum 
which he deems necessary for training the philosophers who are to 
rule his State. The studies required are such as will lift up the 
soul from Becoming to Being; they should therefore have nothing 
to do with the objects of sensation, the changeable, the perishable, 
which are the domain of opinion only and not of knowledge. It is 
true that sensible objects are useful in so far as they give the 
stimulus to the purely intellectual discipline required, in so far, in 
fact, as they suffice to show that sensations are untrustworthy or 
even self-contradictory. Some objects of perception are adequately 
appreciated by the perception; these are non-stimulants; others 
arouse the intellect by showing that the mere perception produces 
an unsound result. Thus the perception which reports that a thing 
is hard frequently reports that it is also soft, and similarly with 








PLATO 135 


thickness and thinness, greatness and smallness, and the like. In 
_ such cases the soul is perplexed and appeals to the intellect for 
help; the intellect responds and looks at ‘ great’ and ‘ small’ (e.g.) 
as distinct and not confounded; we are thus led to the question 
what zs the ‘great’ and what zs the ‘small’. Science then is only 
concerned with realities independent of sense-perception ; sensation, 
observation, and experiment are entirely excluded from it. At the 

beginning of the formulation of the curriculum for philosophers 
_ gymnastic and music are first mentioned, only to be rejected at 
_ once; gymnastic has to do with the growth and waste of bodies, 
that is, with the changeable and perishing; music is only the 
_ counterpart, as it were, of gymnastic. Next, all the useful arts are 
_ tabooed as degrading. The first subject of the curriculum is then 
_ taken,namely the science of Number, in its two branches of ἀριθμη- 
_ xh, dealing with the Theory of Numbers, as we say, and of 
λογιστική, calculation, with the proviso that it is to be pursued for 
_ the sake of knowledge and not for purposes of trade. Next comes 
_ geometry, and here Plato, carrying his argument to its logical con- 
clusion, points out that the true science of geometry is, in its nature, 
directly opposed to the language which, for want of better terms, 
geometers are obliged to use; thus they speak of ‘squaring’, 
‘applying’ (a rectangle), ‘adding’, &c., as if the object were to do 
something, whereas the true purpose of geometry is knowledge. 
Geometrical knowledge is knowledge of that which zs, not of that 
which becomes something at one moment and then perishes; and, 
as such, geometry draws the soul towards truth and creates the 
philosophic spirit which helps to raise up what we wrongly keep 
down. Astronomy is next mentioned, but Socrates corrects him- 
self and gives the third place in ‘the curriculum to stereometry, or 


solid geometry as we say, which, adding a third dimension, 


naturally follows plane geometry. And fourth in the natural order 


is astronomy, since it deals with the ‘motion of body’ (φορὰ 
βάθους; literally‘ motion ὁ οὗ depth’ or of the third dimension). 


When astronomy was first mentioned, Socrates’ interlocutor 
hastened to express approval of its inclusion, because it is proper, 
not only for the agriculturist and the sailor, but also for the general, 
to have an adequate knowledge of seasons, months, and years ; 
whereupon Socrates rallies him upon his obvious anxiety lest the 





136 PLATO PART I 


philosopher should be thought to be pursuing useless studies. 
When the speakers return to astronomy after the digression on 
solid geometry, Glaucon tries a different tack: at all events, he says, 
astronomy compels the soul to look upward and away from the 
things of the earth. But no! he is using the term ‘upward’ in the 
sense of towards the material heaven, not, as Socrates had meant 
it, towards the realm of ideas or truth; and Socrates at once takes 
him up. On the contrary, he says, as it is now taught by those 
who would lead us upward to philosophy, it is calculated to turn 
the soul’s eye down. 


‘You seem with sublime self-confidence to have formed your 
own conception of the nature of the learning which deals with the 
things above. At that rate, if a person were to throw his head 
back and learn something by contemplating a carved ceiling, you 
would probably suppose him to be investigating it, not with his 
eyes, but with his mind. You may be right, and I may be wrong. 
But I, for my part, cannot think any other study to be one that 
makes the soul look upwards except that which is concerned with 
the real and the invisible, and, if any one attempts to learn anything 
that is percezvable, I do not care whether he looks upwards with 
mouth gaping or downwards with mouth closed: he will never, as 
I hold, learn—because no object of sense admits of knowledge— 
and I maintain that in that case his soul is not looking upwards but 
downwards, even though the learner float face upwards on land or 
in the sea.’ ‘I stand corrected,’ said he; ‘your rebuke was just. 
But what is the way, different from the present method, in which 
astronomy should be studied for the purposes we have in view δ᾽ 

‘This’, said I, ‘is what I mean. Yonder broideries in the 
heavens, forasmuch as they are broidered on a visible ground, are 
properly considered to be more beautiful and perfect than anything 
else that is visible; yet they are far inferior to those which are true, 
far inferior to the movements wherewith essential speed and essen- 
tial slowness, in true number and in all true forms, move in relation 
to one another and cause that which is essentially in them to move: 
the true objects which are apprehended by reason and intelligence, 
not by sight. Or do you think otherwise?’ ‘Not at all,’ said he. 
‘ Then’, said I, ‘we should use the broidery in the heaven as illus- 
trations to facilitate the study which aims at those higher objects, 
just as we might employ, if we fell in with them, diagrams drawn 
and elaborated with exceptional skill by Daedalus or any other 
artist or draughtsman ; for I take it that any one acquainted with 
geometry who saw such diagrams would indeed think them most 








CH. XV PLATO 137 


beautifully finished but would regard it as ridiculous to study them 
seriously in the hope of gathering from them true relations of 
equality, doubleness, or any other ratio.’ ‘Yes, of course it would 
be ridiculous, he said. ‘Then’, said I,‘ do you not suppose that 
one who is a true astronomer will have the same feeling when he 
looks at the movements of the stars? That is, will he not regard 
the maker of the heavens as having constructed them and all that 
is in them with the utmost beauty of which such works admit ; yet, 
in the matter of the proportion which the night bears to the day, 
both these to the month, the month to the year, and the other stars 
to the sun and moon and to one another, will he not, think you, 
_ regard as absurd the man who supposes these things, which are 
_ corporeal and visible, to be changeless and subject to no aberrations 
_ of any kind; and will he not hold it absurd to exhaust every 
possible effort to apprehend their true condition?’ ‘ Yes, I for one 
certainly think so, now that I hear you state it.’ ‘Hence’, said I, 
_ “we shall pursue astronomy, as we do geometry, by means of pro- 
_ blems, and we shall dispense with the starry heavens, if we propose 
_ to obtain a real knowledge of astronomy, and by that means to 
convert the natural intelligence of the soul from a useless to a use- 
ful possession.’ ‘The plan which you prescribe is certainly far more 
laborious than the present mode of studying astronomy.’ ? 


We have here, expressed in his own words, Plato’s point of view, 
and it is sufficiently remarkable, not to say startling. We follow 
him easily in his account of arithmetic and geometry as abstract 
sciences concerned, not with material things, but with mathematical 
‘numbers, mathematical points, lines, triangles, squares, &c., as 
objects of pure thought. If we use diagrams in geometry, it is only 
as illustrations ; the triangle which we draw is an imperfect repre- 
sentation of the real triangle of which we ¢/ink. And in the 
passage about the inconsistency between theoretic geometry and 
the processes of squaring, adding, &c., we seem to hear an echo 
of the general objection which Plato is said to have taken to the 
mechanical constructions used by Archytas, Eudoxus, and others 
for the duplication of the cube, on the ground that ‘the good of 
geometry is thereby lost and destroyed, as it is brought back to 
things of sense instead of being directed upward and grasping at 
eternal and incorporeal images’. But surely, one would say, the 
‘case would be different with astronomy, a science dealing with 


1 Republic vii. 529 A-530B. 
3 Plutarch, Quaest. Conviv, viii. 2.1, p. 718 F (Vors. 15, p.255. 3-5). 


--.- 


138 PLATO PARTI ' 


the movements of the heavenly bodies which we see. Not at all, 
says Plato with a fine audacity, we do not attain to the real science 
of astronomy until we have ‘dispensed with the starry heavens’, 
i.e. eliminated the visible appearances altogether. The passage 
above translated is admirably elucidated by Dr. Adam in his edition 
of the Republic: There is no doubt that Plato distinguishes two 
astronomies, the apparent and the real, the apparent being related 
to the real in exactly the same way as practical (apparent) geometry 
which works with diagrams is related to the real geometry. On the 
one side there are the visible broideries or spangles in the visible 
heavens, their visible movements and speeds, the orbits which they 
are seen to describe, and the number of hours, days, or months 
which they take to describe them. But these are only illustrations 
(παραδείγματα) of real heavens, real spangles, real or essential speed 
or slowness, real or true orbits, and periods which are not days, 
months, or years, but absolute numbers. The broideries or span- 
gles in both the astronomies are stars, but stars regarded as moving 
bodies. Essential speed and essential slowness seem to be, as Adam 
says, simply mathematical counterparts of visible stars, because they 


are said to be carrie Ah te Eee τοριίουο οἱ real astronomy, and 
therefore cannot be the speed and slownéss“of the mathematical 


bodies of which the visible stars are illustrations, but must be those 
mathematical bodies themselves. The true figures in which they 
move are their mathematical orbits,which we might now say are 
the perfect ellipses of which the orbits of the visible material planets 
are imperfect copies. And lastly, as a visible planet carries with it 
all the sensible properties and phenomena which it exhibits, so does 
its mathematical counterpart carry with it the mathematical realities 
which are in it. In short, Plato conceives the subject-matter of 
astronomy to be a mathematical heaven of which the visible heave 
is a blurred and imperfect expression in*time ‘and Space ; and the 
science is a kind of ideal kinematics, a study in which the visible 
movements of the heavenly bodies are only useful as illustrations. 
But, we may ask, what form would astronomical investigations 
on Plato’s lines have taken in actual operation? Upon this there 
is naturally some difference of opinion. One view is that of 


1 See, especially, vol. ii, pp. 128-31, notes, and Appendices II and X to Book 
VII, pp. 166-8, 186-7. 








CH. XV PLATO 139 


Bosanquet,' who relies upon the phrase ‘we shall pursue astronomy 
as we do geometry by means of problems’, and suggests that the 
' discovery of Neptune, picturesquely described by De Morgan as 
*Leverrier and Adams calculating an unknown planet into visible 
existence by enormous heaps of algebra’,? is the kind of investiga- 
tion which ‘seems just to fulfil Plato’s anticipations’. Plato was 
a master of method, and it is an attractive hypothesis to picture 
him as having at all events foreshadowed the methods of modern 
astronomy ; but Adam seems to be clearly right in holding that 
the illustration does not fit the language of the passage in the 
_ Republic which we are discussing. For Plato says that the person 
who thought that the heavenly bodies should always move pre- 
cisely in the same way and show no aberrations whatever would 
properly be thought ‘absurd’, and that it would be absurd to 
_ exhaust oneself in efforts to make out the truth about them ; hence, 
on this showing, the visible perturbations of Uranus would scarcely 
_have seemed to Plato very extraordinary or worth any very deep 
investigation by ‘heaps of algebra’ or otherwise. Besides, the 
discovery of Uranus’s perturbations could hardly have been made 
without observation, and observation is excluded by the words ‘ we 
shall let the heavens alone’. The fact is that, at the time when 
our passage was written, Plato’s ‘ problems’ were ὦ griori problems 


which, when solved, would explain visible phenomena ; Adams! 


began at the other end, with observations of the phenomena, and © 


then, when these were ascertained, sought for their explanation. 

It may be that, when Plato is banning sense-perception from the 
science of astronomy in this uncompromising manner, he is con- 
sciously exaggerating ; it would not be surprising if his enthusiasm 


and the strength of his imagination led him to press his point 


unduly. In any case, his attitude seems to have changed con- 
siderably by the time when he wrote the 7zmaeus and the Laws, 


both as regards the use made of sense-perception and the relation. 


of astronomy to the visible heaven. In the Republic sense-percep- 
tion is only regarded as useful up to the point at which, owing to 
its presentations contradicting one another, it stimulates the intellect. 
In the 77maeus the senses, e.g. sight, fulfila much more important 


1 Bosanquet, Companion to Plato’s Republic, 1895, pp. 292-3. 
3 De Morgan, Budget of Paradoxes, p. 53. 


arene 


a 
ὶ 


140 PLATO PARTI 


réle. ‘Sight, according to my judgement, has been the cause of 
the greatest blessing to us, inasmuch as of our present discourse ~ 
concerning the universe not one word would have been uttered had — 
we never seen the stars and the sun and the heavens. But now day 
and night, being seen of us, and months and revolutions of years 
have made number, and they gave us the notion of time and 
the power of searching into the nature of the All; whence we have 
derived philosophy, than which no greater good has come nor shall 
come hereafter as the gift of the gods to mortal man. This 
I declare to be the chiefest blessing due to the eyes.’? In the 
Laws Plato makes the Athenian \thenian stranger say that_it is impious 
to use the term ‘planets’ oft of the gods s_in heaven as if they and_the 
su: on never t kept to one_uniform course, but wandered 
hither and thither; the’case is absolutely the reverse of this, ‘ for 
each of these bodies follows one and the same path, not many paths — 
but one only, which is a circle, although it appears to be borne in 











‘many paths.’ Here then we no longer have the view that the 


visible heavenly bodies should be neglected as being subject to 
perturbations which it would be useless to attempt to fathom, 
and that true astronomy is only concerned with the true heavenly 
bodies of which they are imperfect copies; but we are told that 
the paths of the visible sun, moon, and planets are perfectly uniform, — 
the only difficulty being to grasp the fact. Bosanquet observes, 
on the passage in the Republic contrasting the visible and the true 


heavens, that ‘ Plato’s point is that there are no doubt true laws by 


which the periods, orbits, accelerations and retardations of the solids 

in motion can be explained, and that it is the function of astronomy 

to ascertain them’.? On the later view stated in the Laws this 

would be true with ‘the visible rey bodies’ substituted for 
‘solids in motion’. 

We are told on the authority of Sosigenes,t who had it from 
Eudemus, that Plato set it as a problem to all earnest students 
to find ‘what are the uniform and ordered movements by the 
assumption of which the apparent movements of the planets can 
be accounted for’. The same passage says that Eudoxus was the 


1 Timaeus 47 A,B. . Laws vii. 822 A. 
* Bosanquet, Companion, Ῥ. 291. 
* Simplicius on De cae/o ii, 12 (292 Ὁ 10), p. 488. 20-4, Heib. 


ν 


















CH. XV PLATO 141 


first to formulate hypotheses with this object ; Heraclides of Pontus 
followed with an entirely new hypothesis. Both were pupils of 
Plato, and it is a fair inference that the stimulus of the Master’s 
teaching was a factor contributing to these great advances, although 
it is probable that Eudoxus attacked the problem on his own 
  initiative. 
_ When we come to extract from the different dialogues the details 
of Plato’s astronomical system, we find, as already indicated, that, 
_ if allowance is made for the differences in the literary form in which 
_ they are presented, and for the greater or less admixture of myth, 
“romance, and poetry, the successive presentations of the system 
at different periods of Plato’s life merely show different stages of 
ment; the system remains throughout fundamentally the 
. "same. Some of the passages have nothing mythical about them 
at all; e.g. the passage in the Laws, which is intended to combat 
- prevailing errors, gives a plain statement of the view which Plato 
“thought the most correct. In the passages in which myth has 
a greater or less share, that which constitutes the most serious part 
is precisely that which relates to astronomy ; and that which proves 
that the astronomical part is serious is the fact that, in different 
forms, and with more or fewer details in different passages, we have 
only one and the same main hypothesis; the variations are on 
points which are merely accessory.! Nor was the system revolu- 
tionary as compared with previous theories; on the contrary, Plato 
evidently selected what appeared to him to be the best of the 
astronomical theories current in his time, and only made corrections 
which his inexorable logic and his scientific habit of mind could not 
but show to be necessary ; and the theory which commended itself 
to him the most was that of Pythagoras and the early Pythagoreans- 
—the system in which the earth was at rest in the centre of the 
universe—as distinct from that of the later Pythagorean school, with 
whom the earth became a planet revolving like the others about the 
central fire. 

Plato's system is set out in its most complete form in the 
Timaeus, and on this ground Martin, in his last published memoir 
on the subject, began with the exposition in the 7imaeus and then 


* Cf. Martin in Mémoires del’ Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 
1881, pp. 6-13. 





142 PLATO - PARTI 


added, for the purpose of comparison, the substance of the astrono- 
mical passages in the other dialogues. This plan would perhaps — 
. enable a certain amount of repetition to be avoided ; but I think 
that the development of the system is followed better if the usual — 
plan is adopted and the dialogues taken in chronological order. 

We begin therefore with the Phaedrus, perhaps the earliest of all 
the dialogues. The astronomy in the Phaedrus consists only in the 
astronomical setting of the myth about souls soaring in the heaven 
_ and then again falling to earth. Soaring in the heaven, they with 
difficulty keep up for a time with the chariots of the gods in their 
course round the heavens. 


‘Zeus, the great captain in heaven, mounted on his winged 
chariot, goes first and disposes and oversees all things. Him follows 
the army of Gods and Daemons ordered in eleven divisions ; for 
Hestia alone abides in the House of God, while, among the other 
gods, those who are of the number of the twelve and are appointed 
to command lead the divisions to which they were severally 
appointed. 

Many glorious sights are there of the courses in the heaven 
traversed by the race of blessed gods, as each goes about his own 
business ; and whosoever wills, and is able, follows, for envy has no 
place among the Heavenly Choir... 

The chariots of the gods move evenly and, being always obedient 
to the hand of the charioteer, travel easily ; the others travel with — 
great difficulty ... 

The Souls which are called immortal, when they are come to the 
summit of the Heaven, go outside and stand on the roof and, as 
they stand, they are carried round by its revolution and behold 
the things which are outside the Heaven.’! 


Here, then, the army of Heaven is divided into twelve divisions. 
One is commanded by Zeus, the supreme God, who also commands- 
in-chief all the other divisions as well; subject to this, each division 
has its own commander. Zeus is here the sphere of the fixed stars, 
which revolves daily from east to west and carries round with it 
the other divisions except one, Hestia, which abides unmoved in the 
middle. Hestia, the Hearth in God’s House, stays at home to 
keep house; the other divisions follow the march of Zeus but 
perform separate evolutions under the command of their several 
leaders. Hestia is here undoubtedly the earth, unmoved in the 


1 Plato, Phaedrus 246 E-247 C. 





CH. XV PLATO 143 


_ centre of the world,’ and is not the central fire of the Pythagoreans. 
_ The gods in command of the ten other divisions are, in the first 
' place, the seven planets, i.e. the sun and moon and the five planets, 
_ and then between them and the earth come the three others which 
are the aether, the air, and the moist or water.2 The sun, moon, 
_ and planets are all carried round in the general revolution of the 
_whole heaven from east to west, but have independent duties and 
commands of their own, i.e. separate movements which (as later 
_ dialogues will tell us) are movements in the opposite sense, i.e. from 
_ west to east. 

In the Phaedo Plato puts into the mouth of Socrates his views as 
' to the shape of the earth, its position and its equilibrium in the 
_ middle of the universe. The first passage on the subject is that in 
_ which he complains of the inadequate use by Anaxagoras of his 
_ Nous in explaining phenomena. 






᾿ς *When once I heard some one reading from a book, as he said, of 
_ Anaxagoras, in which the author asserts that it is Mind which dis- 
“poses and causes all things, I was pleased with this cause, as it seemed 
_to me right in a certain way that Mind should be the cause of all 
things, and I thought that, if this is so, and Mind disposes everything, 
it must place each thing as is best. ... With these considerations in 
view I was glad to think that I had found a guide entirely to my 
mind in this matter of the cause of existing things, I mean Anaxa- 
goras, and that he would first tell me whether the earth is flat or 
round, and, when he had told me this, would add to it an explana- 
tion of the cause and the necessity for it, which would be the Better, 
that is to say, that it is better that the earth should be as it is; and 
further, if he should assert that it is in the centre, that he would 
add, as an explanation, that it is better that it should be in the 
centre. . . . Similarly I was prepared to be told in like manner, 
with regard to the sun, the moon, and the other stars, their relative 
speeds, their turnings or changes, and their other conditions, in what 
way it is best for each of them to exist, to act, and to be acted upon 
so far as they are acted upon. For I should never have supposed 
that, when once he had said that these things were ordered by Mind, 
he would have assigned to them in addition any cause except the 
fact that it is best that they should be as they are. . . . From what 


1 Cf. Theon of Smyrna, p. 200. 7; Plutarch, De primo frigido, c. 21, p. 954 F; 
Proclus, δὲ Timacum, D. 281 E; ” Chalcidius, Timaeus, c. 122, p. ee and 
c. 178, pp. 227-8. 

* Chalcidius, loc. cit.; cf. Proclus, Jz remp. vol. ii, p. 130, 6-9, Kroll. 


144 PLATO PARTI 


a height of hope then was I hurled down when I went on with my 
reading and saw a man that made no use of Mind for ordering things, 
but assigned as their cause airs, aethers, waters, and any number of 
other absurdities.’ [Then follows the sentence stating that it is as if 
one were to say that Socrates did everything he did by Mind and 
then gave as the cause of his sitting there the fact that his body was 
composed of bones and sinews, the former having joints, and the 
sinews serving to bend and stretch out the limbs consisting of 
the bones with their covering sinews and flesh and skin, and so on. 
This inability to distinguish between what is the cause of that — 
which is and the indispensable conditions without which the cause 
cannot be a cause suggests that most people are fumbling in the 
dark.] ‘Thus it is that one makes the earth remain stationary 
under the heaven by making it the middle of a vortex, another sets — 
the air as a support to the earth, which is like a flat kneading- — 
trough.’ ἢ 


The last sentence alludes to some of the familiar early views as to 
the form of the earth. Only Parmenides and the Pythagoreans 
thought it to be spherical, the Ionians and others supposed it to be 
flat, though differing as to details ; the theory that it is the motion 
of a vortex with the earth in the middle that keeps it stationary is 
that of Empedocles, while the idea that it is a disc, or like a flat 
kneading-trough, supported by air, is of course that which Aristotle 
attributes to Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, and Democritus.” 

Plato’s own view is stated later in the dialogue. 


‘There are many and wondrous regions in the earth, and it is 
neither in its nature nor in its size what it is supposed to be by those ~ 
whom we commonly hear speak about it; of this I have been con- 
vinced, I will not say by whom. ... My persuasion as to the form of 
the earth and the regions within it I need not hesitate to tell you... 
I am convinced then, said he, that, in the first place, if the earth, 
being a sphere, is in the middle of the heaven, it has no need either 
of air or of any other such force to keep it from falling, but that the 
uniformity of the substance of the heaven in all its parts and 
the equilibrium of the earth itself suffice to hold it; for a thing in~ 
equilibrium in the middle of any uniform substance will not have — 
cause to incline more or less in any direction, but will remain as 
it is, without such inclination. In the first place I am persuaded 
of this.’ ὃ 


1 Phaedo 97 B-99 B. 2. Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 294 Ὁ 13. 
8 Phaedo 108 C-Icg A. 





  
-- 


ΓΗ. ΧΥ PLATO 145 


_ When Socrates says he has been convinced by some one of the 
- fact that the earth is different from what it was usually supposed to 
be, he is considered by some to be referring to Anaximander who 
_ drew the first map of the inhabited earth. But surely Anaxi- 
_ mander’s views, no doubt with improvements, would be represented 
'in those of his successors, the geographers of the time, whom 
‘Socrates considers to be wrong (we are told, for instance, that 
Democritus, who, like Anaximander, thought the earth flat, com- 
_ piled a geographical and nautical survey of the earth’). ‘Some one : 
_may possibly be no one in particular, in accordance with Plato’s 
habit of ‘ giving an air of antiquity to his fables by referring them to 
_ some supposititious author ’.* On the other hand, the explanation of 
the reason why the spherical earth remains in equilibrium in the 
“centre of the universe, namely that there is nothing to make it move 
“one way rather than another, is sufficiently like Anaximander’s 
explanation of the same thing.’ 

Socrates proceeds : 


_ * Moreover, I am convinced that the earth is very great, and that 
we who live from the river Phasis as far as the Pillars of Heracles 
inhabit a small part of it ; like to ants or frogs round a pool, so we 
‘dwell round the sea; while there are many other men dwelling 
elsewhere in many regions of the same kind, For everywhere on 
the earth’s surface there are many hollows of all kinds both as 
regards shapes and sizes, into which water, clouds, and air flow and 
are gathered together ; but the earth itself abides pure in the purity 
of the heaven, in which are the stars, the heaven which the most 
part of those who use to speak of these things call aether, and it is 
the sediment of the aether which, in the forms we mentioned, is 
  always flowing and being gathered together in the hollow places 
) of the earth. We then, dwelling in the hollow parts of it, are not. 
  aware of the fact but imagine that we dwell above on its surface; 
  this is just as if any one dwelling down at the bottom of the sea 
were to imagine that he dwelt on its surface and, beholding the sun 
and the other heavenly bodies through the water, were to suppose 
the sea to be the heaven, for the reason that, through being sluggish 
and weak, he had never yet risen to the top of the sea nor been able, 
by putting forth his head and coming up out of the sea into the 
place where we live, to see how much purer and more beautiful it is 




















al 
Vas 
ant 


ἢ 





1 Agathemerus, i. 1 (Vors. 15, p. 393. 6, 7). 
3 Archer-Hind, Zhe Phaedo of Pilato, p. 161 note. 
3 See pp. 24, 25, above : cf. Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 295 Ὁ 11. 


1410 L 





































146 PLATO PARTI   


than his abode, neither had heard this from another who had seen 
it. We are in the same case; for, though dwelling in a hollow of — 
the earth, we think we dwell upon its surface, and we call the air 

heaven as though this were the heaven and through this the stars — 
moved, whereas in fact we are through weakness and sluggishness — 
unable to pass through and reach the limit of the air; for, if any 
one could reach the top of it or could get wings and fly up, then, — 
just as fishes here, when they come up out of the sea, espy the 
things here, so he, having come up, would likewise descry the things 
there, and if his strength could endure the sight would know that 
there is the true heaven, the true light, and the true earth. For 

here the earth, with its stones and the whole place where we are, ἴδ᾽ 
corrupted and eaten away, as things in the sea are eaten away by - 
the salt, insomuch that there grows in the sea nothing of moment 
nor anything perfect, so to speak, but there are hollow rocks, sand, 
clay without end, and sloughs of mire wherever there is also earth, 
things not worthy at all to be compared to the beautiful objects 
within our view ; but the things beyond would appear to surpass 
even more the things here.’!.. . : 


Then begins the myth of the things which are upon the real 
earth and under the heaven. 


‘First it is said that, if one saw it from above, the earth is like 
unto a ball made with twelve stripes of different colours, each stripe 
having its own colour... .’ 


We need not pursue the picture of the idealized earth with its 
varied hues, its precious stones, its race of men excelling us in sight, 
hearing, and intelligence in the same proportion as air excels water, 
and aether excels air, in purity, and so on. : 

Reading the story of the hollows in the earth, we recall the idea 
of Archelaus, which he perhaps learnt from Anaxagoras, that the 
earth was hollowed out in the middle but higher at the edges. This 
shape would correspond to the flat kneading-trough mentioned by 
Plato as the form given by some to the earth? Plato, realizing 
that certain inhabited regions such as that from the river Phasis 
(descending from the Caucasus into the Black Sea) to the Pillars of 
Hercules, being partly bounded by mountains, did appear to be 
hollows, had to reconcile this fact with his earnest conviction of the 
earth’s sphericity. Archelaus regarded the whole earth as one such 


1 Phaedo 109 A-110 A. 3. Ibid. 99 8. 








CH. XV PLATO 147 


hollow; to which Plato replies that the inhabited earth may bea 
hollow, but it is not the whole earth. The earth itself is very large 
indeed, so that the apparent hollow formed by the portion in which 
we live is quite a small portion of the whole. There are any number 
of other hollows of all sorts and sizes; these hollows are separated 
by the ridges between them, and it is only the tops of these ridges 
that are on the real surface of the spherical earth. Consequently 
there is nothing in the existence of the hollows that is inconsistent 
_ with the earth being spherical; they are mere indentations. The 
__ impossibility of our climbing up the sides to the top of the bounding 
ridges, or taking wings and flying out of the hollows, and so reach- 
_ ing the real surface of the earth and obtaining a view of the real 
heavens, is of course poetic fancy and has nothing ,to do with 
_ astronomy. 
_ The extreme estimate of the size of the earth made by Plato in 
_ the Phaedo seems to be peculiar to him. For the sake of contrast, 
_ Aristotle’s remarks on the same subject may be referred to! Aris- 
_ totle says that observations of the stars show not only that the 
  earth is spherical, but that it is ‘not great’. For quite a small 
_ change of position from north to south or vice versa involves a 
change of the circle of the horizon. Thus some stars are seen in 
_ Egypt and Cyprus which are not seen in the northern regions, and 
some stars which in the northern regions are always above the 
horizon are, in Egypt, seen to rise and set. Such differences for so 
small a change in the position of an observer would not be possible 
unless the earth’s sphere were of quite moderate size. Aristotle   
adds that the mathematicians of his day who tried to calculate the 
circumference of the earth made it approach 400,600 stades. This 
estimate had, according to Archimedes,” been reduced in his time 
to 300,000 stades, and Eratosthenes made the circumference to be 
252,000 stades on the basis of a definite measurement of the arc 
separating Syene and Alexandria on the same meridian, compared 
with the known distance between those places. 

On the negligibility of the height of the highest mountain in 
comparison with the diameter of the earth, Theon of Smyrna ὃ has 


1 Aristotle, De caelo ii. 14, 297 b 30-298 a 20. 
* Archimedes, Sand-reckoner (vol. ii, ed. Heib., p. 246.15; ed. Heath, p. 222). 
3 Theon of Smyrna, pp. 124-6, Hiller. 


L2 


148 PLATO PART I 


some remarks based on the estimates of 252,000 stades for the 
circumference and of 10 stades (a low estimate, it is true) for 
the height of the highest mountain above the general level of the 
plains. 

Coming now to the Republic, Book X, we get a glimpse of a 
more complete system, though again the astronomy is blended with 
myth. The story is that of Er, the son of Armenius, who, after 
being killed in battle, came to life twelve days afterwards and 
recounted what he had seen. He first came with other souls to 
a mysterious place where there were two pairs of mouths, one pair 
leading up into heaven, the other two down into the earth ; between 
them sat judges who directed the righteous to take the road to the 
right hand leading up into the heaven and sent those who had 
wrought evil down the left-hand road into the earth; at the same 
time other souls were returning by the other road out of the earth, 
and others again by the other road coming down from the heaven : 
the two returning streams met, the former travel-stained after 
a thousand years’ journeying under the earth, the latter returning 
pure from heaven, and they foregathered in the meadow where 
they related their several experiences. 


‘Now when seven days had passed since the spirits arrived in the — 
meadow, they were compelled to arise on the eighth day and 
journey thence; and on the fourth day they arrived at a point from 
which they saw extended from above through the whole heaven and 
earth a straight light, like a pillar, most like to the rainbow, but 
brighter and purer. This light they reached when they had gone 
forward a day’s journey; and there, at the middle of the light, they 
saw, extended from heaven, the extremities of the chains thereof ; 
for this light it is which binds the heaven together, holding together 
the whole revolving firmament as the undergirths hold together — 
triremes ; and from the extremities they saw extended the Spindle 
of Necessity by which all the revolutions are kept up. The shaft 
and hook thereof are made of adamant, and the whorl is partly 
of adamant and partly of other substances. 

Now the whorl is after this fashion. Its shape is like that we use ; 
but from what he said we must conceive of it as if we had one great 
whorl, hollow and scooped out through and through, into which was 
inserted another whorl of the same kind but smaller, nicely fitting 
it, like those boxes which fit into one another; and into this again 
we must suppose a third whorl fitted, into this a fourth, and after 
that four more. For the whorls are altogether eight in number, set 





CH. XV PLATO 149 


one within another, showing their rims above as circles and forming 
about the shaft a continuous surface as of one whorl; while the 
shaft is driven right through the middle of the eighth whorl. 

The first and outermost whorl has the circle of its rim the 
broadest, that of the sixth is second in breadth, that of the fourth 
is third, that of the eighth is fourth, that of the seventh is fifth, 
_ that of the fifth is sixth, that of the third is seventh, and that of the 
_ second is eighth. And the circle of the greatest is of many colours, 
_ that of the seventh is brightest, that of the eighth has its colour 
_ from the seventh which shines upon it, that of the second and fifth 


are like each other and yellower than those aforesaid, the third 








_ is the whitest in colour, the fourth is pale red, and the sixth is the 
᾿ second in whiteness. 

_ The Spindle turns round as a whole with one motion, and within 
_ the whole as it revolves the seven inner circles revolve slowly in the 
_ Opposite sense to the whole, and of these the eighth goes the most 
_ swiftly, second in speed and all together go the seventh and sixth 
and fifth, third in the speed of its counter-revolution the fourth 
_ appears to move, fourth in speed comes the third, and fifth the 
_ second. And the whole Spindle turns in the lap of Necessity. 
Upon each of its circles above stands a Siren, carried round with 
_ it and uttering one single sound, one single note, and out of all the 
notes, eight in number, is formed one harmony. 

And again, round about, sit three others at equal distances apart, 
-each on a throne, the daughters of Necessity, the Fates, clothed 
in white raiment and with garlands on their heads, Lachesis, 
Clotho, and Atropos, and they chant to the harmony of the Sirens, 
Lachesis the things that have been, Clotho the things that are, and 
Atropos the things that shall be. 

And Clotho at intervals with her right hand takes hold of the 
outer revolving whorl of the Spindle and helps to turn it; Atropos 
with her left hand does the same to the inner whorls; Lachesis 
with both hands takes hold of the outer and inner alternately 
(i.e. of the outer with her right hand and of the inner with 
her left).’? 


On the precise interpretation of the details of this description 
there has been a great deal of discussion and difference of opinion.? 
Some of the details are hardly astronomical, and this is not the 
place for more than a short statement of the principal points at 
issue. 

1 Republic x. 616 B-617 Ὁ. 

.? Very full information will be found in Adam’s edition of the Republic; see 


especially the notes in vol, ii, pp. 441-53, and Appendix VI to Book X, 
ῬΡ. 470-9. 


150 PLATO PART I 


First, what is the form and position of the ‘straight light, like 
a pillar’, and at what point is ‘the middle’ of the light where the 
souls saw ‘the extremities of the chains’ binding the heavens 
together? As early as Proclus’s time one supposition was that 
the light was the Milky Way.’ Proclus rejected this view, which 
in modern times is represented by Boeckh? and Martin. Boeckh 
supposes the souls to be beyond the north pole, outside the circle — 
of the Milky Way which, if seen from the outside edgeways, would 
look straight ; the middle of the light is for him the north pole, 
from which stretch the chains of heaven, ove of which is the — 
light. Martin makes the souls see the Milky Way as a straight 
column of light from delow ; thence they go quickly up in the day’s 
journey to the middle of the light (Martin compares the souls in 
Phaedrus 247 B-248B, which get to the outside of the sphere of 
the fixed stars); they there see both poles of the sphere, and the © 
curved column is, for them, like a band forming a complete ring — 
round the sphere and holding it together; this curved column can   
only be the Milky Way. Martin supports his view by pressing 
the comparison of the column to a rainbow, which, he says, must 
refer to its form and not to its colours; and for the illusion of 
supposing the curved column to be straight he cites the parallel — 
of Xenophanes, who thought the stars moved in straight lines 
which only appeared to be circles. I agree with Adam’s opinion 
that to suppose the column to be curved and only to appear 
straight does violence to the language of Plato. Then again, it 
would be strange that the souls, one class of which has come back 
from a thousand years’ journey in the heaven, and the other from 
the same length of journey under the earth, should next be taken 
up, all of them, to the top of the heavenly sphere ; there is nothing — 
to suggest that, either in the four days elapsing between the time 
when they leave the meadow and the time when they first see the 
straight column of light, or in the one day following which brings — 
them to the middle of the light, they leave the earth at all. The 
other alternative is to take the ‘straight light’ to be, in accordance 
with the natural meaning of the words, a straight line or straight 


* Proclus, Jz remf. vol. ii, p. 194. 19, Kroll.   

2 Boeckh, Kleine Schriften, iii, pp. 266~320. . 

8 Martin in M/ém. de l’Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 1881, 
PP- 94-7. 

















CH. XV PLATO 151 


_ cylindrical column of light passing from pole to pole right through 
_ the centre of the universe and of the earth (occupying the centre 
of the universe), which column of light symbolizes the axis on 
which the sphere of the heaven revolves. Where then is ‘the 


middle’ of this column of light which the souls are supposed to 


reach one day after they first see the column? Adam thinks 
_ it can only be at the centre of the earth, and he seems to base 


this view mainly on the fact that, later on, the souls, after passing 


' under the throne of Necessity and encamping by the river of 
_ Unmindfulness in the plain of Lethe, are said (621 B) to go τ, 
_ ‘shooting like stars, to be born again. Here also I cannot but 
_ think it strange that all the souls should be brought down to the 
_ centre of the earth, seeing that one class of them had just returned 
_ from a thousand years’ wandering in the interior of the earth, to 
say nothing of the shortness of the time allowed for reaching the 
centre of the earth, namely, one day from the time when they first 
saw the column of light, while there is nothing in the language 
_ describing the five days’ journey to suggest that they did anything 
but walk (πορεύεσθαι). Now the place of the judgement-seat which 
was between the mouths of the earth and the heaven, and to 


which the souls returned after their thousand years in the earth and 
heaven respectively, was on the surface of the earth; presumably 
therefore the meadow to which they turned aside from that place 
was also on the surface of the earth (and not even on the surface 
of the ‘True Earth’ of the Phaedo, as Adam supposes); and 
Mr. J. A. Stewart' has pointed out that the popular belief as to 
the river Lethe made it a river entirely above ground and not one 
of the rivers of Tartarus. Hence I am disposed to agree with 
Mr. Stewart that the whole journey from the meadow by the 
throne of Necessity to the plain of the river Lethe was along the 
surface of the earth. Although Adam rightly rejects Boeckh’s 
identification of the ‘straight light’ with the Milky Way, he is 
induced by the parallel of the ‘undergirths’ (ὑποζώματα) of 
triremes to assume, in addition to the straight light forming the 
axis of the universe, a circular ring of light passing round it from 
pole to pole and joining the straight portion at the poles;? this 


1 J. A. Stewart, The Myths of Plato, pp. 154 sqq. 
3 Adam, The Republic of Pilato, vol. ii, pp. 445-7, notes. 


152 PLATO PARTI 


he does because the more proper meaning of ‘undergirths’ appears 
to be ropes passed round the vessel outside it and horizontally, 
rather than planks passing longitudinally from stem to stern as 
Proclus and others supposed.! But there is nothing in the Greek 
to suggest the addition of this circle to the straight light; and 
the assumption seems, as Mr. Stewart says,? to make too much 
of the man-of-war or trireme. Moreover, the ground for assuming 
a ring, as well as a straight line, of light vanishes altogether if 
the ὑποζώματα are, after all, cables stretched tight, i.e. in straight 
lines, inside the ship from stem to stern, as Tannery holds.* It 
seems to be enough to regard Plato as saying that the pillar (which 
alone is mentioned) holds the universe together in its particular 
way as the undergirths do the trireme in their way. I prefer then 
to believe that the light is simply a straight column or cylinder 
of light, and that the ‘middle of the light’ is the point on the 
surface of the earth which is in the centre of the column of light, 
i.e. the centre of the circular projection of the cylinder of light on 
the earth’s surface. I do not see why the souls, looking from that 
point along the cylinder of light in both directions, should not in 
this way be supposed to see (illuminated by the column as by a © 
searchlight) the poles of the universe, nor why these should not 
be called the extremities of the chains holding the heaven together, 
the pillar of light having by a sudden change of imagery become 
those chains themselves. 


The Spindle of Necessity. 


By another sudden change of imagery the chains following the 
course of the pillar of light become a spindle which is similarly 
extended from the same ‘extremities’ or poles, and the spindle 
with its whorls representing the movements of the universe is seen 
to turn in the lap of Necessity. The throne of Necessity must on 


1 Proclus, 772 remp. vol. ii, p. 200. 25, and scholium, ibid. p. 381. 10. 

? Stewart, op. cit., p. 169. 

3 Tannery in Revue de Philologie, xix, 1895, p.117: ‘Le Thesaurus constate, 
d’ailleurs, que Boeckh a démontré que les ὑποζώματα νεῶν, dont il est assez 
souvent fait mention dans les inscriptions, sont des cables, ainsi que du reste 
Hesychius [s.v. ζωμεύματα] explique ce mot : σχοινία κατὰ μέσον τὴν ναῦν δεσμευό- 
μενα. Ces cables étaient tendus, d’aprés les Origines d’Isidore, entre l’étrave et 
’étambot, en tout cas, on ne peut se les figurer tendus autrement que suivant 
une ligne droite.’ 


-_— Te. ΥΥ 


CH. XV PLATO Ξ 152 


the above view be at the point on the surface of the earth which 
is in the middle of the column of light; and on this hypothesis, as 
on others, the attempt to translate the details of the poetic imagery 
into a self-consistent picture of physical facts is hopeless, for the 
simple reason that one thing cannot both be entirely outside 
another thing and entirely within it at the same time. Let us 
assume with Boeckh that the souls are outside the universe when 
they see the apparently straight light; Necessity will then pre- 
sumably be outside the universe which in the form of the spindle 
and whorls she holds in her lap. It is on this assumption im- 
possible to give an intelligible meaning to ‘under the throne of 
Necessity’ as an intermediate point on the journey of the souls 
from the meadow to the plain of Lethe. The same difficulty 
arises if, with Zeller, we suppose Plato to be availing himself of 
the external Necessity which, according to Aétius, Pythagoras 
regarded as ‘surrounding the world’. Plato’s Necessity is cer- 
tainly not outside but in the middle. If, however, Necessity 
sits either at the centre of the earth as supposed by Adam, or at 
a point on the surface of the earth as supposed by Mr. Stewart, 
how can she, being inside the universe, hold the spindle and whorls 


forming the universe in her lap? This is no doubt the difficulty 


which makes Mr. Stewart infer that Necessity does not hold the 
universe itself in her lap, but a model of the universe.” 


The whorls. 


The real astronomy of the Repudlic is contained in the description 
of the whorls and their movements. The first question arising is, 
what was the shape of the whorls? They are not spheres because 
they have rims (‘lips’, χείλη) one inside the other, which are all 
visible and form one continuous flat surface as of one whorl. We 
might, on the analogy of Parmenides’ bands, suppose that they 
are zones of hollow spheres symmetrical about a great circle, i.e. so 
placed that the plane of the great circle is parallel to, and equi- 
distant from, the outer circles bounding the zones. Adam supposes 
them to be hemispheres, which Plato possibly obtained by cutting 


1 Aét. i. 25. 2 (D.G. p. 321). 
3 Stewart, op. cit., pp. 152-3, 165. 


154 PLATO PARTI 


in half the Pythagorean spheres mentioned by Theon of Smyrna. 
It is true that there is nothing in the text of Plato requiring them 
to be hemispheres, although Proclus regards them as segments of 
spheres”; but the supposition that they are hemispheres has the 
great advantage that it eliminates all question of the depth of 
the whorls measured perpendicularly (downwards, let us say) from 
the visible flat surface formed by their rims. Plato says nothing 
of the depth of the whorls, but merely gives the rims different 
breadths. ‘The moment we suppose the whorls to be zones or rings 
we have to consider what depth or thickness (i.e. perpendicular 
distance between the two bounding surfaces) must be assigned to 
them. The thickness of the rings would presumably be great 
enough to hold symmetrically the largest of the heavenly bodies 
which the rings carry round with them. Martin* takes the 
thickness of the rings to be greater than this; he supposes that 
the outer whorl is an equatorial zone of the celestial sphere 
included between two equal circular sections ‘which are doubtless 
the tropics’. But Martin admits that there is, in the whole passage, 
no reference to any obliquity of movements relatively to the 
equator, and he can only suppose such obliquity to be Zacitly implied Ὁ 
by the thickness of each whorl. I think that this supposition is 
unsafe, and that it is better to assume that, at this stage in the 
development of his astronomy, or perhaps merely for the purpose 
of the imagery of this particular myth, Plato did not recognize 
any obliquity, still less any variations of obliquity in the movements 
of the planets.6 I prefer therefore to suppose the whorls to be 


? Theon of Smyrna, p. 150. 14. 
2 Proclus, Ja remp. vol. ii, p. 213. 19-22. 
8 The revolving whorls πέριάγουσι τοὺς ἀστέρας (Proclus, Jz vemp. vol. ii, 
226, 12). 
2 : Martin in Mém. de l’ Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 1881, 
100-1. 
᾿ς Yet Berger (Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen Erdkunde der Griechen, 1903, 
Ppp. 199-201) still insists on regarding Plato’s ‘ breadths’ as what I have called 
depths. According to him a ‘lip’ (χεῖλος) must project (cf. Plato, Critias 
115 E); hence he thinks they must project and recede in comparison with one 
another. It is difficult, as he sees, to reconcile this with νῶτον συνεχές, ‘a con- 
tinuous Zack’ as seen from above, say the pole; he is therefore driven to the 
supposition that the words may describe the appearance of the outermost whorl 
as seen from a position where it hides all the others, i.e. from a point between 
the planes of its bounding circles; but this clearly will not do. The object of 
Berger is to make out that Plato wished to distinguish by the ‘ breadths’ of his 
rings the inclinations of the movements of the several planets. As I have said 


ἘΝ ΡΟ Ψ 


_CH. XV PLATO 155 


hemispheres, or similar segments of spheres fitting one inside the 
other, and having their bases in one plane. The planets, sun, and 
moon would perhaps be regarded as fixed in such a position that 
their centres would be on the plane surface which is the common 
boundary of all the whorls, so that half of each planet would 
project above that surface and half of it would be below. 

It is not difficult to see what is the astronomical equivalent of 
each of the concentric whorls. The outermost (the first) represents 
the sphere of the fixed stars; and here we have somewhat the same 
difficulty as we saw in the case of Parmenides wreaths or bands. 
The fixed stars being spread over the whole sphere, how can that 
sphere be represented by a hemisphere, or a segment of a sphere, or 
a ring or zone? The answer is presumably that the whorls are 
pure mechanism, designed with reference to the necessity of making 
the movements of the inner whorls give plane circular orbits to the 
seven single heavenly bodies, the sun, the moon, and the five planets. 
Mr. Stewart, in accordance with his idea that it is a model which 
Necessity holds in her lap, suggests that the model might be an 
old-fashioned one with rings instead of spheres, or that, if it were 
an up-to-date model, with spheres, it might be one in which only the 
half of each sphere was represénted so that the internal ‘works’ 
might be seen; he compares the passage in the 7zmaeus' where the 
speaker says that, without the aid of a model of the heavens, it 
would be useless to attempt to describe certain motions. 


above, there is nothing in the text to suggest any obliquity in the movements ; 
and, if the ‘ breadths’ are defihs, the sizes of the rings as measured by their 
inner and outer radii become entirely indeterminate, so that the relative orbital 
distances are undistinguished. It 15 quite incredible that Plato should say 
nothing about the relative sizes of the orbits while carefully distinguishing their 
obliquities relatively to the equator. It is true that Aristotle, M/etaph. A. 8, 
1073 Ὁ 17 sq.) and Theon of Smyrna (p. 174. 1-3) admit different obliquities 
exhibited by the planetary motions; and Cleomedes (De motu circulari ii. 7, 
Ρ. 226. 9-14) gives some estimates of them. These are, however, all obliquities 
with reference to the ecliptic, not the equator. Moreover, Cleomedes’ figures 
are quite irreconcilable with Plato’s corresponding ‘ breadths’. Cleomedes says 
that the obliquity is the greatest in the case of the moon; next comes Venus 
which diverges 5° on each side of the zodiac; next Mercury, 4°; next Mars 
and Jupiter, 23° each; and last of all Saturn, 1°. Plato places them in 
epi order of ‘breadth’ thus: Venus, Mars, Moon, Mercury, Jupiter, 

aturn. 

1 Timaeus 40D. Cf. Theon of Smyrna, p. 146. 4, where Theon alludes to 
the same passage of the 7imaeus, and says that he himself made a model 
to represent the system described in the present passage of the Repudlic, 


156 PLATO PART I 


The second whorl (reckoning from the outside) carries the planet 
Saturn, the third Jupiter, the fourth Mars, the fifth Mercury, the 
sixth Venus, the seventh the sun, and the eighth the moon. The 
earth, as always in Plato, is at rest in the centre of the system. 
The outer rim of each whorl clearly represents the path of the 
heavenly body which that whorl carries. The breadth of each 
whorl, that is, the difference between the radii of its outer and inner 
rims respectively (the inner radius of the particular whorl being of 
course the outer radius of the next smaller whorl), is the difference 
between the distances from the earth of the planet carried by the 
particular whorl and of the planet carried by the next smaller 
whorl, The rim of the innermost whorl (the eighth) is the orbit of 
the moon, the outer rim of the next whorl (the seventh) is the orbit 
of the sun, and so on. Proclus! says that there was an earlier 
reading of the passage about the breadths of the rims of the 
successive whorls which made them dependent on, i.e. presumably 
proportional to, the sizes of the successive planets. Professor Cook 
Wilson observes that ‘this principle would be a sort of equable 
distribution of planetary mass, allowing the greater body more 
space. It would come to allowing the same average of linear 
dimension of planetary mass to each unit of distance between orbits 
throughout the system.’* Adam, however, for reasons which he 
gives, decides in favour of our reading of the passage as against the 
‘earlier’ reading of Proclus. 

As regards the speeds we are told that, while the outermost whorl 
(the sphere of the fixed stars) and the whole universe (including 
the inner whorls) along with it are carried round in one motion of 
rotation in one direction (i.e. from east to west), the seven inner 
whorls have slow rotations of their own in addition, the seven 
rotations being at different speeds but all in the opposite sense to 
the rotation of the whole universe. Hence the quickest rotation is 
that of the fixed stars and the whole universe, which takes place 
once in about 24 hours; the slower speeds of the rest are speeds 
which are not absolute but relative to the sphere of the fixed stars 
regarded as stationary, and of these relative speeds the quickest is 
that of the moon, the next quickest that of the sun, Venus, and 


1 Proclus, /# remp. vol. ii, Ρ, 218,1 5ᾳ. Cf. Theon of Smyrna, p. 143. 14-16, 
2 See Adam, Plato’s Repuddic, vol. ii, pp. 475-9. 


CH. XV PLATO 157 


Mercury, which travel in company with one another, i.e. have the 
same angular velocity and take about a year to describe their orbits 
respectively ; the next is that of Mars, the next that of Jupiter, and 
the last and slowest relative motion is that of Saturn. The speeds 
here are all angular speeds because, if the sun, Venus, and Mercury 
describe their several orbits in the same time, the sun must have the 
least linear velocity of the three, Venus the next greater, and Mercury 
the greatest, since the actual length of the orbit of the sun is less 
than that of the orbit of Venus, and the length of the orbit of Venus 
is again less than that of the orbit of Mercury. To obtain the 
absolute angular speeds in the direction of the daily rotation, 
i.e. from east to west, we have to deduct from the speed of the 
daily rotation the slower relative speeds of the respective planets 
in the opposite sense ; the absolute angular speeds are therefore, in 
descending order, as follows : 
Mercury 
Sphere of fixed stars, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, {venus ᾿ Μοοη. 
un 

The following table gives the order of orbital distances, or 
breadths of rims of whorls, as compared with the order of the 
whorls themselves, the order of ve/ative speeds, and the relation of 
the colours of the planets respectively : 


: Order in 
ΟΥ̓ΔῈ tH breadth ofrim Order of partion of 


Whort. Planet. as fii Sobiahang.   . —— “ola. 
our reading. roclus’s “ὁ speeds. 
: reading, 
1= Sphere of fixed stars I I _ Spangled. 
2= Saturn 8 7 5 Yellower than 
sun and moon. 
= Jupiter 7 6 4 Whitest. 
= Mars 3 5 3 Rather red. 
= Mercury 6 8 2 Like Saturn in 
colour. 
= Venus 2 4 2 Second in white- 
ness. 
= Sun 5 2 2 Brightest. 
= Moon 4 3 I Light borrowed 
from sun, 





Έ 


As, according to either reading, Plato only gives the order of the 


_ Successive rims as regards breadth, not the ratios of their breadths, 
ts 


we cannot gather from this passage what was his view as to the 


158 PLATO PART I 


ratios of the distances of the respective heavenly bodies from 
the earth. Nor can his estimate of the ratios be deduced from the 
mere allusion to the harmony produced by the eight notes chanted 
by the Sirens perched upon the respective whorls; as to this har- 
mony see pp. 105-15 above. 

As regards the Sirens, Theon of Smyrna tells us that some sup- 
posed them to be the planets themselves ; some, however, regarded 
them as representing the several notes which were produced by the 
motion of the several stars at their different speeds.’ It is clear 
that the latter is the right view ; the Sirens are a poetical expression 
of the notes. 

It will be noticed that Plato has the correct theory with regard 
to the moon’s light being derived from the sun, a fact which, as 
before stated, he evidently learned from Anaxagoras. 


The Zimaeus is one of the latest of Plato’s dialogues and is the 
most important of all for our purpose because in it Plato’s astro- 
nomical system is most fully developed and given with the fewest 
lacunae. I shall continue to follow the plan of quoting passages in 
Plato’s own words and adding the explanations which appear 
necessary. First, we are told that the universe is one only, eternal, 
alive, perfect in all its parts, and in shape a perfect sphere,? that 
being the most perfect of all figures. 

‘He (the Creator) assigned it that motion which was proper to its 
bodily form, that motion of all the seven which most belongs to 
reason and intelligence. Wherefore turning it about uniformly, in 
the same place, and in itself, he made it to revolve round and 
round; but all the other six motions he took away from it and 
stablished it without part in their wanderings.’ ὃ 

‘And in the midst of it he put soul and spread it throughout the 
whole, and also wrapped the body with the same soul round about 
on the outside; and he made it a revolving sphere, a universe one 
and alone.’ 5 

Here then we have all plurality of worlds denied and the one 
universe made to revolve uniformly, carrying with it in its revolution 
all that is within it, as in the Republic ; the uniform revolution is of 
course the daily rotation. Turning ‘in itself’ means about its own 
axis and therefore, so to speak, coincidently with itself, so that one 


1 Theon of Smyrna, pp. 146. 8-147. 6. 5 Timaeus 32 C-33 B. 
3 Ibid. 34 A. * Jimaeus 348. 


OO ee, ee ὦ 
“ ε 5 ᾿ 


CH. XV PLATO 159 


position does not overlap another, but in all positions the sphere 
occupies exactly the same space and place. The other ‘six motions’ 
from which it is entirely free are the three pairs of translatory 
motions, forward and backward, right and left, up and down. 

Next Plato explains how the Creator made the Soul by first 
combining in one mixture Same, Other, and Essence, and then 
ordering the mixture according to the intervals of a musical scale, 
so that its harmony pervaded the whole substance. This 5 : 
considered as having taken the form of a bar or band, soul-stri 
as it were, he proceeds to divide. : = 


‘Next he cleft the structure so formed lengthwise into two halves 
and, laying them across one another, middle upon middle in the 
shape of the letter X, he bent them in a circle and joined them, 
making them meet themselves and each other at a point opposite 
to that of their original contact ; and he comprehended them in that 
motion which revolves uniformly and in the same place, and one of 
the circles he made exterior and one interior. The exterior move- 


_ ment he named the movement of the Same, the interior the 


movement of the Other. The revolution of the circle of the Same 


' he made to follow the side (of a rectangle) towards the right hand, 


that of the circle of the Other he made to follow the diagonal and 
towards the left hand, and he gave the mastery to the revolution of 
the Same and uniform, for he left that single and undivided ; but 
the inner circle he cleft, by six divisions, into seven unequal circles 
in the proportion severally of the double and triple intervals, each 
being three in number; and he appointed that the circles should 
move in opposite senses, three at the same speed, and the other 
four differing in speed from the three and among themselves, yet 
moving in a due ratio.’} 


The two circles in two planes forming an angle and bisecting one 
another at the extremities of a diameter common to both circles _ 
are of course the equator and the zodiac or ecliptic. The equator 
is the circle of the Same, the ecliptic that of the Other. In the 
accompanying figure, AE BF is the circle of the Same (the equator), 
CFDE the circle of the Other (the ecliptic), and they intersect at 
the ends of their common diameter EF. GH is the axis of the 
universe which is at right angles to the plane of the circle AZ AF. 
If we draw chords DX, CZ parallel to the diameter 42 common to 
the circles AE BF, AGBH, and join CK, DL, we have a rectangle 


1 Timaeus 36 B-D. 


τόο PLATO PART } 


of which KD is a side and CD is a diagonal. As the universe 
revolves round GH, each point on the circumference of the circle 
AGBH describes a circle parallel to the circle 4.8} i.e. a 

G circle about a diameter parallel 
to AB or KD; that is, the revo- 
lution ‘follows the side’ KD of 





GP Pee 27 _~———\p_~—sthe=rectangile. Similarly the 
i gered   revolution of the circle of the 
᾿ —  ὡὦΣΦ ΝΒ Other about an axis perpen- 
; dicular to the plane of the circle 
ξε΄. ΣΙ -«-Ξ    CFDE ‘follows the diagonal’ 


CD of the rectangle. 
The circle of the Same or the 
equator is the outer, and the circle 
H of the Other, the ecliptic, is the 
Fig. 4. inner. When Plato says that the 
Creator ‘comprehended them’ (i.e. both circles) in the motion of 
the Same, and then again later that he gave the supremacy to that 
circle, he means that the movement of that circle is common to the 
whole heaven and carries with it in its motion the smaller circles, 
the subdivisions of the circle of the Other, and everything in the 
universe ; this he makes still clearer in a later passage where he 
speaks of the motion of the planets in the circle of the Other being 
‘controlled’ by the motion of the Same, and the motion of the 
Same twisting all their circles into spirals.1 The subjection of all 
that is in the universe, including all the independent motions of the 
planets, to the one general movement of daily rotation is of course 
the same as we saw in the Repudlic; but there all the circles were 
in one plane, whereas the bodies moving in the opposite sense to 
the daily rotation here move in a different plane, that of the ecliptic, 
instead of that of the equator. 

I have represented the directions of the motions in the two circles 
by arrows in the figure. The motion in the circle AZ AF is in the 
direction represented by the order of the letters. 

The statement of Plato that the Creator made the circle of the 
Same (i.e. the circle of the fixed stars) revolve towards the right 
hand and the circle of the Other (comprising the circles of the 
1 Timaeus 39 A. 








CH. XV PLATO : 161 


planets) towards the left hand has given the commentators, from 
Proclus downwards, much trouble to explain. It is also in con- 
tradiction to the observation in the Laws that motion to the right 
is motion towards the eas?,' while the writer of the Epznomis again 
represents the independent movement of the sun, moon, and planets 
as being to the vigh¢ and not to the left.2 There is of course no 
difficulty in the circumstance that Plato has previously said that 
the Creator took away from the world-sphere the six motions, up 
and down, vight and /eft, forwards and backwards ; for this refers 
to movements of translation such as take place zwszde the sphere, not 
to the revolution of the sphere itself. The axis of such revolution 
being once fixed, the revolution may be in one of two (and only 
two) directions;* consequently there is nothing to prevent one of 
the two directions being described as 20 the right and the other 
as to the left. But why did Plato speak of the revolution from 
east to west as being motion to the right? Boeckh has discussed 
the question at great length, giving a full account of earlier views 
before stating his own.* Martin’s explanation is that Plato is 
speaking from the point of view of a spectator looking south, as 
he would have to do in northern latitudes in order to see the 
apparent revolution of the sun from east to west; that is, the 
movement is from /ff to right. Boeckh, however, points out that 
the Greeks were accustomed, from the earliest times when diviners 
foretold events by watching the flight of birds, to turn their faces 
to the north; the east would therefore be on the right hand and 
would naturally be regarded as the most auspicious, and therefore 
as ‘right’. It is also true that the common view among the Greeks 
(we find it later in Aristotle®) would make of the sphere of ἐπε. 
universe a sort of world-animal, which would have a right and left 
of its own, as it might be a man masked in a sphere put over him; 
and no doubt, on such a view, the east would be sure to be 
regarded as ‘right’ and the west as ‘left’. Boeckh therefore finds 
it difficult to believe that Plato could have represented the east 
as /eft. Assuming then that Plato regarded the east as right, 

τ Laws vi. 8,760 Ὁ. 

: The spheet fan in a ieenaiicas language, only ‘ one ἃ of freedom’ 

BRN Dac τ λυάψεηο Syeda Pate ge ia μοι 

* Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 2, 285 Ὁ 2-3. 


1410 M 


162 PLATO PARTI 


Boeckh thinks Martin’s view untenable, and concludes that the only 
possible alternative is to suppose that Plato must have thought, 
in the Z7zmaeus, of a movement from the right zo the right again, 
i.e. of the whole revolution from east to east instead of the portion 
from the east to the west. But the movement, on the assumptions 
made, is undoubtedly /eft-wise, and it seems to me that Boeckh’s 
explanation is almost as violent as the desperate method of inter- 
pretation suggested by Proclus.1. Where Boeckh is in error is, 
I think, in supposing that Plato would identify the east in his 
world-sphere with the right hand at all; it seems to me that he 
could not possibly have done so consistently with the scientific 
attitude he adopted in denying the existence of any absolute up 
and down, right and left, forward and backward in the spherical 
universe. He explains, for example, that ‘up’ and ‘down’ have 
only a relative meaning as applied to different parts of the sphere,” 
and it is clear that, in the same connexion, he would say the same 
of right and left. Now suppose that a particular point on the 
equator of the universe is east at a given moment; after about 
six hours the same point will be south, after six more wesz, and 


so on. The case then is similar to that put by Plato when he says 
that a man going round the circumference of a solid body placed. 


at the centre of the universe would at some time arrive at the 
antipodes of an earlier position and would therefore, on the usual 
view of ‘up’ and down, have to call ‘down’ what he had before 
described as ‘up’, and vice versa.2 Plato would never, surely, 
have made the same mistake in speaking of the universe. On 
the contrary, when he spoke of the daily rotation, he properly 
ignored all question of a starting-point, whether east or west, right 
or left, or of the position of a person setting the sphere in motion, 
and confined himself to distinguishing by different names the two 
possible directions of motion in order to make it clear that the 
circles of the Same and of the Other moved in opposite directions. 
The expressions 20 the right and to the left were obviously well 


? Proclus (Jz Timaeum 220 £) will have it that ἐπὶ δεξιά does not mean the 
same thing as εἰς τὸ δεξιόν, but that, while εἷς τὸ δεξιόν refers to motion im ἃ 
straight line, ἐπὶ δεξιά only refers to motion 7” @ circle and means ‘ the place to 
which the right moves (anything),’ ἐφ᾽ ἃ τὸ δεξιὸν κινεῖ, 

3 Plato, Zimaeus 62 D-63 E. 

8 Timaeus 62 E-63 A. 





—) μὰ 








CH. XV PLATO 163 


adapted to express the distinction, and it seems to me that the 
reason of Plato’s particular application of them is simply this. He 
considered that the circle of the Same must have the superior 
motion ; but right is superior to /eft; he therefore described the 
revolution of the circle of the Same as being 20 the right, and 
the revolution of the circle of the Other as being 20 the /eft, for 
this sole reason, without regard to any other considerations, just 
as in the Republic he confines himself to saying that Clotho at 
intervals, with her right hand, helps to turn the outer whorl of the 
spindle, and so on,’ without saying anything about the actual 
directions in which the respective whorls revolve. On the other 
hand, when he says in the Zaws that revolution from west to east 
is to the right and revolution from east to west is to the left, he 
is, as Boeckh properly observes, merely using popular language. 

The cutting of the circle of the Other into seven concentric 
circles (including the original circumference as one of the seven) 
produces seven orbits in exactly the same way as the eight whorls 
in the Myth of Er give eight orbits, the difference being that the 
outermost circle of the Republic, the circle about which the sphere 
of the fixed stars moves, is not now in the same plane with the 
᾿ other seven, but is the circle of the Same in a different plane. 
Plato here says that the seven circles move in opposite directions, 
literally ‘in opposite senses to one another’, which, as there are 
only two directions, can only mean that a certain number of the 
seven revolve in one direction, and the rest in the other ; we shall 
return later to this point, which presents great difficulty. The 
three which move at the same speed are of course the circles of the 
sun, Venus, and Mercury, as in the Republic, the same speed 
meaning, as there, not the same linear speed (as they are at 
different distances from the earth), but the same angular speed. 

The seven circles are said to be ‘in the proportion of the double 
and triple intervals, three of each’. The allusion is to the 
Pythagorean τετρακτύς represented in the annexed figure, the 
numbers on the one side after 1 being successive powers of 2 
and those on the other side successive powers of 3. When the con- 
centric circles into which the circle of the Other is divided are 
said to correspond to these numbers, it is clear that it must be 

1 Republic x. 617 C, Ὁ. 
M 2 


164 PLATO PARTI 


the circumferences (or, what is the same thing in other words, the 
radii), not the areas, which so correspond ; for, if it were the areas, 
the radii would not be commensurable with one another. The 
dictum is generally + taken to mean that the radii of the successive 
orbits, i.e. the distances between the successive planets and the 
earth, are in the ratio of the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 27. But 
Chalcidius? apparently takes the several numbers to indicate the 
successive differences between radii, for he says that, while the 
first distance (1) is that between the earth and the moon, the second 
(2) is the distance between the moon (not the earth) and the sun; 
on this view, the successive radii are 1,1+2 = 3, 
1+2+3 =6,&c. Macrobius® says that the Plato- 
nists made the distances cumulative by way of 
multiplication, the distance of the sun from 
ὃ 27 the earth being thus (in terms of the distance of 
Fig. 5. the moon from the earth) 1 x 2 or 2, that of Venus 
1xX2x3=6, that of Mercury 6x 4= 24, that of 

Mars 24x9=216, that of Jupiter 216x8=1,728, and that of 
Saturn 1,728x27 = 46,656. (It will be observed that in this 
arrangement 9 comes before 8, Macrobius having previously ex- 
plained this order by saying that, after 1, we first take the first 
even number, 2, then the first odd number, 3, then the second even 
number, 4, then the second odd number, 9, then the third even 
number, 8, and last of all the third odd number, 27.) But, whatever 
the exact meaning, it is obvious that we have here no serious 
estimate of the relative distances of the sun, moon, and planets 


I 


based on empirical data or observations; the statement is a piece 


of Plato’s ideal a priorz astronomy, in accordance with his statement 
in the Republic, Book VII, that the true astronomer should ‘dis- 
pense with the starry heavens’. 

Plato goes on to the question of Time and its measurement. As 
the ideal after which the world was created is eternal, but no 
created thing can be eternal, God devised for the world an image 
of abiding eternity ‘moving according to number, even that which 
we have named time’. 


1 Cf. Zeller, ii‘, p. 779 note. 
3 Chalcidius, 7zmaeus, c. 96, p. 167, ed. Wrobel. 
8 Macrobius, /” somn, Scip. ii. 3. 14. 


CH. XV PLATO 165 


‘For, whereas days and nights and months and years were not 
before the heaven was created, he then devised their birth along 
with the construction of the heaven. Now these are all portions 
of time. «1 

‘So, then, this was the plan and intent of God for the birth of 
time ; the sun, the moon, and the five other stars which are called 
planets have been created for defining and preserving the numbers 
of time. 

‘And when God had made their several bodies, he set them in 
the orbits in which the revolution of the Other was moving, in 
seven orbits seven stars. The moon he placed in that nearest the 
earth, in the second above the earth he placed the sun; next, 
the Morning Star and that which is held sacred to Hermes he 
placed in those orbits which move in a circle having equal speed 
with the sun, but have the contrary tendency to it ; hence it is that 
the sun and the star of Hermes and the Morning Star overtake, 
and are in like manner overtaken by, one another. And as to the 
rest, if we were to set forth the orbits in which he placed them, 
and the causes for which he did so, the account, though only by 
the way, would lay on us a heavier task than that which is our 
chief object in giving it. These things, perhaps, may hereafter, 
when we have leisure, find a fitting exposition.’ ? 

The crux of this passage is the statement that, while Venus and 
Mercury have the same speed as the sun, i.e. have the same angular 
speed, describing their orbits in about the same time, ‘they have 
the contrary tendency to the sun’; the words are ἐναντίαν δύναμιν, 
‘contrary tendency’ or ‘force’. In an earlier passage, as we have 
seen, Plato spoke of some of the seven planets moving on the 
concentric circles forming part of the circle of the Other as going 
‘the opposite way’ (κατὰ τἀναντία) to the others. Now, although 
δύναμις need not perhaps here be a ‘principle of movement’ as 
Aristotle defines it,* yet if we read the two passages together and 
give the most natural sense to the words in both cases, the meaning 
certainly seems to be that some of the planets describe their orbits 
in the contrary direction to the others, and that those which move, 
in the zodiac, the opposite way to the others are Venus and 
Mercury ; that is to say, the sun, the moon, Mars, Jupiter, and 
Saturn all move in the direction of the motion of the circle of the 
Other, i.e. from west to east, while Venus and Mercury move in 
the same plane of the zodiac but in the opposite direction, i.e. from 

1 Timaeus 37 Ὁ, E. 2 Timaeus 38 C-E. 

3 Timaeus 36 Ὁ, p. 159 above. * Aristotle, Meaph. Δ. 12, 1019 a 15. 


166 PLATO PARTI 


east to west. At the same time we are told that the periods in 
which the sun, Venus, and Mercury describe their orbits are the 
same. Thus if, say, Venus and the sun are close together at a 
particular time, they would according to this theory be nearly 
together again at the end of a year; but in the meantime Venus, 
moving in a sense contrary to the sun’s motion, i.e. in the direction 
of the daily rotation from east to west, would pass through all 
possible angles of divergence from the sun and, after gaining a day, 
would appear with it again. But, as it is, Venus is never far away 
from the sun; and consequently Plato’s statements, thus inter- 
preted, are in evident contradiction to the facts, as easily verified 
by observation. It is not surprising that commentators have 
exhausted their ingenuity to find an interpretation less compromising 
to Plato’s reputation as an astronomer. It is true that in the 
Republic all the seven planets revolve in one direction ; but Plato 
is here referring to a phenomenon which is not mentioned in the 
Republic, namely, the fact that Venus and Mercury respectively 
on the one hand, and the sun on the other, ‘overtake and are 
overtaken by one another’, and the idea of the two planets having 
the ‘contrary tendency to the sun’ is clearly put forward for the 
precise purpose of explaining this phenomenon. It is accordingly with 
reference to the standings-still and the retrogradations of Venus 
and Mercury that the commentators try to interpret Plato’s words. 
On the first passage (36 D) Proclus gives a number of alternatives, 
differing very slightly in substance, some importing the machinery 
of epicycles (which, as Proclus says, are foreign to Plato) and others 


not, but all designed to make Plato refer to nothing more than the 


stationary points and retrogradations; Proclus! on this occasion 
rejects them all, observing that the truest explanation is to suppose 
that Plato did not mean that there was any opposition of direction 
among the seven bodies at all, but only that all the seven, moving 
one way, moved in the opposite sense to the general movement of 
the daily rotation. This is cutting the knot witha vengeance. On the 
second passage (38 D) Proclus has the same kind of discussion, 
giving, as an alternative to the importation of epicycles, &c., the 
hypothesis that the ‘overtakings’ may be accounted for by the 
speeds of the sun, Venus, and Mercury varying relatively to one 


1 Proclus, Jz Timaeum 221 D sqq. 


es 


CH. XV PLATO 167 


another at different points of their respective orbits.1 Chalcidius? 
has much the same account of the different interpretations, but 
fortunately coupled with a precious passage about the view taken 
by Heraclides of Pontus of the movements of Venus and Mercury 
in relation to the sun: an account which, although it again wrongly 
imports epicycles into Heraclides’ theory, as Theon of Smyrna and 
others erroneously import them into Plato’s,* enables the true theory 
of Heraclides to be disentangled.* 

Of modern editors Martin® refuses to accept any of these explana- 
tions which give a meaning to the passages other than that which 
the words naturally convey, and stoutly maintains that Plato did 
actually say that Venus and Mercury describe their orbits the 
contrary way to the motion of the sun, and meant what he said, 
incomprehensible as this may appear. He quotes in support of his 
view the evidence of Cicero in the fragments of his translation of 
the Zimaeus. It is true that Cicero fences with the expression ‘ the 
contrary tendency’, translating it as ‘vim quandam contrariam’, 
where ‘quandam’ has nothing corresponding to it in the Greek, but 
merely indicates a certain timidity or hesitation which Cicero felt in 
translating δύναμις by vis; Cicero, perhaps, may have had some 
idea, such as Proclus had, of a capricious force of some kind causing 
the two planets respectively to go faster at one time and slower at 
another. But by his translation of the other passage about the 
seven smaller circles making up the circle of the Other he shows 
that he interpreted Plato as meaning that some of the planets 
describing these circles move in the opposite direction to the others: 
his words are ‘contrariis inter se cursibus’. 

Archer-Hind® maintains that the phrase ‘having the contrary. 
tendency to it’ does not mean that Venus and Mercury revolve ‘in 
a direction contrary to the sun. He believes that ‘Plato meant the 
Sun to share the contrary motion of Venus and Mercury in relation 
to the other planets’. ‘It is quite natural,’ he says, ‘seeing that 
the sun and the orbits of Venus and Mercury are encircled by the 


1 Proclus, 17: Timaeum 259 A-C. 

3 Chalcidius, 7imaeus c. 97, pp. 167-8; c. 109, p. 176, Wrobel. 

3 Theon of Smyrna, p. 186. 12-24. 

* Hultsch, ‘Das astronomische System des Herakleides von Pontos’, in 
Jahriuch der classischen Philologie, 1896, pp. 305-16. 

5. Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, pp. 66-75. 

6 Archer-Hind, 7zmaeus, pp. 124-5 ἢ. 


168 PLATO PART I 


orbit of the earth, while Plato supposed them all to revolve about 
the earth, that he should class them together apart from the four 
whose orbits really do encircle that of the earth: his observations 
would very readily lead him to attributing to these three a motion 
contrary to the rest.’ This seems to be a very large assumption; 
and indeed there is no evidence that Plato made any distinction 
between the groups of planets which we now call inferior and 
superior ; in his system Venus and Mercury were not even inferior 
to the sun, but above it. Besides, although Archer-Hind’s view 
would satisfy the first passage about some of the seven moving in 
the contrary direction to the others, it still does not explain the 
second statement that Venus and Mercury have ‘ the contrary ten- 
dency to z¢’ (the sun). Accordingly he essays a new explanation. 
‘What I believe it’ [the contrary tendency] ‘to be may be under- 
stood from the accompanying figure which is copied from part of 
a diagram in Arago’s Popular Astronomy.’ It represents the 
motion of Venus relatively to the earth during one year as observed 
in 1713, and is a sort of epicycloid with a loop. The ‘tendency’, 
then, is the ‘tendency on the part of Venus, as seen from the earth, 
periodically to retrace her steps’. That is, Archer-Hind’s explana-_ 
tion is really an explanation of retrogradations by the equivalent of 
epicycles, and is therefore no better than the anachronistic explana- 
tions by Proclus and others to the same effect. 

I do not think that Schiaparellit is any more successful in his 
explanations. He suggests that the first passage ‘ seems to allude 
to the retrogradations, or perhaps to the opposite positions (with 
reference to the sun) in which Mars, "Jupiter, and Saturn on the one 
hand, and Mercury and Venus on the other, carry out their stand- 
ings-still and their retrogradations’. In the second passage he 
translates the words about the ‘contrary tendency’ by ‘receiving 
a force contrary to it’? (the sun), and he implies that this force is 
really in the sun: ‘it might be interpreted simply as a power, which 
the sun seems to have, of making these planets go backward, as if it 
attracted them to itself’. This is not less vague than the explana- 
tions of Proclus and others; it has the disadvantage also that it is 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 Arecursori, p. 16 note. 

2 * Ricevendo una forza contraria a lui.’ 

5 ‘Questo tuttavia si potrebbe interpretare semplicemente di una forza che sem- 
bra avere il Sole, di far retrocedere questi pianeti, quasi li attirasse verso di sé.’ 


CH. XV PLATO : 169 


based on a mistranslation of the Greek. The words mean ‘having’ 
or ‘possessed of (εἰληχότας) the contrary tendency to the sun’, which 
clearly shows that the tendency such as it is resides in the planets 
themselves. 

We pass on to the next passage which is relevant to our subject. 

‘But when each of the beings [the planets] which were to join in 
creating time had arrived in its proper orbit, and they had been as 
animate bodies secured with living bonds and had learnt their 
appointed task, then in the motion of the Other, which was oblique 
and crossed the motion of the Same and was controlled by it, 
one planet described a larger, and another a smaller circle, and 
those which described the smaller circle went round it more swiftly 
and those which described the larger more slowly ; but because 
of the motion of the Same those which went round most swiftly 
appeared to be overtaken by those which went round more slowly, 
though in reality they overtook them. For the motion of the Same, 
which twists all their circles into spirals because they have two sepa- 
rate and simultaneous motions in opposite senses, is the swiftest of all, 
and displays closest to itself that which departs most slowly from 11.1 

The spirals are easily understood by reference to the figure on 
p. 160. Suppose a planet to be at a certain moment at the point 
fF. It is carried by the motion of the Same about the axis GH, 
round the circle FAEB. At the same time it has its own motion 
along the circle FDEC. After 24 hours accordingly it is not at the 
point F on the latter circle, but at a point some way from F on 
the arc FD. Similarly after the next 24 hours, it is at a point 
on FD further from 7; and soon. Hence its complete motion is 
not in a circle on the sphere about GH as diameter but in a spiral 
described on it. After the planet has reached the point on the 
zodiac (as D) furthest from the equator it begins to approach the 
equator again, then crosses it, and then gets further away from it on 
the other side, until it reaches the point on the zodiac furthest from 
the equator on that side (as C). Consequently the spiral is included 
between the two small circles of the sphere which have KD, CL as 
diameters. 

The remark about the overtakings of one planet by another is 
also easily explained.. Let us consider the matter with reference to 
_ two of the seven planets in the wider sense, namely the sun and the 
_ moon. Plato says that the moon, which has the smaller orbit, 
1 Timaeus 38 E-39 B. 


170 PLATO PARTI 


moves the faster, that is, the independent movement of the moon 
in its orbit is faster than the independent movement of the sun in 
its orbit, by which he means that the moon describes its orbit in 
the shorter period. Thus the sun describes its orbit in about 365% 
days ; the moon returns to the same position relatively to the fixed 
stars in 274 days, a sidereal month, and relatively to the sun in 29% 
days, a synodic month. Now, if we consider the whole apparent 
motion of the sun and moon, i.e. including the daily rotation as 
well as the independent motion, the moon appears to go round the 
earth more slowly than the sun. For at new moon it sets soon after 
the sun. The next day it sets later, the day after later still, and so 
on; it appears therefore to be gradually left behind by the sun, or 
the sun appears to gain on it daily, that is, the moon ‘appears to be 
overtaken’ by the sun. On the other hand, if we consider only the 
relative motion of the sun and moon, i.e. if we leave out of account 
the daily rotation as common to both, the moon, describing its 
orbit more quickly than the sun describes its orbit, gains on. the 
sun, that is, ‘in reality it overtakes’ the sun, as Plato says. 


‘And that there might be some clear measure of the relative. 


slowness and swiftness with which they moved in their eight revo- 
lutions, God. kindled a light in the second orbit from the earth, 
which we now have named the Sun, in order that it might shine 
most brightly through all the heaven, and that living things, so 
many as was meet, should possess number, learning it from the 
revolution of the Same and uniform. Night then and day have 
been created in this manner and for these reasons, making the 
period of the one and most intelligent revolution; a month has 
passed when the moon, after completing her own orbit, overtakes 
the sun, and a year when the sun has completed its own circle. 

‘But the courses of the others men have not grasped, save a few 
out of many ; and they neither give them names nor investigate the 
measurement of them one against another by means of numbers, in 
fact they can scarcely be said to know that time is represented by 
the wanderings of these, which are incalculable in multitude and 
marvellously intricate. 

‘None the less, however, can we observe that the perfect number 
of time fulfils the perfect year at the moment when the relative 
speeds of all the eight revolutions accomplish their course together 
and reach their starting-point, being measured by the circle of the 
Same and uniformly moving.’? 


1 Timaeus 39 Β- Ὁ. 





χὰ «dsp ὗν 


CH. XV PLATO ; 171 


The ‘month’ in the above passage is the σγησας. month, the 
period in which the moon returns to the same position relatively 
to the sun. ‘The courses of the others’ are the periods of the 
planets, which are not called by separate names like ‘ year’ and 
‘month’, and which, Plato says, only a very few astronomers had 
attempted to measure one against another. The description of the 
‘wanderings’ of the planets as ‘incalculable in multitude and mar- 
vellously intricate’ is an admission in sharp contrast to the assump- 
tion of the spirals regularly described on spheres of which the inde- 
pendent orbits are great circles, and still more so to the assertion in 
the Laws that it is wrong and even impious to speak of the planets 
as ‘wandering’ at all, since ‘each of them traverses the same path, 
not many paths, but always one circular path’. For the moment 
Plato condescends to use the language of apparent astronomy, the 
astronomy of observation; and this may remind us that Plato’s 
astronomy, even in its latest form as expounded in the 77mmaeus and 
the Laws, is consciously and intentionally ideal, in accordance with 
his conception of the true astronomy which ‘ lets the heavens alone ’. 

What was the length of Plato’s Great Year? Adam? in his edition 
of the Republic, makes it to be 36,000 years, a figure which he bases 
on his interpretation of the famous passage in the Republic, Book VIII, 
about the Platonic ‘ perfect number’, which is there called the ‘ period 
for a divine creature’, just as, in the passage of the 7zmaeus, ‘the 
perfect number of time fulfils the perfect year’. The perfect num- 
ber of the Republic being, according to both Adam and Hultsch, 
the square of 3,600, or 12,960,000, Adam connects the perfect year 
with the two periods of the myth in the Po/zticus,? during the first 
of which God accompanies and helps to wheel the revolving world, 
while during the second he lets it go. Each of these periods 
contains ‘many myriads of revolutions’, the word for revolutions 
being περιόδων, the same word as is used in the Republic for the 
‘period for a divine creature’. Now in the Podliticus περίοδοι, 
* periods’ or ‘ revolutions’, refers to the revolutions of the world on 
its own axis. Hence Adam infers that the perfect or great year 
consists of 12,960,000 daily rotations or 12,960,000 days. Next, he 

cites the Laws, in which Plato divides the year into 360 days (which 


--1 Laws vii. 22, 821 B—-D, 822 A. 
3 Adam’s Republic, vol. ii, pp. 204 sqq. notes, 295-305. * Politicus 2704. 


172 PLATO PART I 


is, it is true, an ideal division).!. Dividing then 12,960,000 by 360, 
we obtain 36,000 years. Adam seeks confirmation of this in the 
fact that we find the period of 36,000 years sometimes actually 
called the ‘great Platonic year’ in early astronomical treatises. 
Thus Sacro-Bosco in his Sphaera says that ‘the ninth circle in a 
hundred and a few years, according to Ptolemy, completes one 
degree of its own motion and makes a complete revolution in 
36,c00 years (which time is commonly called a great year or 
Platonic year)’. Since a text-book of Ptolemaic astronomy makes 
this statement, Adam infers that Ptolemy or some of his prede- 
cessors had understood the Platonic Number, and that we can 
perhaps trace the knowledge of the Number as far back as 
Hipparchus. For Hipparchus discovered the precession of the 
equinoxes and is supposed to have given 36,000 years as the time 
in which the equinoctial points make a complete revolution ; and 
Adam finds it difficult to believe that Hipparchus was uninfluenced 
by Plato’s Number. There is, however, the strongest reason for 
doubting this, because Hipparchus’s discovery of precession was 
based on something much more scientific than a recollection of the 
Platonic Number, namely actual recorded observations. It is true 
that Ptolemy estimated the movement of precession at 22° in 
265 years, i.e. about 1° in 100 years, or 36” a year,? and it is 
commonly supposed that this is precisely Hipparchus’s estimate *. 
But it is probable that Hipparchus’s estimate was much more 
correct. The evidence of Ptolemy* shows that Hipparchus 
found the bright star Spica to be, at the time of his observation 
of it, 6° distant from the autumnal equinoctial point, whereas 
he deduced from the- observations recorded by Timocharis that 
Timocharis had made the distance 8°. Consequently the motion 
had amounted to 2° in the period between 283 (or 295) and 
129 B.C., a period of 154 (or 166) years; this gives about 46-8” 
(or 434”) a year, which is much nearer than 36” to the true 
value of 50-3757”. It is true that, in a quotation which Ptolemy 


1 Laws vi. 756 B-C, 758 B. 

* Ptolemy, Syv¢axts vii. 2, vol.ii, p. 15.9-17 Heib. Yet Ptolemy, in another 
place (vii. 3, pp. 28-30), infers from two observations made by Timocharis in 
295 and 283 B.C. respectively that the movement amounted to 10’ in about 12 
years, which gives 50” a year. 

3 See Tannery, Recherches sur l'histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, pp. 265 564. 

* Ptolemy, vii. 2, vol. ii, pp. 12, 13, Heib, 


CH. XV PLATO ; 173 


makes from Hipparchus’s treatise on the Length of the Year,! 
1° in 100 years is the rate mentioned; but Tannery points out that 
this is not conclusive, because Hipparchus is in the particular 
passage only giving a lower limit, for he says ‘az /east one-hun- 
dredth of a degree’ and ‘in 300 years the movement would have to 
amount to at /east 3°’. It would appear therefore that, if the estimate 
of 1°in a hundred years was due to Platonic influence at all, it must 
have been Ptolemy who Platonized rather than Hipparchus. And 
it seems clear that the Great Year of 36,000 years, if we assume it 
to be deducible from the passage of Plato, is certainly not ‘best 
explained with reference to precession’ as Burnet supposes.” Indeed 
the passage in the 7zmaeus is hardly consistent with this, for the 
Great Year is there distinctly said to be the period after which all 
the eight revolutions’, i.e. those of the seven ‘planets’ as well as 
that of the sphere of the fixed stars, come back to the same relative 
positions; and the only revolution of the sphere of the fixed stars 
that is mentioned is the daily rotation. 


‘The visible form of the deities he made mostly of fire, that 
it might be most bright and most fair to behold, and, likening it 
to the All, he fashioned it like a sphere and assigned it to the 


intelligence of the supreme to follow after it; and he disposed 


it round about throughout all the heaven, to be an adornment 
of it in very truth, broidered over the whole expanse. And he 
bestowed two movements on each, one in the same place and 


uniform, as remaining constant to the same thoughts about the 


same things, the other a movement forward controlled by the 


revolution of the Same and uniform ; but for the other five move- 
ments he made it motionless and at rest, in order that each star 
might attain the highest order of perfection. 


‘From this cause then have been created all the stars that 


wander not but remain fixed for ever, living beings, divine, eternal, 


and revolving uniformly and in the same place; while those which. 
have turnings and wander as aforesaid have come into being on 
the principles which we have declared in the foregoing.’ ὃ 


The deities are of course the stars, and ‘the intelligence of the 
supreme’ which they follow is the revolution of the circle of 
the Same which holds the mastery over all. The two movements 

common to the fixed stars are (1) rotation about their own axes 


_ } Ptolemy, L.c., vol. ii, pp. 15, 16, Heib. 
_? Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p. 26 note. 8 Timaeus 40 A-B. 





174 PLATO PARTI 


and (2) their motion as part of the whole heaven in its daily 
rotation, the first being a motion in one and the same place, the 
other a motion ‘forward’, or of translation, in circles parallel to 
the equator, from east to west. The idea that the fixed stars 
rotate about their own axes is attributed by Achilles to the 
Pythagoreans.! The ‘other five movements’ (in addition to move- 
ment forward) are movements backward, right, left, up and down. 

Rotation about their own axes is only attributed in express terms 
to the fixed stars; but Proclus is doubtless right in holding that 
Plato intended to convey that the planets also rotate about their 
own axes, the result of which is that, while the fixed stars have 
two motions, the planets have three, rotation about their own axes, 
revolution. about the axis of the universe due to their sharing in 
the motion of the Same, and lastly their independent movements 
in their orbits. The ‘turnings’ refer to the fact that, like the sun, 
the planets, moving in the circle of the zodiac, go as far from the 
equator as the tropic of Cancer and then turn, first approaching 
the equator and then passing it, until they reach the tropic of 
Capricorn when they again turn back. 

‘But the earth our foster-mother, globed round the axis stretched 
from pole to pole through the universe, he made to be guardian 
and creator of night and day, the first and chiefest of the gods that 
have been created within the heaven. 

‘But the circlings of these same gods and their comings alongside 
one another, and the manner of the returnings of their orbits upon 
themselves and their approachings, which of the deities meet one 
another in their conjunctions and which are in opposition, in what 
order they pass before one another, and at what times they are 
hidden from us and again reappearing send, to them who cannot 
calculate their movements, terrors, and portents of things to come— 
to declare all this without visible imitations of these same move- 
ments were labour lost.’ 3 

It is mainly upon this passage, combined with a passage of 
Aristotle alluding to it, that some writers have based the theory 
that Plato asserted the earth’s rotation about its own axis. There 
is now, however, no possibility of doubt that this view is wrong, 
and that Plato made the earth entirely motionless in the centre 
of the universe. This was proved by Boeckh in his elaborate 


1 Achilles, /sagoge in Arati Dhaenomena, c. 18 (Uvanologium, p. 138 C). 
2 Timaeus 40 B-D. 


as 








CH. XV PLATO 175 


examination of the whole subject? made in reply to a tract by 
Gruppe”, and again in a later paper* where Boeckh success- 
fully refuted objections taken by Grote to his arguments. The 
cause of the whole trouble is the ambiguity in the meaning of 
the Greek word which is used of the earth ‘g/obed round the axis’. 
It now appears that ἐλλομένην is the correct reading, although there 
is MS. authority for εἱλλομένην and εἰλλομένην ; but all three words 
seem to be no more than variant forms meaning the same thing 
(literally ‘rolled’). _Boeckh indeed seems to have gone too far in 
saying that εἱλλομένην can only mean ‘globed round’ in Plato, 
because no actual use of εἵλλεσθαι or εἵλεσθαι in the sense of rotation 
about an axis or revolution in an orbit round a point can be found 
in the Zzmaeus or elsewhere in the dialogues ; for,as Teichmiiller * 
points out, εἵλλω is related to ἕλιξ (a spiral) and ἑλίττω (Ionic εἱλίσσω), 
to ‘roll’ or ‘ wind’, which latter word is actually used along with the 
word στρέφεσθαι (‘to be turned’) in the Theaetetus.® But, while ἐλλο- 
μένην does not exclude the idea of motion, it does not necessarily 
include it ; ὁ and the real proof that it does not imply rotation here 
(but only being ‘rolled round’ in the sense of massed or packed 
round) is not the etymological consideration, but the fact that theidea 
of the earth rotating at all on its axis is quite inconsistent with the 
whole astronomical system described in the 7zmaeus. An essential 
feature of that system, emphasized over and over again, is the 
motion of the Circle of the Same which carries every other motion 
and all else in the universe round with it; this is the daily rotation 
which carries round the earth the sphere of the fixed stars, and it is 
this rotation of the fixed stars once completed which makes a day 
and a night; cf. the passage ‘night and day have been created... - 
and these are the revolution of the one and most intelligent circuit ’.” 


1 Boeckh, Untersuchungen iiber das kosmische System des Platon, 1852. 

3 Gruppe, Die kosmischen Systeme der Griechen, 1851. 

3 Boeckh, Kleine Schriften, iii, p. 294 sqq. 

* Teichmiiller, Studien zur Geschichte der Begriffe, 1874, pp. 240-2. 

5 Theaetetus 194 B. 

5 Thus in Sophocles, Antigone 340, ἰλλομένων, used of ploughs, means ‘going to 
and fro’; but four instances occurring in Apollonius Rhodius tell in favour of 
Boeckh’s interpretation of our passage: i. 129 δεσμοῖς ἰλλόμενον, where (as in 
ii. 1249 also) ἰλλόμενος means ‘fast bound’ ; i. 329 ἰλλομένοις ἐπὶ λαίφεσι, ‘ with 
sails furled’; ii. 27 ἰλλόμενός περ ὁμίλῳ, ‘hemmed in by a crowd.’ Simplicius 
(on De caelo, p. 517, 15) cites Ap. Rh. i. 129 and adds that, even if the word is 
spelt εἰλλόμενος, it still means εἰργόμενος (‘ shut in’), as it does once in a play of 
Aeschylus (now lost). 1 Timaeus 39 C. 


176 PLATO PARTI 


If the earth rotated about its axis in either direction, it would not be 
the rotation of the sphere of the fixed stars alone which would 
make night and day, but the sum or difference of the two rotations 
according as the earth rotated in the same or the opposite sense to 
the sphere of the fixed stars; but there is not a word anywhere 
to suggest any cause but the one rotation of the fixed stars in 
24 hours. 

This being so, how did Aristotle come to write ‘Some say that, 
although the earth lies at the centre, it is yet wound and moves 
about the axis stretched through the universe from pole to pole, as 
is stated in the Zzmaeus’1? For three MSS. out of Bekker’s five 
add the words καὶ κινεῖσθαι, ‘ and is moved’,to ἴλλεσθαι, ‘is wound’, 
whereas the actual passage in the Zzmaeus has ἰλλομένην and 
nothing more. Alexander? held that Aristotle must have been 
right in adding the gloss ‘and moves’ because he could not have 
been unaware either of the meaning of ἰλλομένην or of Plato’s 
intention. Simplicius* is not so sure, but makes the best excuse he 
can. As the word ἰλλομένην might be interpreted by the ordinary 
person as implying rotation, Aristotle would be anxious to take 
account of the full apparent signification as well as the true one, in 
accordance with his habit of minutely criticizing the language of his 
predecessors with all its possible implications; he might then be 
supposed to say in this passage (which immediately follows his 
reference to those who held that the earth is not in the centre but 
moves round the central fire): ‘And, if any one were to suppose 
that Plato affirmed its rotation in the centre through taking ἰλλο- 
μένην (being wound) to mean κινουμένην (being moved), we should 
at once have another class of persons coming under the more 
general category of those who assert that the earth moves; for the 
hypotheses will be that the earth moves in one of two ways, either 
round the centre or in the centre; and the person who understands 
Plato’s remark in the sense of the latter hypothesis will be proved 
to be in error. But Simplicius evidently feels that this is not 
a very Satisfactory explanation, for he goes on to suggest the alter- 
native that the words καὶ κινεῖσθαι, ‘and moves’, are an interpola- 


? Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 293 Ὁ 30. 
* Simplicius on De caelo, p. 518. 1-8, 20-21, ed. Heib. 
§ Simplicius, loc, cit., pp. 518. 9-519. 8. 


—— τὰ ναι 


ΡΨ Ρ 








CH. XV PLATO ; 177 


tion; the passage will then, he says, be easy to understand ; the con- 
trast will be a double one, between those who say that the earth (1) is 
not in the centre but (2) moves about the centre, and those who say 
that (1) it is in the centre and (2) is at rest there. It would not be 
unnatural if an unwise annotator had interpolated the words from 
the passage at the beginning of the next chapter (14), where the 
same remark is made without any mention of the Zzmaeus: ‘for, as 
we said before, some make the earth one of the stars, while others 
place it in the centre and say that it is wound and moves (ἴλλεσθαι 
καὶ κινεῖσθαι, 45 before) about the axis through the centre joining the 
poles.’' Archer-Hind 5 is disposed to accept the suggestion that the 
words are interpolated from the later into the earlier passage; but the 
suggestion only helps if Aristotle is referring in the later passage to 
some one other than Plato. Archer-Hind, it is true, thinks that 
the added words in the second passage distinguish the theory there 
stated from Plato’s; but I think this is not so. The theory 
alluded to in both passages is, I think, identically the same, as 
indeed we may infer from the words ‘as we said before’. Another 
attempted explanation should be mentioned ; it is to the effect that 
the words ‘as is stated in the 7imaeus’ in the passage of Aristotle 
refer only to the words ‘about the axis stretched through the uni- 
verse from pole to pole’ and not to the whole phrase ‘it is yet wound 
and moves about the axis, &c.’. This explanation was given, as much 
as 600 years ago, by Thomas Aquinas ;* in recent years it has been 
independently suggested by Martin* and Zeller,° and Boeckh has 
an explanation which comes to the same thing. What seems to 
me to be fatal to it is the word ἔλλεσθαι, ‘is wound’, immediately 
preceding; this corresponds to Plato’s word ἰλλομένην, and it is ~ 
impossible, I think, to suppose that ἔλλεσθαι does not, as much as 


1 Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 14, 296 ἃ 25. 3 Archer-Hind, Zimaeus, p. 133 note. 
5. Dreyer (Planetary Systems, p. 78) was apparently the first to point this out. 
The explanation was put forward in Themas Aquinas’s Comment. in libros 
Aristotelis de caelo, lib. ii, lect. xxi (in S. Thomae Aguinatis Opera omnia, 
ili, p. 205, Rome, 1886): ‘ Quod autem addit, guemadmodum in Timaeo 
scripium est, referendum est non ad id quod dictum est, revolvi δέ moveri, sed 


_ ad id quod sequitur, guod sit super statutum polum,’ 


5 ane in Mém. de 1’ Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 1881, 
ΡΡ- 77; 79. 
bi Zeller, ‘Ueber die richtige Auffassung einiger aristotelischen Citate,’ in 
Sitzungsber. der k. Preuss. Akad. der Wissenschaften, 1888, p. 1339. 
5 Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, pp. 81-3. 
1410 N 


178 PLATO PARTI 


the words about the axis, refer to the Zzmaeus. The only possible 
conclusion left is the earlier one of Martin,! in which Teichmiiller? 
agrees, namely that Aristotle deliberately misrepresented Plato for 
the purpose of scoring a point. There are many other instances in 
Aristotle of this ‘ eristic ’ and ‘ sophistical’ criticism, as Teichmiiller 
calls it, of Plato’s doctrines. 

Other writers seem to have been misled from the first by Aris- 
totle’s erroneous description of the theory of the Timaeus. Cicero, 
in speaking of the rotation of the earth about its axis, says: ‘And 
some think that Plato also affirmed it in the 7zmaeus but in some- 
what obscure terms.’* Plutarch* discusses and rejects this inter- 
pretation. Proclus is also perfectly clear that Plato made the earth 
absolutely at rest: ‘Let’, he says, ‘ Heraclides of Pontus, who was 
not a disciple of Plato, hold this opinion and make the earth rotate 
round its axis; but Plato made it unmoved.’® Proclus goes on to 
support this by a good argument. If, he says, Plato had not denied 
motion to the earth, he would not have described his ‘ perfect year’ 
with reference to eight motions only; he would have had to take 
account of the earth’s motion also as a ninth. 


The words ‘guardian and creator (φύλακα καὶ δημιουργόν) οἵ 


night and day’ have been thought by some to constitute a difficulty 
on the assumption that the earth abides absolutely unmoved in the 
centre. How, it is asked, can a thing which is purely passive be 
said to ‘create’ anything? Martin® furnishes the answer to this. 
If the earth were purely passive, it would not be at rest; it would 
rotate about its axis once in 24 hours, since it would be carried 
round in the daily revolution of the universe. In order to remain 
at rest, as Plato requires, it has to exert a force in the opposite 
direction equal to that exerted by the daily revolution; it produces 
day and night therefore by the energy of its resistance which keeps 
it at rest, while it is the ‘guardian’ by virtue of its immobility. 
A guardian is, as Boeckh says,’ one who remains on the spot to 
watch and ward ; this is the réle of the earth; if it deserted its post, 


1 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, p. 87. 

2 Teichmiiller, Studien zur Geschichte der Begriffe, 1874, pp. 238-45. 

8 Cicero, Acad. Pr. ii. 39,123. “ Plutarch, Quaest. Plat. viii. 1-3, p. 1006 C-F. 
5 Proclus zz Tim. p. 281 E. 

6 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, pp. 88, 90. 

7 Boeckh, Das kosmésche System des Platon, p. 69. 


ee ae 





CH. XV PLATO 179 


if it were not there, there would only be light, and not day and 
night ; hence it is called the guardian of night and day. Proclus 
observes that the earth is of course the ‘creator’ of night because 
night is the effect of the earth’s shadow which is cast in the shape 
of a cone, and the earth can be said to be the creator of day by 
virtue of the day’s connexion with night, although one would say 
that the sun rather than the earth is the actual cause of day.! 
It is, however, the earth which is the cause of the distinction 
between night and day; consequently it may fairly be called the 
‘creator’ of both. In the Timaeus Locrus* the earth is called 
the ὅρος (boundary, limit, or determining principle) of night and day ; 
and Plutarch* aptly compares it to the upright needle of the sundial : 
it is its fixedness, he says, which gives the stars a rising and a setting. 

Some expressions in the second paragraph of the passage quoted 
on p. 174 call for a word or two in explanation. The ‘circlings’, 
&c., are of course those of the planets ; the circlings are their revolu- 
tions round the earth as common centre, as it were in a round dance 
(χορεία), ‘their well-ordered and harmonious revolutions, as Pro- 
clus says. The ‘comings alongside one another’ (παραβολαΐί, the 
same word as is used in geometry of the ‘application’ of an area to 
a straight line) are explained by Proclus as ‘ their comings together 
in respect of longitude, while their positions in respect of latitude 
or of depth are different, in other words, their rising simultaneously 
and their setting simultaneously’® ‘The returnings of their orbits 
upon themselves and their approachings’ (ai τῶν κύκλων πρὸς ἑαυ- 
τοὺς ἐπανακυκλήσεις Kai προσχωρήσεις) are somewhat differently 
interpreted. Proclus understands them as meaning retrogradations 
and advance movements respectively: ‘for when they advance they ἢ 
are approaching their ἀποκατάστασις (their return to the same place 
in the heavens) ; and, when their movement is retrograde, they return 
upon themselves.’® Boeckh agrees in taking προσχωρήσεις to mean 
their return to the same position in the heavens (ἀποκατάστασις) 
but takes ἐπανακυκλήσεις, their return upon one another, to be an 
earlier stage of the same motion; they ‘turn upon themselves’ in 

? Proclus zz Tim. 282 B,C; cf. Archer-Hind, 7imaeus, p. 134 note. 

2 Timacus Locrus 97 Ὁ. 

® Plutarch, Quaest. Plat. viii.3, p. 1006 F ; cf. Defac. in orbe lunae, c. 25, p. 938 E. 

* Proclus iz Tim. p. 284 B. 

5 Ibid., p. 284 6. 5 Ibid. 

N2 


180 PLATO PARTI 


respect of the circular motion tending to bring them round again to 
the same point, and the ‘approaching’ is the arrival at the same 
point. 

Some allusions to the sun, moon, and planets as the ‘ instruments 
of time’ (ὄργανα χρόνου) bring us to the end of the astronomy of 
the Zimaeus. After a passage about the created gods and other 
gods born of them, the Creator makes a second blending of Soul. 


‘And when he had compounded the whole, he portioned off souls 
equal in number tothe stars and distributed a soul to each star and, 
setting them in the stars as in a chariot, he showed them the nature 
of the universe and declared to them its fated laws. ... and how 
they must be sown into the instruments of time befitting them 
severally.’ 3 


Archer-Hind explains that the ‘souls’ here distributed among 
the stars, one to each, are different from the souls of the stars them- 
selves and are rather portions of the whole substance of soul ; this 
was so distributed in order that it might learn the laws of the 
universe; then finally, he thinks, it was redistributed among 
the planets for division into separate souls incorporated in bodies.’ 
The instruments of time are mentioned again a little later on: 


‘And when he had ordained all these things for them. . . God 
sowed some in the earth, some in the moon, and some in the other 
instruments of time.’ 5 


Gruppe seizes upon this passage to argue that the earth is in- 
cluded with the moon and the other planets among the ‘ instruments 
of time’, and hence that, as a measurer of time, the earth cannot be 
at rest but must rotate round its axis. But Boeckh® points out 
that even in this passage the earth itself need not be an instrument 
of time, for ‘the other instruments of time’ may mean ‘other than 
the moon’ just as well as ‘ other than the earth and moon’; and it 
is clear from another passage that the earth is ot one of the 
‘instruments of time’. For in a sentence already quoted we are 
told that ‘ the sun and the moon and five other stars which have the 
name of planets have been created for defining and preserving 


1 Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, p. 60. 

2 Timaeus 41 D, E. 8 Archer-Hind, 7imaeus, p. 141-2 note. 
4 Timaeus 42D. 

5 Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, pp. 71-3- 








—— 





CH. XV ; PLATO 181 


the numbers of time’, i.e. as the instruments of time. It is true 
that the remaining ‘instrument’, which measures the day of about 
24 hours, is not here mentioned ; but, when it does come to be 
mentioned, this instrument is not the earth, but the motion of the 
circle of the Same, or the sphere of the fixed stars: ‘Night and day 
... are one revolution of the undivided and most intelligent circuit.’ 3 


We have next to inquire whether still later dialogues contain or 
indicate any modification of the system of the Zzmaeus. We come 
then to the Laws. 

In Book VII occurs the passage already alluded to above, which 
in the first place exposes what appeared to Plato to be errors in the 
common notions about the movements of the planets current in his 
time, and then states, in a matter of fact way, the view which seems 
to him the most correct. After arithmetic and the science of calcu- 
lation, and geometry as the science of measurement, with the dis- 
tinction between commensurables and incommensurables, astronomy 
is introduced as a subject for the instruction of the young, when the 
following conversation takes place between the Athenian stranger 
and Clinias. 


‘ Ath. My good friends, I make bold to say that nowadays we Greeks 
all affirm what is false of the great gods, the sun and the moon. 

Cl. What is the falsehood you mean ? 

Ath. We say that they never continue in the same path, and that 
along with them are certain other stars which are in the same case, 
and which we therefore call planets. 

Cl. By Zeus, you are right, O stranger ; for many times in my 
life I too have noticed that the Morning Star and the Evening 
Star never follow the same course but wander in every possible way, © 
and of course the sun and the moon behave in the way which is 
familiar to everybody. 

Ath. These are just the things, Megillus and Clinias, which I say 
citizens of a country like ours and the young should learn with regard 
to the gods in heaven; they should learn the facts about them all 
so far as to avoid blasphemy in this respect, and to honour them 
at all times, sacrificing to them and addressing to them pious 
prayers. 

Cl. You are right, assuming that it is at all possible to learn that 
to which you refer; if there is anything in our present views about 


1 Timacus 38 C. ? Ibid. 39 B,C. 


182 PLATO PARTI 
the gods that is not correct, and instruction will correct it, I too 
agree that we ought to learn a thing of such magnitude and impor- 
tance. Do you then try your best to explain how these things are 
as you say, and we will try to follow your instruction. 

Ath, Well, it is not easy to grasp what I mean, nor yet is it very 
difficult or a very long business. And the proof of this is that, 
although it is not a thing I learnt when I was young or have known 
a long time, I shall not take long to explain it to you; whereas, if it 
had been difficult, I at my age should never have been able to 
explain it to you at yours. 

Cl. I dare say. But what sort of doctrine is this you speak of, 
which you call surprising, and proper to be taught to the young, 
but which we do not know? Try to tell us this much about it as 
clearly as you can. 

Ath, 1 will try. Well, my good friends, this view which is held 
about the moon, the sun, and the other stars, to the effect that they 
ever wander, is not correct, but the very contrary is the case. For 
each of them traverses the same path, not many paths, but always 
one, in a circle, whereas it appears to move in many paths, And 
again, the swiftest of them is incorrectly thought to be the slowest, 
and vice versa. Now, if the truth is one way and we think another 
way, it isas if we had the same idea with regard to horses or long- 


distance runners at Olympia and were to address the swiftest as the © 


slowest, and the slowest as the swiftest, and to award the praise 
accordingly, notwithstanding that we knew that the so-called loser 


had really won. I imagine that in that case we should not be. 


awarding the praise in the proper way or a way agreeable to the 
runners, who are only human. When then we make this very same 
mistake with regard to the gods, should we not expect that the 


same ridicule and conviction of error would attach to us here and. 


in this question as’ we should have suffered on the racecourse? 

Cl. Nay, it would be no laughing matter at all. 

Ath. No, nor would it be consistent with respect for the gods, if 
we repeated a false report against them.’ ὦ 

The sentence italicized above is cited by Gruppe as another 
argument in favour of his hypothesis that Plato attributed to the 
earth rotation about its axis. Plato says that the apparent multi- 
plicity of the courses of each planet is an illusion, and that each has 
one path only. Now, says Gruppe, this is only true if we reject the 
motion of the sphere of the fixed stars as only apparent, and substi- 
tute for it the rotation of the earth round its axis; for only then 
can it be said, e.g., that the sun and moon have only ove movement 


1 Plato, Laws vii. 821 B-822 Ο. 


πα να 





CH. XV   PLATO - 183 


in acirele. If we assume the actual motion of the sun along with 
the sphere of the fixed stars, while the earth remains at- rest, the 
circle becomes a spiral as described in the 7zmaeus. Schiaparelli,! 
influenced also by the passage of Aristotle which he thinks repre- 
sents what Aristotle must have known to be the final view of Plato 
through hearing the matter discussed in his school, accepts Gruppe’s 
conclusion, not apparently having been aware, at the time that he 
did so, of Boeckh’s complete refutation of it. Boeckh* answers in 
the first place that the unity of the movement of the planets 
in single circles is not supposed, here any more than in the 7zmaeus, 
to be upset by the fact that the movement of the circle of the Same 
turns them into spirals. Thus in the 7zmaeus; in the very next 
sentence but one to that about the spirals, Plato speaks of the moon 
as describing ‘its own circle’ in a month, and of the sun as describing 
‘its own circle’ in a year. Similarly, Dercyllides* says that the 
orbits of the planets are primarily simple and uniform circles 
round the earth; the turning of these circles into spirals is merely 
incidental. 

- Gruppe goes so far as to find the heliocentric system in the 
passage before us, by means of a forced interpretation of the words 
about the planets which are really the quickest being regarded as 
the slowest and vice versa. He relies in the first place on two 
passages of Plutarch as follows: (1) ‘Theophrastus also adds that 
Plato in his old age regretted that he had given the earth the 
middle place in the universe, which was not appropriate to it,’ * and 
(2) ‘they say that Plato in his old age was moved by these con- 
siderations [the Pythagorean theory of the central fire] to regard 
the earth as placed elsewhere than in the centre, and the middle - 
and chiefest place as belonging to some worthier body ᾿; he then 
straightway proceeds to assume the worthier body to be the sun, 
and the ambiguity as regards swiftness and slowness to refer to the 
stationary points and the retrogradations of the planets. Schia- 
parelli,® however, points out, as Boeckh’ had done before him, that 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, p. 19 54. 

3 Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, pp. 52 sqq. 

3 Theon of Smyrna, p. 200. 23 sq. 

* Plutarch, Quaest. Piat. viii. 1, Ὁ. 1006 C. 

5 Plutarch, Vuma, c. 11.  Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, p. 21. 
T Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, p. 57. 


184 PLATO ' PARTI 


this cannot be correct, as it is indicated a little earlier in the same 
passage of the Laws. that everybody sees the same phenomena 
illustrated in the case of the sun and moon: this clearly implies, 
first, that the sun moves and, secondly, that the irregularities 
cannot be retrogradations, seeing that they do not exist in the case 
of the sun and moon. The fact is that the ambiguity pointed out 
in the Laws with regard to the speed of the planets is exactly the 
same as that which we have read of in the Zimaeus, and that 
the passage in the Laws changes nothing whatever in the system 
expounded in the earlier dialogue. The remarks quoted from 
Plutarch will be dealt with later. 

But we have not even yet finished with the arguments as regards 
the supposed rotation of the earth in Plato’s final system. Schia- 
parelli? finds another argument in its favour in the Epinomis, a 
continuation of the Laws attributed to Philippus of Opus, a disciple 
of Plato, who is also said to have revised and published the Laws, 
which had been left unfinished. The system described in the 
Epinomis is the same as the system of the Zzmaeus. There are 
eight revolutions. Two are those of the moon and the sun; ὅ then 
come two others, those of Venus and Mercury, of which it is said — 
that their periods are about the same as that of the sun,* so that 
no one of the three can be said to be slower or faster than the 
others ;° after these are mentioned the three revolutions of the other 
planets, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, which are said to travel in the 
same direction as the sun and moon, i.e. from west to east. The 
eighth revolution is not that of the earth, so that here, as in the 
Timaeus and the Laws, no rotation is attributed to the earth. Of 
the eighth revolution we_ read : 


‘ And one of the moving bodies, the eighth, is that which it is most 
usual to call the universe above [i.e. the sphere of the fixed stars], 
which travels in the opposite sense to all the others, while carrying 
the others with it, as men with little knowledge of these things would 


suppose. But whatever we adequately know we must affirm and we 
do affirm.’ ® 


Upon this Schiaparelli remarks, adverting to the italicized words : 
‘Plato then declares, in the Zpinomis also, that men who under- 


1 Laws 821 Ο. 3 Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, pp. 20-21. 
8 Epinomis 986 A,B. * Ibid. 9865, 987B. ὅ Ibid. ο87 Β. 5 Ibid. 987 B. 


CH. XV PLATO 185 


stand little about astronomy believe in the daily revolution of the 
heaven. If he expresses himself according to this system, it is for 
the purpose of adapting himself to the intelligence of the ordinary 
person. Here we have what Aristotle doubtless had in mind when 
he wrote his celebrated remark about the rotation of the earth.’} 
But if this is the meaning of the passage, why did the author, after 
saying (apparently by way of contrast) ‘but what we adequately 
know we must affirm and do affirm’,stop there and say not a single 
word of any alternative to the general rotation of the ‘heaven’? 
There is still not a word of the earth’s rotation, and indeed it is 
excluded by the limitation of the revolutions to eight, as remarked 
above. We must therefore, I think, reject Schiaparelli’s interpreta- 
tion of the passage and seek another. It occurs to me that the 
emphasis is on the word ‘ men’ (ἀνθρώποις without the article), and 
that the meaning is ‘so far as mere human beings can judge, who 
can have little knowledge of these things ’. The words immediately 
_ following are then readily intelligible; they would mean ‘ but if we 
are reasonably satisfied of a thing we must have the courage to state 
our view ’2 
_ One other passage of the Efinomis is quoted by Martin® as 
evidence that it only repeats the theory of the 77zsmaeus without 
change. All the stars are divine beings with body and soul. A 
proof that stars have intelligence is furnished by the fact that ‘they 
always do the same things, because they have long been doing 
things which had been deliberated upon for a prodigious length of 
time, and they do not change their plans up and down, do one 
thing at one time and another at another, or wander and change 
their orbits’.* Consequently, as the stars include the planets, the - 
Epinomis, like the Timaeus,> seems to deny the distinction between 
perigee and apogee, all variations of angular speed, stationary posi- 
tions and retrogradations, and all movement in celestial latitude. 
We have, lastly, to consider the two passages of Plutarch quoted 
above (p. 183) to the effect that Plato is said to have repented in his 


1 Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, pp. 20-1. 

3 Cf. Laws 716C, to the effect that God is the real measure of all things, 
much more so than any man. 

3 Martin in Mém. de l’ Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 1881, p. 90. 

* Epinomis 982 C, Ὁ. 

5 Timacus 408; cf. 344, 43 B, ἄς. 


186 PLATO PARTI 


old age of having put the earth in the centre instead of assigning 


the worthier place to a worthier occupant. These passages have 
been fully dealt with by Boeckh? and by Martin? after him, and it 
is difficult or impossible to dissent from their conclusion, which is 
that the tradition is due to a misunderstanding and is unworthy 
of credence. To begin with, although the Zaws is later than the 
Timaeus and so late that Plato did not finish it, there is in it no sign 
of a change of view. Nor is there any sign of such in the Epinomis 
written by Plato’s disciple, Philippus of Opus; and it is incredible 
that, if the supposed change of view had come out in the last oral 
discussions with the Master, Philippus would not have known about 
it and mentioned it. Even assuming the tradition to be true, we 
can at all events reject without hesitation the inference of Gruppe 
that the sun was Plato’s new centre of the universe. If the sun had 
been the centre, this would surely have been stated, and we should 
not have been put off with the vague phrase ‘some worthier occu- 
pant’. As, in the Wma where this expression occurs, Plutarch has 
just been speaking of the central fire of the Pythagoreans, the 
natural inference is that Plato’s new centre, if he came to assume 
one at all, would be either the Pythagorean central fire or some 
imaginary centre of the same sort. But from what source did 
Theophrastus get the story which he repeats? Obviously from 
hearsay, since there is not a particle of written evidence to confirm 
it. The true explanation seems to be that some of Plato’s imme- 
diate followers in the Academy altered Plato’s system in a 
Pythagorean sense, and that the views of these Pythagorizing 
Platonists were then put down to Plato himself. In confirmation 
of this Boeckh quotes the passage of Aristotle in which, after 


speaking of the central fire of the Pythagoreans and the way in 


which they invented the counter-earth in order to force the pheno- 
mena into agreement with their preconceived theory, he goes on to 
indicate that there was in his time a school of philosophers other 
than the Pythagoreans who held a similar view: ‘And no doubt 
many others too would agree (with the Pythagoreans) that the place 
in the centre should not be assigned to the earth, if they looked for 


1 Boeckh, Das kasmische System des Platon, pp. 144-50. 
2 Martin in “έρι. de l’ Acad. des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx, 1881, 
pp. 128-32. 





Es 





CH. XV ’ PLATO 187 


the truth, not in the observed facts, but in a priorz arguments. For 
they hold that it is appropriate to the worthiest object that it 
should be given the worthiest place. Now fire is worthier than earth, 
the limit worthier than the things which are between the limits, 
while both the extremity and the centre are limits: consequently, 
reasoning from these premises, they hold that it is not the earth 
which is placed at the centre of the sphere, but rather fire.’? 
Simplicius* observes upon this that Archedemus, who was younger 
than Aristotle, held this view, but that, as Alexander says, it is 
necessary to inquire historically who were the persons earlier than 
Aristotle who also held it. As Alexander could not find any such, 
he concluded that it was not necessary to suppose that there were any 
except the Pythagoreans. But the present indicative ‘ they hold’ 
makes it clear that Aristotle had certain other persons in mind who, 
however, were not philosophers of an earlier time but were contem- 
poraries of his own. These may well have been members of, or an 
offshoot from, the Academy who expressed the views in question, 
not in written works, but in discussion ; and, if this were so, nothing 
would be more natural than that a tradition which referred to the 
views of these persons should be supposed to represent the views of 
Plato in his old age. 

Tannery* has a different and very ingenious explanation of 
Theophrastus’s dictum about Plato’s supposed change of view. 
This explanation is connected with Tannery’s explanation of 
another mystery, that of the attribution to one Hicetas of Syracuse 
of certain original discoveries in astronomy. Diogenes Laertius+* 
says of Philolaus that ‘he was the first to assert that the earth 
moves in a circle, though other authorities say that it was Hicetas — 
the Syracusan’. Aétius says® that ‘ Thales and those who followed 
him said that the earth was one; Hicetas the Pythagorean that 
there were two, our earth and the counter-earth’. From these two 
passages taken together we should naturally infer that Hicetas was 
by some considered to be the real author of the doctrine attributed 

1 Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 293 a27-b 1. 

? Simplicius on De caelo, p. 513, ed. Heib. 

3 amen ‘Pseudonymes antiques’ in Revue des Etudes grecques, X, 1897, 
Pp. 127-37. 


* Diog. L. viii. 85 (Vors. i’, p. 233. 33). 
® Aét. ili. 9. 1. 2 (D. G. p. 376; Vors. i*, p. 265. 25). 


188 PLATO PARTI 


to Philolaus, in which the earth and counter-earth, along with the 
sun, moon, and planets, revolve round the central fire. Cicero,* 
however, has a different story: ‘Hicetas of Syracuse, as Theo- 
phrastus says, holds that the heaven, the sun, the moon, the stars, 
and in fact all things in the sky remain still, and nothing else in 
the universe moves except the earth ; but, as the earth turns and 
twists about its axis with extreme swiftness, all the same results 
follow as if the earth were still and the heaven moved.’ This is 
of course not well expressed, because, on the assumption that the 
earth rotates about its axis once in every 24 hours, the sun, moon, 
and planets would not in fact remain at rest any more than on the 
assumption of a stationary earth, for they would still have their 
independent movements; but Cicero means no more than that the 
rotation of the earth is a complete substitute for the apparent daily 
rotation of the heaven as a whole. However, the passage clearly 
implies that Hicetas asserted the axial rotation of the earth, and 
not its revolution with the counter-earth, &c., round the central 
fire. The statements therefore of Cicero on the one side, and of 
Diogenes and Aétius on the other, are inconsistent. Tannery 
agrees with Martin? that we must accept as the more correct the 
version of Diogenes and Aétius identifying Hicetas with the theory 
commonly attributed to Philolaus, Now, says Tannery, Aristotle, 
when speaking of the doctrine of the central fire as that of ‘the 
philosophers of Italy, the so-called Pythagoreans’, clearly shows 
that he did not attribute the doctrine to the Pythagoreans in 
general or to Philolaus; if he had seen the book of Philolaus of 
which our fragments formed part, and if he had referred to that 
work in this passage, he would have spoken of Philolaus by name 
instead of using the circumlocution; hence Aristotle must have 
been quoting from a book by some contemporary purporting to 
give an account of Pythagorean doctrines or doctrines claiming 
to be such. Tannery supposes therefore that Aristotle was referring 
to Hicetas, and that Hicetas was one of the personages in a certain 
dialogue, in which Hicetas represented the system known by the 
name of Philolaus, while Plato was his interlocutor. This dialogue 


* Cicero, Acad. Pr. ii. 39. 123 (Vors. i*, p. 265. 20). 
® Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, vol. ii, pp. 101, 125 sq. 








CH. XV PLATO 189 


would be one of those written by Heraclides of Pontus. One of 
Heraclides’ dialogues was ‘On the Pythagoreans’, and an account 
of the system of the central fire might easily form part of one of the 
others, e.g. that ‘On Nature’ or ‘On the things in heaven’. Now 
there was a historical personage of the name of Hicetas of Syracuse 
whom Plato might well have known. He was a friend of Dion and 
he appears in Plutarch’s lives of Dion and Timoleon as a political 
personage of some importance. Faithful to Dion, and for a time to 
his family after Dion’s assassination, he threw over that family and 
seized the tyranny at Leontini, remaining the principal adversary of 
Dionysius the Younger until the arrival of Timoleon, when he was 
conquered and killed by the latter. There is nothing to suggest 
that he was a physicist or a Pythagorean; but he might quite well 
be represented in the dialogue as one who knew by oral tradition 
the doctrines of the school, and was therefore a suitable interlocutor 
with Plato. Plato’s remarks in the dialogue might no doubt easily 
indicate a change from the views which we find in his own dialogues, 
and this is a possible explanation of the misconception on the part 
of Theophrastus and the Dorographi. Tannery adds that, on his 
hypothesis, we can hardly any longer consider the so-called Philolaic 
system as anything else but a brilliant phantasy due to that clever 
raconteur Heraclides. I do not see the necessity for this, and it is 
extremely difficult to believe that Heraclides invented doth the 
theory of Philolaus and his own theory of the rotation of the earth 
about its axis; I do not see why we should not suppose that the 
system known by the name of Philolaus actually belonged to him 
or to the Pythagoreans proper, and that Hicetas represented the 
Pythagorean view rather than a new discovery of Heraclides. 
Tannery's attractive hypothesis is accepted by Otto Voss.’ 


1 Otto Voss, De Heraclidis Pontici vita et scriptis, Rostock, 1896, p. 64. 


XVI 


THE THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES. 
EUDOXUS, CALLIPPUS, AND ARISTOTLE 


DIOGENES LAERTIUS!? tells us that Eudoxus of Cnidus was 
celebrated as geometer, astronomer, physician, and _ legislator. 
Philosopher and geographer in addition, he commanded and en- 
riched almost the whole field of learning ; no wonder that (though 
it was a poor play on his name) he was called ἔνδοξος (‘celebrated ’) 
‘ instead of Eudoxus. In geometry he was a pupil of Archytas of 
Tarentum, and it is clear that he could have had no better instructor, 
for Archytas was a geometer of remarkable ability, as is shown by 
his solution of the problem of the two mean proportionals handed — 
down by Eutocius.? This solution furnishes striking evidence of 
the boldness and breadth of conception which already characterized 
Greek geometry, seeing that even in that early time it did not 
shrink from the use of complicated curves in space produced by the 
intersection of two or more solid figures. Archytas solved the pro- 
blem of the two mean proportionals by finding a point in space as 
the intersection of three solid figures. The first was an anchor-ring 
or tore with centre C, say, inner radius equal to zero, and outward 
radius 2a, say ; the second was a right cylinder of radius a so placed 
that its surface passes through the centre C of the tore and its axis 
is parallel to the axis of the tore or perpendicular to the plane 
bisecting the tore in the same way as a split ring is split ; the third 
surface was a certain right cone with C as vertex. The intersection 
of the first two surfaces gives of course a curve (or curves) of double 
curvature in space, and the third surface cuts it in points, one of 
which gives Archytas what he seeks. There is, as we shall see, 

1 Diog. L. viii. 86-91. 


* See Heiberg’s Archimedes, vol. iii, pp. 98-102; or my Afollonius of Perga, 
pp. xxii, xxiii. 


~EUDOXUS 191 


a remarkable similarity between this construction and the way in 
which Eudoxus’s ‘ spherical lemniscate’ (Aippopede) is evolved as the 
intersection between a sphere, a cylinder touching it internally, and 
a certain cone, so that we may well believe that Eudoxus owed 
much to Archytas. To Eudoxus himself geometry owes a debt 
which is simply incalculable, and it is doubtful, I think, whether, for 
originality and power, any of the ancient mathematicians except 
Archimedes can be put on the same plane with him. Although no 
geometrical work of Eudoxus is preserved, there is, in the first 
place, a monument to him aere perennius in Book V of Euclid’s 
Elements; it was Eudoxus who invented and elaborated the great 
theory of proportion there set out, the essence of which is its 
applicability to incommensurable as well as commensurable quan- 
tities. The significance of this theory of proportion, discovered 
when it was, cannot be over-rated, for it saved geometry from the 
impasse into which it had got through the discovery of the irrational 
at a time when the only theory of proportion available for geo- 
metrical demonstrations was the old Pythagorean numerical theory, 
which only applied to commensurable magnitudes. Nor can any 
one nowadays even attempt to belittle the conception of equal 
ratios embodied in Euclid V, Def. 5, when it is remembered that 
Weierstrass’s definition of equal numbers is word for word the same, 
_ and Dedekind’s theory of irrational. numbers corresponds exactly 
to, nay, is almost coincident with, the same definition. Eudoxus’s 
second great discovery was that of the powerful method of ° 
exhaustion which not only enabled the areas of circles and the 
volumes of pyramids, cones, spheres, &c., to be obtained, but is at 
the root of all Archimedes’ further developments in the mensuration 
of plane and solid figures. It is not then surprising that Eudoxus ~ 
should have invented a geometrical hypothesis for explaining the 
movements of the planets which for ingenuity and elegance yields 
to none. 

Eudoxus flourished, according to Apollodorus, in Ol. 103 = 368- 
365 .8.C., from which we infer that he was born about 408 B.C., and 
(since he lived 53 years) died about 355 B.C. In his 23rd year he 
went to Athens with the physician Theomedon, and there for two 
months he attended lectures on philosophy and oratory, and in 
particular the lectures of Plato; so poor was he that he took up his 


102 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES ΡΑΚΤΙ 


abode at the Piraeus and trudged to Athens and back on foot each 
day. It would appear that his journey to Italy and Sicily to study 
geometry with Archytas and medicine with Philistion must have 
been earlier than the first visit to Athens at 23, for from Athens he 
returned to Cnidus, after which he went to Egypt with a letter of 
introduction to the king Nectanebus, given him by Agesilaus; the 
date of this journey was probably 381-380, or a little later, and he 
stayed in Egypt sixteen months. After that he went to Cyzicus, 
where he collected round him a large school with whom he migrated 
to Athens in 468 Β.Ο. or a little later.) There is apparently no 
foundation for the story mentioned by Diogenes Laertius that he 
took up a hostile attitude to Plato, nor, on the other side, for the 
stories that he went with Plato to Egypt and spent thirteen years in 
the company of the Egyptian priests, or that he visited Plato when 
Plato was with Dionysius, i.e. the younger Dionysius, on his third 
visit to Sicily in 361B.C. Returning later to his native place, 
Eudoxus ‘was by a popular vote entrusted with legislative office. 

When in Egypt Eudoxus assimilated the astronomical knowledge 
of the priests of Heliopolis and himself made observations. The 
observatory between Heliopolis and Cercesura used by him was 
still pointed out in Augustus’s time ;! he also had one built at 
Cnidus, from which he observed the star Canopus which was not 
then visible in higher latitudes? He wrote two books entitled 
respectively the Wirror (ἔνοπτρον) and the Phaenomena: the poem 
of Aratus was, so far as verses 19-732 are concerned, drawn from 
the Phaenomena of Eudoxus. It is probable that he also wrote 
a book on Sphaeric, dealing with the same subjects as Autolycus’s 
On the moving sphere and Theodosius’s Sphaerica. 

In order to fix approximately the positions of the stars, including 
in that term the fixed stars, the planets, the sun, and the moon, 
Eudoxus probably used a dioptra of some kind, though doubtless of 
more elementary construction than that used later by Hipparchus ; 

? Strabo, xvii. 1. 30, pp. 806-7 Cas. 

* Strabo, ii. 5.14, p. 119 Cas. Hipparchus (Ja Araté et Eudoxi phaenomena 
Commentariorum libri tres, p. 114, 20-28) observes that Eudoxus placed the 
star Canopus exactly on the ‘always invisible circle’, but that this is not correct, 
since at Rhodes the circumference of this circle is 36° and at Athens 37° from 
the South pole, while Canopus is about 384° distant from that pole, so that 


Canopus is seen in Greece worth of the said circle. But, at the time when this 
was written, Hipparchus had not yet discovered Precession. 





CH. XVI EUDOXUS 193 


and he is credited with the invention of the arachne (spider’s web), 
which, however, is alternatively attributed to Apollonius,’ and which 
seems to have been a sun-clock of some kind.” 

- But it was on the theoretic even more than the observational side 
of astronomy that Eudoxus distinguished himself, and his theory. 
of concentric spheres, by the combined movements of which he 
explained the motions of the planets (thereby giving his solution 
of the problem of accounting for those motions by the simplest of 
regular movements), may be said to be the beginning of scientific 
astronomy. 

Two pupils of Eudoxus achieved fame, one in geometry, 
Menaechmus, the reputed discoverer of the conic sections, and the 
other in astronomy, Helicon of Cyzicus, who was said to have 
successfully predicted a solar eclipse. 

The ancient evidence of the details of Eudoxus’s system of con- 
centric spheres (which he set out in a book entitled On speeds, Περὶ 
ταχῶν, now lost) is contained in two passages. The first is in 
Aristotle’s Metaphysics,? where a short notice is given of the num- 
bers and relative positions of the spheres postulated by Eudoxus 
for the sun, moon, and planets respectively, the additions which 
Callippus thought it necessary to make to the numbers of the spheres 
assumed by Eudoxus, and lastly the modification of the system 
_which Aristotle himself considers necessary ‘if the phenomena are 

to be produced by all the spheres acting in combination’. A more 
elaborate and detailed account of the system is contained in Sim- 
plicius’s commentary on Book II of the De caelo of Aristotle ;* 
Simplicius quotes largely from Sosigenes the Peripatetic (second 
century A.D., the teacher of Alexander Aphrodisiensis, not the 
astronomer who assisted Caesar in his reform of the calendar), 
observing that Sosigenes drew from Eudemus, who dealt with the 
subject in the second book of his History of Astronomy® Ideler 
was the first to appreciate the elegance of the theory and to attempt 


1 Vitruvius, De architect. ix. 8 (9). 1. 

3 Bilfinger, Die Zeitmesser der antiken Volker, p. 22. 

® Aristotle, Metaph. A. 8, 1073 Ὁ 17 - 1074 ἃ 14. 

* Simplicii in Aristotelis de caelo commentaria, p. 488. 18-24, PP- 493. 4 — 506. 
18, Heiberg; p. 498 a 45-b 3, pp. 498 Ὁ 27 -- 503 a 33, Brandis. 

5 Simpl. on De caelo, p. 486, 18-21, Heib. ; p. 498 a 46-8, Brandis. 


1410 Oo 


194 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES ParRTI 


to explain its working;! he managed by means of an ordinary 
globe to indicate roughly how Eudoxus explained the stationary 
points and retrogradations of the planets and their movement in 
latitude. E. F. Apelt? too gave a fairly full exposition of the 
theory in a paper of 1849. But it was reserved for Schiaparelli to 
work out a complete restoration of the theory and to investigate in 
detail the extent to which it could account for the phenomena ; this 
Schiaparelli did in a paper which has become classical,’ and which 
will no doubt be accepted by all future historians (in the absence of 
the discovery of fresh original documents) as the authoritative and 
final exposition of the system.* 


The passages of Aristotle and Simplicius are translated in full 


in Appendices I and II to ΡΒΙΒΡΕΓΗΝΙ s paper. The former may 
properly be reproduced here. 


‘ Eudoxus assumed that the sun and moon are moved by three 
spheres in each case; the first of these is that of the fixed stars, the 
second moves about the circle which passes through the middle of 
the signs of the zodiac, while the third moves about a circle 
latitudinally inclined to the zodiac circle; and, of the oblique 
circles, that in which the moon moves has a greater latitudinal. 
inclination than that in which the sun moves. The planets are 
moved by four spheres in each case; the first and second of these 
are the same as for the sun and moon (the first being the sphere of 
the fixed stars which carries all the spheres with it, and the second, 
next in order to it, being the sphere about the circle through 
the middle of the signs of the zodiac which is common to all the 
planets®); the third is in all cases a sphere with its poles on 
the circle through the middle of the signs; the fourth moves about 


1 Ideler, ‘ Ueber Eudoxus’ in Adh. der Berliner Akademie, hist.-phil. Classe, 
1828, pp. 189-212, and 1830, pp. 49-88. 

5 E. Ἐς Apelt, ‘Die Spharentheorie des Eudoxus und Aristoteles’ in the 
Abhandlungen der Fries’ schen Schule, Heft ii (Leipzig, 1849). 

* Schiaparelli, ‘Le sfere omocentriche di Eudosso, di Callippo e di Aristotele’, 
in Pubblicaziont del Καὶ, Osservatorio di Brera in Milano, No. ix, Milano, 1875 ; 
German translation by W. Horn, in 4dA. zur Gesch. der Math., τ. Heft, Leipzig, 
1877, Pp. 101-98. 

4 It is true that Martin (I7ém. de 7 Acad. des Inscr. xxx, 1881) took objection 
to Schiaparelli’s interpretation of the theories of the sun and moon, but he was 
sufficiently answered by Tannery (‘ Seconde note sur le syst¢me astronomique 
d’Eudoxe’ in 77έρι. de la Soc. des sci. phys. et nat. de Bordeaux, 2° série, 
v, 1883, pp. 129 sqq., republished in Paul Tannery, Mémoires scientifiques, ed, 
Heiberg and Zeuthen, vol. i, 1912, pp. 317-38. 


5 ἁπασῶν, with which we must, strictly speaking, understand σφαιρῶν (spheres) 
or possibly φορῶν (motions). 











CH. XVI EUDOXUS rhe 195 


a Circle inclined to the middle circle (the equator) of the third sphere ; 
the poles of the third sphere are different for all the planets except 
Aphrodite and Hermes, but for these two the poles are the same." 
Fuller details are given by Simplicius, but, before we pass to the 
details, we may, following Schiaparelli, here as throughout, inter- 
pose a few general observations on the essential characteristics of; 
the system.” Eudoxus adopted the view which prevailed from the 
earliest times to the time of Kepler, that circular motion was suffi 
cient to account for the movements of all the heavenly bodies. 
With Eudoxus this circular motion took the form of the revolution 
of different spheres, each of which moves about a diameter as axis. 
All the spheres were concentric, the common centre being the 
centre of the earth; hence the name of ‘ homocentric spheres’ used 
in later times to describe the system. The spheres were of different 
sizes, one inside the other. Each planet was fixed at a point in the 
equator of the sphere which carried it, the sphere revolving at 
uniform speed about the diameter joining the corresponding poles ; 
that is, the planet revolved uniformly in a great circle of the sphere 
perpendicular to the axis of rotation. But one such circular motion 
was not enough; in order to explain the changes in the speed of 
the planets’ motion, their stations and retrogradations, as well as 
their deviations in latitude, Eudoxus had to assume a number of 
such circular motions working on each planet and producing by 
their combination that single apparently irregular motion which 
can be deduced from mere observation. He accordingly held that 
the poles of the sphere which carries the planet are not fixed, 
but themselves move on a greater sphere concentric with. the 
carrying sphere and moving about two different poles with a 
speed of its own. As even this was not sufficient to explain the 
phenomena, Eudoxus placed the poles of the second sphere on 
a third, which again was concentric with and larger than the first and 
second and moved about separate poles of its own, and with a speed 
peculiar to itself. For the planets yet a fourth sphere was required 
1 Aristotle, Metaph. A. 8, 1073 Ὁ 17-32. 
_? A very useful summary of the results of Schiaparelli’s paper is given in 
Dreyer’s History of the Planetary Systems from Thales to Kepler (Camb. Univ. 
Press, 1906), pp. 90-103. My account must necessarily take the same line ; and 
my apology for inserting it instead of merely referring to Dreyer’s chapter on the 


subject must be that a sketch of the history of Greek astronomy such as the 
present would be incomplete without it. 


O 2 


196 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES  ParRTI 


similarly related to the three others; for the sun and moon he 
found that, by a suitable choice of the positions of the poles and of 
speeds of rotation, he could make three spheres suffice. In the 
accounts of Aristotle and Simplicius the spheres are described in 
the reverse order, the sphere carrying the planet being the last. 
The spheres which move each planet Eudoxus made quite separate 
from those which move the others. One sphere sufficed of course 
to produce the daily rotation of the heavens. Thus, with three 
spheres for the sun, three for the moon, four for each of the planets 
and one for the daily rotation, there were 27 spheres in all. It does 
not appear that Eudoxus speculated upon the causes of these 
rotational motions or the way in which they were transmitted from 
one sphere to another; nor did he inquire about the material of 
which they were made, their sizes and mutual distances. In the 
matter of distances the only indication of his views is contained in 
Archimedes’ remark that he supposed the diameter of the sun to be 
nine times that of the moon,! from which we may no doubt infer that 
he made their distances from the earth to be in the same ratio 9: I. 
It would appear that he did not give his spheres any substance or 
mechanical connexion; the whole system was.a purely geometrical   
hypothesis, or a set of theoretical constructions calculated to repre- 
sent the apparent paths of the planets and enable them to be com- 
puted. We pass to the details of the system. 

The moon has a motion produced by three spheres ; the first and 
outermost moves in the same sense as the fixed stars from east to 
west in twenty-four hours; the second moves about an axis per- 
pendicular to the plane of the zodiac circle or the ecliptic, and in 
a sense opposite to that of the daily rotation, i.e. from west to east ; 
the third moves about an axis inclined to the axis of the second, at 
an angle equal to the highest latitude attained by the moon, and in 
the sense of the daily rotation from east to west ; the moon is fixed 
on the equator of this third sphere. Simplicius observes that the 
third sphere is necessary because it is found that the moon does not 
always reach its highest north and south latitude at the same points 
of the zodiac, but at points which travel round the zodiac in the 
inverse order of the signs? He says at the same time that 


1 Archimedes, ed. Heib., vol. ii, p. 248. 4-8; The Works of Archimedes, p. 223. 
* Simplicius on De cae/o, p. 495. 10-13, Heib. 











CH. XVI EUDOXUS 197 


the motion of the third sphere is slow, the motion of the node being 
‘quite small during each month’, while he implies that the monthly 
motion round the heavens is produced by the second sphere, the 
equator of which is in the plane of the zodiac or ecliptic. The 
object of the third sphere was then to account for the retrograde 
motion of the nodes in about 184 years. But it is clear (as Ideler saw) 
that Simplicius’s statement about the speeds of the third and second 
spheres is incorrect. If it had been the third sphere which moved 
very slowly, as he says, the moon would only have passed through 
each node once in the course of 223 lunations, and would have been 
found for nine years north, and then for nine years south, of the 
ecliptic. In order that the moon may pass through the nodes as 
often as it is observed to do, it is necessary to interchange the 
speeds of the second and third spheres as given by Simplicius; that 
is, we must assume that the third sphere produces the monthly 
revolution of the moon from west to east in 27 days 5h. 5m. 36sec. 
(the draconitic or nodal month) round a circle inclined to the 
ecliptic at an angle equal to the greatest latitude of the moon, 
and then that this oblique circle is carried round by the second 
sphere in a retrograde sense along the ecliptic in a period of 223 
lunations; lastly, we must assume that both the inner spheres, the 


' second and third, are bodily carried round by the first sphere in 24 


an 





hours in the sense of the daily rotation. There can be no doubt 
that this was Eudoxus’s conception of the matter. The mistake 
made by Simplicius seems to go back as far as Aristotle himself, 
since, in the passage of the J/etaphysics quoted above, Aristotle 
clearly implies that the second sphere corresponds to the move- 
ment in longitude for all the seven bodies including the sun and — 
moon, whereas in fact it only does so in the case of the five planets ; 
and no doubt Sosigenes, Simplicius’s authority, accepted the state- 
ment of Aristotle, without suspecting that the Master might be an 
unsafe guide on such a subject. From the theory of Eudoxus © 
as thus restored we can judge how far by his time the Greeks had   
progressed in the study of the motions of the moon. Observations 
had gone far enough to,enable the movement in latitude and the 
retrogression of the nodes of the moon’s orbit to be recognized. 
Eudokus knew nothing of the variation of the moon’s speed in 
longitude, or at least took no account of it, whereas Callippus was 


--- 


198 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES Parti 


aware of it about 3258B.C., that is, about twenty or thirty years 
after Eudoxus’s time. 

As regards the sun, we learn from Aristotle that Eudoxus again 
assumed three spheres to explain its motion. As in the case of the 
moon, the first or outermost sphere revolved like the sphere of the 
fixed stars, the second moved about an axis perpendicular tothe plane 
of the zodiac, its equator revolving accordingly in the plane of the 
zodiac, while the third moved 80 that its equator described a plane 
slightly inclined to that of the zodiac, the inclination being less in 
the case of the sun than in the case of the moon. Simplicius adds 
that the third sphere (which is necessary because the sun does not 
at the summer and winter solstices always rise at the same point on 
the horizon) moves much more slowly than the second and (unlike 
the corresponding sphere in the case of the moon) in the direct 
order of the signs.’ Simplicius makes the same mistake as regards 
the speeds of the second and third spheres as he made in the case 
of the moon. If it were the third sphere which moved very slowly, 
the sun would for ages remain in a north or a south latitude and in 
the course of a year would describe, not a great circle, but (almost) . 
a small circle parallel to the ecliptic. The slow motion must there- 
fore belong to the second sphere, the equator of which revolves in 
the ecliptic, while the revolution of the third sphere must take place 
in about a year (strictly speaking, a little more than a tropic year 
in consequence of the supposed slow motion of the second sphere in 
the same sense), the plane of its equator being inclined, at the small 
angle mentioned, to the plane of the ecliptic. The slightly inclined 
great circle of the third sphere which the sun appears to describe 
is then carried round bodily in the revolution of the second sphere 
about the axis of the ecliptic, the nodes on the ecliptic thus moving 
slowly forward, in the direct order of the signs; and lastly both 
the second and third spheres are carried round by the revolution of 
the first sphere following the daily rotation. 

The strange thing in this description of the sun’s motion is the 
imaginary idea that its path is not in the ecliptic but in a circle 
inclined at a small angle to the latter. Simplicius says that 
Eudoxus ‘and those who preceded him’ (τοῖς πρὸ αὐτοῦ) thought 
the sun had the three motions described, and that this was inferred 

1 Simplicius on De caelo, pp. 493. 15-17, 494. 6-7, 9-11. 











CH. XVI EUDOXUS 199 


from the fact that the sun, in the summer and winter solstices, does 
not always rise at the same point of the horizon.1 We gather from 
this that even before Eudoxus’s time astronomers had suspected 
a certain deviation in latitude on the part of the sun. Schiaparelli 
suggests as an explanation that, the early astronomers having dis- 
covered, by comparison with the fixed stars, the deviation of the 
moon and the five planets in latitude, it was natural for them to 
suppose that the sun also must deviate from the circle of the 
ecliptic; indeed it would be difficult for them to believe that 
the sun alone was exempt from such deviation. However this may 
be, the notion of the nutation of the sun’s path survived for centuries. 
Hipparchus? quotes a sentence from the lost Exoptron of Eudoxus 
to the effect that ‘it appears that the sun too shows a difference in 
the places where it appears at the solstices, though the difference is 
much less noticeable and indeed is quite small’; Hipparchus goes 
on to deny this on the ground that, if it were so, the prophecies by 
astronomers of lunar eclipses, which they made on the assumption 
that there was no deviation of the sun from the ecliptic, would 
sometimes have proved appreciably wrong, whereas in fact the 
eclipses never showed a difference of more than two ‘finger- 
breadths’, and only very rarely that, in comparison with the most 
accurately calculated predictions. Notwithstanding Hipparchus’s 
great authority, the idea persisted, and we find later authors giving 
a value to the supposed inclination to the ecliptic. We are not told 
what Eudoxus supposed the angle to be, nor what he assumed as 
the period of revolution of the nodes. Pliny® gives the inclination 
as 1 on each side of the ecliptic; perhaps he misunderstood his 
source and took a range of 1° to be an inclination of 1°. For Theon ~ 
of Smyrna,* on the authority of Adrastus, says that the inclination 
is 4 ; Theon also says that the sun returns to the same latitude 
after 365% days, whereas it takes 3653 days to return to the same 
equinox or solstice and 3653 days to return to the same dis- 
tance from us.? This shows that the solar nodes were thought to 
have a retrograde motion (not a motion in the order of the signs, 

ἢ Simplicius, loc. cit., P- 493. 11-17. ; 

: hae wie ἧς ee ey Tae phaenomena, i. 9, pp. 88-92, ed. Manitius. 


* Theon of Smyrna, ed. Hiller, pp. 135. 12-14, 194. 4-8 
® Ibid., p. 172. 15 -- 173. 16. 


200 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES  ParTI 


as assumed by Eudoxus) and a period of 3654+ % or 2922 years. 
It is not known who invented this theory in the first instance. 
Schiaparelli shows that it was not started for the purpose of 
explaining the motion of the equinoctial points, or the precession 
of the equinoxes, which was discovered by Hipparchus, but was 
unknown to Eudoxus, Pliny, and Theon. 

Eudoxus supposed the annual motion of the sun to be perfectly 
uniform ; he must therefore have deliberately ignored the discovery, 
made by Meton and Euctemon 60 or 70 years before, that the sun 
does not take the same time to describe the four quadrants of its 
orbit between the equinoctial and solstitial points. LEudoxus, in fact, 
seems to have definitely regarded the length of the seasons as being 
as nearly as possible equal, since he made three of them ΟἹ days in 
length, only giving 92 days to the autumn in order to make up 365 
days in the year.t 

In the case of each of the planets Eudoxus assumed four spheres. 
The first and outermost produced the daily rotation in 24 hours, as 
in the case of the fixed stars ; the second produced the motion along 
the zodiac ‘in the respective periods in which the planets appear to 
describe the zodiac circle’,? which periods, in the case of the superior 
planets, are respectively equal to the sidereal periods of revolution, 
and in the case of Mercury and Venus (on a geocentric system) one 
year. As the revolution of the second sphere was taken to be 
uniform, we see that Eudoxus had no idea of the zodiacal anomaly 
of the planets, namely that which depends on the eccentricity of 
their paths, and which later astronomers sought to account for by 
the hypothesis of eccentric circles; for Eudoxus the points on the 
ecliptic where successive oppositions or conjunctions took place were 
always at the same distances, and the arcs of retrogradation were 
constant for each planet and equal at all parts of the ecliptic. Nor 
with him were the orbits of the planets inclined at all to the ecliptic; 


1 This appears from the papyrus known under the title of Avs Eudoxi, 
deciphered by Letronne and published by Brunet de Presle (/Votices et extraits 
des manuscrits, xviii. 2, 1865, p. 25 sq.). The papyrus was edited by Blass (Kiel, 
1887), and a translation will be found in Tannery’s Recherches sur Phistoire 
de lastronomie ancienne, pp. 283-94. Tannery prefers the title restored by 
Letronne, Didascalie céleste de Leptine. The document, written in Egypt 
between the years 193 and 165 B.C., seems to have been a student’s note-book, 
written perhaps during or after a course of lectures. 

2 Simplicius, loc. cit., p. 495. 25. 


»ὦ ἀἐμππ ee 








CH. XVI EUDOXUS : 201 


their motion in latitude was believed by Eudoxus to depend exclu- 
sively on their elongation from the sun and not on their longitude. 
The third sphere had its poles at two opposite points on the zodiac 
circle, the poles being carried round in the motion of the second 
sphere; the revolution of the third sphere about the poles was 
again uniform and took place in a period equal to the synodic 
period of the planet or the time which elapsed between two succes- 
sive oppositions or conjunctions with the sun. The poles of the third 
sphere were different for all the planets, except that they were the 
same for Mercury and Venus. The third sphere rotated according 
to Simplicius ‘from south to north and from north to south’! (this 
followed of course from the position of the poles on the ecliptic) ; 
the actual sense of the rotation is not clear from this, but Schia- 
parelli’s exposition shows that it is immaterial whether we take the 
one or the other. On the surface of the third sphere the poles of 
the fourth sphere were fixed, the axis of the latter being inclined to 
that of the former at an angle which was constant for each planet 
but different for the different planets. And the rotation of the 
fourth sphere about its axis took place in the same time as the rota- 
tion of the third about its axis but in the opposite sense. On the 
equator of the fourth sphere the planet was fixed, the planet having 
thus four motions, the daily rotation, the circuit in the zodiac, and 
two other rotations taking place in the synodic period. 

Simplicius gives the following clear explanation with regard to 
the combined effect of the rotations of the third and fourth spheres. 


‘The third sphere, which has its poles on the great circle of the 
second sphere passing through the middle of the signs of the zodiac, 
and which turns from south to north and from north to south, will 
carry round with it the fourth sphere which also has the planet 
attached to it, and will moreover be the cause of the planet’s move- 
ment in latitude. But not the third sphere only; for, so far as it 
was on the third sphere (by itself), the planet would actually have 
arrived at the poles of the zodiac circle and would have come near 
to the poles of the universe ; but, as things are, the fourth sphere, 
which turns about the poles of the inclined circle carrying the 
planet and rotates in the opposite sense to the third, i.e. from east 
to west, but in the same period, will prevent any considerable diver- 
_ gence (on the part of the planet) from the zodiac circle, and will 


? Simplicius, loc. cit., p. 496. 23. 


202 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES  PArtTi 


cause the planet to describe about this same zodiac circle the 
curve called by Eudoxus the ippopede, so that the breadth of this 
curve will be the (maximum) amount of the apparent deviation of the 
planet in latitude, a view for which Eudoxus has been attacked.’ 1 


Following up the hint here given, Schiaparelli set himself to 
investigate the actual path of a planet subject to the rotations of 
the third and fourth spheres only, leaving out of account for the 
moment the motions of the first two spheres producing respectively 
the daily rotation and the motion along the zodiac. The problem 
is, as he says, in its simplest expression, the following. ‘A sphere 
rotates uniformly about the fixed diameter AB. P, P’ are two 








Fig. 6. 


opposite poles on this sphere, and a second sphere concentric with 
the first rotates uniformly about P/” in the same time as the former 
sphere takes to turn about AB, but in the opposite direction. Misa 
point on the second sphere equidistant from the poles P, P’ (in other 
words, a point on the equator of the second sphere). Required to find 
the path of the point JZ’ This is not difficult nowadays for any 
one familiar with spherical trigonometry and analytical geometry ; 
but it was necessary for Schiaparelli to show that the solution was 
within the powers of Eudoxus. He accordingly develops a solution — 
by means of a series of seven propositions or problems involving 
only elementary geometrical considerations, which would have 


1 Simplicius, loc. cit., pp. 496. 23 -- 497. 5. 








{q 





“J 


CH. XVI EUDOXUS 4% 203 


presented no difficulty to a geometer of the calibre of Eudoxus ; 
and he finds that, sure enough, the path of 7 in space is a figure 
like a lemniscate but described on the surface of a sphere, that is, the 
fixed sphere about AZ as diameter. This ‘spherical lemniscate’, 
as Schiaparelli calls it, is shown as well as I can show it in the 
annexed figure (Fig. 7). Its double point is on the circumference of 
the plane section of the sphere which is at right angles to 4B, and 
it is symmetrical about that plane as well as about the circumfer- 
ence of a circular section which has AZ for diameter and is in what 
Schiaparelli calls the ‘fundamental plane’, the plane of the great 
circle with diameter AB on which the pole P and the planet // are 























Fig. 7. 


found at the same moment. The curve is actually the intersection 
of the sphere with a certain cylinder touching it internally at the 
double point, namely a cylinder with diameter equal to AS, 
the sagitta (see Fig. 6) of the diameter of the small circle of 
the sphere on which the pole P revolves. But the curve is also 
the intersection of ezther the sphere or the cylinder with a certain 
cone with vertex QO, axis parallel to the axis of the cylinder 
(i.e. touching the circle AOZB at ΟἹ and vertical angle equal to 


the ‘inclination’ (the angle AO’P in Fig. 6).} For clearness’ sake 


1 Schiaparelli’s geometrical propositions are too long to be quoted here, but 
the whole thing can be worked out analytically in a reasonable space. This is 
done by Norbert Herz (Geschichte der Bahnbestimmung von Planeten und 


204 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES Parti 


I show in another figure (Fig. 9, p. 206) a right section of the cylinder 
by a plane passing through O and perpendicular to AZ in the figure 
immediately preceding (Fig. 7). 

The arc of the great circle 4OB which bisects the ‘spherical 
lemniscate’ laterally is equal in length to the arc QAR of the 
great circle dQBR (Figs, 6 and 8) and is of course divided at the 
double point O into equal halves of length equal to the are 40. 


Kometen, Part I, Leipzig, 1887, pp. 20, 21), and I quote the solution exactly as 
he gives it :— 

Let AB be the axis of the first sphere, and the circle 4.038 the circle in 
which ?, /’, the poles of the second sphere, and 27 the position of the planet, 
.are found together at the same moment. Suppose that the motion of the two 
spheres is in the direction of the arrows and that, when the circle 4P2 has 
moved through an angle 6, PJ/, the circle carrying the planet has also moved 
through the same angle, 77 being the position of the planet. 











Fig. 8, 


Let z be the zuclination AO’P, r the arc of a great circle 4J/, τε (measured 
positively downwards) the angle OAM. 
Then in the triangle PA we have, since PM = 90°, 
cosy = —sinzcos 6, 
sinycos(6+) = +coszcos 6, 
siny sin (θ- 22) = +sin 6. 
Multiplying the second equation by (—sin@) and the third by cos 6, and 
adding, we have 
sin sin z = sin 8cos θ(1 -- (05 2) = sin?}zsin26. 
auleplying the second equation by cos @ and the third by sin 6, and adding, 
we have 
sin 7.008 # = sin? @+cosi cos? 6 
= (cos*}7+sin?} 7) sin? 6+ (cos* 3 7—sin®}2) cos? 4 
= cos’}z—sin?$7cos 20 
= 1-2sin?4icos* 6, 








CH. XVI EUDOXUS 205 


The breadth of the ‘lemniscate’, i.e. the Aimear distance between 
the two points on either loop of maximum latitude, north and 
south, is equal to the diameter of the cylinder, i.e. to the 
sagitta AS. The angle at which the curve intersects itself at O is 
equal to the inclination (PO’A) of the axes of rotation of the two 
spheres. The four points on the curve of greatest latitude, the 
double point and the two extreme points at which it intersects 


Next, in the triangle 4 OM, if OM = p, and v is the exterior angle at O, we 
have, since 40 = 90°, 
cosp = sinrcosz, 
sinpsiny = 51} 7,31} 24, 
sin pcos v = —cos7; 
therefore, if £, 7 be the ‘ spherical coordinates’ of J/ with reference to origin O, 
we have, in the triangle O17, and by using the results obtained above, 
siny = sinvsinp = sin*}/sin2 6, 
cot p I—2sin*2Zcos*@ 
—— = —tanrcosz = — . 
cos Vv sinzcos 6 
If now we use a system of rectangular coordinates x, y, 2, with origin at Ὁ, 
2 being measured along OO’, and x, y being the projections "of the arcs &, on 
the plane “4398 at right angles to OO’ (y being positive in the upward direction, 
i.e. in the opposite direction to ~, v), we have for the projections ON’, MN, 
v', p of ON, MN, v, p respectively 
ON =x; MN =-y, 
v=, 
p = Rsinp, 
where 2& is the radius of the sphere. 
Consequently x= ρ' ςο5 τ΄ = Rsinpcosv = —Rcos?z, 
y =—p'sin’ = —Rsinpsinv = -- ἡ βίῃ 7,31} 26 ; 
whence we have 





coté = 


x= Rsinicos 6, 
y = —Rsin*}isin26. 
This gives at once the projection of the Aiffofede on the plane AQB as 
constructed by Schiaparelli. 
So far Norbert Herz. But we can also obtain the remainder of Schiaparelli’s 
results, as follows. 
We have for z, the third coordinate of 1, 
z= R(1—cosp) = R(1—sinr cos 2) 
= 2Rsin*}icos?é = Rsin? 47 (1+ cos 26). 
Eliminating @ from the equations for y and z, we obtain 
(z—Rsin? fz)? +y? = FR sint hi. 
Therefore 77 lies on a cylinder which has its axis parallel to 42, touches the 
_ Sphere internally at O, and has its radius equal to Rsin?}z, i.e. its diameter 
equal to R(1—cos2), which is the sagitta 4S in Fig. 6 and Fig. 8. That is, the 
_ Aippopede is the curve of intersection of this cylinder with the sphere. 
The sphere being 2°+?+2? = 2z, and the cylinder y*+2* = 2 Rzsin*} ὦ, 
the cone is easily found to be 
A+ y° +s" = x sec" ὦ 


“οὔ THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES ῬΆΚΤΙ 


the ‘fundamental plane’ through AB, divide the curve into eight 
arcs which are described by the planet in equal times. Schia- 
parelli shows how to construct the projection of the curve upon the 
plane through AB perpendicular to the plane which bisects 
the curve longitudinally. Describe, he says, a circle with radius 
equal to 0.5, the radius of the small circle described by P (Fig. 6). 
Then, with the same centre, draw a smaller circle with radius equal 
to half the sagitta AS. Divide the lesser circle into any number of 
equal parts, say 8, as at the points marked o,1, 2, 3...7 round the 
circle, and suppose the same points marked again with the numbers 
8,9, 10. ..15 respectively ; divide the greater circle into double the 








ο΄ 








Fig. 9. Fig. Io. 


number of equal parts as at the points marked 0, I, 2, 3,4,5...15 
(arranging the points so that those marked o are opposite one 
another on a common diameter XX, while the numbers go round 
in the same sense). Draw YY through the centre perpendicular 
to XX, and through the points of division of the outer circle 
draw chords parallel to YY, and through the points of division 
of the inner circle straight lines parallel to XX. The points of 
intersection of the lines give a series of points on the projection 
of the ‘spherical lemniscate’. These points are again marked in 
the figure by the numbers 0,1, 2....15. The projection of the 


position of the planet moves along this curve in the direction indi- 
cated by the successive numbers. 








CH. XVI EUDOXUS 207 


There is no doubt that Schiaparelli has restored, in his ‘ spherical 
lemniscate ’, the Aippopede of Eudoxus, the fact being confirmed by 
the application of the same term Aippopede (horse-fetter) by Proclus* 
to a plane curve of similar shape formed by a plane section of an 
anchor-ring or fore touching the tore internally and parallel to its 
axis. 

So far account has only been taken of the motion due to the com- 
bination of the rotations of the third and fourth spheres. But 4, 5, 
the poles of the third sphere (Figs. 6-8), are carried round the zodiac 
or ecliptic by the motion of the second sphere and in a time equal to 
the ‘ zodiacal’ period of the planet. Now the longitudinal axis of 
the ‘spherical lemniscate’ (the arc of the great circle bisecting it 
longitudinally) always lies on the ecliptic. We may therefore sub- 
stitute the ‘lemniscate’ moving bodily round the ecliptic for the 
third and fourth spheres, the planet meantime moving round 
the ‘lemniscate in the manner described above. The combination 
of the two motions (that of the ‘ lemniscate’ and that of the planet 
on it) gives the motion of the planet through the constellations. 
The motion of the planet round the curve is an oscillatory motion, 
now forward in acceleration of the motion round the ecliptic due to 
the second sphere, now backward in retardation of the same motion ; 
the period of the oscillation is the period of the synodic revolution, 
and the acceleration and retardation occupy half the period respec- 
tively. When the retardation in the sense of longitude due to the 
backward oscillation is greater than the speed of the forward motion 
of the ‘ lemniscate’ itself, the planet will for a time have a retrograde 
motion, at the beginning and end of which it will appear stationary 
for a little while, when the two opposite motions balance each 
other. The greatest acceleration of the planet in longitude, and the 
greatest retardation (or the quickest rate of retrograde motion), 
occur at the times when the planet passes through the double point 
ofthe curve. The movements must therefore be so combined that 
the planet is at the double point and moving in the forward direction 
at the time of superior conjunction with the sun, when the apparent 
speed of the planet in longitude is greatest, while it is again at 
the double point but moving in the backward direction when it 
__ is in opposition or inferior conjunction, at which times the apparent 
* Proclus, Comm. on Eucl. I, ed. Friedlein, p. 112. 5. 


208 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES Parti 


retrograde motion of the planet is quickest. This combination of 
motions will be accompanied by motion in latitude within limits 
defined by the breadth of the lemniscate ; the planet will, during 
a synodic revolution, twice reach its greatest north and south lati- 
tude respectively and four times cross the ecliptic. 

The actual shape of the Azppopede and its dimensions relatively to 
the sphere on which it is drawn are fully determined when we know 
the inclination of the axis of the fourth sphere to that of the third, 
since they depend on this inclination exclusively. In order to test 
the working of the theory with regard to the several planets we 
need to know three things, (1) the inclination referred to, (2) the 
period of the ‘zodiacal’ or sidereal revolution, (3) the synodic 
period, in the case of each planet. We are not told what angles of 
inclination Eudoxus assumed, but the zodiacal and synodic periods 
which he ascribed to the five planets are given in round figures by 
Simplicius The following is a comparison of Eudoxus’s figures 
with the modern values: 








Synodic period Zodiacal period 
ὩΣ i ace nic 
Eudoxus Modern value _ Eudoxus Modern value 
Saturn 13 months 378 days 30 years 29 years 166 days 
Jupiter 13 months 399 days. 12 years II years 315 days 
Mars 8 months 20 days 780 days 2 years I year 322 days 
Mercury 110 days 116 days I year I year 
Venus 19 months 584 days I year I year 


Except in the case of Mars, these figures are tolerably accurate, 
while the papyrus purporting to contain the Avs Eudoxi gives for 
the synodic period of Mercury the exact modern figure of 116 days; 
it is therefore clear that Eudoxus went on the basis of very careful 
observations, whether he obtained the results from Egypt or from 
Babylonian sources. As unfortunately the inclinations assumed by 
Eudoxus (the third factor required for the reconstruction of the 
system) are not recorded, Schiaparelli has to conjecture them for 
himself. Assuming that they would be such as to produce ‘lem- 
niscates ’ which would give arcs of retrogradation corresponding to 
those actually observed, he takes the known retrograde arc of 
Saturn (6°) and observes that by the help of the zodiacal period 
of 30 years and the synodic period of 13 months, and by assuming 


? Simplicius, loc. cit., pp. 495. 26-9, 496. 6-9. 





———— ἾΩΝΣ 











CH. XVI EUDOXUS : 209 


6° as the ‘inclination’, a retrograde arc of about 6° is actually 
obtained; the length of the Aippopede (the arc of the great circle of 
the sphere bisecting the curve longitudinally) is 12°, and the half of 
its breadth about 9’, a maximum deviation from the ecliptic which 
would of course be imperceptible to the observers of those days. 
In the case of Jupiter, assuming an inclination of 13°, and conse- 
quently a Aippopede of 26° in length and twice 44’ in breadth, 
with a zodiacal period of 12 years and a synodic period of 13 
months, he deduces a retrograde arc of about 8°; and again the 
divergence in latitude of 44’ would hardly be noticed. For these 
two planets, therefore, Eudoxus’s method gave an excellent solution 
of Plato’s problem of finding how the motion of the planets can be 
accounted for by a combination of uniform circular motions. 

With Mars, however, the system fails. We have no means of 
knowing how Eudoxus came to put the synodic period at 8 months 
and 20 days, or 260 days, whereas it is really 780 days, or three 
times as long. But, whether we take 780 days or 260 days, the 
theory does not account for the facts. If the synodic period is 780 
days, and we take for the length of the Azppopede the greatest arc 
permissible according to Simplicius’s account, namely an arc of 
180°, corresponding to an ‘inclination’ of go’, the breadth of the 
curve becomes 60°, so that Mars ought to diverge in latitude to 
the extent of 30°. Also, even under this extreme hypothesis, the 
retrograde motion of Mars on the Aippopede cannot reach a speed 
equal to that of the direct motion of the Aippopede itself along the 
ecliptic (the zodiacal period being 2 years); consequently Mars 


- should not have any retrograde motion at all and should only move 


very slowly at opposition. To obtain a retrograde motion at all 
we should require an ‘inclination’ greater than go’, and consequently 
the third and fourth spheres would rotate in the same instead of the 
opposite sense, which is contrary to Simplicius’s statement; and, 
even if this were permissible, there is the objection that Mars’s 
deviations in latitude would exceed 30°, and Eudoxus would never 
have assumed such an amount of deviation. On the other hand, to 
assume a synodic period of 260 days would produce a retrograde 
motion ; by assuming an inclination of 34° we get 68° as the length 
of the Aippopede and a maximum deviation in latitude of 4° 53’, 
which is not very far from the true deviation; the retrograde arc 


1410 A 


210 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES parti 


becomes about 16°, which is little greater than that disclosed by 
observation. This way of producing approximate agreement with 
observed facts may perhaps have been what led Eudoxus to assume 
a synodic period one third as long as the real period; but unfor- 
tunately the hypothesis gives two retrograde motions outside the 
oppositions with the sun, and six stationary points, four of which 
have no real existence. . . 

As regards Mercury and Venus, inasmuch as their mean positions 
coincide with the mean position of the sun, Eudoxus must have 
assumed that the centre of the Azppopede always coincides with 
the sun. This centre being on the ecliptic and at a distance of 
go” from each of the poles of rotation of the third sphere, the poles 
of the third sphere of Mercury and the poles of the third sphere 
of Venus coincide, a fact for which we have the independent 
testimony of Aristotle in the passage quoted above. As the mean 
position of each of the two planets coincides with that of the sun, 
and the greatest elongation of each from the sun is half the length 
of the corresponding ippopede, Eudoxus doubtless determined 
the ‘inclination’ from the observed elongations. In the case of 


Mercury, with a maximum elongation of 23°, the length of the © 


hippopede becomes 46°, and the half of its breadth or the greatest 
latitude is 2°14’, nearly as great as the observed deviation. The 
retrograde arc for Mercury would be about 6°, which is much 
smaller than the true length; but, as this mistake occurs in a part 
of the synodic circuit which cannot be observed, the theory cannot 
be blamed for this. In the visible portions of the circuit the 
longitudes are represented with fair accuracy, though the times 
of greatest elongation do not exactly agree with the facts. For 
Venus, taking the greatest elongation (and consequently the ‘in- 
clination’) at 46°, we have a hippopede 92° in length, and a half- 
breadth or maximum latitude of 8°54’, which is roughly in agreement 
with the greatest latitude as observed.’ But, since the synodic period 
as. given by Eudoxus, 570 days, is more than 14 times the zodiacal 


period, Venus, like Mars, can never have a retrograde motion; © 


and this error cannot be avoided whatever value we choose to 
substitute for 46° as the inclination. Another serious fault of the 
theory is that it requires Venus to take the same time to pass 


from the extreme eastern point to the extreme western point 





Wee Sag os 





CH. XVI EUDOXUS i τι 


of the ἀξῤῥοῤεάε as it takes to return from the extreme 
western to the extreme eastern point, whereas in fact Venus takes 
441 days (out of the synodic period of 584 days) to pass from the 
greatest eastern to the greatest western elongation and only 143 
days to return from the greatest western to the greatest eastern 
elongation. As regards latitude, too, the imperfection of the theory 
is more marked in the case of Venus than in that of the other 
planets; for the Aippopede intersects the ecliptic four times, once 
at each extremity, and twice at the double point ; consequently 
the planet ought to cross the ecliptic four times during each synodic 
period, which is not the case, as the latitude of Venus is only κα: 
twice during each sidereal revolution. 

To sum up. For the sun and moon the hypothesis of Eudoxus 
sufficed to explain adequately enough the principal phenomena, 
except the irregularities due to the eccentricities, which were either 
unknown to Eudoxus or neglected by him. For Jupiter and 
Saturn, and to some extent for Mercury also, the system was 
capable of giving on the whole a satisfactory explanation of their 
motion in longitude, their stationary points and their retrograde 
motions; for Venus it was unsatisfactory, and it failed altogether 
in the case of Mars. The limits of motion in latitude represented 
by the various Aippopedes were in tolerable agreement with observed 
facts, although the periods of the deviations and their places in 
the cycle were quite wrong. But, notwithstanding the imper- 
fections of the system of homocentric spheres, we cannot but 
recognize in it a speculative achievement which was worthy of the 
great reputation of Eudoxus and: all the more deserving of admira- 
tion because it was the first attempt at a scientific explanation of 
the apparent irregularities of the motions ofthe planets. And, 
as Schiaparelli says, if any one, as the result of a superficial study 
of the theory, finds it complicated, let him remember that in 
none of his hypotheses does Eudoxus make use of more than three 
constants or elements, namely the epoch of a superior conjunction, 
the period of sidereal revolution (on which the synodic period is 
dependent), and the inclination to one another of the axes of the 
third and fourth spheres, which inclination determines completely 
the dimensions of the £7ppopede ; whereas in our time we require, for 
the same purpose, six elements in the case of each planet. 

P2 


212 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES PARTI 


Eudoxus died in 355 B.C. at the age of 53. His doctrine of 
homocentric spheres was further studied in his school. Menaechmus, 
the reputed discoverer of the conic sections, and one of his pupils, 
is mentioned as a supporter of the theory.! Polemarchus of 
Cyzicus, a friend of Eudoxus, is also mentioned as having studied 
the subject, and, in particular, as having been aware of the objection 
raised to the system of homocentric spheres on the ground that 
the difference in the brightness of the planets, especially Venus and 
Mars, and in the apparent size of the moon, at different times, 
showed that they could not always be at the same distance from 
us; ‘ Polemarchus appears to have been aware of it’ (the variation 
in the distances of each planet) ‘ but to have neglected it as not per- 
ceptible, because he preferred the assumption that the spheres them- 
selves are about the centre of the universe’.? But. it is Callippus 
to whom definite improvements in the system are attributed. 
Callippus of Cyzicus, the most famous and capable astronomer of 
his time, probably lived between 370 and 300 B.C.; he was therefore 
perhaps too young to be a pupil of Eudoxus himself; but he studied 
with Polemarchus and he followed ὃ Polemarchus to Athens, where 
‘he stayed with Aristotle correcting and completing, with Aristotle’s 
help, the discoveries of Eudoxus’* This must have been during 
the reign of Alexander the Great (336-323 B.C.), at which time 
Aristotle was in Athens; it must also have been about the time 
when Callippus brought out his improvement of Meton’s luni-solar 
cycle, since the beginning of Callippus’s cycle was in 330 B.C. 
(28th or 29th June). Aristotle himself gives Callippus the sole 
credit for certain improvements on Eudoxus’s system ; immediately 
after the passage above quoted from the Metaphysics he says: 

‘Callippus agreed with Eudoxus in the position he assigned to 
the spheres, that is to say, in their arrangement in respect of 
distances, and he also assigned the same number of spheres as 
Eudoxus did to Zeus and Kronos respectively, but he thought it 
necessary to add two more spheres in each case to the sun and 


moon respectively, if one wishes to account for the phenomena, 
and one more to each of the other planets.’® 


1 Theon of Smyrna, ed. Hiller, pp. 201. 25 — 202. I. 

2 Simplicius on De caelo ii. 12, p. 505. 21, Heib. 

3. μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνον εἰς ᾿Αθήνας ἐλθών. Schiaparelli translates μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνον as if it were 
per’ ἐκείνου, ‘with him’. 


4. Simplicius, op. cit., p. 493. 5-8. 5 Aristotle, Metaph. A. 8, 1073 Ὁ 32-8. 








¢ 
§ 
ἡ 
Ε 





CH. XVI CALLIPPUS 213 


Simplicius says that no book by Callippus on the subject was extant 
in his time, nor did Aristotle give any explanation of the reasons why 
Callippus added the extra spheres ; 


‘but Eudemus shortly stated what were the phenomena in explana- 
tion of which Callippus thought it necessary to assume the additional 
spheres. According to Eudemus, Callippus asserted that, assuming 
the periods between the solstices and equinoxes to differ to the 
extent that Euctemon and Meton held that they did, the three 
spheres in each case (i.e. for the sun and moon) are not sufficient 
to save the phenomena, in view of the irregularity which is observed 
in their motions. But the reason why he added the one sphere 
which he added in the case of each of the three planets Ares, 
Aphrodite, and Hermes was shortly and clearly stated by Eudemus.’! 


As regards the planets therefore, although we are informed that 
Eudemus gave the reason for the addition of a fifth sphere in each 
case, we are not told what the reason was, and we can only resort 
to conjecture. Schiaparelli observes that, since Callippus was 
content with Eudoxus’s hypothesis about Jupiter and Saturn, we 
may conclude that their zodiacal inequality was still unknown to 
him, although it can reach the value of 6° in each case, and also 
that he regarded their deviations in latitude as non-existent or 
negligible. But the glaring deficiencies in the theory of Eudoxus 
when applied to Mars would suggest the urgent need for some 
improvement which should, in particular, produce the necessary 
retrograde motion in this case without the assumption of a synodic 
period different from the true one. It is sufficiently probable there- 
fore that the fifth sphere was intended for the purpose of satisfying 
this latter condition. Schiaparelli observes that, on the assumption 
of a synodic period of 780 days, it is possible, by a combination 
of three spheres taking the place of Eudoxus’s last two (the third 
and fourth), to obtain a retrograde motion agreeing sufficiently with 
observed facts, and this can be done in various ways without 
involving too considerable deviations in latitude; he gives, as the 
simplest arrangement leading to the desired result, the following: 

Let 408 (Fig. 11) represent the ecliptic and A, B two opposite 
points on it which make the circuit of the zodiac in the zodiacal 
period of Mars. Leta sphere (the third of Eudoxus) revolve about 


1 Simplicius on De cae/o ii. 12, p. 497. 17-24. 


214 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES ῬΑΈΤΙ 


A, B as poles in the period of the synodic revolution. Take any 
point P, on the equator of this sphere as pole of another sphere (the 
fourth) rotating about its poles at twice the speed of the third sphere, 
in the opposite direction to the latter, and carrying with it P,, 
distant from P, by an arc P, P, (which we will call the ‘ inclination’). 
About P, as pole, let a fifth sphere rotate at the same speed and 














— 


Fig. 11. 


in the same direction as the third, carrying the planet fixed on 
its equator at the point J7. It is easy to see that, if at the 
beginning of the motion the three points P,, P,, 27 lie on the 
ecliptic in the order AP,P,MB, then at any time afterwards 
the angle ¢ at A will be equal to the angle at P, between P,P, and 
P,M, while the angle AP,P, at P, will be twice as large. And, 
since AP, = P,M = 90’, the planet J will in the synodic period 
describe a curve adjacent to the ecliptic and symmetrical about it 
which will take a different form according to the value given to the 
‘inclination’ P,P,. This curve will for certain values of P,P, 
extend considerably in length but little in breadth and, as it has 
its centre at O midway between the poles A, BZ, it will, like the 
hippopede, produce a direct and retrograde motion alternately, but 





CH. XVI ~ CALLIPPUS 215 


will have the advantage over the Aippopede that it can give the 
planet in the neighbourhood of O a much greater direct and retro- 
grade velocity with the same motion in latitude. Hence it is 
capable of giving the planet a retrograde motion where the Aippopede 
fails to do so. If, for example, P,P, is put equal to 45°, the curve 
takes a form like that shown in the figure (in projection). The 
greatest deviation in latitude does not exceed 4°11’, the curve has 
a length along the ecliptic of 953°, and has two triple points near 
the ends at a distance of 45° from the centre O. When the planet 
is passing O, its velocity is 1-2929 times the speed of the rotation 
of P, about AB. As the period of rotation of P, about AB is 
equal to the synodic period, 780 days, the daily motion of P, 
is 360°/780 or 0-462, which multiplied by 1-2929 gives 0°-597 as 
the daily retrograde motion on the curve at O. And, as O has 
a direct motion on the ecliptic of 360° / 686 = 0°-525, the resulting 
daily retrograde motion is 0-072, which is a reasonable approxima- 
tion to the fact. 

Similarly an additional sphere might be made to remove the 
imperfection of the theory as applied to Venus. If the ‘inclination’ 
P,P, is made 45°, the greatest elongation is 473°, which is very near 
the truth ; and the different speed of the planet in the four parts of 
the synodic revolution is also better accounted for, since, in the 
curve above drawn, the passage from one triple point to the other 
takes one fourth of the time, the same passage back again another 
fourth, while the remaining two fourths are occupied by the very 
slow motion round the small loops at the ends. For Mercury the 
theory of Eudoxus gave a fairly correct result, and doubtless it 
would be possible by means of another sphere to attain a still greater 
degree of accuracy. 

According to Eudemus, Callippus added two new aliases (making 
five) in the case of the sun, in order to account for the unequal 
motion in longitude which had been discovered a hundred years 
earlier by Meton and Euctemon. Euctemon had made the length 
of the seasons (beginning with the vernal equinox) 93, 90, 90, and 92 
days respectively, showing errors ranging from 1-23 to 2-01 days; 
this was about 430 B.c. Callippus, about 330 B.C., made the cor- 
responding lengths 94, 92, 89, 90 days respectively,’ the errors 

1 Ars Eudoxi, ὃ 55. 


216 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES Parti 


ranging from oc-08 to 0-44 days only ; this shows the great advance 
made in observations of the sun during the century between the two 
dates. Now Callippus had only to retain the three spheres assumed 
by Eudoxus for the sun and then to add two spheres, (1) a sphere 
with its poles on the third sphere of Eudoxus which described the 
orbit of the sun at uniform speed in the course of a year, and (2) a 
sphere carrying the sun on its equator and having its poles on the 
preceding sphere and its axis slightly inclined to the axis of 
the same sphere; the second of these spheres would rotate at the 
same speed as the first but in the opposite direction. If the inclina- 
tion of the axes is equal to the greatest inequality (which was for 
Callippus, as it is for us, 2°), the two new spheres give for the sun a 
hippopede, the length of which along the ecliptic is 4° and the breadth 
nearly 1’ on each side of it; this representation of the motion of 
the sun is almost as accurate as that obtained later by means of the 
eccentric circle and the epicycle. 

Simplicius’s explanation of the reason why Callippus added two 
spheres in the case of the moon also is rather confused, because he 


tries to deal with the sun and moon in one sentence. But he pre- 


sumably meant that the reason in the case of the moon was similar 
to the reason in the case of the sun; in other words, Callippus was 
aware of the inequality in the motion of the moon in longitude. 
This inequality, which often reaches as much as 8°, would neces- 
sarily reveal itself as soon as the intervals between a large number 
of successive lunar eclipses were noted and compared with the 
corresponding longitudes of the moon, which can in this case easily 
be deduced from those of the sun. The inclination between the 
axes of the two new spheres would in this case have to be taken 
equal to the mean inequality of 6°, and a Aippopede of 12° would 
mean a maximum deviation from the moon’s path of 9’, so that 
the moon’s motion in latitude would not be sensibly affected. 

Whether Callippus actually arranged his additional spheres in 
the way suggested by Schiaparelli or not, the improvements which 
he made were doubtless of the nature indicated above; and his 
motive was that of better ‘saving the phenomena ’, his comparison 
of the theory of Eudoxus with the results of actual observation 
having revealed differences sufficiently pronounced to necessitate a 
remodelling of the theory. 


i i τ 





ee a νν 


Ἢ ΨΥ  ὙῪ Ὅν 


CH. XVI ARISTOTLE 217 


We now come to the changes which Aristotle thought it neces- 
sary to make in the system of Eudoxus and Callippus. We have 
seen that that system was purely geometrical and theoretical ; 
there was nothing mechanical about it. Aristotle’s point of view 
was entirely different. Aristotle, as we shall see, transformed the 
purely abstract and geometrical theory into a mechanical system 
of spheres, i.e. spherical shells, in actual contact with one another ; 
this made it almost necessary, instead of assuming separate sets of 
spheres, one set for each planet, to make all the sets part of one 
continuous system of spheres. For this purpose yet other spheres 
hhad to be added which Aristotle calls ‘ unrolling ’ or ‘ back-rolling’ 
(aveXirrovea),' by which is meant ‘reacting’ in the sense of counter- 
acting the motion of certain of Eudoxus’s and Callippus’s spheres 
which, for the sake of distinction, we may with Schiaparelli call 
‘deferent’. Aristotle’s theory and its motive are given quite clearly 
in the chapter of the Metaphysics to which reference has already 
been made. The words come immediately after the description of 
Callippus’s additions to the theory. 


‘But it is necessary, if the phenomena are to be produced by all 
the spheres acting in combination (συντεθεῖσαι), to assume in the 
case of each of the planets other spheres fewer by one [than 
the spheres assigned to it by Eudoxus and Callippus] ; these latter 
spheres are those which unroll, or react on, the others in such a way 
as to replace the first sphere of the next lower planet in the same 
position [as if the spheres assigned to the respective planets above 
it did not exist], for only in this way is it possible for a combined 
system to produce the motion of the planets. Now the deferent 
spheres are, first, eight [for Saturn and Jupiter], then twenty-five 
more [for the sun, the moon, and the three other planets]; and οὗ. 
these only the last set [of five] which carry the planet placed lowest 
[the moon] do not require any reacting spheres. Thus the reacting 
spheres for the first two bodies will be six, and for the next four will 
be sixteen ; and the total number of spheres, including the deferent 
spheres and those which react on them, will be fifty-five. If, how- 
ever, we choose not to add to the sun and moon the [additional 
deferent] spheres we mentioned [i.e. the two added to each by 
Callippus], the total number of the spheres will be forty-seven. So 
much for the number of the spheres.’ ? 

* Theophrastus, we are told (Simplicius, loc. cit., p. 504. 6), called them 


> 


ἀνταναφέρουσαι. 
3 Aristotle, Metaph. A. 8, 1073 b38-1074a15. 


218 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES  ParTI 


The way in which the system would work is explained very . 


diffusely by Sosigenes in Simplicius;1 Schiaparelli puts the matter 
quite clearly and shortly, thus. The different sets of spheres being 
merged into one, it is necessary to provide against the motion of 
the spheres assigned to a higher planet affecting the motion of the 
spheres assigned to a lower planet. For this purpose Aristotle 
interpolated between the last (the innermost) sphere of each planet 
and the first (or outermost) sphere of the planet next below it 
a certain number of spheres called ‘reacting’ spheres. Thus, sup- 
pose A, B, C, D to be the four spheres postulated for Saturn, 4 
being the outermost and D the innermost on which the planet is 
fixed. If inside the sphere D we place a first reacting sphere D’ 
which turns about the poles of D with equal speed, but in the 
opposite sense, to D, the rotations of D and D’ will mutually 
cancel each other and any point of D’ will move as though 
it was rigidly connected with the sphere C. Again, if we place 
inside the sphere D’ a second reagent sphere C’ rotating about 
the same poles with C and with equal speed, but in the opposite 


sense, the rotations of C and C” cancel each other, and any point   


of C’ will move as if it were rigidly connected with the sphere B. 
Lastly, if inside ( a third reagent sphere B’ is introduced which 
rotates about the same poles with B and at the same speed but in 
the opposite sense, the rotations of B and J’ will cancel each other 
and any point of B’ will move as if it were rigidly connected with 
the sphere A. But, as A is the outermost sphere for Saturn, A is the 
motion of the sphere of the fixed stars; hence B’ will move in 
the same way as the sphere of the fixed stars; and consequently 
Jupiter's spheres can move inside B’ as if the spheres of Saturn did 
not exist and as if B’ itself were the sphere of the fixed stars. 
Hence it is clear that, if ~ is the number of the deferent spheres 
of a planet, the addition of ~—1 reacting spheres inside them 
neutralizes the operation of ~—1 of the original 7 spheres and pre- 
vents the inner set of spheres from being disturbed by the outer 
set. The innermost of the »—1 reacting spheres moves, as above 
shown, in the same way as the sphere of the fixed stars. But the 
first sphere of the next nearer planet (as of all the planets) is also a 
sphere with the same motion as that of the sphere of the fixed 
? Simplicius on De cae/o ii. 12, pp. 498. 1 - 503. 9. 


CH. XVI ARISTOTLE Ξ 219 


stars, and consequently we have two spheres, one just inside the 
other, with one and the same motion, that is, doing the work of one 
sphere only. Aristotle could therefore have dispensed with the 
second of these, namely the first of the spheres belonging to 
the inner planet, without detriment to the working of his system ; 
and, as the number of ‘ planets’ inside the outermost, Saturn, is six, 
he could have saved six spheres out of his total number. 

Aristotle omits, as unnecessary, any reacting spheres for the 
last and innermost planet, the moon. Yet, as Martin points out,' 
Aristotle should have realized that, strictly speaking, the account 
which he gives in the Mefcorologica of shooting stars, comets, and 
the Milky Way necessitates the introduction of four reacting 
spheres below the moon. For, according to Aristotle, these 
phenomena are the effects of exhalations rising to the top of the 
sublunary sphere and there coming into contact with another 
warm and dry substance which, being the last layer of the sublunary 
sphere and in contact with the revolution of the outer heavenly 
sphere, is carried round with it ; the rising exhalations are kindled 
by meeting and being caught in the other substance and are carried 
round with it. Hence there must be a sphere below the moon 
which has the same revolution as that of the sphere of the fixed 
stars, in order that comets, &c., may be produced and move as they 
are said todo. The four inner spheres producing the moon’s own 
motion should therefore be neutralized as usual by the same 
number of reacting spheres. 

As it is, however, the hypotheses of Callippus, with the additions 
of spheres actually made by Aristotle, work out thus: 


Deferent spheres Reacting spheres 


For Saturn 4 aa 
» Jupiter 4 3 
» Mars 5 4 
» Mercury 5 4 
3, Venus 5 4 
» Sun 5 4 
» Moon 5 ο 
Total 33 + 22 = 55 


-In saying that, if Callippus’s additional spheres for the sun and 
moon are left out, the total number of spheres becomes 47, it would 


1 Mémoires de PAcad. des Inscr, et Belles-Letires, xxx. 1881, pp. 263-4. 


220 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES PARTI 


seem that Aristotle made an arithmetical slip;1 for the omission 
would reduce the number 55 by 6 (4 deferent and 2 reacting), not 
by 8, and would leave 49, not 47. The remark would also seem 
to show that Aristotle did not feel quite certain that the two 
additional spheres assumed by Callippus for the sun’ and moon 
respectively were really necessary. We may compare the passage 
in the De caelo where he definitely regards the sun and moon as 
having fewer motions than some of the planets; in that passage 
he endeavours to explain two ‘difficulties’ (ἀπορίαι), one of which 
is stated as follows: 


‘ What can be the reason why the principle that the bodies which 
are at a greater distance from the first motion [the daily rotation 
of the sphere of the fixed stars] are moved by more movements 
does not apply throughout, but it is the middle bodies which have 
most movements? For it would appear reasonable that, as the 
first body [the sphere of the fixed stars] has one motion only, 
the nearest body to it should be moved by the next fewest move- 
ments, say two, the next to that by three, or in accordance with   
some other similar arrangement. But in practice the opposite is 
what happens; for the sun and moon are moved by fewer move- 
ments than some of the planets, and yet the latter are further from 
the centre and nearer the first body [the sphere of the fixed stars] 
than the sun and moon are. ‘In the case of some planets this is 
even observable by the eye; for, at a time when the moon was 
halved, we have seen the star of Ares go behind it and become 
hidden by the dark portion of the moon and then come out at the 
bright side of it. And the Egyptians and Babylonians of old 
whose observations go back a great many years, and from whom 
we have a number of accepted facts relating to each of the stars, 
tell us of similar occultations of the other stars.’ 2 


1 There are other explanations, but they are all somewhat forced, and involve 
greater difficulties than they remove (see Simplicius on De caelo, pp. 503. 10 -- 
504. 3, and Martin, loc. cit., pp. 265-6). A further reduction of the number 49 
to 47 which might have been, but obviously was not, made by Aristotle, is 
indicated by Martin (loc. cit., p. 268) and by Dreyer (Planetary Systems, 
p- 114 note). Aristotle might have abolished the ‘¢hzrd’ of the sun’s spheres 
(as well as the fourth and fifth); this would have been a real improvement, 
since the ‘third’ sphere was meant to explain a movement which did not exist, 
namely, the supposed movement of the sun in latitude; the number of the 
spheres would thus have been reduced by two (one deferent and one reacting). 
But Aristotle had not the knowledge necessary to enable him to suggest this 
improvement. 

2 De caelo ii. 12, 291 Ὁ 29-292a9. 


CH. XVI ARISTOTLE 221 


Aristotle’s explanation is teleological, based on comparison with 
things which have life and are capable of action. We may perhaps 
say that that thing is in the best state which possesses the good 
without having to act at all, while those come nearest the best 
state which have to perform the fewest acts.‘ Now the earth is 
in the most happy state, being altogether without motion. The 
bodies nearest to it have few movements; they do not attain the 
ideal, but come as near as they can to ‘the most divine principle’. 
The ‘first heaven’ [the sphere of the fixed stars] attains it at once 
by means of one movement only ; the bodies between the first and 
the last [the last being the sun and the moon] attain it but only by 
means of a greater number of movements.” 

The theory of concentric spheres was pursued for some time after 
Aristotle. Schiaparelli conjectures that even Archimedes still held 
to it. Autolycus, the author of the treatises On the moving sphere 
and Ox risings and settings, who lived till the end of the fourth 
or the beginning of the third century B.C., is said to have been 
the first to try, presumably by some modification of the theory, 
to meet the difficulties which had been seen from the first and 
were doubtless pointed out with greater insistence as time went on. 
What was ultimately fatal to it was of course the impossibility 
of reconciling the assumption of the invariability of the distance 
of each planet with the observed differences in the brightness, 
especially of Mars and Venus, at different times, and the apparent 
difference in the relative sizes of the sun and moon. The quotation 
by Simplicius from Sosigenes on this subject is worth giving in full.* 


‘Nevertheless the theories of Eudoxus and his followers fail to 
save the phenomena, and not only those which were first noticed 
at a later date, but even those which were before known and 
actually accepted by the authors themselves. What need is there 
for me to mention the generality of these, some of which, after 
Eudoxus had failed to account for them, Callippus tried to save,— 
if indeed we can regard him as so far successful? I confine my- 
self to one fact which is actually evident to the eye; this fact 
no one before Autolycus of Pitane even tried to explain by means 
of hypotheses (διὰ τῶν ὑποθέσεων), and not even Autolycus was 
able to do so, as clearly appears from his controversy with 


* De caelo ii. 12, 292 a 22-4. ? Ibid. 292 b 10-25. 
3 Simplicius on De caedo, pp. 504. 17 -- 505. 11, 505. 19-506. 3. 


222 THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES  ParTI 


Aristotherus!. I refer to the fact that the planets appear at 
times to be near to us and at times to have receded. This is 
indeed obvious to our eyes in the case of some of them; for the 
star called after Aphrodite and also the star of Ares seem, in 
the middle of their retrogradations, to be many times as large, so 
much so that the star of Aphrodite actually makes bodies cast 
shadows on moonless nights. The moon also, even in the perception 
of our eye, is clearly not always at the same distance from us, because 
it does not always seem to be the same size under the same 
conditions as to medium. The same fact is moreover confirmed 
if we observe the moon by means of an instrument; for it is at 
one time a disc of eleven fingerbreadths, and again at another 
time a disc of twelve fingerbreadths, which when placed at the 
same distance from the observer hides the moon (exactly) so that 
his eye does not see it. In addition to this, there is evidence for 
the truth of what I have stated in the observed facts with regard 
to total eclipses of the sun; for when the centre of the sun, the 
centre of the moon, and our eye happen to be in a straight line, 
what is seen is not always alike; but at one time the cone which 
comprehends the moon and has its vertex at our eye comprehends 
the sun itself at the same time, and the sun even remains invisible 
to us for a certain time, while again at another time this is so far — 
from being the case that a rim of a certain breadth on the outside 
edge is left visible all round it at the middle of the duration of the 
eclipse. Hence we must conclude that the apparent difference in 
the sizes of the two bodies observed under the same atmospheric 
conditions is due to the inequality of their distances (at different 
times). ... But indeed this inequality in the distances of each star 
at different times cannot even be said to have been unknown to 
the authors of the concentric theory themselves. For Polemarchus 
of Cyzicus appears to be aware of it, but to minimize it as being 
imperceptible, because he preferred the theory which placed the 
spheres themselves about the very centre in the universe. Aristotle 
too, shows that he is conscious of it when, in the Physical Problems, 
he discusses objections to the hypotheses of astronomers arising 
from the fact that even the sizes of the planets do not appear to be 
the same always. In this respect Aristotle was not altogether 
satisfied with the revolving spheres, although the supposition that, 
being concentric with the universe, they move about its centre 
attracted him. Again, it is clear from what he says in Book A 
of the Metaphysics that he thought that the facts about the move- 
ments of the planets had not been sufficiently explained by the 


1 Apparently a contemporary of Autolycus and, like him, a mathematician. 
The famous poet Aratus appears to have been a pupil of Aristotherus (Buhle’s 
Aratus, Leipzig, 1793, vol. i, p. 4). 


CK. XVI EARLY CRITICISMS 223 


astronomers who came before him or were contemporary with him. 
At all events we find him using language of this sort: “(on the ques- 
tion how many in number these movements of the planets are), we 
must for the present content ourselves with repeating what some 
of the mathematicians say, in order that we may form a notion and 
our mind may have a certain definite number to apprehend ; but 
for the rest we must investigate some matters for ourselves and 
learn others from other investigators, and, if those who study these 
questions reach conclusions different from the views now put forward, 
we must, while respecting both, give our adherence to those which 
are the more correct ”’.? 


Schiaparelli observes that we must not be misled by these 
attempts to father on Aristotle doubts as to the truth of the theory 
of homocentric spheres; the object is to make an excuse for the 
line taken by the later Peripatetics in getting away from the 
revolving spheres of Aristotle and going over to the theory of 
eccentric circles and epicycles. 

The allusion by Sosigenes to annular eclipses of the sun is 
particularly interesting, as it shows that he had much more correct 
notions on this subject than most astronomers up to Tycho Brahe. 
Even at the beginning of the seventeenth century, says Schiaparelli, 
some persons doubted the possibility of a total eclipse. Proclus 
points out that the views of Sosigenes are inconsistent with the 
opinion of Ptolemy that the apparent diameter of the sun is always 
the same, while that of the moon varies and is only at its apogee 
the same as that of the sun. ‘If the latter contention is true,’ 
says Proclus,? ‘then that is not true which Sosigenes said in his 
work On the revolving (or reacting) spheres, namely, that in eclipses 
at perigee the sun is seen to be not wholly obscured, but to overlap 
with the edges of its circumference the circle of the moon, and to 
give light without hindrance. For if we accept this statement, 
then either the sun will show variation in its apparent diameter, 
or the moon will not, at its apogee, have its apparent diameter, 
as ascertained by observation, the same as that of the sun.’ 
Cleomedes, too, alludes to the views of some of the more ancient 
astronomers who held that in total eclipses of the sun a bright rim 


1 Aristotle, Mefaph. A. 8, 1073 Ὁ 10-17. 
* Proclus, Hyfotyposis astronomicarum positionum, c. 4, δὲ 98, 99, p-130, 
16-26, ed. Manitius. 


224. THEORY OF CONCENTRIC SPHERES 


of the sun was visible all round (Cleomedes’ words would imply 
that they asserted this to be true for αὐ total eclipses, which is 
presumably a misapprehension), but adds that the statement has 
not been verified by observation.’ Schiaparelli infers that Sosigenes 
was aware of the variations of the apparent diameter of the sun, 
as well as of the moon, and thinks that his object in alluding 
to annular eclipses in the above passage quoted from Simplicius, 
where the subject is again that of revolving spheres, was to use 
as an argument against that theory the fact that the distance 
of the sun from us is variable. 


1 Cleomedes, De motu circulari ii. 4, p. 190, 19-26, Ziegler. 





XVII 


τὴς ARISTOTLE (continued) 

IT was convenient to give Aristotle’s modified system of concen- 
tric spheres in close connexion with the systems of Eudoxus and 
Callippus, and to reserve the rest of his astronomy for separate 
treatment. While his modification of the beautiful theory of 
Eudoxus and Callippus was far from being an improvement, 
Aristotle rendered real services to astronomy in other respects. 
Those services consisted largely of thoughtful criticisms, generally 
destructive, of opinions held by earlier astronomers, but Aristotle 
also made positive contributions to the science which are of sufficient 
value to make it impossible to omit him from a history of Greek 
astronomy. 

We have seen that he modified the purely geometrical hypotheses 
of Eudoxus and Callippus in a mechanical sense. A purely 
geometrical theory did not satisfy him; he must needs seek to 
assign causes for the motions of the several concentric spheres. We 
may therefore conveniently begin this chapter with an account of 
his views on Motion. Motion, according to Aristotle, is, like Form! 
and Matter,” eternal and indestructible, without beginning or end.*- 
Motion presupposes a primum movens which is itself unmoved ;* for 
that which is moved, being itself subject to change, cannot impart 
an unbroken and uniform movement ;° the primum movens, then, 
must be one,® unchangeable, absolutely necessary ;7 there is nothing 
merely potential about it, no unrealized possibility ;§ it must there- 
fore be incorporeal,° indivisible,!° and unconditioned by space,! as 


1 Metaph. Z. 8, 1033b 16, Z. 9, 1034 Ὁ 7, A. 3, 1069 Ὁ 35, ἄς. 


2 Phys. i. 9, 192 a 22-32. 8 Metaph. A. 6, τογι Ὁ 7. 

* Ibid. 1071 b 4. 5 Phys. viii. 6, 259b 22; c. 10, 2678 24. 

δ Metaph. Δ. 8, 1073a 25, 1074 a 36, τε. 7 Ibid. A. 7, 1072 b 7-11. 
® Ibid. A. 6, 1071 b 12. 9 Tbid. A. 6, 1071 Ὁ 20. 


10 Ibid. A. 9, 1075 a 7. 
™ De caelo i. 9,279 a 18 sq.; Phys. viii. 10, 267 b 18. 


1410 Q 


226 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


well as motionless and passionless ;’ it is absolute Reality and pure 
Energy,” that is,God.* In another aspect the primum movens is the 
Final Cause, pure Being, absolute Form, the object of thought and 
desire ;* God is Thought, self-sufficient,® contemplating unceasingly 
nothing but itself,’ the absolute activity of Thought, constituting 
absolute reality and vitality and the source of all life.* The primum 
movens causes all the movements in the universe, not by any activity 
of its own °—for that would be a movement and, as immaterial, it 
can have no share in movement—but by reason of the fact that all 
things strive after it and try to realize, so far as possible, its Form ;19 
it operates like a beloved object, and that which is moved by it 
communicates its motion to the rest." 

Motion takes place only by means of continuous contact between 
the motive principle and the thing moved. Aristotle insists upon 
this even in a case where the contact might seem to be only 
momentary, e.g. where a thing is zirown. The motion in that case 
seems to continue after contact with the thrower has ceased, but 
Aristotle will not admit this; he assumes that the thrower moves 
not only the thing thrown but also the medium through which the — 
thing is thrown, and makes the medium able to act as moved and 
movent at the same time (i.e. to communicate the movement); and 
further that the medium can continue to be movent even after it 
has ceased to be moved.!2 God then, as the first cause of motion, 
must be in contact with the world,” though Aristotle endeavours to 
exclude contiguity in space from the idea of ‘contact’, which he 
often uses in the sense of immediate connexion, as of thought with 
its object.4 The primunt movens operates on the universe from the 
circumference, because the quickest motion is that of the (outermost 
limit of the) universe, and things move the quickest which are 
nearest to that which moves them. Hence in a sense it could be 


1 De anima iii. 2,426a10. * Metaph. A.7,1072a25. * De caelo, loc. cit. 
* Metaph. A. 7, 1072426; De anima iii. 10, 4338 18. 

5 Eth. N. x. 8,1178b21; Metaph. A. 9, 1074b 25. 

® De caelo ii, 12, 29265; Politics, H. 1, 1323 Ὁ 23. 


7 Metaph. A. 9, 1075a 10. 8 Metaph. A. 7, 1072 Ὁ 28. 

® De caelo ii. 12, 292a 22; Eth. N.x. 8, 1178 Ὁ 20. 

0 Metaph. A. 7, 1072 a 26. 1 Ibid. 1072 Ὁ 3. 

12. Phys. viil. το, 266 Ὁ 27 - 267 ἃ 18. 3 De gen. et corr.i. 6, 323 a 31. 


4 Metaph. 8. 10, 1051b24; A. 7, 1072 Ὁ 21. 
15 Phys. vili. 10, 267 Ὁ 7-9. 





CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 227 


said that God is to Aristotle ‘the extremity of the heaven’;! but 
Aristotle is careful to deny that there can be any body or space or 
void outside the universe ; what is outside is not in space at all; the 
‘end of the whole heaven’ is life (αἰών), immortal and divine’.? 

Motion in space is of three kinds, motion in a circle, motion in 
a straight line, and motion compounded of the two (‘mixed’).* 
Which of these can be endless and continuous? The ‘mixed’ 
would only be so if both the two components could; but move- 
ment in a straight line cannot have this character, since every finite 
rectilinear movement has terminal points at which it must turn 
back,* and an infinite rectilinear movement is impossible, both in 
itself,> and because the universe is finite; hence circular motion is 
the only motion which can be without beginning or end.* Simple 
bodies have simple motions ; thus the four elements tend to move 
in straight lines; earth tends downwards, fire upwards ; between 
the two are water, the relatively heavy, and air, the relatively light. 
Thus the order, beginning from the centre, in the sublunary sphere 
is earth, water, air, fire.” Now, says Aristotle, simple circular 
motion is more perfect than motion in a straight line. As, then, 
there are four elements to which rectilinear motion is natural and 
circular motion not natural, so there must be another element, 
different from the four, to which circular motion is natural.* This 
element is superior to the others in proportion to the greater perfec- 
tion of circular motion and to its greater distance from us ;° circular 
motion admits no such contraries as ‘up’ and ‘down’; the superior 
element therefore can neither be heavy nor light;!° the same absence 
of contrariety suggests that it is without beginning or end, im-- 
perishable, incapable of increase or change (because all becoming 
involves opposites and opposite motions).11_ This superior element 
which fills the uppermost space is called ‘aether’,!” the ‘first ele- 

1 Sextus Emp. Adv. Math. x. 33; Hypotyp. iii. 218. 

2 De caelo i. 9, 279a 16-28. 3 Phys. viii. 8, 261 Ὁ 29. 

* Phys. viii. 8, 261 b 31-4. ® Ibid. iii. 5, 206a7; c. 6, 206a 16. 

® Ibid. viii. 8, 261 a 27-263 a 3, 2644 7 sqq.; c. 9, 265a 13 sq. 

7 Aristotle is careful, however, to explain that the division between air and fire 
is not a strict one, as between two definite layers ; there is some intermixture 
(cf. Meteor. i. 3, 341a 1-9). Further, the ‘fire’ is what from force of habit we 
call fire; it is not really fire, for fire is an excess of heat, a sort of ebullition 
(ibid. 340 b 22, 23). ® De caelo i. 2, 268 Ὁ 26-269 Ὁ 17. 9 Ibid. 

15. De caelo i. 3, 269 Ὁ 18-33. Ἡ bid. 270a 12-35. 

#2 Ibid. 270 Ὁ 1-24. 

Q2 


228 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


ment ’,! or ‘a body other and more divine than the four so-called 
elements’ ;? its changelessness is confirmed by long tradition, which 
contains no record of any alteration in the outer heaven itself or in 
any of its proper parts.2 Of this element are formed the stars,* 
which are spherical,® eternal,® intelligent, divine.’ It occupies the 
whole region from the outside limit of the universe down to the 
orbit of the moon, though it is not everywhere of uniform purity, 
showing the greatest difference where it touches the sublunary 
sphere. Below the moon is the terrestrial region, the home of the 
four elements, which is subject to continual change through 
the strife of those elements and their incessant mutual transfor- 
mations.° 

There is, Aristotle maintains, only one universe or heaven, and 
that universe is complete, containing within it all the matter there 
is. For, he argues, all the simple bodies move to their proper 
places, earth to the centre, aether to the outermost region of the 
universe, and the other elements to the intervening spaces. There 
can be no simple body outside the universe, for that body has its 
own natural place inside, and, if it were kept outside by force, the 
place occupied by it would be the zatural place for some other 
body; which is impossible, since a// the simple bodies have their 
proper places inside. The same argument holds for mixed bodies ; 
for, where mixed bodies are, there also are the simple bodies of 
which they are composed. Nor can there be any space or void out- 
side the universe, for space or void is only that in which a body is 
or can be.!° Another argument is that the primum movens is single 
and complete in itself; hence the world, which derives its eternal 
motion from the primum movens, must be so too." If it be sug- 
gested that there may be many particular worlds as manifestations 
of one concept ‘world’, Aristotle replies that this cannot be; for 
the heaven is perceptible to our senses; hence it and other heavens 


1 De caelo iii. 1, 298b6; Meteor. i. τ, 338b 21, ἅς. 


® De gen. an. ii. 3, 736 Ὁ 29-31. 8 De caelo i. 3, 270 Ὁ 11-16, 

* De gen. an. ii, 3, 737 41. 5 De caelo ii. 8, 290 ἃ 7- 11. 
® Metaph. A. 8, 1073 a 34. 

7 Ibid. 1074a 38-b3; δᾶ. XN. vi. 1143 b 1. 8 Meteor. i. 3, 340 Ὁ 6-10. 


® Meteor. ii. 3, 357 Ὁ 30. 
10 De caelo i. 9, 278 Ὁ 8 -- 279 a 14. 
1 Metaph. A. 8, 1074 a 36-8. 


a ". ᾿νΤω τ ὐἱ.- 





CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 229 


(if any) must contain mazter ; but our heaven contains all the matter 
there is, and therefore there cannot be any other.? 

Next, the universe is finzte. In the Physics Aristotle argues that 
an infinite body is inconceivable, thus. An infinite body must 
either be simple or composite. If composite, it is composed of 
elements ; these are limited in number; hence an infinite body 
could only be made up of them if one or more were infinite in 
magnitude ; but this is impossible, because there would then be no 
room for the rest. Neither can it be simple; for no perceptible 
simple body exists except the elements, and it has been shown that 
none of them can be infinite. In the De caelo he approaches the 
subject from the point of view of motion. A body which has 
a circular motion, as the universe has, must be finite. For, if it is 
infinite, the straight line from the centre to a point on its circum- 
ference must be infinite; now if, as being infinite, this distance can 
never be traversed, it cannot revolve in a circle, whereas we see 
that in fact the universe does so revolve.* Further, in an infinite 
body there can be no centre; hence the universe which rotates about 

-its centre cannot be infinite.* 

Aristotle’s arguments for the spherical shape of the universe are 
of the usual kind. As the circle, enclosed by one line, is the first of 
plane figures, so the sphere, bounded by one surface, is the first 
of solid figures; hence the spherical shape is appropriate to the 
‘first body’, the subject of the ‘outermost revolution’. Next, as 
there is no space or void outside the universe, it must, as it revolves, 
continually occupy the same space ; therefore it must be a sphere; 
for, if it had any other form, this condition would not be satisfied.® 
[Aristotle is not strictly correct here, since any solid of revolution 
revolving round its axis always occupies the same space, but it is 
true that onlya sphere can remain in exactly the same position when 
revolving about any diameter whatever.] Further, we may infer the 
spherical form of the universe from the bodies in the centre. We 
have first the earth, then the water round the earth, air round the 
water, fire round the air, and similarly the bodies above the fire; 


Pes tg ged δα ρρδνες 278 a 28. is ne ie 

LYS. Il. 5, 204 Ὁ 3-3 δ caelo 1. 5, 271 Ὁ 28 -- 272 8 7. 
* De εαείο i. 2, 275 b 12-15. 5 Ibid. ii. 4, 286 b 10 -- 287 ἃ 5. 
5. Ibid. ii. 4, 287 a 11-22. 


230 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


now the surface of the water is spherical ; hence the surfaces of the 
layers following it, and finally the outermost surface, correspond." 

The fabric of the heavens is made up of spherical shells, as it 
were, one packed inside the other so closely that there is no void 
or empty space between them ;” this applies not only to the astral 
spheres,’ but right down to the earth in the middle ;* it is necessary 
so far as the moving spheres are concerned because there must 
always be contact between the moving and the moved.°® 

We have above described the working of Aristotle’s mechanical 
system of concentric spheres carrying the fixed stars and producing 
the motions of the planets respectively, and it only remains to add 
a word with reference to the motive power acting on the spheres 
other than that of the ‘outermost revolution’, The outermost 
sphere, that of the fixed stars, is directly moved by the one single 
and eternal primum movens, Divine Thought or Spirit. Only one 
kind of motion is produced when one movens acts on one object ;° 
how then do we get so many different movements in the spheres 
other than the outermost? Aristotle asks himself this question: 
Must we suppose that there is only one unmoved movens of the 
kind, or several, and, if several, how many are there? He is obliged 
to reply that, as eternal motion must be due to an eternal movens, 
and one such motion to one such movens, while we see that, in addi- 
tion to the simple revolution of the whole universe caused by the 
unmoved primum movens, there exist other eternal movements, 
those of the planets, we must assume that each of the latter move- 
ments is due to a substance or essence unmoved in itself and 
eternal, without extension in space.’ The number of them must be 
that of the separate spheres causing the motion of the separate 
planets. The number of these spheres he had, as we have seen 
(Ρ. 217), fixed provisionally, while recognizing that the progress of 
astronomy might make it necessary to alter the figures.? Of the 
several spheres which act on any one planet, the first or outermost 
alone is moved by its own motion exclusively ; each of the inner 
spheres, besides having its own independent movement, is also 


1 De caelo ii. 4, 287 a 30-b 4. 


2 Cf. Phys. vii. 2, 243 ἃ 5. 8 De caelo i. 9, 278 Ὁ 16-18. 
* De caelo ii. 4, 287 a 5-11. 5 Phys. vii. 1, 242 Ὁ 24-6, vii. 2, 243 a 3-5. 
6 Phys. viii. 6, 259 a 18. 7 Metaph. A. 8, 1073 a 14-b το. 


8 Metaph. A. 8. 1074 13-16. ® Ibid. 1073 Ὁ 10-17. 


. 





CH. XVII ARISTOTLE   231 


carried round in the motion of the next sphere enveloping it, so that 
all the inner spheres, while themselves movent, are also moved by 
the eternal unmoved movent.! 

In a chapter of the De caelo* Aristotle discusses the question 
which is the vighz side of the heaven and which the ft. The dis- 
quisition is not important, but it is not unamusing.* He begins with 
a reference to the view of the Pythagoreans that there is a right 
and a left in the universe, and proceeds to investigate whether the 
particular distinction which they draw is correct or not, ‘ assuming 
that it is necessary to apply such principles as “right ” and “ left”’ 
to the body of the universe’.* There being three pairs of such 
opposites, up and down (or upper and lower), right and left, before 
and behind (or forward and backward), he begins with the distinc- 
tions (1) that ‘up’ is the principle of length, ‘right’ of breadth, and 
‘before’ of depth, and (2) that ‘up’ is the source of motion (ὅθεν ἡ 
κίνησις), ‘right’ the place from which it starts (ἀφ᾽ οὗ), and ‘ fo the 
front’ (εἰς τὸ πρόσθεν) is the place to which it is directed (ἐφ᾽ 8). 
Now the fact that the shape of the universe is spherical, alike in all 
its parts, and continually in motion, is no obstacle to calling one 
part of it ‘right’ and the other ‘left’. What we have to do is to 
think of something which has a right and left of its own (say a man) 
and then place a sphere round [ὃ Now, says Aristotle, I call the 
diameter through the two poles the /ength of the universe (because 
only the poles remain fixed), so that I must call one of the poles 
the upper, and the other the /ower. He then proceeds to show 
that the proper relativities can only be preserved by calling the 
south (the invisible) pole the upper and the xorth (the visible) 
pole the /ower, from which it follows that we live in the ower and 
left hemisphere, and the inhabitants of the regions towards the south 
pole live in the upper and right hemisphere; and this is precisely 
the opposite of what the Pythagoreans hold, namely that we live 
in the upper and right hemisphere, and the antipodes represent 
the Jower and /eft. The argument amounts to this. ‘Right’ is the 
place from which motion in space starts; and the motion of 


1 Phys. viii. 6, 259 Ὁ 29-31. 2 De caelo ii. 2, 284 Ὁ 6 -- 286 42. 

3 This matter also is fully discussed by Boeckh, Das kosmische System des 
Platon, pp. 112-19. 

* De caelo ii. 2, 284 Ὁ 9-10. 5 Ibid. 285 b 1-3. 


232 : ARISTOTLE PART I 


the heaven starts from the side where the stars rise, i.e. the east ; 
therefore the east is ‘ right’ and the west is ‘left’. If now (1) you 
suppose yourself to be lying along the world’s axis with your head 
towards the zorth pole, your feet towards the south pole, and your 
right hand towards the east, then clearly the apparent motion of the 
stars from east to west is over your Jack from your right side towards 
your left ; this motion, Aristotle maintains, cannot be called motion 
‘to the right’, and therefore our hypothesis does not fit the assump- 
tion from which we start, namely that the daily rotation ‘ begins 
from the right and is carried round towards the right (ἐπὶ τὰ degra)’. 
We must therefore alter the hypothesis and suppose (2) that you 
are lying with your head towards the south pole and your feet 
towards the zorth pole. If then your right hand is to the east, the 
daily motion begins at your right hand and proceeds over the front 
of your body from your right hand to your left. We should nowa- 
days regard this as giving precisely the wrong result, since motion 
round us zz front from right to left can hardly be described as ἐπὶ 
τὰ δεξιά, ‘to the right’; so that hypothesis (1) would, to us, seem 
preferable to hypothesis (2). But Aristotle’s point of view is fairly 
clear. We are to suppose a man (say) standing upright and giving 
a horizontal turn with his right hand to a circle about a vertical 
diameter coincident with the longitudinal axis of his body. Aris- 
totle regards him as turning the circle towards the right when he 
brings his right hand towards the front of his body, although we 
should regard it as more natural to apply ‘ towards the right’ to a 
movement of his right hand szz// more to the right, i.e. round by 
the right to the back. The (to us) unnatural use of the terms 
by Aristotle is attested by Simplicius who says that motion ἐπὲ 
δεξιά is in any case towards the front (πάντως εἰς τὸ ἔμπροσθέν 
éo7t),? and it is doubtless due to what Aristotle would regard as the 
necessity of making frout (in the dichotomy front and back, or 
before and behind) correspond to rvigh¢ (in the dichotomy right and 
left), just as wp (in the dichotomy up and down) must also corre- 
spond to right; this is indeed clear from his own statement quoted 
above that, as ‘the right’ is the place from which motion starts, so 
‘to the front’ is the place towards which it is directed. 

We come next to Aristotle’s view as to the shape of the heavenly 

1 De caelo ii. 2, 285 Ὁ 20, 2 Simplicius on De caelo, p. 392, 1, Heib. 


CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 233 


bodies and the arguments by which he satisfied himself that they 
do not move of themselves but are carried by material spheres. 

He held that the stars are spherical in form. One argument in 
support of this contention is curious. Nature, he says, does nothing 
without a purpose; Nature therefore gave the stars the shape 
most unfavourable for any movement on their own part; she denied 
to them all organs of locomotion, nay, made them as different as 
possible from the things which possess such organs. With this end 
in view, Nature properly made the stars spherical ; for, while the 
spherical shape is the best adapted for motion in the same place 
(rotation), it is the most useless for progressive motion.’ This is 
in curious contrast to the view of Plato who, with more reason, 
regarded the cube as being the shape least adapted for motion 
(ἀκινητότατον).3 The second argument is from analogy. Since 
the moon is shown by the phases to be spherical, while we see 
similar curvature in the lines separating the bright part of the sun 
from the dark in non-total solar eclipses, we may conclude from this 
that the sun and, by analogy, the stars also are spherical in form.* 

With regard to the spheres carrying the stars round with them, 
we note first that the ‘heaven’, in the sense of the ‘outermost 
heaven’ or ‘the outermost revolution of the All’ (ἡ ἐσχάτη περι- 
φορὰ τοῦ παντός), which is the sphere of the fixed stars, was with 
Aristotle a material thing, a ‘ physical body’ (σῶμα φυσικόν)." 
Now, says Aristotle,> seeing that both the stars and the whole 
heaven appear to change their positions, there are various a priori 
possibilities to be considered ; (1) both the stars and the heaven 
may be at rest, (2) both the stars and the heaven may be in motion, 
or (3) the stars may move and the heaven be at rest, or vice versa. 
Hypothesis (1) is at once ruled out because, under it, the 
observed phenomena could not take place consistently with 
the earth being at rest also; and Aristotle assumes that the earth 
is at rest (τὴν δὲ γῆν ὑποκείσθω ἠρεμεῖν). Coming to hypothesis (2), 
we have to remember that the effect of a uniform rotation of the 
‘heaven about an axis passing through the poles is to make par- 
ticular points on this spherical shell describe parallel circles about 


1 De caelo ii. 8, 290a 31- 5 ; c. 11, 291 b11-17. 
2 Plato, Timaeus 55 Ὁ, E. 8 De caelo ii. 11, 291 Ὁ 17-23. 
* De caelo i. 9, 278 Ὁ 11-14. ® Ibid. ii. 8, 289 b1 sqq. 


234 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


the axis ; suppose then that the heaven rotates in this way, and that 
the stars also move. Now, says Aristotle, the stars and the circles 
cannot move independently ; if they did, it is inconceivable that the 
speeds of the stars would always be exactly the same as the speeds 
of the circles ; for, while the speeds of the circles must necessarily 
be in proportion to their sizes, i.e. to their radii, it is not reasonable 
to suppose that the stars, if they moved freely, would revolve at 
speeds proportional to the radii of the circles; yet they would have 
to do so if the stars and the circles are always to return to the same 
places at the same times, as they appear to do. Nor can we, as 
in hypothesis (3), suppose the stars to move and the heaven to be 
at rest ; for, if the heaven were at rest, the stars would have to move 
of themselves at speeds proportional to the radii of the circles they 
describe, which has already been stated to be an unreasonable sup- 
position. Consequently only one possibility remains, namely that 
the circles alone move, and the stars are fixed on them and carried 
round with them ;} that is, they are fixed on, and carried round with, 
the sphere of which the circles are parallel sections. 
Again, says Aristotle, there are other considerations which sug- 
gest the same conclusion. If the stars have a motion of their own, 
they can, being spherical in shape, have only one of two movements, 
namely either (1) whirling (δίνησις) or (2) rolling (κύλισι5). Now 
(1), if the stars merely whirled or rotated, they would always 
remain in the same place, and would not move from one position 
to another, as everybody admits that they do. Besides, if one 
heavenly body rotated, it would be reasonable to suppose that they 
all would. But, in fact, the only body which seems to rotate is the 
sun and that only at the times of its rising and setting ; this, how- 
ever, is only an optical illusion due to the distance, ‘for our sight, 
when at long range, wavers’ (literally ‘turns’ or ‘ spins’, ἑλίσσεται). 
This, Aristotle incidentally observes, may perhaps be the reason 
why the fixed stars, which are so distant, twinkle, while the planets, 
being nearer, do not. It is thus the tremor or wavering of our 
sight which makes the heavenly bodies seem to rotate.” In thus 
asserting that the stars do not rotate, Aristotle is of course opposed 
to Plato, who held that they do.° 


* De caelo ii. 8, 289b 32. 2. Ibid. ii. 8, 290 ἃ 9-23. ὃ Plato, Zimaeus 40 A. 





CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 235 


Again (2), if the stars rolled (along, like a wheel), they would 
necessarily turn round ; but that they do not turn round in this 
way is proved by the case of the moon, which always shows us one 
side, the so-called face.' 

It is for a particular reason that I have reproduced so fully 
Aristotle’s remarks about rotation and rolling as conceivable move- 
ments for stars as spherical bodies. It has been commonly re- 
marked that Aristotle draws a curious inference from the fact that 
the moon has one side always turned to us, namely that the moon 
does not rotate about its own axis, whereas the inference should be 
the very opposite.? But this is, I think, a somewhat misleading 
statement of the case and less than just to Aristotle. What he says 
is that the moon does not turn round in the sense of rolling along ; 
and this is clear enough because, if it rolled along a certain path, it 
would roll once round while describing a length equal to 3-1416 
times its diameter, but it manifestly does not do this. But Aris- 
totle does not say that the moon does not rotate; he does not, it is 
true, say that it does rotate either, but his hypothesis that it is 
fixed in a sphere concentric with the earth has the effect of keeping 
one side of the moon always turned towards us, and therefore Ζ7:ε2- 
dentally giving it a rotation in the proper period, namely that of its 
revolution round the earth. I cannot but think that the fact of the 
moon always showing us one side was one of the considerations, if 
not the main consideration, which suggested to Aristotle that the stars 
were really fixed in material spheres concentric with the earth. 

We pass to matters which are astronomically more important. 
And first as to the spherical shape of the earth. Aristotle begins. 
by answering an objection raised by the partisans of a flat earth, 
namely that the line in which the horizon appears to cut the sun as 
it is rising or setting is straight and not curved.* His answer is 
confused ; he says that the objectors do not take account of the 
distance of the sun from the earth and of the size of its circum- 
ference,* the fact being that you can have an apparently straight line 


1 De caelo ii. 8, 2908 26. 

2 Cf. Martin, ‘Hypothéses astronomiques grecques’ in Mémoires de P Acad. 
des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, xxx. 1881, p. 287; Dreyer, Planetary Systems, 
p. 111, note. 3 De caelo ii. 13, 294a1. 

* τῆς περιφερείας seems Clearly to be the circumference of the sun (not that of 
the horizon which cuts the solar disc). 


286 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


as a section when you see it from afar in a circle which on account 
of its distance appears small. He should no doubt have said, first, 
that the sun, as we see it, looks like a flat disc of small size on 
account of its distance, and then that the section of an object 
apparently so small by the horizon is indistinguishable from a 
section by a plane through our eye, so that the section of the disc 
appears to be a straight line. He has, however, some positive 
proofs based on observation. (1) In partial eclipses of the moon 
the line separating the bright from the dark portion is always 
convex (circular)—unlike the line of demarcation in the phases of 
the moon, which may be straight or curved in either direction— 
this proves that the earth, to the interposition of which lunar 
eclipses are due, must be spherical! He should. no doubt have 
said that a sphere is the ovly figure which can cast a shadow such 
that a right section of it is always a circle; but his explanation 
shows that he had sufficiently grasped this truth, (2) Certain stars 
seen above the horizon in Egypt and in Cyprus are not visible 


further north, and, on the other hand, certain stars set there which   


in more northern latitudes remain always above the horizon. As 
there is so perceptible a change of horizon between places so near 
to each other, it follows not only that the earth is spherical, but 
also that it is not a very large sphere. He adds that this makes it 
not improbable that people are right when they say that the region 
about the Pillars of Heracles is joined on to India, one sea connect- 
ing them. It is here, too, that he quotes the result arrived at 
by mathematicians of his time, that the circumference of the earth 
is 400,000 stades.? He is clear that the earth is much smaller 
than some of the stars.2 On the other hand, the moon is smaller 
than the earth.* Naturally, Aristotle has a prior reasons for the 
sphericity of the earth. Thus, using once more his theory of heavy 
bodies tending to the centre, he assumes that, whether the heavy 
particles forming the earth are supposed to come together from all 
directions alike and collect in the centre or not, they will arrange 
themselves uniformly all round, i.e. in the shape of a sphere, since, if 
there is any greater mass at one part than at another, the greater 


1 De caelo ii. 14, 297 b 23-30. 2 Ibid. 297 Ὁ 30 -- 298 a 20, 
3 Ibid. 298a19; Meteor. i. 3, 339b7-9. 
* Aétius, ii. 26. 3 (D. G. p. 357 Ὁ 11). 


χέων δια ον κα ον, δε  e 


ΜΝ Ψ ΨὉ 





CH, XVII } ARISTOTLE 237 


mass will push the smaller until the even collection of matter all 
round the centre produces equilibrium.’ 

Aristotle's attempted proof that the earth is in the centre of the 
universe is of course a fetitio principiz. He begins by attempting 
to refute the Pythagorean theory that the earth, like the planets and 
the sun and moon, moves round the central fire. The Pythagoreans, 
he says, conceived the central fire to be the abode of sovereignty in 
the universe, the Watchtower of Zeus, while others might say that 
the centre, being the worthiest place, is appropriate for the worthiest 
occupant, and that fire is worthier than earth. To this he replies 
that the centre of a thing is not so worthy as the extremity, for it 
is the extremity which limits or defines a thing, while the centre is 
that which is limited and defined, and is more like a termination 
than a beginning or principle.2_ When Aristotle comes to state his 
own view, he rightly says that heavy bodies, e.g. parts of the earth 
itself, tend towards the centre of the earth; for bodies which fall 
towards the earth from different places do not fall in parallel lines 
but ‘at equal angles’, i.e. at right angles, to the (spherical) surface 
of the earth, and this proves that they fall in the direction of its 
centre. Similarly, if a weight is thrown upwards, however great the 
force exerted, it falls back again towards the centre of the earth.* But, 
he asks, do bodies tend towards the centre because it is the centre 
of the universe or because it is the centre of the earth, ‘ since both 
have the same centre’?* He replies that they must tend towards 
the centre of the universe because, in the reverse case of the light 
elements, e.g. fire, it is the extremities of the space which envelops 
the centre (i.e. the extremities of the universe) to which they. 
naturally tend.® Even the show of argument in the last sentence 
does not prevent the whole of the reasoning from being a fetitio 
principit. For it is exclusively based on the original assumption 
that, of the four elements, earth and, next to that, water tend to 
move in a straight line ‘downwards’, i.e, on Aristotle’s view, 
towards the centre of the universe,® the effect of which is that not 


1 De caelo ii. 14, 297 ἃ 8-b 18. 

® Ibid. ii. 13, 293 a 17- 15. 5 Ibid. ii. 14, 296 Ὁ 18-25. 

* Ibid. 296 b 9-12. 5 Ibid. 296 Ὁ 12-15. 

δ Phys. iv. 4,212a26; c.8,214b14; and especially De cae/o iv. 1, 308 a 15-- 
31. In the last-cited passage Aristotle, without mentioning Plato by name, 
attacks Plato’s doctrine that, in a perfect sphere such as the universe is, you 


238 ARISTOTLE PART I 


only do the particles of the earth tend to the centre of the universe, 
but @ fortiori the earth itself, which must therefore occupy the 
centre of the universe.! 

Another argument is that, according to the astronomical views of 
the mathematicians, the phenomena which are observed as the 
heavenly bodies change their positions relatively to one another are 
just what they should be on the assumption that the earth is in the 
centre.2 The answer to this is, as Martin says, ‘How do you 
know? And how can you use the argument when you have quoted, 
without stating any objection to it, the argument of the Pytha- 
goreans that their theory of the motion of the earth need cause no 
sensible difference of parallax in comparison with the theory that 
the earth is at the centre?’ 

The earth being in the centre of the universe, what keeps it 
there? Dealing with this question, Aristotle again begins by a 
consideration of the views of earlier philosophers. He rejects 
Thales’ view that the earth floats on water as contrary to experi- 
ence, since earth is heavier than water, and we see water resting or 
riding on earth, but not the reverse. He rejects, too, the view of 
Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, and Democritus that it rides on the air 
because it is flat and, acting like a lid to the air below it, is sup- 
ported by it. Aristotle points out first that, if it should turn out 
that the earth is round and not flat, it cannot be the flatness which 
is the reason of the air supporting it; according to the argument it 


cannot properly describe one part rather than another as ‘up’ or ‘ down’; on the 
contrary, says Aristotle, I call the centre, where heavy bodies collect, ‘down’, 
and the extremities of the sphere, whither light bodies tend to rise, ‘up’. But, 
as usual, there is less difference between the two views than Aristotle would 
have us believe. Plato (7imaeus 62 Ὁ) said, it is true, that, as all points of the 
circumference are equidistant from the centre, it is incorrect to apply the terms 
‘up’ and ‘down’ to different specific portions of that circumference, or to 
call any portion of the sphere ‘up’ or ‘down’ relatively to the centre, which 
is neither ‘up’ nor ‘down’, but simply the centre. But he goes on to say 
(63 B-E) that you can use the terms in a purely ve/ative sense; any two 
localities may be ‘up’ and ‘down’ relatively to one another, and Plato proposes 
a criterion. Ifa body tends to move to a certain place by virtue of seeking for 
its like, this tendency is what constitutes its eaviness, and the place to which 
it tends is ‘down’; and the opposite terms have the opposite meanings. The 
only difference made by Aristotle is in definitely allocating the centre of the 
universe as the place of the heaviest element, earth, and arranging the other 
elements in order of lightness in spherical layers round it, so that on his system 
the centre of the universe becomes ‘down’, and amy direction outwards along 
a radius is ‘up’. 
1 De caela ii. 14, 296 Ὁ 6-9. 2 Ibid. 297 a 2-6. 


. 








CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 239 


must rather be its size than its flatness, and, if it were large enough, 
it might even be a sphere. With this he passes on Nor does 
Empedocles’ theory meet with more favour; if the earth is kept 
in its place in the same way as water in a cup which is whirled 
round, this means that the earth is kept in its place by force, and to 
this view Aristotle opposes his own theory that the earth must 
have some natural tendency, and a proper place, of its own. Even 
assuming that it came together by the whirling of a vortex, why do 
all heavy bodies now tend towards it? The whirling is at all events 
too far away from us to cause this. And why does fire move 
upwards? This cannot be through the whirling either ; and, if fire 
naturally tends to move to a certain region, surely the earth should 
too. But, indeed, the heavy and the light were prior to the whirling, 
and what determines their place is, not whirling, but the difference 
between ‘up’ and ‘down’. Finally he deals with the view of 
Anaximander (followed by Plato) that the earth is in equilibrium 
through being equidistant from all points of the circumference, and 
therefore having no reason to move in one direction rather than 
another. Incidentally comparing the arguments (1) that, if you 
pull a hair with force and tension exactly equal throughout, it will 
not break, and (2) that a man would have to starve if he had 
victuals and drink equally disposed all round him, Aristotle again 
complains that the theory does not take account of the natural 
tendency of one thing to move to the centre, and of another to 
move to the circumference. It happens incidentally to be true that 
a body must remain at the centre if it is not more proper for it to 
move this way or that, but whether this is so or not depends on the - 
body ; it is not the equidistance from the extremities which keeps 
it there, for the argument would require that, if fire were placed in 
the centre, it would remain there, whereas in fact it would not, 
since its tendency to fly upwards would carry it uniformly in all 
directions towards the extremities of the universe; hence it is not 
the equidistance, but the natural tendency of the body, which 
determines the place where it will rest.* 

In setting himself to prove that the earth has no motion what- 
ever, Aristotle distinguishes clearly between the two views (1) of 


1 De caelo ii. 13, 294 a 28-b 30, ? Ibid. 295 a 16-b 9. 
5 Ibid. 295 Ὁ lo-— 296 ἃ. 21. 


240 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


those who give it a motion of translation or ‘make it one of the 
stars’, and (2) of those who regard it as packed aud moving about an 
axis through itscentre.1. Though he arbitrarily adds the words ‘ and 
moves’ (kai κινεῖσθαι) to the phraseology of the 7zmacus, thereby 
making it appear that Plato attributed to the earth a rotation about 
its axis, which, as we have seen, he could not have done, the second 
of the two views was actually held by Heraclides Ponticus, who 
was Aristotle’s contemporary. It seems likely, as Dreyer suggests,” 
that, in speaking of a motion of the earth ‘at the centre itself’,® 
Aristotle is not thinking of a rotation of the earth zz twenty-four 
hours, i.e. a rotation replacing the apparent revolution of the fixed 
stars, as Heraclides assumed that it did; for he does not mention 
the latter feature or give any arguments against it; on the con- 
trary, he only deals with the general notion of a rotation of the 
earth, and moreover mixes up his arguments against this with his 
arguments against a translation of the earth in space. He uses 
against both hypotheses his fixed principle that parts of the earth, 


and therefore the earth itself, move naturally towards the centre.* — 


Whether, he says, the earth moves away from the centre or a7 the 
centre, such movement could only be given to it by force; it could 
not be a natural movement on the part of the earth because, if 
it were, the same movement would also be natural to all its parts, 
whereas we see them all tend to move in straight lines towards the 
centre; the assumed movement, therefore, being due to force and 
against nature, could not be everlasting, as the structure of the 
universe requires.® 

The second argument, too, though directed against both hypo- 
theses, really only fits the first, that of motion in an orbit. 


‘ Further, all things which move in a circle, except the first (outer- 
most) sphere, appear to be left behind and to have more than one 
movement; hence the earth, too, whether it moves about the 
centre or in its position at the centre, must have two movements. 
Now, if this occurred, it would follow that the fixed stars would 
exhibit passings and turnings (παρόδους καὶ τροπάς). This, how- 


De caelo ii. 13, 293 a 20-3, Ὁ 18-20; c. 14, 296 ἃ 25-7. 

* Dreyer, Planetary Systems, pp. 116, 117. 

8 De caelo ii, 14, 296 ἃ 29, Ὁ 2. 4 Ibid. 296 b 6-8, 
5 Ibid. 296 a 27-34. 





re ov 





CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 241 


ever, does not appear to be the case, but the same stars always rise 
and set at the same places on the earth.’? 


The bodies which appear to be ‘left behind and to have more 
movements than one’ are of course the planets. The argument 
that, if the earth has one movement, it must have two, is based upon 
nothing more than analogy with the planets. Aristotle clearly 
inferred as a corollary that, if the earth has two motions, one must 
be oblique to the other, for it would be obliquity to the equator in 
at least one of the motions which would produce what he regards 
as the necessary consequence of his assumption, namely that the 
fixed stars would not always rise and set at the same places. As 
already stated, Aristotle can hardly have had clearly in his mind 
the possibility of one single rotation about the axis iz twenty-four 
hours replacing exactly the apparent daily rotation ; for he would 
have seen that this would satisfy his necessary condition that the 
fixed stars shall always rise and set at the same places, and there- 
fore that he would have to get some further support from elsewhere 
to his assumption that the earth must have ¢wo motions. Still 
less could he have dreamt of the possibility of Aristarchus’s later 
hypothesis that the earth has an annual revolution as well as a 
daily rotation about its axis, which hypothesis satisfies, as a matter 
of fact, both the condition as to two motions and the condition as 
regards the fixed stars. 

The Meteorologica deals with the sublunary portion of the 
heavenly sphere, the home of the four elements and their combina- 
tions. Only a small portion of the work can be said to be astrono- _ 
mical, but some details bearing on our subject may be given. We 
have seen the four elements distinguished according to their relative 
heaviness or lightness, and the places which are proper to them 
respectively; in the MWeteorologica they are further distinguished 
according to the tangible qualities which are called their causes 
(αἴτια). These tangible qualities are the two pairs of opposites, 
hot—cold, and dry—moist ; and when we take the four combinations 
of these in pairs which are possible we get the four elements ; hot 
and dry = fire, hot and moist = air (air being a sort of vapour), 
cold and moist = water, cold and dry =earth.? Of the four qualities 


1 De caelo ii. 14, 296 a 34-b 6. 2 De gen. et corr. ii. 3, 3308 30-b7. 


1410 R 


242 ARISTOTLE ’ PARTI 


two, hot and cold, are regarded as active, and the other two, dry 
and moist, as passive.’ Since each element thus contains an active 
as well as a passive quality, it follows that all act upon and are acted 
upon by one another, and that they mingle and are transformed into 
one another.? Every composite body contains all of them ;* they 
are never, in our experience, found in perfect purity. Elemental fire 
is warm and dry evaporation,’ not flame; elemental fire is a sort of 
‘inflammable material ’ which ‘ can often be kindled by even a little 
motion, like smoke’;*® but flame, or fire in the sense of flame, is 
‘an excess of heat or a sort of ebullition’,’ or an ebullition of dry 
wind 8 or of dry heat®; again, flame is said to be a fleeting, non- 
continuous product of the transformation of moist and dry in close 
contact.!° The reason for this distinction between ‘fire’ and flame 
is obvious, as Zeller says; for Aristotle could not have made the 
outer portion of the terrestrial sphere, contiguous to the aether, to 
consist of actual burning flame. According to Aristotle, the stars 
are not made of fire (still less all the spaces between them); in 
themselves they are not even hot; their light and heat come from   
friction with the air through which they move [notwithstanding 
that they are in the aethereal sphere]; the air in fact becomes fire 
through their impact on it ; the stratum of air which lies nearest to 
them underneath the aethereal sphere is thus warmed. Especially 
is this the case with the sun; the sun is able to produce heat in 
the place where we live because it is not so far off as the fixed 
stars and it moves swiftly (the stars, though they move swiftly, 
are far off, and the moon, though near to us, moves slowly); further, 
the motion often causes the fire surrounding the atmosphere to 
scatter and rush downwards." 

Such phenomena as shooting stars (didrrovres or διαθέοντες 
ἀστέρες) and meteors (of the two kinds called δαλοί and αἶγες) are 
next dealt with. These are due to two kinds of exhalation, one 
more vaporous (rising from the water on and in the earth), the other 


1 Meteor. iv. 1, 378 Ὁ 10-13, 21-5. 


® De gen. et corr. ii. 2, 329 Ὁ 22 sq. 5 Ibid. c. 8, 334 Ὁ 31 sq. 

* Ibid. c. 3, 330 b 21; Meteor. ii. 4, 359 b 32, &c. 

° Meteor. i. 3, 340 Ὁ 29; c. 4, 341 Ὁ 14. 6 Ibid. 341 Ὁ 19-21. 

7 Ibid. c. 3, 340 b 23. 8 Ibid. c. 4, 341 Ὁ 21-2. 

® De gen. et corr. ii. 3, 330 Ὁ 29. 10 Meteor. ii. 2, 355 ἃ 9. 


De caélo ii. 7, 289 a 13-35; Meteor. i. 3, 340a1, 341 a 12-36, 








CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 243 


dry and smoke-like (rising from the earth); these go upwards, the 
latter uppermost, the former below it, until, caught in the rotation 
at the circumference of the sublunary sphere, they take fire. The 
particular varieties of appearance which they present depend on 
the shape of the rising exhalations and the inclination at which 
they rise. Sometimes, however, they are the result, not of motion 
kindling them, but of heat being squeezed out of air which comes 
together and is condensed through cold; in this case their motion 
is like a throw (ῥῖψις) rather than a burning, being comparable to 
kernels or pips of fruits pressed between our fingers and so made to 
fly to a distance; this is what happens when the star falls down- 
wards, since but for such compelling force that which is hot would 
naturally always fly upwards. All these phenomena belong to the 
sublunary sphere. The aurora is regarded as due to the same 
cause combined with reflection lighting up the air.?   
Aristotle has two long chapters on comets.* He begins, as 
_ usual, by reviewing the opinions of earlier philosophers and so 
clearing the ground. Anaxagoras and Democritus had explained 
comets as a ‘ conjunction of the planets when, by reason of coming 
near, they seem to touch one another’. Some of ‘the so-called 
Pythagoreans’ thought that they were one planet, which we 
only see at long intervals because it does not rise far above the 
horizon, the case being similar to that of Mercury, which, since it 
only rises a little above the horizon, makes many appearances 
which are invisible to us and is actually seen at long intervals only. 
Hippocrates of Chios and his pupil Aeschylus gave a similar 
explanation but added a theory about the tail. The tail, they said, - 
does not come from the comet itself, but the comet, as it wanders 
through space, sometimes takes on a tail ‘ through our sight being 
reflected, at the sun, from the moisture attracted by the comet’. 
Explanations by Hippocrates and Aeschylus follow, of the reasons 
(1) of the long intervals between the appearances of a comet: the 
reason in this case being that it is only left behind by the sun very 
slowly indeed, so that for a long time it remains so close to the sun 
as not to be visible ; (2) of the impossibility of a tail appearing 
when the comet is between the tropical circles or still further 
1 Meteor. i. 4, 341 Ὁ -- 342 a. 53 Ibid. c. 5, 3428 34-b 24. 


§ Ibid. cc. 6, 7, 342 b 25 — 345 a Io. 
R2 


244 ARISTOTLE PARTI 


south: in the former position the comet does not attract the mois- 
ture to itself because the region is burnt up by the motion of the 
sun in it, and, when it is still further south, although there is plenty 
of moisture for the comet to attract, a question of angles (only a 
small part of the comet's circle being above the horizon) precludes 
the sight being reflected at the sun in this case, whether the sun be 
near its southern limit or at the summer solstice ; (3) of the comet’s 
taking a tail when in a northerly position: the reason here being 
that a large portion of the comet’s circle is above the horizon, and 
so the reflection of the sight is physically possible. Aristotle 
states objections, some of which apply to all, and others to some 
only, of the above views. Thus (1) the comet is not a planet, 
because all the planets are in the zodiac circle, while comets are 
often outside it ; (2) there have often been more than one comet at 
one time; (3) if the tail is due to ‘ reflection’, and a comet has not 
a tail in all positions, it ought sometimes to appear without one; 
but the five planets are all that we ever see, and they are often all 
of them visible above the horizon ; and, whether they are all visible, 
or some only are visible (the others being too near the sun), comets 
are often seen in addition. (4) It is not true that comets are only 
seen in the region towards the north and when the sun is near the 
summer solstice; for the great comet which appeared at the time 
of the earthquake and tidal wave in Achaea [ 373/2 B.C.] appeared 
in the region where the sun sets at the equinox, and many comets 
have been seen in the south. Again (5) in the archonship of Eucles, 
the son of Molon, at Athens [427/6 B.c.], a comet appeared in the 
north in the month of Gamelion, when the sun was at the winter 
solstice, although, according to the theory, reflection of the sight 
would then be impossible. Aristotle proceeds: 


‘It is common ground with the thinkers just criticized and the 
supporters of the theory of coalescence that some of the fixed 
stars, too, take a tail; on this we must accept the authority of the 
Egyptians (for they, too, assert it), and moreover we have ourselves 
seen it. For one of the stars in the haunch of the Dog got a tail, 
though only a faint one; that is to say, when one looked intently 
at it, its light was faint, but when one glanced easily at it, it 
appeared brighter. 

‘Moreover, all the comets seen in our time disappeared, without 
setting, in the expanse above the horizon, fading from sight by 


. 








CH. XVII ARISTOTLE 245 


slow degrees and in such a way that no astral substance, either 
one star or more, remained. For instance, the great comet before 
mentioned appeared in the winter of the archonship of Astaeus 
[373/2 B.C. en in clear and frosty weather, from the beginning of the 
evening ; the first day it was not seen because it had set before the 
sun, but on the following day it was visible, being the least distance 
behind the sun that allowed of its being seen at all, and setting 
directly ; the light of this comet stretched over a third part of the 
heaven with a great /eap as it were (οἷον ἅλμα), so that people 
called it a street. And it went back as far as the belt of Orion and 
there dispersed. 

* Nevertheless Democritus forone stoutly defended his own theory, 
asserting that stars had actually been seen to remain on the disso- 
lution of comets. But in that case it should not have sometimes 
happened and sometimes failed to happen; it should have hap- 
pened always. The Egyptians, too, say that conjunctions take 
place of planets with one another and of planets with the fixed stars ; 
we have, however, ourselves seen the star of Zeus twice meet one of 
the stars in the Twins and hide it, without any comet resulting.’ 


Aristotle adds that this explanation of comets is untenable on 
general grounds, since, although stars may seem large or small, 
they appear to be indivisible in themselves. Now, if they were really 
indivisible, they would not produce anything bigger by coming in 
contact with one another; therefore similarly, if they only seem 
indivisible, they cannot seem by meeting to produce anything bigger. 

Aristotle’s own theory of comets explains them as due, much 
like meteors, to exhalations rising from below and catching fire 
when they meet that other hot and dry substance (also here called 
exhalation) which, being the first (i.e. outermost) portion of the 
sublunary sphere and in direct contact with the revolution of 
the upper (aethereal) part of the heavenly sphere, is carried round 
with that revolution and even takes with it part of the contiguous 
air. The necessary conditions for the formation of a comet, as 
distinct from a shooting star or meteor, are that the fiery principle 
which the motion of the upper heaven sets up in the exhalation 
must neither be so very strong as to produce swift and extensive 
combustion, nor yet so weak as to be speedily extinguished, but of 
moderate strength and moderate extent, and the exhalation itself 
must be ‘ well-tempered ’ (εὔκρατος); according to the shape of the 
kindled exhalation it is a comet proper or the ‘bearded’ variety 


246. ARISTOTLE PARTI 


(πωγωνίας). But two kinds of comets are distinguished. One is — 


produced when the origin of the exhalation is in the sublunary 
sphere ; this is the independent comet (καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸν κομήτης). The 
other is produced when it is one of the stars, a planet or a fixed 
star, which causes the exhalation, in which case the star becomes a 


comet and is followed round in its course by the exhalation, just as   


haloes are seen to follow the sun and the moon. Comets are thus 
bodies of vapour in a state of slow combustion, moving either freely 
or in the wake of a star. Aristotle maintains that his view that 
comets are formed by fire produced from exhalations in the manner 
described is confirmed by the fact that in general they are a sign of 
winds and droughts. When they are dense and there are more 
of them, the years in which they appear are noticeably dry and 
windy ; when they are fewer and fainter, these characteristics are 
less pronounced, though there is generally some excess of wind 
either in respect of duration or of strength. He adds the following 
remarks on particular cases: 


‘On the occasion when the (meteoric) stone fell from the air at 


Aegospotami, it was caught up by a wind and was hurled down in ~ 


the course of a day;! and at that time too a comet appeared from 
the beginning of the evening. Again, at the time of the great comet 
[373/2 B.C., see pp. 244, 245 above] the winter was dry and arctic, 
and the tidal wave was caused by the clashing of contrary winds ; 
for in the bay the north wind prevailed, while outside it a strong 


south wind blew. Further, during the archonship of Nicomachus . 


at Athens [341/0 B.C.] a comet was seen for a few days in the 
neighbourhood of the equinoctial circle; it was at the time of this 
comet, which did not rise with the beginning of the evening, that 
the great gale at Corinth occurred.’ 


1 This appears to be the earliest mention of the meteoric stone of Aegospotami 
by any writer whose works have survived. The date of the occurrence was 
apparently in the archonship of Theagenides [468/7 B.c.]. The story that 
Anaxagoras prophesied that this stone would fall from the sun (Diog. L. ii. 10) 
was probably invented by way of a picturesque inference from his well-known 
theory that the fiery aether whirling round the earth snatched stones from the 
earth and, carrying them round with it, kindled them into stars (Aét. ii. 13. 3; 
D.G.p.341; Vorsokratiker, i*, p. 307.16), and that one of the bodies fixed in the 
heaven might break away and fall (Diog. L. ii. 12; Plutarch, Lysander 12; 
Vorsokratiker, 15, pp. 294. 29, 296. 34). Diogenes of Apollonia, too, a contempo- 
rary of Anaxagoras, said that along with the visible stars there are also stones 
carried round, which are invisible, and are accordingly unnamed; ‘and these 
often fall upon the earth and are extinguished like the stone star which made 
a fiery fall at Aegospotami’ (Aét. ii. 13. 9; D. G. p. 3423. Vorsokratiker, 
15, p. 330. 5-8). 





Se 





so ΎΝΝΝ a ϑϑων ἐν. 





CH, XVII ARISTOTLE 247 


It has been pointed out that Aristotle’s account of comets held 
its ground among the most distinguished astronomers till the time 
of Newton.! 

Passing to the subject of the Milky Way,” Aristotle again begins 
with criticisms of earlier views. The first opinion mentioned is 
that of the Pythagoreans, some of whom said that it was the path 
of one of the stars which were cast out of their places in the 
destruction said to have occurred in Phaethon’s time; while others 
said that it was the path formerly described by the sun, so that this 
region was, so to speak, set on fire by the sun’s motion. But, 
Aristotle replies, if this were so, the zodiac circle should be burnt 
up too, nay more so, since it is the path not only of the sun but of 
the planets also. But we see the whole of the zodiac circle at one 
time or another, half of it being seen in a night; and there is no 
sign of such a condition except at points where it touches the 
Milky Way. The remarkable hypothesis of Anaxagoras and 
Democritus is next controverted ; we have already (pp. 83-5) quoted 
Aristotle’s criticisms. Next,a third view is mentioned according to 
which the Milky Way is ‘a reflection of our sight at the sun’, just 
as comets had been declared to be. Aristotle refutes this rather 
elaborately. (1) If, he says, the eye, the mirror (the sun) and the 
thing seen (the Milky Way) were all at rest, one and the same part 


1 Ideler, Aristotelis Meteorologica, vol. i, p. 396. Yet Seneca (Nat. Quaest. 
vii) had much sounder views on comets. He would not admit that they could 
be due to such fleeting causes as exhalations and rapid motions, as of whirlwinds, 
igniting them ; if this were their cause, how could they be visible for six months 
at a time (vii. 10.1)? They are not the effects of sudden combustion at all, but 
eternal products of nature (22. 1). Nor are they confined to the sublunary. 
sphere, for we see them in the upper heaven among the stars (8. 4). If it 
is said that they cannot be ‘wandering stars’ because they do not move in 
the zodiac circle, the answer is that there is no reason why, in a universe 
so marvellously constructed, there should not be orbits in other regions than 
the zodiac which stars or comets may follow (24. 2-3). It is true, he says, that, 
owing to the infrequency of the appearances of comets, their orbits have not 
as yet been determined, nay, it has not been possible even to decide whether 
they keep up a definite succession and duly appear on appointed days. In 
order to settle these questions, we require a continuous record of the appearances 
of comets from ancient times onwards (3.1). When generation after generation 
of observers have accumulated such records, there will come a time when the 
mystery will be cleared up; men will some day be found to show ‘in what 
regions comets run their courses, why each of them roams so far away from the 
others, how large they are and what their nature ; let us, for our part, be content 
with what we have already discovered, and let our posterity in their turn contribute 
to the sum of truth (25. 7).’ ® Meteor. i. 8, 345 a 11 - 346 Ὁ 10, 


248 ARISTOTLE 


of the reflection would belong to one and the same point of the 
mirror ; but if the mirror and the thing seen move at invariable 
distances from our eye (which is at rest), but at different speeds and 
distances relatively to one another, it is impossible that the same 
part of the reflection should always be at the same point of the 
mirror. Now the latter of the two hypotheses is that which corre- 
sponds to the facts,’because the stars in the Milky Way and the sun 
respectively move at invariable distances from us, but at different 
distances and speeds in relation to one another ; for the Dolphin 
rises sometimes at midnight, and sometimes at sunrise, but the 
parts of the Milky Way remain the same in either case ; this could 
not be so if the Milky Way were a reflection instead of a condition 
of the actual localities over which it extends. (2) Besides, how can 
the visual rays be reflected at the sun during the night? Aristotle’s 
own explanation puts the Milky Way on the same footing as the 
second kind of comets, those in which the separation of the vapour 


which takes fire on coming into contact with the outer revolution is — 


caused by one of the stars; the difference is that what in the case 
of the comet happens with one star takes place in the case of the 
Milky Way throughout a whole circle of the heaven and the outer 
revolution. The zodiac circle, owing to the motion in it of the sun 
and planets, prevents the formation of the exhalations in that neigh- 
bourhood ; hence most comets are seen outside the tropic circles. 
The sun and moon do not become comets because they separate 
out the exhalation too quickly to allow it to accumulate to the 


necessary extent. The Milky Way, on the other hand, represents 


the greatest extent of the-operation of the process of exhalation ; 
it forms a great circle and is so placed as to extend far beyond the 
tropic circles, The space which it occupies is filled with very great 
and very bright stars, as well as with those which are called ‘ scat- 
tered’ (σποράδων); this is the reason why the collected exhalations 
here form a concretion so continuous and so permanent. The 
cause is indeed indicated by the fact that the brightness is greater 
in that half of the circle where it is double, for it is there that the 
stars are more numerous and closer together than elsewhere. 


oe   





XVIII 
HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 


THE Pythagorean hypothesis of the revolution of the earth with 
the counter-earth, and of the sun, moon, and planets, about the 
central fire disappeared with the last representatives of the Pytha- 
gorean school soon after the time of Plato. The counter-earth was 
the first part of the system to be abandoned; and it is suggested 
that this abandonment was due to the extension of the geographical 
horizon. Discoveries were made both to the east and to the west. 
Hanno, the Carthaginian, had made his great voyage of discovery 
beyond the Pillars of Hercules, and on the other (the eastern) side 
India became part of the known world. It would naturally be 
expected that, if journeys were made far enough to the east and 
west, points would be reached from which it should be possible 
to see the counter-earth, but, as neither the counter-earth nor the 
central fire proved in fact to be visible, this portion of the Pytha- 
gorean system had to be sacrificed.! 

We hear of a Pythagorean system in which the central fire was 
not outside the earth but in the centre of the earth itself. Simplicius, 
in a note upon the passage of Aristotle describing the system of ‘the 
Italian philosophers called Pythagoreans’ in which the earth revolves   
about the central fire and so ‘makes day and night’, while it has 
the counter-earth opposite to it, adds that this is the theory of the 
Pythagoreans as Aristotle understood it, but that those who repre- 
sented the more genuine Pythagorean doctrine ‘describe as fire at 
the centre the creative force which from the centre gives life to all 
the earth and warms afresh that part of it which has cooled down. 
... Lhey called the earth a star, as being itself too an instrument of 
time. For the earth is the cause of days and of nights, since it makes 
day when it is lit up in that part which faces the sun, and it makes 

1 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, pp. 97, 98 ; Schiaparelli, J precursori di 


Ci ico nell’ antichita, pp. 22, 25. 
Simplicius on De cae/lo, p. 512. 9-20, Heib. 


250 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS   PARTI 


night throughout the cone formed by its shadow. And the name 
of counter-earth was given by the Pythagoreans to the moon, just 
as they also called it “earth in the aether” (αἰθερίαν γῆν), both 
because it intercepts the sun’s light, which is characteristic of the 
earth, and because it marks a delimitation of the heavenly regions, 
as the earth limits the portion below the moon.’ 

It is no doubt attractive to suppose, as Boeckh! does, that we 
have here a later modification of the system of Philolaus. But, 
as Martin? points out and Boeckh ὃ admits, the earth in the system 
described by Simplicius is not in motion but at rest. For Simplicius, 
so far from implying that the earth rotates, thinks it necessary to 
explain how the Pythagoreans to whom he refers could, notwith- 
standing the earth’s immobility, call it a ‘star’ and count it, exactly 
as Plato does, among the ‘instruments of time’. The fact is that 
the system, except for the detail of the term ‘counter-earth ’ being 
applied to the moon, agrees with the Platonic system as described 
in the Z7zmaeus, and, as we have seen, there is nothing to suggest 


that Plato was acquainted with the Philolaic system at all; he was 


rather basing himself upon the views of Pythagoras and the first 
Pythagoreans. 

A scholiast, writing on the same passage of Aristotle and 
describing the views of the Pythagoreans in almost the same 
words as those used by Simplicius, does, however, attribute motion 
to the earth. They put, he says, the fire at the centre of the 
earth. ‘They said that the earth was a star as being itself too an 
“instrument”. The counter-earth for them meant the moon... . 
And this star [i.e. evidently the earth] dy its motion (φερόμενον) 
makes night and the day, because the cone formed by its shadow 
is night, while day is the illuminated part of it which is in the 
sun.’* The attribution of motion to the earth may be due to 
a misapprehension by the scholiast, just as Boeckh himself had 
at first assumed the earth’s rotation to be indicated in the passage 
of Simplicius, 

However this may be, if the system of Philolaus be taken, and 
the central fire be transferred to the centre of the earth (the 


1 Boeckh, Das khosmische System des Platon, p. 96. , 
2 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, p. 104. 83 Boeckh, loc, cit. 
* Scholia in Aristotelem (Brandis), pp. 504 Ὁ 42 - 505 ἃ 5. 











CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS © 251 


counter-earth being also eliminated), and. if the movements of the 
earth, sun, moon, and planets round the centre be retained without 
any modification save that which is mathematically involved by the 
transfer of the central fire to the centre of the earth, the daily revo- 
lution of the earth about the central fire is necessarily transformed 
into a rotation of the earth about its own axis in about 24 hours. 

All authorities agree that Heraclides of Pontus affirmed the daily 
rotation of the earth about its own axis; but the Doxographi 
associate with this discovery another name, that of ‘ Ecphantus 
the Pythagorean’. Thus we are told of Ecphantus that he asserted 
‘that the earth, being in the centre of the universe, moves about 
its own centre in an eastward direction’.t Again, ‘ Heraclides of 
Pontus and Ecphantus the Pythagorean make the earth move, not 
in the sense of translation, but by way of turning as on an axle, 
like a wheel, from west to east, about its own centre.’ Who then 
is this Ecphantus, described in another place in Aétius as Ecphantus 
the Syracusan, one of the Pythagoreans? His personality is even 
more of a mystery than that of Hicetas. The Doxographi, however, 
tell us of other doctrines of his; Hippolytus* devotes a short 
paragraph to him, between paragraphs about Xenophanes and 
Hippon, which shows that Theophrastus must have spoken of him 
at length. Some of his views were quite original, particularly on 
the subject of atoms. Holding that the universe was made up of 
indivisible bodies separated by void, he was the first to declare 
that the monads of Pythagoras were corporeal; he attributed to 
the atoms, besides size and shape, a motive force (δύναμις) ; the 
atoms were moved, not by their weight or by percussion, but by - 
a divine force which he called mind and soul. The universe was 
a type of this, and accordingly the divine motive force created it 
spherical. Now it is remarkable that Ecphantus’s views all agree 
with Heraclides’ so far as we know them; Heraclides has the same 
divine force moving the universe, which he also calls mind and soul ; 
he has the same theory of atoms, which he calls masses* (ὄγκοι). 
And the two hold the same view about the rotation of the earth. 

1 Hippolytus, Refut. i. 15 (D. G. p. 566; Vors. i*, p. 265. 35). 

2 Aét. iii. 13. 3 (D. G. p. 378; Vors. i*, p. 266. 5). 8 Hippolytus, loc. cit. 
+ * Galen, Histor. phil. 18 (D.G. p. 610. 22); Dionysius episcop. ap. Euseb., 


P.E. xiv. 23. See Otto Voss, De Heraclidis vita et scriptis, p.64; Tannery, 
Revue des Etudes grecques, x, 1897, pp. 134-6 


252 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PART I 


Zeller observes, in addition, that the remark about the universe 
being made spherical reminds us of Plato.’ Just as in the case of 
Hicetas, the natural conclusion is that the views attributed by the 
Doxographi to Ecphantus were expressed in a dialogue of Heraclides 
and put into the mouth of Ecphantus represented as a Pythagorean. 
Theophrastus may then have said something of this sort: ‘ Hera- 
clides of Pontus has developed the following theories, attributing 
them to a certain Ecphantus’; and this would account for the 
Doxographi citing the doctrines sometimes by the name of Heraclides, 
sometimes by the name of Ecphantus.? 

Heraclides, son of Euthyphron, was born at Heraclea in Pontus, 
probably not many years later than 388 B.c. He is said to have 
been wealthy and of ancient family. He went to Athens not later 
than 364, and there met Speusippus, who introduced him into the 
school of Plato. Proclus, it is true, denied that he was a pupil 
of Plato,? but this was because Proclus resented his contradiction 
of the Platonic view of the absolute immobility of the earth in the 


centre of the universe. Diogenes Laertius,* Simplicius,® Strabo,® . 


and Cicero” leave us in no doubt on the subject; and we may 
also infer his relation to Plato from words of his own quoted 
elsewhere by Proclus, according to which he was sent by Plato 
on an expedition to Colophon to collect the poems of Antimachus. 
Suidas® says that, during a journey of Plato to Sicily, Heraclides 
was left in charge of the school. After the death of Plato in 347, 
Speusippus was at the head of the school for eight years, and on 
his death in 338 B.C. Xenocrates was elected his successor, 
Heraclides and Menedemus, who were also candidates, being beaten 
by a few votes.!° Heraclides then returned to his native town, 
where he seems to have lived till 315 or 310 B.c. While at 
Athens he is said to have attended the lectures of Aristotle also ;" 
but Diogenes’ statement that he also ‘heard the Pythagoreans’ 


1 Zeller, ἰδ, pp. 494, 495. 3 Tannery, loc. cit., p. 136. 

8 Proclus, iz 7272. 281 E. 4 Diog. L. iii. 46, v. 86. 

δ Simpl. im Ar. Phys. iii. 4 (p. 202 Ὁ 36), p. 453. 29, Diels. 

® Strabo, xii. 3. 1, p. 541. 

7 Cic. De nat. deor. i. 13. 34; De legg. iii. 6. 14; Tusc. Disp. v. 3.8; De 
Divin. i. 23. 46. 8 Proclus, 272 Tim. 28 C. 

® Suidas, s.v. Ἡρακλείδης. Zeller and Wilamowitz adduce confirmatory# 


evidence. Voss alone disputes the statements; for references see Voss, pp. 11-12. 


0 Ind, Acad. Hercul. vi (Voss, Ρ. 7). 1! Sotion in Diog. L. v. 86. 





— 





SO ὅσων τ νμννν. 


CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 253 


is no doubt incorrect ; for by that time the Pythagoreans had left 
Greece altogether. The words were probably interpolated in the 
passage of Diogenes by some one who inferred first-hand ac- 
quaintance with Pythagorean doctrines on the part of Heraclides 
from the fact, among others, that he wrote a book ‘concerning 
the Pythagoreans’. 

Diogenes Laertius tells us that Heraclides wrote works of the 
highest class both in matter and style. The remark is followed 
by a catalogue covering a very wide range of subjects, ethical, 
grammatical, musical and poetical, rhetorical, historical, with a note 
that there were geometrical and dialectical treatises as well. His 
dialogues are classified as (1) those which were by way of comedy, 
e.g. those on Pleasure and on Prudence, (2) those which were 
tragic, such as those on Things in Hades and on Piety, and (3) in- 
termediate in character, familiar dialogues between philosophers, 
soldiers, and statesmen. They were very varied and very persuasive 
in style, adorned with myth and full of imagination, so original as to 
make Timaeus describe their author as παραδοξολόγος throughout, 
while Epicurus and the Epicureans, who attacked his physical 
theories, spoke of him as ‘cramming his books with puerile stories’. 
There seems to have been more action in his dialogues than in 
Plato’s;* his prologues generally had nothing to do with what 
followed ;* there were usually a number of characters, and he 
was fond of introducing as interlocutors personages of ancient 
times. He was much read and imitated at Rome, e.g. by Varro 
and Cicero; Cicero, for example, modelled upon Heraclides his 
dialogue De republica. Two of his dialogues at least, those ‘On - 
Nature’ and ‘ On the Heavens’, may have dealt with astronomy. 

He naturally had enemies, who not only impugned his doctrines 
but took objection to his personality. We are told that he was 
effeminate in dress and over-corpulent, so that he was called, 
not Ponticus, but Pompicus (IIopmixés); his gait was slow and 
stately.® 

Several of the fragments of Heraclides recall passages in Plato. 
Thus Heraclides represents souls as coming down, for incarnation, 


ὲ 1 Voss, pp. 12-13. 3 Ibid., pp. 26, 27. 
3 Proclus, iz Plat. Parmenidem, Book i, ad jin. 
* Voss, p. 22. 5 Diog. L. v. 86. 


- 2,54. HERACLIDES OF PONTUS » PARTI 


from regions in the heaven, which he places in or about the Milky 
Way 1 (cf. the Phaedrus myth). The universe is a god ; so are the 
planets, the earth, and the heaven.?. Other views of his about the 
universe and what it contains may also be referred to before we 
pass to the great discoveries in astronomy on which his fame rests. 
The universe is infinite ;* each star is also a universe or world, sus- 
pended in the infinite aether and comprising an earth, an atmosphere 
and an aether.t* The moon is earth surrounded with mist.2 Comets 
are clouds high in air lit up by the fire on high; he accounts 
similarly for meteors and the like; their different forms follow that 
of the cloud.® 

We now pass to the first of Heraclides’ great discoveries, that 
of the daily rotation of the earth about its axis. Besides the 
passages above quoted, in which ‘ Ecphantus’ is also credited with 
the discovery, we have the following clear evidence on the 
subject : 


‘He (Aristotle) thought it right to take account of the hypothesis 
that doth (i.e. the stars and the heaven as a whole) are at rest— Ὁ 
- although it would appear impossible to account for their apparent 
change of position on the assumption that both are at rest—because 
there have been some, like Heraclides of Pontus and Aristarchus, 
who supposed that the phenomena can be saved if the heaven 
and the stars are at rest while the earth moves about the poles of 
the equinoctial circle from the west (to the east), completing one 
revolution each day, approximately ; the ‘approximately’ is added 
because of the daily motion of the sun to the extent of one degree, 
For of course, if the earth did not move at all, as he will later 
show to be the case, although he here assumes that it does for the 
sake of argument, it would be impossible for the phenomena to be 
saved on the supposition that the heaven and the stars are at 
rest,’7 

‘But Heraclides of Pontus supposed that the earth is in the 
centre and rotates (lit. ‘moves in a circle’) while the heaven is 
at rest, and thought by this supposition to save the phenomena.’ ὃ 

‘Heraclides of Pontus supposed that the earth moves about the © 


? Iamblichus in Stobaeus, F/or., p. 378, ed. Wachsmuth. 

2. Cicero, De nat. dor. i. 13. 34 (D. G. p. 541. 3-13). 

8 Aét. ii. 1. 5 (D. G. p. 328 Ὁ 4). * Aét. ii. 13. 15 (D. G. p. 343). 
5 Aét. ii. 25. 13 (D. G. p. 356). ® Aét. ili. 2. 5 (D. G. pp. 366, 367). 
7 Simplicius on De cae/o ii. 7 (289 Ὁ 1), pp. 444. 31 -- 445. 5, Heib. 

§ Ibid. (on c. 13, 293 Ὁ 30), p. 519. 9-11, Heib. 











CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 255 


centre, while the heaven is at rest, and thought in this way to 
save the phenomena.’ 

‘This would equally have happened [i.e. the stars would have 
seemed to be at different distances at different times instead of, 
as now, appearing to be always at the same distance, whether at 
rising or at setting or between these times, and the moon would 
not, when eclipsed, always have been diametrically opposite the sun, 
but would sometimes have been separated from it by an arc less 
than a semicircle] if the earth had a motion of translation; but 
if the earth rotated about its centre while the heavenly bodies were 
at rest, as Heraclides of Pontus supposed, then (1), on the hypo- 
thesis of rotation towards the west, the stars would have been seen 
to rise from that side, while (2) on the hypothesis of rotation towards 
the east, (a) if it so rotated about the poles of the equinoctial circle 
(the equator), the sun and the other planets would not have risen 
at different points of the horizon [!], and, (4) if it so rotated about 
the poles of the zodiac circle, the fixed stars would not always have 
risen at the same points, as in fact they do; so that, whether 
it rotated about the poles of the equinoctial circle or about the 
poles of the zodiac, how could the translation of the planets in 
the direct order of the signs have been saved on the assumption of 
the immobility of the heavens?’ ? 

-* How can we, when we are told that the earth is wound round, 
reasonably make it turn round as well and give this as Plato’s 
view? Let Heraclides of Pontus, who was not a disciple of Plato, 
hold this opinion and move the earth round and round (κύκλῳ) ; 
but Plato made it unmoved.’ ὃ 


The second great advance towards the Copernican system made 
by Heraclides was his discovery of the fact that Venus and Mercury 
revolve round the sun as centre. Some of the passages alluding to 
Heraclides’ recognition of this fact import the later doctrine of © 
epicycles; but it is not difficult to eliminate this anachronism and 
to arrive at Heraclides’ true theory. In some of the references 
the name of Heraclides is not mentioned. Vitruvius* describes the 
hypothesis thus : 

‘The stars of Mercury and Venus make their retrograde motions 
and retardations about the rays of the sun, forming by their courses 
a wreath or crown about the sun itself_as centre. It is also owing 
to this circling that they linger at their stationary points in the 
spaces occupied by the signs.’ 

' Schol. in Arist. (Brandis), p. 505 b 46-7. 


? Simpl. on De cae/o ii. 14 (297 a 2), pp. 541. 27 — 542. 2, Heib. 
3. Proclus, ἐς Tim. 281 E. * Vitruvius, De architectura ix. τ (4). 6. 


256 HERACLIDES ΟΕ PONTUS PART I 


Next Martianus Capella}, who drew from Varro’s work on astro- 
nomy, mentions the same hypothesis, but again without the name 
of its discoverer. 


‘For, although Venus and Mercury are seen to rise and set daily, 
their orbits do not encircle the earth at all, but circle round the sun 
in a freer motion. In fact, they make the sun the centre of their 
circles, so that they are sometimes carried above it, at other times 
below it and nearer to the earth, and Venus diverges from the sun 
by the breadth of one sign and a half [45°]. But, when they are 
above the sun, Mercury is the nearer to the earth, and when they 
are below the sun, Venus is the nearer, as it circles in a greater 
and wider-spread orbit ..... 

‘The circles of Mercury and Venus I have above described as 
epicycles. That is, they do not include the round earth within 
their own orbit, but revolve laterally to it in a certain way.’ 


‘Cicero says that the courses of Venus and Mercury ‘follow the 
sun as companions’,? but has nothing about their revolving round 
the sun. 

It is in Chalcidius*® that we find the name of Heraclides con- . 
nected with the revolution of the planets Mercury and Venus round 
the sun as centre; but, like Adrastus in Theon of Smyrna, he 
erroneously imputes to Heraclides, as to Plato in the Z77maeus, the 
machinery of epicycles. His words are: 


‘Lastly Heraclides Ponticus, when describing the circle of Lucifer 
as well as that of the sun, and giving the two circles one centre and 
one middle, showed how Lucifer is sometimes above, sometimes 
below the sun. For he says that the position of the sun, the moon, 
Lucifer, and all the planets, wherever they are, is defined by one 
line passing from the centre of the earth to that of the particular 
heavenly body. ‘There will then be one straight line drawn from 
the centre of the earth showing the position of the sun, and there 
will equally be two other straight lines to the right and left of it 
respectively, and distant 50° from it, and 100° degrees from each 
other, the line nearest to the east showing the position of Lucifer 
or the Morning Star when it is furthest from the sun and near the 
eastern regions, a position in virtue of which it then receives the 
name of the Evening Star, because it appears in the east at evening 
after the setting of the sun.’. . . . (And so on.) 


1 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurit, viii. 880, 882. 
3 Cicero, Somn. Scip. c. 4. 2. 
5 Chalcidius, Zimaeus, c. 110, pp. 176-7, Wrobel. 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 257 


Chalcidius only mentions Venus in this passage, but he has just 
previously indicated a similar relation between Mercury and the 
sun. Reading this passage and the explanation, illustrated by 
a figure, which follows, together with supplementary particulars 
given in a passage of Macrobius presently to be mentioned, we can 
easily realize Chalcidius’s conception. According to this we are 
to suppose a point which revolves uniformly about the earth from 
west to east ina year. This point is the centre of three concentric 
circles (epicycles) on which move respectively the sun (on the 
innermost), Mercury (on the middle circle), and Venus (on the 
outermost) ; the sun takes, of course, a year to describe its epi- 
cycle That the epicycle for the sun is wrongly imported into 
Heraclides’ true system is confirmed by the next chapter of Chal- 
cidius, with its illustrative figure, where he imports epicycles into 
Plato's system also. According to him, Plato used, not one principal 
circle with three epicycles having as their common centre a point 
describing that principal circle, but three principal circles, each with 
one epicycle.; two circles, namely a principal circle and an epicycle, 
being used for each of the three bodies, the sun, Mercury, and Venus. 
But we know that in Plato’s system the sun, Mercury, and Venus 
described three simple circles of which the earth is the centre. 
Hence the epicycles must be rejected altogether so far as Plato’s 
System is concerned. Similarly, we must eliminate the sun’s epi- 
cycle from the account of Heraclides’ system, and we must suppose 
that he regarded Mercury and Venus as simply revolving in con- 
centric circles about the sun. 

The same contrast as is drawn by Chalcidius between Heraclides’ 
system and Plato’s system, as he represents them respectively, is 
drawn by Adrastus* between two possible theories, the authors of 

1 Chalcidius indicates (cc. 81, 109, and 112) that the sun’s motion on its epi- 
cycle (which is from east to west) is in the contrary sense to the motion (from 
west to east) of Mercury and Venus on their epicycles respectively (cf. Adrastus 
in Theon of Smyrna, p. 175, 13-15, who says that the motion of the sun and moon 
on their epicycles is in the sense of the daily rotation from east to west, while the 
motion of the five planets on their epicycles is in the opposite sense). The 
commentators did not fail to see in this fact a possible explanation of Plato’s 
remark that Mercury and Venus have ‘the contrary tendency to the sun’ (Chal- 
Cidius, c. 109, p. 176); and the explanation would be quite satisfactory zf Plato 
could be supposed to have been acquainted with the theory of epicycles (cf. 


pp- 165-9 above). 
5 Adrastus in Theon of Smyrna, pp. 186. 17 - 187. 13. 


1410 5 


258 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PART I 


which he does not specify. The first possibility corresponds to 
Chalcidius’s version of Plato’s system ; only Hipparchus’s epicycles 
are, in agreement with Eudoxus’s theory of spheres, represented 
by ‘solid’ spheres as distinct from ‘hollow’. We are to conceive, 
in the plane of the ecliptic, three concentric circles with the earth as 
common centre ; on each circle there moves, in one and the same 
direction, the centre of an immaterial sphere at such speed that the 
centre of the earth and these three centres are always in a straight 
line. As the plane of the ecliptic cuts the three immaterial spheres, 
this determines three circles which, with Hipparchus, we distin- 
guish from the principal circles as epicycles. The sun moves on 
the epicycle of the circle nearest the earth, Mercury on that of the 
next, Venus on that of the outer circle. This is, therefore, precisely 
the Platonic system as conceived by Chalcidius. The second possi- 
bility, says Adrastus, is that the three principal circles may coalesce 
into one. Thus the three epicycles are reduced to sections of three 
concentric spheres, and the whole system of these spheres revolves 
about the earth, their common centre describing a circle about the 
earth. Here we have Heraclides’ system as described by Chalcidius ; 
but Adrastus’s version is better, in that, evidently relying on an older 
source, he hints that what moves on the main circle is not an 
immaterial point but the ‘true solid sphere of the sun’; that is to 
say, it is only Mercury and Venus which move on epicyecles, i.e. in 
circles about the sun as centre." 

Martin? exposed the error of those who inferred from the passage 
of Macrobius already alluded to that the Egyptians were acquainted 
with the fact thus stated by Heraclides. Macrobius observes that 
Cicero, in placing the sun fourth in the order of the planets reckon- 
ing from the earth, i.e. after the moon, Venus, and Mercury, followed — 
the order adopted by the Chaldaeans and Archimedes, while 

‘Plato followed the Egyptians, the parents of all branches of 
philosophy, who, while placing the sun between the moon and 
Mercury, yet have detected and enunciated the reason why the sun 
is believed by some to be above Mercury and above Venus; for 
eis are those who hold this view far from the apparent 
truth. °... 


1 Hultsch, ‘Das astronomische System des Herakleides von Pontos’ in Jahré, 


fiir class. Philologie, 1896, pp. 305-16. 
3 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, Pp. 130-3. Cf. Boeckh, Das kosmische 
System des Platon, pp. 142, 143. 8. Macrobius, /m# somn, Scip. i. 19. 2. 





CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 259 


Then, after explaining that Saturn is as far from Jupiter as is 
indicated by the difference between their periods, 30 years and 
12 years respectively, and again, that Jupiter’s distance from Mars 
corresponds to the difference between their periods of 12 and 2 years 
respectively, he observes that Venus is so much below Mars as 
corresponds to the shorter period of Venus, one year, while Mercury 
is so near to Venus, and the sun to Mercury, that they all describe 
their orbits in one year, more or less, so that, as Cicero says, Venus 
and Mercury are companions of the sun. There was, therefore, no 
dispute about the order of the superior planets, Saturn, Jupiter, and 
Mars, nor about the relative position of the moon as the lowest 
of all; 

‘But the proximity of the three others which are the nearest to 
one another, namely Venus, Mercury, and the sun, has caused 
uncertainty as regards their order, though only in the minds of 
others, not of the Egyptians ; for the true relation did not escape the 
penetration of the Egyptians, and it is as follows. The circle on 
which the sun moves  ‘ circulus, per quem sol discurrit’= the sun’s 
epicycle  is lower than, and encircled by, the circle of Mercury; 
above the circle of Mercury, and including it, is the circle of Venus; 
hence it is that, when the two planets are describing the upper 
portions of their circles, they are regarded as placed above the sun, 
but when they are traversing the lower portions of their circles, the 
sun is considered to be superior to them.’!. . . 

Macrobius’s main object may have been to put the Egyptians on 
a level with the Chaldaeans, the oldest cultured Asiatics.? But, 
though the Chaldaeans arranged the planets in an order different 
from that adopted by Plato, the idea of Mercury and Venus revolv- . 
ing round the sun was certainly not Chaldaean but Greek, and 
originated with Heraclides. If Macrobius really intended to attri- 
bute Heraclides’ discovery to the Egyptians, it must be because 
the theory had perpetuated itself as a tradition of the Alexandrine 
astronomers anterior to our era.* And if the Egyptians had 
really regarded Mercury and Venus as being in the relation of 
satellites to the sun, it is not easy to understand why they placed 
Mercury and Venus above the sun, since they might equally well 
have placed them below it. 

Hultsch explains the evolution of the Heraclides-epicyclic system 


1 Macrobius, /# somn. Scip. i. 19, 5-6. * Hultsch, loc, cit. 
3 Tannery, Recherches sur P histoire de Pastronomie ancienne, pp. 260, 261. 


52 


260 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


in the following way. The axial rotation of the earth was rejected 
by Hipparchus. Hence the occasion, for some one living after 
Hipparchus’s time, of modifying Heraclides’ system and grafting 
on to it the theory of epicycles. Or perhaps the post-Hipparchian 
inventor of the Heraclides-epicyclic blend wished to oppose to some 
enthusiastic champion of Hipparchus the authority of Heraclides, 
but could not get rid of epicycles. 

The next question which arises is this. Having made Mercury 
and Venus revolve round the sun as satellites, did Heraclides 
proceed to draw the same inference with regard to the other, the 
superior, planets? When it was once laid down that all the five 
planets alike revolved round the sun, and this hypothesis was com- 
bined with that of the revolution of the sun round the earth as 
centre, the result was the system of Tycho Brahe, with the improve- 
ment, already made by Heraclides, of the substitution of the daily 
rotation of the earth for the daily revolution of the whole system 
round the earth supposed at rest. Schiaparelli, who added to his 


first tract, J precursori di Copernico nell’ antichita, a further ex- — 


tremely elaborate study! dealing at length with the above question 
among others, came to the conclusion that it was probably Hera- 
clides himself who took the further step of regarding all the five 
planets alike as revolving round the sun, but that, if it was not 
Heraclides, it was at all events some contemporary of his who did 
so. This conclusion represents a certain change of view on the 


part of Schiaparelli after the date of 7 precursori, where he says, © 


‘it appears that Heraclides Ponticus, as the evidence cited indicates, 
limited to Venus and Mercury the revolution round the sun, and it 
seems that he retained the earth as the centre of the movements 
of the superior planets’.? Schiaparelli’s later view is based upon 
presumption rather than upon direct evidence, which indeed does 
not exist. His argument is a tour de force, but, although opinions 
will differ, I for my part think that he trusts too much to the testi- 
mony of late writers as to the supposed very early discovery of the 
machinery of eccentrics and epicycles, and his case does not seem 
to me to be made out. 


1 Schiaparelli, Origine del sistema planetario eliocentrico presso ἡ Grect, 1898 
(in Memorte del R. Istituto Lombardo di scienze e lettere, vol. xviii, pp. 61 sqq.). 
2. Schiaparelli, 7 precursori, pp. 27, 28. 


ESE, νοδι 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 261 


Schiaparellis arguments are, however, well worthy of considera- 
tion, and I will represent them as completely and fairly as I can. 
Having hit upon the hypothesis of the revolution of Mercury and 
Venus round the sun, and not the earth, as centre, Heraclides had 
found a possible explanation of the varying degrees of brightness 
shown by the two inferior planets and of the narrow limits of their 
deviation from the sun; he would also easily see that the hypo- 
thesis gave a solution of the difficulty of the stationary points and 
the retrogradations in the case of these planets. Eudoxus had 
tried to solve the latter difficulty by ingenious and elegant combina- 
tions of concentric spheres; but he only succeeded with Jupiter and 
Saturn. Callippus went further on the same lines and succeeded 
to a certain extent with Mars; probably, too, he came nearer to 
accounting for the movements of Mercury and Venus. The most 
formidable objection to the explanation of the planetary move- 
ments by means of concentric spheres was the fact that, on this 
hypothesis, the distance of each planet from the earth, and conse- 
quently its brightness, should be absolutely invariable, whereas 
mere ocular observation sufficed to prove that this is not so. This 
difficulty was, as we have seen, very early realized; Polemarchus, 
a friend of Eudoxus himself, was aware of it, but tried to make out 
that the inequality of the distance was negligible and of no account 
in comparison with the advantage of having all the spheres about 
one and the same centre ; Aristotle, too, in his Physical Problems 
(now lost) discussed the same difficulty. The first who tried to get 
over the difficulty was Autolycus of Pitane, the author of the tract 
On the moving sphere, but even he was not successful.2 Now Hera- 
clides, departing altogether from the system of spheres, to which 
the Aristotelian school doggedly adhered, and adopting a system of 
circles more akin to Pythagorean ideas, had suggested a sufficient 
explanation with regard to Venus and Mercury; and, as Mars was 
seen, equally with Venus, to vary in apparent size and brightness, 
it was natural for the same school of thought to try to find an 
explanation of the similar phenomena with regard to Mars on ¢heir 
lines as opposed to those which found favour with Aristotle. 

Now, with regard to Mars, it would be seen that the times of its 


1 Sosigenes in Simplicius on De caelo (293 a 4), p. 505. 21-7, Heib. 
3 Ibid., p. 504. 22-5, Heib. 


262 HERACLIDES ΟΕ PONTUS PART I 


greatest brightness corresponded with the times when it was in 
opposition and not in conjunction ; that is to say, it is brightest 
when it occupies a position in the zodiac opposite to the sun; it 
must therefore be nearest the earth at that time, and consequently 
the centre of its orbit cannot be the centre of the earth, but must 
be on the straight line joining the earth to the sun. The analogy 
of Venus and Mercury might then suggest that perhaps Mars, too, 
might revolve round the sun, I do not attach much importance in 
this connexion to a passage from Theon of Smyrna quoted by 
Schiaparelli. Theon, in the passage contrasting two hypotheses 
(the supposed Platonic and supposed Heraclidean) with regard to 
the movements of Venus and Mercury, adds: 


‘And one might suspect that this [the Heraclidean view] repre- 
sents the truer view of their relative position and order, the effect 
of it being to make this region the abode of the animating principle 
in the universe, regarded as a living thing, the sun being as it were 
the heart of the All in virtue of its great heat and in consequence 


of its motion, its size, and its connexion with the bodies about it.   


For in animate beings the centre of the thing, that is, of the animal 
as animal, is different from the centre of it regarded as a magnitude ; 
thus with ourselves as men and living beings one centre is the 
region about the heart, the centre of the vital principle .. . the other 
is that of the body as a magnitude. .. . Similarly, if we may extend 
to the greatest, noblest and divine the analogy of the small, insig- 
nificant and mortal, the centre of the universe as a magnitude is 
the region about the earth which is cold and destitute of motion ; 


while in the universe as universe and living thing the region about the   


sun is the centre of its animating principle, the sun being as it were 
the heart of the All, which is also, as we are told, the starting-point 
whence the soul proceeds to permeate the whole body spread over 
it from the extremities inwards.’ 1 


The argument of Theon seems rather to be offered as a plausible 
defence of the new theory of Venus and Mercury as satellites of 
the sun, after the event as it were, than as an ὦ friori ground for 
putting forward that hypothesis or for extending it to Mars and 
the other superior planets. 

When the possibility of Mars revolving round the sun came to 


1 Theon of Smyrna, pp. 187. 13 - 188..7. Cf. Plutarch, De fac. in orbe lunae, 
c. 15, p. 928 B,C; Macrobius, 27: somn. Scip. i. 20. 1-8. 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 263 


be considered, it would be at once obvious that the precise hypo- 
thesis adopted for Mercury and Venus would not apply, because 
the circles described by those planets about the sun are relatively 
small circles and are entirely on one side of the earth, whereas the 
circle described by Mars comprehends the earth which is inside it. 
The next possibility that would present itself would be that the 
planet might move uniformly round an eccentric circle of some 
kind, a circle passing round the earth but with some other point 
not the earth as centre. Suppose £ is the earth, fixed at the centre 
of the universe, QR an eccentric circle with centre O. Draw the 
diameter QR through £, Ὁ. Then Q represents the perigee of 


ὯΝ 
7 


Fig. 12. 











a planet moving on the eccentric circle. In opposition, therefore, . 
Mars will be at Q, and the sun will be opposite to it, i.e. at some 
point on ZR. If now the oppositions always occurred in the same 
place in the zodiac, i.e. in the same direction ZQ, this hypothesis 
would explain the differences of brightness. But the oppositions 
do not always take place in the same direction; they may take 
place at any part of the zodiac. Consequently, the direction of 
opposition is not constant, as EQ, but the diameter RQ must 
move round the centre Z& in such a way that the perigeal point Ὁ 
is always opposite to the sun. Therefore Q, the point of opposition, 
revolves round E in the space of a year along the ecliptic in the 
direct order of the signs. Hence O, the centre of the eccentric, also 


264 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


revolves round £ ina year in such a way that it is always in the 
direction of the sun. We suppose, therefore, that the whole 
eccentric circle moves bodily round £ as centre, as if it were 
a material disc attached to £& as a sort of hinge. If now we 
suppose Mars to move uniformly round the circumference of the 
eccentric in the zzverse order of the signs, completing the circuit 
from perigee to perigee, or from apogee to apogee, in a time equal to 
the period of its synodic revolution, the opposition will occur at the 
right places and the brightness will then be greatest. Further 
(and this is the most important point) if the distance ZO (the 
‘eccentricity ᾽) is chosen in the proper ratio to the radius OR, the 
irregular movements of the planet, its stationary positions, and its 
retrogradations will be explained also (this would. be clear to any 
one who was enough of a geometer, though the corresponding facts 
are easier to see when the hypothesis is that of epicycles). By 
means of observations it would be possible to deduce the ratio 
of the radius to the ‘eccentricity’, but not their absolute magni- 
tudes. But the centre O is always in the direction of the sun;   
it only remained to fix its distance (ZO). The natural thing in 
the case of Mars would be to make the material sun the centre, just 
as had been done with the epicycles of Venus and Mercury. The 
use of ideal points as centres for epicycles and eccentrics was no 
doubt first thought of, at a later stage, by some of the great 
mathematicians such as Apollonius. 

The next link in Schiaparelli’s chain of argument is the fact 
that the same movement as is represented by movable eccentrics 
of the sort just described can equally well be represented by means 
of epicycles, a fact which is proved by Theon of Smyrna and 
others. Let us then see how the motion of Mars, as above repre- 
sented by means of a movable eccentric, can be represented by 
means of an epicycle. Let Figure 13 (A) represent a movable 
eccentric, & being the earth, S the centre of the eccentric which 
moves round the circle SS’ in the direction shown by the arrow, 
in such a way that ZS is always in the direction of the sun and 
moves in the direct order of the signs. Let CC’ be the eccentric 
with centre S. Produce ZS to meet the eccentric in C, which will ς΄ 
then be the position of the apogee of the eccentric. Let the planet — 
be then at the point D describing the circle CC’ in the inverse 


. 








ἂ : 
CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 265 


order of the signs. The angle CSD or the arc CD reckoned from 
the apogee in the zvverse order of the signs will be the argument 
of the anomaly, or shortly the axomaly; the planet will be seen 
from the earth in the direction ZED. 

Now [ Fig. 13 (B)], on the hypothesis of the epicycle, let @ be the 
centre of the earth. About Θ as centre describe the circle 22’ equal 
to the eccentric circle of the other figure, and draw the radius O& 
parallel (and equal) to SD in the other figure. Take 3 as the centre 
of the epicycle, and about it describe the circle 44’ equal to the 
circle SS’ in the other figure. If we produce OF to K,X will 
be at the moment the apogee of the epicycle. Make the angle 





(A) : (Β) 
Fig. 13. ; 


KZA equal to the anomaly (i.e. the angle CSD in the other figure) 
but reckoned in the opposite sense (i.e. in the direct order of the 
signs). Suppose then that the planet is at 4 and seen from the - 
earth in the direction ΘΖ. 

In the triangles ESD, ΘΣΖ, DS is equal and parallel to 30, 
and the angles 2.58, OX4 are equal; therefore ES, ΔΣ are 
parallel. But 5.5, 4 are also equal; therefore the two sides 
ES, SD are equal to the two sides 42, YO respectively. And 
the included angles are equal ; therefore the triangles ESD, 430 
are equal in all respects. And, since the two sides ES, 45 are 
equal and parallel, and the sides SD, @ are also equal and 
parallel, it follows that the third sides ED, ΘΖ will be equal and 
parallel, i.e. the planet will be seen in the same direction and at 
the same distance under either hypothesis. 


“66 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


The conditions necessary in order that this may be true at any 
instant are two: (1) the radii SD, OX of the eccentric and the 
deferent circle respectively must always remain parallel; (2) the 
anomaly CSD in the eccentric must be equal to the anomaly K 4 
in the epicycle, while the anomaly must in the first case be reckoned 
in the zzverse order, and in the second case in the direct order of the 
signs. It is evident also that the proof still holds if, instead of 
making the radii of the two circles in each hypothesis equal, we 
suppose them proportional only and change the dimensions of 
either figure as we please. 

It is clear why the Greek mathematicians preferred the epicycle 
hypothesis to the eccentric. It was because the former was applic- 
able to all cases ; it served for the inferior as well as the superior- 
planets, whereas the eccentric hypothesis, as then conceived, would 
not serve for the inferior planets ; moreover, the epicycle hypothesis 
enabled the phenomena of the stationary points and retrograda- 
tions to be seen almost by simple inspection, whereas on the 
eccentric hypothesis a certain amount of geometrical proof would — 
be necessary to enable the effect in this respect to be understood. 
But it will be observed that in the above figures the motion of S 
round the circle S’S may be the motion of the material sun in its 
orbit but, when this is so, the point 3 which is the centre of the 
epicycle in the other case is not a material but an zdeal point. 
Hence, before geometers had fully developed the theory of revo- 
lution about ideal points, the eccentric hypothesis was the only 
practicable way of representing the movements of the superior 
planets, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. : 

Now we infer from a passage of Ptolemy’ that, while Apollonius 
understood the theory of epicycles in all its generality, he only 
knew of the particular class of eccentrics in which the movable 
centre of the eccentric moves at an angular speed equal to that 
of the swz describing its orbit about the earth. The description 
by Apollonius of the two hypotheses is in these words: 

(1) The epicycle hypothesis: ‘Here the epicycle’s advance in 
longitude is in the direct order of the signs round the circle con- 
centric with the zodiac, while the star moves on the epicycle about 
its centre at a speed equal to that of the anomaly and in the direct 

* Ptolemy, Synzazis xii. 1 (vol. ii, pp. 450. 10-17, 451. 6-14, Heib.). 











CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 267 


order of the signs in that part of the circumference of the epicycle 
which is furthest from the earth.’ 

(2) The eccentric hypothesis : ‘ This is only applicable to the three 
planets which can be at any angular distance whatever from the sun, 
and here the centre of the eccentric circle moves about the centre 
of the zodiac in the direct order of the signs and at a speed equal 
to that of the sun, while the star moves on the eccentric about its 
centre in the inverse order of the signs and at a speed equal to 
that of the anomaly.’ 

What makes Apollonius say that the eccentric hypothesis is not 
applicable to the inferior planets is the fact that, in order to make it 
apply to them, we should have to suppose the circle described by the 
centre of the eccentric to be greater than the eccentric circle itself. 

The object of the passage of Ptolemy is to explain the stationary 
points and retrogradations on either hypothesis, and he reproduces 
in his own form two propositions which, he says, had been proved 
“by other mathematicians as well as by Apollonius of Perga with 
reference to one of the anomalies, the anomaly in relation to the 
sun.’ It is from the passage in question that it has commonly been 
inferred that Apollonius of Perga was the inventor of epicycles. 
I agree, however, with Schiaparelli that, if we read the passage 
carefully, we shall find that it does not imply this. It is at least 
as easy to infer from the language of Apollonius that, in the case of 
the epicycle-hypothesis at all events, he was only stating formally 
what was already familiar to those conversant with the subject. 

Now the eccentric hypothesis, which is, in the proposition with 
regard to it proved by Apollonius, limited to the particular case - 
of the three superior planets, was evidently generalized at or 
before the time of Hipparchus. This is clear from passages of 
Ptolemy and Theon of Smyrna quoted by Schiaparelli. (1) Ptolemy 
says that Hipparchus was the first to point out that it is necessary 
to explain how there are two kinds of anomaly in the case of each 
of the planets, the solar (ἡ παρὰ τὸν ἥλιον ἀνωμαλία) and the 
zodiacal, or how the retrogradations of each planet are unequal 
and of such and such lengths, whereas all other mathematicians 
had based their geometrical proofs on the assumption that the 

. anomaly and the retrogradation were one and the same respec- 
tively. Hipparchus added that these phenomena were not accounted 


268 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


for either by eccentric circles, or by circles concentric with the 
zodiac carrying epicycles, or even by a combination of both 
hypotheses, (2) ‘Hipparchus says it is worthy of investigation 
by mathematicians why on two hypotheses so different from one 
another, that of eccentric circles and that of concentric circles with 
epicycles, the same results appear to follow.’? A further allusion 
to the same remark of Hipparchus shows that the identity of the 
results following from the two hypotheses was shown with regard 
to the “δι, which is the case for which Adrastus proved it.* 
Again, Theon of Smyrna says that ‘ Hipparchus prefers the hypo- 
thesis of the epicycle which he claims as his own, asserting that 
it is more natural that all the heavenly bodies should be properly 
balanced, and connected together in the same way, about the 
centre of the universe; and yet, because he was not sufficiently 
equipped with physical knowledge, even he did not know for 
certain which is the natural and therefore true movement of the 
planets and which the incidental and apparent ; but he, too, supposes 
that the epicycle of each planet moves on the encentric circle and 
the planet on the epicycle’® (3) In a famous passage where 
Simplicius reproduces a quotation by Alexander from Geminus or 
Posidonius (if Geminus was actually copying Posidonius) we read, 
‘Why do the sun, moon, and planets appear to move irregularly? 
Because, whether we suppose that their circles are eccentric or that 
they move on epicycles, their apparent irregularity will be saved ; 
and it will be necessary to go further and consider in how many ways 
these same phenomena are capable of being explained, in order that 
our theory of the planets may agree with that explanation of the 
causes which proves admissible.’ ® 

The theory of eccentrics had therefore been generalized by 
Hipparchus’s time, but with Apollonius was still limited to the case 
of the three superior planets. This indicates clearly enough that 
it was invented for the specific purpose of explaining the movements 
of Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn about the sun, and for that purpose 
alone. Who then took this step in the formulation of a system 


1 Ptolemy, Syutaxts ix. 2 (vol. ii, pp. 210. 19-211. 4, Heib.). 
3 Theon of Smyrna, p. 166. 6-10. 8 Ibid., p. 185. 13-19. 
* Ibid., pp. 166. 14-172. 14. 5 Ibid., p. 188. 15-24. 
ὁ Simplicius zm Phys., p. 292. 15-20, ed. Diels. 








CH. XVII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS : 269 


which is the same as that of Tycho Brahe? Tannery! thinks it was 
Apollonius, and in that case Apollonius, coming after Aristarchus 
of Samos, would be exactly the Tycho Brahe of the Copernicus of 
antiquity. 

Schiaparelli, however, as I have said above, will have it that 
it was not Apollonius, but Heraelides or some contemporary of his, 
who took the final step towards the Tychonic system. In order 
to prove this it is necessary to show that epicycles and movable 
eccentric circles were both in use by Heraclides’ time, and Schia- 
parelli tries to establish this by quotations from Geminus, Proclus, 
Theon of Smyrna, Chalcidius, and Simplicius ; but it is here that 
he seems to me to fail. The passages cited are as follows. 

(1) Geminus: ‘It is a fundamental assumption in all astronomy 
that the sun, the moon, and the five planets move in circular 
orbits at uniform speed in a sense contrary to that of the 
universe. For the Pythagoreans, who were the first to apply 
themselves to investigations of this kind, assumed the movements 
of the sun, the moon, and the five planets to be circular and 
uniform. They would not admit, with reference to things divine 
and eternal, any disorder such as would make them move at one 
time more swiftly, at one time more slowly, and at another time 
stand still, as the five planets do at their so-called stationary points. 
For such irregularity of motion would not even be expected of 
a decent and orderly man in his journeys. With men, of course, 
the necessities of life are often causes of slowness and swiftness ; but 
with the imperishable stars it is not possible to adduce any cause 
of swiftness or slowness. Accordingly, they proposed the problem, 
how the phenomena could be accounted for by means of circular 
and uniform movements.’? Geminus goes on, it is true, to explain 
why the sun, although moving at uniform speed, describes equal 
arcs in unequal times, and explains the fact by assuming the sun 
to move uniformly in an eccentric circle, i.e. a circle of which the 
earth is an internal point but not the centre. But there is nothing 
to suggest that this was the Pythagorean answer to the problem, 
Geminus says ‘ We shall give the explanation as regards the other 


* Tannery, Recherches sur Phistoire de [astronomie ancienne, c. 14, pp. 245, 
253-9. 
* Geminus, /sagoge, c. 1. 19-21, p. 10, 2-20, ed. Manitius. 


270 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


stars in another place ; but ze τοῦ show at once with regard to the 
sun how.... 

(2) Theon of Smyrna says, quoting Adrastus:' ‘The apparent 
intricacy of the motion of the planets is due to the fact that they 
seem to us to be carried through the signs of the zodiac in circles 
of their own, being fixed in spheres of their own and moved along 
the circles, as Pythagoras was the first to observe, a certain intricate 
and irregular movement being thus incidentally grafted on to their 
simple and uniform motion, which remains the same.’ 

(3) Chalcidius says:* ‘Yet all the planets seem to us to move 
unequally and some even to show disordered movements. What 
then shall we give as the explanation of this erroneous supposition ? 
That mentioned above, which was also known to Pythagoras, 
namely that, while they are fixed in their own spheres and so 
carried round, they appear, owing to our feebleness of vision, to 
describe the circle of the zodiac.’ . 

Schiaparelli adds: ‘We cannot attribute any historical value to 
this notice unless we admit that by “ Pythagoras” are to be under- 
stood those same Pythagoreans of whom Geminus speaks. And 
it would follow that those Pythagoreans had explained the irregu- 
larity of the planetary movements by means of the combination 
of two circular movements, one with the earth as centre, the other 
having its centre outside the earth (eccentric or epicycle).’ But 
there is nothing whatever in these passages to suggest eccentrics 
or epicycles. Theon follows up his remark by referring to the 
combination of movements as explained by Plato in the 7) imacus, 
i.e. the supposition that, while the sun, moon, and planets have 
an independent circular movement of their own in the zodiac about 
the earth as centre, they also share in the movement of the fixed 
stars (the daily rotation about the axis of the universe) The 
passage of Chalcidius seems to mean the same thing. Martin 
interprets the passages of Geminus and Chalcidius as saying that 
Pythagoras denied the irregularity of the movement of the stars 
called planets, considering it an optical illusion.* Zeller observes 
that the passage of Theon indicates that the early Pythagoreans 

1 Theon of Smyrna, p. 150. 12-18. 


? Chalcidius, 7imaeus, c. 77, 78, pp» 145, 146, ed. Wrobel. 
3 Martin, Etudes sur le Timée, ii, p. 120. . 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 271 


developed the doctrine of Anaximander into a theory of spheres 
carrying round stars which are made fast to them, and that this 
is confirmed by the occurrence of the same conception in Parmenides 
and Plato. Whether all the stars are carried by spheres of their own, 
i.e. hollow spheres, or only the fixed stars are carried by one sphere, 
while the planets, as with Plato, are fixed on hoop-like circles, is not 
clear. But Zeller rejects altogether the view that the Pythagoreans 
assumed eccentrics and epicycles as not only unsupported by trust- 
worthy evidence but as inconsistent with the whole development of 
the old astronomy.! 

But we have not done with the evidence cited by Schiaparelli. 

(4) Proclus says?: ‘The hypotheses of eccentrics and epicycles com- 
mended themselves also, so history tells us, to the famous Pythagoreans 
as being more simple than all others—for it is necessary in dealing 
with this question, and Pythagoras himself encouraged his disciples, 
to try to solve the problem by means of the fewest and most simple 
hypotheses possible.’ This passage, as Schiaparelli says, attributes 
the first idea of movable eccentrics as well as of epicycles to the Pytha- 
goreans. But it has tobe considered alongwith a passageof Simplicius 
which Schiaparelli regards as the most important notice of all ; 

(5) Simplicius says, after speaking of the system of concentric 
spheres: ‘Later astronomers then, rejecting the hypothesis of 
revolving spheres, mainly because they do not suffice to explain 
the variations of distance and the irregularity of the movements, 
dispensed with concentric spheres and assumed eccentrics and 
epicycles instead—if indeed the hypothesis of eccentric circles 
was not invented by the Pythagoreans, as some tell us, in-   
cluding Nicomachus and Iamblichus who followed him.’* This 
passage, it is true, may indicate that it was only eccentric circles, 
and not epicycles also, which the Pythagoreans discovered ; but 
Schiaparelli regards it as conclusive with reference to movable 
eccentrics. Unfortunately, he has not allowed for the fact that 
it was the habit of the neo-Pythagoreans to attribute, so far as 
possible, every discovery to the Pythagoreans, and even to Pytha- 
goras himself. The evidence of Nicomachus would therefore 


1 Zeller, 15, p. 415 2. 
3 Proclus, Hypotyposis astronomicarum positionum, c. 1, ὃ 34, p. 18, ed. 
Manitius. * Simplicius on De caelo, p. 507. 9-14, Heib. 


272 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


be worthless even if it could not easily be accounted for; but, as 
Hultsch says,! the statement is easily explained as a reminiscence 
of the Pythagorean central fire, for of course in that system each 
planet moved in a circle about the central fire as centre and, as the 
earth also moved round the same central fire, the orbit of the planet 
would be eccentric relatively to the earth. _The passage of Proclus 
may be based on the authority of Nicomachus ; or it may be a case 
of a wrong inference, thus: the Pythagoreans sought the simplest 
hypothesis because they held that that would be the best; the 
simplest is that of eccentrics and epicycles; therefore the Pytha- 
goreans would naturally think of that hypothesis. 

But, even on the assumption that ‘the Pythagoreans’ are to be 
credited with the invention of eccentrics and epicycles, the difficul- 
ties are great, as Schiaparelli himself saw.?, Who are the particular 
Pythagoreans who made the discovery? The problem which, 
according to Geminus, the Pythagoreans propounded of finding 
‘how the phenomena could be accounted for by means of circular 
and uniform motions’ is almost identical with that which Sosigenes, 
on the authority of Eudemus, says that Plato set, ‘What are the 
uniform and ordered movements by the assumption of which the 
facts about the movements of the planets can be accounted for?’. 
If now the Pythagoreans had, by Plato’s time, discovered the solu- 
tion by means of movable eccentrics and epicycles, Plato could not 
have been unaware of the fact, and he would not then have set the 
problem again in almost the same terms; Plato, however, makes 
no mention whatever of epicycles or eccentrics. Hence the Pytha- 
goreans in question could not have been the early Pythagoreans or 
any Pythagoreans up to the time of Philolaus (who was about half 
a century earlier than Plato); they must therefore be sought among 
the contemporaries of Plato or in the years immediately after his 
death ; indeed, if the hypothesis had been put forward in his life- 
time, we should have expected to find some allusion to it in his 
writings. We are, therefore, brought down to the period of Philip of 
Macedon and Alexander the Great. But it was in these reigns 
that the Pythagorean schools gradually died out, leaving the 


1 Hultsch, art. ‘Astronomie’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopiidie, ὃ 14. 
? Schiaparelli, Origine del sistema planetario eliocentrico presso t Greci, 
pp. 81-2. 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 273 


name to certain fraternities whose objects were rather ascetic 
and religious than philosophical ;' according to Diodorus the last 
Pythagorean philosophers lived about 366 B.c.* Schiaparelli is 
therefore obliged to assume that, ‘if the schools ceased, their 
doctrines were not entirely lost,’ and his whole case for crediting 
Heraclides or one of his contemporaries with the complete anticipa- 
tion of the system of Tycho Brahe really rests on this assumption 
combined with the statement of Diogenes Laertius that Heraclides 
‘also heard the Pythagoreans’.* It is true that Schiaparelli has one 
other argument, which however seems to be an argument of despair. 
It is based on the passage, already quoted above (pp. 186-7), in which 
Aristotle, after speaking of the central fire of the ‘so-called Pytha- 
goreans’, says :* ‘And no doubt many others, too, would agree (with 
the Pythagoreans) that the place in the centre should not be assigned to 
the earth, if they looked for the truth, not in the observed facts, but 
in ὦ priori arguments. For they hold that it is appropriate to the 
worthiest object that it should be given the worthiest place. Now 
fire is worthier than earth . . “ Schiaparelli adds, ‘On this passage 
Boeckh rightly observes that the reference is not to the past, but to 
opinions held in the time of Aristotle. The Pythagorean doctrines 
had ceased to be the object of teaching in special schools, but they 
survived in the opinions of many and in part found favour even in 
the Academy. From these reflections we draw the conclusion that 
the first idea of epicycles and of eccentrics was conceived towards 
the time of Philip or of Alexander, not among the pure Academics, 
nor in the Lyceum, but among those more independent thinkers 
who, like Heraclides, without forming a separate school, had 
remained faithful, at least so far as regards natural philosophy, to 
Pythagorean ideas, and for that reason could still with some truth 
be called Pythagoreans, especially by writers of a much later date.’ 
That is to say, Nicomachus must, when claiming the discovery of 
eccentrics for the Pythagoreans, have been referring to certain 
persons whom Aristotle expressly distinguishes from that school, 
his ground for claiming those persons as Pythagoreans being that 
they were imbued with Pythagorean doctrines. It seems to me 


1 Zeller, i*, pp. 338-42, iii. 25, pp. 79 544. 
2 Diodorus, xv. 76; Zeller, i*, p. 339, note 2. 3 Diog. L. v. 86. 
* Aristotle, De cae/o ii. 13, 293 a 27-32. 


1410 T 


474 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PART I 


that, by this desperate suggestion, Schiaparelli practically gives 
‘away his case so far as it is based on Nicomachus. But, even if 
we assume Nicomachus to have been referring to the independent 
persons who, according to Aristotle, agreed in the theory of a 
central fire, this does not help Schiaparelli’s argument, because in 
Aristotle’s account of those persons’ views there is no hint what- 
ever of eccentrics or epicycles. 

It is no doubt possible that Heraclides or one of his contem- 
poraries may, in the manner suggested, have arrived at the Tychonic 
system; but I think that Schiaparelli has failed to establish 
this, and the probabilities seem to me to be decidedly against it. 
I judge mainly by the passage of Ptolemy (xii. 1) about the two 
propositions proved by Apollonius and other geometers. Apol- 
lonius was born, probably, 125 years later than Heraclides. Now 
Heraclides certainly originated a particular hypothesis of epicycles, 
namely epicycles described by Venus and Mercury about the 
material sun as centre. By Apollonius’s time the hypothesis of 
epicycles had become quite general, and such a generalization 
might easily come about in a period of a century and more. But 
the hypothesis of eccentrics had, by Apollonius’s time, advanced only 
a very short way indeed towards a corresponding generality. Started 
to explain the movements of the superior planets, the hypothesis 
originally made the material sun the centre of the eccentric circle, 
and by Apollonius’s time it had been only so far generalized as to 
allow the sun to be anywhere on the line joining the centre of the 
earth to the moving centre of the eccentric circle. This represents 
very little progress for a hundred years; and the fact suggests that 
nothing like a hundred years had passed since the first formulation 
of the hypothesis in its most simple form, corresponding to the first 
form of the epicycle hypothesis. In other words, the Tychonic 
system was most probably completed by some one intermediate 
between Heraclides and Apollonius and nearer to Apollonius than 
Heraclides, if it was not actually reserved for Apollonius himself. 


And that there is a fair probability in favour of attributing the step 


to Apollonius himself seems to me to follow from two considera- 
tions. It is a priori less likely that the ‘great geometer’ should 
merely have proved two geometrical propositions to show the effect 
of two hypotheses formulated by some of his predecessors, than that 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 275 


he should have attached the propositions to hypotheses, or to a 
comparison of hypotheses, which he was himself the first to develop ; 
and the fact that he takes the trouble to mention that the eccentric 
hypothesis only applies to the case of the three superior planets is 
more intelligible on the assumption that the hypothesis was at the 
time a new one, than it would beif the hypothesis had been familiar 
to mathematicians for some time. 

We have lastly to deal with a still greater claim put forward by 
Schiaparelli on behalf of Heraclides ; this is nothing less than the 
claim that it was Heraclides, and not Aristarchus of Samos, who 
first stated as a possibility the Copernican hypothesis. Schia- 
parelli’s argument rests entirely on one passage, a sentence forming 
part of a quotation from Geminus which Simplicius copied from 
Alexander and embodied in his commentary on the Physics of 
Aristotle ;1 and, inasmuch as this passage, as it stands in the MSS., 
is not only unconfirmed by any other passage in Greek writers, but 
is in direct conflict with other passages found in Simplicius himself, 
it calls for the very closest examination. As the context is itself 
important, I shali give a translation of the whole quotation from 
Geminus according to the text of Diels; I shall then discuss the 
text and the interpretation of the particular sentence relied upon 
by Schiaparelli. The passage then of Simplicius is as follows: 


‘ Alexander carefully quotes a certain explanation by Geminus 
taken from his summary of the Meteorologica of Posidonius. 
Geminus’s comment, which is inspired by the views of Aristotle, 
is as follows: 

*“ Tt is the business of physical inquiry to consider the substance 
of the heaven and the stars, their force and quality, their coming into 
being and their destruction, nay, it is in a position even to prove 
the facts about their size, shape, and arrangement ; astronomy, on 
the other hand, does not attempt to speak of anything of this kind, 
but proves the arrangement of the heavenly bodies by considera- 
tions based on the view that the heaven is a real κόσμος, and 
further, it tells us of the shapes and sizes and distances of the earth, 
sun,and moon, and of eclipses and conjunctions of the stars, as well 
as of the quality and extent of their movements. Accordingly, as 
it is connected with the investigation of quantity, size, and quality of 
form or shape, it naturally stood in need, in this way, of arithmetic 


1 Simplicius, 7x Phys. (ii. 2, 193 Ὁ 23), pp. 291. 21 -- 292. 31, ed. Diels (1882). 
T2 


276 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PART I 


and geometry. The things, then, of which alone astronomy claims 
to give an account it is able to establish by means of arithmetic and 
geometry. Now in many cases the astronomer and the physicist 
will propose to prove the same point, e.g., that the sun is of great 
size or that the earth is spherical, but they will not proceed by the 
same road. The physicist will prove each fact by considerations of 
essence or substance, of force, of its being better that things should 
be as they are, or of coming into being and change; the astronomer 
will prove them by the properties of figures or magnitudes, or by 
the amount of movement and the time that is appropriate to it. 
Again, the physicist will in many cases reach the cause by looking 
to creative force; but the astronomer, when he proves facts from 
external conditions, is not qualified to judge of the cause, as when, for 
instance, he declares the earth or the stars to be spherical; some- 
‘times he does not even desire to ascertain the cause, as when he 
discourses about an eclipse; at other times he invents by way 
of hypothesis, and states certain expedients by the assumption of 
which the phenomena will be saved. For example, why do the 
sun, the moon, and the planets appear to move irregularly? We 
may answer that, if we assume that their orbits are eccentric circles 
or that the stars describe an epicycle, their apparent irregularity 
will be saved ; and it will be necessary to go further and examine 
in how many different ways it is possible for these phenomena to be 
brought about, so that we may bring our theory concerning the 
planets into agreement with that explanation of the causes which 
follows an admissible method. Hence we actually find a certain 
person, Heraclides of Pontus, coming forward and saying that, even 
on the assumption that the earth moves in a certain way, while the 
sun 15 in a certain way at rest, the apparent irregularity with reference 
to the sun can be saved. For itis no part of the business of an astro- 
nomer to know what is by nature suited to a position of rest, and 
what sort of bodies are apt to move, but he introduces hypotheses 
under which some bodies remain fixed, while others move, and then 
considers to which hypotheses the phenomena actually observed 
in the heaven will correspond.. But he must go to the physicist for 
his first principles, namely that the movements of the stars are simple, 
uniform and ordered, and by means of these principles he will then 
prove that the rhythmic motion of all alike is in circles, some being 
turned in parallel circles, others in oblique circles.” Such is the 
account given by Geminus, or Posidonius in Geminus, of the dis- 
tinction between physics and astronomy, wherein the commentator 
is inspired by the views of Aristotle.’ 


The important sentence for our purpose is that which I have 
italicized, and the above translation of it is a literal rendering of the 


. 











CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 277 


reading of the MSS. and of Diels (διὸ καὶ παρελθών τίς φησιν 
Ἡρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικός, ὅτι καὶ κινουμένης πως τῆς γῆς K.T. é.). 
The reading and possible emendations of it will have to be discussed, 
but it will be convenient first of all to dispose of a question arising on 
the interpretation of the context. What is meant by ‘the apparent 
irregularity with reference to the sun ( περὶ τὸν ἥλιον φαινομένη 
ἀνωμαλία) δ Can this be so interpreted as to make it possible to 
take the motion of the earth to be rotation about its axis and not a 
motion of translation at all? Boeckh?! took the πως (‘in a certain 
way’) used of the sun’s remaining at rest (as it is also used of the 
earth’s motion) to signify that the sun is not guite at rest; and he 
thought that Heraclides meant that the sun and the heaven were 
only at rest so far as the general daily rotation was concerned, while 
the earth rotated on its own axis from west to east in 24 hours, but 
that the sun still performed its yearly revolution in the zodiac 
circle. This, however, does not account for the ‘apparent zrregu- 
larity or anomaly with reference to the sun’, which expression could 
not possibly be applied to the daily rotation. 

Martin? and Bergk® took the irregularity to be the irregularity 
of the sun’s own motion in the ecliptic, by virtue of which the sun 
seems to go quicker at one time than at another, and the four 
seasons differ in length. But if, as Bergk apparently supposed, the 
two hypotheses which are contrasted are (1) the sun moving irregu- 
larly as it does and the earth completely devoid of any motion of 
translation, (2) the sun completely at rest and the earth with an 
irregular motion of translation, it is, as Schiaparelli says, impossible 
to get any plausible sense out of the passage. For the problem of . 
explaining the irregularity of the sun’s motion presents precisely the 
same difficulties on the one hypothesis as it does on the other; 
the substitution of one hypothesis for the other does not advance 
the question in any way, and it explains nothing. Martin saw this, 
and tried another explanation based on the use of the word πως, 
‘in a certain way’. The mean speed of the sun, says Martin, is one 
thing, its anomaly is another; the former is accounted for by the 

? Boeckh, Das kosmische System des Platon, pp. 135-40. 

3 Martin in Mémoires de [ Académie des Inscriptions et Beiles-Lettres, xxx. 
Pack pp. 26 564. 


Fiinf Abhandlungen zur Gesch. der griechischen Philosophie und 
Astronomie, Leipzig, 1883, p. 151. 


278 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


annual revolution; the latter had to be otherwise accounted for, and 
one way of accounting for it was that of Callippus, who gave the 
sun two spheres more than Eudoxus assigned to it. Take now 
from the sun the small movement (of irregularity) only, thus leaving 
it at rest only ‘in a certain sense’, and give the earth a small 
annual movement sufficient to explain the apparent anomaly of the 
sun. A mere rotation of the earth on its axis would not suffice; 
the movement must be one of translation in the circumference of a 
circle, the result of which would be that, for the inhabitants of the 
earth, the solar anomaly would be the effect of a parallax, not 
daily, but annual, and dependent on the radius of the circle 
described by the earthinayear. That is, the earth must be supposed 
to accomplish, on the circumference of a small orbit round the centre 
of the universe, an annual revolution at a uniform speed from east 
to west, while the sun accomplishes from west to east its annual 
revolution about the same centre in a great orbit enveloping that of 
the earth. Schiaparelli shows the impossibility of this explanation. 
If we take from the sun only the small zvregularity of its movement . 
and leave it its mean movement in an enormous circle round the 
earth, how could any one properly describe this as making the sun 
‘ stationary in a certain sense’, when at the same time the earth, 
which is made to describe a small orbit, is said to ‘ move in a certain 
sense’? Moreover, it is inadmissible to suppose that, in Heraclides’ 
time, any one could have assumed that the place in the centre of 
the universe was occupied by xothing, and that both the sun and 
the earth revolved about an ideal point ; the conception of revolu- 
tion about an immaterial point appeared later, in the generalized 
theory of epicycles and eccentrics, and we find no mention of it 
before Apollonius. 

But indeed there is nothing to suggest that Heraclides was aware 
of the small irregularities of the sun’s motion, and it is. therefore 
necessary to find another meaning for the expression ‘the apparent 
irregularity with reference to the sun’ (ἡ περὶ τὸν ἥλιον φαινομένη 
ἀνωμαλία). I agree with Schiaparelli’s view that it must be the 
same thing as Hipparchus and Ptolemy in the Syxtaxis commonly 
describe as ‘the irregularity re/atively to the sun’ (ἡ πρὸς τὸν ἥλιον 
ἀνωμαλία or ἡ παρὰ τὸν ἥλιον ἀνωμαλία), that is to say, that great 
inequality in the apparent movements of the planets, which alone 








CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 279 


was known in the time of Heraclides and which manifests itself 
principally in the stationary points and retrogradations. It is true 
that in the particular sentence the planets are not mentioned, but 
they are mentioned in the sentence of Geminus which immediately 
precedes it, and, if our sentence is a quotation of words used by 
Heraclides, they no doubt followed upon a similar reference to the 
planets by Heraclides. 

If then the text as above translated is right, there is no escape from 
the conclusion that Heraclides actually put forward the Copernican 
hypothesis as a possible means of ‘saving the phenomena’. But 
it is precisely the text of the sentence referring to Heraclides that 
gives rise to the greatest difficulties. The reading of the MSS. 
followed in the translation above is διὸ καὶ παρελθών τίς φησιν 
ἩΗρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικός, ὅτι καὶ κινουμένης πως τῆς γῆς K.T-é. Diels! 
is satisfied with this reading, which, he thinks, renders unnecessary 
the many scruples felt by scholars, and the emendation proposed 
by Bergk.2 Gomperz,* on the other hand, says that after the most 
careful consideration he finds himself compelled to dissent from 
Diels’ view of the passage. Schiaparelli observes that it is really 
impossible to suppose that a historian of sciences such as Geminus 
could have used the word τις, and said ‘a certain Heraclides of 
Pontus’,in speaking of a philosopher who was celebrated through- 
out antiquity and whom Cicero, a contemporary of Geminus, read 
and spoke of with great respect. This consideration may have 
been one of those which induced the editor of the Aldine edition 
to insert the word ἔλεγεν before ὅτι, a reading which involves the 
punctuation of the passage thus: διὸ καὶ παρελθών τις, φησὶν “Hpa-. 
κλείδης ὁ Ποντικός, ἔλεγεν ὅτι. I think there is no doubt that 
Boeckh is right in his interpretation of παρελθών as ‘having come 
forward’, which he supports by quoting a number of passages con- 
taining the same use of the word. According, therefore, to the 
reading of the Aldine edition we have a quotation from one of 
Heraclides’ dialogues introduced by the parenthetical words in 
oratio recta,‘says Heraclides of Pontus,’ and the translation will 


1 Diels, ‘ Uber das physikalische System des Straton’ in Berliner Sitzungs- 
Berichte, 1893, p. 18, note I. 

3 Bergk, op. cit., p. 150. 

3 Gomperz, Griechische Denker, ἰδ, p. 432. 


280 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PARTI 


be, ‘ This explains too why “ some one came forward”, as Heraclides 
of Pontus says, “and said that....”’ Bergk objects that, while 
παρελθών, ‘coming forward, is used of one who comes forward in 
a public assembly, it is not, so far as he can find, used of the 
interlocutors in a dialogue.’ This is, however, not conclusive, as 
such expressions marking the interposition of a new speaker may 
have been common in Heraclides’ dialogues ; indeed we gather that 
there was a great deal of action in them.? A more substantial 
objection is the form of the quotation, the plunging direct, after 
the words διὸ καί, ‘For which reason also,’ into the actual words 
of Heraclides ‘some one came forward and said’. This is, it must 
be admitted, extremely abrupt and awkward; if Geminus had 
been quoting in this way, it would have been more natural to put 
the sentence in a different form, such as‘ This is the reason too 
why, in a dialogue of Heraclides of Pontus, some one came forward 
and said that...’. . 

Bergk’s own suggestion for emendation is to omit the 71s, alter 


παρελθών into προελθών, and write the sentence thus, διὸ καὶ προελ-. 


θών φησιν: Ἡρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικὸς ἔλεγεν. ‘For this reason too, 
he goes on to say “Heraclides of Pontus said that...”’ The 
words διὸ καὶ προελθών φησιν would thus be the words, not of 
Geminus, from whom the whole passage is quoted, but of 
Alexander, who is quoting ; these words would therefore come 
in between one textual citation from Geminus and another, I think 
this reading has nothing to commend it; the omission of τις is an 
objection to it, and the net result is a perfectly unnecessary 
interposition by Alexander, which moreover spoils the sense; 
‘this is the reason, too, why Geminus goes on to say that Heraclides 
declared ...’ is not so good as ‘this is the reason, too, why some 
one, according to Heraclides of Pontus, said .. .’ 

I omit a number of suggestions for replacing παρελθών by some 
other word or words; they have no authority and, so long as 
Heraclides of Pontus remains in the sentence either as having 
himself held the view in question, or as having attributed it to some 
one else unnamed, they do not really affect the issue. 

I now come to Tannery’s view of the passage, which is not only 


1 Bergk, op. cit., p. 149. 2 Otto Voss, Heraclides, p. 27. 


» 


mens 





—— να τ΄ 


CH, XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 281 


that suggested by the ordinary principles of textual criticism, but 
furnishes a solution of the puzzle so simple and natural that it 
should, as it seems to me, carry conviction to the mind of any 
unbiased person. As Tannery says, from the*moment when it is 
realized that the insertion of the word ἔλεγεν does not, after all is 
said, suffice to remove all difficulties, we are thrown back upon 
the text of the MSS. as established by Diels, διὸ καὶ παρελθών τίς 
φησιν Ἡρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικός, ὅτι καὶ κινουμένης πως τῆς γῆς K.T-é., 
and we have to consider in what way an error could have crept 
into the text. Now it ‘leaps to the eyes’ that, if the original text 
said simply διὸ καὶ παρελθών τίς φησιν ὅτι Kai κινουμένης πως τῆς 
γῆς κοιτ.ιἕ, it was the easiest thing in the world for a glossarist to 
insert in the margin, in explanation of τις, the name of Heraclides 
of Pontus, which would then naturally find its way into the text. 
If the name is left out, everything is in perfect order. The passage 
in its context is then as follows: ‘Why do the sun, moon, and 
planets appear to move irregularly? We may answer that, if we 
assume that their orbits are eccentric circles or that the stars 
describe an epicycle, their apparent irregularity will be saved; and 
it will be necessary to go further and examine in how many different 
ways it is possible for these phenomena to be brought about, 
so that we may bring our theory concerning the planets into 
agreement with that explanation of the causes which follows an 
admissible method. This is why one astronomer has actually 
suggested that, by assuming the earth to move in a certain way 
and the sun to be in a certain way at rest...’ Nothing clearer 
or more correct could possibly be desired ; the different hypotheses — 
would then all alike be stated in general terms without the names 
of their authors, whereas nothing could be more awkward than 
that Geminus, after speaking of the hypotheses of eccentrics and 
epicycles in this way, should change the form of statement and 
bring in quite abruptly an historical fact about one particular person 
by name, or a textual citation from a work of his. Even Gomperz? 
admits that it is possible that Ἡρακλείδης 6 Ποντικός may have 
been inserted ‘ by a (well-informed) reader’ ; but the ‘ well-informed’ 


1 Tannery, ‘Sur Héraclide du Pont,’ in Revue des Etudes grecques, xii, 1899, 


_ pp. 30: ἼΙ. 


3 Gomperz, loc. cit. 


282 HERACLIDES OF PONTUS PART I 


is a pure assumption on his part, due, I think, merely to bias, for 
how can we possibly pronounce the reader to have been ‘ well- 
informed’ when there is absolutely no other evidence telling in his 
favour ? :- 

If then, as seems to me inevitable, the words Ἡρακλείδης ὁ 
ITovrikés are rejected as an interpolation, the view of Schiaparelli 
based upon the passage must be given up, and there remains no 
ground for disputing the accuracy of the other definite statement 
by Aétius to the effect that ‘ Heraclides of Pontus and Ecphantus 
the Pythagorean make the earth move, yet zo¢ in the sense of 
translation but with a movement of rotation’,! confirmed as it is 
by the sharp distinction drawn in one place by Simplicius between 
those who supposed the earth to have a motion of translation and 
Heraclides who supposed it to rotate about its axis.? 

If it is asked whom Geminus had in mind when using the 
expression τίς φησιν, we can have no hesitation in answering that 
it. was Aristarchus of Samos, for it is to him that all ancient 
authorities agree in attributing the suggestion of the heliocentric 
system. : 

It is not possible to say at what time the interpolation of the 
name of Heraclides into the passage took place. There is nothing 
to show, for instance, whether it was made in the archetype of the 
MSS. of Simplicius or in the sources from which he drew. As he 
did not quote Geminus directly, but copied the quotation of 
Alexander, it is a question whether the gloss is earlier or later than 
Alexander, or even due to Alexander himself. I agree with Tannery 
that an annotator of the second or third century of our era, at 
a period when Heraclides was sufficiently well known through the 
Doxographi as having attributed a movement to the earth, might 
very well, on reading the first words, κινουμένης πὼς τῆς γῆς (‘if 
the earth moves in a certain way’), have immediately thought of 
Heraclides rather than Aristarchus, and have written the name 
of the former in the margin without looking forward to see what 
were the words immediately following these. ‘In any case,’ Tannery 
concludes, ‘ the attribution to Heraclides Ponticus of the heliocentric 


1 Aét. iii, 13. 3 (D. G. p. 378; Vors. i?, p. 266. 5-7). 
2 Simplicius on De caelo ii, 14 (297 a2), Ρ. 541. 27-9, Heib. See above, 
Ρ. 255- 











CH. XVIII HERACLIDES OF PONTUS 283 


system does not in any way rest on the authority of Posidonius 
or of Geminus ; it is the act of an anonymous annotator of uncertain 
date, and probably the result of a simple inadvertence only too 
easy to commit ; it must therefore be considered as null and void.’ 

It may be added that it is hardly a griorz surprising that such 
extensive claims on behalf of Heraclides should prove, on examina- 
tion, to be in part unsustainable. It was much to discover, as he 
did, the rotation of the earth about its axis and the fact that Venus 
and Mercury revolve round the sun like satellites; it would seem 
@ priorz almost incredible that the complete Tychonic system should 
have been evolved in Heraclides’ lifetime and ‘perhaps’ by 
Heraclides himself, and that he should a/so have suggested the 
Copernican hypothesis. 


ΧΙΧ 
GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES? 


ALTHOUGH there is controversy as to whether in the earliest 
times (e.g. with Homer and Hesiod) the day was supposed to 
begin with the morning or evening, it may be taken as established 
that in historic times the day, for the purpose of the calendar, began 
with the evening, both at Athens and in Greece generally. As 
regards Athens the fact is stated by Gellius on the authority of 
Varro, who, in describing the usage of different nations in this 
respect, said that the Athenians reckoned as one day the whole 
period from one sunset to the next sunset ;? the testimony of Pliny ὅ 
and Censorinus* is to the same effect. The practice of regarding 
the day as beginning with the evening is natural with a system of 
reckoning time by the moon’s appearances; for a day would 
naturally be supposed to begin with the time at which the light of 
the new moon first became visible, i.e. at evening. 

There is no doubt that, from the earliest times, the Greek month 
(μήν) was lunar, that is, a month based on the moon’s apparent 
motion. But from the first there began to be felt, among the 
Greeks as among most civilized peoples, a desire to bring the 
reckoning of time by-the moon into correspondence with the 
seasons of the year, for the sake of regulating the times of sacri- 
fices to the gods which had to be offered at certain periods in the 
year; hence there was from the beginning a motive for striving 
after the settlement of a luni-solar year. The luni-solar year thus 
had a religious origin. This is attested by Geminus, who says:° 


‘The ancients had before them the problem of reckoning the 
months by the moon, but the years by the sun. For the legal and 


1 For the contents of this chapter I am almost entirely indebted to the 
exhaustive work of F. K. Ginzel, Handbuch der mathematischen und technischen 
Chronologie, vol. ii of which appeared in the nick of time (1911). 

2 Gellius, oct. Az. iii. 2. 2. 8. Pliny, WV. H. ii. c. 77, ὃ 188. 

* Censorinus, De die natali, c. 23. 3. 

5 Geminus, /sagoge, c. 8, 6-9, p. 102. 8-26, Manitius. 








GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES 285 


oracular prescription that sacrifices should be offered after the 
manner of their forefathers was interpreted by all Greeks as mean- 
ing that they should keep the years in agreement with the sun and 
the days and months with the moon. Now reckoning the years 
according to the sun means performing the same sacrifices to the 
gods at the same seasons in the year, that is to say, performing 
the spring sacrifice always in the spring, the summer sacrifice 
in the summer, and similarly offering the same sacrifices from year 
to year at the other definite periods of the year when they fell due. 
For they apprehended that this was welcome and pleasing to the 
gods. The object in view, then, could not be secured in any other 
way than by contriving that the solstices and the equinoxes should 
occur in the same months from year to year. Reckoning the days 
according to the moon means contriving that the names of the 
days of the month shall follow the phases of the moon,’ 

At first the month would be simply regarded as lasting from 
the first appearance of the thin crescent at any new moon till the 
next similar first appearance. From this would gradually be 
evolved a notion of the length of a moon-year. A rough moon-year 
would be 12 moon-months averaging 294 days; but it was necessary 
that a month should contain an exact number of days, and it was 
therefore natural to take the months as having alternately 29 and 30 
days. These ‘hollow’ and ‘full’ months are commonly supposed 
to have been introduced at Athens by Solon (who was archon in 
594/3-B.C.), since he is said to have ‘taught the Athenians to 
, reckon days by the moon’. But it can hardly be doubted that 
‘full’ and ‘hollow’ months were in use before Solon’s time; 
Ginzel therefore thinks that Solon’s reform was something different. 
We shall revert to this point later. 

At the same time, alongside the ‘full’ and ‘ hollow’ months of the 
calendar, popular parlance invented a month of 30 days, as being 
convenient to reckon with. Hippocrates makes 280 days = 9 
months τὸ days;? Aristotle speaks of 72 days as 1/5th of a year ;* 
the riddle of Cleobulus implies 12 months of 30 days each;* the 
original division of the Athenian people into 4 φυλαΐ, 12 φρατρίαι, 
and 360 γένη is explained by Philochorus as corresponding to the 
seasons, months, and days of the year.° In the Courts a month 

1 Diog. L. i. 59. ? Hippocrates, De carnibus, p. 254. 


3. Aristotle, Hzst. an. vi. 20, 574 ἃ 26. * Diog. L. i. 91. 
0g: 9 
. Suidas, 5.0. γεννῆται. 


286 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES parti 


was reckoned at 30 days, and wages were reckoned on this basis, 
e.g. daily pay of 2 drachmae makes for 13 months 780 drachmae 
(2x 30x 13).! From such indications as these it has been inferred 
that the Greeks had at one time years of 360 days and 390 days 
respectively. Indeed, Geminus says that ‘the ancients made the 
months 30 days each, and added .the intercalary months in alter- 
nate years (παρ᾽ ἐνιαυτόν)᾽.2 Censorinus has a similar remark ; when, 
he says, the ancient city-states in Greece noticed that, while the sun 
in its annual course is describing its circle, the new moon sometimes 
rises thirteen times, and that this often happens in alternate years, 
they inferred that 125 months corresponded to the natural year, and 
they therefore fixed their civil years in such a way that they made 
years of 12 months and years of 13 months alternate, calling each 
of such years ‘annus vertens’ and both years together a great year.® 
Again, Herodotus* represents Solon as saying that the 70 years of 
a man’s life mean 25,200 days, without reckoning intercalary 
months, but, if alternate years are lengthened by a month, there 
are 35 of these extra months in 70 years, making 1,050 days more 
and increasing the total number of days to 26,250. But under this 
system the two-years period (called nevertheless, according to 
Censorinus, ¢rieteris because the intercalation took place ‘every 
third year’) would be more than 7 days too long in comparison 
with the sun, and in 20 years the calendar would be about 25 months 
wrong in relation to the seasons. This divergence is so glaring that 
Ginzel concludes that the system cannot have existed in practice. 
He suggests, in explanation of Geminus’s remark, that Geminus is 
not to be taken literally, but is in this case merely using popular 
language (cf. his remark that go days = 3 months®); he regards 
Censorinus’s story as suspicious because in the following sentence 
Censorinus says that the next change was to a pentaéteris of four 
years each, which involves the supposition that the Greeks of, say, 
the eighth or ninth century B.c., had already anticipated the Julian 
system; moreover, Geminus says nothing of a four-years period at 
all (whether called stetraéteris or pentaéteris) but passes directly to 
the octaéteris which, according to him, was the first period that the 
ancients constructed. 


1 Corp. Inscr. Att. ii. 2, no. 834 c, 1.60 (p. 532). * Geminus, Jsagoge, c. ὃ. 26. 
5 Censorinus, De die natali, c. 18. 2. * Herodotus, i. 32. 
5 Geminus, /sagoge, c. 8. 30, p. 112. 7, 10. 











CH.xIx GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND ΟΥ̓ΓΙΕῈΒ 287 


On the alternation of ‘full’ and ‘hollow’ months an apparently 
interpolated passage in Geminus says :? 


‘The moon-year has 354 days. Consequently they took the 
lunar month to be 293 days and the double month to be 59 days. 
Hence it is that they have hollow and full months alternately, 
namely because the two-months period according to the moon is 
59 days. Therefore there are in the year six full and six hollow 
months. This then is the reason why they make the months full 
and hollow alternately.’ 


The octaéteris. 
Geminus’s account of the eight-years cycle follows directly on 


what he says of the supposed ancient system of alternating years 
of 12 and 13 months of 30 days each. 


‘Observation having speedily proved this procedure to be incon- 
sistent with the true facts, inasmuch as the days and the months 
did not agree with the moon nor the years keep pace with the sun, 
they sought for a period which should, as regards the years, agree 
with the sun, and, as regards the months and the days, with the 
moon, and should contain a whole number of months, a whole 
number of days, and a whole number of years. The first period 
they constructed was the period of the octaéteris (or eight years) 
which contains 99 months, of which three are intercalary, 2922 days, 
and 8 years. And they constructed it in this way. Since the year 
according to the sun has 365% days, and the year according to the 
moon 354 days, they took the excess by which the year according 
to the sun exceeds the year according to the moon. This is 114 
days. If then we reckon the months in the year according to the 
moon, we shall fall behind by 114 days in comparison with the solar 
year. They inquired therefore how many times this number of 
days must be multiplied in order to complete a whole number 
of days and a whole number of months. Now the number [114] 
multiplied by 8 makes 90 days, that is, three months. Since thén 
we fall behind by 113 days in the year in comparison with the sun, 
it is manifest that in 8 years we shall fall behind by 90 days, that 
is, by 3 months, in comparison with the sun. Accordingly, in each 
period of 8 years, three intercalary (ἐμβόλιμοι) months are reckoned, 
in order that the deficiency which arises in each year in comparison 
with the sun may be made good, and so, when 8 years have passed 
from the beginning of the period, the festivals are again brought 
into accord with the seasons in the year. When this system is 
followed, the sacrifices will always be offered to the gods at the 
_ same seasons of the year. 4 


1 Geminus, Jsagoge, c. 8. 34-5, pp. 112. 28 -- 114. 7. 


“88 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES parti 


‘ They now disposed the intercalary months in such a way as to 
spread them as nearly as possible evenly. For we must not wait 
until the divergence from the observed phenomena amounts to 
a whole month, nor yet must we get a whole month ahead of the © 
sun’s course. Accordingly they decided to introduce the inter- 
calary months in the third, fifth, and eighth years, so that two of 
the said months were in years following two ordinary years, and 
only one followed after an interval of one year! But it is a matter 
of indifference if, while preserving the same disposition of (i.e. inter- 
vals between) the intercalary months, you put them in other years.’* 


Here then we have an account which purports to show how the 
octaéteris was first arrived at, the supposition being that it was 
based on a solar year of 365% days, Ginzel, however, thinks it 
impossible that this can have been the real method, because the 
evaluation of the solar year at 365% days could hardly have been 
known to the Greeks of, say, the 9th and 8th centuries B.C. ; this, 
he thinks, is proved by the erroneous estimates of the length of the 
solar year which continued to be put forward much later. 

Ginzel considers that the octaéteris was first evolved as the result 
of observation of the moon’s motion, which was of course easier to 
approximate to within a reasonable time. The alternation of 6 full 
with 6 hollow months gives a moon-year of 354 days; but the true 
moon-year exceeds this by 0-36707 day, and hence, after about 23 
moon-years, a day would have to be added in order to keep the 
months in harmony with the phases; that is to say, at such inter- 
vals, there would have to be a year of 355 days. Now this rate 
of intercalation corresponds nearly to the addition of 3 days in 
a period of 8 moon-years, i.e. to a cycle of 8 moon-years in which 
5 have 354, and 3 have 355 days, each. (And, as a matter of fact, 
the same proportion of 5 : 3 serves very roughly to bring the moon- 
year into agreement with the solar year, for we have only to reckon, 
in a cycle of 8 solar years, 5 moon-years of 354 days and 3 of 
384 days.)* Ginzel cites evidence showing that particular years 
actually had 355 days and 384 days, e.g. Ol. 88, 3 = 355 days, 
Ol. 88, 4 = 354 days, Ol. 89, 1 = 384 days, and Ol. 89, 2 = 355 


1 8¢ ἣν αἰτίαν τοὺς ἐμβολίμους μῆνας ἔταξαν ἄγεσθαι ἐν τῷ τρίτῳ ἔτει καὶ πέμπτῳ 
καὶ ὀγδόῳ, δύο μὲν μῆνας μεταξὺ δύο ἐτῶν πιπτόντων, ἕνα δὲ μεταξὺ ἐνιαυτοῦ ἑνὸς 
ἀγομένου. } 

2 Geminus, /sagoge 8. 26-33, pp. 110. 14 -- 112. 27. 8 Ginzel, ii. 330-1. 








ee 





CH. XIX THE OCTAETERIS ὁ 289 


days. The method by which the octaéterts was evolved is, he thinks, 
something of this sort. Having from observation of the moon con- 
structed an 8-years period containing 5 moon-years of 354 days and 
3 intercalated years of 355 days each, making a total of 2,835 days, 
the Greeks, by further continual observation directed to fixing the 
duration of the phases exactly, would at last come to notice that, 


after 8 returns of the sun to the same azimuth-point on the horizon, 


the phases fell nearly on the same days once more, and also that the 
sun returned to the same azimuth-point for the eighth time after about 
99 lunar months. Now, if the ancients had divided the 2,835 days of 


_ 8 moon-years by οὔ, they would have found the average lunar month 
_ to contain 2937 days ; and again, if they had multiplied this by 99, 
_ they would have obtained 2,92335 or nearly 2,9235 days. But the 


< 


first inventors of the octaéteris certainly did not make the 8 solar years 
contain 2,9235 days; this, we are told, was a later improvement on 
the 2,922 days which, according to Geminus, the first octaéteris con- 
tained. No doubt the first discoverers of it would notice that 99 
times 293 days is 2,9204 days, that is to say, approximately 8 years 
of 365 days (= 2,920 days). This may have been what led them 
to construct a luni-solar octaéteris. But why did they give it 2,922 
days? Ginzel suggests that, as the octaéteris was thus shown to be 
very useful for the purpose of bringing into harmony the motions 
of the sun and moon, the Greeks would be encouraged to try to 
obtain a more accurate estimate of the average length of the lunar 
month. If then, for example, they had assumed 293§ days as the 
average length, they would have found, at the end of an octaéteris, 
that they were only wrong by 0-3 of a day relatively to the moon, 
but were nearly two days ahead in relation to.the sun.* This 
might perhaps lead them to conjecture that the solar year was 
a little longer than 365 days; and they may have hit upon 3653 
days by a sort of guess. This would give 293$ days as the length 
of the lunar month. Ginzel thinks that the gradual process by 
which the Greeks arrived at the 2,922 days may have lasted from 
the 9th or 8th century into the 7th.* This, he suggests, may explain 


1 Ginzel, ii. 341-3. 
2 2046 x 99 = 2923-8 days (against 2923-528, the correct figure) ; 8 solar years 


have 8 x 365-2422 = 2921-938 days. 


* Ginzel, ii. 376, 377. 


1410 U 


290 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES Parti 


the fact that we find mentions or indications of eight-years periods 
going back as far as the mythical age. Thus Cadmus passed an 
‘eternal’ (ἀΐδιος) year (i.e. says Ginzel, an 8-year year) in servitude 
for having slain the dragon of Ares ; similarly Apollo served 8 years 
with Admetus after he killed the dragon Python. The Daphne- 
phoria were celebrated every 8 years; in the procession connected 
with the celebration an olive staff was carried with a sphere above 
(the sun), a smaller one below (the moon), and still smaller spheres 
representing other stars, while 365 purple bands or ribbons were 
also attached, representing the days of the solar year. The Pythian 
games were also, at the beginning, eight-yearly. Kingships were 
offices held for eight years (thus Minos spoke with Zeus, the great 
God, ‘nine-yearly’).1 According to Plutarch the heaven was 
observed at Sparta by the Ephors on a clear night once in eight 
years.” These cases, however, though showing that 8-years periods — 
were recognized and used in various connexions, scarcely suffice, I 
think, to prove the existence in such very early times of an accu- 
rately measured period of 2,922 days, Ginzel, in arguing for so 
early a discovery of the octaéteris of 2,922 days, departs consider- 
ably from the views of earlier authorities on chronology. Boeckh 
thought that the octaéferis was introduced by Solon, and that the — 
first such period actually began with the beginning of the year at 
the first new moon after the summer solstice in Ol. 46, 3, i.e. 7th 
July, 594 B.c.° As regards the period before Solon, Boeckh went, 
it is true, so far as to suggest that, as early as 642 B.C., there may 
have been a rough octaéteris in vogue which was not actually fixed 
or exactly observed ; this, however, was only a conjecture. Ideler+ 
argued that the octaéteris could not be as old as Solon’s time 
(594/3 B.C.) or even as old as Ol. 59 (544-540), because so accurate 
a conception is in too strong a contrast to what we know of the 
state of astronomical knowledge in Greece at that time. As regards 
Solon’s reforms, we are told ὅ that he prescribed that the day in the 

1 Odyssey xix. 178, 179. * Plutarch, Agis, c. 11. 

8 The practice of beginning the year in the summer (with the month 
Hecatombaion) is proved by Boeckh to have existed during the whole of the 
fifth century. It was probably much older in Attica; the transition (if the Attic 
year previously began in the winter) may have taken effect in the time of Solon. 

* Ideler, Historische Untersuchungen uber die astronomischen Beobachtungen 


der Alten, p. 191. 
® Plutarch, So/on, c. 25. 











‘CH. XIX THE OCTAETERIS 291 


course of which the actual conjunction at the new moon took place 
should be called ἕνη καὶ νέα, the ‘last and new’ or ‘old-new’, 
and that he called the following day νουμηνία (new moon), which 
therefore was the first day belonging wholly to the new month. 
Diogenes Laertius says that Solon taught the Athenians ‘to 
reckon the days according to the moon’ ;! and Theodorus Gaza, 
a late writer, it is true, says that Solon ‘ordered everything in 
connexion with the year generally better’.2 Boeckh, as already 
stated, thought that Solon’s reform consisted in the introduc- 
tion of the octazteris. Ginzel, however, holding as he does that 
the octaéteris of 2,922 days was discovered much earlier, considers 
that Solon’s reform had to do with the improvement on this 
figure by which 99 lunations were found to amount to 2,923% 
days, a discovery which led to the formulation of the 16-years and 
160-years periods presently to be mentioned ; this may be inferred, 
according to Ginzel, from the fact that the accounts show Solon’s 
object to have been the bringing of the calendar specially into 
accordance with the moon. But it is difficult to accept Ginzel’s 
view of the nature of Solon’s reform in the face of another statement 
as to the authors of the octaéteris. Cemsorinus says: 

‘This octaéteris is commonly attributed to Eudoxus, but others 
say that Cleostratus of Tenedos first framed it, and that it was 
modified afterwards by others who put forward their octaéterides 
with variations in the intercalations of the months, as did Harpalus, 
Nauteles, Menestratus, and others also, among whom is Dositheus, 
who is most generally identified with the octaéteris of Eudoxus.’* 

Now we know nothing of the date of Cleostratus, except that 
he came after Anaximander; for Pliny says that Anaximander is 
credited by tradition with having discovered the obliquity of the 
zodiac in Ol. 58 (548-544 B.C.), after which (ἐσίγα) Cleostratus 
distinguished the signs in it.* Thus Cleostratus may have lived 
soon after 544B.C. Ginzel seems to admit that Cleostratus was 
the actual founder (‘eigentliche Begriinder’) of the octaéteris.5 Of 
Harpalus, who was later than Cleostratus but before Meton 
(432 B.C.), we only know that he formed a period which brought 
the moon into agreement with the sun after the latter had revolved 


1 Diog. L. i. §9. ; 
3 Theodorus Gaza, c. 8 and 15. * Censorinus, De die natali, 18. 5. 
* Pliny, NV. HZ. ii. c. 8, ὃ 31. 5 Ginzel, ii, p. 385. 


U2 


202 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES ΡΑΚΤῚ 


‘through nine winters’,) which statement must, as Ideler says, be 
due to a misapprehension of the meaning of the words ‘ nono quoque 
anno’. According to Censorinus, Harpalus made the solar year 
consist of 365 days and 13 equinoctial hours.?, Eudoxus’s variation 
will be mentioned later. 


The 16-years and 160-years cycles. 


After describing the octaéteris of 2,922 days, Geminus proceeds 
thus: 


‘If now it had only been necessary for us to keep in agreement 
with the solar years, it would have sufficed to use the aforesaid 
period in order to be in agreement with the phenomena. But as we 
must not only reckon the years according to the sun, but also the 
days and months according to the moon, they considered how this 
also could be achieved. Thus the lunar month, accurately measured, 
having 294 35 days, while the octaéteris contains, with the inter- 
calary months, 99 months in all, they multiplied the 294 34 days of 
the month by the 99 months; the result is 2,9234 days. Therefore 
in eight solar years there should be reckoned 2,929} days according 
to the moon. But the solar year has 3654 days, and eight solar 
years contain 2922 days, this being the number of days obtained by 
multiplying by 8 the number of days in the year. Inasmuch then 
as we found the number of days according to the moon which are 
contained in the 8 years to be 2,923%, we shall, in each octaéteris, 
fall behind by 14 days in comparison with the moon. Therefore in 
16 years we shall be behind by 3 days in comparison with the 
moon. It follows that in each period of 16 years three days have 
to be added, having regard to the moon’s motion, in order that we 
may reckon the years according to the sun, and the months 
and days according to the moon. But, when this correction is 
made, another error supervenes. For the three days according to 
the moon which are added in the 16 years give, in ten periods 
of 16 years, an excess (with reference to the sun) of 30 days, that is 
to say, a month. Consequently, at intervals of 160 years, one of 
the intercalary months is omitted from (one of) the octaéterides ; 
that is, instead of the three (intercalary) months which fall to be 
reckoned in the eight years, only two are actually introduced. 
Hence, when the month is thus eliminated, we start again in agree- 
ment with the moon as regards the months and days, and with the 
sun as regards the years.’ * 

1 Festus Avienus, Prognost. 41, quoted by Ideler, op. cit., p. 191. 


? Censorinus, De die natali, 19. 2. 
5 Geminus, /sagoge, 8. 36-41, pp. 114. 8-116, 15. 








Sa er ee τατον" 


CH. XIX METON’S CYCLE 293 


This passage explains itself; it is only necessary to add that 
there is no proof that the 16-years period was actually used. The 
160-years period was, however, presupposed in Eudoxus’s octaéteris, 
the first of which, according to Boeckh, may have begun in 381 or 
373 B.C. (Ol. 99, 4 or Ol. 101, 4) on 22/23 July, the ‘first day of 
Leo’, i.e. the day on which the sun entered the sign of Leo; the 
effect was that, after 20 octaéterides and the dropping of 30 days, 
the beginning of the solar year was again on ‘the first of Leo’. 
In Eudoxus’s system, then, the luni-solar reckoning was independent 
of the solstices.1 According to the Eudoxus-Papyrus (Ars Eudoxi) 
the intercalary months came in the 3rd, 6th, and 8th years of 
Eudoxus's octaéteris. 

Meton’s cycle. 

Curiously enough, Meton is not mentioned by Geminus as the 
author of the I9-years cycle; his connexion with it is, however, 
clearly established by other evidence. Diodorus has the following 
remark with regard to the year of the archonship of Apseudes 
(Ol. 86, 4 = 433/2 B.C.). 

‘In Athens Meton, the son of Pausanias, and famous in astro- 
nomy, put forward the so-called 19-years period (ἐννεακαιδεκα- 
ernpida); he started (ἀρχὴν ποιησάμενος) from the 13th of the 
Athenian month Skirophorion.’? 

Aelian says that Meton discovered the Great Year, and ‘ reckoned 
it at τὸ years’,® and also that ‘the astronomer Meton erected 
pillars and noted on them the solstices’. Censorinus, too, says that 
Meton constructed a Great Year of 19 years, which was accordingly 
called exneadecaeteris* Euctemon, whom Geminus does mention, : 
assisted Meton in the matter of this cycle. 

Geminus’s account of the cycle shall be quoted in full: 

‘Accordingly, as the octaéteris was found to be in all respects 
incorrect, the astronomers Euctemon, Philippus, and Callippus [the 
phrase is of περὶ Εὐκτήμονα xré., as usual] constructed another 
period, that of 19 years. For they found by observation that in 19 
years there were contained 6940 days and 235 months, including 


the intercalary months, of which, in the 19 years, there are 7. 
[According to this reckoning the year comes to have 36 5τ5 days.] 


1 Boeckh, Ueber die vierjahrigen Sonnenkreise der Alten, 1863, pp. 159-56. 
2 Diodorus Siculus, xii. 36. 3. Aelian, V. H. x. 7. 
* Censorinus, De die natalz, 18. 8. 


204 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES parti 


And of the 235 months they made rio hollow and 125 full, so that 
hollow and full months did not always follow one another alter- 
nately, but sometimes there would be two full months in succession. 
For the natural course of the phenomena in regard to the moon 
admits of this, whereas there was no such thing in the octaéteris. 
And they included 110 hollow months in the 235 months for the 
following reason. As there are 235 months in the 19 years, they 
began by assuming each of the months to have 30 days; this gives 
7,050 days: Thus, when all the months are taken at 30 days, the 
7,050 days are in excess of the 6,940 days; the difference is (110 
days), and accordingly they make 110 months hollow in order to 
complete, in the 235 months, the 6,940 days of the 19-years period. 
But, in order that the days to be eliminated might be distributed as 
evenly as possible, they divided the 6,940 days by 110; this gives 
63 days.! It is necessary therefore to eliminate the [one] day after 
intervals of 63 days in this cycle. Thus it is not always the 30th 
day of the month which is eliminated, but it is the day falling after 
each interval of 63 days which is called ἐξαιρέσιμος. ἢ 


The figure of 3655; days = 365 days 6" 18™ 56-98, and is still 30 


minutes 11 seconds too long in comparison with the mean tropic — 


year; but the mean lunar month of Meton is 29 days 12° 45™ 573%, 
which differs from the true mean lunar month by not quite 1 minute 
54 seconds. When Diodorus says that, in putting forward his 19- 
years cycle, Meton started from the 13th of Skirophorion (which 
was the 13th of the last month of Apseudes’ year=27th June, 432), 
he does not mean that the first year of the period began on that 
date; this would have been contrary to the established practice. 
The beginning of the first year (the 1st Hekatombaion of that year) 
would be the day of the first visibility of the new moon next after 
the summer solstice, i.e. in this case 16th July, 432. The 13th 
Skirophorion was the day of the solstice, and we have several 
allusions to Meton’s observation of this;* presumably, therefore, 


1 What should really have been done is to divide 7,050 by 110; this would 
give 64 as quotient, and the result would be that every 64th day would have to 
be eliminated, i.e. the day following successive intervals of 63 days. This fact 


would easily cause 63 to be substituted for the quotient, and this would lead to. 


6,940 being taken as the number to be divided by 110. 

3. Geminus, J/sagoge, c. 8. 50-6, pp. 120. 4-122. 7. 

5. Philochorus (Schol. ad Aristoph. Aves 997) says that, under Apseudes, 
Meton of Leuconoé erected a e/iotropion near the wall of the Pnyx, and it was 
doubtless there that he observed the solstice. Ptolemy says of this observation 
that it was on the 21st of the Egyptian month Phamenoth in Apseudes’ 
year (Syntaxis, iii. 2, vol. i, p. 205, Heib.), “This is confirmed by the discovery 








1 tite μδ. 


CH. XIX CALLIPPUS'S CYCLE __ 295 


Diodorus meant, not that the first year of Meton’s cycle began on 
that day, but that it was on that day that Meton began his para- 
pegma (or calendar).1 Ginzel? gives full details of the many divergent 
views as to the date from which Meton’s cycle was actually intro- 
duced at Athens. Boeckh put it in ΟἹ. 112, 3 = 330/29 B.C., Unger 
between Ol. 109, 3 (342/1 B.C.) and Ol. 111, 1 (336/5 B.C.). Schmidt 
holds that Meton’s cycle was introduced in 342 B.C., but in a 
modified form. The 235 months of the 19-years cycle contained, 
according to the true mean motion of the moon, 235 x 29-53059 days, 
or 6,939 days and about 163 hours. Consequently after 4 cycles 
there was an excess of four times the difference between 6,940 days 
and 6,939 days 16% hours, or an excess of 1 day 6 hours; after 10 
cycles an excess of 3 days 3 hours, and so on. The Athenians, 
therefore, according to Schmidt, struck out one day in the 4th, 7th, 
10th, 13th, 16th, 2oth, and 23rd cycles, making these cycles 6,939 
days each. But, as Ginzel points out, the confusions in the calendar 
which occurred subsequently tell against the supposition that such 
a principle as that assumed by Schmidt was steadily followed in 
Athens from 342 B.C. 


Callippus’s cycle of 76 years. 


Geminus follows up his explanation with regard to the Metonic 
cycle thus: 


‘In this cycle [the Metonic] the months appear to be correctly 
taken, and the intercalary months to be distributed so as to secure 
agreement with the phenomena; but the length of the year as 
taken is not in agreement with the phenomena. For the length of 
the year is admitted, on the basis of observations extending over © 
many years, to contain 365% days, whereas the year which is 
obtained from the 19-year period has 365°; days, which number of 


of a fragment of a Jarafegma at Miletus which alludes to the same observation 
of the summer solstice on 13th Skirophorion or 2Ist Phamenoth, and adds that 
in the year of ...«vxros the solstice fell on 14th Skirophorion or the Egyptian 
11th Payni. Diels showed from another fragment that the archon must have 
been Polykleitos (110/109 B.c.), so that the second observation of the solstice 
mentioned in the fragment must have been on 27th June, 109, i.e. in the last 
(19th) year of the 17th Metonic cycle (Ginzel, ii, pp. 423, 424). 

1 The παράπηγμα was a posted record (παραπήγνυμι), a sort of almanac giving, 
for a series of years, the movements of the sun, the dates of the phases of the 
moon, the risings and settings of certain stars, besides ἐπισημασίαι or weather 
indications. 

2 Ginzel, op. cit., ii. 418, 430, 431, 442 sqq. 


296 GREEK MONTHS, YEARS, AND CYCLES Parti 


days exceeds 365% by gth of a day. On this ground Callippus and 
the astronomers of his school corrected this excess of a (fraction of 
a) day and constructed the 76-years period (ἑκκαιεβδομηκονταετη- 
ρίδα) out of four periods of 19 years, which contain in all 940 
months, including 28 intercalary, and 27,759 days. They adopted 
the same arrangement of the intercalary months. And this period 
appears to agree the best of all with the observed phenomena.’ 


With Meton’s year of 3653 4, days (6,940 divided by 19), four 
periods of 19 years amount of course to 27,760 days, and the effect 
of Callippus’s change was to reduce this number of days by one. 
27,759 days divided by 940 gives, for the mean lunar month, 29 
days 125 44™ 252°, only 22 seconds in excess of the true mean 
length. — 

Callippus was probably born about 370 B.C.; he came to Athens 
about 334 B.C.; the first year of the first of his cycles of 76 years 
was Ol. 112, 3 = 330/29 B.C., and probably began on the 29th or 
28th of June. His cycles never apparently came into practical use, 
but they were employed by individual astronomers or chronologists 
for fixing dates; Ptolemy, for example, gives various dates both » 
according to Egyptian reckoning and in terms of Callippic cycles.* 


Hipparchus’s cycle. 


It is only necessary to add that yet another improvement was 
made by Hipparchus about 125 B.c. Ptolemy says of him: 


‘ Again, in his work on intercalary months and days, after pre- 
mising that the length of the year is, according to Meton and 
Euctemon, 365% τῆς days, and according to Callippus 3653 days 
only, he continues in these words: “We find that the number of 
whole months contained in the 19 years is the same as they make 
it, but that the year in actual fact contains less by 335th of a day 
than the odd 4 of a day which they give it, so that in 300 years 
there is a deficiency, in comparison with Meton’s figure, of 5 days, 
and in comparison with Callippus’s figure, of one day.” Then, 
summing up his own views in the course of the enumeration of his 
own works, he says: “I have also discussed the length of the year 
in one book, in which I prove that the solar year—that is, the 
length of time in which the sun passes from a solstice to the same 


1 Geminus, /sagoge, 8. 57-60, p. 122. 8-23. 

2 Ptolemy, Syv/azxzs, iti. 1, vol. i, p. 196.6; iv. 11, vol. i, pp. 344. 14, 345. 
12, 346.14; v. 3, vol.i, p. 363. 16; vii. 3, vol. ii, pp. 25. 16, 28 12, 29. 13, 
32. 5. 











CH, XIX HIPPARCHUS’S CYCLE 297 


solstice again, or from an equinox to the same equinox—contains 
365 days and i, less very nearly 35th of a day and night, and not 
the exact 4 which the mathematicians suppose it to have in addition 
to the said whole number of days.”’? 


‘Censorinus gives Hipparchus’s period as 304 years, in which there 
are 112 intercalary months.* Presumably, therefore, Hipparchus 
took four times Callippus’s cycle (76 x 4= 304) and gave the period 
111,035 days instead of 111,036 (-- 27,759 Χ 4). This gives, as the 
length of the year, 365 days 5° 55™ 15°88, while 3654-335 days = 
365 days 5" 55™ 128, the excess over the true mean tropic year 
being about 64 minutes. The number of months in the 304 years 
is 304 X 12+28 x 4=3,760, whence the mean lunar month is, accord- 
ing to Hipparchus, 29 days 12" 44™ 23°, which is very nearly correct, 
being less than a second out in comparison with the present accepted 
figure of 29-53059 days! 


1 Ptolemy, Syztaxis, iii. 3, vol. i, pp. 207. 7 -- 208. 2. 
2 Censorinus, De die natali, 18. 9. 





PART II 


ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 
ON THE SIZES AND DISTANCES OF THE SUN 
AND MOON 


I 
ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 


WE are told that Aristarchus of Samos was a pupil of Strato 
of Lampsacus,' a natural philosopher of originality,2, who suc- 
ceeded Theophrastus as head of the Peripatetic school in 288 or 
287 B.C. and held that position for eighteen years. Two other 
facts enable us to fix Aristarchus’s date approximately. In 
281/280 B.C. he made an observation of the summer solstice ;* 
and the book in which he formulated his heliocentric hypothesis 
was published before the date of Archimedes’ Psammites or Sand- 
veckoner, a work written before 216 B.c. Aristarchus therefore 
probably lived czrca 310-230 B.C., that is, he came about 75 years 
later than Heraclides and was older than Archimedes by about 
25 years. ; 

Aristarchus was called ‘the mathematician’, doubtless in order 
to distinguish him from the many other persons of the same 
name; he is included by Vitruvius among the few great men who 
possessed an equally profound knowledge of all branches of science, 
geometry, astronomy, music, &c. ‘Men of this type are rare, 
men such as were, in times past, Aristarchus of Samos, Philolaus 
and Archytas of Tarentum, Apollonius of Perga, Eratosthenes 
of Cyrene, Archimedes and Scopinas of Syracuse, who left to 


? Aétius, i. 15. 5 (2. G. p. 313). 
3 Galen, Histor. Philos. 3 (D.G. p. 601. 1). 
® Ptolemy, Syzfazxis, iii, 2 (i, pp. 203, 206, ed. Heib.). 


300 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART IT 


posterity many mechanical and gnomonic appliances which they 
invented and explained on mathematical (lit. numerical) and natural 
principles.’! That Aristarchus was a very capable geometer is 
proved by his extant work Ox the sizes and distances of the ~ 
sun and moon, translated in this volume: in the mechanical line — 
he is credited with the discovery of an. improved sun-dial, the © 
so-called σκάφη, which had, not a plane, but a concave hemi- 
spherical surface, with a pointer erected vertically in the middle 
throwing shadows and so enabling the direction and the height 
of the sun to be read off by means of lines marked on the surface 
of the hemisphere. He also wrote on vision, light, and colours.’ 
His views on the latter subjects were no doubt largely influenced 
by his master Strato; thus Strato held that colours were emanations 
from bodies, material molecules, as it were, which imparted to ~ 
the intervening air the same colour as that possessed by the body,* — 
while Aristarchus said that colours are ‘ shapes or forms stamping 
the air with impressions like themselves as it were’,® that ‘colours — 
in darkness have no colouring’,® and that light is ‘ the colour 
impinging on a substratum’.’ It does not appear that Strato ~ 
can be credited with any share in his astronomical discoveries: 
of Strato we are only told (1) that, like Metrodorus before him, 
he held that the stars received their light from the sun (Metrodorus — 
alleged this of ‘all the fixed stars’, and it is not stated that Strato — 
made any limitation);* (2) that he held a comet to be ‘the light — 
of a star enclosed in a thick cloud, just as happens with λαμπτῆρες 
(torches) ’;® (3) that, like Parmenides and Heraclitus, he considered — 
the heaven to be of fire;!° (4) that he regarded time as ‘quantity — 
in (i.e. expressed by) things in motion and at rest’; (5) that 
he said the divisions of the universe were without limit;’ and — 
(6) that he maintained that there was no void outside the universe, — 
though there might be within it. 





1 Vitruvius, De architectura, i. τ. τό, 3 Ibid. ix. 8 (9). I. 
3. Aét. i, 15. 5 (2. G. p. 313), iv. 13. 8 (D. G. pp. 404 and 853). 

_* Aét. iv. 13. 7 (D. G. p. 403). 
δ Ibid. iv. ἦς (D. G. pp. 404 and 853). 


“δ Ibid. i. 15. 9 (D. G. p. 314). Τ Ibid. i. 15. 5 (2. G. p. 313). 
8 Ibid. ii. 17. 1-2 (D. δ, p- 346). 9. Ibid. iii. 2. 4 (D. G. p. 366). 
30 Ibid. ii. 11. 4 (D. G. p. 340). 1. hid. i. 22. 4 (D. G. p. 318). 


1 Epiphanius, Adv. haeres. iii. 33 (D. G. p. 592). 
8 Aét, i. 18, 4 (2. G. p. 316). 


cH.I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS δ 301 


The Heliocentric Hypothesis. 
There is not the slightest doubt that Aristarchus was the first to put 


_ forward the heliocentric hypothesis. Ancient testimony is unanimous 


_ on the point, and the first witness is Archimedes, who was a younger 


contemporary of Aristarchus, so that there was no possibility of 


a mistake. Copernicus himself admitted that the theory was 
_ attributed to Aristarchus, though this does not seem to be generally 


known. Thus Schiaparelli quotes two passages from Copernicus’s 


work in which he refers to the opinions of the ancients about the 


- motion besides rotation, namely revolution in an orbit i 


motion of the earth. One is in the dedicatory letter to Pope 
Paul III, where Copernicus mentions that he first found out from 
Cicero that one Nicetas (1.6. Hicetas) had attributed motion to the 


earth, and that he afterwards read in Plutarch that certain others 


held that opinion; he then quotes the /%acifa, according to 
which ‘ Philolaus the Pythagorean asserted that the earth moved 
round the fire in an oblique circle, in the same way as the sun 
and moon’! The other passage is in Book I, c. 5, where, after 
an allusion to the views of Heraclides, Ecphantus, Nicetas 
(Hicetas), who made the earth rotate about its own 
centre of the universe, he goes on to say that it woul 







 ‘atque etiam (terram) pluribus motibus vagantem et unam ex astris 
 Philolaus Pythagoricus sensisse fertur, Mathematicus non vulgaris.’ 
_ Here, however, there is no question of the earth revolving round the 
 sun,and there is no mention of Aristarchus. But it is a curious fact 
_ that Copernicus did mention the theory of Aristarchus in a passage 
_ which he afterwards suppressed: ‘Credibile est hisce similibusque 


causis Philolaum mobilitatem terrae sensisse, quod etiam nonnulli 


 Aristarchum Samium ferunt in eadem fuisse sententia.’? 


I will now quote the whole passage of Archimedes in which 


the allusion to Aristarchus’s heliocentric hypothesis occurs, in order 


to show the whole context.® 


1 Ps. Plutarch, De plac. phil.= Aé&t. iii. 13. 2 (D. G. p. 378). 

2 De Revolutionibus Caelestibus, ed. Thorun., 1873, p. 34 note, quoted in 
Gomperz, Griechische Denker, i*, p. 432. 

3 Archimedes, ed. Heiberg, vol. ii, p. 244 (Avenarius 1. 4-7); The Works of 
Archimedes, ed. Heath, pp. 221, 222. 


302 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


‘You are aware [‘you’ being King Gelon] that “universe” is 
the name given by most astronomers to the sphere, the centre 
of which is the centre of the earth, while its radius is equal to 
the straight line between the centre of the sun and the centre of 
the earth. This is the common account (τὰ γραφόμενα), as you 
have heard from astronomers. But Aristarchus brought out a do0k 
consisting of certain hypotheses, wherein it appears, as a con- 
sequence of the assumptions made, that the universe is many 
times greater than the ‘ universe” just mentioned. His hypotheses 
are that the fixed stars and the sun remain unmoved, that the 
earth revolves about the sun tn the circumference of a circle, the 
sun lying tn the middle of the orbit, and that the sphere of the fixed 
stars, situated about the same centre as the sun, is so great that 
the circle in which he supposes the earth to revolve bears such 
a proportion to the distance of the fixed stars as the centre of 
the sphere bears to its surface. Now it is easy to see that this is 
impossible ; for, since the centre of the sphere has no magnitude, 
We cannot conceive it to bear any ratio whatever to the surface 
of the sphere. We must, however, take Aristarchus to mean this: 
since we conceive the earth to be, as it were, the centre of the 
universe, the ratio which the earth bears to what we describe as 
the “universe” is equal to the ratio which the sphere containing 
the circle in which he supposes the earth to revolve bears to the 
sphere of the fixed stars. For he adapts the proofs of the pheno- 
mena to a hypothesis of this kind, and in particular he appears 
to suppose the size of the sphere in which he makes the earth 


7} 


move to be equal to what we call the “ universe”. 


We shall come back to the latter part of this passage ; at present 
we are concerned only with the italicized words. The heliocentric 
hypothesis is stated in language which leaves no room for dispute 
as to its meaning. The sun, like the fixed stars, remains unmoved 
and forms the centre of a circular orbit in which the earth revolves 
round 1:1 the sphere of the fixed stars has its centre at the 


1 There is only one slight awkwardness in the language. The sentence is 
ὑποτίθεται yap τὰ μὲν ἀπλανέα τῶν ἄστρων καὶ τὸν ἅλιον μένειν ἀκίνητον, τὰν δὲ γᾶν 
περιφέρεσθαι περὶ τὸν ἅλιον κατὰ κύκλου περιφέρειαν, ὅς ἐστιν ἐν μέσῳ τῷ δρόμῳ 
κείμενος, and it would be natural to suppose that the relative ὅς would refer to 
the masculine substantive nearest to it, 1.6. κύκλου, ‘circle,’ rather than τὸν ἅλιον, 
‘the sun’; but ‘ which is situated in the middle of the (earth’s) course’ cannot 
possibly refer to the circle, i.e. to the course itself, and must refer to the sun. 
The awkwardness suggested to Bergk (Fiinf Abhandlungen, 1883, p. 162) that 
Archimedes wrote és ἐστιν ἐν μέσῳ τῷ οὐρανῷ, ‘which is in the middle of the 
heaven’ This would enable ὅς to refer to the ‘ circle’, but there seems to be no 
sufficient ground for changing the reading δρόμῳ. 


CH.I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 303 


centre of the sun. But a question arises as to the form in which 
Aristarchus’s hypotheses were given out. The expression used 
by Archimedes is ὑποθεσίων τινῶν ἐξέδωκεν γραφάς, ‘put out 
ypagai of certain hypotheses.’ I take it in the sense of bringing 
out a tract or tracts consisting of or stating certain hypotheses ; 
for one of the meanings of the word γραφή is a ‘writing’ or 
a written ‘description’. Heiberg takes γραφαί in this sense, but 
regards ὑποθεσίων as the title of the book (‘ libros quosdam edidit, 
qui hypotheses inscribuntur’?). Hultsch,? however, takes γραφαί 
in its other possible sense of ‘drawings’ or figures constructed 
to represent the hypotheses; and Schiaparelli* suggests that the 
word γραφή here used seems not only to signify a verbal description 
but to include also the idea of explanatory drawings. I agree 
that it is probable enough that Aristarchus’s tract or tracts included 
geometrical figures illustrating the hypotheses, but I still think 
that the word γραφαί here does not itself mean ‘figures’ but 
means written statements of certain hypotheses. This seems to 
me clear from the words immediately following γραφάς, namely 
ἐν ais ἐκ τῶν ὑποκειμένων συμβαίνει x.7.é., ‘7m which it results 
from the assumptions made that the universe is many times greater 


than our “universe” above mentioned’; ‘in which’ can only refer 


to γραφάς or ὑποθεσίων, and it cannot refer to ὑποθεσίων because 
what /o/ows from the assumptions made cannot be zz those 
assumptions which are nothing but the hypotheses themselves; 
therefore ‘in which’ refers to γραφάς, but a result following from 
assumptions does not follow zz figures illustrating those assump- 
tions but in the course of a description of them or an argument 
about them. The words ‘in which it results . . .’ also show clearly 
enough that the tract or tracts did not merely state the hypothesis 
but also included some kind of geometrical proof. I need only 


1 Archimedes, ed. Heiberg, vol. ii, p. 245. 
3 Hultsch, art. ‘Aristarchus’ in Pauly-Wissowa’s Real-Encyclopéddie, ii, p. 875. 
* Schiaparelli, Origine del sistema planetario eliocentrico presso 2 Grect, p. 95. 
* Bergk (Fiinf Abhandlungen, p. 160) thinks that ‘ γραφάς cannot be taken as 
synonymous with γράμματα : this would be a somewhat otiose circumlocution : 
but it means the “ outline” {Umriss), like xaraypagy. Archimedes chooses this 
expression because Aristarchus had rather indicated his hypotheses than worked 
them out and established them.’ I do not think this inference necessary ; 
is may be quite colourless without being otiose, a sufficient reason for its 
insertion being the fact that some word other than ὑποθεσίων is necessary as an 


804 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


add that there are other cases of the use of γραφή in the sense 
of ‘writing’; cf. an expression in Eutocius, ‘I have come across 
writings (γραφαῖς) of many famous men which give this problem’ 
[that of the two mean proportionals].! 

Our next evidence is a passage of Plutarch : 


‘Only do not, my good fellow, enter an action against me for 
impiety in the style of Cleanthes, who thought it was the duty 
of Greeks to indict Aristarchus of Samos on the charge of impiety 
for putting in motion the Hearth of the Universe, this being the 
effect of his attempt to save the phenomena by supposing the 
heaven to remain at rest and the earth to revolve in an oblique 
circle, while it rotates, at the same time, about its own axis.’ ‘ 


Here we have the additional detail that Aristarchus followed 
Heraclides in attributing to the earth the daily rotation about its 
axis; Archimedes does not state this in so many words, but it 
is clearly involved by his remark that Aristarchus supposed that 
the fixed stars as well as the sun remain unmoved in space. When 
Plutarch makes Cleanthes say that Aristarchus ought to be indicted 
for the impiety of ‘ putting the Hearth of the Universe in motion’, 


he is probably quoting the exact words used by Cleanthes, who » 


doubtless had in mind the passage in Plato’s Phaedrus where 
‘Hestia abides alone in the House of the Gods’. A similar ex- 
pression is quoted by Theon of Smyrna from Dercyllides, who 
‘says that we must suppose the earth, the Hearth of the House 
of the Gods according to Plato, to remain fixed, and the planets 
with the whole embracing heaven to move, and rejects with 
abhorrence the view of those who have brought to rest the things 
which move and set in motion the things which by their nature and 
position are unmoved, such a supposition being contrary to the 
hypotheses of mathematics’;* the allusion here is equally to 
Aristarchus, though his name is not mentioned. A tract ‘ Against 
Aristarchus’ is mentioned by Diogenes Laertius among Cleanthes’ 
works; and it was evidently published during Aristarchus’s lifetime 
(Cleanthes died about 232 B.C.). 

antecedent to the relative sentence ‘7m which it follows from the assumptions 
made, ἄς. 

1 Archimedes, ed. Heiberg, vol. iii, p. 66. 9. 


3 Plutarch, De facie in orbe lunae, c. 6, pp. 922 F — 923A. 
8 Theon of Smyrna, p. 200, 7-12, ed. Hiller. 


“- 


CH. I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 305 


Other passages bearing on our present subject are the fol- 
lowing. 
‘ Aristarchus sets the sun among the fixed stars and holds that 


the earth moves round the sun’s circle (i.e. the ecliptic) and is put in 
shadow according to its (i.e. the earth’s) inclinations.’* 


One of the two versions of this passage has ‘¢he dzsc is put 
in shadow’, and it would appear, as Schiaparelli says, ‘that the 
words “the disc” were interpolated by some person who thought 
that the passage was an explanation of solar eclipses.’ It is indeed 
placed under the heading ‘Concerning the eclipse of the sun’ ; 
but this is evidently wrong, for we clearly have here in the 
concisest form an explanation of the phenomena of the seasons 
according to the system of Copernicus.” 


‘Yet those who did away with the motion of the universe and 
were of opinion that it is the earth which moves, as Aristarchus 
the mathematician held, are not on that account debarred from 
having a conception of time.”* 

‘Did Plato put the earth in motion, as he did the sun, the moon, 
and the five planets, which he called the instruments of time on 
account of their turnings, and was it necessary to conceive that the 
earth “ which is globed about the axis stretched from pole to pole 
through the whole universe” was not represented as being held 
together and at rest, but as turning and revolving (στρεφομένην 
καὶ ἀνειλουμένην), as Aristarchus and Seleucus afterwards main- 
tained that it did, the former stating this as only a hypothesis 
(ὑποτιθέμενος μόνον), the latter as a definite opinion (καὶ ἀπο- 
φαινόμενος) ὃ“ 

‘Seleucus the mathematician, who had written in opposition to 
the views of Crates, and who, himself too affirmed the earth’s motion, 
says that the revolution (περιστροφή) of the moon resists the rota- 
tion {and the motion]° of the earth, and, the air between the two 
bodies being diverted and falling upon the ng ocean, the sea 
is correspondingly agitated into waves.’® 


When Plutarch refers to Aristarchus as only putting forward the 
double motion of the earth as a yfotheszs, he must presumably 


1 Aét. ii. 24. 8 (D. G. p. 355. 1-5). 

3 Schiaparelli, 7 frecursori, Ὁ. 50. 

5 Sextus Empiricus, Adv. Mathematicos, x. 174, p. 512. 19, Bekker. 

* Plutarch, Plat. guaest, viii. 1, 1006 C. 

5 The Ps. Plutarch version has the words καὶ τῇ κινήσει; ‘and the motior,’ 
after αὐτῆς τῇ δίνῃ φησί; Stobaeus omits them, and has τῷ dive instead of τῇ δίνῃ. 

5. Aét. ili. 17. 9 (D. G. p. 383). 


1410 x 


306 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART IT 


be basing himself on nothing more than the word hyfotheses used 
by Archimedes, and his remark does not therefore exclude the 
possibility of Aristarchus having supported his hypothesis by some 
kind of argument ; nor can we infer from Plutarch that Seleucus 
went much further towards proving it. Plutarch says that 
Seleucus declared the hypothesis to be true (ἀποφαινόμενος), but 
it is not clear how he could have attempted to prove it. Schiapa- 
relli suggests that Aristarchus’s attitude may perhaps be explained 
on the basis of the difference between the rdles of the astronomer 
and the Zhyszczs¢ as distinguished by Geminus in the passage quoted 
above (pp. 275-6). Aristarchus, as the astronomer and mathe- 
matician, would only be concerned to put forward geometrical 
hypotheses capable of accounting for the phenomena; he may 
have left it to the physicists to say ‘which bodies ought from 
their nature to be at rest and which to move’. But this is only 
a conjecture. 

Seleucus, of Seleucia on the Tigris, is described by Strabo' as 
a Chaldaean or Babylonian; he lived about a century after Aris- 
tarchus and may have written about 150 B.C. The last of the 


above quotations is Aétius’s summary of his explanation of. 


the tides, a subject to which Seleucus had evidently given much 
attention ;* in particular, he controverted the views held on this 
subject by Crates of Mallos, the ‘grammarian’, who wrote on 
geography and other things, as well as on Homer. The other 
explanations of the tides summarized by Aétius include those of 
Aristotle and Heraclides, who sought the explanation in the sun, 
holding that the sun sets up winds, and that these winds, when 
they blow, cause the high tide and, when they cease, the low tide ; 
Dicaearchus who put the tides down to the direct action of the 
sun according to its position; Pytheas and Posidonius who con- 
nected them with the moon, the former directly, the latter through 
the setting up of winds; Plato who posited a certain general oscil- 
lation of the waters, which pass through a hole in the earth;* 
Timaeus who gave as the reason the unequal flow of rivers from 
the Celtic mountains into the Atlantic; then, immediately before 
Seleucus, are mentioned Crates ‘the grammarian’ and Apollo- 


2. Strabo, xvi. 1. 6, 1.1.9. ων tiie we 2 Cf, Strabo, iii. 5. Ὁ. 
. Phaedo R 


CH.I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS © 307 


dorus of Corcyra, the account of whose views is vague enough, 
the former attributing the tides to ‘the counter-movement (ἀντι- 
σπασμός) of the sea,”! and the latter to ‘the refluxes from the Ocean ’°. 
When Aétius adds, in introducing Seleucus’s views, that ‘he too 
made the earth move’, we should expect that he had just before 
mentioned some one else who had done the same. But Crates 
adhered to the old view and did not make the earth move ;? nor is 
there anything to suggest that Apollodorus attributed motion to 
the earth. Consequently Bergk supposes that, just before the 
‘notice of Seleucus’s explanation of the tides with reference to 
the earth’s motion, there must have been a notice of a different 
explanation of them by a person who also attributed motion to the 
earth, and that, as we know of no other person by name who 
adopted Aristarchus’s views, except Seleucus, the notice which has 
dropped out must have given a different explanation of the tides 
by Aristarchus himself? But, as the motion of the earth referred 
to in Seleucus’s explanation may be rotation only (δίνη or δῖνος), it 
seems possible that Heraclides (who made the earth rotate) is the 
other person referred to. in the collection of notices as having 
‘made the earth move’, although he is mentioned some way back, 
‘To judge by Seleucus’s explanation of the tides, he would seem to 
have supposed that the atmosphere about the earth extended as 
far as the moon and rotated with the earth in 24 hours, and that 
the resistance of the moon acted upon the rotating atmosphere 
either by virtue of the relative slowness of the moon’s revolution 
about the earth or of its motion perpendicular to the equator ;* 
Strabo tells us that Seleucus had discovered periodical inequalities 
in the flux and reflux of the Red Sea which he connected with the 
position of the moon in the zodiac. 

No one after Seleucus is mentioned by name as having accepted 
the doctrine of Aristarchus, and if other Greek astronomers refer to 
it, they do so only to denounce it, as witness Dercyllides.6 The 
rotation of the earth is, howeyer, mentioned as a possibility by 
Seneca. 


? Some details of Crates’ views are also given in Strabo, i. 1. 8. 
* Bergk (Fiinf Abhandlungen, p. 166) quotes from Strabo, i. 2. 24, the words 
τὴν πάροδον τοῦ ἡλίου. 3. Bergk, op. cit., p. 167. 
* Schiaparelli, 7 Zrecursori, p. 36. ® Strabo, iii. 5. 9. 
® Theon of Smyrna, p. 200. 7-12: see above (p. 304). 
xX 2 


308 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


‘It will be proper to discuss this, in order that we may know 
whether the universe revolves and the earth stands still, or the 
universe stands still and the earth rotates. For there have been 
those who asserted that it is we whom the order of nature causes to 
move without our being aware of it, and that risings and settings do 
not occur by virtue of the motion of the heaven, but that we ourselves 
rise and set. The subject is worthy of consideration, in order that 
we may know in what conditions we live, whether the abode allotted 
to us is the most slowly or the most quickly moving, whether God 
moves everything around us, or ourselves instead.’ ἢ 


Hipparchus, himself a contemporary of Seleucus, reverted to the 
geocentric system, and it was doubtless his great authority which 
sealed the fate of the heliocentric hypothesis for so many centuries. 
The reasons which weighed with Hipparchus were presumably (in 
addition to the general prejudice in favour of maintaining the earth 
in the centre of the universe) the facts that the system in which the 
earth revolved in a circle of which the sun was the exact centre 
failed to ‘save the phenomena’, and in particular to account for the 
variations of distance and the irregularities of the motions, which 
became more and more patent as methods of observation improved; 


that, on the other hand, the theory of epicycles did suffice to repre- Ὁ 


sent the phenomena with considerable accuracy ; and that the latter 
theory could be reconciled with the immobility of the earth. 

We revert now to the latter part of the passage quoted above 
from Archimedes, in which he comments upon the assumption of 
Aristarchus that the sphere of the fixed stars is so great that the 
ratio in which the earth’s orbit stands to the said sphere is such 
a ratio as that which the centre of the sphere bears to its surface. 
If this is taken in a strictly mathematical sense, it means of course 
that the sphere of the fixed stars is infinite in size, a supposition 
which would not suit Archimedes’ purpose, because he is under- 
taking to prove that he can evolve a system for expressing large 
numbers which will enable him to state easily in plain words the 
number of grains of sand which the whole universe could contain ; 
hence, while he wishes to base his estimate of the maximum size of 
the universe upon some authoritative statement which will be 
generally accepted, and takes the statement of Aristarchus as suit-, 


1 Seneca, Wat. Quaest. vii. 2. 3. 


ἘΠ δὰ ee 


CH. 1. ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 309 


able for his purpose, he is obliged to interpret it in an arbitrary 
way which he can only justify by somewhat sophistically pressing 
the mathematical point that Aristarchus could not have meant to 
assert that the sphere of the fixed stars is actually zz/mzte in size 
and therefore could not have wished his statement to be taken 
quite literally ; consequently he suggests that a reasonable inter- 
pretation would be to take it as meaning that 


(diameter of earth) : (diameter of ‘ universe’) = 
(diam. of earth’s orbit): (diam. of sphere of fixed stars), 


instead of 


0: (surface of sphere of fixed stars) = 
(diam. of earth’s orbit): (diam. of sphere of fixed stars), 


and he explains that the ‘ universe’ as commonly conceived by the 
astronomers of his time (he refers no doubt to the adherents of 
the system of concentric spheres) is a sphere with the earth as 
centre and radius equal to the distance of the sun from the earth, 
and that Aristarchus seems to regard the sphere containing (as a 
great circle) the orbit in which the earth revolves about the sun as 
-equal to the ‘ universe ’ as commonly conceived, so that the second 
and third terms of the first of the above proportions are equal. 
While it is clear that Archimedes’ interpretation is not justified, 
it may be admitted that Aristarchus did not mean his statement to 
be taken as a mathematical fact. He clearly meant to assert no 
more than that the sphere of the fixed stars is zzcomparably greater 
than that containing the earth’s orbit as a great circle; and he was 
shrewd enough to see that this is necessary in order to reconcile 
the apparent immobility of the fixed stars with the motion of 
the earth. The actual expression used is similar to what was 
evidently a common form of words among astronomers to ex- 
press the negligibility of the size of the earth in comparison with 
larger spheres. Thus, in his own tract Ox the sizes and distances 
of the sun and moon, Aristarchus lays down as one of his assump- 
tions that ‘the earth is in the relation (λόγον ἔχειν) of a point and 
centre to the sphere in which the moon moves’. In like manner 
Euclid proves, in the first theorem of his Phaenomena, that ‘ the 
earth is in the middle of the universe (κόσμος) and holds the 


310 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


position (τάξιν) of centre relatively to the universe’. Similarly 
Geminus! describes the earth as ‘in the relation of a centre to the 
sphere of the fixed stars’; Ptolemy? says that the earth is not 
sensibly different from a point in relation to the radius of the 
sphere of the fixed stars; according to Cleomedes*® the earth is 
‘in the relation of a centre’ to the sphere in which the sun moves, 
and a fortiort to the sphere of the fixed stars, but of to the 
sphere in which the moon moves. 

In Aristarchus’s extant treatise Ox the sizes and distances of the 
sun and moon there is no hint of the heliocentric hypothesis, but 
the sun and moon are supposed to move in circles round the earth 
as centre. From this we must infer either (1) that the work in 
question was earlier than the date at which he put forward the 
hypotheses described by Archimedes, or (2) that, as in the tract the 
distances of the sun from the earth and of the moon from the earth 
are alone in question, and therefore it was for the immediate pur- 
pose immaterial which hypothesis was taken, Aristarchus thought 
it better to proceed on the geocentric hypothesis which was familiar 
to everybody. Schiaparelli+ suggests that one of the reasons which 


led Aristarchus to place the sun in the centre of the universe was ~ 


probably the consideration of the sun’s great size in comparison 
with the earth. Now in the treatise referred to Aristarchus finds 
the ratio of the diameter of the sun to the diameter of the earth to 
lie between 19:3 and 43:6; this makes the volume of the sun 
something like 300 times the volume of the earth, and, although 
the principles of dynamics were then unknown, it might even in 
that day seem absurd to make the body which was so much larger 
revolve round the smaller. 

There is no reason to doubt that, in his heliocentric system, 
Aristarchus retained the moon as a satellite of the earth revolving 
round it as a centre; thus even in his system there was one epi- 
cycle, that described by the moon about the earth as centre. 


1 Geminus, Jsagoge, 18. 16, p. 186. 16, ed. Manitius. 
? Ptolemy, Syntaxts, i. 6, p. 20. 5; Heib. 
5. Cleomedes, De motu circulari, i. 11. * Schiaparelli, 7 Jrecursor?, p. 33. 








CH.I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 211 


The apparent diameter of the sun. 
Another passage of the Saud-reckoner of Archimedes states that 


* Aristarchus discovered that the sun’s apparent size is about one 
720th part of the zodiac circle.’? 

This, again, is a valuable contribution to our knowledge of 
Aristarehus, for in the treatise Oz the sizes and distances of the 
sun and moon he makes the apparent diameter not ~3>th of the 
zodiac circie, or $°, but one-fifteenth part of a sign, that is to say 2°, 
which is a gross over-estimate. The nearest estimate to this which 
we find recorded appears to be that mentioned by Macrobius,? who 
describes an experiment made with a hemispherical dial by marking 
the points on which the shadow of the upright needle fell at the 
moments respectively when the first ray of the sun as it began to 
rise fell on the instrument and when the sun just cleared the horizon 
respectively. The result showed that the interval of time was 3th 
of an hour, which gave as the apparent diameter of the sun 5},th 
of 360° or 13. Macrobius would apparently have us believe that 
this very inaccurate estimate was due to the Egyptians. We have, 
however, seen reason to believe that Macrobius probably attributed 
to the ‘Egyptians’ the doctrines of certain Alexandrian astro- 

-nomers,’ and in the present case it would seem that we have to do 
with an observation very unskilfully made by some even less com- 
petent person.t The Babylonians had, however, many centuries 
before arrived at a much closer approximation; they made the 
time which the sun takes to rise - ἢ of an hour, and, even if 
the hour is the double hour (one-twelfth of a day and night), this 
gives 1° as the apparent diameter of the sun. How, then, did 
Aristarchus in his extant work come to take 2° as the value? 
Tannery has an interesting suggestion, which is however perhaps 
too ingenious.® ‘If Aristarchus chose for the. apparent diameter 
of the sun a value which he knew to be false, it is clear that his 
treatise was mainly intended to give a specimen of calculations 


1 Archimedes, ed. Heiberg, ii, p. 248. 19; Zhe Works of Archimedes, ed. 
Heath, p. 223. 

2 Macrobius, 77: somn. Scip. i. 20. 26-30. 3. See p. 259 above. 

* Hultsch, Poseidonios tiber die Grosse und Entfernung der Sonne, p. 43. 

5 Tannery, ‘Aristarque de Samos’ in M¢m. de la Soc. des sciences phys. et 
nat. de Bordeaux, 2° sér. v. 1883, p. 241; Mémoires scientifiques, ed, Heiberg 
and Zeuthen, i, pp. 375-6. 


312 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


which require to be made on the basis of more exact experimental 
observations, and to show at the same time that, for the solution 
of the problem, one of the data could be chosen almost arbitrarily. 
He secured himself in this way against certain objections which 
might have been raised. According to the testimony of Macrobius, 
it seems that in fact the Egyptians had, by observations completely 
erroneous, fixed the apparent diameter of the sun at 5},th of the 
circumference, i.e. 12. Aristarchus seems to have deliberately 
chosen to assign it a still higher value; but it is beyond question 
that he was perfectly aware of the consequences of his hypothesis.’ 
Manitius? suggests that the ‘one-fifteenth part (πεντεκαιδέκατον 
μέρος)᾽ of a sign of the zodiac in Aristarchus’s treatise should be 
altered into ‘ one-jiftieth part’ (πεντηκοστὸν μέρος), which would 
give the quite acceptable value of οὗ 36’. But the propositions in 
the treatise in which the hypothesis is actually used seem to make 
it clear that ‘ one-fifteenth’ is what Aristarchus really wrote. Unless 
therefore we accept Tannery’s suggestion, we seem to be thrown 
back once more on the supposition that the treatise was an early 
work written before Aristarchus had made the more accurate 


observation recorded by Archimedes. From the statement of   


Archimedes that Aristarchus dzscovered (εὑρηκότος) the value of 
zioth, I think we may infer with safety that Aristarchus was at 
least the first Greek who had given it, and we have therefore an 
additional reason for questioning the tradition which credits Thales 
with the discovery. How Aristarchus obtained his result we are 
not told, but, seeing that he is credited with the invention of an 
improved sun-dial (σκάφη), it is possible that it was by means of 
this instrument that he made his observations. Archimedes himself 
seems to have been the first to think of the better method of using 
an instrument for measuring angles ; by the use of a rough instru- 
ment of this kind he made the apparent angular diameter of the sun 
lie between the limits of τέ χίῃ and 535th of a right angle. Hippar- 
chus used for the same purpose a more elaborate instrument, his 
dioptra, the construction of which is indicated by Ptolemy,? and 
is more fully described by Pappus in his commentary on Book V of 


1 Proclus, Hyfotyposis, ed. Manitius, note on p. 292. 
* Ptolemy, Sywtuxis, v. 14, p. 417. 2-3 and 20-23, ed. Heib. 


oe 


~~ — 


en δου. Be 


ΘΗ ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 313 


Ptolemy, quoted by Theon of Alexandria; Proclus describes it 
somewhat differently.2 Though we gather that Hipparchus made 
many observations of the apparent diameters of the sun and 
moon,’ only one actual result is handed down; he found that the 
diameter of the moon was contained about 650 times in the circle 
described by it. This would no doubt be the mean of the different 
observations of the moon at its varying distances; it is of course 
equivalent to nearly οὐ 33° 14”. Ptolemy complains that the 
requisite accuracy could not be secured by the dioptra; he there- 
fore checked the observations as regards the moon by means of 
‘certain lunar eclipses’, and found Hipparchus’s values appreciably 
too high. Ptolemy ὅ himself made the apparent diameter of the 
moon to be (a) at the time when it is furthest from the earth 
οὗ 31’ 20”, and (δ) at its least distance οὗ 35’ 20”. The mean of 
these figures being οὗ 33’ 20”, and the true values corresponding 
to Ptolemy’s figures being 29’ 26” and 32’ 51”, it follows that 
Hipparchus’s mean value is actually nearer the true mean value than 
Ptolemy’s.® Aristarchus, as we shall see, took the apparent dia- 
meters of the sun and moon to be thesame. Sosigenes (2ndc. A.D.) 
showed that they are not always equal by adverting to the pheno- 
menon of annular eclipses of the sun,’ and doubtless Hipparchus 
had observed the differences; Ptolemy found that the apparent 
diameter of the sun was approximately constant, whenever observed, 
its value being the same as that of the moon when at its greatest 
distance, not (‘as supposed by earlier astronomers’) when at its 
mean distance. Another estimate of the apparent diameter of the 
sun, namely ;2,th of the complete circle described by the sun, or 
29’, is given by Cleomedes as having been obtained by means of 
a water-clock ; he adds that the Egyptians are said to have been the 
first to discover this method.* Yet another valuation appears in 

? Theon, in Piolem. magn. construct. p. 262. 

? Proclus, Hypotyposis, ed. Manitius, pp. 126. 13-128. 13. 

3 Ptolemy, Syufazxis, loc. cit. 

* Ptolemy, Synfazis, iv. 9, p. 327. 1-3, Heib. 

® Ptolemy, v. 14, p. 421. 3-5; Pappus, ed. Hultsch, vi, p. 556. 17-19. 

5 On the whole of this subject see Hultsch, ‘Winkelmessungen durch die 


Hipparchische Dioptra’ in Abhandlungen zur Gesch. d. Math. ix (Cantor- 


Festschrift), 1899, pp. 193-209. 
7 Simplicius on De caelo, p. 505. 7-9, Heib. 
® Ptolemy, Syntaxis, v. 14, p. 417. 3-11, Heib. 
* Cleomedes, De motu circular, ii. 1, pp. 136-8, ed. Ziegler. 


814 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS PART II 


Martianus Capella;! the diameter of the moon is there estimated as 


sooth of its orbit or 36’. This estimate was probably quoted from 
Varro, and belongs to a period anterior to Hipparchus.? 


The Year and the Great Year of Aristarchus. 


We are told by Censorinus that Aristarchus added τ -τὰ of a 
day to Callippus’s figure of 3654 days for the solar year,* and that 
he gave 2,484 years as the length of the Great Year, or the period 
after which the sun, the moon, and the five planets return to the 
same position in the heavens. Tannery® shows that 2,484 years 
is probably a mistake for 2,434 years, and he gives an explanation, 
which seems convincing, of the way in which Aristarchus arrived 
at his figures. They were doubtless derived from the Chaldaean 
period of 223 lunations and the multiple of this by 3, which was 
called ἐξελιγμός, a period defined by Geminus as the shortest time 
containing a whole number of days, a whole number of months 
(synodic), and a whole number of anomalistic months. The Greeks 
were by Aristarchus’s time fully acquainted with these periods, 
which were doubtless known through the Chaldaean Berosus, 


who flourished about 280 B.C., in the time of Alexander the Great, . 


and founded an astronomical school on the island of Cos opposite 
Miletus. Ptolemy,’ too, says of the first of the two periods (which 
he attributes to ‘ the ancients’, not the Chaldaeans specifically) that 
it was estimated at 6,5854 days, containing 223 lunations, 239 
‘restorations of anomaly’ (i.e. anomalistic months), 242 ‘restora- 
tions of latitude’ (i.e. draconitic months, the draconitic month—a 
term not used by Ptolemy—meaning the period after which the 
moon returns to the same position with respect to the nodes), and 
241 sidereal revolutions A/zs 102° which the sun describes in the time 
in addition to 18 sidereal revolutions. The eve/igmus then, which 
was three times this period, consisted of 19,756 days, containing 
669 lunations, 717 anomalistic months, 726 draconitic months, and 


1 Martianus Capella, De nuptits philologiae et Mercurit, viii. 860. 

2 Tannery, Recherches sur [histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, Ὁ. 334. 

8 Censorinus, De die natali, c. 19. 2. 4 Ibid., c. 18. 11. 

5 Tannery, ‘La Grande Année d’Aristarque de Samos’ in M/ém. de la Soc. 
des sciences phys. et naturelles de Bordeaux, 3° série, iv. 1888, pp. 79-96. 

9. Geminus, /sagoge, c. 18, pp. 200 sqq., ed. Manitius. 

? Ptolemy, Syvtaxis, iv. 2, pp. 269. 21-270, 18, Heib. 





νυν να ΣΎ ΑΝ Ν 


CH.I ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 315 


723 sidereal revolutions A/zs 32° described by the sun in the period 
over and above 54 sidereal revolutions. 
It follows that the number of days in the sidereal year is 


19756 _ 19756 _ 45-19756 _ 889020 
54 τσ 54 τ ΖΞ 2434 2434 
Now 4888 = 1623 -- 4. Thus, in replacing the complementary 
ases bY τεῖςΞ Aristarchus followed the fashion of only admitting 
fractions with unity as numerator, and thereby only neglected 
the insignificant fraction agg3-gse5 OT τοσύτες᾿ 

It is clear that Aristarchus multiplied by 45 so as to avoid all 
fractions, and so arrived at 889,020 days containing 2,434 sidereal 
years, 30,105 lunations, 32,265 anomalistic months, 32,670 draconitic 
months, and 32,539 sidereal months. 

Tannery gives good reason for thinking that this evaluation of 
the solar year at 3653 - ὃ days was really a sort of argument in 
a circle and was therefore worthless. The Chaldaean period was 
obtained from the observation of eclipses ; those which were similar 
were classified, and it was recognized that they returned at the end 
of a period estimated at 6,5854 days. Ifthe theory of the sun had 
been sufficiently established, or if the difference of longitude between 
the positions of two similar eclipses had been observed and allow- 
ance made for the solar anomaly, it would have been possible to 
evaluate with precision the number of degrees traversed during 
the period by the sun over and above the whole number of its 
revolutions. But this precision was beyond the powers of the 
Chaldaeans, and the estimate of the excess of 102° was probably 
obtained by means of the simple difference between 65854 days and 
18 years of 365% days or 6,5744 days. This difference is 103 days, - 
and, if this is turned into degrees by multiplying by 360/3653, we 
have about 103 εἶτ΄ ; the complementary fraction 3, would then be 
neglected as unimportant. Thus Aristarchus’s estimate of 3653 τοῖς 
days was valueless, as the Chaldaean period itself depended on 
a solar year of 365% days. 

The question remaining is whether Aristarchus’s Great Year was 
intended to be the period which brings all the five planets as well 
as the sun and moon back again to the same places, as appears to 
be implied by Censorinus, who mentions different estimates of the 





= 305% + πεξε 





316 ARISTARCHUS OF SAMOS 


Great Year (including Aristarchus’s) just after an explanation that   


‘there is also a year which Aristotle calls the greatest rather than 
the great year, which is completed by the sun, the moon, and the five 
planets when they return together to the same sign in which they 
were once before simultaneously found’. As Tannery observes, if 
Aristarchus’s Great Year corresponded to an effective determination 
of the periods of the revolutions of the planets, it would have 
a particular interest because Aristarchus would have, in accordance 
with his system, to treat the revolution of Mercury and Venus as 
heliocentric, whereas in the earlier estimates of Great Years, e.g. 
that of Oenopides, the revolution of these planets was geocentric 
and of the same mean duration as that of the sun, so that they could 
be left out of account. But, just as we were obliged to conclude 
that Oenopides could not have maintained that his Great Year of 
59 years contained a whole number of the periods of revolution of 
the several planets, so it seems clear that Aristarchus could hardly 
have maintained that his Great Year exactly covered an integral 
number of the periods of revolution of the five planets. For suppose 
that his Great Year of 889,020 days is divided by the respective 


periods of their sidereal revolutions, and that we take the nearest Ὁ 


whole numbers to the quotients—say 10,106 for Mercury, 3,950 for 
Venus, 1,294 for Mars, 206 for Jupiter, 83 for Saturn—the errors 
as regards the positions at the end of the period would amount, 
according to Tannery’s calculation, to 133° for Saturn, 7o° for 
Jupiter, 25° for Mars, 171° for Venus, and 11° for Mercury. This 
being so, it is difficult to believe that the period of Aristarchus is 
anything more than a luni-solar cycle.! 


? Tannery, loc. cit., pp. 93-4. 


a 





II 


ARISTARCHUS ON THE SIZES AND DISTANCES OF 
THE SUN AND MOON 


HISTORY OF THE TEXT AND EDITIONS. 


AT the beginning of Book VI of his Syxagoge, Pappus refers to 
want of judgement (as to what to include and what to omit) on the 
part of ‘many of those who teach the Treasury of Astronomy (τὸν 
ἀστρονομούμενον τόπον). The marginal note of the contents of the 
Book, written in the third hand in the oldest MS., says that it 
contains solutions of difficulties ἐν τῷ μικρῷ ἀστρονομουμένῳ, which 
words, with τόπῳ understood, indicate that the collection of trea- 
tises referred to by Pappus was known as the ‘ Little Astronomy ’, 
as we might say. The collection formed a sort of preliminary 
course, introductory to what would presumably be regarded as the 
* Great Astronomy ’, the Syz¢axzs of Ptolemy. From Pappus’s own 
references in the course of Book VI we may infer that the Little 
Astronomy certainly included the following books : 


Autolycus, On the moving sphere (περὶ κινουμένης chaipas). 
Euclid, Optics, 
a Phaenomena. 
Theodosius, SAhaerica, 
“ Ou days and nights. 
Aristarchus, Oz the sizes and distances of the sun and moon. 


No doubt Autolycus’s other treatise, Ou rzsings and settings, 
Theodosius’s Ox habitations, and Hypsicles’ ἀναφορικός (De ascen- 
stontbus) were also included ; they duly appear in MSS. containing 
the whole collection. All these treatises are extant in Greek as 
well as in Arabic. Not so another important work, the Sphaerica 


1 Heiberg, Literargeschichtliche Studien tiber Euklid, 1882, p. 152. 


98:18 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES parti 


of Menelaus, which has only survived in the Arabic and in transla- 
tions therefrom, but seems to have belonged to the collection, since 
Pappus gives four propositions found in Menelaus;! this treatise 
was important for the study of the Syzfaxzis, as is proved by the 
fact that Ptolemy takes for granted certain propositions of 
Menelaus.? : 

As regards some of these treatises it is certain that they were by 
no means the first or the only works dealing with the same subjects. 
Thus Euclid’s Phaenomena is closely akin to Autolycus’s Ox the 
moving sphere, and both assume as well known a number of 
propositions which are found in Theodosius’s Sphaerzca, a work 
much later in date.* It is certain therefore that before the date of 
Autolycus (latter half of fourth century B.C.) there was in existence 
a body of sphaeric geometry; and indeed it would appear to have 
contained fully half of the propositions subsequently incorporated 
in Theodosius’s Sphaerica. This early sphaeric may have origin- 
ated with Eudoxus and his school or may have been older still. 
Its object was purely astronomical ; it did not deal with the geometry 
of the sphere as such, still less did it contain anything of the nature 


of spherical trigonometry (this deficiency was afterwards made good 


by Menelaus’s SAhaerzca) ; it was designed expressly for such pur- 
poses as fixing the sequence of the times of rising and setting of 
different heavenly bodies, comparing the durations of the risings 
and settings of particular constellations, comparing the apparent 
speeds of the motion of the heavenly bodies at different points 
in their daily revolution, and so on. Perhaps it may best be 


1 A. A. Bjérnbo, Studien tiber Menelaos’ Spharik. Beitrige zur Geschichte 
der Spharik und Trigonometrie der Griechen (in Abhandlungen zur Geschichte 
der mathematischen Wissenschaften, Heft xiv, 1902), pp. 4, 51, 55- 

2 Bjérnbo, op. cit., p. 51. 

$ On the question of Theodosius’s date we know little except that he was 
before Menelaus’s time. Menelaus made observations in the first year of 
Trajan’s reign (A.D. 98); and Theodosius, probably of Bithynia, lived before our 
era. Vitruvius (first century B.C.) mentions (ix. 8) a Theodosius who invented 
a sun-dial for all climates, and he may have been contemporary with Hipparchus 
or a little earlier (Tannery, Recherches sur l’histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, 
ῬΡ. 36, 37; Bjérnbo, op. cit., pp. 64, 65). 

* The sort of thing may be illustrated by the following enunciations of 
propositions : 

Autolycus, On the moving sphere, 9. ‘If in a sphere a great circle oblique to 
the axis defines the visible and the invisible (halves) of the sphere [the great 
circle is of course the horizon], then of those points which rise at the same time 





ee ΆΒΨΗ 


CH. II HISTORY OF TEXT AND EDITIONS 319 


described as the theoretical equivalent of a material sphere or 
combination of spheres (such as are said to have been constructed 
by many astronomers from Anaximander onwards) which should 
exactly simulate the motions of the heavenly bodies and yisualize 
the order, &c., of the phenomena as they occur. The special 
necessity for theoretical works of this kind was of course due to the 
obliquity, with reference to the circle of the equator, of (1) the 
horizon at any point of the earth’s surface, and (2) the plane of 
the ecliptic in which the independent motions of the sun, moon, 
and planets were supposed to take place. 

We may assume that this mathematical side of astronomy began 
to be studied very early. We know that Oenopides studied certain 
geometrical propositions with a view to their application to astro- 
nomy; and, whether he brought his knowledge of the zodiac and its 
twelve signs from Egypt or not, he was apparently the first to state 
the theory of the oblique movement of the sun. The application of 
mathematics to astronomy may therefore have begun with Oeno- 
pides; but it had evidently made progress by the time of Archytas, 
Eudoxus’s teacher, for Archytas expresses himself, at the beginning 
of a work On Mathematics, thus: 


‘The mathematicians seem to me to have arrived at correct con- 
clusions, and it is not therefore surprising that they have a true 
conception of the nature of each individual thing; for, having 
reached such correct conclusions as regards the nature of the whole 
universe, they were bound to see in its true light the nature of 


those which are nearer the visible pole set later, and of those which set at the 
same time those which are nearer to the visible pole rise earlier.’ 

Euclid, Phaenomena, 8. ‘The signs of the zodiac rise and set in unequal - 
segments of the horizon, those on the equator in the greatest, those next to them 
in the next smaller, those on the tropic circles in the smallest, and those equi- 
distant from the equator in equal segments.’ 

Theodosius, Sphaerica, iii. 6. ‘If the pole of the parallel circles be on the cir- 
cumference of a great circle and this great circle be cut at right angles by two 
great circles, one of which is one of the parallel circles [i. e. the equator], while the 
other is oblique to the parallel circles [say the ecliptic]; if then from the oblique 
circle equal arcs be cut off adjacent to one another and on the same side of the 
greatest of the parallel circles [the equator]; and if through the points so deter- 
mined and the pole great circles be drawn; the arcs which they will intercept 
between them on the greatest of the parallel circles will be unequal, and the 
intercept which is nearer to the original great circle will always be greater than 
that which is more remote from it.’ 

+ Tannery, op. cit., p. 33. 


39. TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES parti 


particular things as well. Thus they have handed down to us clear 
knowledge about the speed of the stars, their risings and settings, 
and about geometry, arithmetic, and sAhaerzc, and last, not least, 
about music; for all these branches of knowledge seem to be 
sisters.’ ? 

We must suppose, then, that Theodosius’s compilation (long- 
winded and dull as it is) simply superseded the earlier text-books 
on Sphaeric, which accordingly fell into disuse and so were lost, 
just as the same fate befell the works of the great Hipparchus as the 
result of their being superseded by Ptolemy’s Syz¢axzs. 

Why Euclid’s Ofzics was included in the Little Astronomy is 
not clear. It was a sort of elementary theory of perspective and 
may have been intended to fore-arm students against the propoun- 
ders of paradoxes such as that of the Epicureans, who alleged that 
the heavenly bodies must δέ of the size which they affear ; it would 
also serve to justify the assumption of circular movement on the 
part of the stars about the earth as centre.® 

It was a fortunate circumstance that Aristarchus’s treatise found 
a place in the collection; for presumably we owe it to this fact that 
the work has survived, while so many more have perished. 

Whether Aristarchus had any predecessors in the mathematical 
calculation of relative sizes and distances cannot be stated for 
certain. We hear, indeed, of a book by Philippus of Opus (the 
editor of the Zaws of Plato and the author of the EAznomzs) 
entitled Ox the size of the sun, the moon, and the earth, which is 
mentioned by Suidas directly after another work, Oz the eclipse of 
the moon, attributed to the same author; but we know nothing of 
the contents of these treatises. 

Like the other books included in the Little Astronomy, our 
treatise passed to Arabia and took its place among the Arabian 
‘middle’ or ‘intermediate books’, as they were called. It was 
translated into Arabic by Qusta Ὁ. Liga al-Ba‘labakki (died about 
912), who was also the translator of the three works of Theodosius, 

1 In connexion with the remark that the mathematicians had investigated the 
speed of the stars, it is perhaps worth while to recall that Eudoxus’s great theory 
of concentric spheres was set out in a book Ox Speeds, περὶ ταχῶν (Simplicius on 
De caelo, p. 494. 12, Heib.). 

® Porphyry, /z Plolem. Harm., p. 236; Nicomachus, /utrod. Arithm. i. 3. 4; 


pp. 6.17 --7. 2; Vorsokratiker, 15, p. 258. 4-12. 
8 Tannery, op. cit., p. 36. 





CH. II HISTORY OF TEXT AND EDITIONS 321 


Autolycus’s On risings and settings, and Hypsicles’ Avagopixés." 
A recension of it, as of all the books contained in the Little 
Astronomy, including the Spiaerzca of Menelaus, which had been 
translated by Ishaq Ὁ. Hunain, was made by Nesiraddin at-Tasi,’ 
famous as the editor of Euclid and for an attempt to prove Euclid’s 
Parallel-Postulate. There are MSS. of this collection, including 
of course Aristarchus, in the India Office (743, 744) and in the 
Bodleian Library (Nicoll and Pusey, i. 875, i. 895, and ii. 279). 

The first published edition of Aristarchus’s treatise was a Latin 
translation by George Valla, included in a volume which appeared 
first in 1488 (‘per Anton. de Strata’) and again in 1498 (‘per 
Simonen Papiensem dictum Bevilaquam’).® 

It next appeared in a Latin translation by that admirable and 
indefatigable translator Commandinus, under the title: 


Aristarchi de magnitudinibus et distantits solis et lunae liber 
cum Pappi Alexandrini explicationibus guibusdam a Federico 
Commandino Urbinate 272 datinum conversus et commentarits 
wdlustratus, Pisauri, 1572. 


Commandinus complains of the state of the text, which made the 
task of translation difficult, but he does not mention Valla’s earlier 
translation and was presumably not acquainted with it. 

The honour of bringing out the edztio princeps of the Greek 
text belongs to John Wallis. The title-page is as follows: 


Ὁ Suter, Die Mathematiker und Astronomen der Araber und ihre Werke 
(Abh. zur Gesch. a. math. Wissenschaften, x. Heft, 1900), p. 41. 

3. Suter, p. 152. 

5. Fabricius, Bibliotheca Graeca, iv. 19, Harles. 


1410 V 


ΑΡΙΣΤΑΡΧΟΥ ΣΑΜΙΟΥ͂ 
Πριεὶ μεγεθῶν καὶ Sogn HAY καὶ Dealwns, 
BiB A TO 


ΠΑΠΠΟΥ AAEZANAPEOQS 
Τῇ ὁ Σιωαγωγῖς BIBAIOY B 


Απύσπασμωα. 


ARISTARCHI SAMII 


De Magnitudinibus & Diftantiis Solis ὅς Lunz, 
ob oR: 


Nunc primum Grace editus cum Federici Com- 
mandini verfione Latina, notifq; ilius 8 Editors. 


PAPPI ALEX ANDRINI 


SECUND1 LIBR1 


MATHEMATICH COLLECTIONIS, 


Fragmentum, 


Hactenus Defideratum. 
E Codie MS. edidit, Latinum fecit, 
Notifgue illuftravit 


JOHANNES WALLIS, §.'T. Ὁ. Geometriz 
Profeffor Savilianus ; ὅς Regalis Societatis 
Londini , Sodalis. 


OXONTLEA, 


E THEATRO SHELDONIANQO, 
1688. 





ee νιν: .. . 


ee ee τὰ 


CH. II HISTORY OF TEXT AND EDITIONS 323 


-The book was reprinted in the collected edition of Johannzs 
Wallis Opera Mathematica, 1693-1699, vol. iii, pp. 565-94. 

Wallis states in his Preface that he used for the preparation of his 
text (1) a Greek MS. (which he calls B) belonging to Edward 
Bernard, Savilian Professor of Astronomy, who had copied it from 
the Savile MS., and (2) the Savile MS. itself (S). The Savile MS. 
was copied by Sir Henry Savile himself from another (presumed 
by Wallis to have been one of the Vatican MSS.), and had (as 
appeared from notes in the margin) been collated with a second 
MS. vaguely described as Codex Vetus. Wallis preferred Com- 
mandinus’s translation to Valla’s, and retained the former version 
intact because it agreed so closely with the Greek MSS. of 
Savile and Bernard that it seemed to have a common source with 
them; Wallis also incorporated Commandinus’s notes along with 
his own. 

Wallis adds that there are two Selden MSS. in the Bodleian 
Library containing Aristarchus’s treatise in Arabic, and that Bernard 
had noted in the margin of his MS. (B) anything in the Arabic 
version which seemed of moment, as well as some things from 
Valla’s translation. 

In 1810 there appeared the edition by the Comte de Fortia 
d’Urban, 


Histoire d@Aristarqgue de Samos, sutvte de la traduction de son 
ouvrage sur les distances du Soleil et de la Lune, de l'histoire 
de ceux gut ont porté le nom d’Aristarque avant A ristarque 
de Samos, et le commencement de celle des Philosophes gut 
ont paru avant ce méme Aristargue. Par M. de F* * * *, 
Paris, 1810. 


There follows, as a separate title-page for the work of Aristarchus, 
Ἀριστάρχου περὶ μεγεθῶν καὶ ἀποστημάτων ἡλίου καὶ σελήνης, 
followed by the Latin equivalent. Pages 2-87 contain the Greek 
text along with Commandinus’s Latin translation (altered in places). 
On p. 88 is a note referring to the MSS. used by the editor in pre- 
paring the Greek text of the treatise and the scholia. The scholia 
in Greek and Latin occupy pages 89-199, and are followed by the 
critical notes, which extend from p. 201 to p. 248. Particulars of 
the MSS. used will be found in a later paragraph. 
Y2 


324 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES ῬΑΒΤῚΣ 


This Greek text of Fortia d’Urban was issued prematurely and 
without any diagrams ; an explanation on the subject is contained 
in the editor's preface to his French translation published thirteen 
years later, 


Traité ad’ Aristarque de Samos sur les grandeurs et les distances 
du Soleil et de la Lune, tradutt en francats pour la premiére 
Sots, Bar M. le Comte de Fortia d’' Urban. Paris, 1823. 


The Preface to this translation, with the omission of an explana- 
tion of the lettering in the figures (which is double, to correspond 
to the Greek text and the Latin and French translations), runs as 
follows : . 


‘Le texte de l’ouvrage d’Aristarque de Samos, que j'avais revu 
sur huit manuscrits de la bibliothéque du Roi, et que j’avais fait 
imprimer en France ou il n’avait point encore été publie, avec des 
scholies absolument inédits, ayant été mis en vente sans mon 
autorisation, a paru d'une maniére presque ridicule. On y trouve 
citées, a toutes les pages, des planches que j’avais fait graver, mais 
que des circonstances facheuses ont fait disparaitre pendant mon 
séjour en Italie. Je vais tacher ἀν suppléer par la publication de 
cette traduction qui sera accompagnée de nouvelles planches ou 
j'ai fait graver les lettres grecques pour ceux qui voudront joindre 


cette traduction δὰ texte .. . Je donnerai d’abord l’ouvrage d’Aris- 


tarque de Samos, tel qu'il nous est parvenu; je traduirai ensuite les 
scholies, suivant ainsi l’ordre observé pour l'impression du texte 
grec. J’avertis que les démonstrations d’Aristarque s’appuient sur 
la Géométrie d’Euclides, qu’il suppose connue de ses lecteurs. 
Paris, 2 avril 1823.’ 
The French translation is a meritorious and useful book. 
There is yet another Greek text, besides those of Wallis and 
Fortia d’'Urban, namely i 
Δριστάρχου Σαμίου βιβλίον περὶ μεγεθῶν καὶ ἀποστημάτων ἡλίου 
καὶ σελήνης, mit kritischen Berichtigungen von ΚΕ. Nizze. 
Stralsund, 1856. 
This text is, however, untrustworthy, not having been prepared 
with sufficient care. It was based on the texts of Wallis and Fortia 
d’Urban without, apparently, any recourse to MSS. 
A German translation also exists, 
Artstarchus tiber die Groéssen und Entfernungen der Sonne 


und des Mondes, tibersetzt und erliéutert von A. Nokk. 
Freiburg i. B., 1854. 


er 





ΠΤ Ὺ 


cH. HISTORY OF TEXT AND EDITIONS 325 


We come now to the MS. authority for our Greek texts. It 
would appear! that our treatise is included in five MSS. in the 
Vatican, namely Vat. Gr. 204 (1oth cent.), 191 and 203 (13th cent.), 
192 (14th cent.), and 202 (14th-15th cent.), and in eight at Paris, 
namely Paris. Gr. 2342 (14th cent.), 2363 (15th cent.), 2364, 2366 
(16th cent.), 2386 (16th cent.), 2472 (14th cent.), 2488 (16th cent.), 
and Suppl. Gr. 12 (16th cent.). There are others at Venice, Mar- 
cian. 301 and 304 (15th cent.); at Milan, Ambros. A rot sup. (14th 
cent.); at Vienna, Vindobon. Suppl. Gr. 9 (17th cent.); and so on. 

The oldest of all these MSS. and by far the best is the beautiful 
Vaticanus Graecus 204, of the roth century; indeed it seems to be 
the ultimate source of all the others, and so much superior that the 
others can practically be left out of account. This great MS. is 
described by Menge.? Its contents are: fol. 1-36* Theodosius, 
Sphaerica, i, ii, iti; 377-42%, Autolycus, Ox the moving sphere; 
42°-58", Prolegomena to Eucld’s Optics (τὰ πρὸ τῶν Εὐκλείδου 
ὀπτικῶν) ; 5 58'-76", Euclid’s Phaenomena ; 76°-82*, Theodosius, Ox 
habitations ; 83-95", Theodosius, On nights and days; 957-108", 
Theodosius, Oz days and nights, ii; 108*-117*, Aristarchus, Ox the 
stzes and distances of the sun and moon; 118'-132", Autolycus, Ox 
risings and settings, i, ii; 132°-134", Hypsicles, Avagopixés ; 1357- 
143’, Euclid’s Cafoptrica ; 1447, figures to the Cafopirica; 144” blank; 
1457-172", Eutocius, Commentary on Books I-III of Apollontus’s 
Conics; 172*-194*, Euclid’s Data; 195"-197", Marinus, Commen- 
tary on Euclia’s Data; 198'-205", Scholia to Euclid’s Elements. 

The MS. is of parchment, incomplete at the end, and the 206 
leaves are preceded by three more, the first of which is empty, the 
second has a πίναξ, and the third, a sheet of paper fastened in later, 
contains a Latin index. The first two leaves, containing the begin-. 
ning of Theodosius’s Sphaerica, are written byalater hand who 


1   have collected these particulars, except as regards three of the MSS. used 
by Fortia d’Urban, from the introductions to Heiberg’s editions of Euclid and 
Apollonius in Greek, the same scholar’s Literargeschichtliche Studien iiber 
Exuklid, 1882, and Om Scholierne til Euklids Elementer, 1888, and from the 
introductions to one or two other Greek mathematical texts. 

3 Addendum to a review of Hultsch’s Autolycus, Neue Jahrbiicher fiir 
Philologie, 1886, pp. 183, 184. 

3 Fol. 42’-58" contain Theon’s recension of Euclid’s Optics, with a preface 
which was apparently written by some pupil of Theon’s. It is to this preface 
that the title refers. 


326 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES parti 


has cleverly imitated the handwriting of the rest of the MS., which 
is by one hand. The figures, drawn in red, are clear and adequate.! 
Many things in the text are struck out, erased, and changed by 
different hands. The MS. is rich in old and new scholia. It has 
on it the stamp of the Bibliotheque Nationale, having been, like the 
famous Peyrard MS. of Euclid (Vat. Gr. 190), among the MSS. 
which were taken to Paris in 1808 and restored to the Vatican after 
the Congress of Vienna. ε 

In settling a text to translate from, I have mainly relied on a 
photograph of Vat. Gr. 204 together with Wallis’s text, though 
I have had Nizze’s text by me and have also consulted Fortia 
d’Urban’s edition of 1810. The occasional references to the 
Paris MSS. in my critical notes are taken from Fortia d’Urban.? 

It is not clear from which of the Vatican MSS. Savile copied his 
own (Wallis’s S); it cannot, however, have been Vat. Gr. 204, because 
(a) nearly all the words and sentences which Wallis supplied, on the 
basis of Commandinus's translation, in order to fill up gaps in his 
two MSS., are actually found (either exactly or with no more 
variation than would naturally be expected between a re-translation 


into Greek and the original Greek text) in 204, and (4) a scholium   


from S added by Wallis at the end of Prop. 7 does not appear in 
204. Fortia d’Urban suggests, as a possibility, that the MS. of 
which Wallis had a copy was Paris. 2366, but it seems clear that it 
cannot have been any of the Paris MSS., and therefore was pre- 
sumably (as Wallis thought) one of those in the Vatican.* There 


1 The words used by Menge are ‘klar und genau’, but I think the figures can 
hardly be called ‘ accurate’ or ‘exact’. 

2 In Fortia d’Urban’s critical notes there are several references to the 
reading of a MS. which he quotes as 2483. But Paris. Gr. 2483 is not included 
in his list of the MSS. of Aristarchus used by him; and it appears to contain, 
not Aristarchus, but Nicomachus’s /utroductio arithmetica with scholia (Omont, 
Inventaire sommaire des manuscrits grecs de la Bibliotheque Nationale, ii). 
It would seem, from internal evidence, that the references should be to Paris. 
Gr. 2472, not 2483, in these cases. 

3. Fortia d’Urban observes that Paris. 2366 alone omits a sentence in Prop. 1 
(πολλῷ ἄρα ἡ BY τῆς BA ἐλάσσων ἐστὶν ἢ pe’ μέρος) which Wallis likewise omits, 
whereas Paris. 2342, 2364, 2488 and Commandinus all have it; hence he thinks 
that Wallis’s MS. may have been a copy of Paris. 2366. But, on the other hand, 
a sentence in Prop. 13 which is absent from Wallis’s text (καὶ ἡ ΒΝ ἐφάπτεται... 
λαμπρόν) is, according to Fortia d’Urban, found in all the Paris MSS. except 
2342; presumably therefore Paris. 2366 has it. These two cases create a strong 
presumption that Wallis’s MS. was not a copy of any of the Paris MSS. 








CH. II HISTORY OF TEXT AND EDITIONS 327 


is apparently no clue to the identity of the ‘Codex Vetus’ with 
which S was collated. 

We are better informed as to the MSS. used by Fortia d’Urban. 
He tells us, in the note on p. 88 of the edition of 1810, that they 
were Codd. Paris. 2342, 2363, 2364, 2366, 2386, 2472, and 2488, 
and one Vatican MS. The particular Vatican MS. had, he observes, 
just been brought to Paris; it was therefore presumably Vat. Gr. 
204. He does not, however, seem to have collated the latter MS. 
with sufficient care; for example, he says that some words! in the 
‘setting-out οὗ Prop. 3 and a whole sentence? occurring later in 
the proposition are wanting in the MS., though, as a matter of fact, 
they are there in full; when, therefore, on the occasion of the first 
of these supposed omissions, he says that the Vatican MS. does not 
seem to him in any way superior to ‘our own’, he is apparently 
allowing his patriotism to get the better of his judgement. For the 
scholia he says that he relied mostly upon Paris. 2342 and 2488 ; 
but the scholia in Vat. Gr. 204 seem to correspond exactly. He 
does not seem to have found in any of his eight MSS. the particular 
scholium to Prop. 7 taken by Wallis from S; for, while he gives it 
in his French translation, he says it comes, through Wallis, from S. 


1 σελήνης δὲ κέντρον, ὅταν 6 περιλαμβάνων κῶνος 
3 καὶ διελόντι, ὡς ἡ BI πρὸς τὴν IA, οὕτως ἡ BA πρὸς τὴν AO. 


III 


CONTENT OF THE TREATISE 


THE style of Aristarchus is thoroughly classical, as befits an able 
geometer intermediate in date between Euclid and Archimedes, 
and his demonstrations are worked out with the same rigour as 
those of his predecessor and successor. The propositions of 
Euclid’s Evements are, of course, taken for granted, but other things 
are tacitly assumed which go beyond what we find in Euclid. 
Thus the transformations of ratios defined in Eucl, V and indicated 
by the terms zzversely, alternately, componendo, convertendo, &c., 
are regularly and naturally used in dealing with wmeguad ratios, 
whereas in Euclid they are only used in proportions, i.e. cases of 
equality of ratios. But the propositions of Aristarchus are also of 
particular mathematical interest because the ratios of the sizes and 
distances which have to be calculated are really “rigonometrical 
ratios, sines, cosines, &c., although at the time of Aristarchus trigono- 
metry had not been invented, while no reasonably close approxima- 
tion to the value of 7, the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its 
diameter, had been made-(it was Archimedes who first obtained the 
value 22/7). Exact calculation of the trigonometrical ratios being 
therefore impossible for Aristarchus, he set himself to find upper 
and lower limits for them, and he succeeded in locating those which 
emerge in his propositions within tolerably narrow limits, though 
not always the narrowest within which it would have been possible, 
even for him, to confine them.’ In this species of approximation to 
trigonometry he tacitly assumes propositions comparing the ratio 
between a greater and a less amg/e in a figure with the ratio 
between two straight lines in the figure, propositions which are 








CONTENT OF THE TREATISE 329 


formally proved by Ptolemy at the beginning of his Synfazxzs. 
Here, again, we have a proof that text-books containing such 
propositions existed before Aristarchus’s time, and probably much 
earlier, although they have not survived. 


The formal assumptions of Artstarchus and 
their effect. 

One of the assumptions or hypotheses at the beginning of the 
treatise, the grossly excessive estimate of 2° for the apparent 
angular diameter of the moon, has already been discussed (pp. 311, 
312 above). We proceed to Hypotheses 4 and 5, giving values 
for a certain ratio and a certain other angle respectively. 

In Hypothesis 5, Aristarchus takes the diameter of the earth's 
shadow (at the place where the moon passes through it at the time 
of an eclipse) to be twice that of the moon. The figure 2 for this 
ratio was presumably based on the observed length of the longest 
eclipses on record.!_ Hipparchus, as we learn from Ptolemy,’ made 
the ratio 24 for the time when the moon is at its mean distance in 
the conjunctions; Ptolemy chose the time when the moon is at its 
greatest distance, and made the ratio insensibly less than 23 (a 
little too large).$ 

Tannery * shows in an interesting way the connexion between 
(1) the estimate (Hypothesis 4) that the angular distance between 
the sun and moon viewed from the earth at the time when the 
moon appears halved is 87°, the complement of 3°, (2) the estimate 
(Hypothesis 5) of 2 for the ratio of the diameter of the earth’s 
shadow to that of the moon, and (3) the ratio (greater than 18 to 1 
and less than 20 to 1) of the diameter of the sun to the diameter of 
the moon as obtained in Props. 7 and 9 of our treatise. 

The diagram overleaf (Fig. 14) will serve to indicate very roughly 
the relative positions of the sun, the earth, and the moon at the 
moment during a lunar eclipse when the moon is in the middle of 
the earth’s shadow. 

? Tannery, Recherches sur histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, p. 225. 

53 Ptolemy, Syntaxis, iv. 9, p. 327. 3-4, Heib. 

3. Ibid., v. 14, p. 421. 12-13. 

* Tannery in Mémoires de la Société des sciences physiques et naturelles de 


Bordeaux, 2° série, v, 1883, pp. 241-3 ; Mémoires scientifiques, ed. Heiberg and 
Zeuthen, i, 1912, pp. 376-9. 


330 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES ΡΑΒΤῚΙ 

















SJ 
Sun Earth eee See 


Fig. 14. 


Let .S be the radius of the sun’s orbit, 


‘B : : ς moon’s orbit, 
s the radius of the sun, 
Z ᾿ ; : moon, 

ee : earth, 


. D the distance from the centre of the earth to the vertex of 
the cone of the earth’s shadow, 
and. d the radius of the earth’s shadow at the distance of the moon. 


Then we have, approximately, by similar triangles, 





a a 3 a D-L, 
ag a ον a 2 
ς ΤΣ ad : 
whence, if we suppose that $= 5: and put z= 7» we easily 
; Beare, 
derive ga ERE ΣΝ : ae ate 6) 
and Pe a an Ξ ; 
yaaa BAY ΤΩ 7 Ὡς BM (2) 
nt cd Σ 


Now, since eclipses of the sun occur through the interposition of 
the moon, S > Z,so that 5.» 2 The ancients knew, too, that the 
sun is larger than the earth, so thats >z. It follows from (1) that 


Ζ , 
7} 5, 80 that the moon is smaller than the earth. 


Now suppose ὃ to be the angle subtended at the centre of the sun 
by the distance between the moon and the earth at the time when 
the moon appears halved, i.e. when the earth, sun, and moon form 





CH. ΠῚ CONTENT OF THE TREATISE 331 


a right-angled triangle with its right angle at the centre of the 


moon. 
δου ἃ I 


eee aL ane 
We have then from (1), substituting s/ for ὦ, 
ic ΟΣ S 2X+1 


-- —— I, OF -= , 
mies WSs i 





and, substituting 4 for s, we have 











Fig. 15. 


: ee ‘ : 
Now if x (=<) is taken at 19, Aristarchus’s mean value, and 


Z 
u = 2, these formulae give 


7 = 19, = τ᾿ = 6-6, : = 2-85, é= sin = c= >. ie ai 
Tannery’s object is to prove that the method of our treatise was 
not invented by Aristarchus but by Eudoxus. We know in the 
first place, from Aristotle, that by the middle of the fourth century 
mathematical speculations on the sizes and distances of the sun and 


moon had already begun. Aristotle’ says: 


‘ Besides, if the facts as shown in the theorems of astronomy are © 
correct, and the size of the sun is greater than that of the earth, 
while the distance of the stars from the earth is many times greater 
than the distance of the sun, just as the distance of the sun from the 
earth is many times greater than that of the moon, the cone marking 
the convergence of the sun’s rays (after passing the earth) will have 
its vertex not far from the earth, and the earth’s shadow, which we 
call night, will therefore not reach the stars, but all the stars will 
necessarily be in the view of the sun, and none of them will be 
blocked out by the earth.’ 


1 Arist. Mefeorologica, i. 8, 345 Ὁ 1-9. 


332 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES parti 


Now Eudoxus was the first person to develop scientifically the 
hypothesis that the sun and moon remain at a constant distance 
from the earth respectively, and this is the hypothesis of Aristar- 
chus. Further, we are told by Archimedes that Eudoxus had 
estimated the ratio of the sun’s diameter to that of the moon at 
9:1, Phidias, Archimedes’ father, at 12:1, and Aristarchus at a 
figure between 18:1 and 20:1. Accordingly, on the assumption 
that Eudoxus and Phidias took # = 2 in the above formulae, as 
Aristarchus did, we can make out the following table : 

















5 Ss t ὃ 
a Ζ 7 (calculated value) 
Eudoxus 9 4:8 2:7 6° 22’ 46” 
Phidias 12 4:2 2:76923 4° 46’ 49” 
Aristarchus   19 6-6 2:85 ΠΝ Ue τὰ 
(mean) 


Hence, says Tannery, while Aristarchus took 3° as the value of 
6, Eudoxus probably took 6° or } of a sign of the zodiac, and 
Phidias 5° or 4 ofasign. ‘Icannot believe that these values were 
deduced from direct observations of the angular distance. The 
necessary instruments were in all probability not in existence in the 
fourth century. But Eudoxus could, on the day of the dichotomy, 
mark the positions of the sun and the moon in the zodiac, and try 
to observe at what hour the dichotomy took place. The evaluations 
involve an error of about twelve hours for Eudoxus, ten for Phidias, 
and six for Aristarchus. It seems that all of them sought upper 
limits for 6. It will be noticed that the value of ὃ especially affects 
the values of the ratios s//, s/f; the ratio 7//on the contrary depends 
mostly on the value of z.’1 Seeing, however, that the only figures 


in the above tables which are actually attested are the three in the © 


first column, the 3° of Aristarchus, and the results obtained by 
Aristarchus on the basis of his assumptions, it seems a highly 
speculative hypothesis to suppose that Eudoxus started with 6°, 
and Phidias with 5°, as Aristarchus did with 3°, and then deduced 
the ratio of the diameter of the sun to that of the moon by precisely 
Aristarchus’s method. 


* Tannery, Mémoires de la Société des sciences phys. et nat. de Bordeaux, 
2° série, v, 1883, pp. 243-4; Mémoires scientifiques, ed. Heiberg and Zeuthen, 
1, Ρ. 379. 








Στ τ δ, 


δε λόδν, ....:... 


CH. ΠῚ CONTENT OF THE TREATISE 333 


Trigonometrical equivalents. 

Besides the formal Assumptions laid down at the beginning of 
the treatise, there lie at the root of Aristarchus’s reasoning certain 
propositions assumed without proof, presumably because they were 
generally known to mathematicians of the day. The most general 
of these propositions are the equivalent of the statements that— 

If « is what we call the circular measure of an angle, and a is 
less than ἔπ, then 

(1) The ratio sina/x decreases as « increases from Ὁ to ἔπ, 
but (2) the ratio tan οὐχ zzcreases as a increases from 0 to ἔπ. 


Tannery! took pains to set out the trigonometrical equivalents 
of the particular results obtained by Aristarchus in the several 


propositions. 
If we bear in mind that 

. 7 T 

Sin- =tan-=I, 
2 + 

sin? = 4, 

ae I 
8 W241’ 


and if we substitute for ν΄ 2 the approximate value 3 which is 


assumed by Aristarchus, we can deduce the following inequalities : 


(1) If #2 > (en's, 
2m 





m 
- τ 722-τ 
or (2) cos ——= sin (3. —)> : 
2m 2 2m 772 
* π 2 
(3) If me > 2,sin "_ ««δἡ-“.- «-, 
2772 2m mt 
If # > 3,sin 7 > 
(4) 3» a ee 
τ 
(5) Mine age χὴν; LW es: 
2772 2m 55: 


Ὁ Tannery, Mémoires de la Soc. des sciences phys. ct nat. de Bor deaux, 2° série, 
v, 1883, pp. 244 sq.; Mémoires scientifiques, i, pp. 380 sqq. 


334 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES partu 


. . . Tv . 
The narrowest limits for sin τ obtained by means of these 
inequalities are 


(6) oS Gin ».5. : 
3m 202° 2m 
whereas, if Aristarchus had known the approximate value 2? for 7, 


he could have obtained the closer upper limit 


Now, for example, in Prop. 7, Aristarchus has to find limits for 
sin 3°, that is to say sin zi thus # = 30, and the formula (6) 
above gives his result 

I ne gical 
13 > sin3z > art 

In Prop. 4 Aristarchus proves the negligibility of the maximum 
angle (ε) subtended at the centre of the earth by a certain arc (a) on 
the surface of the moon subtended at the centre of the moon by an 
angle equal to half the apparent angular diameter of the moon. 
From the figure of the proposition it is easy to see that, taking the 
radius of the moon to be unity, 


. . fo 
sin & sin - 
tan 





. α 
Ι - 81 αἱ COS 2 


For, if 17 be the foot of the perpendicular from H on 4B, 





he 
ise HM HM cs BH sin > 
a a ee ἀν Be 
BD sin > sin & sin ® 
2 2 








a 3 α 
4" -»» cos = I—sin ἃ cos > 


ΟΣ ΜΕΤ. 4 


This would give, for α = 1°, ε = 0° 1’ 3”. 








CH. ΠῚ CONTENT OF THE TREATISE 335 
What Aristarchus in fact does is to prove that 


ὡ» ἡ, 
ΡΠ, π΄ BG ἘΠῚ ce fa. 
fe oe es. ΤΑ isin x 


Now, if « = 2/2 (m> 4), formula (5) above would give 


ee 5. and if z= 90 se ees 
ΐ- 3m@—5  ᾿ "© — 4770 
but Aristarchus is content with the equivalent of using formula (3) 
which gives 








exo 18: 





Se ta Le Ὁ Ὁ γε οὗ» 22” 
᾿. Ὡ μδ ἃ 3960" ς 
In Prop. 11 Aristarchus uses the equivalent of formulae (3) and 
(4), proving that 


— >sin 1°> > 
45 60 


Prop. 12 is the equivalent of using formula (2) to prove that 


o. 89 
Le COS) > -ξος 
go 


From formula (2) we deduce 

cos? "_ > 

2m m* m 

and, for #z= 90, this gives the equivalent of the first part of 
Prop. 13, namely Ss bok tl 
45 

In Prop. 14 Aristarchus determines a lower limit for the ratio 

L/c, where Z is the radius of the moon’s orbit and ς the distance of 

the centre of the moon from the centre of the circle of the shadow 

at the middle of an eclipse. The arithmetical value of the limit 

depends of course on the particular assumptions which he makes 

as to the angles subtended at the centre of the earth by the 

diameter of the moon and by the diameter of the circle of the 

shadow. If these angles be 2a, 2y respectively, we see from 

the figure of Prop. 14 that 


BR= BMcosxa=Lcos?*a, BS= Lcosacosy, RC=Lsin? a. 





336 TREATISE ON SIZES AND DISTANCES part Il 


Therefore SR: RC = Lcos« (cosa—cos y) : LZ sin? a, 
and CR: CS = Lsin? «: L (sin? «+ cos? «—cos οἱ cos y) 

= Lsin*a:Z (1—cosacos y). 

Now BC:CR=(BC: CM) x (CM: CR) 
= (1:sina) x (1:sin a) 
er} Sint oO, 

Therefore, ex aegualz, 

BC: CS=L:L(1—cosa cos γ), 


or L:c=1:(1—cosacos y) 
= 1: (sin? «+cos? ~—cos acos y) 
> 1: {sin?a+cos?a (I—cos y)}. 
If y = 2.4, as assumed by Aristarchus, this becomes 
L:e>(1:sin? a). {1:(1+2 008. a)}. 

The corresponding inequality obtained by Aristarchus, who 

assumes that a = 1°, is 
LSB HAS ATP SS) 
> 675: 1. 

The generalized trigonometrical equivalent of Prop. 15 is more 
complicated and need not be given here. Tannery has an inter- 
esting remark, which was however anticipated by Fortia d’Urban,' 
upon one of the arithmetical results obtained by Aristarchus in that 
proposition. If y be the ratio of the sun’s radius to the earth’s 
radius, his result is 


a 5 75755875 

y= ~ 61735500" 
He replaces this value by a merely remarking that ‘ 71755875 
has to 61735500 a ratio greater than that which 43 has to 37’. It 
is difficult, says ee not to see in $3 the expression 1 +41 





which suggests that $3 was obtained by -devetaates Ὁ} 755815 or 
24384 as a continued fraction: ‘We have here an important proof 


of pre employment by the ancients of a method of calculation, the — 


theory of which unquestionably belongs to the moderns, but the 
first applications of which are too simple not to have originated in 
very remote times.’ 


 Fortia d’Urban, Traité d’ Aristarque de Samos, 1823, p. 86, note. 











IV 


LATER IMPROVEMENTS ON ARISTARCHUS’S 
CALCULATIONS 


WHILE it would not be consistent with the plan of this work to 
carry the history of Greek astronomy beyond Aristarchus, it will be 
proper, I think, to conclude this introduction with a few particulars 
of the improvements which later Greek astronomers made upon 
Aristarchus’s estimates of sizes and distances. 

We have already spoken of Aristarchus’s assumption of 87° as the 
angle subtended at the centre of the earth by the line joining 
the centres of the sun and moon at the time when the moon 
appears halved. The true value of this angle is 89 50’, so 
that Aristarchus’s estimate was decidedly inaccurate; no direct 
estimate of the angle seems to have been made by his successors. 
Aristarchus himself, as we have seen, afterwards corrected ἰοὸ 2“ the - 
estimate of 2° for the apparent angular diameter of the sun and 
moon alike. His assumption of 2 as the ratio of the diameter of 
the circle of the earth’s shadow to the diameter of the moon was 
‘improved upon ἣν Hipparchus and Ptolemy. Hipparchus made 
it 24 at the moon’s mean distance at the conjunctions; Ptolemy 
made it atthe moon's greatest distance ‘ inappreciably less than 23’.* 

Coming now to estimates of absolute and relative sizes and 
distances, we find some data in Archimedes ;* according to him 
Eudoxus had declared the diameter of the sun to be nine times the 
diameter of the moon, and Phidias (Archimedes’ father) twelve times; _ 
most astronomers, he says, agreed that the earth is greater than the 
moon, and ‘ some have tried to prove that the circumference of the 
earth is about 300,000 stades and not greater’. It seems probable 
that it was Dicaearchus who (about 300 B.C.) arrived at this value,* 


* Ptolemy, Synfazxis, iv. 9, vol. i, p. 327. 3-4, Heib. 

2 Ibid. v. 14, vol. i, p. 421. 12-14, Heib. 

3. Archimedes, Sand-reckoner (Archimedis opera, ed. Heib., vol. ii, p. 246 sqq ): 
The Works of Archimedes, pp. 222, 223. 

* Berger, Geschichte der wissenschaftlichen Erdkunde der Griechen, 
PP. 37° sqq- 


1410 vA 


338 LATER IMPROVEMENTS ON PART II 


and that it was obtained by taking 24° (1/15th of the whole meri- 
dian circle) as the difference of latitude between Syene and Lysi- 
machia (on the same meridian), and 20,000 stades as the actual 
distance between the two places.! Archimedes’ own estimates are 
scarcely estimates at all; they are intentionally exaggerated, as, his 
object being to measure the number of grains of sand that would 
fill the universe, he adopts what he considers maximum values in 
order to be on the safe side. Thus he says that, whereas Aristar- 
chus tried to prove that the ratio of the diameter of the sun to that 
of the moon is between 18:1 and 20:1, he himself will take the 
ratio to be 30:1 and not greater, in order that his thesis may be 
proved ‘beyond all cavil’; in the case of the earth he actually 
multiplies the estimate of the perimeter by 10, making it 3,000,000 
instead of 300,000 stades. 

Before passing on to later writers, it will be convenient to re- 
capitulate Aristarchus’s figures; and for brevity I shall use the 
letters by which Tannery denotes the various distances and radii, 
namely .S for the distance of the centre of the sun, Z for the 
distance of the centre of the moon, from the centre of the earth, 
and s,/,¢ for the radii of the sun, moon, and earth respectively. 
Aristarchus’s figures then are as follows: 


L/2zl > 224 but < 30 (Prop. 11). 
S/E > 18 but < 20 (Prop. 7). 

25/2t or s/t > δὲ but < γᾷ (Prop. 15). 
2d/at or Ut > ἐδ but < 74% (Prop. 17). 


We may with Hultsch,? for convenience of comparison with other 
calculations, take figures approximating to the mean between the 
higher and lower limits; and it will be convenient to express 
the various diameters and distances in terms of the diameter of the 
earth. We may say then, roughly, that 


ee eh: Te ee Α 
2b/2t. = τσ = ἔξ ;. 


25/2t = 63; 
L/2d = 264; 
S/L = 19: 


1 Cf. Cleomedes, De motu circulari, i. 8, p. 78, Ziegler. 
2 Hultsch, Poseidonios «ber die Grosse und Entfernung der Sonne, 
1897, Pp» 5. 








CH. IV ARISTARCHUS’S CALCULATIONS 339 


whence 

Lat = 395.2 = of, say οἱ; 

S/2t = 182 .19 = 17933, say 180. 
We are not told what size Aristarchus attributed to the earth, but 
presumably, like Archimedes, he would have accepted Dicaearchus’s 
estimate of 300,000 stades for its circumference. 

Eratosthenes (born about eleven years after Archimedes, say 
276 B.C.) is famous for a measurement of the earth based on 
scientific principles. He found that at noon at the summer solstice 
the sun threw no shadow at Syene, while at the same hour at 
Alexandria (which he took to be on the same meridian) it made 
the gnomon in the scaphe cast a shadow showing an angle equal 
to one-fiftieth of the whole meridian circle; assuming, further, that 
the sun’s rays at Syene and Alexandria are parallel in direction, 
and that the known distance from Syene to Alexandria is 5,000 
stades (doubtless taken as a round figure), Eratosthenes arrived by 
an easy geometrical proof at 50 times 5,000 or 250,000 stades as 
the circumference of the earth. This is the figure given by 
Cleomedes ;' but Strabo quite definitely says that, according to 
Eratosthenes, the circumference is 252,000 stades,* and this is the 
figure which is most generally quoted in antiquity. The reason 
for the discrepancy has been the subject of a good deal of discus- 
sion ;* it is difficult, in view of Cleomedes’ circumstantial account, 
to suppose that 252,000 was the original figure arrived at by 
Eratosthenes ; it seems more likely that Eratosthenes himself cor- 
rected 250,000 to 252,000 for some reason, perhaps in order to get 
a figure divisible by 60 and, incidentally, a round number (700) of 
stades for one degree. There is some question as to the length of 
the particular stade used by Eratosthenes, but, if Pliny is right in 
saying that Eratosthenes made 40 stades equal-to the Egyptian 
σχοῖνος," then, taking the σχοῖνος at 12,000 Royal cubits of 0-525 
metres,° we get 300 such cubits, or 157-5 metres, as the length ot 
the stade, which is thus equal to 516-73 feet. The circumference 
of the earth, being 252,000 times this length, works out to about 

1 Cleomedes, De motu circulari, i. 10, especially p. 100. 15-23, ed. Ziegler. 

2 Strabo, ii. 5. 7, p. 113 Cas. 3 Berger, op. cit., pp. 410, 411. 

* Pliny, WV. H. xii. c. 13, ὃ 53. 


5 Hultsch, Griechische u. rimische Metrologie (Berlin, 1882), p. 364. -Cf. 
Tannery, Recherches sur l'histoire de l’astronomie ancienne, pp. 109, 110. 


Z2 


340 LATER IMPROVEMENTS ON PART II 


24,662 miles, and the diameter of the earth on this basis is about 
7,850 miles, only 50 miles shorter than the true polar diameter, 
a surprisingly close approximation, however much it owes to happy 
accidents in the calculation." 

We have no trustworthy information as to evaluations by Erato- 
sthenes of other dimensions and distances. The Doxographz, it is 
true, say that Eratosthenes made JZ, the distance of the moon from 
the earth, to be 78 myriads of stades, and \S, the distance of the 
sun, to be 80,400 myriads of stades? (the versions of Stobaeus and 
Joannes Lydus admit of 408 myriads of stades as an alternative 
interpretation, but this figure obviously cannot be right). Tannery* 
considers that none of these figures can be correct. He suggests 
that Z was put by Eratosthenes at 278 myriads of stades, not 78 ; 
but I am not clear that 78 is wrong. We have seen that, if we 
take mean figures, Aristarchus made the distance of the moon from 
the earth to be about οἱ times the earth’s diameter. Now 252,000/r, 
approximately 252,000/33, is about 80,180, or roughly 8 myriads 
of stades; 93 times this is 76 myriads, and Eratosthenes’ supposed 
figure of 780,000 is sufficiently close to this. According to 
Tannery’s conjecture of 2,780,000 stades, the ratio Z/2¢ would be 
nearly 34-7, which is greater than the values given to it by Hippar- 
chus, Posidonius, and Ptolemy, and also greater than the true value. 
With regard to Eratosthenes’ estimate of S, Tannery points to 
Macrobius’s statement that Eratosthenes said that ‘the measure 
(mensura) of the earth multiplied 27 times will make the measure 
of the sun’.t The question here arises whether it is the solid 
contents of the two bodies or their diameters which are compared. 
Tannery takes the latter to be the meaning. If this is right, and 
if Eratosthenes took the value of #° for the apparent angular 
diameter of the sun discovered by Aristarchus, the circumference 
2mS of the sun’s orbit would be equal to 27. 2Ζ. 720, which, if we 
put 34 for π, would give 

S' = 6185 2 = 24,800 myriads of stades, nearly. 


1 Cf. Dreyer, Planetary Systems, p. 175. 

2 Aét. ii. 31. 3 (D. G. 362-3). 

3 Tannery, ‘Aristarque de Samos’ in Wém. de la Soc. des sci. phys. et nat. de 
Bordeaux, 2° sér., v, 1883, pp. 254,255 3 Wémoires scientifiques, ed. Heiberg and 
Zeuthen, i, pp. 391-2. 

* Macrobius, /# somn. Scip. i. 20. 9. 











CH. IV ARISTARCHUS’S CALCULATIONS 341 


But Hultsch! shows reason for believing that ‘mensura’ in the 
statement of Macrobius means solid content. One ground is the 
further statement of Macrobius that Posidonius'’s estimate of the size 
ofthe sun in terms of the earth was ‘many many times’ greater than 
that of Eratosthenes (‘ multo multoque saepius ’, sc. ‘ multiplicata ’). 
But we shall find that Posidonius’s figures lead to only about 393 as 
the ratio of the diameter of the sun to that of the earth, which is 
not ‘many many times’ greater than 27. It seems therefore 
necessary to conclude, if Macrobius is to be trusted, that according 
to Eratosthenes s/f was equal to 3, not 27. This would divide 
the value of S by 9, and S/2¢ would be equal to 343% instead of 
30923. 

We are much better informed on the subject of Hipparchus’s 
estimates of sizes and distances, thanks to the investigations of 
Hultsch,2 who found in the commentaries of Pappus and Theon 
on chapter 11 of Book V of Ptolemy’s Syz¢axzs particulars as to 
which Ptolemy himself leaves us entirely in the dark. Ptolemy 
States that there are certain observed facts with regard to the 
sun and moon which make it possible, when the distance of one 
of them from the centre of the earth is known, to calculate the 
distance of the other, and that Hipparchus first found the dis- 
tance of the sun on certain assumptions as to the solar parallax, 
and then deduced the distance of the moon. According to the 
value assumed for the solar parallax (and Ptolemy says that there 
was doubt as to whether it was the smallest appreciable amount 
or actually negligible), Hipparchus deduced, of course, different 
figures for the distance of the moon.* Ptolemy does not state these 
figures, but Pappus supplies the deficiency. Pappus begins by 
saying that Hipparchus’s calculation, depending mainly on the sun, 
was ‘not exact’. Next, he observes that, if the apparent diameter 
of the sun is taken to be very nearly the same as that of the moon 
at its greatest distance at the conjunctions, and if we are given the 
relative sizes of the sun and moon and the distance of one of them, 
the distance of the other is also given; then, after paraphrasing 


1 Hultsch, Poseidonios tiber die Grosse und Entfernung der Sonne, pp. 5, 6. 

3 Hultsch, ‘ Hipparchos iiber die Grésse und Entfernung der Sonne’ (Berichte 
der philologisch-historischen Classe der Kgl. Sachs. Geselischaft der Wissen- 
schaften zu Leipzig, 7. Juli 1900). 

5 Ptolemy, Synfaxis, v. 11, vol. i, p. 402, Heib. 


242 LATER IMPROVEMENTS ON PART II 


Ptolemy’s remarks above quoted, he proceeds.as follows: ‘ In his first 
book about sizes and distances Hipparchus starts from this observa- 
tion: there was an eclipse of the sun which was exactly total in 
the region about the Hellespont, no portion of the sun being seen, 
whereas at Alexandria in Egypt about. four-fifths only of its 
diameter was obscured.' From the facts thus observed he proves 
in his first book that, if the radius of the earth be the unit, the least 
distance of the moon contains 71, and the greatest 83 of these units ; 
the mean therefore contains 77. After proving these propositions, 
he says at the end of the first book: “ In this treatise I have carried 
the argument to this point. Do not, however, suppose that the 
theory of the distance of the moon has ever yet been worked out 
accurately in every respect; for even in this question there is an 
investigation remaining to be carried out, in the course of which the 
distance of the moon will be proved to be less than the figure just 
calculated,” so that he himself admits that he is not quite in a 
position to state the truth about the parallaxes. Then, again, he 
himself, in the second book about sizes and distances, proves from 
many considerations that, if we take the radius of the earth as the 
unit, the least distance of the moon contains 62 of these units, and its: 
mean distance 674, while the distance of the sun contains 2,490. It 
is clear from the former figures that the greatest distance of the 
moon contains 722 of these units.’ The figure of 2,490 for the 
distance of the sun has to be obtained by a correction of the Greek 
text. The later MSS. have ς or go, but one MS. has υς or 490. 
The 2,490 is credibly restored by Hultsch on the following grounds.. 
Adrastus* and Chalcidius* tell us that. Hipparchus made the sun 
nearly 1880 times the size of the earth,* and the earth about 27 times 
the size of the moon. The size means the solid content, and, the 
cube root of 1880 being approximately 12}, we have approximately 
f:d:8 = 1i1shs12h 
Roe be the 

1 This same eclipse is also mentioned by Cleomedes, De motu circulari, ii. 3, 
pp. 172. 22 and 178. 14, ed. Ziegler. 

2 Theon of Smyrna, p. 197. 8-12, ed. Hiller. 

8. Chalcidius, 7zmaeus, c. ΟἹ, p. 161. 

‘ A less trustworthy authority, Cleomedes (De motu circulari, ii. τ, p. 152. 5-7), 


mentions a tradition that Hipparchus made the sun 1050 times as large as the 
earth. 





CH. IV ARISTARCHUS’S CALCULATIONS 343 


Now the mean distance of the moon is, according to Hipparchus, 
674 times the earth’s radius; assuming then that the apparent 
angular diameter of the sun and moon as seen from the earth is 
about the same, we find that 
S = 673 2. 37 = 24915 7. 

That is to say, S= 2490 4, nearly. It is clear, therefore, that 8 
has fallen out of the text before vG, and the true number arrived at 
by Hipparchus was 2490. 

Thus Hipparchus made the distance of the moon equal, at the 
mean, to 332 times the dzamefer of the earth, and the distance of the 
sun equal to 1,245 times the diameter of the earth. As we said above, 
Ptolemy does not mention these figures of Hipparchus, much less 
does he make any use of them. Yet they are remarkable, because 
not only are they far nearer the truth than Aristarchus's estimates, 
but the figure of 1,245 for the distance of the sun is much better 
than that of Ptolemy himself, namely 605 times the earth’s 
diameter, or less than half the figure obtained by Hipparchus. 
Yet Hipparchus’s estimate remained unknown, and Ptolemy’s held 
the field for many centuries; even Copernicus only made the 
distance of the sun to be equal to 750 times the earth’s diameter, 
and it was not till 1671—3 that a substantial improvement was made, 
observations of Mars carried out in those years by Richer enabling 
Cassini to conclude that the sun’s parallax was about 9”-5, corre- 
sponding to a distance of the sun from the earth of 87,000,000 miles." 

Hultsch shows that the particular solar eclipse referred to by 
Hipparchus was probably that of 20th November in the year 
129 B.C.,? and he concludes that the following year (128 B.C.) was 
the date of Hipparchus’s treatise in two books ‘On the sizes and 
distances of the sun and moon’. 

Hipparchus, in his Geography, definitely accepted the estimate 
of 252,000 stades obtained by Eratosthenes for the circumference 
of the earth ;* if there is any foundation for the statement of Pliny * 
that he added a little less than 26,000 stades to this estimate, making 
nearly 278,000, the explanation must apparently be that he stated 




                        History of the Monument


The story of how Colorado National Monument came into being is as
colorful as the canyons and cliffs themselves. The fantastic canyon
country had a magical attraction for John Otto[5] (fig. 1) who, in 1906,
camped near the northeastern mouth of Monument Canyon and began building
trails into the canyons and onto the mesas—the high tablelands that
separate the deep canyons. He did this back-breaking work simply because
he wanted to and so that others could share the beauty of this wild
country.

In 1907 Otto got the Grand Junction Chamber of Commerce to petition
Secretary of the Interior James A. Garfield to set aside the area as a
National Monument. Otto’s dream came true on May 24, 1911, when
President William Howard Taft signed the proclamation creating the
Monument. On June 14, Otto climbed to the top of Independence Monument
(fig. 6) where he placed the Stars and Stripes to celebrate Flag Day.
For several years thereafter Otto placed the flag atop Independence
Monument on July 4th to celebrate Independence Day.

Until about 1921 the only routes into the Monument proper were John
Otto’s trails, but in that year the ranchers of Glade Park joined with
Otto in building the steep, twisting Serpents Trail from No Thoroughfare
Canyon to the mesa above—a much shorter route to Grand Junction. It had
54 switchbacks and climbed about 1,500 feet in 2½ miles. The Serpents
Trail was included in the Monument in 1933 and was used until 1950 when
an easier route was built up the west side of No Thoroughfare Canyon and
through a tunnel to the top of the mesa (figs. 3, 56). The Serpents
Trail has been preserved as an interesting foot trail (fig. 55), which
can be hiked downhill in an hour or so. A parking area near the foot of
the trail allows one member of a group to drive ahead to await the
others.

    [Illustration: JOHN OTTO, fantastic father of Colorado National
    Monument, and his helpers. Photograph courtesy Grand Junction
    Chamber of Commerce. (Fig. 1)]

In 1924 John Otto got the idea that the Monument should include a herd
of big game, so he talked the Colorado Game and Fish Department into
shipping six young elk, and he got the local Elks Lodge to pay the
transportation costs. The elk were turned loose in Monument Canyon, but
they found the sparse vegetation and scant water supply ill suited to
their needs, so after a few years they found a way out over the rim and
migrated about 20 miles south of the Monument to lush high country where
they joined with native elk and multiplied to become the ancestors of
the present fine herd on Piñon Mesa (shown in fig. 34_D_). Occasionally
a few return to the Monument and may be seen mainly in Ute Canyon.
Native mule deer are frequently seen in and near the Monument.

Far from being discouraged, Otto then hatched the idea to start a
buffalo[6] herd to be purchased by donations of buffalo nickels from
school children and by contributions from the Odd Fellows and others. He
finally raised enough money to get the patient Game and Fish Department
to send him two cows and one bull. Unfortunately the bull died, so Otto
talked the National Park Service into shipping him a bull from
Yellowstone National Park. This time success crowned his efforts, and
the small herd eventually multiplied to as many as 45 animals, but
generally the herd has been kept at about 20-25 head ever since. You may
spot some of them when you gaze down into Monument or Ute Canyons or
when you drive past the northeastern boundary. Rarely, you may spot one
in Red Canyon.

At the northeast corner of Fourth Street and Ute Avenue in Grand
Junction is a most unusual object, which illustrates yet another
peculiarity of John Otto—fantastic father of Colorado National Monument
(fig. 2). Its history is best told by quoting from Al Look,[7] though
its purpose still remains a mystery.

  One day a horse drawn dray backed up to a vacant lot on Grand
  Junction’s Main Street [corner 6th] and unloaded a granite cube four
  feet square, carved on two sides. It weighed more than a ton and Otto
  supervised the setting.

  One side [now facing west and not visible in fig. 2] showed a three
  foot circle containing a swastika with a five pointed star in each
  quarter. Above the emblem was carved “Rock of Ages” and below read
  “Cross of Ages.” The second side [now facing south, and shown in fig.
  2] was beyond normal comprehension. Two large W’s on either side of a
  small swastika were over the letters or initials P.P., then four chain
  links with the letters T, H, L, J. inscribed, followed by the initials
  I.E. Below on the left was “1918,” over “Year 1”. On the right was
  “Old Count” and under it “New Count.” Between them stands the word
  ‘MARCH.’ Below this are abbreviations for the seven days of the week
  with the figure 1 under MON ending with a 6 under SAT. The bottom line
  [most of which is barely visible in the photograph] contained the
  figure 7 in a circle, a carpenter’s square, a small rectangle,
  probably representing a level, a plumb bob, a carpenter’s compass and
  a circle showing the western hemisphere. That is all. It made sense to
  John Otto because from somewhere he gathered considerable money to
  have this monument carved by the local gravestone merchant. It stood
  for several years to mystify pedestrians, and was finally moved beside
  the Redlands road to the [east entrance of] Colorado Monument where it
  is now hidden by weeds.[8]

It was still there in the 50’s when my family and I were startled to
find it. We were afraid it might be lost forever so are glad it finally
found a safe resting place on a concrete slab at the museum. I shall
greatly appreciate hearing from any reader who can decipher this enigma.

    [Illustration: JOHN OTTO’S MONUMENT, at southwest corner of the
    Historical Museum and Institute of Western Colorado, at northeast
    corner of Fourth Street and Ute Avenue, Grand Junction. View looking
    north. Face is 4 feet square. (Fig. 2)]

Otto’s rock is at the southwest corner of The Historical Museum and
Institute of Western Colorado. The main attraction inside is a life-size
skeleton of _Allosaurus_ (fig. 23), whose bones are exact plastic
replicas of real ones at the museum of Brigham Young University, at
Provo, Utah. The painstaking casting of the “bones” and assembly of the
self-supporting skeleton was done by Al T. Look, son of author Al Look
listed under “References.” The museum also houses other items of
interest from the Grand Junction area.

Construction of the scenic Rim Rock Drive through the Monument was begun
by the National Park Service about 1931 using workers from the Civilian
Conservation Corps, and the drive eventually was completed to join roads
from Fruita and Grand Junction. The route from Fruita includes a winding
road up Fruita Canyon and through two tunnels to the mesa (figs. 3, 44,
45).

A modern Visitor Center, new housing facilities for park personnel,
additions to the campgrounds, the Devils Kitchen Picnic Area near the
East Entrance, several self-guiding nature trails, and additional
overlooks and roadside exhibits were completed in 1964 as part of the
Mission 66 program of the National Park Service.

The Monument originally included 13,749 acres, but boundary changes in
1933 and 1939 increased the total to 17,660 acres, and the inclusion of
all of No Thoroughfare Canyon and other boundary adjustments in 1978
increased the size to about 20,457 acres, or about 32 square miles (see
map, fig. 3).




                      Early History of the Region


                           Prehistoric People

John Otto, early explorers, and even the Ute Indians who once hunted in
the area were by no means the first people to view the Monument, in fact
they were “Johnnies-come-lately.” Considerable evidence indicates that
prehistoric people inhabited the area thousands of years ago.

    [Illustration: MAP OF COLORADO NATIONAL MONUMENT, showing location
    in Colorado, boundaries, streams, highways and roads, principal
    trails, named features, overlooks, and—in triangles—trip guides
    localities. The trip guides numbers correspond to the numbers in the
    right margins of the section entitled “Trips through and around the
    Monument.” Visitors are given pamphlets at the two entrance stations
    and may purchase other reports and maps at the Visitor Center. (Fig.
    3)]

Many years ago Al Look, of Grand Junction, discovered and excavated two
caves in the part of No Thoroughfare Canyon formerly outside the
Monument. He found stone projectile points, knives, awls, milling
stones, parts of a sandal and coiled basket, reed matting, corn,
corncobs, acorns, and animal bones, but no pottery—indicating that the
people had not progressed beyond basket making. Similar artifacts were
found in several other nearby places on the Uncompahgre Plateau.
Archaeologists have named this old culture the Uncompahgre Complex, and
date it back to a few thousand years before the time of Christ.[9] It
should be pointed out that it is unlawful to remove artifacts, fossils,
rocks, or minerals from a National Park or Monument.

In the summer of 1963 an archaeological survey of Colorado National
Monument was carried out, under the terms of an agreement between the
National Park Service and the University of Colorado, by Stroh and Ewing
and their field assistants.[10] A total of 75 aboriginal sites were
found of which 71 were within the Monument boundaries of that date, and
4 were closely adjacent. These comprised 41 open campsites, 24 rock
shelters, 2 small caves, and 8 chipping stations. Artifacts recovered
included 62 projectile points, 21 metates (grinding stones), 40 manos
(hand stones), 111 whole or fragments of blades or scrapers, 6 choppers,
several fragments of baskets, potsherds (bits of broken pottery) at two
sites, 2 wood awls, several strands of yucca fibers, 3 corncobs, 6
kernels of corn, several bone fragments, storage cists at five sites,
and petroglyphs at three locations.

Stroh and Ewing concluded that the majority of the sites appear to have
been the campsites of a hunting and gathering people, and they
speculated that there may have been aboriginal activity in the area from
as long as several thousand years ago to relatively recent times.

The largest of the petroglyphs,[11] or rock drawings, are on a fallen
slab of Wingate Sandstone in No Thoroughfare Canyon, and are shown in
figure 4. Archaeologist John Crouch (footnote 10), who kindly reexamined
these petroglyphs in February 1980, told me that most of the figures
appear to be Shoshonian (Ute), but that some may be of the Fremont
culture[12] or even older.

    [Illustration: PETROGLYPHS, on fallen slab of Wingate Sandstone in
    No Thoroughfare Canyon. Figure of man at lower right is about 6
    inches high. The fading designs were traced with chalk before
    photographing them. Photograph by T. R. Giles, U.S. Geological
    Survey. (Fig. 4)]

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]




                             Late Arrivals


                          Early Settlement[13]

Prior to 1881 the Monument area was inhabited only by Ute Indians, but
it was visited from time to time by a few fur trappers, explorers, and
geologists. In 1776 an expedition led by Fathers Dominguez and Escalante
passed northward across Grand Mesa, the high plateau just east of the
area, which is pointed out in many of the photographs. A trading post
was built by Joseph Roubidoux about 1838 just above the present site of
Grand Junction. In 1853 Captain John W. Gunnison, seeking a new route
for a transcontinental railroad, led an exploring party down what is now
the Gunnison River Valley, past the confluence with the Grand River (now
called the Colorado, p. 16), and on down the valley. Geologists and
topographers of the Hayden Survey found only Ute Indians in the area in
1875 and 1876, and their field season of 1875 was abruptly cut short
because of skirmishes with hostile Utes. After the Meeker (Colorado)
Massacre of 1879, believed by many to have been caused mainly by the
ignorance and shortsightedness of Meeker himself, treaties were signed
forcing the Utes out of western Colorado onto reservations in eastern
Utah, and the last of the Utes was reportedly out of the area by
September 1881. The Grand Valley was immediately opened to settlement,
and the first ranch was staked out on September 7, 1881. Nineteen days
later George A. Crawford founded Grand Junction as a townsite and formed
the Grand Junction Town Company the next month. The success of the new
town was assured on November 21, 1882, when the narrow-gage line of the
Denver and Rio Grande Railroad (now Denver and Rio Grande Western
Railroad) reached it via the Gunnison River valley. The town of Fruita
was founded by William E. Pabor in 1883 and incorporated the following
year.


                 The Brown-Stanton River Expedition[14]

Of the many early expeditions down the Colorado River, only one went
past what is now Colorado National Monument—the ill-fated Brown-Stanton
expedition. After the pioneering expeditions of 1869 and 1871 down the
Green and Colorado Rivers by Major John Wesley Powell and his men, the
many ensuing river expeditions started in Utah or Wyoming; but the first
phase of the Brown-Stanton expedition started in Colorado—at Grand
Junction. In 1889 Frank M. Brown organized a company for the
construction of the proposed Denver, Colorado Canyon, and Pacific
Railway, which was to carry coal from mines in Colorado over a
“water-level” line through the mighty canyons of the Colorado River to
the Gulf of California some 1,200 miles away, from which coal would be
shipped to various ports in California. On March 26, 1889, president
Brown, chief engineer F. C. Kendricks, and assistant engineer T. P.
Rigney drove the first stake at Grand Junction for a survey of the new
line. Then Brown left for the East to obtain financing, and the other
two men plus some hired hands took off in a boat down the Grand River.
After reaching the confluence, they towed the boat up the Green River to
the town of Green River, Utah, thus becoming the first to make this trip
upstream, albeit on foot and dragging their boats. Brown, who had
returned from the East, his newly appointed chief engineer Robert
Brewster Stanton, and 14 others in six ill-designed boats of cedar
rather than oak, left Green River, Utah, on May 25, 1889. Against the
advice of Major Powell and others, they carried no life preservers.
After many mishaps, Brown and two others were drowned near the head of
Marble Canyon, and the ill-fated expedition temporarily ground to a
halt. However, the indefatigable Stanton had new boats built of oak, and
with a reorganized party of 12 left the mouth of the Dirty Devil River
on November 25. After many additional mishaps the party finally reached
the Gulf of California on April 26, 1890. In spite of Stanton’s heroic
efforts, the railroad was never built, and the Grand Canyon was spared
the huffing and puffing of locomotives.


                         Kodel’s Gold Mine[15]

As shown in figures 3, 8, and 26, the first major canyon west of the
West Entrance of the monument is called Kodels Canyon (pronounced
\‘kōd^ǝls\). It was named after an early-day stonemason turned
prospector, a hermit, who came to the Fruita area before 1900 and
prospected for gold until at least 1930 in the canyon that now bears his
name. He seemingly built a cabin or house near the mouth of the canyon,
spent most of the rest of his life in a vain quest for gold in the
canyon, barricaded his house against would-be intruders, and took
potshots at anyone approaching his home for fear they were after his
“gold.” Some thought him only half crazy, but when he took repeated
shots at an Indian named Henry Kadig, he was adjudged wholly insane and
sent to the mental hospital at Pueblo, Colorado, for several years. When
he got out he sold the grazing rights in his canyon to the late Irving
Beard of Fruita, and seemingly was not heard from again. According to
various estimates, Kodel dug an adit between 18 and 150 feet into the
dark Proterozoic rock in the side of the canyon (shown in fig. 3), then
sunk a shaft somewhere between 30 and 50 feet deep. He was always “on
the verge of a big strike,” but there is no record of any actual
production.

Later, a prospector from the midwest spent several summers digging in
Devils Canyon, the next major canyon to the west, but he was equally
unsuccessful. The unsuccessful attempts of Kodel and others is not
surprising, for the two canyons are some 100 miles north of the Colorado
mineral belt—a band extending roughly from Boulder to the western part
of the San Juan Mountains, in which ore-bearing Upper Cretaceous or
lower Tertiary rocks were intruded into all overlying rocks of whatever
age.


                          Recent Cave Dweller

About 3 miles west of the Glade Park Store and Post Office are three
large caves in a cliff of the Wingate Sandstone on the north wall of a
canyon containing a tributary of Clark’s Wash. The middle cave, which
formerly contained a small one-room framehouse and other improvements,
was occupied for about 40 years prior to 1958 by Mrs. Laura Hazel Miller
(fig. 5). A large cave just to the west (left) was used for storage, and
another large cave just to the east formerly was fenced to shelter
domestic animals. Mrs. Miller lived alone most of this time but had a
dog for companionship the last few years she lived in the cave. When my
wife and I visited her in the mid-fifties we had a very pleasant
conversation with this very intelligent woman and could hardly believe
she was 87 years old. She could not understand why anyone could live in
crowded cities as she much preferred the peace and quiet of her cave.
Once a week she walked the 6 miles round trip to and from the Glade Park
Store and Post Office, bought what few necessities she needed, and
telephoned her daughter in Grand Junction. Maybe she had something the
rest of us have missed! She became sick in her nineties and moved to
Grand Junction to live with her daughter. After she died, the property
was sold, and I have since observed that vandals had burned her one room
house and had destroyed most of the other improvements.

    [Illustration: CAVE in Wingate Sandstone inhabited by Mrs. Laura
    Hazel Miller (visible between gate posts) until 1958. One-room house
    was entirely within cave, and smaller storehouses extended back of
    the house. Note blackening of cave roof by soot. (Fig. 5)]




                             Artesian Wells


It may surprise you to learn that several sandstone formations supply
water to artesian wells northeast of the Monument in The Redlands,
Orchard Mesa, and the southwestern side of the Grand Valley, most of
which are 500 to more than 1,000 feet deep. When first drilled and for
some years later these wells flowed at the land surface, but eventually
after too many wells had been drilled too close together, each well
reduced the output of neighboring wells until most wells ceased to flow
naturally. This made it necessary for most well owners to install pumps,
which further aggravated the problem by reducing the artesian head (the
height to which the water rises above the formation from which it
issues). This created a situation not unlike too many children sucking
on straws in the same ice cream soda, and led to a detailed
investigation by the U.S. Geological Survey and the Colorado Water
Conservation Board,[16] outgrowths of which were the present report and
its predecessors.

The water system of the Ute Conservancy District was virtually completed
by late 1964 and began to supply water to rural residents of Grand
Valley between the towns of Palisade and Mack through a vast network of
pipelines. The water is obtained from surface sources on the north flank
of Grand Mesa east of the valley and is brought to the valley via a
pipeline down the valley of Plateau Creek. Use of the new water has
reduced the draft on many of the artesian wells. The reduced draft has
locally arrested the decline in the artesian head or has actually
allowed some recovery in head.

In order of their importance and productivity the water-bearing
sandstones are the Entrada, the Wingate, and local sandstone lenses in
the lower part (Salt Wash Member) of the Morrison Formation (fig. 7). In
a few places small flows or yields are obtained from wells that tap the
Dakota Sandstone and underlying Burro Canyon Formation, but inasmuch as
the Dakota contains some marine sandstones from which all the salt
seemingly has not yet been flushed out, the water from most of these
wells is brackish or salty.

As we will see on the trip “From Grand Junction through The Redlands to
the West Entrance of the Monument,” pages 88-95, in and near the
Monument these sandstones look bone dry, so how can they supply water to
artesian wells? They are indeed dry in all the cliff exposures, but as
will be noted later when the bending and breaking of the rocks are
discussed (p. 64-71), erosion has exposed the upturned sandstones so
that they may take in water from the many small streams that drain the
Monument and adjacent areas for short periods after summer
thundershowers or during spring thaws. The water moves slowly down the
dipping sandstones and becomes trapped under pressure beneath overlying
beds of siltstone or mudstone—materials that are nearly impervious.




                           Geographic Setting


Geologists and geographers have divided the United States into many
provinces, each of which has distinctive geologic and topographic
characteristics that set it apart from the others. Colorado National
Monument is in the northeastern part of the Canyon Lands section of the
Colorado Plateau Province—a province that contains 15 national parks and
monuments, about 3 times as many as any other province. This province,
hereinafter referred to simply as the Colorado Plateau, or the Plateau,
covers some 150,000 square miles and extends from Rifle, Colo., at the
northeast to a little beyond Flagstaff, Ariz., at the southwest, and
from Cedar City, Utah, at the west nearly to Albuquerque, N. Mex., at
the southeast. This scenic province consists of high plateaus generally
ranging in altitude from 4,500 feet to more than 7,000 feet, which are
deeply and intricately dissected by literally thousands of canyons.

Colorado National Monument is drained entirely by the Colorado River,
which flows to the northwest in the wide Grand Valley just a few miles
from the northeastern border (fig. 3). The small streams that drain the
Monument contain water only after summer thundershowers or after rapid
snowmelt.

Why is the large valley of the Colorado River called the Grand Valley?
The Colorado River northeast from its confluence with the Green River in
the middle of Canyonlands National Park[17] formerly was called the
Grand River, and the Green and Grand joined at the confluence to form
the Colorado River. The Grand River was renamed Colorado River by act of
the Colorado State Legislature approved March 24, 1921, and approved by
act of Congress July 25, 1921. But the old term still remains in names
such as Grand County, Colo., the headwaters region; Grand Valley, a town
16 miles west of Rifle, Colo.; Grand Valley between Palisade and Mack,
Colo.; Grand Mesa, an extensive plateau which towers more than a mile
above the Grand and Gunnison River Valleys; Grand Junction, Colo., a
city appropriately situated at the confluence of the Grand and Gunnison
Rivers; and Grand County, Utah, which the river traverses after entering
Utah.




                       The Geologic Story Begins


Colorado National Monument is a land of brightly colored cliff-walled
canyons and towering monoliths—a majestic sample of mysterious
canyonlands that stretch hundreds of miles to the west and south. Now a
desert region more than a mile above the sea, it was not always so. More
than a billion years ago the site of the Monument was deep beneath the
sea. Later, lofty mountains were pushed up only to be obliterated
eventually by the slow but relentless forces of erosion. Millions of
years later the earth shook to the stride of 10-ton dinosaurs—then the
sea returned again and sharks swam over the region looking for food.

These are but a few samples of the interesting—even exciting—events in
the long geologic history of the Monument. Many pages, indeed several
whole chapters, of its history are missing and must be inferred from
nearby regions where the story is more complete. Thus, the cliffs and
canyons you are looking at did not get that way overnight. An
understanding of the geologic processes and events that led to the
scenic features of today should help you toward a clearer picture and
greater appreciation of nature’s handiworks (fig. 6).

Geologists recognize rocks of three distinctly different modes of
origin—sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic, and there are many
variations of each type. The sedimentary rocks of the Monument are
composed of clay, silt, sand, and gravel carried and deposited by moving
water; silt and fine sand transported by wind; and some limestone,
composed mainly of the mineral calcium carbonate, which was precipitated
from water solutions in freshwater lakes. In areas not far to the
northeast and southwest are many sedimentary rocks of marine origin,
that is, materials that were deposited in the ocean or shallow inland
seas, but in the Monument marine sedimentary rocks occur only in parts
of the Dakota Sandstone; however, the overlying marine Mancos Shale
underlies the adjacent Grand Valley and forms the lower slopes of the
Book Cliffs across the valley (fig. 25).

Igneous rocks were solidified from liquid molten rock intruded upward
into any preexisting rocks along cracks, joints, and faults. Molten rock
that reaches the land surface and forms volcanos or lava flows is called
extrusive igneous rock. Joints are cracks or breaks in rocks along which
no movement has taken place. Faults are cracks or joints along which one
side has moved relative to the other. Different types of faults are
shown in figure 28. Metamorphic rocks were formed from either of the
other types by great heat and pressure at extreme depths in the Earth’s
crust. Metamorphic rocks and some intrusive igneous rocks make up the
hard, dark rock that floors all the deep canyons in and near the
Monument. The nearest extrusive igneous rocks are the thick, dark lava
flows that cap towering Grand Mesa to the east and Battlement Mesa to
the northeast.

    [Illustration: INDEPENDENCE MONUMENT, separating the two entrances
    of Monument Canyon. Looking north from Grand View; Colorado River,
    Grand Valley, and Book Cliffs in distance. Roan Cliffs are white
    cliffs at extreme distance on right skyline. Dark rock flooring
    canyon is Proterozoic metamorphic rock, red material in slope at
    base of cliffs is the Chinle Formation, vertical cliffs are Wingate
    Sandstone, thin protective caprock on top of cliffs is lower
    sandstone of the resistant Kayenta Formation. The top of
    Independence Monument is nearly 450 feet above the floor of the
    canyon. (Fig. 6)]

    [Illustration: ROCK COLUMN OF COLORADO NATIONAL MONUMENT. 1 foot =
    0.305 meter. (Fig. 7)]


  AGE (millions of years)
    GEOLOGIC AGE
      NAME OF ROCK FORMATION
        KIND OF ROCK AND HOW IT IS SCULPTURED BY EROSION
          THICKNESS (feet)
            NAMED FOR OCCURRENCE AT OR NEAR
  80
    Late Cretaceous
      Mancos Shale
        Gray and black shale, and thin beds of sandstone and limestone.
              Contains sea shells. Eroded from Monument, but underlies
              Grand Valley and forms lower part of Book Cliffs.
          3,800
            Mancos, Colo.
      Dakota Sandstone
        Coaly shale, sandstone, conglomerate, and lignite coal. Contains
              plant remains. Forms benches and slopes. Caps highest hill
              in Monument.
          150
            Dakota, Nebr.
  115
    Early Cretaceous
      Burro Canyon Formation
        Green siltstone and shale, and sandstone and conglomerate. Forms
              benches and slopes. Crops out on highest hill in Monument.
          60
            Burro Canyon San Miguel Co., Colo.
      EROSIONAL UNCONFORMITY
  150
    Late Jurassic
      Morrison Formation
        Brightly colored siltstone and mudstone, and sandstone and
              limestone. Contains dinosaur bones and fresh-water shells.
              Forms slopes and badlands. Lower third with sandstone
              lenses is Salt Wash Member, upper two thirds is Brushy
              Basin Member.
          600
            Morrison, Colo.
  170
    Middle Jurassic
      Summerville Formation
        Brightly colored siltstone and mudstone, and thin sandstones.
              Forms slopes.
          54
            Summerville Point San Rafael Swell, Utah
      Entrada Sandstone
        White and salmon-red sandstone. Upper level-bedded Moab Member
              forms stair steps, lower mostly cross-bedded Slick Rock
              Member forms cliffs.
          150
            Entrada Point Moab, Utah Slick Rock, Colo.
  195
    Jurassic and Triassic(?) (missing)
    EROSIONAL UNCONFORMITY
  210
    Late Triassic(?)
      Kayenta Formation
        Red and purple siltstone and shale, and sandstone and
              conglomerate. Forms bench between two cliffs and mesas
              between canyons.
          45-80
            Kayenta, Ariz.
    Late Triassic
      Wingate Sandstone
        Buff and light red sandstone. Cross-bedded and level-bedded.
              Forms highest cliffs and most of named rock features in
              Monument.
          350
            Fort Wingate, New Mex.
    Chinle Formation
      Red siltstone and shale, and some limestone conglomerate. Forms
            steep slopes at foot of cliffs.
        80-100
          Chinle Valley N.E. Ariz.
    GREAT UNCONFORMITY
  240-1000
    Triassic, Paleozoic, Younger Proterozoic (missing)
      Unnamed
        Schist, gneiss, granite, and pegmatite dikes. Floors main
              canyons and forms high bluff above The Redlands.
          Unknown
  1500
    Older Proterozoic


After the materials of the sedimentary rocks were deposited and covered
by younger layers, they generally became saturated or partly saturated
with ground water containing small amounts of dissolved minerals. Some
of these minerals precipitated from solution and cemented the loose
particles into rocks of varying hardness. Thus, most of the sandstones
are partly cemented with the mineral calcite, composed of calcium
carbonate (CaCO₃), but some are cemented also with silica (SiO₂) or
hematite (Fe₂O₃).

Look almost anywhere in the Monument and you will see that the rocks are
piled up in layers of different color, thickness, and hardness—much like
a vast layer cake. In most of the Monument, these layers are flat or
slope gently down to the northeast, but along the northeastern boundary
they are sharply bent or broken as though the cake had been carelessly
placed over the edge of a table and had sagged.

Let us consider these layers one by one, beginning with the oldest at
the bottom, for each is a partial record of events long past. Layers of
rock that can be easily recognized and distinguished from other layers
are called formations and are named after a place where they are well
exposed. For the name to be accepted for general usage it must be the
first published description in a technical report of a particular
sequence of rock layers. The places after which the formations of the
Monument were named are given in the rock column (fig. 7), and the
outcrops of the formations are shown on the geologic map (fig. 8). In
the pages that follow, the geologic events that shaped the Monument we
see today are discussed in chronological order, beginning with the
oldest rocks that floor the deep canyons.

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]

    [Illustration: GEOLOGIC MAP of Colorado National Monument and
    vicinity, simplified and greatly reduced from part of maps at scale
    1:31,680 by Lohman (1963, 1965a). For additional surficial deposits
    in the Grand Valley and Orchard Mesa see Cashion (1973). (Fig. 8)]


  EXPLANATION
    QUATERNARY
      Qal—ALLUVIUM
      Qls—LANDSLIDE DEPOSITS
    CRETACEOUS
      Km—MANCOS SHALE
      Kdb—DAKOTA SANDSTONE AND BURRO CANYON FORMATION, UNDIVIDED
    JURASSIC
      Jms—MORRISON AND SUMMERVILLE FORMATIONS, UNDIVIDED
      Je—ENTRADA SANDSTONE
    TRIASSIC
      TRk—KAYENTA FORMATION
      TRwc—WINGATE SANDSTONE AND CHINLE FORMATION, UNDIVIDED
    PROTEROZOIC
      PL—SCHIST, GNEISS, GRANITE, AND PEGMATITE
    CONTACT FAULT—Dashed where approximately located; dotted where
          concealed. U, upthrown side; D, downthrown side
    ANTICLINE
    SYNCLINE
    CENTRAL AXIS OF SYMMETRICAL MONOCLINE—Showing direction of plunge
    UPPER BEND OF MONOCLINE—Showing direction of plunge
    STRIKE AND DIP OF BEDS
    ABANDONED MINE
  Geology simplified from Lohman, 1965a
  _(Showing location of—)_
    DEVILS CANYON MONOCLINE
    KODELS CANYON FAULT
    LIZARD CANYON MONOCLINE
    FRUITA CANYON MONOCLINE
    LADDER CREEK FAULT


                        Ancient Rocks and Events

The dark rocks that floor all the large canyons of the Monument (fig. 6)
and form the high bluffs along the northeastern boundary (figs. 37, 38,
40, 41) are of early Proterozoic[18] age—among the oldest known rocks of
the Earth. Most were once sand and mud that spread out on the bottom of
the sea and later hardened into sedimentary rocks (fig. 9-1). After
thousands of feet of such rocks had accumulated, they were squeezed,
bent, and lifted up by slow but mighty movements of the Earth’s crust to
form high mountains perhaps like the Rockies. Heat and pressure that
developed at great depth in the roots of these mountains changed the
sediments into metamorphic rocks known as schist (finely banded) and
gneiss (coarsely banded) (fig. 9-2). The rocks are about 1½ billion
years old (fig. 7).

Later in Proterozoic time, about a billion years ago, molten material
from below was forced upward along cracks or faults and cooled slowly to
form thin seams or dikes and irregular bodies of granite (fig. 9-3).
Dikes are called pegmatite when they contain large crystals of pink
feldspar, white or clear quartz, black tourmaline, and large flakes of
white mica. Small pegmatite dikes that pass through the older schist and
gneiss may be seen along roadcuts in Fruita and No Thoroughfare Canyons.

    [Illustration: BLOCK DIAGRAMS OF EARLY PROTEROZOIC EVENTS (after
    Edwin D. McKee). (Fig. 9)]

    [Illustration: ① Layers of sand, mud, and other sediment accumulated
    in the sea and later were hardened into sedimentary rocks.]

    [Illustration: ② The strata were compressed, bent, and uplifted into
    high mountains. Heat and pressure at great depth changed the
    sediments into banded schist and gneiss.]

    [Illustration: ③ Molten rock flowed upward along cracks or faults.
    Upon cooling it formed lava at the surface and granite or pegmatite
    beneath.]

    [Illustration: ④ During eons of time the forces of erosion wore down
    the mountains to a nearly level plain.]


                     A Great Gap in the Rock Record

If you look down into any of the large canyons in the Monument, you will
notice a brick-red formation, the Chinle, which forms steep slopes at
the foot of the high cliffs and lies upon the dark Proterozoic rocks
along nearly straight lines of contact. Such a straight-line contact is
particularly well shown about midway up the high bluffs along the
northeastern boundary of the Monument (fig. 37). If the red layer and
all overlying rocks were stripped away, these straight lines would be
the exposed edges of a remarkably smooth, nearly flat erosion surface on
the top of the dark Proterozoic rocks, as shown in the last diagram of
figure 9. A vast amount of time passed between the carving of this
surface and the deposition of the red Chinle, and no record of the
events during this time is preserved in the Monument.

During the latter part of the Proterozoic Eon and parts of the long
Paleozoic Era that followed, the dark rocks were submerged beneath the
sea several times and received sediments now found in areas to the
northeast and southwest. Beginning in the Pennsylvanian Period some 330
million years ago (fig. 61), a large upfold of the rocks, or anticline
(fig. 27), known to geologists as the Uncompahgre Highland, rose high
above sea level, probably reaching its highest level in Late
Pennsylvanian or Permian time. This old highland formed an imposing
chain of mountains in about the position of the present Uncompahgre
Plateau.

After the old rocks were pushed up into these high mountains what became
of them? From the moment the mountains began to rise, their rocks were
buffeted by wind, pounded by rain, pried open by frost, scoured by
debris-laden streams and, perhaps by glaciers, and the loosened rock
particles were dissolved or carried to the sea. Most rocks are brittle
enough to crack when bent by Earth forces. Such cracks, called joints,
are easy targets for erosion. The freezing of water in joints tends to
pry the rocks apart. The breakup of the rocks was hastened by the
chemical attack on rock minerals by water charged with oxygen and carbon
dioxide. When land plants became established in later geologic eras,
soil acids formed from decaying vegetation also assisted materially in
breaking up the rocks.

These same erosion processes are going on today, but their effects are
scarcely noticeable from year to year except in soft earth after storms
or floods. During eons of time, however, the mountains were again worn
down to a nearly level plain. Missing between the red Chinle and the
dark rocks are many thousands of feet of rocks, some of which once
covered this surface and still occur in other regions less affected by
erosion. This gap in the rock record, which represents more than a
billion years, is known to geologists as a great unconformity. Missing
are part of the lower Proterozoic rocks, all the upper Proterozoic
rocks, all those of the Paleozoic Era, and part of those of the Triassic
Period of the Mesozoic Era. (See figs. 7 and 61.)

Traces of primitive life have been found in some Proterozoic rocks in
the form of lime-secreting algae and casts of worms, but no fossils of
more advanced types have been found because at that time the primitive
animals seemingly had not yet developed shells or skeletons. The ensuing
Paleozoic Era saw the appearance and great development of shellfish,
fish, amphibians, reptiles, and primitive plants. Some of the rock
layers of ages missing at the Monument may be seen as near as Glenwood
Springs to the northeast and Gateway to the southwest.




                          The Age of Reptiles


All the layers of sedimentary rocks preserved in the Monument above the
dark Proterozoic ones were deposited by wind and water during the
Mesozoic Era. This long era has been called the age of reptiles, for
reptiles, including dinosaurs (meaning terrible lizards), were then the
dominant land animals. The Mesozoic Era has been divided into three
parts—the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous Periods. Rocks of each of
these periods crop out in the Monument.


                            Early Landscape

By late Triassic time the Monument was part of a nearly flat plain cut
on the dark Proterozoic rocks, but there were hills or low mountains to
the northeast. Streams from these hills dropped mud, silt, sand, and
some gravel on this plain and into many small lakes that occupied the
gentle depressions. Later, these deposits hardened mainly into red
siltstone and sandstone, but thin beds of gravel were cemented to form
conglomerate, and thin beds of limestone formed in some of the shallow
lakes by the precipitation of the mineral calcium carbonate. These
rocks, which comprise the Chinle (pronounced Chin-lee) Formation, are
only 80 to 100 feet thick in the Monument but are as much as 700 feet
thick near Moab, Utah, southwest of the Uncompahgre Plateau, where the
entire formation is present. There, the Chinle rests on still older
Triassic and Paleozoic rocks—all absent in the Monument for the reasons
noted previously. In some parts of the Plateau, sandstone or
conglomerate beds in the lower part of the Chinle yield uranium ore, but
these beds were not deposited in or near the Monument.

The red color of the Chinle and some of the overlying rocks is caused by
minute amounts of iron oxide—the same pigment used in rouge and red barn
paint. Various oxides of iron, some including water, produce not only
brick red but also pink, salmon, brown, buff, yellow, and even green or
bluish green. This does not imply that the rocks could be considered as
sources of iron ore, for the merest trace of iron, generally only 1 to 3
percent, is enough to produce even the darkest shades of red.

Because it is soft, the Chinle is easily eroded into steep slopes at the
foot of high sandstone cliffs in all canyons of the Monument and on top
of the high bluffs that face The Redlands. It also forms the broad base
of Independence Monument. Rim Rock Drive crosses the Chinle three times
in the lower part of Fruita Canyon and twice in No Thoroughfare Canyon.

Fossil reptile bones, petrified wood, and freshwater shells come from
the Chinle in parts of Arizona and Utah. Reptiles probably roamed the
Monument in Chinle time, but their remains have not been located.


                           Ancient Sand Dunes

Still later in the Triassic Period the Monument became part of a vast
desert. Winds blowing from the northwest brought great quantities of
fine sand and piled them up into large dunes like those in the Sahara or
in Great Sand Dunes National Monument in Colorado. But like all deserts,
it was not always dry—occasional rainstorms produced many small lakes
and ponds. Some of the sand was washed into these lakes or ponds and
settled in level layers. This huge sandpile eventually hardened into the
buff and light-red sandstone that we now know as the Wingate. The shapes
of the old dunes are indicated by the steep dips of sand layers, called
crossbeds, which stand out in sharp contrast to the nearly level layers
formed in the lakes and ponds (fig. 10).

The spectacular scenery of Colorado National Monument owes its existence
largely to the 350-foot cliffs of the Wingate Sandstone (fig. 6) and to
the desert climate, which allows us to see virtually every foot of the
vividly colored rocks and has made possible the creation and
preservation of such a wide variety of fantastic sculptures. A wetter
climate would have produced a far different and smoother landscape in
which most of the rocks and land forms would have been hidden by
vegetation.

Eroded remnants of the Wingate form most of the named rock features of
the Monument and are shown in many of the photographs. Independence
Monument—a towering slab of sandstone that resembles a bridge pier (fig.
6)—is all that is left of a high narrow wall that once connected the
point east of Independence View with the high mesa north of the slab and
which once separated the two entrances of Monument Canyon. In a few
thousand years this remnant, too, may be gone.

Vertical cliffs and shafts of the Wingate Sandstone endure only where
the top of the formation is capped by beds of the next younger rock
unit—the Kayenta Formation. The Kayenta is much more resistant to
erosion than the Wingate, so even a few feet of the Kayenta, such as the
cap on top of Independence Monument, protect the rock beneath. Once this
cap has been eroded away, the underlying Wingate weathers into rounded
domes, such as the Coke Ovens.

Cold Shivers Point (fig. 53)—a toadstool shaped cap of sandstone of the
Kayenta above a vertical cliff of the Wingate—is perhaps the most aptly
titled feature of the Monument.

    [Illustration: PETRIFIED SAND DUNES in Wingate Sandstone along old
    Serpents Trail. Looking north across The Redlands and Grand Valley
    to the Book Cliffs. Battlement Mesa on right skyline. (Fig. 10)]

The Coke Ovens (fig. 11) and Squaw Fingers were formed partly because
most of the caprock of Kayenta has been weathered away and also because
the brittle rocks were cracked along an evenly spaced set of vertical
joints. These joints trend northward between the two named features.
More rapid weathering along these joints helped form the separate
rounded domes or spires between them. Similarly, northwestward-trending
vertical joints connect and helped shape Kissing Couple, Pipe Organ, and
Sentinal Spire.

    [Illustration: THE COKE OVENS, looking north from overlook beneath
    Artists Point. A set of north-south joints has allowed erosion of
    the Wingate Sandstone to proceed more rapidly along these zones of
    weakness and has helped create the four ovens shown. Weathering away
    of the protective caprock of the overlying Kayenta Formation has
    produced rounded tops on all but the left-hand shaft, which is still
    protected by the Kayenta. Note alcoves and arches in cliff of the
    Wingate beyond, the formation of the one on the right having been
    aided by removal of the underlying soft Chinle Formation. Bench
    covered by piñon and juniper above Wingate is resistant thin-bedded
    Kayenta Formation. Cliff above the bench is the Slick Rock Member of
    the Entrada Sandstone. The Coke Ovens were named from their
    resemblance to the beehive-shaped brick ovens formerly used to
    convert bituminous coal into coke for smelting iron. (Fig. 11)]

Many of the cliff walls of the Wingate are vertical, some even overhang,
yet in some places the slopes are gentle enough to hold talus and to be
climbed (fig. 12). Why is this? The answer to this question is given in
a later section on “Canyon Cutting.”

Arches or shallow caves weathered out of some cliff faces of the
Wingate, particularly where the underlying Chinle Formation has been
partly scoured away. Although there are no large caves within the
Monument, there are three in a row along the road 3 miles west of the
Glade Park Post Office. One of these was inhabited until 1958 (fig. 5).

Many of the cliff faces of the Wingate are darkened or blackened by
desert varnish—a natural pigment of iron and manganese oxides, silica,
and clay.[19]

Dinosaurs left their footprints in the sands of the Wingate in parts of
the Colorado Plateau, but no tracks or fossils have yet been found in
this formation in or near the Monument.


                             The Rains Came

The arid climate of Wingate time was followed by a wet period, when
streams from the northeast gradually covered the sand dunes with mud,
sand, and some gravel. The sand and gravel of the stream channels were
cemented into hard sandstone and conglomerate, and the mud of the flood
plains hardened into red and purple siltstone and mudstone. The
resulting Kayenta Formation makes up the bench between the two cliffs
upon which the Visitor Center, campgrounds, and most of scenic Rim Rock
Drive were built. Here, nature was kind, for this gently sloping bench
was an ideal place to build the road from which to look down into the
deep chasms. The Kayenta also caps the broad mesas between the canyons.
It is about 350 feet thick in eastern Utah, only 45 to 80 feet thick in
the Monument, and it is absent altogether not far east of the Monument.
The reasons for the eastward thinning and ultimate disappearance of the
Kayenta and some younger rocks are given in the next section.

    [Illustration: RED CANYON, looking northeast toward Grand Junction
    from Red Canyon Overlook. Dark notch at the bottom of the northeast
    end of the canyon is known as the Gunsight. Linear feature in the
    Grand Valley beyond is the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad.
    Prominent point near middle of Book Cliffs is Mount Garfield (Fig.
    25). Battlement and Grand Mesas form left and right skylines,
    respectively. Dark green bush in right foreground is Mormon Tea.
    (Fig. 12)]

    [Illustration: THIN BEDDED KAYENTA FORMATION protecting underlying
    cliff of softer Wingate Sandstone. Rim Rock Drive is on bench of the
    Kayenta close to thinner cliff of Entrada Sandstone in background.
    Looking northwest from a point northeast of Monument Canyon View.
    (Fig. 13)]

As noted earlier, the sandstone beds and lenses of the Kayenta generally
are coarser grained (some even contain small pebbles) and much harder
than the underlying Wingate Sandstone—particularly the lower beds of the
Kayenta, which serve as a protective capping, as shown in figure 13 and
in many of the other photographs. Unlike the dominantly fine grained,
well sorted, windblown sands of the Wingate, the coarser stream-laid
sands of the Kayenta are angular and poorly sorted, so that small grains
fill spaces between larger ones. Moreover, in addition to the calcite
cement (which also holds together the sand grains in the Wingate and
Entrada Sandstones), most of the sand grains and pebbles in the Kayenta
are covered by interconnected “overgrowths” of silica (SiO₂), which make
up about 10 percent of the rocks and serve as a nearly insoluble hard
cement.[20]

The combination of the coarse and fine grains and interlocking silica
“overgrowths” makes the Kayenta one of the most resistant rocks in the
Colorado Plateau.

In distant views of weathered outcrops the Kayenta appears to consist
mainly of thin beds or lenses of sandstone, which indeed it does, but in
some fresh exposures, such as roadcuts, the highly lenticular red
flood-plain deposits form striking features which may wedge out from 3
or 4 feet thick to a featheredge within horizontal distances of only a
few feet (fig. 14).

The Kayenta has yielded fossil bones of dinosaurs and other reptiles in
northeastern Arizona and freshwater shells in eastern Utah. As yet,
however, no fossils have been reported from it in or near the Monument.


                     Another Gap in the Rock Record

Following the wet interval when the Kayenta Formation was deposited over
wide areas of the Colorado Plateau by streams, the Plateau once again
became a vast desert, and this time the dry climate persisted from the
Late Triassic into the Jurassic. The howling winds piled up enormous
sand dunes, layer upon layer, to a total thickness of more than 2,200
feet at Zion National Park, and as much as 500 feet remains in eastern
Utah and parts of southwestern Colorado. This immense sandpile
eventually was cemented by calcite into the Navajo Sandstone.

    [Illustration: KAYENTA FORMATION, showing lenses of hard channel
    sandstones and wedge of red siltstone and mudstone. Along road cut
    of Rim Rock Drive near head of main stem of Ute Canyon. Vertical
    grooves remain from drill holes used in blasting roadcut. (Fig. 14)]

Beautifully sculptured remains of the Navajo are featured attractions at
Zion, Capitol Reef, and Arches National Parks, Rainbow Bridge, Navajo,
and Dinosaur National Monuments; border many miles of beautiful Lake
Powell; and form the eastern flank of the San Rafael Swell. For reasons
to be explained, this sandstone thins to the northeast, and is absent
entirely at about the Utah-Colorado State line, some 35 miles southwest
of the Monument. Thus, in the Monument, the Navajo, most of the Kayenta,
and the lower part of the Entrada Sandstone are missing at another gap
in the rock record, as shown in figure 15.

    [Illustration: GAP IN THE ROCK RECORD, between Kayenta Formation
    below 3½- × 6-inch green notebook and Slick Rock Member of Entrada
    Sandstone above. The reasons for this gap are given in the text on
    page 38. That this is an erosional unconformity is clearly indicated
    by the uneven top of the Kayenta, particularly to the left of the
    notebook. Note solution pits and openings in the Entrada near top of
    photograph. (Fig. 15)]

How is it possible that the Navajo Sandstone is more than 2,200 feet
thick in Zion National Park, is several hundred feet thick in much of
the Plateau in Utah and parts of southwestern Colorado, yet is absent
entirely, together with a considerable thickness of younger rocks in and
near Colorado National Monument? How much of the missing strata once
were present in the Monument is not known, but it seems clear that at
least part was present but was eroded away before the Entrada Sandstone
was deposited. There is evidence[21] that following the deposition and
consolidation of the Navajo Sandstone the Plateau and adjacent areas
were uplifted, tilted gently westward, and eroded for a considerable
period of time. Erosion naturally was most pronounced in the eastern
areas, including the Monument, where the uplift was greatest. Thus, in
the northeastern part of the Plateau all the Navajo and most of the
Kayenta were eroded away, and erosion continued there while the lowest
member of the Entrada, the Dewey Bridge Member, and the lower part of
the overlying Slick Rock Member were being laid down in the Moab, Utah,
area.[22] This old erosion surface is clearly visible in many places
along the cliff wall on the southwest side of Rim Rock Drive between the
Visitor Center and Kissing Couple.

The reduction in thickness of the Navajo Sandstone from southwest to
northeast and absence of the Navajo and some younger rocks in and near
the Monument are shown on an isometric (three dimensional) block diagram
prepared by artist John R. Stacy and me, which is displayed in the
Museum of the Visitor Center. This block diagram portrays the surface
and subsurface rocks from Zion National Park, Utah, to Black Canyon of
the Gunnison National Monument, Colo., via Capitol Reef National Park,
the Henry Mountains, and Colorado National Monument. Throughout the
Plateau and parts of adjacent areas, the erosion surface on top of the
Navajo Sandstone is covered by scattered pebbles of chert—a hard variety
of silica (SiO₂) derived from cherty beds of freshwater limestone in the
Navajo.[23] Where the Navajo has been completely eroded away and the
ancient erosion surface is on the Kayenta Formation, as in Colorado
National Monument, scattered pebbles (some of which are chert) derived
from the conglomerate lenses in the Kayenta are found locally on the old
surface.[24]

Because of this gap in the rock record we will continue part of our
story farther west, where the rock record is more nearly complete.


                          The Sea to the West

In Middle Jurassic time the land now called central Utah, which then was
the eroded surface of the Navajo Sandstone, sank beneath an arm of a
shallow sea that came in from the north, and most of the area remained
beneath this sea until Late Jurassic time. Sediment carried into this
sea and into bordering lagoons and estuaries later hardened into the
sedimentary rocks of the Carmel Formation, Entrada Sandstone, and Curtis
and Summerville Formations. The Carmel and Curtis contain abundant
marine fossils of Middle Jurassic age, and in central Utah the
intervening unfossiliferous Entrada also is believed to have been
deposited in or near the sea, and the unfossiliferous Summerville
Formation probably was deposited upon a tidal flat that was submerged
part of the time.


                  Deposits and Events East of the Sea

In eastern Utah, east of the ancient Jurassic sea, the Entrada Sandstone
is entirely unfossiliferous, was partly water laid and partly wind
blown, and has been divided into three distinctive parts, which in
ascending order are the Dewey Bridge, Slick Rock, and Moab Members.[25]
In and near the Colorado National Monument, the long period of erosion
discussed in a preceding section probably continued well into the
Jurassic, so only the upper part of the Slick Rock Member and the
overlying Moab Member were deposited on the eroded surface of what
little remained of the Kayenta Formation (fig. 14).

The Slick Rock Member was named from its occurrence at and near the
mining town of Slick Rock, Colo., which originally was named after the
appearance of the rock because it generally forms slick, smooth cliffs.
It reminds one of the chicken and egg conundrum. The Slick Rock is
composed mainly of sand dunes that were piled up on the eastern shore of
the Jurassic sea by winds blowing from the northeast. Occasional rainy
spells created lakes and ponds in which some of the sand was laid down
in level beds. This pile of sand later hardened into the cliff-forming
Slick Rock Member, which looks something like the Wingate but is
generally only half as thick, weathers into less abrupt cliffs, is
mostly salmon red, and is almost free of joints. The joints in the
Wingate (fig. 11) probably resulted from the uplift and tilting of the
Plateau before the long period of pre-Entrada erosion; whereas the land
seems to have been more stable during Entrada time. The Slick Rock is
cemented with calcium carbonate (CaCO₃), which is soluble even in weak
acid, such as rain or snow water containing dissolved carbon dioxide.
For this reason solution openings or pits occur in some of the cliff
faces, the most striking of which are those shown near the top of figure
15.

The Slick Rock Member of the Entrada Sandstone forms a line of cliffs
and isolated monoliths that are second in height and grandeur only to
those of the Wingate. The Member is best displayed southwest of Rim Rock
Drive between the Visitor Center and the Coke Ovens and along the
western arm of Ute Canyon (fig. 16). It also forms the Saddlehorn just
south of the camp and picnic grounds near the Visitor Center (fig. 50).
Most of the smooth cliff faces show both the steeply dipping crossbeds
of the old sand dunes and the flat-lying beds of the lake or pond
deposits.

    [Illustration: ENTRADA SANDSTONE, just above normally dry waterfall
    in west arm of Ute Canyon. Note smooth unjointed cliff of Slick Rock
    Member protected at left by overhanging basal bed of Moab Member,
    which forms about lower half of slope in distance. Upper part of
    distant slope is the Summerville Formation overlain by Salt Wash
    Member of the Morrison Formation. Note Slick Rock at left resting
    upon eroded crossbedded sandstone in Kayenta Formation, in which the
    canyon was cut. (Fig. 16)]

The overlying Moab Member of the Entrada is a white level-bedded
sandstone that generally weathers into stairsteps or ledges. One of the
best exposures of the Moab Member is shown in figure 17, but good
exposures also are seen along the west side of Rim Rock Drive just
northeast of the Coke Ovens Overlook. In some places the Moab Member
forms cliffs continuous with those of the underlying Slick Rock Member.
It appears to consist of hardened beach or lagoon sand that was
deposited along the eastern shore of the sea, which suggests that the
sea extended farther east during Moab and Summerville times than it did
during Dewey Bridge and Slick Rock times. Like the Slick Rock, the Moab
also is cemented by calcium carbonate, but the lower sandstone ledges of
the Moab Member are more resistant to erosion than the Slick Rock
Member, so the Moab helps preserve the underlying cliffs. The top of the
Moab Member forms patches of bare pavement east of the Monument, known
as the “Slick Rim,” which may be observed from the Little Park Road.

    [Illustration: MOAB MEMBER OF ENTRADA SANDSTONE, showing typical
    steplike weathering. In west arm of Ute Canyon about a quarter mile
    above the view shown in figure 16. Moab Member caps and protects
    overhang of Slick Rock Member. Moab is overlain by unexposed slope
    of Summerville Formation and lower part of Morrison Formation. (Fig.
    17)]

Although the Slick Rock Member normally is salmon colored or pink, the
upper half of an outcrop just north of the highest point on Rim Rock
Drive at the head of main Ute Canyon has a distinctly mottled
appearance, wherein much of the color has been leached to white, but
irregular splotches of color appear in the dominantly white upper part,
and white splotches appear in the colored part, as shown in figure 18.
By way of contrast, in an outcrop of the two members of the Entrada
about 2 miles north of the Glade Park Store and Post Office (fig. 19),
the entire Slick Rock Member is as white as the Moab Member, and the
former is white for some distance to the east. Why is the salmon color
entirely missing from the Slick Rock near Glade Park, partly missing in
figure 18, but present virtually everywhere else in and near the
Monument? The answers to this seeming mystery involve events that
occurred long ago, so only the high points will be touched upon here.

    [Illustration: MOTTLED SALMON-AND-WHITE SLICK ROCK MEMBER, overlain
    by white level-bedded Moab Member, on west side of Rim Rock Drive
    about four-tenths of a mile north of head of main Ute Canyon. (Fig.
    18)]

It seems reasonable to suppose that the Slick Rock Member at both
localities originally was salmon colored or pink, as it is everywhere
else, but that later, the coloring agent, red ferric iron oxide (Fe₂O₃),
was chemically reduced, or leached to ferrous iron oxide (FeO), by
acidic ground water, and was carried away to the northeast by the slowly
moving ground water. But as I have already pointed out, the cliff
exposures of the sandstones are now bone dry, so what happened to the
ground water and why was it acidic here and not elsewhere?

    [Illustration: WHITE ENTRADA SANDSTONE, in outcrop just east of
    gravel road about 2 miles north of Glade Park Store and Post Office.
    Reasons for absence of salmon color in Slick Rock Member are given
    in text. (Fig. 19)]

Before the cutting of the deep canyons of the Monument, which followed
the last major uplifts of the region accompanied by bending and breaking
of the rocks, the now dry sandstones were saturated with ground water
that moved very slowly northeastward. Somewhere to the southwest the
Entrada Sandstone seemingly took in water containing dissolved hydrogen
sulfide gas (H₂S), changing the ground water to a weak acid. The H₂S
could have been produced by a type of anaerobic bacteria that has the
ability to reduce dissolved sulfates (SO₄⁻²) in water to the dissolved
hydrogen sulfide gas, thereby obtaining needed oxygen.

The next questions you might logically ask are (1) if the above
deductions have any merit, how do we know the acid water was caused by
dissolved hydrogen sulfide,[26] (2) what is the source of the sulfate
ions (SO₄⁻²) from which the H₂S was obtained, and (3) why is the color
of the Slick Rock Member in figure 19 completely reduced to white
whereas that in figure 18 is only partly reduced in the upper part?

Although the ground waters from artesian wells in the Grand Junction
area contain small amounts of sulfate as do most ground waters, the
amount needed for the results observed more likely came from solution of
the common mineral gypsum (calcium sulfate containing some water,
CaSO₄·2H₂O). The overlying Summerville and Morrison Formations contain
some gypsum in many places in Utah, so it is not improbable that these
formations contain gypsum locally in Colorado. If so, sulfate-bearing
water could have percolated downward into the Entrada at some point
southwest of Glade Park. But as this must have happened several million
years ago, the clues as to just where this occurred have grown quite
cold.

Seemingly, the color in the Slick Rock Member near and east of Glade
Park was entirely removed by the process described, but the very slow
moving ground water had time to leach only the upper part of the Slick
Rock (the most permeable part) in Ute Canyon before the process was
halted forever by the draining of water from these beds by canyon
cutting.

Shortly before the Jurassic sea to the west dried up, silt, mud, and
some sand were carried into either a shallow arm of the sea or a broad
bay or lagoon near it, and later the silt, mud, and sand hardened to
become the Summerville Formation. The Summerville is only 40 to 60 feet
thick in the Monument but is much thicker in Utah.

The Summerville Formation is so soft that it weathers very rapidly and
hence is exposed at only a few places. It is best displayed in the high
roadcut at Artists Point and along the road to the south for the next
mile (fig. 20), but it is also exposed in roadcuts along the west arm of
Ute Canyon. Even the thinnest beds of the Summerville can be traced for
hundreds of yards, and individual beds have a nearly constant thickness
for such distances. This greatly facilitated the detailed measurement of
a section of the Summerville[27] by my son Bill and me from Artists
Point to the base of the overlying Morrison Formation about a mile
south. Using a 6-foot folding steel rule we measured and described each
thin bed from some key bed at about ground level to one at eye level,
followed the upper key bed southward to ground level, then repeated the
process until the entire 54 feet had been measured and described.

    [Illustration: SUMMERVILLE FORMATION, at Artists Point (fig. 3).
    Base of formation rests upon Moab Member of Entrada just beneath the
    pavement. Note geologist’s pick resting upon lower ledge of
    sandstone just to the left of middle. Top of the Summerville here
    has been removed by erosion. (Fig. 20)]

The Summerville at the type locality in the San Rafael Swell, Utah, is
much thicker than in the Monument and contains many chocolate-brown
beds; but the Summerville exhibits the same lateral continuity of even
the thinnest beds. Thin sedimentary beds of such uniform thickness are
thought to have accumulated in relatively quiet bodies of water. If you
look at the undersides of some of the blocks of hard light-gray
sandstone that have broken off, you may see corrugations like those on
some metal barn roofs. These are ripplemarks produced by wave or current
action while the sand was still loose, which indicates that the water
was not always entirely quiet. Although much of the Summerville is red,
you will see beds of many other colors including gray, blue gray,
greenish gray, chocolate brown, and reddish brown.


                      Dinosaurs Roam the Monument

In Late Jurassic time the sea to the west eventually dried up, either
because it was filled with sediments or because the land rose above sea
level, or both. This brought about a change from the parallel bedding in
the marginal marine environment of the Summerville to irregular
stream-channel sandstones, flood-plain silts and muds, and freshwater
lake deposits.

Streams from higher lands to the south brought in mud, silt, and sand
that piled up hundreds of feet thick over thousands of square miles,
including the Monument. These sediments were later compacted into the
brightly colored siltstone, mudstone, sandstone, and limestone now known
as the Morrison Formation. The colors are about the same as those of the
Summerville. Algae and other microscopic organisms extracted calcium
carbonate from the lake waters, and when they died this material settled
on the lake bottoms to make limestone.

The soft siltstone and mudstone of the Morrison Formation weather
rapidly into steep or fairly steep slopes, but the harder beds of
sandstone, most of which are in the lower third of the formation, known
as the Salt Wash Member, are sculptured into bold ledges or low cliffs.
The generally softer upper two-thirds of the formation is called the
Brushy Basin Member. The Morrison is best exposed in and southeast of
The Redlands, where the bare rocks are carved into badlands like the
famous ones of South Dakota. Both the Fruita Canyon and No Thoroughfare
Canyon approaches to the Monument pass typical badlands in the Morrison.
The entire 600 feet of this formation is best seen in the high bluff on
the east side of the mouth of No Thoroughfare Canyon (fig. 21).

    [Illustration: MORRISON FORMATION, on east side of mouth of No
    Thoroughfare Canyon. Forty feet of Summerville Formation at base is
    concealed by slope wash, but underlying white- and salmon-colored
    members of Entrada Sandstone are clearly exposed at lower left.
    Protective caprock at upper right is lowermost sandstone of
    Cretaceous Burro Canyon Formation. Upper two-thirds of Morrison is
    typical of the Brushy Basin Member; lower one-third is not typical
    of the Salt Wash Member, which generally contains more and thicker
    lenses of sandstone, some of which are just around the corner to the
    right. Mesa on left skyline is above Serpents Trail in the Monument.
    Looking west from Little Park Road. See also figures 55 and 60.
    (Fig. 21)]

In parts of the Colorado Plateau southwest of the Uncompahgre Plateau,
the sandstone lenses in the Salt Wash Member of the Morrison contain
uranium and vanadium ore associated with carbonaceous matter, including
coalified wood. No ores have been found in or near the Monument
presumably because such carbonaceous matter, which helped precipitate
the ores, is lacking on the northeastern side of the Uncompahgre
Plateau.

Some of the beds of siltstone and mudstone in the Brushy Basin Member of
the Morrison shown in figure 21 contain bentonite, a clay derived from
the decomposition of volcanic ash, which indicates the presence of
active volcanos in or near the Plateau at the time these beds were
deposited. Bentonite swells when wetted, so it is widely used in
well-drilling muds, sealing canals, etc. Some bentonitic material has
been dug from the Brushy Basin along the Little Park Road just south of
the point from which the photograph in figure 21 was taken and was used
for sealing irrigation canals in the Grand Valley.

The Morrison is not well exposed in the Monument, as the formation is
restricted to the higher parts where most of it is hidden by vegetation.
The lower part is seen in roadcuts and outcropping ledges along a high
stretch of Rim Rock Drive between Artists Point and the head of the west
arm of Ute Canyon, where sandstone lenses in the Salt Wash Member are
especially thick.

The climate during Morrison time was wet enough to support abundant
vegetation along the many lakes and streams—at least enough to feed the
hungry dinosaurs and other reptiles that roamed the area. Many bones and
parts of several skeletons of dinosaurs have been found in the Morrison
at several places in The Redlands not far northeast and northwest of the
Monument.

The most famous dinosaur locality near the Monument is Riggs Hill where,
in 1900, the late Elmer S. Riggs of the Field Columbian Museum (now
Field Museum of Natural History) dug out part of the first known
skeleton of a huge _Brachiosaurus_ (fig. 22). This discovery made quite
a splash in the scientific world, for it was the first and only type of
dinosaur found whose front legs were longer than its hind legs. The
fossilized thigh bone (femur) alone is 6 feet 8 inches long and weighs
549 pounds; the arm bone (humerus), though incomplete, is even longer.
The ribs are 9 feet long. A bronze plaque now marks the site of the
excavation (fig. 39).

In 1901, Riggs removed all but the forepart of a skeleton of
_Apatosaurus_ from the southeast side of a large hill of the Morrison
Formation just south of the old Fruita bridge. Riggs also found remains
of _Diplodocus_, _Camarasaurus_, and _Morosaurus_, and, in 1937, Al
Look, prominent writer and amateur paleontologist of Grand Junction, and
Edwin L. Holt, an instructor in Mesa College at Grand Junction, found
the closely associated remains of _Allosaurus_, _Stegosaurus_, and
_Brachiosaurus_ at the western end of Riggs Hill. Dinosaurs generally
are thought of as huge creatures—many were huge indeed (fig. 23)—but
they came in various sizes and some were quite small.

An interesting Late Jurassic vertebrate fossil locality in the Salt Wash
Member of the Morrison Formation, about 3 miles northwest of the West
Entrance of the Monument and about 3 miles southwest of Fruita, was
discovered in June 1975 by George Callison, Associate Professor of
Biology and Research Associate in Vertebrate Paleontology at the
California State University at Long Beach. During the summers of 1975
and 1976 Dr. Callison and his assistants removed the closely associated
skeletal remains of many small, primitive mammals and both small and
large dinosaurs and other reptiles. Part of the results were presented
in an unpublished manuscript.[28] During the summer of 1977 and later,
additional mammalian fossils were removed by Callison and assistants and
additional reptilian fossils were removed by Lance Erickson,
paleontologist of the Historical Museum and Institute of Western
Colorado (fig. 2). Hopefully, the work will be continued with the aid of
grants from several sources.

    [Illustration: EXCAVATING TYPE SPECIMEN OF _BRACHIOSAURUS
    ALTITHORAX_ RIGGS from south side of Riggs Hill. Photograph taken in
    1900, reproduced by permission of the Field Museum of Natural
    History (Chicago). See also figure 39. (Fig. 22)]

The locality, which covers parts of about 180 acres of public land
administered by the Bureau of Land Management, has been fenced and
posted to discourage vandalism, and has been designated the Fruita
Paleontological Area.

In order to evaluate the importance of the locality and to make plans
for its future development and protection, the Bureau of Land Management
held the Fruita Paleontological Workshop on March 28-30, 1977, to which
were invited several renowned vertebrate paleontologists and
archaeologists together with interested local personnel of the Bureau,
the National Park Service, and the Museum. All remarks and prepared
speeches were taken down by a shorthand reporter and were reproduced for
the attendees in the 83 page unpublished “The Fruita Paleontological
Report.”

    [Illustration: SKELETONS OF TYPICAL DINOSAURS OF MORRISON
    FORMATION.[29] _A_, _Camptosaurus_, a small dinosaur about 11 feet
    long; _B_, _Apatosaurus_, a gigantic dinosaur about 76 feet long;
    _C_, _Allosaurus_, a large carnivorous dinosaur about 30 feet long;
    and _D_, _Stegosaurus_, a large armored dinosaur about 24 feet long.
    (Fig. 23)]

The close association of Late Jurassic mammalian and reptilian fossils,
as found at the Fruita site, is of considerable interest and importance,
but is by no means unique, for similar associations occur elsewhere in
Colorado, and in Wyoming, Europe, and Africa. Of those in the United
States, the quarry at Como Bluff, near Laramie, Wyo., is considered by
most of the experts to be the most outstanding. Of the material
unearthed at Fruita thus far, which includes bones of some of the large
dinosaurs found earlier by Riggs, remains of some of the smaller
dinosaurs and a complete skull of the moderately large flesh eater
_Ceratosaurus_ are considered the most important.

Freshwater clam and snail shells abound in some beds of the Morrison,
particularly in limestones, and occur sparingly in other types of beds.
The shells occur mainly in The Redlands, particularly about 1½ miles
west of the Fruita bridge. Some of these shells that are filled with
agate are sought by rockhounds.


                         Dinosaurs on the Move

The wet climate of Late Jurassic time was followed by arid or semiarid
climate in the Early Cretaceous. Streams continued to deposit gravel,
sand, silt, and mud, but at a much slower rate. These deposits
eventually hardened into the conglomerate, sandstone, and green shale or
siltstone of the Burro Canyon Formation. This formation, together with
part of the overlying Dakota Sandstone, caps Black Ridge, the highest
part of the Monument (7,000 feet) about a mile west of the Coke Ovens.
Several airway beacons on this high ridge may be seen for many miles.
The Burro Canyon is best seen below the Monument on the west side of
Monument Road along the lower part of No Thoroughfare Canyon, where it
is about 60 feet thick (fig. 24).

    [Illustration: BURRO CANYON FORMATION AND DAKOTA SANDSTONE, along
    west side of No Thoroughfare Canyon, about 2½ miles northeast of the
    Monument’s East Entrance. Basal sandstone above road and unexposed
    green shale (brown in photograph) comprise the Burro Canyon, here 58
    feet thick. White band two-thirds the way up the slope is 40-foot
    basal conglomerate of the Dakota Sandstone, above which is 58 feet
    of carbonaceous shale, a 14-foot bed of sandstone, and 17 feet of
    sandy shale to the top of the hill. The top of the Dakota has been
    eroded away. (Fig. 24)]

A few fossil plants and shells have come from the Burro Canyon
Formation, but the seeming absence of dinosaur bones suggests that
possibly these reptiles had to move to areas of greater precipitation,
where food was more abundant. Some dinosaurs may have lived in the area
at this time, but their bones either were not fossilized or they have
not yet been found.


                   Yet Another Gap in the Rock Record

Deposition of the Burro Canyon Formation was brought to a close by
another uplift of the Plateau, and of course the uplift was followed by
another period of erosion, which continued through the end of Early
Cretaceous time. As noted in the caption for figure 24, seemingly all
but 58 feet of the Burro Canyon was eroded away, but 120 feet remains
along East Creek, only about 12 miles to the southeast, which suggests
that the old erosion surface was a bit uneven. That this period of
erosion was of considerable duration is suggested by the abundance of
the white clay mineral, kaolinite, beneath and in the overlying white
basal conglomerate of the Dakota Sandstone. This type of clay commonly
results from prolonged weathering of many types of rocks and indicates
that the period of pre-Dakota erosion was of long duration.


                               Peat Bogs

By the beginning of Late Cretaceous time the eroded surface of the
Monument was part of a low plain near sea level, and the sea was
gradually encroaching from the east or northeast. Gravel and sand
carried in by streams combined with the white kaolinite on the surface
to form the 40-foot basal conglomerate of the Dakota Sandstone (fig.
24).

As the land gradually subsided nearer to sea level, swamps which were
formed along the coast supported considerable vegetation. As the trees
and plants died and were covered by silt and mud, they gradually changed
to peat which finally became compacted into coal and brown or black
coaly shale containing plant remains. You can dig out some of this coal
and perhaps find some plant remains near the top of the west canyon wall
just below the highest sandstone bed in figure 24, which is outside the
Monument.

For awhile the coast alternately sank slightly below and rose slightly
above sea level. Beach sand covered the swamp deposits, then more swamp
deposits covered the sand. Some of the sand contains seashells, such as
oysters and clams.

Except on Black Ridge, the Dakota has been entirely eroded from the
Monument, but it crops out with the underlying Burro Canyon in a series
of low hills south of the Colorado River. The Dakota Sandstone is about
200 feet thick.


                       The Sea Covers the Plateau

Still later in the Cretaceous Period the whole region sank beneath the
sea and stayed there a long time. Silt and limy mud were piled layer
upon layer on the sea floor and hardened into the gray and black Mancos
Shale. Thin layers of sand were cemented into sandstone, and layers of
calcium-carbonate mud became chalk or limestone. Seashells and bones of
sharks and seagoing reptiles have been found in the Mancos in many
places.

The Mancos and all younger rocks have been stripped off the Monument,
but they may be seen one after the other as you travel northeastward.
Thin remnants of the Mancos cap low hills just south of the Colorado
River, and the entire 3,800 feet of the Mancos underlies the Grand
Valley and Book Cliffs. The upper part is clearly exposed in the
towering, barren Book Cliffs, where the soft shale is protected by a
caprock of hard sandstone—the lowermost unit of the overlying Late
Cretaceous Mesaverde Group (fig. 25).


                        The Sea’s Final Retreat

Slow uplift of the Plateau, including the Monument region, caused the
gradual retreat of the Mancos sea. Deposition of mud on the sea bottom
gave way to deposition of beach sand, coal swamps, and then more beach
sand and coal swamps. Finally, in Late Cretaceous time, the sea withdrew
entirely, never again to return to the Colorado Plateau region.

Streams deposited sand, silt, and mud on the newly uplifted coastal
areas. All these deposits, including some high-grade bituminous coal
that was formed in the swamps, we now know as the Mesaverde Group. The
thick cliff-forming sandstones of this unit are beautifully displayed in
DeBeque Canyon of the Colorado River between Palisade and DeBeque, just
upstream from the Grand Valley. There are several active coal mines in
the Mesaverde between Palisade and Cameo, and outcrops of coal may be
seen on the east side of the road just south of Cameo. The electric
generating station of the Public Service Company of Colorado at Cameo is
conveniently situated over a coal mine and next to the Colorado River,
which supplies cooling water.

    [Illustration: MOUNT GARFIELD, a prominent point on the Book Cliffs
    bordering the northeastern side of the Grand Valley. Slopes are
    Mancos Shale; ledge about halfway upslope is the toe of an ancient
    landslide deposit of Mesaverde sandstone blocks marking the level of
    an ancestral Grand Valley; capping beds of sandstone at crest are
    basal beds of Mesaverde Group. (Fig. 25)]

    [Illustration: PHOTO INDEX MAP, showing localities where most of the
    photographs were taken. Arrows point to distant views. Numbers refer
    to figure numbers. (Fig. 26)

    Photographs for four figures are not shown because figures 5, 25 and
    36 were taken outside the map borders and figure 1 was taken at an
    undisclosed locality in the monument]

The remains of dinosaurs have been discovered in rocks of this age
elsewhere, but near the Monument only their tracks have been found. Some
of these, in coal mines along the Book Cliffs and near Cedaredge, are 38
inches across and their placement indicates an incredible stride of 16¼
feet! Had there been highways in Mesaverde time, this bipedal giant
could have crossed them in two strides.

Both the Mancos and Mesaverde once covered the Monument area but were
removed long ago by erosion.


                          End of the Dinosaurs

The end of the Cretaceous Period was also the end of the dinosaurs.
Exactly why the “terrible lizards” died out after dominating the world
for more than 150 million years is not known for sure, but many guesses
have been made.

One likely idea is that widespread uplift and mountain building that
began late in Cretaceous time, accompanied by changes in climate, may
have greatly reduced the supply of soft edible plants. If so, it is easy
to imagine how huge dinosaurs accustomed to a ton or more of lush plant
food each day would soon starve to death.

Many dinosaurs were vegetarians. As they died out, the flesheaters, such
as _Tyrannosaurus_, soon ran short of food also, and probably began to
eat each other. _Tyrannosaurus_ closely resembled the Jurassic
_Allosaurus_ shown in figure 23, except that _Tyrannosaurus_ was much
larger and more formidable—in fact it probably was the most terrible
predator that ever roamed the surface of the Earth. The dinosaurs had
become too highly specialized to their environment to adapt themselves
to changes of this kind.

Another fascinating notion is that the growing population of small
primitive mammals devoured dinosaur eggs (which were left unattended
like those of turtles and alligators) nearly as fast as mamma dinosaur
could lay them. But whatever the reason, it is clear that some worldwide
condition caused the gradual extinction of the ponderous
over-specialized dinosaurs and allowed the rise to power of the next
types of animals destined to rule the Earth—the brainier and more
adaptable mammals.

At this time the rocks were gently bent into upfolds, called anticlines
or arches, and downfolds, called synclines or basins (fig. 27). One
upfold that began to take form was the Uncompahgre arch, the crest of
which shapes Piñon Mesa just south of the Monument. But this gentle
upfold was to grow larger and to have its flanks wrinkled and broken in
the next geologic era—the Cenozoic.




                           The Age of Mammals


The beginning of the Cenozoic Era 65 million years ago—give or take a
few million years—marked the beginning of a long span of geologic time
during which mammals became the ruling land animals. Remains of some
small primitive mammals have been found in Mesozoic rocks (p. 50), but
these tiny newcomers did not have a chance to flourish until the
formidable dinosaurs died out.

The Cenozoic Era is divided into the long Tertiary Period—The Age of
Mammals—and the short (about 2 million years) Quaternary Period—The Age
of Man. The Tertiary in turn is divided into five epochs—the Paleocene,
Eocene, Oligocene, Miocene, and Pliocene (fig. 61). Events during parts
of the Tertiary Period had an important bearing upon the Monument even
though no rocks of this period now occur in the area.

    [Illustration: COMMON TYPES OF ROCK FOLDS. Top, anticline, or
    upfold; closed anticlines are called domes. Middle, syncline or
    downfold; closed synclines are called structural basins. Bottom,
    monocline, a common type on the Plateau in which the dip of the beds
    changes in amount but not in direction; axes may be mapped along
    trends of upper fold, middle flexure, or lower fold. Top and middle
    diagrams from Hansen (1969, p. 31, 108). (Fig. 27)]


                       Early Deposits and Events

The broad inland basins that were formed late in the Cretaceous Period
received sand, silt, and mud brought in by streams from the uplifted or
folded areas. These materials became compacted into the Wasatch
Formation—the red or pink rock from which Bryce Canyon National Park was
sculptured. One such basin lay just northeast of the Monument. The
Monument probably was covered by some of these stream deposits after the
main basin was partly filled.

The mammals that roamed the area during the Paleocene Epoch were
primitive, but more advanced forms appeared later, in Eocene time. Some
of their fossil remains have been found in the Wasatch Formation in
Plateau Creek Valley north of Grand Mesa and near Rifle, about 60 miles
northeast of Grand Junction. The entire 5,000 feet of the Wasatch may be
seen along U.S. Highway I-70 between the towns of DeBeque and Grand
Valley, and much of it helps support towering Grand and Battlement
Mesas.


                               Lake Uinta

In Eocene time the northern part of the Colorado Plateau sagged downward
and gradually filled with water until it became a huge lake, now known
as Lake Uinta. The waters in it teemed with plants and animals,
particularly micro-organisms such as algae, whose remains, coated with
calcium carbonate, settled to the bottom along with the sand, silt, and
mud washed into the lake by streams. These sediments compacted into the
remarkable Green River Formation which contains, among many rock types,
large deposits of rich oil shale.

The light-colored Green River Formation, which is about 3,800 feet
thick, may be seen from U.S. Highway I-70 in the upper part of the
towering Roan Cliffs on the northwest side of the Colorado River between
DeBeque and Rifle. It also underlies the volcanic caprock of Grand and
Battlement Mesas. John R. Donnell, of the U.S. Geological Survey,
estimated that the oil shale in the Piceance Creek Basin, northwest of
the Colorado River alone, contains more than one trillion barrels of
oil. The Monument was at or near the south shore of this lake, and may
have been covered with a few hundred feet of the Green River Formation.


                        The Mountains Rise Again

Lakes, like mountains, are temporary things. Even as lakes are forming,
sediment begins to fill them until ultimately they are obliterated. So
it was with Lake Uinta. Sometime after this lake dried up, the Earth’s
crust again became restless. The gentle folds that were formed late in
the Cretaceous were lifted higher and bent more sharply, and the flanks
of some folds were wrinkled and broken (figs. 27, 28). The sharply bent
or broken rocks along the northeastern border of the Monument are
thought to have been deformed mainly at this time, but in part both
earlier and later. That pronounced folding of the rocks followed the
deposition of the Eocene Green River Formation is clearly shown along
the Grand Hogback monocline between the towns of Rifle and Meeker,
Colorado, where the once flat lying beds of the Green River and Wasatch
Formations now stand vertical.

The folds and faults along the northeastern border of the Monument,
which are shown on the geologic map (fig. 8), are discussed briefly
here—more details are given later in “Trips through and around the
Monument.” The folded and faulted northeastern border of the Monument,
which is shown in figure 29 and in several ensuing photographs, is
believed to have resulted from renewed uplift of the area southwest of
the folds and faults, including the Monument. The Redlands fault (figs.
8, 29, 37, 38, 40, 41) generally is a normal fault but locally is a
reverse fault, as discussed on page 92 and as shown in figure 40 and in
the cross section of figure 8. This fault has a maximum vertical
displacement of 700 or 800 feet, but dies out in scissors fashion at
each end. Beyond the end of the Redlands fault in the upper right of
figure 29 may be seen another unbroken monocline. A close-up view of the
northwestern end of this fold in shown in figure 30.

    [Illustration: COMMON TYPES OF FAULTS. Top, normal, or gravity,
    fault which generally results from tension in and lengthening of a
    segment of the Earth’s crust, which allows the lower block to
    subside. However, some normal faults, particularly some that are
    vertical or nearly so, may result from uplift of the upper block.
    Low-angle reverse faults generally are called overthrust faults or
    simply overthrusts. In both the normal and reverse faults note
    amount of displacement and repetition of strata. Displacement of
    such faults may range from a few inches to many thousands of feet,
    and in overthrusts may reach many miles. From Hansen (1969, p. 116).
    (Fig. 28)]

If we proceed about a quarter of a mile northeast of the point from
which figure 30 was taken, walk about 50 feet north, and look to the
northwest, we see quite a different structure, for here the gentle lower
fold of the Lizard Canyon monocline has become the east end of the
Kodels Canyon fault (fig. 31).

    [Illustration: LADDER CREEK MONOCLINE AND REDLANDS FAULT, telephoto
    view looking northwest from point near Little Park Road east of the
    Monument. No Thoroughfare Canyon in foreground, which is bordered on
    the left by northeastward-dipping beds of Wingate Sandstone at
    northwest end of Ladder Creek monocline. The old Serpents Trail, the
    lower part of which is barely visible, ascends this dipping block of
    rock. The dark Proterozoic rocks form the flat-topped bluff to the
    right and are exposed by the Redlands fault which lies just above
    the sharply upturned remnants of the Wingate Sandstone. (Fig. 29)]

    [Illustration: LIZARD CANYON MONOCLINE, looking southeastward across
    mouth of Lizard Canyon from southeasternmost loop of Rim Rock Drive
    just before it ascends Fruita Canyon. Note gentle lower bend at
    lower left and sharper upper one at upper right. Lower bend changes
    to Kodels Canyon fault in Fruita Canyon behind camera station. Grand
    Mesa forms left skyline. (Fig. 30)]

    [Illustration: KODELS CANYON FAULT, looking northwest across mouth
    of Fruita Canyon from point on Rim Rock Drive just described in
    text. Here, along a normal fault dipping steeply northeastward, the
    350-foot cliff of Wingate Sandstone at upper left has been sheared
    and squeezed into only a few feet of broken rock overlain by a steep
    slope of the Kayenta Formation covered by piñon and juniper. The
    thinner cliff at right is the Entrada Sandstone which belongs high
    atop the cliffs at left. Book Cliffs form distant skyline at right.
    (Fig. 31)]

If you doubt that figure 31 shows a fault, a glance at figure 32 in the
next major canyon eight-tenths of a mile to the northwest should
convince you. Here, on the northwest side of Kodels Canyon, the Wingate
was not thinned but was rent completely asunder by the vertical Kodels
Canyon fault (fig. 32). Kodels Canyon is not readily accessible to
visitors.

The Lizard Canyon monocline, Kodels Canyon fault, and other structures
are clearly shown in the stereoscopic pair of aerial photographs in
figure 33.

Another structural feature within the Monument is the Glade Park fault
(fig. 8), which lies mainly south of the Monument but just cuts across
the south end of No Thoroughfare Canyon in the latest addition to the
Monument. It is well shown both from the air and the ground in figures
58 and 59. It is unique among all the major faults in the area in that
the rocks south of the fault subsided with respect to those on the north
side.

    [Illustration: KODELS CANYON FAULT, looking northwestward across
    canyon of same name. Base of Wingate cliff on left is just about
    opposite the top of the Wingate on right. Here, nature was kind to
    the geologist, for the vertical displacement (rise of left side with
    respect to right side) is virtually the thickness of the Wingate
    Sandstone—about 350 feet. The Wingate on the right is lighter
    colored than that on the left seemingly because rockfalls removed
    desert-varnish-coated rocks and exposed the true color of the
    sandstone. (Fig. 32)]

    [Illustration: GEOLOGIC STRUCTURES AT FRUITA ENTRANCE TO COLORADO
    NATIONAL MONUMENT. The stereoscopic pair of aerial photographs may
    be viewed without optical aids by those accustomed to this
    procedure, or by use of a simple double-lens stereoscope, such as
    the folding ones used by the armed forces during and after World War
    II. Geologic details may be identified by comparing photographs with
    the geologic map, figure 8. If viewer is unable to see stereoscopic
    pairs in three dimensions, looking at either photograph alone will
    convey a good idea of the geologic structure. The monocline near top
    of the photographs may be seen on the right-hand side of the highway
    in figure 43. Photographs taken in 1937 by U.S. Soil Conservation
    Service, hence, alinement of then unpaved Colorado Highway 340
    differs from the paved present highway. (Fig. 33)]

At this point in our story it might be well to point out that the
folding and faulting of the rocks just described occurred when thousands
of feet of younger rocks covered the area. Additional folding and
faulting, drainage changes, and gradual removal of the overlying rocks
occurred during the remainder of the Tertiary and Quaternary Periods, as
will be discussed further.


                         Nearby Lava Flows[30]

Grand and Battlement Mesas, respectively east and northeast of the
Monument, are capped by several resistant thick flows of dark basaltic
lava. The molten rock welled up through fissures at the east end of
Grand Mesa and flowed westward and northwestward over the eroded surface
of Eocene rocks. Radiometric dating of a sample of the basalt indicated
an age of 9½ million years plus or minus half a million years, placing
the event in the Miocene Epoch of the Tertiary Period (fig. 61).

A small remnant of the lava on the crest of the Roan Cliffs just
southwest of the present town of Grand Valley indicates that the flows
crossed this part of the ancestral Colorado River Valley and may have
pushed the young stream westward.

The lava flows are about 800 feet thick on the eastern part of Grand
Mesa but are only about 200 feet thick above the western rim of the
mesa. As the ancestral Gunnison River is believed to be pre-Miocene in
age, it is not known whether or not the lava flows crossed the old river
valley and reached as far west as the Monument.


                        Ancestral Colorado River

During most of the Pliocene Epoch the ancestral Colorado River did not
flow past what is now Grand Junction; instead, it joined with the
ancestral Gunnison River about 10 miles southeast of the present city,
and the combined streams flowed southwestward across the slowly rising
Uncompahgre arch through what was later to be called Unaweep Canyon
(fig. 36). Southwest of the canyon, near the site of the present town of
Gateway, the ancestral Colorado River was joined by the combined flows
of the ancestral San Miguel River and the previously diverted ancestral
Dolores River, then it flowed northwestward to what is now the mainstem
of the Colorado River.

I have attempted to show my ideas of this ancient drainage system as it
may have existed in middle to late Pliocene time in figure 34. But the
stage was set for more spectacular drainage changes to follow.


                      Piracy on the High Plateaus

Rivers, like people, do not always choose their courses wisely. After a
few million years of downcutting through the soft sedimentary rocks,
mainly what is now called the Mancos Shale, the ancestral Colorado and
Gunnison Rivers found themselves cutting through the hard Proterozoic
rocks in a deep gorge athwart the slowly rising Uncompahgre arch, which
greatly slowed the downcutting power of the combined streams. Note in
figure 34_A_ that while the mighty ancestral Colorado and Gunnison
Rivers were in this frustrating predicament, a young upstart tributary
began cutting northward from what is now the mouth of the Dolores River
(fig. 34_D_). Although the combined main rivers could lower their
channel only very slowly because of the hard rock in Unaweep Canyon, the
tributary was able to cut downward and headward quite rapidly through
the soft Mancos Shale. It eventually cut around the northwestward
dipping Uncompahgre arch and headed southeastward toward the ancestral
Colorado River near the present site of Palisade.

Then occurred an act of piracy that put to shame the mightiest exploits
of Blackbeard and Captain Kidd. In latest Pliocene or earliest
Pleistocene time additional uplift of the Uncompahgre arch, an unusually
large flood, or both, caused the ancestral Colorado River to overflow
its banks and spill across a low shale divide into the headwaters of the
tributary. Some ponding may have preceded the spillover. With this
enormously increased supply of water, the tributary cut down rapidly
through the soft shale and captured the entire flow of the Colorado
River, but the ancestral Gunnison River still flowed through Unaweep
Canyon, as shown in figure 34_B_. Stream capture of this type is
appropriately called “piracy.”

But the piracy had not ended. Note in figure 34_B_ that the “new” river
sent out several tributaries, one of which headed for and, with the aid
of yet additional and greater uplift, soon captured the ancestral
Gunnison River, as shown in figure 34_C_. This second act of piracy left
Unaweep Canyon really “high and dry” except for small streams that
carried off what little water the canyon received from local rain and
snow. While these piracies were taking place, the Book Cliffs and the
edge of Grand Mesa gradually retreated away from the valley because of
erosion, and more of the Uncompahgre arch was uncovered.

The rising Uncompahgre arch, whose renewed uplifts in latest Pliocene or
earliest Pleistocene times played such an important role in the ultimate
abandonment of ancestral Unaweep Canyon, was asymmetric in that the
crest was not in the middle but was near the southwest side. Although
sharp, locally faulted monoclines are found on both sides of the arch,
including the part within the Monument, in general, the northeastern
flank has a rather gentle northeastward dip; whereas, the southwestern
flank of the arch also is bordered by normal faults of considerable
vertical displacement.[31] Thus, after abandonment, the minor drainage
in Unaweep Canyon continued to flow northeastward from a new divide near
the southwestern border, and ancestral West Creek began cutting
northeastward toward the new divide. The drainage pattern depicted in
figure 34_C_ differs slightly from my earlier interpretation and results
from additional fieldwork.[32]

    [Illustration: PROBABLE DRAINAGE PATTERNS AND LAND FORMS NEAR THE
    MONUMENT AT FOUR SUCCESSIVE STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT. Solid drainage
    lines taken from the Moab and Grand Junction, Utah-Colorado,
    topographic maps of the Army Map Service; dashed drainage lines are
    my own ideas. _A_, just prior to piracy of ancestral Colorado River;
    _B_, after piracy of ancestral Colorado River and just prior to
    piracy of ancestral Gunnison River; _C_, abandonment of Unaweep
    Canyon after renewed uplift of Uncompahgre arch and piracy of
    ancestral Gunnison River; and _D_, present drainage pattern after
    additional uplift and piracy of East Creek. Modified from Lohman
    (1961, 1965a, 1965b). (Fig. 34)]

    [Illustration: A, just prior to piracy of ancestral Colorado River]

    [Illustration: B, after piracy of ancestral Colorado River and just
    prior to piracy of ancestral Gunnison River]

    [Illustration: C, abandonment of Unaweep Canyon after renewed uplift
    of Uncompahgre arch and piracy of ancestral Gunnison River]

    [Illustration: D, present drainage pattern after additional uplift
    and piracy of East Creek.]

At the time of abandonment, ancestral Unaweep Canyon was a V-shaped
canyon resembling Glenwood Canyon just upstream from the city of
Glenwood Springs, Colorado. The reasons for its change in shape and
appearance to the beautiful U-shaped canyon we find today and the
profound effect the abandonment of Unaweep Canyon had on the deepening
of the Grand Valley and the canyons of the Monument will be brought out
in the section “Canyon Cutting.”




                             The Age of Man


Like the dinosaurs before them, a few of the Tertiary mammals were so
long on brawn and short on brains that they evolved into grotesque
monsters and overspecialized themselves into early extinction.
Fortunately, however, most of the mammals evolved more slowly and
moderately into the forms we find today.

One group—the anthropoid primates—began to think, so they developed
their brains rather than their brawn, particularly the Tertiary
ancestors of man. Few remains of these ancestors have been found in
Tertiary rocks, but many more have been discovered in rocks of the next
geologic period—the Quaternary. Thus, this period may properly be
regarded as the age of man, for man then began to dominate the Earth for
better or for worse.

The Quaternary—latest and shortest of the geologic periods—is divided
into the Pleistocene and Holocene (recent) Epochs (fig. 61).


                              The Ice Age

During the Pleistocene Epoch, all continents of the Northern Hemisphere
and some of the Southern Hemisphere were partly covered at least four
times by huge glaciers. Each glacial advance in Europe and North America
was ended by a warmer interval during which the glaciers melted and
retreated northward; then, vegetation and soil had time to become
re-established. Thus, the Pleistocene has properly been called the ice
age.

None of the continental glaciers reached the Monument or the Uncompahgre
Plateau, or arch, but small alpine glaciers grew in the high Rocky
Mountains to the east, sculpturing sharp-crested peaks and ridges and
forming beautiful valleys and lakes. Many of the beautiful lakes on
Grand Mesa were formed by glaciation, but some near the edges were
formed by landslides.

The increased streamflow from the greater precipitation and from melting
alpine glaciers in the Rockies, particularly during times of glacial
retreat, helped the Colorado River cut through the rocks faster, thus
assisting in the formation of Colorado National Monument as we see it
today. The river carried thousands of cubic miles of sediment to the
Gulf of California, including a lot of rock that once covered the
Monument, and the river is still actively at work on this immense
earthmoving project.

If the ancestral Colorado River carried sediment at about the same rate
as the present river since the building of Hoover Dam, it may have
carried about 3 cubic miles of sediment each century. Now most of the
rock debris is being dumped into Lake Powell—the new reservoir behind
Glen Canyon Dam. When this, Lake Mead, and other reservoirs ultimately
become filled with sediment, the Gulf of California will again be the
burial ground.

But other events during the Pleistocene also played a role in shaping
the area. The Uncompahgre arch was again uplifted and deformed in the
Pleistocene soon after the abandonment of Unaweep Canyon. This caused
added tilting of the strata and more bending and breaking along some of
the folds and faults in the Monument.


                         Capture of East Creek

East Creek, which drains the northeastern half of Unaweep Canyon, was
forced to change its course during the Pleistocene Epoch by another act
of piracy. After capture of the Gunnison River by the newly routed
Colorado River, East Creek joined the Gunnison by way of Cactus Park.
Then, a tributary of North East Creek headed southward and captured East
Creek, as shown in figure 34_D_.


                             Canyon Cutting

When the Colorado River was diverted into its new course through the
Grand Valley past the Monument, the stream channel seems to have been
only about 600 to 800 feet higher than it is today, but the present
divide in Unaweep Canyon is now about 2,500 feet higher than the
channel. The difference of 1,700 to 1,900 feet was caused by the
additional uplift of the Uncompahgre arch during the Pleistocene.

Thus, the Grand Valley and its tributary canyons, such as those of
Colorado National Monument, were cut since the abandonment of Unaweep
Canyon, probably mainly during the Quaternary Period. This suggests that
the cutting of the Monument’s canyons began only about 2 million years
ago, but that much of the canyon cutting occurred only a few hundred
thousand years ago. Indeed, the canyons are still slowly being deepened,
lengthened, and widened.

As you stand on any of the lookout points and gaze down into the canyons
of the Monument, you may well wonder how such immense chasms could have
been cut by such puny streams that are dry most of the time. The streams
flow only for short periods after heavy thundershowers or after rapid
melting of snow. If you are lucky enough to see them flow, you will
notice that the water is red or brown because of the suspended mud,
silt, and sand. If the flow is large, you may see or hear pebbles and
cobbles rolling along the bed. Accordingly, the streams and their
cutting tools are slowly deepening the channels. But, you may ask, how
does this account for such wide, broad-bottomed, cliff-walled canyons?
Such streams act mainly as storm sewers to carry off the rock debris
formed by other types of erosion.

When cutting first began, the Monument’s canyons were narrow, steep, and
V-shaped. When the top of the hard, dark Proterozoic rocks was reached,
however, downcutting slowed just as it had earlier in Unaweep Canyon.
While the streams were thus hung up, other erosional processes caused
the cliff walls to recede away from the streams, forming broad,
flat-bottomed, U-shaped canyons.

Recession of the cliffs away from the middle of the canyons probably was
caused partly by undercutting of the soft Chinle Formation by wind and
in places by streams. This allowed slabs of the overlying Wingate
Sandstone and younger rocks to break off and fall into the
canyons—eventually to break up and to be carted off as sand and mud by
streams.

But other processes are probably the ones chiefly responsible for the
present shape and width of the canyons. The summer sun heats the cliff
faces until they are hot to the touch, but in the present desert climate
of the Monument the rocks cool rapidly after sundown. Oftentimes the hot
cliff faces are chilled rapidly by summer thundershowers. Repeated
heating, cooling, wetting, and drying causes expansion and contraction
of the rocks so that thin layers break off and fall. This process goes
on slowly even in winter on sun-facing cliffs, but it does not occur on
the cliffs that face away from the winter sun.

Even more important, perhaps, is the alternate freezing at night and
thawing by day on sun-facing cliff faces during the winter. Water in
cracks near the cliff faces alternately freezes and melts, gradually
prying off slabs of rock. Canyon walls that are shaded from the sun most
of the winter, however, stay cold or frozen much of the winter; hence,
they are not subject to repeated heating and cooling or freezing and
thawing. Thus, you will notice that because of talus accumulation many
such canyon walls are sloping rather than vertical.

To illustrate the above conjectures concerning the cutting and shaping
of the canyons, let us consider several canyons that trend in different
directions. We have seen in figure 12 that the left side of
northeastward trending Red Canyon is a nearly vertical cliff that faces
the sun most of the winter; whereas, the right side, which is shaded
most of the winter, slopes gently enough to be climbed at many places.
The sides of Ute Canyon, which trends more nearly northward (fig. 52),
slope about equally, as would be expected. However, the west arm of the
Canyon, which trends slightly southeastward, has sides whose slopes
differ markedly (fig. 35).

This brings us to the remarkable transformation of the original V-shape
of Unaweep Canyon to the beautiful U-shape of the present canyon, which
is shown in figure 36. The abandonment of Unaweep Canyon discussed
earlier removed the gigantic storm sewer that for millions of years
carried off the products of vigorous erosion of the canyon walls by the
processes just described. Rock materials that now fall from the cliffs
of the inner gorge in hard Proterozoic rocks and that fall from the
overlying softer sedimentary rocks simply pile up at the foot of the
cliffs to form a canyon equally as U-shaped as those cut by glaciers in
the high mountains. Indeed, Unaweep Canyon has been mistaken for a
glacial canyon by many, including some geologists.

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]

    [Illustration: FALLEN ROCK, in west arm of Ute Canyon below
    waterfall, from Fallen Rock Overlook. Note that the sun-facing left
    side of canyon, containing the fallen block of Wingate Sandstone, is
    a vertical cliff; whereas, the shaded right side can be readily
    climbed. The right side contains a trail near the middle of the
    picture, but it is hidden by vegetation. (Fig. 35)]

    [Illustration: UNAWEEP CANYON, looking southwest from rim of inner
    gorge cut in hard Proterozoic rocks, just to the right side of first
    cattle guard on Divide Road, near middle of sec. 16, T. 14S., R. 100
    W., about 5 miles northeast of drainage divide shown in figure
    34_D_. Drainage divide is just around the corner to the right of the
    most distant part of the canyon visible. Slope above vertical cliff
    on right consists of Chinle Formation, Wingate Sandstone, and flat
    crest of Entrada Sandstone (Kayenta Formation is absent). Paved road
    in canyon is Colorado Highway 141. (Fig. 36)]


                         A Look into the Future

This ends the brief geologic story of Colorado National Monument, except
for a peek into the future, a description of trips through and around
the Monument, and a comparison with other Parks and Monuments on the
Plateau. The temporary nature of lakes, rivers, and even mountains has
been discussed—the Monument of today and the new course of the Colorado
River are no exceptions.

The Colorado River did not solve its problems by abandoning its
hard-rock course in Unaweep Canyon in favor of a soft-rock course
through Ruby and Westwater Canyons—it just postponed them. The river has
again cut down into its old nemesis—the hard Proterozoic rock—in Ruby
Canyon just within the Colorado border, in Westwater Canyon in Utah, and
the Gunnison River has reached the hard rock at its confluence with
Dominguez Creek, not far above Whitewater, as shown in figure 34_D_.
Thus, once again hard rock is slowing down old man river, and will slow
him down for a long time to come. Someday, Westwater and Ruby Canyons
will be deep gorges like Unaweep Canyon. Then it is quite possible that
another young tributary may sneak around the Uncompahgre arch some miles
northwest of these canyons and pirate the river into a new soft-rock
course.

By this time, the Monument will have changed appearance considerably.
Some of the canyons will have come together by eating away the ramparts
that separated them—just as the two entrances of Monument Canyon have
already done. But as the lower canyons thus eliminate themselves, the
headwaters will bite deeper into Piñon Mesa, so perhaps the Monument
will simply creep slowly southwestward. However, renewed uplift, more
volcanos, changes in climate, or other events could alter the picture.

Still, if the geologic clock ran as fast as the ones we use, the picture
of the Monument we see today would be on the screen only a small
fraction of a split second. But the geologic clock ticks on, slowly but
surely, and, someday, the Holocene Epoch in which we live will become
just another brief chapter in the long geologic history of the Earth.

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]




                        How to See the Monument


How to see the monument depends in large part on how long you can stay,
but it depends also upon the direction you are travelling to or through
Grand Junction and Fruita, and on the mode of transportation. Moreover,
the Monument has four entrances—two main entrances from Fruita (West
Entrance) and Grand Junction (East Entrance), and two subordinate
entrances from the Glade Park area to the southwest.

Though by no means as well known as our large National Parks, Colorado
National Monument is more readily accessible than many. It is on two
transcontinental highways (U.S. 6 and 50), is the western terminus of
U.S. 24, and is on nearly completed Interstate 70, one of the most
scenic transcontinental Interstate Highways. Highway I-70 supersedes
many stretches of U.S. 6, 24, and 50, but the latter are still used in
parts of the Grand Valley and elsewhere. The Monument also is on the
main line of the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad, which still
maintains limited passenger service between Denver and Salt Lake City,
but this service may eventually be terminated. Grand Junction’s Walker
Field is served by several airlines, and both Grand Junction and Fruita
are served by busses.

Many people driving through the Grand Valley for the first time are
unaware of the Monument’s existence unless they happen to see it on a
roadmap or see road signs pointing toward it, but unfortunately the
signs are unevenly and poorly distributed. People entering Grand
Junction from the east on U.S. 6 and 24 or from the southeast on U.S. 50
are apt to see one or more of the signs—particularly when crossing Grand
Avenue on First or Fifth Streets. If they are heading westward and can
devote at least half a day, they may drive to the East Entrance, follow
Rim Rock Drive for 22 miles northwestward through the Monument, stop at
some or most of the scenic overlooks and the Visitor Center, leave via
the West Entrance, and proceed northwestward on U.S. 6 and 50 or better
yet on I-70. However, as will be described below, longer stops are much
more rewarding. Those driving eastward on I-70 may see the sign at the
Fruita interchange pointing southward toward the Monument—and may take
the above described quickie trip in reverse. Those heading northwestward
on I-70, however, may not be aware of the Monument until they see the
sign at the Fruita interchange; then, they may not have or take time to
double back southeastward through the Monument. If they do drive
southeastward through the Monument, however, they can return to Fruita
following a very scenic northwesterly route through The Redlands on
Broadway (Colo. Highway 340) and South Broadway, or they may take a
paved shortcut from near the East Entrance to South Broadway via South
Camp Road (p. 118). Drinking water and sanitary restrooms are available
in the headquarters area in the campgrounds and picnic grounds and
Visitor Center, and in the Devils Kitchen Picnic Area. Food is not
available in the Monument, so those planning to remain all day should
bring lunches.

I have conducted many groups through the Monument, always choosing to
travel northwestward from Grand Junction through The Redlands, just
northeast of the Monument, to the West Entrance, then returning
southeastward through the Monument.[33] On most days, taking the trip in
these directions affords good lighting for photographing most of the
scenic features. This and other routes are described in the next section
and are plainly labeled so that the visitor may start with any trip he
or she chooses. Regardless of how long you stay or which routes you
follow, it is advisable to be well supplied with color film.

Some of the view points and overlooks have displays or signs to help
interpret the scenic features, and more of these aids are added from
time to time.

There are three maps in this report (figs. 3, 8, 26); these maps will be
helpful to anyone touring the Monument. Figure 3 shows streams, highways
and roads, principal trails, named features, overlooks, and trip-guide
locations; figure 8 is a geologic map; and figure 26 shows localities
where most of the photographs were taken. In addition, topographic maps
of the Monument and adjacent areas by the U.S. Geological Survey, scale
1:24,000, are available from several sources and are a considerable aid
to visitors. In addition to cultural and drainage features, such maps
show the exact shape of the land by means of contour lines, which are
level lines that go in and out of canyons, around ridges, and so forth.
A special map of the Colorado National Monument quadrangle is available
also in a shaded relief edition, which gives a three dimensional effect
by proper shading of canyons and ridges. Both types of maps are for sale
at the Visitor Center, and these and adjacent quadrangles, such as the
Grand Junction, Fruita, Glade Park, and Island Mesa, are sold at several
engineering and stationery stores in Grand Junction and at the U.S.
Geological Survey’s Map Distribution Office, Building 41, Federal
Center, Denver, Colorado, 80225. The latter office and the Visitor
Center also sell copies of my “Geologic Map of the Grand Junction area,
Colorado,” published in 1963 as Miscellaneous Investigations Map I-404.

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]




               Trips Through and Around the Monument[34]


  From Grand Junction through the Redlands to the West Entrance of the
                                Monument


  STARTING POINT

                                                          [Mile-marker 1]

We will begin our trip in the southwestern part of Grand Junction at the
intersection of First Street and Grand Avenue, (this is also the
intersection of U.S. Highways 6 and 50 and Colorado Highway 340), by
following a sign on Highway 340 pointing westward toward the Monument.
After crossing a viaduct over the railroad yards and a bridge across the
Colorado River, we come to a traffic light and a sign pointing left
toward the Monument. The road to the left connects with Monument Road
which leads up No Thoroughfare Canyon to the East Entrance. However, we
will continue westward toward The Redlands.


  REDLANDS CANAL

                                                          [Mile-marker 2]

Just beyond the stoplight we cross a bridge over the Redlands Power
Canal which carries 675 cubic feet per second (cfs, or ft³s⁻¹)[35] from
the Redlands Diversion Dam on the Gunnison River about 2½ miles south of
Grand Junction. A quarter of a mile northwest of the bridge, most of the
water falls to a lower powerplant that generates electricity for pumping
the remaining 50 cfs to three lift canals, which are used mainly for
irrigating peach orchards in the eastern part of The Redlands.


  SOUTH BROADWAY

                                                          [Mile-marker 3]

After Colorado Highway 340 curves right it is known as Broadway—a paved
road serving much of The Redlands and connecting with the West Entrance
of the Monument. We will follow Broadway about 3 miles, passing low
outcrops and roadcuts of the Dakota Sandstone, some of which contain
coal beds and some of which are covered by a veneer of gravel laid down
by the river when the channel was higher. Then, at the first store and
filling station we turn southwest on another paved road known as South
Broadway.


  SOUTH CAMP ROAD SIDE TRIP

                                                          [Mile-marker 4]

Just around the curve to the right is a T-intersection from which paved
South Camp Road leads south to a growing suburban area; and 2½ miles to
the southeast it connects with Monument Road at a point only half a mile
north of the East Entrance of the Monument.

Excellent views of the cliffs of dark Proterozoic rocks, the overlying
cliffs of the Wingate Sandstone, and the Redlands fault along the
northeastern border of the Monument are seen all along South Broadway,
but views from South Camp Road and several connecting roads to the
southwest are especially good. (See figs. 37 and 38.) As noted earlier,
the Redlands fault has a maximum vertical displacement of 700 or 800
feet, but dies out in scissors fashion at each end.

    [Illustration: REDLANDS FAULT, looking west from South Camp Road
    about one mile south of South Broadway. Fault here is nearly
    vertical and normal, and lies between updragged Wingate Sandstone
    and dark Proterozoic schist, gneiss, and granite. All or most of the
    soft Chinle Formation has been squeezed out along the fault. Note
    smooth erosion surface atop hard, dark rocks surmounted by slope of
    red Chinle Formation and cliffs of Wingate Sandstone capped by
    lowermost resistant beds of Kayenta Formation. (Fig. 37)]


  _BRACHIOSAURUS_ MONUMENT

                                                          [Mile-marker 5]

As we continue westward on South Broadway, note on the right the
brightly colored mudstone and siltstone of the Brushy Basin Member of
the Morrison Formation strewn with large blocks of rusty-looking
sandstone from the Burro Canyon Formation, which caps the high ridge on
the right. Just above the deep cut on the right four-tenths of a mile
west of the intersection with South Camp Road is a bronze plaque set in
a masonry monument, whose lettering is easily readable in figure 39.
Many years after the excavation in 1900 (fig. 22), Elmer Riggs contacted
Al Look, of Grand Junction, in regard to the casting and erection of
this plaque. Al, Elmer, Ed Faber, and a few other citizens put up the
necessary funds and personally erected the plaque and monument. Somehow
or other, _Brachiosaurus_ was misspelled _Brachyosaurus_, as shown in
figure 39, but the intentions were good. Later I will call attention to
another similar monument commemorating the finding by Riggs of another
dinosaur skeleton.

    [Illustration: CLOSEUP OF UPDRAGGED WINGATE SANDSTONE ALONG REDLANDS
    FAULT, looking northwest from side road 1½ miles southwest of
    intersection of South Camp Road and South Broadway. White “pimple”
    atop cliff near left skyline is Liberty Cap, an erosional remnant of
    the Wingate Sandstone, reachable via the Liberty Cap Trail (fig. 3;
    and p. 108). Chinle Formation here was largely squeezed out along
    the fault. (Fig. 38)]


  WATCH TURNS

After a sharp turn to the north and another to the west, South Broadway
reaches the top of a hill just above the Elk’s Club and curves gently to
the right past sandstone lenses in the Salt Wash Member of the Morrison
Formation. A 610-foot-deep well at the house on the left formerly flowed
about 1½ gallons a minute from the Entrada and Wingate Sandstones.

    [Illustration: BRONZE PLAQUE AND MONUMENT MARKING THE DISCOVERY OF
    _BRACHIOSAURUS ALTITHORAX_ RIGGS, above roadcut on South Broadway
    four-tenths of a mile west of South Camp Road. See also figure 22.
    For discrepancy in spelling text. (Fig. 39)]


  LEFT TURN


  WATCH FOR BUFFALO

                                                          [Mile-marker 6]

Half a mile to the north, South Broadway turns sharply to the left even
though another paved road continues northward. Three-fourths of a mile
to the west, we turn northwestward parallel to the Monument boundary
fence for seven-tenths of a mile before turning north again. The 7-foot
chain-link fence just to the left of the road is the northeastern
boundary of the Monument and encloses the herd of buffalo. In the late
forties or early fifties a young bull challenged the older leader for
possession of the herd and gored and pounded the old bull so badly he
had to be shot by a ranger. During the furious battle 125 feet of this
strong steel fence was utterly demolished. It is reported that sometimes
an old bull simply takes one look at the young challenger and retreats
without a battle, but other lone or rogue bulls may temporarily or
permanently leave the herd for other reasons. Such outcasts are
dangerous and unpredictable. One bull kept a ranger “treed” for 4 hours
on a steep rock ledge in the broiling sun before moving on to a patch of
grass. Four of these critters delayed by one week my walking out a
stretch of the Redlands fault on their side of the fence. I decided that
a live geologist had advantages over a dead hero.


  REDLANDS FAULT


  WINGATE DRIVE SIDE TRIP

                                                          [Mile-marker 7]

Throughout most of its 6-mile length the Redlands fault is a vertical or
nearly vertical normal fault, but along and near this 0.7-mile stretch
it is a reverse fault that dips from 45° to 60° to the southwest, as
shown in figure 40 and in the cross section of figure 8. Good views of
the fault are seen all along the fence, but especially at points
one-tenth and four-tenths of a mile northwest of the first turn, the
second of which is shown in figure 40. Just after turning north on South
Broadway, let us turn west a few hundred feet on paved Wingate Drive to
see the northwest end of the Redlands fault, which passes through a col
to the left of updragged remnants of the thinned red Chinle Formation
and the Wingate Sandstone, as shown in figure 41.

    [Illustration: REVERSE PART OF REDLANDS FAULT, looking N. 65° W.
    from point on South Broadway along boundary fence. Most of Chinle
    Formation has been squeezed out, but lower part of Wingate Sandstone
    may be seen dipping about 45° southwestward beneath dark Proterozoic
    rocks. Next pink band to right is Entrada Sandstone. Jumbled mass of
    white sandstone slabs at right of photograph is part of Salt Wash
    Member of Morrison Formation and is known locally as “White Rock”.
    (Fig. 40)]

    [Illustration: NORTHWEST END OF REDLANDS FAULT, passing through col
    to left of updragged remnants of Chinle Formation and Wingate
    Sandstone. Fault, which here is normal, ends against unbroken Lizard
    Canyon monocline in next canyon to northwest. Looking west from
    point just south of Wingate Drive a few hundred feet west of South
    Broadway. (Fig. 41)]


  MONUMENT CANYON TRAIL

About half a mile north of the last turn, South Broadway rejoins
Broadway (Colo. Highway 340) at a stop sign. After we turn left on
Broadway and reach the first curve, we get a nice view westward into
Monument Canyon, as shown in figure 42. The Park Service hopes to
establish a new trailhead at the bridge one-tenth of a mile west of the
curve, from which a new section of trail will follow the normally dry
wash southwestward to join the old Monument Canyon Trail. After we cross
the creek leaving the canyon, we pass a low hill of the Salt Wash Member
of the Morrison Formation on the left. Just beyond the hill, the dirt
road leading southwest to a farmhouse formerly was the beginning of the
Monument Canyon Trail (fig. 3). There is a new temporary trailhead a
quarter of a mile north, but it is hoped that a permanent one can be
built at the bridge about a quarter of a mile to the southeast, as noted
above. Hikers may see buffalo along this trail and should watch out for
outcast bulls.

    [Illustration: LOOKING WEST INTO MONUMENT CANYON, from curve on
    Broadway just northwest of end of South Broadway, showing
    Independence Monument. This monument was seen in figure 6 and will
    be seen again in figure 51. Redlands fault ends in this canyon;
    Lizard Canyon monocline can be seen on extreme right. (Fig. 42)]


  DRAINAGE DIVIDE

                                                          [Mile-marker 8]

About half a mile north of the farm road we reach the highest point on
Broadway (Colo. 340) at a drainage divide. Inasmuch as the three
Redlands Lift Canals end east of the divide, there is quite a contrast
between the lush irrigated lands east of the divide and the nearly
barren desert to the west, a view of which is shown in figure 43. To the
southwest of the divide is an excellent view of the
northeastward-dipping beds on the Lizard Canyon monocline. On the left
about a mile northwest of the divide we pass the other entrance of
Monument Canyon, then Lizard Canyon, and a switchback on Rim Rock Drive
ascending the ridge between Lizard and Fruita Canyons. The water well
beneath elevated tank on left is 650 feet deep and formerly flowed at
about half a gallon a minute from the Wingate Sandstone. Household needs
are obtained by pumping.

    [Illustration: LOOKING WEST FROM DIVIDE ON BROADWAY 2 MILES EAST OF
    WEST ENTRANCE TO MONUMENT. Monoclinal hill on right is Brushy Basin
    Member of Morrison Formation capped by basal beds of Burro Canyon
    Formation. Rocks at left middle are blocks of sandstone in the Salt
    Wash Member of the Morrison. (Fig. 43)]


  ROAD INTERSECTION

At the next intersection, Colorado Highway 340 turns right and continues
about 2½ miles to Fruita; the highway to the left reaches the West
Entrance of the Monument in a quarter of a mile. Before turning left
into the Monument, however, we will interrupt our description of the
trip by making a new start from Fruita for the benefit of people
travelling from this direction.

    [Illustration: Bison]


            From Fruita to the West Entrance of the Monument


  MORRISON FORMATION

                                                          [Mile-marker 9]

From the Fruita interchange on I-70, the overpass leads north into the
town of Fruita, and Colorado Highway 340 leads south about 2½ miles to
the West Entrance of Colorado National Monument. One mile south we cross
the new bridge over the Colorado River; the old bridge formerly
connecting Fruita with the Monument may be seen half a mile upstream.
Just south of the new bridge we see sandstone on the left and green
shale on the right, both part of the Burro Canyon Formation. The high
hill on the left is made up of brightly colored siltstones and mudstones
of the Brushy Basin Member of the Morrison Formation capped by the basal
sandstone of the Burro Canyon Formation. On the southeast side of this
hill is another bronze plaque set in a masonry monument, similar to the
one at Riggs Hill (fig. 39), commemorating the discovery and removal in
1900 by Elmer S. Riggs of a skeleton of the immense dinosaur
_Apatosaurus excelcus_ Marsh. (See figure 23_B_). About 1¾ miles
northwest of the new bridge is the Fruita Paleontological area discussed
on page 50.

Just south of the hill, the highway curves gently to the left across a
relatively flat surface of the Morrison Formation. To the right may be
seen good exposures of the Entrada Sandstone, at the north end of which
curbstones were quarried from thin beds of the white Moab Member for use
in some of the parking areas along Rim Rock Drive. Some of the beds are
ripple marked[36] from wave action along ancient beaches or within
ancient lagoons. Some ripple-marked curbstones from this quarry may be
seen in the parking area at Red Canyon Overlook, and elsewhere in the
Monument.

As we approach the Monument we see that to the left the rock strata are
bent downward toward us along what geologists call a monocline (see
figs. 27 and 30), but to the right may be seen cliffs of dark
Proterozoic rocks surmounted by slopes of the red Chinle Formation and
cliffs of the buff Wingate Sandstone capped by the lowermost beds of the
resistant Kayenta Formation. The bent and broken rocks ahead are well
shown in figure 33.

About 1½ miles south of the Colorado River we reach the T-intersection
noted previously—at the end of the trip from Grand Junction through The
Redlands to the West Entrance of the Monument—and we are ready for our
trip through the Monument.


            Through the Monument from West to East Entrances


  WEST ENTRANCE

                                                         [Mile-marker 10]

After turning south on Rim Rock Drive from the intersection with
Colorado Highway 340 (Broadway), we cross the Monument’s northern
boundary and reach the checking station at the West Entrance, where a
small entry fee is charged during the summer. At the first left turn we
are in red beds of the Chinle Formation, then in sheared and broken beds
of the Wingate Sandstone along the Kodels Canyon fault. At the
easternmost loop of the road we may look southeastward across Lizard
Canyon to the Lizard Canyon monocline (fig. 30), and if we look down the
slope to the east we will see one of John Otto’s well-built trails that
formerly ascended the west side of Lizard Canyon to what is now the
campground, long before Rim Rock Drive was built. Do not try to stop at
the curve, however; play it safe, drive on, and park at Redlands View a
quarter of a mile west.


  REDLANDS VIEW

By walking about 50 feet north of the turnout, we get an excellent view
to the west of the Kodels Canyon fault, as shown in figure 31. Just to
the north of the fault are the sheared and broken beds of the Wingate
Sandstone along the east end of this fault.


  NEW EARTHFILL

Just beyond the turnout the road curves left through a cut in the
Wingate Sandstone and ascends the east side of Fruita Canyon. About a
quarter of a mile from the parking area we get a good view (fig. 44) to
the west of the new earthfill on Rim Rock Drive between the two tunnels.
The original fill was washed out in a few minutes on August 8, 1968, by
a cloudburst that dumped an estimated 4 inches of rain on the mesa west
of Fruita Canyon. A culvert beneath the road just north of the north
tunnel was wholly unable to cope with the resulting flood, part of which
plunged over the cliff but most of which roared southward through the
tunnel. According to the only known eyewitnesses—a couple from Ohio
whose car was stalled in 18 inches of swift water in the lower tunnel—an
estimated 4 feet of water flowing through the north tunnel soon
separated the two tunnels by a gaping chasm and flowed down where the
fill had been but moments earlier. They jockeyed their car back and
forth in the south tunnel and retraced the route back toward Fruita.
Later I viewed the chasm from the portal of the north tunnel and found
it awesome indeed.

    [Illustration: NEW FILL ON RIM ROCK DRIVE BETWEEN TWO TUNNELS ON
    WEST SIDE OF FRUITA CANYON, looking west from east side of canyon.
    Previous fill was washed out by flash flood, as described in text.
    (Fig. 44)]

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]

The road remained closed for 1½ years until December 20, 1969, much to
the annoyance and discomfort of both visitors and Monument
personnel—particularly the latter. During the summer, the usual 16-mile
daily round trip to the post office in Fruita via the West Entrance was
increased to about 80 miles by way of the East Entrance. During the
school season, wives of Monument personnel took turns driving a station
wagon full of children on two daily round trips to the schools and post
office in Fruita. Note in figure 44, taken only 6½ years after the road
was reopened, that small gullies already have been cut in the lower half
of the new fill. Another local cloudburst could remove the new fill, but
let us hope this does not happen!

On the next curve to the east the road cuts entirely through the red
Chinle Formation, which here has a measured thickness of 103 feet.[37]
From the base of the Chinle to about the creek crossing the road cuts
expose the old Proterozoic metamorphic rocks, which here have a purple
hue.


  BALANCED ROCK

                                                         [Mile-marker 11]

At the southernmost loop of the road is a parking area for viewing
Balanced Rock. The photograph for the frontispiece was taken from the
hillside near the foot of the monolith.


  HISTORIC TRAILS VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 12]

After the road turns north, we again cross the entire Chinle Formation,
then penetrate the Wingate Sandstone through the two tunnels (turn on
your lights) shown on all the maps and in figures 33 and 44. Just beyond
the highest tunnel (turn off your lights) we reach Historic Trails View,
with a sign noting the early expeditions that traversed the area. West
from the parking area, but better yet by walking to the westernmost
curve, may be seen the northern part of the Black Ridge Trail.

    [Illustration: FRUITA CANYON, looking northeast from point on Rim
    Rock Drive above head of canyon. Dark Proterozoic rocks floor the
    canyon, above which are the slopes of the red Chinle Formation and
    the cliffs of Wingate Sandstone capped by the lower resistant beds
    of the Kayenta Formation. Beyond the Grand Valley are the dark Book
    Cliffs and the more distant, light-colored Roan Cliffs, which are
    shown more clearly in figure 48. (Fig. 45)]


  FRUITA CANYON VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 13]

This foot trail is part of the old stock trail over which sheep and
cattle once were driven down to the Grand Valley from Glade Park and
Piñon Mesa. The road then winds upward through a series of switchbacks
cut into the Kayenta Formation to Distant View and then to a parking
spot at the relatively new Fruita Canyon View, which affords a splendid
view of Fruita Canyon. Figure 45 was taken from a point about a tenth of
a mile to the east. On the right are housing facilities for Monument
personnel.


  CAMPGROUND AND PICNIC AREA

                                                         [Mile-marker 14]

At the top of the hill just beyond the head of Fruita Canyon, two roads
turn left; the first makes several loops through the modern campground
and picnic area then returns to Rim Rock Drive; the second enters a
large parking lot at the Visitor Center. Let us take the first road,
then turn sharp to the left again just west of the Saddlehorn and
explore the camp and picnic areas, which are on a gently sloping mesa of
the Kayenta Formation dotted with piñon and juniper trees and bushes of
many kinds. The Saddlehorn is an erosional remnant of the Entrada
Sandstone. (See fig. 50.) The deluxe campground has both drive-through
and back-in campsites, modern restrooms, tables, piped water, and
grills. Two of the drive-through sites on the northernmost loop are
shown in figure 46.

    [Illustration: CAMPSITES AT NORTH END OF CAMPGROUND, Grand Valley
    and Book Cliffs beyond. (Fig. 46)]

A view of the picnic area and parking lot is shown in figure 47. During
the summer, evening slide talks are given by rangers at a small
amphitheater just north of the Saddlehorn and to the left of the view
shown in figure 47.


  WINDOW ROCK

An interesting quarter-of-a-mile self-guiding Window Rock Nature Trail
leads from the northeast corner of the campground to Window Rock and
loops back past Book Cliffs View, which contains a table beneath a
ramada. Window Rock Trail connects with the scenic Canyon Rim Trail,
which leads southwestward to the Visitor Center. Views of Window Rock
and Monument Canyon from Canyon Rim Trail are shown in figures 48 and
49.

    [Illustration: PICNIC AREA AND PARKING LOT, looking northeast from
    top of the Saddlehorn. Large groups can be accommodated by making
    advance reservations. Cliff of Wingate Sandstone on right across
    Monument Canyon is part of Lizard Canyon monocline. (See fig. 29.)
    (Fig. 47)]


  VISITOR CENTER—MONUMENT HEADQUARTERS

After we return to Rim Rock Drive, a double left turn brings us to a
large parking lot. We are now at the Visitor Center and Monument
Headquarters, which is well worth a visit. In the front of the building
are modern restrooms and a drinking fountain. Inside the lobby may be
purchased film, slides, post cards, maps, booklets, and reports. A
narrated slide show and museum help materially in conveying just what
the Monument has to offer. I was pleased at being asked to contribute
several of the geologic exhibits, partly with the aid of former Survey
artist John R. Stacy. From the back door a path leads to a fenced
overlook for viewing an arm of Monument Canyon. The overlook also is the
beginning of Canyon Rim Trail which connects about half a mile to the
northeast with Window Rock Trail at Book Cliff View.

    [Illustration: WINDOW ROCK, a window eroded along a vertical joint
    near the top of the Wingate Sandstone. Telephoto view looking
    northeast from Canyon Rim Trail. Note fenced overlook on Kayenta
    Formation to left of window to keep people from crossing joint above
    window, for someday the monolith to the right will fall, as did
    Fallen Rock (fig. 35). Note light-colored Roan Cliffs of Green River
    Formation beyond Book Cliffs. (Fig. 48)]

    [Illustration: PIPE ORGAN, looking southeast across Monument Canyon
    from Canyon Rim Trail, and Independence Monument to left beyond.
    Photograph by Darrell Arnold, Grand Junction. (Fig. 49)]


  GAP IN ROCK RECORD

                                                         [Mile-marker 15]

Half a mile southwest of the parking lot is one of the narrowest
stretches of Rim Rock Drive at the edge of a Wingate cliff that actually
overhangs. But do not worry, it is well protected by a rock wall. At the
head of the canyon is a large jumbled landslide of the Morrison
Formation that has covered the cliff of Entrada Sandstone. Along the
narrow stretch and just beyond the landslide are excellent views on the
right of the erosional unconformity between the eroded surface of the
Kayenta Formation and the overlying Slick Rock Member of the Entrada
Sandstone, a view of which is shown in figure 15 and a discussion of
which is given on pages 35 to 39.


  PIPE ORGAN

                                                         [Mile-marker 16]

From the next parking area to the northeast at Pipe Organ Overlook we
may hike half a mile over Otto’s Trail to an overlook of the Pipe Organ;
a view of the Pipe Organ from the northwest is shown in figure 49. From
about the middle of this trail we may look to the northwest across the
canyon to the Visitor Center and the Saddlehorn (fig. 50).


  DEPENDENCE VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 17]

At the next parking area at Independence View we see Independence
Monument (fig. 51) from quite a different angle than the photograph
shown in figure 6. This view clearly shows it to be a thin erosional
remnant of a narrow wall that once connected mesas to the northeast and
southwest and which separated the two entrances of Monument Canyon.


  GRAND VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 18]

Grand View, six-tenths of a mile farther southeast, affords excellent
views of several features in and near Monument Canyon. A short improved
trail to the northeast leads to a sandstone ledge from which the
infrared photograph for the front cover was taken. The trail then veers
eastward to a fenced cliff-top viewpoint from which one may look nearly
straight down to a stretch of Monument Canyon Trail. You may see hikers
on the trail or buffalo in the canyon. The photograph for figure 6 was
taken from a point just north of the north end of the parking area.


  MONUMENT CANYON VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 19]

Another 1⅓ miles takes us to the next parking area at Monument Canyon
View, from which one may walk a short distance to the northeast. The
photograph shown in figure 13 was taken from a point northeast of the
parking area.

From the head of Fruita Canyon to Monument Canyon View, Rim Rock Drive
is on a bench of the Kayenta Formation that separates the two lines of
cliffs. We must now leave this bench, however, because from near Coke
Ovens Overlook to beyond Artists Point the bench ceases to exist, and
the Entrada, Kayenta, and Wingate form virtually a single cliff.
Moreover, we must get up into the Morrison Formation in order to cross
the divide between Monument and Ute Canyons. For these reasons, in the
next three-quarters of a mile south of Monument Canyon View the road
cuts upward through the entire Entrada Sandstone. Just beyond the first
curve are quarries on the right from which curb and building stones were
cut by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930’s for protecting
overlooks and narrow stretches of road. At the southwest end of this
stretch is another parking area at Coke Ovens Overlook, which provides
good views of the north side of the Coke Ovens.


  COKE OVENS OVERLOOK

                                                         [Mile-marker 20]

The next parking area a quarter of a mile to the southwest is the
Monument Canyon Trailhead of the long trail to the mouth of Monument
Canyon and of a short trail to the Coke Ovens.


  ARTISTS POINT

                                                         [Mile-marker 21]

Half a mile to the southeast takes us to a large parking area at Artists
Point, which offers a wide variety of scenic views. The best exposure of
the Summerville Formation in the entire area that I mapped[38] is on the
west side of the road, as shown in figure 20. A short trail leads down
to a fenced overlook for viewing the Coke Ovens to the north (fig. 11)
and Monument Canyon to the northeast.

    [Illustration: VISITOR CENTER AND THE SADDLEHORN, looking northwest
    across canyon from Otto’s Trail. Note thin-bedded bench of the
    Kayenta Formation separating cliffs of the Entrada Sandstone above
    the Wingate Sandstone below. The Saddlehorn is the remnant of the
    Entrada at the extreme right. (Fig. 50)]

    [Illustration: INDEPENDENCE MONUMENT, looking northeast from
    Independence View. Note updragged block of Wingate Sandstone at
    northwestern end of Redlands fault, just to the right of center. The
    other side of this block is shown in figure 41. Grand Mesa forms
    right skyline. (Fig. 51)]


  HIGHLAND VIEW


  DIVIDE

                                                         [Mile-marker 22]

The Summerville Formation is exposed on the right for about the next
half a mile. In the next three-quarters of a mile to Highland View the
roadcuts are in the sandstone ledges of the Salt Wash Member of the
Morrison Formation. Another half a mile through massive Salt Wash
sandstones takes us to the second highest point on Rim Rock Drive—the
divide between Monument and Ute Canyons, altitude 6,593 feet. From here
we may look far to the south across Glade Park to high Piñon Mesa—the
highest part of the Uncompahgre Plateau northwest of Unaweep Canyon,
where the altitude is about 9,500 feet.


  LIBERTY CAP TRAILHEAD

                                                         [Mile-marker 23]

Halfway down the hill to the south is a parking area on the left at the
head of Liberty Cap Trail, which goes eastward about 6 miles to Liberty
Cap—a prominent conical point atop the Wingate cliff just west of the
mouth of Ute Canyon, which appears on the left skyline of figure 38.
From there, the trail descends about 2 miles to a gate in the boundary
fence at the mouth of Ute Canyon. The roads connecting the gate with
South Camp Road (fig. 3) were reported (1979) to be closed to foot
travel by private landowners, so hikers reaching this point must either
retrace their steps to the parking area at the head of the Liberty Cap
trail, or return by a primitive trail up main Ute Canyon, turn right up
the west arm of the canyon, and regain Rim Rock Drive by a short
switchback trail noted on page 109. However, the Park Service hopes that
in the future some sort of corridor can be established to connect the
trailhead with the nearby roads. Most of the “trail” up Ute Canyon is
the normally dry channel of the creek, so hikers should watch out for
flash floods. The round trip by Liberty Cap Trail alone is about 16
miles, and if the return trip is made by Ute Canyon the total distance
is about 13 miles. Accordingly, hikers should allow a full day and carry
food and water.


  GLADE PARK ROAD

A quarter of a mile west of the Liberty Cap parking area in the west arm
of Ute Canyon is a junction with a gravel road that leads 5 miles south
to the Glade Park General Store and Post Office, where groceries, beer,
gasoline, and fishing and camping supplies are available. Glade Park
connects with scenic roads leading east, west, and south. Later, we will
cover in more detail a round trip from the intersection in Ute Canyon to
one near Cold Shivers Point, and another round trip from Glade Park
around the head of No Thoroughfare Canyon and back to Grand Junction via
the Little Park Road.

But to continue with the trip through the Monument—from the intersection
with the gravel road to Glade Park, Rim Rock Drive turns abruptly to the
southeast and follows the west arm of Ute Canyon for some 3 or 4 miles,
past many interesting points. For the next 1⅓ miles to the first
culvert, which crosses a large tributary, the roadcuts are in the
Summerville Formation and Entrada Sandstone. The photographs in figures
16 and 17 were taken looking north from the culvert and from just
northwest of the culvert, respectively.


  FLOOD

                                                         [Mile-marker 24]

One day when my family and I were approaching the culvert from the west,
we heard a roar like an express train. Looking to the south we saw that
a severe thundershower was occurring on the headwaters in Glade Park, so
we raced ahead and parked east of the culvert just in time to see and
hear a 4-foot wall of red water come roaring down the tributary, rolling
boulders along as if they were basketballs. Unfortunately, we had no
time to ready or use a camera, so we simply raced down the road
embankment and through the trees and brush to the north in time to see
the flood plunge eastward over a 350-foot cliff of the Wingate Sandstone
to the canyon below. This illustrates the need for caution when
following or crossing “dry” washes in the desert in stormy weather or
when there are storms in the distance.


  UPPER UTE CANYON VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 25]

About two-tenths of a mile northeast of the culvert is Upper Ute Canyon
View, which affords good views of the northeast cliff face of the west
arm of Ute Canyon.


  FALLEN ROCK OVERLOOK


  UTE CANYON TRAILHEAD

                                                         [Mile-marker 26]

For the next 7½ miles Rim Rock Drive is once again on a bench of the
Kayenta Formation between cliffs of the Entrada and Wingate Sandstones.
From Upper Ute Canyon View the road goes southeastward along the canyon
rim about three-tenths of a mile to a parking area. A short trail leads
down from the parking area to fenced Fallen Rock Overlook; the view
shown in figure 35 is from this point. As noted in the caption of figure
35, and on page 108, the Ute Canyon Trail zigzags down the slope from
the road a quarter of a mile southeast of the parking area, but there is
no parking area at the trailhead, so it is safer to park at Fallen Rock
Overlook and walk to the trailhead. The connection with this trail and
the Liberty Cap Trail also is discussed on page 108. On one hike down
this trail we saw two elk, which is a rare sight at such a low altitude,
for they generally stay on or near Piñon Mesa.


  UTE CANYON

                                                         [Mile-marker 27]

About a mile to the southeast, just beyond the steep dropoff on the
left, there is room to park, walk a short distance through the trees to
the east, and observe a fine view of main Ute Canyon, as shown in figure
52. Just beyond on our right are the cliffs of the mottled
salmon-and-white Slick Rock Member overlain by the all white Moab
Member, as shown in figure 18 and described in the accompanying text.

Half a mile southeast, where the road makes a gentle U-turn and
continues northeastward, we reach the highest point on Rim Rock Drive at
an altitude of about 6,640 feet. Note that the piñon and juniper are
larger, and the bushes are larger and greener at this altitude, for the
average precipitation increases as we go higher.


  LOWER UTE CANYON VIEW

                                                         [Mile-marker 28]

About a mile northeast of the highest point on the road is a large
parking area on the left, from which a short, shaded trail leads to a
fenced overlook called Lower Ute Canyon View, which faces the northwest
arm of Ute Canyon across the main canyon.

    [Illustration: UTE CANYON, looking northeast from point described in
    text. Note grass-covered alluvium in distant part of canyon floor.
    (Fig. 52)]


  RED CANYON OVERLOOK

                                                         [Mile-marker 29]

About half a mile beyond this parking area, we reach a small parking
area at Red Canyon Overlook, from which the photograph shown in figure
12 was taken. The dark green bush of Mormon Tea in the right foreground
of figure 12 is one of the largest I have seen in the Monument. The
reasons for the differences between the left and right walls of the
canyon are discussed on pages 79 and 80. The ripple-marked curbstones of
white sandstone in the parking area were quarried from the Moab Member
of the Entrada Sandstone northwest of Fruita Canyon, as noted on page
96.


  DS ROAD


  COLD SHIVERS POINT

                                                         [Mile-marker 30]

Another 2½ miles around the south rim of Red Canyon and the head of
Columbus Canyon takes us to the junction with the paved county road
known as the DS Road, which leads south and southwest to Glade Park and
to the head of No Thoroughfare Canyon. This important intersection will
be included in trips through Glade Park and around the head of No
Thoroughfare Canyon, so it will be discussed later. Meanwhile, we will
continue our trip eastward from this intersection. About a third of a
mile to the northeast is a large parking area, with a path leading to a
fenced overlook at the rim of Columbus Canyon for viewing Cold Shivers
Point—perhaps the most aptly titled feature in the Monument (fig. 53). A
primitive path leads from the overlook to the toadstool-shaped platform
at upper right, on which some visitors dare to stand, but not me. When
the old, steep Serpents Trail was the only route for autos to ascend
from the East Entrance, barrels of water were kept at this parking area
to quench the thirst of boiling radiators.


  HEAD OF SERPENTS TRAIL

                                                         [Mile-marker 31]

After leaving the parking area, the downgrade on the Kayenta Formation
begins to steepen to the northeast until it becomes advisable to shift
into second gear. In about half a mile we descend a series of steep
switchbacks cut into the Wingate Sandstone on the steepening Ladder
Creek monocline (figs. 8, 29), and we reach the present upper end of the
old Serpents Trail (fig. 54), which is now an interesting foot trail. As
noted earlier, it is convenient to hike down this steep 2½-mile trail
and to have one member of the party drive ahead and await the hikers at
the parking area in the Devils Kitchen Picnic Area, near the foot of the
trail. One of many rewarding views seen during the hike is shown in
figure 55, another was seen in figure 10.

    [Illustration: COLD SHIVERS POINT, looking north from fenced
    overlook on east edge of Columbus Canyon. Named feature is
    toadstool-shaped rock at upper right. Note dark Proterozoic rocks in
    canyon bottom. (Fig. 53)]

    [Illustration: TOP OF OLD SERPENTS TRAIL, looking northeast from
    switchbacks above tunnel. Top of trail is seen at sign on lower
    right. Grand Mesa forms right skyline. (Fig. 54)]

    [Illustration: LOOKING NORTHEAST FROM OLD SERPENTS TRAIL, before
    1950 when the trail was still used by autos and trucks. One of John
    Otto’s old foot trails joins the old road at lower middle. Although
    no thick lenses of sandstone appear in the Salt Wash Member of the
    Morrison Formation in figure 21, in this view a lens about 50 feet
    thick begins just around the corner near the base of the high bluff
    across No Thoroughfare Canyon and is seen extending as far to the
    left as the normally dry wash that drains the canyon. When water
    flows down the wash after thundershowers (see p. 118) or from
    melting snow, the sandstone lens takes in water (recharge) which
    moves slowly down the dip of the lens to the northeast and supplies
    several artesian wells. In turn, the light band of the Entrada
    Sandstone beneath the cottonwood trees at the right middle and the
    dark patch of Wingate Sandstone at the extreme lower right are
    recharged in like manner, and they supply water to artesian wells to
    the northeast. As the older and deeper sandstones on the right take
    in water at higher altitudes, the water in them is under greater
    artesian head when tapped by wells. If you think you see covered
    wagons near the middle of the photograph arranged in a circle for
    defense against attack by Indians, you are correct—a Western movie
    was about to be filmed. (Fig. 55)]

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]

    [Illustration: SOUTH PORTAL OF TUNNEL THROUGH WINGATE SANDSTONE, on
    west side of No Thoroughfare Canyon above East Entrance. (Fig. 56)]


  FOOT OF SERPENTS TRAIL

Just beyond the lowest switchback shown in figure 54, we penetrate the
Wingate Sandstone through a tunnel, the south portal of which is shown
in figure 56. After we drive through a deep cut in the Wingate Sandstone
just south of the tunnel, we cross the entire red Chinle Formation, then
descend a series of switchbacks in old Proterozoic rocks. The Chinle
Formation is crossed again near the foot of the hill, where it is about
80 feet thick,[39] then we recross the Wingate Sandstone and Kayenta
Formation to the parking area in the Devils Kitchen Picnic Area, near
the foot of the old Serpents Trail.


  DEVILS KITCHEN

                                                         [Mile-marker 32]

An improved marked trail leads southward from parking area at the foot
of the Serpents Trail, crosses No Thoroughfare Canyon, and continues as
an unimproved trail to the Devils Kitchen, a view of which is shown in
figure 57. The petroglyphs shown in figure 4 are northeast of this
parking area. Those interested in seeing them should inquire at the
ranger station or checking station at the East Entrance.


  EAST ENTRANCE

Just beyond the parking area, near the foot of the old Serpents Trail, a
road turns left to a larger parking area for the Devils Kitchen Picnic
Area, where covered tables, grills, and water are available. Just beyond
we pass the checking station and housing facilities for Monument
personnel at the East Entrance of the Monument. During the summer, fees
are collected at this checking station from persons entering the
Monument. A well just east of the housing area obtains water from the
Entrada Sandstone to supply the houses and picnic area.

    [Illustration: Petroglyph]

    [Illustration: DEVILS KITCHEN, looking north from ridge in middle of
    No Thoroughfare Canyon. An erosional remnant of the Wingate
    Sandstone capped by the lowermost sandstone of the Kayenta
    Formation. Photograph by T. F. Giles, U.S. Geological Survey. (Fig.
    57)]


                From the East Entrance to Grand Junction


  SOUTH CAMP ROAD SHORTCUT

Three fourths of a mile beyond the checking station, South Camp Road
turns left and joins South Broadway 2½ miles to the northwest. This
provides a fine shortcut for persons desirous of travelling back
northwestward through The Redlands to regain the West Entrance of the
Monument. The intersection of South Camp Road and South Broadway, a key
point on the trip “From Grand Junction through The Redlands to the West
Entrance of the Monument,” is noted on page 89.

But let us continue our 3-mile return trip to Grand Junction, in order
to point out several things of interest along Monument Road in the lower
part of No Thoroughfare Canyon. As the canyon narrows just beyond the
road intersection, we see on both sides colorful badlands of the
Morrison Formation capped by the rusty looking basal sandstones of the
Burro Canyon Formation. Behind the building on the right just before the
road curves to the left is an artesian well 575 feet deep that taps both
the Entrada Sandstone and a sandstone lens in the Morrison
Formation[40].


  GAP IN ROCK RECORD

                                                         [Mile-marker 33]

About 2½ miles below the checking station, we pass on the left the basal
sandstone of the Burro Canyon Formation resting on the Morrison
Formation, as shown in the lower left of figure 24. Just beyond we may
look up the hill to the left and see the 40-foot basal conglomerate of
the Dakota Sandstone resting unconformably on an old erosion surface
atop the Burro Canyon Formation.


  FLOOD DAMAGE

Just before we reach the T-intersection with the eastern segment of
South Broadway we may still see on the right some of the destruction
caused by a devastating flood that roared down No Thoroughfare and other
canyons on September 7, 1978, as a result of what was termed the worst
cloudburst to hit Glade Park, the Monument, and the Grand Valley since
1958. A house on the flood plain just above the bridge was badly damaged
and was filled with 4 feet of mud, and the Monument Road bridge across
No Thoroughfare Canyon nearest the intersection was washed out,
necessitating the rerouting of traffic to and from the East Entrance of
the Monument. Moral—never build a house or even pitch a tent in a dry
wash or arroyo in desert regions! Incidentally, indirect measurements by
engineers of the U.S. Geological Survey indicated a discharge of 9,290
cfs just above the washed out bridge in No Thoroughfare Canyon, and
2,980 cfs in Red Canyon beneath the Broadway bridge.


  SOUTH BROADWAY

Inasmuch as the bridge on Monument Road has long since been rebuilt, we
will cross it, turn right on South Broadway at the T-intersection, cross
the Redlands Power Canal (p. 88), and join Colorado Highway 340 at the
traffic light; thus, we complete a round trip “From Grand Junction
through The Redlands to the West Entrance of the Monument,” “Through the
Monument from West to East Entrances,” and “From the East Entrance to
Grand Junction.”


  Through Glade Park from the Northwest Arm of Ute Canyon to Columbus
                                 Canyon


  GLADE PARK ROAD

                                                         [Mile-marker 34]

A very pleasant 11-mile drive through Glade Park may be made from the
intersection where Rim Rock Drive crosses the northwest arm of Ute
Canyon (p. 108) to the intersection with the same drive on the rim of
Columbus Canyon a quarter of a mile southwest of Cold Shivers Point (p.
120). The name Glade Park refers not only to the Store and Post Office
mentioned earlier, but also to a nearly flat farming and ranching area
south of the Monument—an area entirely different from the Monument or
The Redlands. Most of the cultivated part of Glade Park is underlain by
nearly flat lying Entrada Sandstone which was weathered to a sandy soil,
but a few areas are underlain by the Morrison Formation. This drive
should appeal particularly to people spending from a few days to a week
or more in the campground. For the more adventuresome, other interesting
roads join Glade Park from several directions, as noted below.

After leaving Rim Rock Drive at Ute Canyon, on a good gravelled road, we
traverse attractive, hilly, wooded country generally southward for about
a mile and climb some 300 feet to a flat area covered mainly by
sagebrush and grass. About 3 miles south of the intersection, we see on
the left the leached white outcrops of the Entrada Sandstone shown in
figure 19.


  GLADE PARK

                                                         [Mile-marker 35]

Another 2 miles takes us to the Glade Park Store and Post Office at a
four-way intersection.

An improved, gravelled road leads westward through pleasant country some
20 miles to the Utah State line, beyond which an unimproved road leads
either to the Colorado or the Dolores Rivers. Future planning calls for
improving the Utah stretch of this road and for building a bridge across
either the Colorado or Dolores Rivers to connect with scenic Utah
Highway 128. If and when completed, this would afford a very scenic
shortcut from Moab, Utah, to Grand Junction via the Little Park Road (to
be described).

South from the four-way intersection an improved gravelled road takes us
through wooded country, past lakes and campgrounds, to the summit of
Piñon Mesa, as noted earlier.


  GLADE PARK FAULT

                                                         [Mile-marker 36]

Also, from the intersection a paved county road known as DS (south) Road
leads eastward then northeastward through farming and ranching country 6
miles to the intersection with Rim Rock Drive near Cold Shivers Point.
Three-fourths of a mile east of the Glade Park Store and Post Office the
road crosses the Glade Park fault (fig. 8) along which the Morrison and
Summerville Formations on the right have dropped down with respect to
the Entrada Sandstone on the left. Here, the Entrada also has been
leached to white.


  LITTLE PARK ROAD

                                                         [Mile-marker 37]

At 1½ miles east of the Glade Park Store and Post Office is the
intersection with the improved gravelled Little Park Road, which will be
described later. At 2¾ miles beyond this intersection, the DS Road
leaves the Entrada Sandstone and is on a wooded stretch of the Kayenta
Formation the remaining 2 miles to Rim Rock Drive. The last one-tenth of
a mile is crooked and steep, so please slow down before reaching the
stop sign at the intersection. Some years ago the brakes on a pickup
truck failed as the driver approached the stop sign, but he was lucky
enough to jump out at the top of the cliff just before the truck plunged
to the bottom of Columbus Canyon.


       From Glade Park to Grand Junction Via the Little Park Road


  GLADE PARK FAULT

                                                         [Mile-marker 38]

From the intersection 1½ miles east of the Glade Park Store and Post
Office, let us turn southeast on the recently improved and gravelled
Little Park Road around the head of No Thoroughfare Canyon, which was
added to the Monument in 1978 (fig. 3). From the intersection it is
about 14 miles to Grand Junction by this route. In half a mile we reach
the new boundary of the Monument at a minor drainage divide, and as we
start down a steep hill beyond we may park on the right and look
southeastward across No Thoroughfare Canyon along the Glade Park fault
(fig. 58) which has produced the fishtail shape of the head of the
canyon, as shown in figures 8 and 59. A different view of the fault and
canyon head is shown by the stereoscopic pair of aerial photographs in
figure 59.

The Little Park Road closely follows the new Monument boundary around
the south end of No Thoroughfare Canyon, either on the Kayenta Formation
or Entrada Sandstone, and affords good views into the canyon from
several places. East of the southeast arm of the canyon, the road leaves
the boundary and goes northeastward about 4 miles to the end of the
improved part of the road, but the unimproved part is good, and the
lower 5 miles is paved. On my geologic maps[41] of the area, I called
this road by its older name—the Jacobs Ladder Road.


  LADDER AND ROUGH CANYONS

                                                         [Mile-marker 39]

About a quarter of a mile from the end of the improved stretch, one may
turn right on two tire tracks, travel about a quarter of a mile farther,
and park near the junction of Rough and Ladder Canyons, where
interesting geology is reachable by short walks up Ladder Canyon or down
Rough Canyon. About a mile up Ladder Canyon is an interesting abandoned
mica mine.[42]

    [Illustration: GLADE PARK FAULT VIEWED FROM THE GROUND, crossing
    head of No Thoroughfare Canyon. Looking southeast from Little Park
    Road just southeast of new Monument boundary. Fault passes just to
    right of white cliff of Wingate Sandstone near bottom of photograph
    through notch in east wall of canyon. Note that surface to right
    (south) of fault has dropped about 50 feet below left side. Grand
    Mesa forms skyline. (Fig. 58)]

From the left side of the road, about 9 miles northeast of our starting
point, we see the view shown in figure 60. About 2 miles farther north,
Little Park Road is paved through a suburban housing development all the
way to The Redlands; there, we may turn right, cross the Gunnison River,
and reach U.S. Highway 50; or we may turn left through Rosevale and
reach Colorado Highway 340.

    [Illustration: GLADE PARK FAULT VIEWED FROM THE AIR, crossing head
    of No Thoroughfare Canyon from left to right. Land south of the
    fault was dropped some 50 feet below that on the north side.
    Primitive road around head of canyon has been improved and realined
    since photographs were taken. The stereoscopic pair of aerial
    photographs may be viewed without optical aids by those accustomed
    to this procedure or by use of a simple double lens stereoscope,
    such as the folding ones used by the armed forces during and after
    World War II. Compare with the geologic map, figure 8. Photographs
    taken in 1937 by U.S. Soil Conservation Service. (Fig. 59)]

    [Illustration: LADDER CREEK MONOCLINE AND REDLANDS FAULT, looking
    northwest from lookout point near Little Park Road. Telephoto view
    of left half of this scene is shown in figure 29; photograph of
    Morrison Formation shown in figure 21 was taken from point about a
    mile farther north. (Fig. 60)]




  Résumé of Geologic History and Relation to Other National Parks and
                   Monuments in the Colorado Plateau


In the geologic story of the Monument discussed on pages 17 to 94, the
geologic processes and events leading to the Monument of today were told
in the order in which they occurred; therefore, the details of the
geologic history have already been covered. Having finished this story
and the trips through and around the Monument, let us see how the
colorful canyons, cliffs, and other erosion forms fit into the bigger
scheme of things—the geologic age and events of the Earth as a whole, as
depicted in figure 61. As shown in figure 7, the rock strata still
preserved in the Monument range in age from Proterozoic to Cretaceous,
or from about 1,500 million to 100 million years old—a span of about
1,400 million years. This seems an incredibly long time, until one
compares figures 7 and 61, and notes that the Earth is some 4,500
million years old, and that the rock pile in the Monument is only about
a third the age of the Earth as a whole.

    [Illustration: GEOLOGIC TIME SPIRAL, showing the sequence, names,
    and ages of the geologic periods and epochs, and the evolution of
    plant and animal life on land and in the sea. The primitive animals
    that evolved in the sea during the vast Archean and Proterozoic Eons
    left few traces in the rocks because they had not developed hard
    parts, such as shells, but hard-shell or skeletal parts became
    abundant during and after the Cambrian Period. This drawing was made
    when the Geological Survey and most others used the term Precambrian
    to embrace what is now included in the Archean and Proterozoic Eons.
    The end of the Archean Eon and beginning of the Proterozoic Eon has
    been placed at about 2,500 million years ago. Also, because of more
    recent radiometric dating, the ages of the boundaries between some
    of the geologic periods and epochs have been changed slightly. Of
    most concern to this report, the boundary between the Pliocene and
    Pleistocene Epochs has been changed from 3 million to 2 million
    years. Drawn by John R. Stacy originally for inclusion in a report
    by Newman (1976). (Fig. 61)]

                             The Age of the Earth

  The Earth is very old—4.5 billion years or more according to recent
  estimates. Most of the evidence for an ancient Earth is contained in
  the rocks that form the Earth’s crust. The rock layers themselves—like
  pages in a long and complicated history—record the surface-shaping
  events of the past, and buried within them are traces of life—the
  plants and animals that evolved from organic structures that existed
  perhaps 3 billion years ago.

  Also contained in rocks once molten are radioactive elements whose
  isotopes provide Earth scientists with an atomic clock. Within these
  rocks, “parent” isotopes decay at a predictable rate to form
  “daughter” isotopes. By determining the relative amounts of parent and
  daughter isotopes, the age of these rocks can be calculated.

  Thus, the results of studies of rock layers (stratigraphy), and of
  fossils (paleontology), coupled with the ages of certain rocks as
  measured by atomic clocks (geochronology), attest to a very old Earth!

But this is not the whole story. As indicated earlier, younger Mesozoic
and Tertiary rocks more than 1 mile thick that once covered the area
have been carried away by erosion, and, if we include these, the span is
increased by another 50 million years or so.

If we consider the geologic formations that make up the national parks
(N.P.), national monuments (N.M.) (excluding small historical or
archaeological ones), Monument Valley, San Rafael Swell, and Glen Canyon
National Recreation Area, all in the Colorado Plateau, it becomes
apparent that certain formations or groups of formations play starring
roles in some parks or monuments, some play supporting roles, and in a
few places the entire cast of rocks gets about equal billing. Let us
compare them and see how and where they fit into the “Geologic Time
Spiral” (fig. 61).

Dinosaur N.M. and Colorado N.M., with exposed rocks ranging in age from
Proterozoic to Cretaceous, cover the greatest time spans (nearly 2
billion years), but most of the rocks are missing at Colorado N.M., as
noted below. Dinosaur N.M. has one unit—the Jurassic Morrison
Formation—in the starring role, for this unit contains the many dinosaur
fossils that give the monument its name and fame, although there are
several older units in supporting roles. Grand Canyon N.P. is next, with
rocks ranging in age from Proterozoic through Permian (excluding the
Quaternary lava flows), but here is truly a team effort, for the entire
cast gets about equal billing. Canyonlands N.P. stands third in this
category, with rocks ranging from Pennsylvanian to Jurassic, but we
would have to give top billing to the Permian Cedar Mesa Sandstone
Member of the Cutler Formation, from which The Needles, The Grabens, and
most of the arches were sculptured. The Triassic Wingate Sandstone and
the Triassic(?) Kayenta Formation get second billing for their roles in
forming and preserving Island in the Sky and other high mesas. Now let
us consider other areas with only one or few players in the cast,
beginning at the bottom of the time spiral. Black Canyon of the Gunnison
N.M., cut entirely in rocks of early Proterozoic age with only a veneer
of much younger rocks, obviously has but one star in its cast. Colorado
N.M. contains rocks ranging from Proterozoic to Cretaceous (equal to
Dinosaur in this respect), but Colorado is unique in that all rocks of
the long Paleozoic Era and some others are missing from the cast. Of
those that remain, the Triassic Wingate and the Triassic(?) Kayenta are
the stars, with strong support from the Jurassic Entrada Sandstone and
from the Proterozoic rocks, which floor the U-shaped canyons.

All the bridges in Natural Bridges N.M. were carved from the Permian
Cedar Mesa Sandstone Member of the Cutler Formation, also one of the
stars in Canyonlands N.P. In Canyon de Chelly (pronounced dee shay) N.M.
and Monument Valley (neither a national park nor a national monument, as
it is owned and administered by the Navajo Tribe), the De Chelly
Sandstone Member of the Cutler Formation—a Permian member younger than
the Cedar Mesa—plays the starring role.

Wupatki N.M. near Flagstaff, Ariz., stars the Triassic Moenkopi
Formation. Petrified Forest N.P. (which now includes part of the Painted
Desert) has but one star—the Triassic Chinle Formation, in which are
found many petrified logs and stumps of ancient trees. The
Triassic-Jurassic Glen Canyon Group, which includes the Triassic Wingate
Sandstone, the Triassic(?) Kayenta Formation, and the
Triassic(?)-Jurassic Navajo Sandstone, receives top billing in recently
enlarged Capitol Reef N.P., but the Triassic Moenkopi and Chinle
Formations enjoy supporting roles.

The Triassic(?)-Jurassic Navajo Sandstone, which has a supporting role
in Arches N.P., is the undisputed star of Zion N.P., Rainbow Bridge
N.M., and Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. The Navajo also forms
the impressive reef at the east edge of the beautiful San Rafael Swell,
a dome, or closed anticline, now crossed by Highway I-70 between Green
River and Fremont Junction, Utah.

As we journey upward in the time spiral (fig. 61), we come to the
Jurassic Entrada Sandstone, which stars in Arches N.P., with help from
the underlying Navajo Sandstone, and a supporting cast of both older and
younger rocks. The Entrada also forms the grotesque erosion forms called
“hoodoos and goblins” in Goblin Valley State Park, north of Hanksville,
Utah.

Moving ever upward in the spiral, we come to the Cretaceous—the age of
the starring Mesaverde Group, in which the caves of Mesaverde N.P. were
formed, and which now house beautifully preserved ruins once occupied by
the Anasazi (the ancient people who once dwelt in many parts of the
Plateau).

This brings us up to the Tertiary Period, during the early part of which
the pink limestones and shales of the Paleocene and Eocene Wasatch
Formation were laid down in inland basins. Beautifully sculptured
cliffs, pinnacles, and caves of the Wasatch star in Bryce Canyon N.P.
and in nearby Cedar Breaks N.M. This concludes our climb up the time
spiral, except for Quaternary volcanos and some older volcanic features
at Sunset Crater N.M., near Flagstaff, Ariz.

Thus, one way or another, many rock units formed during the last couple
of billion years have performed on the stage of the Colorado Plateau
and, hamlike, still lurk in the wings eagerly awaiting your applause to
recall them to the footlights. Do not let them down—visit and enjoy the
national parks and monuments of the Plateau, for they probably are the
greatest collection of scenic wonderlands in the world.



Identifying waterfowl gives many hours of enjoyment to millions of
people. This guide will help you recognize birds on the wing--it
emphasizes their fall and winter plumage patterns as well as size,
shape, and flight characteristics. It does not include local names.

Recognizing the species of ducks and geese can be rewarding to
birdwatchers and hunters--and the ducks.

Hunters can contribute to their own sport by not firing at those species
that are either protected or scarce, and needed as breeders to restore
the flocks. It can add to their daily limit; when extra birds of certain
species can be taken legally, hunters who know their ducks on the wing
come out ahead.

Knowing a mallard from a merganser has another side: gourmets prefer a
corn-fed mallard to the fish duck.




What to Look For


Differences in size, shape, plumage patterns and colors, wing beat,
flocking behavior, voice, and habitat--all help to distinguish one
species from another.

Flock maneuvers in the air are clues. Mallards, pintails, and wigeon
form loose groups; teal and shovelers flash by in small, compact
bunches; at a distance, canvasbacks shift from waving lines to temporary
V's.

Closer up, individual silhouettes are important. Variations of head
shapes and sizes, lengths of wings and tails, and fat bodies or slim can
be seen.

Within shotgun range, color areas can be important. Light conditions
might make them look different, but their size and location are positive
keys. The sound of their wings can help as much as their calls. Flying
goldeneyes make a whistling sound; wood ducks move with a swish;
canvasbacks make a steady rushing sound. Not all ducks quack; many
whistle, squeal, or grunt.

Although not a hard and fast rule, different species tend to use
different types of habitat. Puddle ducks like shallow marshes and creeks
while divers prefer larger, deeper, and more open waters.




Eclipse Plumage


Most ducks shed their body feathers twice each year. Nearly all drakes
lose their bright plumage after mating, and for a few weeks resemble
females. This hen-like appearance is called the eclipse plumage. The
return to breeding coloration varies in species and individuals of each
species. Blue-winged teal and shovelers may retain the eclipse plumage
until well into the winter.

Wing feathers are shed only once a year; wing colors are always the
same.




Puddle Ducks


Puddle ducks are typically birds of fresh, shallow marshes and rivers
rather than of large lakes and bays. They are good divers, but usually
feed by dabbling or tipping rather than submerging.

The speculum, or colored wing patch, is generally iridescent and
bright, and often a telltale field mark.

Any duck feeding in croplands will likely be a puddle duck, for most of
this group are sure-footed and can walk and run well on land. Their diet
is mostly vegetable, and grain-fed mallards or pintails or
acorn-fattened wood ducks are highly regarded as food.




Mallard


Length--24"
Weight--2-3/4 lbs.

The mallard is our most common duck, found in all flyways. The males are
often called "greenheads." The main wintering area is the lower
Mississippi basin, and along the gulf coast, but many stay as far north
as open waters permits.

Flocks often feed in early morning and late afternoon in nearby
harvested fields, returning to marshes and creeks to spend the night.

The flight is not particularly rapid. Hens have a loud _quack_; the
drake's voice is a low-pitched _kwek-kwek_.




Pintail


Length--26"
Weight--1-3/4 lbs.

These ducks use all four flyways, but are most plentiful in the west.

They are extremely graceful and fast fliers, fond of zig-zagging from
great heights before leveling off to land.

The long neck and tail make them appear longer than mallards, but in
body size and weight they are smaller.

They are agile on land and often feed in grain fields. The drakes
whistle; the hens have a coarse _quack_.




Gadwall


Length--21"
Weight--2 lbs.

Gadwalls are most numerous in the Central Flyway, but not too common
anywhere. They are often called "gray mallards" or "gray ducks." They
are one of the earliest migrants, seldom facing cold weather.

They are the only puddle ducks with a white speculum.

Small, compact flocks fly swiftly, usually in a direct line. Wingbeats
are rapid.

Drakes whistle and _kack-kack_; hens _quack_ like a mallard, but softer.




Wigeon


Length--21"
Weight--1-3/4 lbs.

These are nervous birds, quick to take alarm. Their flight is fast,
irregular, with many twists and turns. In a bunched flock, their
movements have been compared to those of pigeons.

When open water is handy, wigeons often raft up offshore until late
afternoon when they move to marshes and ponds to feed.

The white belly and forewing are very showy in the air. Drakes whistle;
hens have a loud _kaow_ and a lower _qua-awk_.




Shoveler


Length--19-1/2"
Weight--1-1/2 lbs.

Shovelers, 'spoonbills' to many, are early migrants, moving out at the
first frost. The largest numbers are in the Central and Pacific flyways.

The usual flight is steady and direct. When startled, the small flocks
twist and turn in the air like teal.

They are not highly regarded as table birds, because one third of the
usual diet is animal matter.

Drakes call _woh-woh_ and _took-took_; the hen's _quack_ is feeble.




Blue-Winged Teal


Length--16"
Weight--15 oz.

Their small size and twisting turning flight gives the illusion of great
speed. The small, compact flocks commonly fly low over the marshes, and
often take the hunter by surprise.

They are more vocal than most ducks--their high-pitched peeping and
nasal quacking is commonly heard in spring and to a lesser extent in
fall.

These teal are among the first ducks to migrate each fall, and one of
the last in the spring.




Cinnamon Teal


In the Pacific Flyway, cinnamon teal are far more common than
blue-wings. The hens look alike and the habits of both species are
similar.

The pale blue forewing patch is the best field mark, as drakes are
usually in eclipse until January or longer.

Drakes have a whistling _peep_; hens utter a low _quack_.




Green-Winged Teal


Length--15 in.
Weight--14 oz.

Quite hardy--some birds stay as far north as open water is found.

The smallest and one of the most common of our ducks. Their tiny size
gives the impression of great speed, but mallards can fly faster. Their
flight is often low, erratic, with the entire flock twisting and turning
as one unit.

They nest as far north as Alaska, and migrate in all four flyways. Early
fall drakes are usually still in full eclipse plumage.

Drakes whistle and twitter; hens have a slight _quack_.




Wood Duck


Length--18-1/2 in.
Weight--1-1/2 lbs.

Found in all flyways; most numerous in the Atlantic and Mississippi
flyways and fewest in the Central.

They are early migrants; most of them have left the northern States by
mid-November.

Frequents wooded streams and ponds; perches in trees. Flies through
thick timber with speed and ease and often feeds on acorns, berries, and
grapes on the forest floors.

Flight is swift and direct; flocks are usually small.

In the air, their wings make a rustling, swishing sound. Drakes call
_hoo-w-ett_, often in flight; hens have a _cr-r-ek_ when frightened.




Black Duck


Length--24 in.
Weight--2-3/4 lbs.

A bird of the eastern States, primarily the Atlantic Flyway and, to a
lesser extent, the Mississippi.

Shy and wary, regarded as the wariest of all ducks.

Often seen in company of mallards, but along the Atlantic coast
frequents the salt marshes and ocean much more than mallards.

Flight is swift, usually in small flocks.

White wing lining in contrast to very dark body plumage is a good
identification clue.

The hen's _quack_ and the drake's _kwek-kwek_ are duplicates of the
mallards.




Diving Ducks


Diving ducks frequent the larger, deeper lakes and rivers, and coastal
bays and inlets.

The colored wing patches of these birds lack the brilliance of the
speculums of puddle ducks. Since many of them have short tails, their
huge, paddle feet may be used as rudders in flight, and are often
visible on flying birds. When launching into flight, most of this group
patter along the water before becoming airborne.

They feed by diving, often to considerable depths. To escape danger,
they can travel great distances underwater, emerging only enough to show
their head before submerging again.

Their diets of fish, shellfish, mollusks, and aquatic plants make them
second choice, as a group, for sportsmen. Canvasbacks and redheads
fattened on eel grass or wild celery are notable exceptions.

Since their wings are smaller in proportion to the size and weight of
their bodies, they have a more rapid wingbeat than puddle ducks.




Canvasback


Length--22 in.
Weight--3 lbs.

Normally late to start south, canvasbacks migrate in lines and irregular
V's.

In feeding areas, compact flocks fly in indefinite formations. Their
wingbeat is rapid and noisy; their speed is the swiftest of all our
ducks.

Feeding behavior is highly variable. In some areas they feed at night
and spend the day rafted up in open waters; in other areas they feed
inshore mornings and evenings.

On the water, body size and head shape distinguish them from scaups and
redheads.

Drakes _croak_, _peep_, and _growl_; hens have a mallard-like _quack_.




Redheads


Length--20 in.
Weight--2-1/2 lbs.

Range coast to coast, with the largest numbers in the Central Flyway.
Migratory flocks travel in V's; move in irregular formations over
feeding areas. Often found associating with canvasback.

In the air, they give the impression of always being in a hurry.

Usually spend the day in large rafts in deep water; feed morning and
evening in shallower sections.

Drakes _purr_ and _meow_; hens have a loud _squak_, higher than a hen
mallard's.




Ringneck


Length--17 in.
Weight--2-1/2 lbs.

Similar in appearance to scaups, but more often found in fresh marshes
and wooded ponds. In flight, the dark wings are different from the
white-edged wings of scaup.

Faint brown ring on drake's neck never shows in the field; light bands
at tip and base of bill are conspicuous.

Fly as small flocks in open formation; often land without circling.
Drakes _purr_; hens are usually silent.




Scaup


Greater--Length--18-1/2 in.
         Weight--2 lbs.

Lesser--Length--17 in.
        Weight--1-7/8 lbs.

Except for the wing marks, greater and lesser scaup appear nearly
identical in the field.

The light band near the trailing edges of the wings runs almost to the
tip in the greater scaup, but only about half way in the lesser.

Greater scaup prefer large open water areas; lesser scaup often use
marshes and ponds.

Both species migrate late, sometimes just before freezeup.

Flock movements are rapid, often erratic, usually in compact groups.

Hens are silent; drake lesser scaup _purr_; drake greater scaup have a
discordant _scaup, scaup_.




Goldeneye


Common--Length--19 in.
        Weight--2-1/4 lbs.

Barrow's--Length--19 in.
          Weight--2-3/4 lbs.

These are active, strong-winged fliers moving singly or in small flocks,
often high in the air. Distinctive wing-whistling sound in flight has
earned the name of whistlers.

Goldeneyes generally move south late in the season; most of them winter
on coastal waters and the Great Lakes. Inland, they like rapids and fast
water.

Barrow's goldeneye, predominantly a Westerner, is less wary than the
common goldeneye.

Hens of both species are look-alikes.

Drakes have a piercing _speer-speer_--hens a low _quack_. Both are
usually quiet.




Bufflehead


Length--14-1/2 in.
Weight--1 lb.

Stragglers migrate south in mid-fall, but the largest numbers move just
ahead of freezeup. Most flocks in feeding areas are small--5 or 6 birds,
with more hens and immatures than adult drakes.

Very small size, bold black and white color pattern, and low, swift
flight are field marks. Unlike most divers, they can fly straight up
from a watery takeoff.

Largest concentrations are on both seacoasts and along the Gulf of
Mexico. Inland, they will remain as far north as open water permits.

Usually silent. Drakes _squeak_ and have a guttural note; hens _quack_
weakly.




Ruddy


Length--15-1/2 in.
Weight--1-1/3 lbs.

The ruddy duck often dives or swims away from danger rather than flying.
When flying, their small wings stroke so fast they resemble bumblebees.

They are early to mid-fall migrants.

Drakes often cock their tails upright at an angle, the only species to
habitually do so.

Both hens and drakes are silent in the fall.




Red-Breasted Merganser


Length--23 in.
Weight--21-1/2 lbs.

These birds winter most abundantly in coastal waters, including the Gulf
of Mexico, and to a lesser extent, the Great Lakes.

Their flight, strong and direct, is usually low over the water. They are
difficult to distinguish in flight from the common merganser.

Voice: Seldom heard.




Common Merganser


Length--25-1/2 in.
Weight--2-1/2 lbs.

This species is larger than the red-breasted merganser, and is one of
the largest of our ducks. It is one of the last to migrate south, and is
more common than the red-breasted merganser on inland waters.

Flocks move in "follow the leader" style, low over the water.

The only call seems to be a startled _croak_.




Hooded Merganser


Length--18 in.
Weight--1-1/2 lbs.

Often seen in pairs, or very small flocks. Short rapid wingstrokes
create an impression of great speed.

Winters in the inland waters of all coastal States; seldom goes to salt
water.

Voice: Seldom heard in fall.




Whistling Ducks


Length--18-19 in.
Weight--1-3/4 lbs.

The trailing legs and rounded wings of these slow flying ducks makes
them look bigger than they are.

Both species are primarily Mexican. In the U.S., the black-bellied is
found only in south Texas and Louisiana. The fulvous also occurs there
and in Florida with occasional stragglers further north along both
coasts and the Mississippi Valley. The fulvous is the more common of the
two species in the United States.

Sexes are alike. Both species have shrill whistling calls.




White-Winged Scoter


Length--21-1/2 in.
Weight--3-1/2 lbs.

The three scoters on these two pages are sea ducks, wintering on open
coastal waters. White-wings are among the heaviest and largest of all
ducks.




Surf Scoter


Length--19-1/2 in.
Weight--2 lbs.

Like all scoters, these birds move along our coasts in loose flocks,
stringing into irregular, wavy lines. Drakes can be distinguished from
other scoters by two white patches on their head and the bright color of
the bill.

Flight is strong, direct, usually close to the waves.




Black Scoter


Length--19-1/2 in.
Weight--2-1/2 lbs.

In flight, drakes appear all black except for the flash of the slight
gray underwing and the bright yellow swelling at the base of the upper
bill.

Scoters feed on mollusks, crabs, and some fish and very little
vegetation. They are locally known as "coots."




Common Eider


Length--23-1/2 in.
Weight--5 lbs.

Thick-necked stocky birds, alternately flapping and sailing in flight;
flocks string out in a line, close to the water. Occurs in the United
States chiefly along New England coasts and occasionally south to New
Jersey.

Other eiders--king, spectacled and Stellar's--occur in Alaska and are
not pictured in this guide. King eiders occasionally are found in north
Atlantic coastal waters.




Oldsquaw


Length--20-1/2 in.
Weight--2 lbs.

A slim, brightly plumaged sea duck. Smaller than the scoters or eiders.

Flight is swift and low with constantly changing flock formations.
Ranges along both coasts and the Great Lakes.

One of the most vocal of ducks; drakes have a loud pleasant _caloo,
caloo_, constantly heard.




Harlequin


Length--17 in.
Weight--1-1/2 lbs.

Glossy slate-blue plumage enlivened by white stripes and spots give the
adult male harlequin a striking appearance. The female resembles a small
female scoter. At a distance, both sexes look black. Flight is swift,
with abrupt turns. Flocks are small and compact. Ranges both coasts,
north from New Jersey and San Francisco. Uncommon.




Swans


Trumpeter--Length--59 in.
           Weight--28 lbs.

Whistling--Length--52 in.
           Weight--16 lbs.

Once thought to be rare, trumpeter swans are slowly increasing in Alaska
and on western refuges and parks.

Whistling swans are common and increasing. They winter near Chesapeake
Bay, San Francisco Bay, Puget Sound and Salton Sea. Occasionally found
in fields.

Both species are large with pure white plumage.




Canada Geese


Numerous and popular, Canada geese are often called "honkers." Includes
several races varying in weight from 3 to over 12 pounds. All have black
heads and necks, white cheeks, similar habitats and voices. Sexes are
identical.




Brant


Length--24-25 in.
Weight--3-1/4 - 3-3/4 lbs.

These are sea geese, the blacks wintering south to Baja, California, in
the Pacific. The Atlantic race winters from Virginia northward. Flight
is swift, in irregular and changing flock patterns.




Snow Geese


Length--29-31 in.
Weight--6-1/2 - 7-1/2 lbs.

Two races of snow geese are recognized: greater snows along the Atlantic
Coast, and lesser snows elsewhere on the continent. Blue geese are a
color phase of the lesser snow.




White-Fronted Geese


Length--29 in.
Weight--6-1/4 lbs.

Migrates chiefly in the Central and Pacific flyways but also present in
the Mississippi. Rare in the Atlantic Flyway. Appears brownish gray at a
distance. Often called "specklebelly".

Most distinctive characteristic of the V-shaped flocks is the high
pitched call _kow-kow-kow-kow_.




COMPARATIVE SIZES OF WATERFOWL


All birds on these pages are drawn to the same scale.




Wetlands Attract Wildlife


There's more than just ducks in our marshes. Knowing and identifying
other birds and animals add to the enjoyment of being in a blind.

The same sources of food and shelter that draw waterfowl to ponds and
marshes also attract other forms of wildlife.

Protected species are sometimes more numerous than ducks or geese.

Money from Duck Stamp sales is used exclusively to purchase wetlands,
preserving areas for ducks, geese, and all wildlife for the enjoyment
and pleasure of hunters and non-hunters alike.




Administrative Waterfowl Flyways


Waterfowl Flyways

The term "flyway" has long been used to designate the migration routes
of birds. For management purposes, four waterfowl flyways--Pacific,
Central, Mississippi, and Atlantic--were established in the United
States in 1948. To varying degrees the waterfowl populations using each
of these flyways differ in abundance, species composition, migration
pathways, and breeding ground origin. There are differences, also, in
levels of shooting pressure and harvest.

For the most part flyway boundaries follow State lines. However, the
boundary between the Pacific and the Central flyway general follows the
Continental Divide.

There are some problems in matching waterfowl migration corridors with
flyway boundaries because some species nest and winter in areas that do
not occur along a north-south axis. These species cross flyway
boundaries during migration. On balance, the present arrangement is
useful in that it permits reasonable management of waterfowl. At some
future time, it is possible that further rearrangement of boundaries may
permit better management of the waterfowl resource.


PREFACE

 (December, 1916)

The present book is intended, as far as possible, to give an exact
insight into the theory of Relativity to those readers who, from a
general scientific and philosophical point of view, are interested in
the theory, but who are not conversant with the mathematical apparatus
of theoretical physics. The work presumes a standard of education
corresponding to that of a university matriculation examination, and,
despite the shortness of the book, a fair amount of patience and force
of will on the part of the reader. The author has spared himself no
pains in his endeavour to present the main ideas in the simplest and
most intelligible form, and on the whole, in the sequence and
connection in which they actually originated. In the interest of
clearness, it appeared to me inevitable that I should repeat myself
frequently, without paying the slightest attention to the elegance of
the presentation. I adhered scrupulously to the precept of that
brilliant theoretical physicist L. Boltzmann, according to whom
matters of elegance ought to be left to the tailor and to the cobbler.
I make no pretence of having withheld from the reader difficulties
which are inherent to the subject. On the other hand, I have purposely
treated the empirical physical foundations of the theory in a
"step-motherly" fashion, so that readers unfamiliar with physics may
not feel like the wanderer who was unable to see the forest for the
trees. May the book bring some one a few happy hours of suggestive
thought!

December, 1916
A. EINSTEIN



PART I

THE SPECIAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY

PHYSICAL MEANING OF GEOMETRICAL PROPOSITIONS


In your schooldays most of you who read this book made acquaintance
with the noble building of Euclid's geometry, and you remember --
perhaps with more respect than love -- the magnificent structure, on
the lofty staircase of which you were chased about for uncounted hours
by conscientious teachers. By reason of our past experience, you would
certainly regard everyone with disdain who should pronounce even the
most out-of-the-way proposition of this science to be untrue. But
perhaps this feeling of proud certainty would leave you immediately if
some one were to ask you: "What, then, do you mean by the assertion
that these propositions are true?" Let us proceed to give this
question a little consideration.

Geometry sets out form certain conceptions such as "plane," "point,"
and "straight line," with which we are able to associate more or less
definite ideas, and from certain simple propositions (axioms) which,
in virtue of these ideas, we are inclined to accept as "true." Then,
on the basis of a logical process, the justification of which we feel
ourselves compelled to admit, all remaining propositions are shown to
follow from those axioms, i.e. they are proven. A proposition is then
correct ("true") when it has been derived in the recognised manner
from the axioms. The question of "truth" of the individual geometrical
propositions is thus reduced to one of the "truth" of the axioms. Now
it has long been known that the last question is not only unanswerable
by the methods of geometry, but that it is in itself entirely without
meaning. We cannot ask whether it is true that only one straight line
goes through two points. We can only say that Euclidean geometry deals
with things called "straight lines," to each of which is ascribed the
property of being uniquely determined by two points situated on it.
The concept "true" does not tally with the assertions of pure
geometry, because by the word "true" we are eventually in the habit of
designating always the correspondence with a "real" object; geometry,
however, is not concerned with the relation of the ideas involved in
it to objects of experience, but only with the logical connection of
these ideas among themselves.

It is not difficult to understand why, in spite of this, we feel
constrained to call the propositions of geometry "true." Geometrical
ideas correspond to more or less exact objects in nature, and these
last are undoubtedly the exclusive cause of the genesis of those
ideas. Geometry ought to refrain from such a course, in order to give
to its structure the largest possible logical unity. The practice, for
example, of seeing in a "distance" two marked positions on a
practically rigid body is something which is lodged deeply in our
habit of thought. We are accustomed further to regard three points as
being situated on a straight line, if their apparent positions can be
made to coincide for observation with one eye, under suitable choice
of our place of observation.

If, in pursuance of our habit of thought, we now supplement the
propositions of Euclidean geometry by the single proposition that two
points on a practically rigid body always correspond to the same
distance (line-interval), independently of any changes in position to
which we may subject the body, the propositions of Euclidean geometry
then resolve themselves into propositions on the possible relative
position of practically rigid bodies.* Geometry which has been
supplemented in this way is then to be treated as a branch of physics.
We can now legitimately ask as to the "truth" of geometrical
propositions interpreted in this way, since we are justified in asking
whether these propositions are satisfied for those real things we have
associated with the geometrical ideas. In less exact terms we can
express this by saying that by the "truth" of a geometrical
proposition in this sense we understand its validity for a
construction with rule and compasses.

Of course the conviction of the "truth" of geometrical propositions in
this sense is founded exclusively on rather incomplete experience. For
the present we shall assume the "truth" of the geometrical
propositions, then at a later stage (in the general theory of
relativity) we shall see that this "truth" is limited, and we shall
consider the extent of its limitation.


  Notes

*) It follows that a natural object is associated also with a
straight line. Three points A, B and C on a rigid body thus lie in a
straight line when the points A and C being given, B is chosen such
that the sum of the distances AB and BC is as short as possible. This
incomplete suggestion will suffice for the present purpose.



THE SYSTEM OF CO-ORDINATES


On the basis of the physical interpretation of distance which has been
indicated, we are also in a position to establish the distance between
two points on a rigid body by means of measurements. For this purpose
we require a " distance " (rod S) which is to be used once and for
all, and which we employ as a standard measure. If, now, A and B are
two points on a rigid body, we can construct the line joining them
according to the rules of geometry ; then, starting from A, we can
mark off the distance S time after time until we reach B. The number
of these operations required is the numerical measure of the distance
AB. This is the basis of all measurement of length. *

Every description of the scene of an event or of the position of an
object in space is based on the specification of the point on a rigid
body (body of reference) with which that event or object coincides.
This applies not only to scientific description, but also to everyday
life. If I analyse the place specification " Times Square, New York,"
**A I arrive at the following result. The earth is the rigid body
to which the specification of place refers; " Times Square, New York,"
is a well-defined point, to which a name has been assigned, and with
which the event coincides in space.**B

This primitive method of place specification deals only with places on
the surface of rigid bodies, and is dependent on the existence of
points on this surface which are distinguishable from each other. But
we can free ourselves from both of these limitations without altering
the nature of our specification of position. If, for instance, a cloud
is hovering over Times Square, then we can determine its position
relative to the surface of the earth by erecting a pole
perpendicularly on the Square, so that it reaches the cloud. The
length of the pole measured with the standard measuring-rod, combined
with the specification of the position of the foot of the pole,
supplies us with a complete place specification. On the basis of this
illustration, we are able to see the manner in which a refinement of
the conception of position has been developed.

(a) We imagine the rigid body, to which the place specification is
referred, supplemented in such a manner that the object whose position
we require is reached by. the completed rigid body.

(b) In locating the position of the object, we make use of a number
(here the length of the pole measured with the measuring-rod) instead
of designated points of reference.

(c) We speak of the height of the cloud even when the pole which
reaches the cloud has not been erected. By means of optical
observations of the cloud from different positions on the ground, and
taking into account the properties of the propagation of light, we
determine the length of the pole we should have required in order to
reach the cloud.

From this consideration we see that it will be advantageous if, in the
description of position, it should be possible by means of numerical
measures to make ourselves independent of the existence of marked
positions (possessing names) on the rigid body of reference. In the
physics of measurement this is attained by the application of the
Cartesian system of co-ordinates.

This consists of three plane surfaces perpendicular to each other and
rigidly attached to a rigid body. Referred to a system of
co-ordinates, the scene of any event will be determined (for the main
part) by the specification of the lengths of the three perpendiculars
or co-ordinates (x, y, z) which can be dropped from the scene of the
event to those three plane surfaces. The lengths of these three
perpendiculars can be determined by a series of manipulations with
rigid measuring-rods performed according to the rules and methods laid
down by Euclidean geometry.

In practice, the rigid surfaces which constitute the system of
co-ordinates are generally not available ; furthermore, the magnitudes
of the co-ordinates are not actually determined by constructions with
rigid rods, but by indirect means. If the results of physics and
astronomy are to maintain their clearness, the physical meaning of
specifications of position must always be sought in accordance with
the above considerations. ***

We thus obtain the following result: Every description of events in
space involves the use of a rigid body to which such events have to be
referred. The resulting relationship takes for granted that the laws
of Euclidean geometry hold for "distances;" the "distance" being
represented physically by means of the convention of two marks on a
rigid body.


  Notes

* Here we have assumed that there is nothing left over i.e. that
the measurement gives a whole number. This difficulty is got over by
the use of divided measuring-rods, the introduction of which does not
demand any fundamentally new method.

**A Einstein used "Potsdamer Platz, Berlin" in the original text.
In the authorised translation this was supplemented with "Tranfalgar
Square, London". We have changed this to "Times Square, New York", as
this is the most well known/identifiable location to English speakers
in the present day. [Note by the janitor.]

**B It is not necessary here to investigate further the significance
of the expression "coincidence in space." This conception is
sufficiently obvious to ensure that differences of opinion are
scarcely likely to arise as to its applicability in practice.

*** A refinement and modification of these views does not become
necessary until we come to deal with the general theory of relativity,
treated in the second part of this book.



SPACE AND TIME IN CLASSICAL MECHANICS


The purpose of mechanics is to describe how bodies change their
position in space with "time." I should load my conscience with grave
sins against the sacred spirit of lucidity were I to formulate the
aims of mechanics in this way, without serious reflection and detailed
explanations. Let us proceed to disclose these sins.

It is not clear what is to be understood here by "position" and
"space." I stand at the window of a railway carriage which is
travelling uniformly, and drop a stone on the embankment, without
throwing it. Then, disregarding the influence of the air resistance, I
see the stone descend in a straight line. A pedestrian who observes
the misdeed from the footpath notices that the stone falls to earth in
a parabolic curve. I now ask: Do the "positions" traversed by the
stone lie "in reality" on a straight line or on a parabola? Moreover,
what is meant here by motion "in space" ? From the considerations of
the previous section the answer is self-evident. In the first place we
entirely shun the vague word "space," of which, we must honestly
acknowledge, we cannot form the slightest conception, and we replace
it by "motion relative to a practically rigid body of reference." The
positions relative to the body of reference (railway carriage or
embankment) have already been defined in detail in the preceding
section. If instead of " body of reference " we insert " system of
co-ordinates," which is a useful idea for mathematical description, we
are in a position to say : The stone traverses a straight line
relative to a system of co-ordinates rigidly attached to the carriage,
but relative to a system of co-ordinates rigidly attached to the
ground (embankment) it describes a parabola. With the aid of this
example it is clearly seen that there is no such thing as an
independently existing trajectory (lit. "path-curve"*), but only
a trajectory relative to a particular body of reference.

In order to have a complete description of the motion, we must specify
how the body alters its position with time ; i.e. for every point on
the trajectory it must be stated at what time the body is situated
there. These data must be supplemented by such a definition of time
that, in virtue of this definition, these time-values can be regarded
essentially as magnitudes (results of measurements) capable of
observation. If we take our stand on the ground of classical
mechanics, we can satisfy this requirement for our illustration in the
following manner. We imagine two clocks of identical construction ;
the man at the railway-carriage window is holding one of them, and the
man on the footpath the other. Each of the observers determines the
position on his own reference-body occupied by the stone at each tick
of the clock he is holding in his hand. In this connection we have not
taken account of the inaccuracy involved by the finiteness of the
velocity of propagation of light. With this and with a second
difficulty prevailing here we shall have to deal in detail later.


  Notes

*) That is, a curve along which the body moves.



THE GALILEIAN SYSTEM OF CO-ORDINATES


As is well known, the fundamental law of the mechanics of
Galilei-Newton, which is known as the law of inertia, can be stated
thus: A body removed sufficiently far from other bodies continues in a
state of rest or of uniform motion in a straight line. This law not
only says something about the motion of the bodies, but it also
indicates the reference-bodies or systems of coordinates, permissible
in mechanics, which can be used in mechanical description. The visible
fixed stars are bodies for which the law of inertia certainly holds to
a high degree of approximation. Now if we use a system of co-ordinates
which is rigidly attached to the earth, then, relative to this system,
every fixed star describes a circle of immense radius in the course of
an astronomical day, a result which is opposed to the statement of the
law of inertia. So that if we adhere to this law we must refer these
motions only to systems of coordinates relative to which the fixed
stars do not move in a circle. A system of co-ordinates of which the
state of motion is such that the law of inertia holds relative to it
is called a " Galileian system of co-ordinates." The laws of the
mechanics of Galflei-Newton can be regarded as valid only for a
Galileian system of co-ordinates.



THE PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY
(IN THE RESTRICTED SENSE)


In order to attain the greatest possible clearness, let us return to
our example of the railway carriage supposed to be travelling
uniformly. We call its motion a uniform translation ("uniform" because
it is of constant velocity and direction, " translation " because
although the carriage changes its position relative to the embankment
yet it does not rotate in so doing). Let us imagine a raven flying
through the air in such a manner that its motion, as observed from the
embankment, is uniform and in a straight line. If we were to observe
the flying raven from the moving railway carriage. we should find that
the motion of the raven would be one of different velocity and
direction, but that it would still be uniform and in a straight line.
Expressed in an abstract manner we may say : If a mass m is moving
uniformly in a straight line with respect to a co-ordinate system K,
then it will also be moving uniformly and in a straight line relative
to a second co-ordinate system K1 provided that the latter is
executing a uniform translatory motion with respect to K. In
accordance with the discussion contained in the preceding section, it
follows that:

If K is a Galileian co-ordinate system. then every other co-ordinate
system K' is a Galileian one, when, in relation to K, it is in a
condition of uniform motion of translation. Relative to K1 the
mechanical laws of Galilei-Newton hold good exactly as they do with
respect to K.

We advance a step farther in our generalisation when we express the
tenet thus: If, relative to K, K1 is a uniformly moving co-ordinate
system devoid of rotation, then natural phenomena run their course
with respect to K1 according to exactly the same general laws as with
respect to K. This statement is called the principle of relativity (in
the restricted sense).

As long as one was convinced that all natural phenomena were capable
of representation with the help of classical mechanics, there was no
need to doubt the validity of this principle of relativity. But in
view of the more recent development of electrodynamics and optics it
became more and more evident that classical mechanics affords an
insufficient foundation for the physical description of all natural
phenomena. At this juncture the question of the validity of the
principle of relativity became ripe for discussion, and it did not
appear impossible that the answer to this question might be in the
negative.

Nevertheless, there are two general facts which at the outset speak
very much in favour of the validity of the principle of relativity.
Even though classical mechanics does not supply us with a sufficiently
broad basis for the theoretical presentation of all physical
phenomena, still we must grant it a considerable measure of " truth,"
since it supplies us with the actual motions of the heavenly bodies
with a delicacy of detail little short of wonderful. The principle of
relativity must therefore apply with great accuracy in the domain of
mechanics. But that a principle of such broad generality should hold
with such exactness in one domain of phenomena, and yet should be
invalid for another, is a priori not very probable.

We now proceed to the second argument, to which, moreover, we shall
return later. If the principle of relativity (in the restricted sense)
does not hold, then the Galileian co-ordinate systems K, K1, K2, etc.,
which are moving uniformly relative to each other, will not be
equivalent for the description of natural phenomena. In this case we
should be constrained to believe that natural laws are capable of
being formulated in a particularly simple manner, and of course only
on condition that, from amongst all possible Galileian co-ordinate
systems, we should have chosen one (K[0]) of a particular state of
motion as our body of reference. We should then be justified (because
of its merits for the description of natural phenomena) in calling
this system " absolutely at rest," and all other Galileian systems K "
in motion." If, for instance, our embankment were the system K[0] then
our railway carriage would be a system K, relative to which less
simple laws would hold than with respect to K[0]. This diminished
simplicity would be due to the fact that the carriage K would be in
motion (i.e."really")with respect to K[0]. In the general laws of
nature which have been formulated with reference to K, the magnitude
and direction of the velocity of the carriage would necessarily play a
part. We should expect, for instance, that the note emitted by an
organpipe placed with its axis parallel to the direction of travel
would be different from that emitted if the axis of the pipe were
placed perpendicular to this direction.

Now in virtue of its motion in an orbit round the sun, our earth is
comparable with a railway carriage travelling with a velocity of about
30 kilometres per second. If the principle of relativity were not
valid we should therefore expect that the direction of motion of the
earth at any moment would enter into the laws of nature, and also that
physical systems in their behaviour would be dependent on the
orientation in space with respect to the earth. For owing to the
alteration in direction of the velocity of revolution of the earth in
the course of a year, the earth cannot be at rest relative to the
hypothetical system K[0] throughout the whole year. However, the most
careful observations have never revealed such anisotropic properties
in terrestrial physical space, i.e. a physical non-equivalence of
different directions. This is very powerful argument in favour of the
principle of relativity.



THE THEOREM OF THE
ADDITION OF VELOCITIES
EMPLOYED IN CLASSICAL MECHANICS


Let us suppose our old friend the railway carriage to be travelling
along the rails with a constant velocity v, and that a man traverses
the length of the carriage in the direction of travel with a velocity
w. How quickly or, in other words, with what velocity W does the man
advance relative to the embankment during the process ? The only
possible answer seems to result from the following consideration: If
the man were to stand still for a second, he would advance relative to
the embankment through a distance v equal numerically to the velocity
of the carriage. As a consequence of his walking, however, he
traverses an additional distance w relative to the carriage, and hence
also relative to the embankment, in this second, the distance w being
numerically equal to the velocity with which he is walking. Thus in
total be covers the distance W=v+w relative to the embankment in the
second considered. We shall see later that this result, which
expresses the theorem of the addition of velocities employed in
classical mechanics, cannot be maintained ; in other words, the law
that we have just written down does not hold in reality. For the time
being, however, we shall assume its correctness.



THE APPARENT INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE
LAW OF PROPAGATION OF LIGHT WITH THE
PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY


There is hardly a simpler law in physics than that according to which
light is propagated in empty space. Every child at school knows, or
believes he knows, that this propagation takes place in straight lines
with a velocity c= 300,000 km./sec. At all events we know with great
exactness that this velocity is the same for all colours, because if
this were not the case, the minimum of emission would not be observed
simultaneously for different colours during the eclipse of a fixed
star by its dark neighbour. By means of similar considerations based
on observa- tions of double stars, the Dutch astronomer De Sitter was
also able to show that the velocity of propagation of light cannot
depend on the velocity of motion of the body emitting the light. The
assumption that this velocity of propagation is dependent on the
direction "in space" is in itself improbable.

In short, let us assume that the simple law of the constancy of the
velocity of light c (in vacuum) is justifiably believed by the child
at school. Who would imagine that this simple law has plunged the
conscientiously thoughtful physicist into the greatest intellectual
difficulties? Let us consider how these difficulties arise.

Of course we must refer the process of the propagation of light (and
indeed every other process) to a rigid reference-body (co-ordinate
system). As such a system let us again choose our embankment. We shall
imagine the air above it to have been removed. If a ray of light be
sent along the embankment, we see from the above that the tip of the
ray will be transmitted with the velocity c relative to the
embankment. Now let us suppose that our railway carriage is again
travelling along the railway lines with the velocity v, and that its
direction is the same as that of the ray of light, but its velocity of
course much less. Let us inquire about the velocity of propagation of
the ray of light relative to the carriage. It is obvious that we can
here apply the consideration of the previous section, since the ray of
light plays the part of the man walking along relatively to the
carriage. The velocity w of the man relative to the embankment is here
replaced by the velocity of light relative to the embankment. w is the
required velocity of light with respect to the carriage, and we have

                               w = c-v.

The velocity of propagation ot a ray of light relative to the carriage
thus comes cut smaller than c.

But this result comes into conflict with the principle of relativity
set forth in Section V. For, like every other general law of
nature, the law of the transmission of light in vacuo [in vacuum]
must, according to the principle of relativity, be the same for the
railway carriage as reference-body as when the rails are the body of
reference. But, from our above consideration, this would appear to be
impossible. If every ray of light is propagated relative to the
embankment with the velocity c, then for this reason it would appear
that another law of propagation of light must necessarily hold with
respect to the carriage -- a result contradictory to the principle of
relativity.

In view of this dilemma there appears to be nothing else for it than
to abandon either the principle of relativity or the simple law of the
propagation of light in vacuo. Those of you who have carefully
followed the preceding discussion are almost sure to expect that we
should retain the principle of relativity, which appeals so
convincingly to the intellect because it is so natural and simple. The
law of the propagation of light in vacuo would then have to be
replaced by a more complicated law conformable to the principle of
relativity. The development of theoretical physics shows, however,
that we cannot pursue this course. The epoch-making theoretical
investigations of H. A. Lorentz on the electrodynamical and optical
phenomena connected with moving bodies show that experience in this
domain leads conclusively to a theory of electromagnetic phenomena, of
which the law of the constancy of the velocity of light in vacuo is a
necessary consequence. Prominent theoretical physicists were theref
ore more inclined to reject the principle of relativity, in spite of
the fact that no empirical data had been found which were
contradictory to this principle.

At this juncture the theory of relativity entered the arena. As a
result of an analysis of the physical conceptions of time and space,
it became evident that in realily there is not the least
incompatibilitiy between the principle of relativity and the law of
propagation of light, and that by systematically holding fast to both
these laws a logically rigid theory could be arrived at. This theory
has been called the special theory of relativity to distinguish it
from the extended theory, with which we shall deal later. In the
following pages we shall present the fundamental ideas of the special
theory of relativity.



ON THE IDEA OF TIME IN PHYSICS


Lightning has struck the rails on our railway embankment at two places
A and B far distant from each other. I make the additional assertion
that these two lightning flashes occurred simultaneously. If I ask you
whether there is sense in this statement, you will answer my question
with a decided "Yes." But if I now approach you with the request to
explain to me the sense of the statement more precisely, you find
after some consideration that the answer to this question is not so
easy as it appears at first sight.

After some time perhaps the following answer would occur to you: "The
significance of the statement is clear in itself and needs no further
explanation; of course it would require some consideration if I were
to be commissioned to determine by observations whether in the actual
case the two events took place simultaneously or not." I cannot be
satisfied with this answer for the following reason. Supposing that as
a result of ingenious considerations an able meteorologist were to
discover that the lightning must always strike the places A and B
simultaneously, then we should be faced with the task of testing
whether or not this theoretical result is in accordance with the
reality. We encounter the same difficulty with all physical statements
in which the conception " simultaneous " plays a part. The concept
does not exist for the physicist until he has the possibility of
discovering whether or not it is fulfilled in an actual case. We thus
require a definition of simultaneity such that this definition
supplies us with the method by means of which, in the present case, he
can decide by experiment whether or not both the lightning strokes
occurred simultaneously. As long as this requirement is not satisfied,
I allow myself to be deceived as a physicist (and of course the same
applies if I am not a physicist), when I imagine that I am able to
attach a meaning to the statement of simultaneity. (I would ask the
reader not to proceed farther until he is fully convinced on this
point.)

After thinking the matter over for some time you then offer the
following suggestion with which to test simultaneity. By measuring
along the rails, the connecting line AB should be measured up and an
observer placed at the mid-point M of the distance AB. This observer
should be supplied with an arrangement (e.g. two mirrors inclined at
90^0) which allows him visually to observe both places A and B at the
same time. If the observer perceives the two flashes of lightning at
the same time, then they are simultaneous.

I am very pleased with this suggestion, but for all that I cannot
regard the matter as quite settled, because I feel constrained to
raise the following objection:

"Your definition would certainly be right, if only I knew that the
light by means of which the observer at M perceives the lightning
flashes travels along the length A arrow M with the same velocity as
along the length B arrow M. But an examination of this supposition
would only be possible if we already had at our disposal the means of
measuring time. It would thus appear as though we were moving here in
a logical circle."

After further consideration you cast a somewhat disdainful glance at
me -- and rightly so -- and you declare:

"I maintain my previous definition nevertheless, because in reality it
assumes absolutely nothing about light. There is only one demand to be
made of the definition of simultaneity, namely, that in every real
case it must supply us with an empirical decision as to whether or not
the conception that has to be defined is fulfilled. That my definition
satisfies this demand is indisputable. That light requires the same
time to traverse the path A arrow M as for the path B arrow M is in
reality neither a supposition nor a hypothesis about the physical
nature of light, but a stipulation which I can make of my own freewill
in order to arrive at a definition of simultaneity."

It is clear that this definition can be used to give an exact meaning
not only to two events, but to as many events as we care to choose,
and independently of the positions of the scenes of the events with
respect to the body of reference * (here the railway embankment).
We are thus led also to a definition of " time " in physics. For this
purpose we suppose that clocks of identical construction are placed at
the points A, B and C of the railway line (co-ordinate system) and
that they are set in such a manner that the positions of their
pointers are simultaneously (in the above sense) the same. Under these
conditions we understand by the " time " of an event the reading
(position of the hands) of that one of these clocks which is in the
immediate vicinity (in space) of the event. In this manner a
time-value is associated with every event which is essentially capable
of observation.

This stipulation contains a further physical hypothesis, the validity
of which will hardly be doubted without empirical evidence to the
contrary. It has been assumed that all these clocks go at the same
rate if they are of identical construction. Stated more exactly: When
two clocks arranged at rest in different places of a reference-body
are set in such a manner that a particular position of the pointers of
the one clock is simultaneous (in the above sense) with the same
position, of the pointers of the other clock, then identical "
settings " are always simultaneous (in the sense of the above
definition).


  Notes

*) We suppose further, that, when three events A, B and C occur in
different places in such a manner that A is simultaneous with B and B
is simultaneous with C (simultaneous in the sense of the above
definition), then the criterion for the simultaneity of the pair of
events A, C is also satisfied. This assumption is a physical
hypothesis about the the of propagation of light: it must certainly be
fulfilled if we are to maintain the law of the constancy of the
velocity of light in vacuo.



THE RELATIVITY OF SIMULATNEITY


Up to now our considerations have been referred to a particular body
of reference, which we have styled a " railway embankment." We suppose
a very long train travelling along the rails with the constant
velocity v and in the direction indicated in Fig 1. People travelling
in this train will with a vantage view the train as a rigid
reference-body (co-ordinate system); they regard all events in

                       Fig. 01: file fig01.gif


reference to the train. Then every event which takes place along the
line also takes place at a particular point of the train. Also the
definition of simultaneity can be given relative to the train in
exactly the same way as with respect to the embankment. As a natural
consequence, however, the following question arises :

Are two events (e.g. the two strokes of lightning A and B) which are
simultaneous with reference to the railway embankment also
simultaneous relatively to the train? We shall show directly that the
answer must be in the negative.

When we say that the lightning strokes A and B are simultaneous with
respect to be embankment, we mean: the rays of light emitted at the
places A and B, where the lightning occurs, meet each other at the
mid-point M of the length A arrow B of the embankment. But the events
A and B also correspond to positions A and B on the train. Let M1 be
the mid-point of the distance A arrow B on the travelling train. Just
when the flashes (as judged from the embankment) of lightning occur,
this point M1 naturally coincides with the point M but it moves
towards the right in the diagram with the velocity v of the train. If
an observer sitting in the position M1 in the train did not possess
this velocity, then he would remain permanently at M, and the light
rays emitted by the flashes of lightning A and B would reach him
simultaneously, i.e. they would meet just where he is situated. Now in
reality (considered with reference to the railway embankment) he is
hastening towards the beam of light coming from B, whilst he is riding
on ahead of the beam of light coming from A. Hence the observer will
see the beam of light emitted from B earlier than he will see that
emitted from A. Observers who take the railway train as their
reference-body must therefore come to the conclusion that the
lightning flash B took place earlier than the lightning flash A. We
thus arrive at the important result:

Events which are simultaneous with reference to the embankment are not
simultaneous with respect to the train, and vice versa (relativity of
simultaneity). Every reference-body (co-ordinate system) has its own
particular time ; unless we are told the reference-body to which the
statement of time refers, there is no meaning in a statement of the
time of an event.

Now before the advent of the theory of relativity it had always
tacitly been assumed in physics that the statement of time had an
absolute significance, i.e. that it is independent of the state of
motion of the body of reference. But we have just seen that this
assumption is incompatible with the most natural definition of
simultaneity; if we discard this assumption, then the conflict between
the law of the propagation of light in vacuo and the principle of
relativity (developed in Section 7) disappears.

We were led to that conflict by the considerations of Section 6,
which are now no longer tenable. In that section we concluded that the
man in the carriage, who traverses the distance w per second relative
to the carriage, traverses the same distance also with respect to the
embankment in each second of time. But, according to the foregoing
considerations, the time required by a particular occurrence with
respect to the carriage must not be considered equal to the duration
of the same occurrence as judged from the embankment (as
reference-body). Hence it cannot be contended that the man in walking
travels the distance w relative to the railway line in a time which is
equal to one second as judged from the embankment.

Moreover, the considerations of Section 6 are based on yet a second
assumption, which, in the light of a strict consideration, appears to
be arbitrary, although it was always tacitly made even before the
introduction of the theory of relativity.



ON THE RELATIVITY OF THE CONCEPTION OF DISTANCE


Let us consider two particular points on the train * travelling
along the embankment with the velocity v, and inquire as to their
distance apart. We already know that it is necessary to have a body of
reference for the measurement of a distance, with respect to which
body the distance can be measured up. It is the simplest plan to use
the train itself as reference-body (co-ordinate system). An observer
in the train measures the interval by marking off his measuring-rod in
a straight line (e.g. along the floor of the carriage) as many times
as is necessary to take him from the one marked point to the other.
Then the number which tells us how often the rod has to be laid down
is the required distance.

It is a different matter when the distance has to be judged from the
railway line. Here the following method suggests itself. If we call
A^1 and B^1 the two points on the train whose distance apart is
required, then both of these points are moving with the velocity v
along the embankment. In the first place we require to determine the
points A and B of the embankment which are just being passed by the
two points A^1 and B^1 at a particular time t -- judged from the
embankment. These points A and B of the embankment can be determined
by applying the definition of time given in Section 8. The distance
between these points A and B is then measured by repeated application
of thee measuring-rod along the embankment.

A priori it is by no means certain that this last measurement will
supply us with the same result as the first. Thus the length of the
train as measured from the embankment may be different from that
obtained by measuring in the train itself. This circumstance leads us
to a second objection which must be raised against the apparently
obvious consideration of Section 6. Namely, if the man in the
carriage covers the distance w in a unit of time -- measured from the
train, -- then this distance -- as measured from the embankment -- is
not necessarily also equal to w.


  Notes

*) e.g. the middle of the first and of the hundredth carriage.



THE LORENTZ TRANSFORMATION


The results of the last three sections show that the apparent
incompatibility of the law of propagation of light with the principle
of relativity (Section 7) has been derived by means of a
consideration which borrowed two unjustifiable hypotheses from
classical mechanics; these are as follows:

(1) The time-interval (time) between two events is independent of the
condition of motion of the body of reference.

(2) The space-interval (distance) between two points of a rigid body
is independent of the condition of motion of the body of reference.

If we drop these hypotheses, then the dilemma of Section 7
disappears, because the theorem of the addition of velocities derived
in Section 6 becomes invalid. The possibility presents itself that
the law of the propagation of light in vacuo may be compatible with
the principle of relativity, and the question arises: How have we to
modify the considerations of Section 6 in order to remove the
apparent disagreement between these two fundamental results of
experience? This question leads to a general one. In the discussion of
Section 6 we have to do with places and times relative both to the
train and to the embankment. How are we to find the place and time of
an event in relation to the train, when we know the place and time of
the event with respect to the railway embankment ? Is there a
thinkable answer to this question of such a nature that the law of
transmission of light in vacuo does not contradict the principle of
relativity ? In other words : Can we conceive of a relation between
place and time of the individual events relative to both
reference-bodies, such that every ray of light possesses the velocity
of transmission c relative to the embankment and relative to the train
? This question leads to a quite definite positive answer, and to a
perfectly definite transformation law for the space-time magnitudes of
an event when changing over from one body of reference to another.

Before we deal with this, we shall introduce the following incidental
consideration. Up to the present we have only considered events taking
place along the embankment, which had mathematically to assume the
function of a straight line. In the manner indicated in Section 2
we can imagine this reference-body supplemented laterally and in a
vertical direction by means of a framework of rods, so that an event
which takes place anywhere can be localised with reference to this
framework. Fig. 2 Similarly, we can imagine the train travelling with
the velocity v to be continued across the whole of space, so that
every event, no matter how far off it may be, could also be localised
with respect to the second framework. Without committing any
fundamental error, we can disregard the fact that in reality these
frameworks would continually interfere with each other, owing to the
impenetrability of solid bodies. In every such framework we imagine
three surfaces perpendicular to each other marked out, and designated
as " co-ordinate planes " (" co-ordinate system "). A co-ordinate
system K then corresponds to the embankment, and a co-ordinate system
K' to the train. An event, wherever it may have taken place, would be
fixed in space with respect to K by the three perpendiculars x, y, z
on the co-ordinate planes, and with regard to time by a time value t.
Relative to K1, the same event would be fixed in respect of space and
time by corresponding values x1, y1, z1, t1, which of course are not
identical with x, y, z, t. It has already been set forth in detail how
these magnitudes are to be regarded as results of physical
measurements.

Obviously our problem can be exactly formulated in the following
manner. What are the values x1, y1, z1, t1, of an event with respect
to K1, when the magnitudes x, y, z, t, of the same event with respect
to K are given ? The relations must be so chosen that the law of the
transmission of light in vacuo is satisfied for one and the same ray
of light (and of course for every ray) with respect to K and K1. For
the relative orientation in space of the co-ordinate systems indicated
in the diagram ([7]Fig. 2), this problem is solved by means of the
equations :

                         eq. 1: file eq01.gif

                                y1 = y
                                z1 = z

                         eq. 2: file eq02.gif

This system of equations is known as the " Lorentz transformation." *

If in place of the law of transmission of light we had taken as our
basis the tacit assumptions of the older mechanics as to the absolute
character of times and lengths, then instead of the above we should
have obtained the following equations:

                             x1 = x - vt
                                y1 = y
                                z1 = z
                                t1 = t

This system of equations is often termed the " Galilei
transformation." The Galilei transformation can be obtained from the
Lorentz transformation by substituting an infinitely large value for
the velocity of light c in the latter transformation.

Aided by the following illustration, we can readily see that, in
accordance with the Lorentz transformation, the law of the
transmission of light in vacuo is satisfied both for the
reference-body K and for the reference-body K1. A light-signal is sent
along the positive x-axis, and this light-stimulus advances in
accordance with the equation

                               x = ct,

i.e. with the velocity c. According to the equations of the Lorentz
transformation, this simple relation between x and t involves a
relation between x1 and t1. In point of fact, if we substitute for x
the value ct in the first and fourth equations of the Lorentz
transformation, we obtain:

                         eq. 3: file eq03.gif


                         eq. 4: file eq04.gif

from which, by division, the expression

                               x1 = ct1

immediately follows. If referred to the system K1, the propagation of
light takes place according to this equation. We thus see that the
velocity of transmission relative to the reference-body K1 is also
equal to c. The same result is obtained for rays of light advancing in
any other direction whatsoever. Of cause this is not surprising, since
the equations of the Lorentz transformation were derived conformably
to this point of view.


  Notes

*) A simple derivation of the Lorentz transformation is given in
Appendix I.



THE BEHAVIOUR OF MEASURING-RODS AND CLOCKS IN MOTION


Place a metre-rod in the x1-axis of K1 in such a manner that one end
(the beginning) coincides with the point x1=0 whilst the other end
(the end of the rod) coincides with the point x1=I. What is the length
of the metre-rod relatively to the system K? In order to learn this,
we need only ask where the beginning of the rod and the end of the rod
lie with respect to K at a particular time t of the system K. By means
of the first equation of the Lorentz transformation the values of
these two points at the time t = 0 can be shown to be

                       eq. 05a: file eq05a.gif


                       eq. 05b: file eq05b.gif


the distance between the points being eq. 06 .

But the metre-rod is moving with the velocity v relative to K. It
therefore follows that the length of a rigid metre-rod moving in the
direction of its length with a velocity v is eq. 06 of a metre.

The rigid rod is thus shorter when in motion than when at rest, and
the more quickly it is moving, the shorter is the rod. For the
velocity v=c we should have eq. 06a ,

and for stiII greater velocities the square-root becomes imaginary.
From this we conclude that in the theory of relativity the velocity c
plays the part of a limiting velocity, which can neither be reached
nor exceeded by any real body.

Of course this feature of the velocity c as a limiting velocity also
clearly follows from the equations of the Lorentz transformation, for
these became meaningless if we choose values of v greater than c.

If, on the contrary, we had considered a metre-rod at rest in the
x-axis with respect to K, then we should have found that the length of
the rod as judged from K1 would have been eq. 06 ;

this is quite in accordance with the principle of relativity which
forms the basis of our considerations.

A Priori it is quite clear that we must be able to learn something
about the physical behaviour of measuring-rods and clocks from the
equations of transformation, for the magnitudes z, y, x, t, are
nothing more nor less than the results of measurements obtainable by
means of measuring-rods and clocks. If we had based our considerations
on the Galileian transformation we should not have obtained a
contraction of the rod as a consequence of its motion.

Let us now consider a seconds-clock which is permanently situated at
the origin (x1=0) of K1. t1=0 and t1=I are two successive ticks of
this clock. The first and fourth equations of the Lorentz
transformation give for these two ticks :

                                t = 0

and

                        eq. 07: file eq07.gif

As judged from K, the clock is moving with the velocity v; as judged
from this reference-body, the time which elapses between two strokes
of the clock is not one second, but

                        eq. 08: file eq08.gif

seconds, i.e. a somewhat larger time. As a consequence of its motion
the clock goes more slowly than when at rest. Here also the velocity c
plays the part of an unattainable limiting velocity.



THEOREM OF THE ADDITION OF VELOCITIES.
THE EXPERIMENT OF FIZEAU


Now in practice we can move clocks and measuring-rods only with
velocities that are small compared with the velocity of light; hence
we shall hardly be able to compare the results of the previous section
directly with the reality. But, on the other hand, these results must
strike you as being very singular, and for that reason I shall now
draw another conclusion from the theory, one which can easily be
derived from the foregoing considerations, and which has been most
elegantly confirmed by experiment.

In Section 6 we derived the theorem of the addition of velocities
in one direction in the form which also results from the hypotheses of
classical mechanics- This theorem can also be deduced readily horn the
Galilei transformation (Section 11). In place of the man walking
inside the carriage, we introduce a point moving relatively to the
co-ordinate system K1 in accordance with the equation

                               x1 = wt1

By means of the first and fourth equations of the Galilei
transformation we can express x1 and t1 in terms of x and t, and we
then obtain

                             x = (v + w)t

This equation expresses nothing else than the law of motion of the
point with reference to the system K (of the man with reference to the
embankment). We denote this velocity by the symbol W, and we then
obtain, as in Section 6,

                           W=v+w         A)

But we can carry out this consideration just as well on the basis of
the theory of relativity. In the equation

                         x1 = wt1         B)

we must then express x1and t1 in terms of x and t, making use of the
first and fourth equations of the Lorentz transformation. Instead of
the equation (A) we then obtain the equation

                        eq. 09: file eq09.gif


which corresponds to the theorem of addition for velocities in one
direction according to the theory of relativity. The question now
arises as to which of these two theorems is the better in accord with
experience. On this point we axe enlightened by a most important
experiment which the brilliant physicist Fizeau performed more than
half a century ago, and which has been repeated since then by some of
the best experimental physicists, so that there can be no doubt about
its result. The experiment is concerned with the following question.
Light travels in a motionless liquid with a particular velocity w. How
quickly does it travel in the direction of the arrow in the tube T
(see the accompanying diagram, Fig. 3) when the liquid above
mentioned is flowing through the tube with a velocity v ?

In accordance with the principle of relativity we shall certainly have
to take for granted that the propagation of light always takes place
with the same velocity w with respect to the liquid, whether the
latter is in motion with reference to other bodies or not. The
velocity of light relative to the liquid and the velocity of the
latter relative to the tube are thus known, and we require the
velocity of light relative to the tube.

It is clear that we have the problem of Section 6 again before us. The
tube plays the part of the railway embankment or of the co-ordinate
system K, the liquid plays the part of the carriage or of the
co-ordinate system K1, and finally, the light plays the part of the

                      Figure 03: file fig03.gif


man walking along the carriage, or of the moving point in the present
section. If we denote the velocity of the light relative to the tube
by W, then this is given by the equation (A) or (B), according as the
Galilei transformation or the Lorentz transformation corresponds to
the facts. Experiment * decides in favour of equation (B) derived
from the theory of relativity, and the agreement is, indeed, very
exact. According to recent and most excellent measurements by Zeeman,
the influence of the velocity of flow v on the propagation of light is
represented by formula (B) to within one per cent.

Nevertheless we must now draw attention to the fact that a theory of
this phenomenon was given by H. A. Lorentz long before the statement
of the theory of relativity. This theory was of a purely
electrodynamical nature, and was obtained by the use of particular
hypotheses as to the electromagnetic structure of matter. This
circumstance, however, does not in the least diminish the
conclusiveness of the experiment as a crucial test in favour of the
theory of relativity, for the electrodynamics of Maxwell-Lorentz, on
which the original theory was based, in no way opposes the theory of
relativity. Rather has the latter been developed trom electrodynamics
as an astoundingly simple combination and generalisation of the
hypotheses, formerly independent of each other, on which
electrodynamics was built.


  Notes

*) Fizeau found eq. 10 , where eq. 11

is the index of refraction of the liquid. On the other hand, owing to
the smallness of eq. 12 as compared with I,

we can replace (B) in the first place by eq. 13 , or to the same order
of approximation by

eq. 14 , which agrees with Fizeau's result.



THE HEURISTIC VALUE OF THE THEORY OF RELATIVITY


Our train of thought in the foregoing pages can be epitomised in the
following manner. Experience has led to the conviction that, on the
one hand, the principle of relativity holds true and that on the other
hand the velocity of transmission of light in vacuo has to be
considered equal to a constant c. By uniting these two postulates we
obtained the law of transformation for the rectangular co-ordinates x,
y, z and the time t of the events which constitute the processes of
nature. In this connection we did not obtain the Galilei
transformation, but, differing from classical mechanics, the Lorentz
transformation.

The law of transmission of light, the acceptance of which is justified
by our actual knowledge, played an important part in this process of
thought. Once in possession of the Lorentz transformation, however, we
can combine this with the principle of relativity, and sum up the
theory thus:

Every general law of nature must be so constituted that it is
transformed into a law of exactly the same form when, instead of the
space-time variables x, y, z, t of the original coordinate system K,
we introduce new space-time variables x1, y1, z1, t1 of a co-ordinate
system K1. In this connection the relation between the ordinary and
the accented magnitudes is given by the Lorentz transformation. Or in
brief : General laws of nature are co-variant with respect to Lorentz
transformations.

This is a definite mathematical condition that the theory of
relativity demands of a natural law, and in virtue of this, the theory
becomes a valuable heuristic aid in the search for general laws of
nature. If a general law of nature were to be found which did not
satisfy this condition, then at least one of the two fundamental
assumptions of the theory would have been disproved. Let us now
examine what general results the latter theory has hitherto evinced.



GENERAL RESULTS OF THE THEORY


It is clear from our previous considerations that the (special) theory
of relativity has grown out of electrodynamics and optics. In these
fields it has not appreciably altered the predictions of theory, but
it has considerably simplified the theoretical structure, i.e. the
derivation of laws, and -- what is incomparably more important -- it
has considerably reduced the number of independent hypothese forming
the basis of theory. The special theory of relativity has rendered the
Maxwell-Lorentz theory so plausible, that the latter would have been
generally accepted by physicists even if experiment had decided less
unequivocally in its favour.

Classical mechanics required to be modified before it could come into
line with the demands of the special theory of relativity. For the
main part, however, this modification affects only the laws for rapid
motions, in which the velocities of matter v are not very small as
compared with the velocity of light. We have experience of such rapid
motions only in the case of electrons and ions; for other motions the
variations from the laws of classical mechanics are too small to make
themselves evident in practice. We shall not consider the motion of
stars until we come to speak of the general theory of relativity. In
accordance with the theory of relativity the kinetic energy of a
material point of mass m is no longer given by the well-known
expression

                        eq. 15: file eq15.gif

but by the expression

                        eq. 16: file eq16.gif


This expression approaches infinity as the velocity v approaches the
velocity of light c. The velocity must therefore always remain less
than c, however great may be the energies used to produce the
acceleration. If we develop the expression for the kinetic energy in
the form of a series, we obtain

                        eq. 17: file eq17.gif


When eq. 18 is small compared with unity, the third of these terms is
always small in comparison with the second,

which last is alone considered in classical mechanics. The first term
mc^2 does not contain the velocity, and requires no consideration if
we are only dealing with the question as to how the energy of a
point-mass; depends on the velocity. We shall speak of its essential
significance later.

The most important result of a general character to which the special
theory of relativity has led is concerned with the conception of mass.
Before the advent of relativity, physics recognised two conservation
laws of fundamental importance, namely, the law of the canservation of
energy and the law of the conservation of mass these two fundamental
laws appeared to be quite independent of each other. By means of the
theory of relativity they have been united into one law. We shall now
briefly consider how this unification came about, and what meaning is
to be attached to it.

The principle of relativity requires that the law of the concervation
of energy should hold not only with reference to a co-ordinate system
K, but also with respect to every co-ordinate system K1 which is in a
state of uniform motion of translation relative to K, or, briefly,
relative to every " Galileian " system of co-ordinates. In contrast to
classical mechanics; the Lorentz transformation is the deciding factor
in the transition from one such system to another.

By means of comparatively simple considerations we are led to draw the
following conclusion from these premises, in conjunction with the
fundamental equations of the electrodynamics of Maxwell: A body moving
with the velocity v, which absorbs * an amount of energy E[0] in
the form of radiation without suffering an alteration in velocity in
the process, has, as a consequence, its energy increased by an amount

                        eq. 19: file eq19.gif

In consideration of the expression given above for the kinetic energy
of the body, the required energy of the body comes out to be

                        eq. 20: file eq20.gif


Thus the body has the same energy as a body of mass

                         eq.21: file eq21.gif

moving with the velocity v. Hence we can say: If a body takes up an
amount of energy E[0], then its inertial mass increases by an amount

                        eq. 22: file eq22.gif


the inertial mass of a body is not a constant but varies according to
the change in the energy of the body. The inertial mass of a system of
bodies can even be regarded as a measure of its energy. The law of the
conservation of the mass of a system becomes identical with the law of
the conservation of energy, and is only valid provided that the system
neither takes up nor sends out energy. Writing the expression for the
energy in the form

                        eq. 23: file eq23.gif

we see that the term mc^2, which has hitherto attracted our attention,
is nothing else than the energy possessed by the body ** before it
absorbed the energy E[0].

A direct comparison of this relation with experiment is not possible
at the present time (1920; see *** Note, p. 48), owing to the fact that
the changes in energy E[0] to which we can Subject a system are not
large enough to make themselves perceptible as a change in the
inertial mass of the system.

                                eq. 22: file eq22.gif


is too small in comparison with the mass m, which was present before
the alteration of the energy. It is owing to this circumstance that
classical mechanics was able to establish successfully the
conservation of mass as a law of independent validity.

Let me add a final remark of a fundamental nature. The success of the
Faraday-Maxwell interpretation of electromagnetic action at a distance
resulted in physicists becoming convinced that there are no such
things as instantaneous actions at a distance (not involving an
intermediary medium) of the type of Newton's law of gravitation.
According to the theory of relativity, action at a distance with the
velocity of light always takes the place of instantaneous action at a
distance or of action at a distance with an infinite velocity of
transmission. This is connected with the fact that the velocity c
plays a fundamental role in this theory. In Part II we shall see in
what way this result becomes modified in the general theory of
relativity.


  Notes

*) E[0] is the energy taken up, as judged from a co-ordinate system
moving with the body.

**) As judged from a co-ordinate system moving with the body.

***[Note] The equation E = mc^2 has been thoroughly proved time and
again since this time.



EXPERIENCE AND THE SPECIAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY


To what extent is the special theory of relativity supported by
experience?  This question is not easily answered for the reason
already mentioned in connection with the fundamental experiment of
Fizeau. The special theory of relativity has crystallised out from the
Maxwell-Lorentz theory of electromagnetic phenomena. Thus all facts of
experience which support the electromagnetic theory also support the
theory of relativity. As being of particular importance, I mention
here the fact that the theory of relativity enables us to predict the
effects produced on the light reaching us from the fixed stars. These
results are obtained in an exceedingly simple manner, and the effects
indicated, which are due to the relative motion of the earth with
reference to those fixed stars are found to be in accord with
experience. We refer to the yearly movement of the apparent position
of the fixed stars resulting from the motion of the earth round the
sun (aberration), and to the influence of the radial components of the
relative motions of the fixed stars with respect to the earth on the
colour of the light reaching us from them. The latter effect manifests
itself in a slight displacement of the spectral lines of the light
transmitted to us from a fixed star, as compared with the position of
the same spectral lines when they are produced by a terrestrial source
of light (Doppler principle). The experimental arguments in favour of
the Maxwell-Lorentz theory, which are at the same time arguments in
favour of the theory of relativity, are too numerous to be set forth
here. In reality they limit the theoretical possibilities to such an
extent, that no other theory than that of Maxwell and Lorentz has been
able to hold its own when tested by experience.

But there are two classes of experimental facts hitherto obtained
which can be represented in the Maxwell-Lorentz theory only by the
introduction of an auxiliary hypothesis, which in itself -- i.e.
without making use of the theory of relativity -- appears extraneous.

It is known that cathode rays and the so-called b-rays emitted by
radioactive substances consist of negatively electrified particles
(electrons) of very small inertia and large velocity. By examining the
deflection of these rays under the influence of electric and magnetic
fields, we can study the law of motion of these particles very
exactly.

In the theoretical treatment of these electrons, we are faced with the
difficulty that electrodynamic theory of itself is unable to give an
account of their nature. For since electrical masses of one sign repel
each other, the negative electrical masses constituting the electron
would necessarily be scattered under the influence of their mutual
repulsions, unless there are forces of another kind operating between
them, the nature of which has hitherto remained obscure to us.*   If
we now assume that the relative distances between the electrical
masses constituting the electron remain unchanged during the motion of
the electron (rigid connection in the sense of classical mechanics),
we arrive at a law of motion of the electron which does not agree with
experience. Guided by purely formal points of view, H. A. Lorentz was
the first to introduce the hypothesis that the form of the electron
experiences a contraction in the direction of motion in consequence of
that motion. the contracted length being proportional to the
expression

                        eq. 05: file eq05.gif

This, hypothesis, which is not justifiable by any electrodynamical
facts, supplies us then with that particular law of motion which has
been confirmed with great precision in recent years.

The theory of relativity leads to the same law of motion, without
requiring any special hypothesis whatsoever as to the structure and
the behaviour of the electron. We arrived at a similar conclusion in
Section 13 in connection with the experiment of Fizeau, the result
of which is foretold by the theory of relativity without the necessity
of drawing on hypotheses as to the physical nature of the liquid.

The second class of facts to which we have alluded has reference to
the question whether or not the motion of the earth in space can be
made perceptible in terrestrial experiments. We have already remarked
in Section 5 that all attempts of this nature led to a negative
result. Before the theory of relativity was put forward, it was
difficult to become reconciled to this negative result, for reasons
now to be discussed. The inherited prejudices about time and space did
not allow any doubt to arise as to the prime importance of the
Galileian transformation for changing over from one body of reference
to another. Now assuming that the Maxwell-Lorentz equations hold for a
reference-body K, we then find that they do not hold for a
reference-body K1 moving uniformly with respect to K, if we assume
that the relations of the Galileian transformstion exist between the
co-ordinates of K and K1. It thus appears that, of all Galileian
co-ordinate systems, one (K) corresponding to a particular state of
motion is physically unique. This result was interpreted physically by
regarding K as at rest with respect to a hypothetical �ther of space.
On the other hand, all coordinate systems K1 moving relatively to K
were to be regarded as in motion with respect to the �ther. To this
motion of K1 against the �ther ("�ther-drift " relative to K1) were
attributed the more complicated laws which were supposed to hold
relative to K1. Strictly speaking, such an �ther-drift ought also to
be assumed relative to the earth, and for a long time the efforts of
physicists were devoted to attempts to detect the existence of an
�ther-drift at the earth's surface.

In one of the most notable of these attempts Michelson devised a
method which appears as though it must be decisive. Imagine two
mirrors so arranged on a rigid body that the reflecting surfaces face
each other. A ray of light requires a perfectly definite time T to
pass from one mirror to the other and back again, if the whole system
be at rest with respect to the �ther. It is found by calculation,
however, that a slightly different time T1 is required for this
process, if the body, together with the mirrors, be moving relatively
to the �ther. And yet another point: it is shown by calculation that
for a given velocity v with reference to the �ther, this time T1 is
different when the body is moving perpendicularly to the planes of the
mirrors from that resulting when the motion is parallel to these
planes. Although the estimated difference between these two times is
exceedingly small, Michelson and Morley performed an experiment
involving interference in which this difference should have been
clearly detectable. But the experiment gave a negative result -- a
fact very perplexing to physicists. Lorentz and FitzGerald rescued the
theory from this difficulty by assuming that the motion of the body
relative to the �ther produces a contraction of the body in the
direction of motion, the amount of contraction being just sufficient
to compensate for the differeace in time mentioned above. Comparison
with the discussion in Section 11 shows that also from the
standpoint of the theory of relativity this solution of the difficulty
was the right one. But on the basis of the theory of relativity the
method of interpretation is incomparably more satisfactory. According
to this theory there is no such thing as a " specially favoured "
(unique) co-ordinate system to occasion the introduction of the
�ther-idea, and hence there can be no �ther-drift, nor any experiment
with which to demonstrate it. Here the contraction of moving bodies
follows from the two fundamental principles of the theory, without the
introduction of particular hypotheses ; and as the prime factor
involved in this contraction we find, not the motion in itself, to
which we cannot attach any meaning, but the motion with respect to the
body of reference chosen in the particular case in point. Thus for a
co-ordinate system moving with the earth the mirror system of
Michelson and Morley is not shortened, but it is shortened for a
co-ordinate system which is at rest relatively to the sun.


  Notes

*) The general theory of relativity renders it likely that the
electrical masses of an electron are held together by gravitational
forces.



MINKOWSKI'S FOUR-DIMENSIONAL SPACE


The non-mathematician is seized by a mysterious shuddering when he
hears of "four-dimensional" things, by a feeling not unlike that
awakened by thoughts of the occult. And yet there is no more
common-place statement than that the world in which we live is a
four-dimensional space-time continuum.

Space is a three-dimensional continuum. By this we mean that it is
possible to describe the position of a point (at rest) by means of
three numbers (co-ordinales) x, y, z, and that there is an indefinite
number of points in the neighbourhood of this one, the position of
which can be described by co-ordinates such as x[1], y[1], z[1], which
may be as near as we choose to the respective values of the
co-ordinates x, y, z, of the first point. In virtue of the latter
property we speak of a " continuum," and owing to the fact that there
are three co-ordinates we speak of it as being " three-dimensional."

Similarly, the world of physical phenomena which was briefly called "
world " by Minkowski is naturally four dimensional in the space-time
sense. For it is composed of individual events, each of which is
described by four numbers, namely, three space co-ordinates x, y, z,
and a time co-ordinate, the time value t. The" world" is in this sense
also a continuum; for to every event there are as many "neighbouring"
events (realised or at least thinkable) as we care to choose, the
co-ordinates x[1], y[1], z[1], t[1] of which differ by an indefinitely
small amount from those of the event x, y, z, t originally considered.
That we have not been accustomed to regard the world in this sense as
a four-dimensional continuum is due to the fact that in physics,
before the advent of the theory of relativity, time played a different
and more independent role, as compared with the space coordinates. It
is for this reason that we have been in the habit of treating time as
an independent continuum. As a matter of fact, according to classical
mechanics, time is absolute, i.e. it is independent of the position
and the condition of motion of the system of co-ordinates. We see this
expressed in the last equation of the Galileian transformation (t1 =
t)

The four-dimensional mode of consideration of the "world" is natural
on the theory of relativity, since according to this theory time is
robbed of its independence. This is shown by the fourth equation of
the Lorentz transformation:

                        eq. 24: file eq24.gif


Moreover, according to this equation the time difference Dt1 of two
events with respect to K1 does not in general vanish, even when the
time difference Dt1 of the same events with reference to K vanishes.
Pure " space-distance " of two events with respect to K results in "
time-distance " of the same events with respect to K. But the
discovery of Minkowski, which was of importance for the formal
development of the theory of relativity, does not lie here. It is to
be found rather in the fact of his recognition that the
four-dimensional space-time continuum of the theory of relativity, in
its most essential formal properties, shows a pronounced relationship
to the three-dimensional continuum of Euclidean geometrical
space.*  In order to give due prominence to this relationship,
however, we must replace the usual time co-ordinate t by an imaginary
magnitude eq. 25 proportional to it. Under these conditions, the
natural laws satisfying the demands of the (special) theory of
relativity assume mathematical forms, in which the time co-ordinate
plays exactly the same role as the three space co-ordinates. Formally,
these four co-ordinates correspond exactly to the three space
co-ordinates in Euclidean geometry. It must be clear even to the
non-mathematician that, as a consequence of this purely formal
addition to our knowledge, the theory perforce gained clearness in no
mean measure.

These inadequate remarks can give the reader only a vague notion of
the important idea contributed by Minkowski. Without it the general
theory of relativity, of which the fundamental ideas are developed in
the following pages, would perhaps have got no farther than its long
clothes. Minkowski's work is doubtless difficult of access to anyone
inexperienced in mathematics, but since it is not necessary to have a
very exact grasp of this work in order to understand the fundamental
ideas of either the special or the general theory of relativity, I
shall leave it here at present, and revert to it only towards the end
of Part 2.


  Notes

*) Cf. the somewhat more detailed discussion in Appendix II.




PART II

THE GENERAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY


SPECIAL AND GENERAL PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY


The basal principle, which was the pivot of all our previous
considerations, was the special principle of relativity, i.e. the
principle of the physical relativity of all uniform motion. Let as
once more analyse its meaning carefully.

It was at all times clear that, from the point of view of the idea it
conveys to us, every motion must be considered only as a relative
motion. Returning to the illustration we have frequently used of the
embankment and the railway carriage, we can express the fact of the
motion here taking place in the following two forms, both of which are
equally justifiable :

(a) The carriage is in motion relative to the embankment,
(b) The embankment is in motion relative to the carriage.

In (a) the embankment, in (b) the carriage, serves as the body of
reference in our statement of the motion taking place. If it is simply
a question of detecting or of describing the motion involved, it is in
principle immaterial to what reference-body we refer the motion. As
already mentioned, this is self-evident, but it must not be confused
with the much more comprehensive statement called "the principle of
relativity," which we have taken as the basis of our investigations.

The principle we have made use of not only maintains that we may
equally well choose the carriage or the embankment as our
reference-body for the description of any event (for this, too, is
self-evident). Our principle rather asserts what follows : If we
formulate the general laws of nature as they are obtained from
experience, by making use of

(a) the embankment as reference-body,
(b) the railway carriage as reference-body,

then these general laws of nature (e.g. the laws of mechanics or the
law of the propagation of light in vacuo) have exactly the same form
in both cases. This can also be expressed as follows : For the
physical description of natural processes, neither of the reference
bodies K, K1 is unique (lit. " specially marked out ") as compared
with the other. Unlike the first, this latter statement need not of
necessity hold a priori; it is not contained in the conceptions of "
motion" and " reference-body " and derivable from them; only
experience can decide as to its correctness or incorrectness.

Up to the present, however, we have by no means maintained the
equivalence of all bodies of reference K in connection with the
formulation of natural laws. Our course was more on the following
Iines. In the first place, we started out from the assumption that
there exists a reference-body K, whose condition of motion is such
that the Galileian law holds with respect to it : A particle left to
itself and sufficiently far removed from all other particles moves
uniformly in a straight line. With reference to K (Galileian
reference-body) the laws of nature were to be as simple as possible.
But in addition to K, all bodies of reference K1 should be given
preference in this sense, and they should be exactly equivalent to K
for the formulation of natural laws, provided that they are in a state
of uniform rectilinear and non-rotary motion with respect to K ; all
these bodies of reference are to be regarded as Galileian
reference-bodies. The validity of the principle of relativity was
assumed only for these reference-bodies, but not for others (e.g.
those possessing motion of a different kind). In this sense we speak
of the special principle of relativity, or special theory of
relativity.

In contrast to this we wish to understand by the "general principle of
relativity" the following statement : All bodies of reference K, K1,
etc., are equivalent for the description of natural phenomena
(formulation of the general laws of nature), whatever may be their
state of motion. But before proceeding farther, it ought to be pointed
out that this formulation must be replaced later by a more abstract
one, for reasons which will become evident at a later stage.

Since the introduction of the special principle of relativity has been
justified, every intellect which strives after generalisation must
feel the temptation to venture the step towards the general principle
of relativity. But a simple and apparently quite reliable
consideration seems to suggest that, for the present at any rate,
there is little hope of success in such an attempt; Let us imagine
ourselves transferred to our old friend the railway carriage, which is
travelling at a uniform rate. As long as it is moving unifromly, the
occupant of the carriage is not sensible of its motion, and it is for
this reason that he can without reluctance interpret the facts of the
case as indicating that the carriage is at rest, but the embankment in
motion. Moreover, according to the special principle of relativity,
this interpretation is quite justified also from a physical point of
view.

If the motion of the carriage is now changed into a non-uniform
motion, as for instance by a powerful application of the brakes, then
the occupant of the carriage experiences a correspondingly powerful
jerk forwards. The retarded motion is manifested in the mechanical
behaviour of bodies relative to the person in the railway carriage.
The mechanical behaviour is different from that of the case previously
considered, and for this reason it would appear to be impossible that
the same mechanical laws hold relatively to the non-uniformly moving
carriage, as hold with reference to the carriage when at rest or in
uniform motion. At all events it is clear that the Galileian law does
not hold with respect to the non-uniformly moving carriage. Because of
this, we feel compelled at the present juncture to grant a kind of
absolute physical reality to non-uniform motion, in opposition to the
general principle of relatvity. But in what follows we shall soon see
that this conclusion cannot be maintained.



THE GRAVITATIONAL FIELD


"If we pick up a stone and then let it go, why does it fall to the
ground ?" The usual answer to this question is: "Because it is
attracted by the earth." Modern physics formulates the answer rather
differently for the following reason. As a result of the more careful
study of electromagnetic phenomena, we have come to regard action at a
distance as a process impossible without the intervention of some
intermediary medium. If, for instance, a magnet attracts a piece of
iron, we cannot be content to regard this as meaning that the magnet
acts directly on the iron through the intermediate empty space, but we
are constrained to imagine -- after the manner of Faraday -- that the
magnet always calls into being something physically real in the space
around it, that something being what we call a "magnetic field." In
its turn this magnetic field operates on the piece of iron, so that
the latter strives to move towards the magnet. We shall not discuss
here the justification for this incidental conception, which is indeed
a somewhat arbitrary one. We shall only mention that with its aid
electromagnetic phenomena can be theoretically represented much more
satisfactorily than without it, and this applies particularly to the
transmission of electromagnetic waves. The effects of gravitation also
are regarded in an analogous manner.

The action of the earth on the stone takes place indirectly. The earth
produces in its surrounding a gravitational field, which acts on the
stone and produces its motion of fall. As we know from experience, the
intensity of the action on a body dimishes according to a quite
definite law, as we proceed farther and farther away from the earth.
From our point of view this means : The law governing the properties
of the gravitational field in space must be a perfectly definite one,
in order correctly to represent the diminution of gravitational action
with the distance from operative bodies. It is something like this:
The body (e.g. the earth) produces a field in its immediate
neighbourhood directly; the intensity and direction of the field at
points farther removed from the body are thence determined by the law
which governs the properties in space of the gravitational fields
themselves.

In contrast to electric and magnetic fields, the gravitational field
exhibits a most remarkable property, which is of fundamental
importance for what follows. Bodies which are moving under the sole
influence of a gravitational field receive an acceleration, which does
not in the least depend either on the material or on the physical
state of the body. For instance, a piece of lead and a piece of wood
fall in exactly the same manner in a gravitational field (in vacuo),
when they start off from rest or with the same initial velocity. This
law, which holds most accurately, can be expressed in a different form
in the light of the following consideration.

According to Newton's law of motion, we have

(Force) = (inertial mass) x (acceleration),

where the "inertial mass" is a characteristic constant of the
accelerated body. If now gravitation is the cause of the acceleration,
we then have

(Force) = (gravitational mass) x (intensity of the gravitational
field),

where the "gravitational mass" is likewise a characteristic constant
for the body. From these two relations follows:

                                eq. 26: file eq26.gif


If now, as we find from experience, the acceleration is to be
independent of the nature and the condition of the body and always the
same for a given gravitational field, then the ratio of the
gravitational to the inertial mass must likewise be the same for all
bodies. By a suitable choice of units we can thus make this ratio
equal to unity. We then have the following law: The gravitational mass
of a body is equal to its inertial law.

It is true that this important law had hitherto been recorded in
mechanics, but it had not been interpreted. A satisfactory
interpretation can be obtained only if we recognise the following fact
: The same quality of a body manifests itself according to
circumstances as " inertia " or as " weight " (lit. " heaviness '). In
the following section we shall show to what extent this is actually
the case, and how this question is connected with the general
postulate of relativity.




THE EQUALITY OF INERTIAL AND GRAVITATIONAL MASS
AS AN ARGUMENT FOR THE GENERAL POSTULE OF RELATIVITY


We imagine a large portion of empty space, so far removed from stars
and other appreciable masses, that we have before us approximately the
conditions required by the fundamental law of Galilei. It is then
possible to choose a Galileian reference-body for this part of space
(world), relative to which points at rest remain at rest and points in
motion continue permanently in uniform rectilinear motion. As
reference-body let us imagine a spacious chest resembling a room with
an observer inside who is equipped with apparatus. Gravitation
naturally does not exist for this observer. He must fasten himself
with strings to the floor, otherwise the slightest impact against the
floor will cause him to rise slowly towards the ceiling of the room.

To the middle of the lid of the chest is fixed externally a hook with
rope attached, and now a " being " (what kind of a being is immaterial
to us) begins pulling at this with a constant force. The chest
together with the observer then begin to move "upwards" with a
uniformly accelerated motion. In course of time their velocity will
reach unheard-of values -- provided that we are viewing all this from
another reference-body which is not being pulled with a rope.

But how does the man in the chest regard the Process ? The
acceleration of the chest will be transmitted to him by the reaction
of the floor of the chest. He must therefore take up this pressure by
means of his legs if he does not wish to be laid out full length on
the floor. He is then standing in the chest in exactly the same way as
anyone stands in a room of a home on our earth. If he releases a body
which he previously had in his land, the accelertion of the chest will
no longer be transmitted to this body, and for this reason the body
will approach the floor of the chest with an accelerated relative
motion. The observer will further convince himself that the
acceleration of the body towards the floor of the chest is always of
the same magnitude, whatever kind of body he may happen to use for the
experiment.

Relying on his knowledge of the gravitational field (as it was
discussed in the preceding section), the man in the chest will thus
come to the conclusion that he and the chest are in a gravitational
field which is constant with regard to time. Of course he will be
puzzled for a moment as to why the chest does not fall in this
gravitational field. just then, however, he discovers the hook in the
middle of the lid of the chest and the rope which is attached to it,
and he consequently comes to the conclusion that the chest is
suspended at rest in the gravitational field.

Ought we to smile at the man and say that he errs in his conclusion ?
I do not believe we ought to if we wish to remain consistent ; we must
rather admit that his mode of grasping the situation violates neither
reason nor known mechanical laws. Even though it is being accelerated
with respect to the "Galileian space" first considered, we can
nevertheless regard the chest as being at rest. We have thus good
grounds for extending the principle of relativity to include bodies of
reference which are accelerated with respect to each other, and as a
result we have gained a powerful argument for a generalised postulate
of relativity.

We must note carefully that the possibility of this mode of
interpretation rests on the fundamental property of the gravitational
field of giving all bodies the same acceleration, or, what comes to
the same thing, on the law of the equality of inertial and
gravitational mass. If this natural law did not exist, the man in the
accelerated chest would not be able to interpret the behaviour of the
bodies around him on the supposition of a gravitational field, and he
would not be justified on the grounds of experience in supposing his
reference-body to be " at rest."

Suppose that the man in the chest fixes a rope to the inner side of
the lid, and that he attaches a body to the free end of the rope. The
result of this will be to strech the rope so that it will hang "
vertically " downwards. If we ask for an opinion of the cause of
tension in the rope, the man in the chest will say: "The suspended
body experiences a downward force in the gravitational field, and this
is neutralised by the tension of the rope ; what determines the
magnitude of the tension of the rope is the gravitational mass of the
suspended body." On the other hand, an observer who is poised freely
in space will interpret the condition of things thus : " The rope must
perforce take part in the accelerated motion of the chest, and it
transmits this motion to the body attached to it. The tension of the
rope is just large enough to effect the acceleration of the body. That
which determines the magnitude of the tension of the rope is the
inertial mass of the body." Guided by this example, we see that our
extension of the principle of relativity implies the necessity of the
law of the equality of inertial and gravitational mass. Thus we have
obtained a physical interpretation of this law.

From our consideration of the accelerated chest we see that a general
theory of relativity must yield important results on the laws of
gravitation. In point of fact, the systematic pursuit of the general
idea of relativity has supplied the laws satisfied by the
gravitational field. Before proceeding farther, however, I must warn
the reader against a misconception suggested by these considerations.
A gravitational field exists for the man in the chest, despite the
fact that there was no such field for the co-ordinate system first
chosen. Now we might easily suppose that the existence of a
gravitational field is always only an apparent one. We might also
think that, regardless of the kind of gravitational field which may be
present, we could always choose another reference-body such that no
gravitational field exists with reference to it. This is by no means
true for all gravitational fields, but only for those of quite special
form. It is, for instance, impossible to choose a body of reference
such that, as judged from it, the gravitational field of the earth (in
its entirety) vanishes.

We can now appreciate why that argument is not convincing, which we
brought forward against the general principle of relativity at theend
of Section 18. It is certainly true that the observer in the
railway carriage experiences a jerk forwards as a result of the
application of the brake, and that he recognises, in this the
non-uniformity of motion (retardation) of the carriage. But he is
compelled by nobody to refer this jerk to a " real " acceleration
(retardation) of the carriage. He might also interpret his experience
thus: " My body of reference (the carriage) remains permanently at
rest. With reference to it, however, there exists (during the period
of application of the brakes) a gravitational field which is directed
forwards and which is variable with respect to time. Under the
influence of this field, the embankment together with the earth moves
non-uniformly in such a manner that their original velocity in the
backwards direction is continuously reduced."



IN WHAT RESPECTS ARE THE FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL MECHANICS AND OF THE
SPECIAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY UNSATISFACTORY?


We have already stated several times that classical mechanics starts
out from the following law: Material particles sufficiently far
removed from other material particles continue to move uniformly in a
straight line or continue in a state of rest. We have also repeatedly
emphasised that this fundamental law can only be valid for bodies of
reference K which possess certain unique states of motion, and which
are in uniform translational motion relative to each other. Relative
to other reference-bodies K the law is not valid. Both in classical
mechanics and in the special theory of relativity we therefore
differentiate between reference-bodies K relative to which the
recognised " laws of nature " can be said to hold, and
reference-bodies K relative to which these laws do not hold.

But no person whose mode of thought is logical can rest satisfied with
this condition of things. He asks : " How does it come that certain
reference-bodies (or their states of motion) are given priority over
other reference-bodies (or their states of motion) ? What is the
reason for this Preference? In order to show clearly what I mean by
this question, I shall make use of a comparison.

I am standing in front of a gas range. Standing alongside of each
other on the range are two pans so much alike that one may be mistaken
for the other. Both are half full of water. I notice that steam is
being emitted continuously from the one pan, but not from the other. I
am surprised at this, even if I have never seen either a gas range or
a pan before. But if I now notice a luminous something of bluish
colour under the first pan but not under the other, I cease to be
astonished, even if I have never before seen a gas flame. For I can
only say that this bluish something will cause the emission of the
steam, or at least possibly it may do so. If, however, I notice the
bluish something in neither case, and if I observe that the one
continuously emits steam whilst the other does not, then I shall
remain astonished and dissatisfied until I have discovered some
circumstance to which I can attribute the different behaviour of the
two pans.

Analogously, I seek in vain for a real something in classical
mechanics (or in the special theory of relativity) to which I can
attribute the different behaviour of bodies considered with respect to
the reference systems K and K1.*  Newton saw this objection and
attempted to invalidate it, but without success. But E. Mach recognsed
it most clearly of all, and because of this objection he claimed that
mechanics must be placed on a new basis. It can only be got rid of by
means of a physics which is conformable to the general principle of
relativity, since the equations of such a theory hold for every body
of reference, whatever may be its state of motion.


  Notes

*) The objection is of importance more especially when the state of
motion of the reference-body is of such a nature that it does not
require any external agency for its maintenance, e.g. in the case when
the reference-body is rotating uniformly.



A FEW INFERENCES FROM THE GENERAL PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY


The considerations of Section 20 show that the general principle of
relativity puts us in a position to derive properties of the
gravitational field in a purely theoretical manner. Let us suppose,
for instance, that we know the space-time " course " for any natural
process whatsoever, as regards the manner in which it takes place in
the Galileian domain relative to a Galileian body of reference K. By
means of purely theoretical operations (i.e. simply by calculation) we
are then able to find how this known natural process appears, as seen
from a reference-body K1 which is accelerated relatively to K. But
since a gravitational field exists with respect to this new body of
reference K1, our consideration also teaches us how the gravitational
field influences the process studied.

For example, we learn that a body which is in a state of uniform
rectilinear motion with respect to K (in accordance with the law of
Galilei) is executing an accelerated and in general curvilinear motion
with respect to the accelerated reference-body K1 (chest). This
acceleration or curvature corresponds to the influence on the moving
body of the gravitational field prevailing relatively to K. It is
known that a gravitational field influences the movement of bodies in
this way, so that our consideration supplies us with nothing
essentially new.

However, we obtain a new result of fundamental importance when we
carry out the analogous consideration for a ray of light. With respect
to the Galileian reference-body K, such a ray of light is transmitted
rectilinearly with the velocity c. It can easily be shown that the
path of the same ray of light is no longer a straight line when we
consider it with reference to the accelerated chest (reference-body
K1). From this we conclude, that, in general, rays of light are
propagated curvilinearly in gravitational fields. In two respects this
result is of great importance.

In the first place, it can be compared with the reality. Although a
detailed examination of the question shows that the curvature of light
rays required by the general theory of relativity is only exceedingly
small for the gravitational fields at our disposal in practice, its
estimated magnitude for light rays passing the sun at grazing
incidence is nevertheless 1.7 seconds of arc. This ought to manifest
itself in the following way. As seen from the earth, certain fixed
stars appear to be in the neighbourhood of the sun, and are thus
capable of observation during a total eclipse of the sun. At such
times, these stars ought to appear to be displaced outwards from the
sun by an amount indicated above, as compared with their apparent
position in the sky when the sun is situated at another part of the
heavens. The examination of the correctness or otherwise of this
deduction is a problem of the greatest importance, the early solution
of which is to be expected of astronomers.[2]*

In the second place our result shows that, according to the general
theory of relativity, the law of the constancy of the velocity of
light in vacuo, which constitutes one of the two fundamental
assumptions in the special theory of relativity and to which we have
already frequently referred, cannot claim any unlimited validity. A
curvature of rays of light can only take place when the velocity of
propagation of light varies with position. Now we might think that as
a consequence of this, the special theory of relativity and with it
the whole theory of relativity would be laid in the dust. But in
reality this is not the case. We can only conclude that the special
theory of relativity cannot claim an unlinlited domain of validity ;
its results hold only so long as we are able to disregard the
influences of gravitational fields on the phenomena (e.g. of light).

Since it has often been contended by opponents of the theory of
relativity that the special theory of relativity is overthrown by the
general theory of relativity, it is perhaps advisable to make the
facts of the case clearer by means of an appropriate comparison.
Before the development of electrodynamics the laws of electrostatics
were looked upon as the laws of electricity. At the present time we
know that electric fields can be derived correctly from electrostatic
considerations only for the case, which is never strictly realised, in
which the electrical masses are quite at rest relatively to each
other, and to the co-ordinate system. Should we be justified in saying
that for this reason electrostatics is overthrown by the
field-equations of Maxwell in electrodynamics ? Not in the least.
Electrostatics is contained in electrodynamics as a limiting case ;
the laws of the latter lead directly to those of the former for the
case in which the fields are invariable with regard to time. No fairer
destiny could be allotted to any physical theory, than that it should
of itself point out the way to the introduction of a more
comprehensive theory, in which it lives on as a limiting case.

In the example of the transmission of light just dealt with, we have
seen that the general theory of relativity enables us to derive
theoretically the influence of a gravitational field on the course of
natural processes, the Iaws of which are already known when a
gravitational field is absent. But the most attractive problem, to the
solution of which the general theory of relativity supplies the key,
concerns the investigation of the laws satisfied by the gravitational
field itself. Let us consider this for a moment.

We are acquainted with space-time domains which behave (approximately)
in a " Galileian " fashion under suitable choice of reference-body,
i.e. domains in which gravitational fields are absent. If we now refer
such a domain to a reference-body K1 possessing any kind of motion,
then relative to K1 there exists a gravitational field which is
variable with respect to space and time.[3]**  The character of this
field will of course depend on the motion chosen for K1. According to
the general theory of relativity, the general law of the gravitational
field must be satisfied for all gravitational fields obtainable in
this way. Even though by no means all gravitationial fields can be
produced in this way, yet we may entertain the hope that the general
law of gravitation will be derivable from such gravitational fields of
a special kind. This hope has been realised in the most beautiful
manner. But between the clear vision of this goal and its actual
realisation it was necessary to surmount a serious difficulty, and as
this lies deep at the root of things, I dare not withhold it from the
reader. We require to extend our ideas of the space-time continuum
still farther.


  Notes

*) By means of the star photographs of two expeditions equipped by
a Joint Committee of the Royal and Royal Astronomical Societies, the
existence of the deflection of light demanded by theory was first
confirmed during the solar eclipse of 29th May, 1919. (Cf. Appendix
III.)

**) This follows from a generalisation of the discussion in
Section 20



BEHAVIOUR OF CLOCKS AND MEASURING-RODS ON A ROTATING BODY OF REFERENCE


Hitherto I have purposely refrained from speaking about the physical
interpretation of space- and time-data in the case of the general
theory of relativity. As a consequence, I am guilty of a certain
slovenliness of treatment, which, as we know from the special theory
of relativity, is far from being unimportant and pardonable. It is now
high time that we remedy this defect; but I would mention at the
outset, that this matter lays no small claims on the patience and on
the power of abstraction of the reader.

We start off again from quite special cases, which we have frequently
used before. Let us consider a space time domain in which no
gravitational field exists relative to a reference-body K whose state
of motion has been suitably chosen. K is then a Galileian
reference-body as regards the domain considered, and the results of
the special theory of relativity hold relative to K. Let us supposse
the same domain referred to a second body of reference K1, which is
rotating uniformly with respect to K. In order to fix our ideas, we
shall imagine K1 to be in the form of a plane circular disc, which
rotates uniformly in its own plane about its centre. An observer who
is sitting eccentrically on the disc K1 is sensible of a force which
acts outwards in a radial direction, and which would be interpreted as
an effect of inertia (centrifugal force) by an observer who was at
rest with respect to the original reference-body K. But the observer
on the disc may regard his disc as a reference-body which is " at rest
" ; on the basis of the general principle of relativity he is
justified in doing this. The force acting on himself, and in fact on
all other bodies which are at rest relative to the disc, he regards as
the effect of a gravitational field. Nevertheless, the
space-distribution of this gravitational field is of a kind that would
not be possible on Newton's theory of gravitation.* But since the
observer believes in the general theory of relativity, this does not
disturb him; he is quite in the right when he believes that a general
law of gravitation can be formulated- a law which not only explains
the motion of the stars correctly, but also the field of force
experienced by himself.

The observer performs experiments on his circular disc with clocks and
measuring-rods. In doing so, it is his intention to arrive at exact
definitions for the signification of time- and space-data with
reference to the circular disc K1, these definitions being based on
his observations. What will be his experience in this enterprise ?

To start with, he places one of two identically constructed clocks at
the centre of the circular disc, and the other on the edge of the
disc, so that they are at rest relative to it. We now ask ourselves
whether both clocks go at the same rate from the standpoint of the
non-rotating Galileian reference-body K. As judged from this body, the
clock at the centre of the disc has no velocity, whereas the clock at
the edge of the disc is in motion relative to K in consequence of the
rotation. According to a result obtained in Section 12, it follows
that the latter clock goes at a rate permanently slower than that of
the clock at the centre of the circular disc, i.e. as observed from K.
It is obvious that the same effect would be noted by an observer whom
we will imagine sitting alongside his clock at the centre of the
circular disc. Thus on our circular disc, or, to make the case more
general, in every gravitational field, a clock will go more quickly or
less quickly, according to the position in which the clock is situated
(at rest). For this reason it is not possible to obtain a reasonable
definition of time with the aid of clocks which are arranged at rest
with respect to the body of reference. A similar difficulty presents
itself when we attempt to apply our earlier definition of simultaneity
in such a case, but I do not wish to go any farther into this
question.

Moreover, at this stage the definition of the space co-ordinates also
presents insurmountable difficulties. If the observer applies his
standard measuring-rod (a rod which is short as compared with the
radius of the disc) tangentially to the edge of the disc, then, as
judged from the Galileian system, the length of this rod will be less
than I, since, according to Section 12, moving bodies suffer a
shortening in the direction of the motion. On the other hand, the
measaring-rod will not experience a shortening in length, as judged
from K, if it is applied to the disc in the direction of the radius.
If, then, the observer first measures the circumference of the disc
with his measuring-rod and then the diameter of the disc, on dividing
the one by the other, he will not obtain as quotient the familiar
number p = 3.14 . . ., but a larger number,[4]** whereas of course,
for a disc which is at rest with respect to K, this operation would
yield p exactly. This proves that the propositions of Euclidean
geometry cannot hold exactly on the rotating disc, nor in general in a
gravitational field, at least if we attribute the length I to the rod
in all positions and in every orientation. Hence the idea of a
straight line also loses its meaning. We are therefore not in a
position to define exactly the co-ordinates x, y, z relative to the
disc by means of the method used in discussing the special theory, and
as long as the co- ordinates and times of events have not been
defined, we cannot assign an exact meaning to the natural laws in
which these occur.

Thus all our previous conclusions based on general relativity would
appear to be called in question. In reality we must make a subtle
detour in order to be able to apply the postulate of general
relativity exactly. I shall prepare the reader for this in the
following paragraphs.


  Notes

*) The field disappears at the centre of the disc and increases
proportionally to the distance from the centre as we proceed outwards.

**) Throughout this consideration we have to use the Galileian
(non-rotating) system K as reference-body, since we may only assume
the validity of the results of the special theory of relativity
relative to K (relative to K1 a gravitational field prevails).



EUCLIDEAN AND NON-EUCLIDEAN CONTINUUM


The surface of a marble table is spread out in front of me. I can get
from any one point on this table to any other point by passing
continuously from one point to a " neighbouring " one, and repeating
this process a (large) number of times, or, in other words, by going
from point to point without executing "jumps." I am sure the reader
will appreciate with sufficient clearness what I mean here by "
neighbouring " and by " jumps " (if he is not too pedantic). We
express this property of the surface by describing the latter as a
continuum.

Let us now imagine that a large number of little rods of equal length
have been made, their lengths being small compared with the dimensions
of the marble slab. When I say they are of equal length, I mean that
one can be laid on any other without the ends overlapping. We next lay
four of these little rods on the marble slab so that they constitute a
quadrilateral figure (a square), the diagonals of which are equally
long. To ensure the equality of the diagonals, we make use of a little
testing-rod. To this square we add similar ones, each of which has one
rod in common with the first. We proceed in like manner with each of
these squares until finally the whole marble slab is laid out with
squares. The arrangement is such, that each side of a square belongs
to two squares and each corner to four squares.

It is a veritable wonder that we can carry out this business without
getting into the greatest difficulties. We only need to think of the
following. If at any moment three squares meet at a corner, then two
sides of the fourth square are already laid, and, as a consequence,
the arrangement of the remaining two sides of the square is already
completely determined. But I am now no longer able to adjust the
quadrilateral so that its diagonals may be equal. If they are equal of
their own accord, then this is an especial favour of the marble slab
and of the little rods, about which I can only be thankfully
surprised. We must experience many such surprises if the construction
is to be successful.

If everything has really gone smoothly, then I say that the points of
the marble slab constitute a Euclidean continuum with respect to the
little rod, which has been used as a " distance " (line-interval). By
choosing one corner of a square as " origin" I can characterise every
other corner of a square with reference to this origin by means of two
numbers. I only need state how many rods I must pass over when,
starting from the origin, I proceed towards the " right " and then "
upwards," in order to arrive at the corner of the square under
consideration. These two numbers are then the " Cartesian co-ordinates
" of this corner with reference to the " Cartesian co-ordinate system"
which is determined by the arrangement of little rods.

By making use of the following modification of this abstract
experiment, we recognise that there must also be cases in which the
experiment would be unsuccessful. We shall suppose that the rods "
expand " by in amount proportional to the increase of temperature. We
heat the central part of the marble slab, but not the periphery, in
which case two of our little rods can still be brought into
coincidence at every position on the table. But our construction of
squares must necessarily come into disorder during the heating,
because the little rods on the central region of the table expand,
whereas those on the outer part do not.

With reference to our little rods -- defined as unit lengths -- the
marble slab is no longer a Euclidean continuum, and we are also no
longer in the position of defining Cartesian co-ordinates directly
with their aid, since the above construction can no longer be carried
out. But since there are other things which are not influenced in a
similar manner to the little rods (or perhaps not at all) by the
temperature of the table, it is possible quite naturally to maintain
the point of view that the marble slab is a " Euclidean continuum."
This can be done in a satisfactory manner by making a more subtle
stipulation about the measurement or the comparison of lengths.

But if rods of every kind (i.e. of every material) were to behave in
the same way as regards the influence of temperature when they are on
the variably heated marble slab, and if we had no other means of
detecting the effect of temperature than the geometrical behaviour of
our rods in experiments analogous to the one described above, then our
best plan would be to assign the distance one to two points on the
slab, provided that the ends of one of our rods could be made to
coincide with these two points ; for how else should we define the
distance without our proceeding being in the highest measure grossly
arbitrary ? The method of Cartesian coordinates must then be
discarded, and replaced by another which does not assume the validity
of Euclidean geometry for rigid bodies.*  The reader will notice
that the situation depicted here corresponds to the one brought about
by the general postitlate of relativity (Section 23).


  Notes

*) Mathematicians have been confronted with our problem in the
following form. If we are given a surface (e.g. an ellipsoid) in
Euclidean three-dimensional space, then there exists for this surface
a two-dimensional geometry, just as much as for a plane surface. Gauss
undertook the task of treating this two-dimensional geometry from
first principles, without making use of the fact that the surface
belongs to a Euclidean continuum of three dimensions. If we imagine
constructions to be made with rigid rods in the surface (similar to
that above with the marble slab), we should find that different laws
hold for these from those resulting on the basis of Euclidean plane
geometry. The surface is not a Euclidean continuum with respect to the
rods, and we cannot define Cartesian co-ordinates in the surface.
Gauss indicated the principles according to which we can treat the
geometrical relationships in the surface, and thus pointed out the way
to the method of Riemman of treating multi-dimensional, non-Euclidean
continuum. Thus it is that mathematicians long ago solved the formal
problems to which we are led by the general postulate of relativity.



GAUSSIAN CO-ORDINATES


According to Gauss, this combined analytical and geometrical mode of
handling the problem can be arrived at in the following way. We
imagine a system of arbitrary curves (see Fig. 4) drawn on the surface
of the table. These we designate as u-curves, and we indicate each of
them by means of a number. The Curves u= 1, u= 2 and u= 3 are drawn in
the diagram. Between the curves u= 1 and u= 2 we must imagine an
infinitely large number to be drawn, all of which correspond to real
numbers lying between 1 and 2. fig. 04 We have then a system of
u-curves, and this "infinitely dense" system covers the whole surface
of the table. These u-curves must not intersect each other, and
through each point of the surface one and only one curve must pass.
Thus a perfectly definite value of u belongs to every point on the
surface of the marble slab. In like manner we imagine a system of
v-curves drawn on the surface. These satisfy the same conditions as
the u-curves, they are provided with numbers in a corresponding
manner, and they may likewise be of arbitrary shape. It follows that a
value of u and a value of v belong to every point on the surface of
the table. We call these two numbers the co-ordinates of the surface
of the table (Gaussian co-ordinates). For example, the point P in the
diagram has the Gaussian co-ordinates u= 3, v= 1. Two neighbouring
points P and P1 on the surface then correspond to the co-ordinates

                       P:       u,v

                       P1:     u + du, v + dv,

where du and dv signify very small numbers. In a similar manner we may
indicate the distance (line-interval) between P and P1, as measured
with a little rod, by means of the very small number ds. Then
according to Gauss we have

                ds2 = g[11]du2 + 2g[12]dudv = g[22]dv2

where g[11], g[12], g[22], are magnitudes which depend in a perfectly
definite way on u and v. The magnitudes g[11], g[12] and g[22],
determine the behaviour of the rods relative to the u-curves and
v-curves, and thus also relative to the surface of the table. For the
case in which the points of the surface considered form a Euclidean
continuum with reference to the measuring-rods, but only in this case,
it is possible to draw the u-curves and v-curves and to attach numbers
to them, in such a manner, that we simply have :

                           ds2 = du2 + dv2

Under these conditions, the u-curves and v-curves are straight lines
in the sense of Euclidean geometry, and they are perpendicular to each
other. Here the Gaussian coordinates are samply Cartesian ones. It is
clear that Gauss co-ordinates are nothing more than an association of
two sets of numbers with the points of the surface considered, of such
a nature that numerical values differing very slightly from each other
are associated with neighbouring points " in space."

So far, these considerations hold for a continuum of two dimensions.
But the Gaussian method can be applied also to a continuum of three,
four or more dimensions. If, for instance, a continuum of four
dimensions be supposed available, we may represent it in the following
way. With every point of the continuum, we associate arbitrarily four
numbers, x[1], x[2], x[3], x[4], which are known as " co-ordinates."
Adjacent points correspond to adjacent values of the coordinates. If a
distance ds is associated with the adjacent points P and P1, this
distance being measurable and well defined from a physical point of
view, then the following formula holds:

ds2 = g[11]dx[1]^2 + 2g[12]dx[1]dx[2] . . . . g[44]dx[4]^2,

where the magnitudes g[11], etc., have values which vary with the
position in the continuum. Only when the continuum is a Euclidean one
is it possible to associate the co-ordinates x[1] . . x[4]. with the
points of the continuum so that we have simply

ds2 = dx[1]^2 + dx[2]^2 + dx[3]^2 + dx[4]^2.

In this case relations hold in the four-dimensional continuum which
are analogous to those holding in our three-dimensional measurements.

However, the Gauss treatment for ds2 which we have given above is not
always possible. It is only possible when sufficiently small regions
of the continuum under consideration may be regarded as Euclidean
continua. For example, this obviously holds in the case of the marble
slab of the table and local variation of temperature. The temperature
is practically constant for a small part of the slab, and thus the
geometrical behaviour of the rods is almost as it ought to be
according to the rules of Euclidean geometry. Hence the imperfections
of the construction of squares in the previous section do not show
themselves clearly until this construction is extended over a
considerable portion of the surface of the table.

We can sum this up as follows: Gauss invented a method for the
mathematical treatment of continua in general, in which "
size-relations " (" distances " between neighbouring points) are
defined. To every point of a continuum are assigned as many numbers
(Gaussian coordinates) as the continuum has dimensions. This is done
in such a way, that only one meaning can be attached to the
assignment, and that numbers (Gaussian coordinates) which differ by an
indefinitely small amount are assigned to adjacent points. The
Gaussian coordinate system is a logical generalisation of the
Cartesian co-ordinate system. It is also applicable to non-Euclidean
continua, but only when, with respect to the defined "size" or
"distance," small parts of the continuum under consideration behave
more nearly like a Euclidean system, the smaller the part of the
continuum under our notice.



THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM OF THE SPEICAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY CONSIDERED AS A
EUCLIDEAN CONTINUUM


We are now in a position to formulate more exactly the idea of
Minkowski, which was only vaguely indicated in Section 17. In
accordance with the special theory of relativity, certain co-ordinate
systems are given preference for the description of the
four-dimensional, space-time continuum. We called these " Galileian
co-ordinate systems." For these systems, the four co-ordinates x, y,
z, t, which determine an event or -- in other words, a point of the
four-dimensional continuum -- are defined physically in a simple
manner, as set forth in detail in the first part of this book. For the
transition from one Galileian system to another, which is moving
uniformly with reference to the first, the equations of the Lorentz
transformation are valid. These last form the basis for the derivation
of deductions from the special theory of relativity, and in themselves
they are nothing more than the expression of the universal validity of
the law of transmission of light for all Galileian systems of
reference.

Minkowski found that the Lorentz transformations satisfy the following
simple conditions. Let us consider two neighbouring events, the
relative position of which in the four-dimensional continuum is given
with respect to a Galileian reference-body K by the space co-ordinate
differences dx, dy, dz and the time-difference dt. With reference to a
second Galileian system we shall suppose that the corresponding
differences for these two events are dx1, dy1, dz1, dt1. Then these
magnitudes always fulfil the condition*

     dx2 + dy2 + dz2 - c^2dt2 = dx1 2 + dy1 2 + dz1 2 - c^2dt1 2.

The validity of the Lorentz transformation follows from this
condition. We can express this as follows: The magnitude

                   ds2 = dx2 + dy2 + dz2 - c^2dt2,

which belongs to two adjacent points of the four-dimensional
space-time continuum, has the same value for all selected (Galileian)
reference-bodies. If we replace x, y, z, sq. rt. -I . ct , by x[1],
x[2], x[3], x[4], we also obtaill the result that

             ds2 = dx[1]^2 + dx[2]^2 + dx[3]^2 + dx[4]^2.

is independent of the choice of the body of reference. We call the
magnitude ds the " distance " apart of the two events or
four-dimensional points.

Thus, if we choose as time-variable the imaginary variable sq. rt. -I
. ct instead of the real quantity t, we can regard the space-time
contintium -- accordance with the special theory of relativity -- as a
", Euclidean " four-dimensional continuum, a result which follows from
the considerations of the preceding section.


  Notes

*) Cf. Appendixes I and 2. The relations which are derived
there for the co-ordlnates themselves are valid also for co-ordinate
differences, and thus also for co-ordinate differentials (indefinitely
small differences).



THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM OF THE GENERAL THEORY OF REALTIIVTY IS NOT A
ECULIDEAN CONTINUUM


In the first part of this book we were able to make use of space-time
co-ordinates which allowed of a simple and direct physical
interpretation, and which, according to Section 26, can be regarded
as four-dimensional Cartesian co-ordinates. This was possible on the
basis of the law of the constancy of the velocity of tight. But
according to Section 21 the general theory of relativity cannot
retain this law. On the contrary, we arrived at the result that
according to this latter theory the velocity of light must always
depend on the co-ordinates when a gravitational field is present. In
connection with a specific illustration in Section 23, we found
that the presence of a gravitational field invalidates the definition
of the coordinates and the ifine, which led us to our objective in the
special theory of relativity.

In view of the resuIts of these considerations we are led to the
conviction that, according to the general principle of relativity, the
space-time continuum cannot be regarded as a Euclidean one, but that
here we have the general case, corresponding to the marble slab with
local variations of temperature, and with which we made acquaintance
as an example of a two-dimensional continuum. Just as it was there
impossible to construct a Cartesian co-ordinate system from equal
rods, so here it is impossible to build up a system (reference-body)
from rigid bodies and clocks, which shall be of such a nature that
measuring-rods and clocks, arranged rigidly with respect to one
another, shaIll indicate position and time directly. Such was the
essence of the difficulty with which we were confronted in Section
23.

But the considerations of Sections 25 and 26 show us the way to
surmount this difficulty. We refer the fourdimensional space-time
continuum in an arbitrary manner to Gauss co-ordinates. We assign to
every point of the continuum (event) four numbers, x[1], x[2], x[3],
x[4] (co-ordinates), which have not the least direct physical
significance, but only serve the purpose of numbering the points of
the continuum in a definite but arbitrary manner. This arrangement
does not even need to be of such a kind that we must regard x[1],
x[2], x[3], as "space" co-ordinates and x[4], as a " time "
co-ordinate.

The reader may think that such a description of the world would be
quite inadequate. What does it mean to assign to an event the
particular co-ordinates x[1], x[2], x[3], x[4], if in themselves these
co-ordinates have no significance ? More careful consideration shows,
however, that this anxiety is unfounded. Let us consider, for
instance, a material point with any kind of motion. If this point had
only a momentary existence without duration, then it would to
described in space-time by a single system of values x[1], x[2], x[3],
x[4]. Thus its permanent existence must be characterised by an
infinitely large number of such systems of values, the co-ordinate
values of which are so close together as to give continuity;
corresponding to the material point, we thus have a (uni-dimensional)
line in the four-dimensional continuum. In the same way, any such
lines in our continuum correspond to many points in motion. The only
statements having regard to these points which can claim a physical
existence are in reality the statements about their encounters. In our
mathematical treatment, such an encounter is expressed in the fact
that the two lines which represent the motions of the points in
question have a particular system of co-ordinate values, x[1], x[2],
x[3], x[4], in common. After mature consideration the reader will
doubtless admit that in reality such encounters constitute the only
actual evidence of a time-space nature with which we meet in physical
statements.

When we were describing the motion of a material point relative to a
body of reference, we stated nothing more than the encounters of this
point with particular points of the reference-body. We can also
determine the corresponding values of the time by the observation of
encounters of the body with clocks, in conjunction with the
observation of the encounter of the hands of clocks with particular
points on the dials. It is just the same in the case of
space-measurements by means of measuring-rods, as a litttle
consideration will show.

The following statements hold generally : Every physical description
resolves itself into a number of statements, each of which refers to
the space-time coincidence of two events A and B. In terms of Gaussian
co-ordinates, every such statement is expressed by the agreement of
their four co-ordinates x[1], x[2], x[3], x[4]. Thus in reality, the
description of the time-space continuum by means of Gauss co-ordinates
completely replaces the description with the aid of a body of
reference, without suffering from the defects of the latter mode of
description; it is not tied down to the Euclidean character of the
continuum which has to be represented.



EXACT FORMULATION OF THE GENERAL PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY


We are now in a position to replace the pro. visional formulation of
the general principle of relativity given in Section 18 by an exact
formulation. The form there used, "All bodies of reference K, K1,
etc., are equivalent for the description of natural phenomena
(formulation of the general laws of nature), whatever may be their
state of motion," cannot be maintained, because the use of rigid
reference-bodies, in the sense of the method followed in the special
theory of relativity, is in general not possible in space-time
description. The Gauss co-ordinate system has to take the place of the
body of reference. The following statement corresponds to the
fundamental idea of the general principle of relativity: "All Gaussian
co-ordinate systems are essentially equivalent for the formulation of
the general laws of nature."

We can state this general principle of relativity in still another
form, which renders it yet more clearly intelligible than it is when
in the form of the natural extension of the special principle of
relativity. According to the special theory of relativity, the
equations which express the general laws of nature pass over into
equations of the same form when, by making use of the Lorentz
transformation, we replace the space-time variables x, y, z, t, of a
(Galileian) reference-body K by the space-time variables x1, y1, z1,
t1, of a new reference-body K1. According to the general theory of
relativity, on the other hand, by application of arbitrary
substitutions of the Gauss variables x[1], x[2], x[3], x[4], the
equations must pass over into equations of the same form; for every
transformation (not only the Lorentz transformation) corresponds to
the transition of one Gauss co-ordinate system into another.

If we desire to adhere to our "old-time" three-dimensional view of
things, then we can characterise the development which is being
undergone by the fundamental idea of the general theory of relativity
as follows : The special theory of relativity has reference to
Galileian domains, i.e. to those in which no gravitational field
exists. In this connection a Galileian reference-body serves as body
of reference, i.e. a rigid body the state of motion of which is so
chosen that the Galileian law of the uniform rectilinear motion of
"isolated" material points holds relatively to it.

Certain considerations suggest that we should refer the same Galileian
domains to non-Galileian reference-bodies also. A gravitational field
of a special kind is then present with respect to these bodies (cf.
Sections 20 and 23).

In gravitational fields there are no such things as rigid bodies with
Euclidean properties; thus the fictitious rigid body of reference is
of no avail in the general theory of relativity. The motion of clocks
is also influenced by gravitational fields, and in such a way that a
physical definition of time which is made directly with the aid of
clocks has by no means the same degree of plausibility as in the
special theory of relativity.

For this reason non-rigid reference-bodies are used, which are as a
whole not only moving in any way whatsoever, but which also suffer
alterations in form ad lib. during their motion. Clocks, for which the
law of motion is of any kind, however irregular, serve for the
definition of time. We have to imagine each of these clocks fixed at a
point on the non-rigid reference-body. These clocks satisfy only the
one condition, that the "readings" which are observed simultaneously
on adjacent clocks (in space) differ from each other by an
indefinitely small amount. This non-rigid reference-body, which might
appropriately be termed a "reference-mollusc", is in the main
equivalent to a Gaussian four-dimensional co-ordinate system chosen
arbitrarily. That which gives the "mollusc" a certain
comprehensibility as compared with the Gauss co-ordinate system is the
(really unjustified) formal retention of the separate existence of the
space co-ordinates as opposed to the time co-ordinate. Every point on
the mollusc is treated as a space-point, and every material point
which is at rest relatively to it as at rest, so long as the mollusc
is considered as reference-body. The general principle of relativity
requires that all these molluscs can be used as reference-bodies with
equal right and equal success in the formulation of the general laws
of nature; the laws themselves must be quite independent of the choice
of mollusc.

The great power possessed by the general principle of relativity lies
in the comprehensive limitation which is imposed on the laws of nature
in consequence of what we have seen above.



THE SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM OF GRAVITATION ON THE BASIS OF THE GENERAL
PRINCIPLE OF RELATIVITY


If the reader has followed all our previous considerations, he will
have no further difficulty in understanding the methods leading to the
solution of the problem of gravitation.

We start off on a consideration of a Galileian domain, i.e. a domain
in which there is no gravitational field relative to the Galileian
reference-body K. The behaviour of measuring-rods and clocks with
reference to K is known from the special theory of relativity,
likewise the behaviour of "isolated" material points; the latter move
uniformly and in straight lines.

Now let us refer this domain to a random Gauss coordinate system or to
a "mollusc" as reference-body K1. Then with respect to K1 there is a
gravitational field G (of a particular kind). We learn the behaviour
of measuring-rods and clocks and also of freely-moving material points
with reference to K1 simply by mathematical transformation. We
interpret this behaviour as the behaviour of measuring-rods, docks and
material points tinder the influence of the gravitational field G.
Hereupon we introduce a hypothesis: that the influence of the
gravitational field on measuringrods, clocks and freely-moving
material points continues to take place according to the same laws,
even in the case where the prevailing gravitational field is not
derivable from the Galfleian special care, simply by means of a
transformation of co-ordinates.

The next step is to investigate the space-time behaviour of the
gravitational field G, which was derived from the Galileian special
case simply by transformation of the coordinates. This behaviour is
formulated in a law, which is always valid, no matter how the
reference-body (mollusc) used in the description may be chosen.

This law is not yet the general law of the gravitational field, since
the gravitational field under consideration is of a special kind. In
order to find out the general law-of-field of gravitation we still
require to obtain a generalisation of the law as found above. This can
be obtained without caprice, however, by taking into consideration the
following demands:

(a) The required generalisation must likewise satisfy the general
postulate of relativity.

(b) If there is any matter in the domain under consideration, only its
inertial mass, and thus according to Section 15 only its energy is
of importance for its etfect in exciting a field.

(c) Gravitational field and matter together must satisfy the law of
the conservation of energy (and of impulse).

Finally, the general principle of relativity permits us to determine
the influence of the gravitational field on the course of all those
processes which take place according to known laws when a
gravitational field is absent i.e. which have already been fitted into
the frame of the special theory of relativity. In this connection we
proceed in principle according to the method which has already been
explained for measuring-rods, clocks and freely moving material
points.

The theory of gravitation derived in this way from the general
postulate of relativity excels not only in its beauty ; nor in
removing the defect attaching to classical mechanics which was brought
to light in Section 21; nor in interpreting the empirical law of
the equality of inertial and gravitational mass ; but it has also
already explained a result of observation in astronomy, against which
classical mechanics is powerless.

If we confine the application of the theory to the case where the
gravitational fields can be regarded as being weak, and in which all
masses move with respect to the coordinate system with velocities
which are small compared with the velocity of light, we then obtain as
a first approximation the Newtonian theory. Thus the latter theory is
obtained here without any particular assumption, whereas Newton had to
introduce the hypothesis that the force of attraction between mutually
attracting material points is inversely proportional to the square of
the distance between them. If we increase the accuracy of the
calculation, deviations from the theory of Newton make their
appearance, practically all of which must nevertheless escape the test
of observation owing to their smallness.

We must draw attention here to one of these deviations. According to
Newton's theory, a planet moves round the sun in an ellipse, which
would permanently maintain its position with respect to the fixed
stars, if we could disregard the motion of the fixed stars themselves
and the action of the other planets under consideration. Thus, if we
correct the observed motion of the planets for these two influences,
and if Newton's theory be strictly correct, we ought to obtain for the
orbit of the planet an ellipse, which is fixed with reference to the
fixed stars. This deduction, which can be tested with great accuracy,
has been confirmed for all the planets save one, with the precision
that is capable of being obtained by the delicacy of observation
attainable at the present time. The sole exception is Mercury, the
planet which lies nearest the sun. Since the time of Leverrier, it has
been known that the ellipse corresponding to the orbit of Mercury,
after it has been corrected for the influences mentioned above, is not
stationary with respect to the fixed stars, but that it rotates
exceedingly slowly in the plane of the orbit and in the sense of the
orbital motion. The value obtained for this rotary movement of the
orbital ellipse was 43 seconds of arc per century, an amount ensured
to be correct to within a few seconds of arc. This effect can be
explained by means of classical mechanics only on the assumption of
hypotheses which have little probability, and which were devised
solely for this purponse.

On the basis of the general theory of relativity, it is found that the
ellipse of every planet round the sun must necessarily rotate in the
manner indicated above ; that for all the planets, with the exception
of Mercury, this rotation is too small to be detected with the
delicacy of observation possible at the present time ; but that in the
case of Mercury it must amount to 43 seconds of arc per century, a
result which is strictly in agreement with observation.

Apart from this one, it has hitherto been possible to make only two
deductions from the theory which admit of being tested by observation,
to wit, the curvature of light rays by the gravitational field of the
sun,*x and a displacement of the spectral lines of light reaching
us from large stars, as compared with the corresponding lines for
light produced in an analogous manner terrestrially (i.e. by the same
kind of atom).**  These two deductions from the theory have both
been confirmed.


  Notes

*) First observed by Eddington and others in 1919. (Cf. Appendix
III, pp. 126-129).

**) Established by Adams in 1924. (Cf. p. 132)




PART III

CONSIDERATIONS ON THE UNIVERSE AS A WHOLE


COSMOLOGICAL DIFFICULTIES OF NEWTON'S THEORY


Part from the difficulty discussed in Section 21, there is a second
fundamental difficulty attending classical celestial mechanics, which,
to the best of my knowledge, was first discussed in detail by the
astronomer Seeliger. If we ponder over the question as to how the
universe, considered as a whole, is to be regarded, the first answer
that suggests itself to us is surely this: As regards space (and time)
the universe is infinite. There are stars everywhere, so that the
density of matter, although very variable in detail, is nevertheless
on the average everywhere the same. In other words: However far we
might travel through space, we should find everywhere an attenuated
swarm of fixed stars of approrimately the same kind and density.

This view is not in harmony with the theory of Newton. The latter
theory rather requires that the universe should have a kind of centre
in which the density of the stars is a maximum, and that as we proceed
outwards from this centre the group-density of the stars should
diminish, until finally, at great distances, it is succeeded by an
infinite region of emptiness. The stellar universe ought to be a
finite island in the infinite ocean of space.*

This conception is in itself not very satisfactory. It is still less
satisfactory because it leads to the result that the light emitted by
the stars and also individual stars of the stellar system are
perpetually passing out into infinite space, never to return, and
without ever again coming into interaction with other objects of
nature. Such a finite material universe would be destined to become
gradually but systematically impoverished.

In order to escape this dilemma, Seeliger suggested a modification of
Newton's law, in which he assumes that for great distances the force
of attraction between two masses diminishes more rapidly than would
result from the inverse square law. In this way it is possible for the
mean density of matter to be constant everywhere, even to infinity,
without infinitely large gravitational fields being produced. We thus
free ourselves from the distasteful conception that the material
universe ought to possess something of the nature of a centre. Of
course we purchase our emancipation from the fundamental difficulties
mentioned, at the cost of a modification and complication of Newton's
law which has neither empirical nor theoretical foundation. We can
imagine innumerable laws which would serve the same purpose, without
our being able to state a reason why one of them is to be preferred to
the others ; for any one of these laws would be founded just as little
on more general theoretical principles as is the law of Newton.


  Notes

*) Proof -- According to the theory of Newton, the number of "lines
of force" which come from infinity and terminate in a mass m is
proportional to the mass m. If, on the average, the Mass density p[0]
is constant throughout tithe universe, then a sphere of volume V will
enclose the average man p[0]V. Thus the number of lines of force
passing through the surface F of the sphere into its interior is
proportional to p[0] V. For unit area of the surface of the sphere the
number of lines of force which enters the sphere is thus proportional
to p[0] V/F or to p[0]R. Hence the intensity of the field at the
surface would ultimately become infinite with increasing radius R of
the sphere, which is impossible.



THE POSSIBILITY OF A "FINITE" AND YET "UNBOUNDED" UNIVERSE


But speculations on the structure of the universe also move in quite
another direction. The development of non-Euclidean geometry led to
the recognition of the fact, that we can cast doubt on the
infiniteness of our space without coming into conflict with the laws
of thought or with experience (Riemann, Helmholtz). These questions
have already been treated in detail and with unsurpassable lucidity by
Helmholtz and Poincar�, whereas I can only touch on them briefly here.

In the first place, we imagine an existence in two dimensional space.
Flat beings with flat implements, and in particular flat rigid
measuring-rods, are free to move in a plane. For them nothing exists
outside of this plane: that which they observe to happen to themselves
and to their flat " things " is the all-inclusive reality of their
plane. In particular, the constructions of plane Euclidean geometry
can be carried out by means of the rods e.g. the lattice construction,
considered in Section 24. In contrast to ours, the universe of
these beings is two-dimensional; but, like ours, it extends to
infinity. In their universe there is room for an infinite number of
identical squares made up of rods, i.e. its volume (surface) is
infinite. If these beings say their universe is " plane," there is
sense in the statement, because they mean that they can perform the
constructions of plane Euclidean geometry with their rods. In this
connection the individual rods always represent the same distance,
independently of their position.

Let us consider now a second two-dimensional existence, but this time
on a spherical surface instead of on a plane. The flat beings with
their measuring-rods and other objects fit exactly on this surface and
they are unable to leave it. Their whole universe of observation
extends exclusively over the surface of the sphere. Are these beings
able to regard the geometry of their universe as being plane geometry
and their rods withal as the realisation of " distance " ? They cannot
do this. For if they attempt to realise a straight line, they will
obtain a curve, which we " three-dimensional beings " designate as a
great circle, i.e. a self-contained line of definite finite length,
which can be measured up by means of a measuring-rod. Similarly, this
universe has a finite area that can be compared with the area, of a
square constructed with rods. The great charm resulting from this
consideration lies in the recognition of the fact that the universe of
these beings is finite and yet has no limits.

But the spherical-surface beings do not need to go on a world-tour in
order to perceive that they are not living in a Euclidean universe.
They can convince themselves of this on every part of their " world,"
provided they do not use too small a piece of it. Starting from a
point, they draw " straight lines " (arcs of circles as judged in
three dimensional space) of equal length in all directions. They will
call the line joining the free ends of these lines a " circle." For a
plane surface, the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its
diameter, both lengths being measured with the same rod, is, according
to Euclidean geometry of the plane, equal to a constant value p, which
is independent of the diameter of the circle. On their spherical
surface our flat beings would find for this ratio the value

                        eq. 27: file eq27.gif

i.e. a smaller value than p, the difference being the more
considerable, the greater is the radius of the circle in comparison
with the radius R of the " world-sphere." By means of this relation
the spherical beings can determine the radius of their universe ("
world "), even when only a relatively small part of their worldsphere
is available for their measurements. But if this part is very small
indeed, they will no longer be able to demonstrate that they are on a
spherical " world " and not on a Euclidean plane, for a small part of
a spherical surface differs only slightly from a piece of a plane of
the same size.

Thus if the spherical surface beings are living on a planet of which
the solar system occupies only a negligibly small part of the
spherical universe, they have no means of determining whether they are
living in a finite or in an infinite universe, because the " piece of
universe " to which they have access is in both cases practically
plane, or Euclidean. It follows directly from this discussion, that
for our sphere-beings the circumference of a circle first increases
with the radius until the " circumference of the universe " is
reached, and that it thenceforward gradually decreases to zero for
still further increasing values of the radius. During this process the
area of the circle continues to increase more and more, until finally
it becomes equal to the total area of the whole " world-sphere."

Perhaps the reader will wonder why we have placed our " beings " on a
sphere rather than on another closed surface. But this choice has its
justification in the fact that, of all closed surfaces, the sphere is
unique in possessing the property that all points on it are
equivalent. I admit that the ratio of the circumference c of a circle
to its radius r depends on r, but for a given value of r it is the
same for all points of the " worldsphere "; in other words, the "
world-sphere " is a " surface of constant curvature."

To this two-dimensional sphere-universe there is a three-dimensional
analogy, namely, the three-dimensional spherical space which was
discovered by Riemann. its points are likewise all equivalent. It
possesses a finite volume, which is determined by its "radius"
(2p2R3). Is it possible to imagine a spherical space? To imagine a
space means nothing else than that we imagine an epitome of our "
space " experience, i.e. of experience that we can have in the
movement of " rigid " bodies. In this sense we can imagine a spherical
space.

Suppose we draw lines or stretch strings in all directions from a
point, and mark off from each of these the distance r with a
measuring-rod. All the free end-points of these lengths lie on a
spherical surface. We can specially measure up the area (F) of this
surface by means of a square made up of measuring-rods. If the
universe is Euclidean, then F = 4pR2 ; if it is spherical, then F is
always less than 4pR2. With increasing values of r, F increases from
zero up to a maximum value which is determined by the " world-radius,"
but for still further increasing values of r, the area gradually
diminishes to zero. At first, the straight lines which radiate from
the starting point diverge farther and farther from one another, but
later they approach each other, and finally they run together again at
a "counter-point" to the starting point. Under such conditions they
have traversed the whole spherical space. It is easily seen that the
three-dimensional spherical space is quite analogous to the
two-dimensional spherical surface. It is finite (i.e. of finite
volume), and has no bounds.

It may be mentioned that there is yet another kind of curved space: "
elliptical space." It can be regarded as a curved space in which the
two " counter-points " are identical (indistinguishable from each
other). An elliptical universe can thus be considered to some extent
as a curved universe possessing central symmetry.

It follows from what has been said, that closed spaces without limits
are conceivable. From amongst these, the spherical space (and the
elliptical) excels in its simplicity, since all points on it are
equivalent. As a result of this discussion, a most interesting
question arises for astronomers and physicists, and that is whether
the universe in which we live is infinite, or whether it is finite in
the manner of the spherical universe. Our experience is far from being
sufficient to enable us to answer this question. But the general
theory of relativity permits of our answering it with a moduate degree
of certainty, and in this connection the difficulty mentioned in
Section 30 finds its solution.



THE STRUCTURE OF SPACE ACCORDING TO THE GENERAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY


According to the general theory of relativity, the geometrical
properties of space are not independent, but they are determined by
matter. Thus we can draw conclusions about the geometrical structure
of the universe only if we base our considerations on the state of the
matter as being something that is known. We know from experience that,
for a suitably chosen co-ordinate system, the velocities of the stars
are small as compared with the velocity of transmission of light. We
can thus as a rough approximation arrive at a conclusion as to the
nature of the universe as a whole, if we treat the matter as being at
rest.

We already know from our previous discussion that the behaviour of
measuring-rods and clocks is influenced by gravitational fields, i.e.
by the distribution of matter. This in itself is sufficient to exclude
the possibility of the exact validity of Euclidean geometry in our
universe. But it is conceivable that our universe differs only
slightly from a Euclidean one, and this notion seems all the more
probable, since calculations show that the metrics of surrounding
space is influenced only to an exceedingly small extent by masses even
of the magnitude of our sun. We might imagine that, as regards
geometry, our universe behaves analogously to a surface which is
irregularly curved in its individual parts, but which nowhere departs
appreciably from a plane: something like the rippled surface of a
lake. Such a universe might fittingly be called a quasi-Euclidean
universe. As regards its space it would be infinite. But calculation
shows that in a quasi-Euclidean universe the average density of matter
would necessarily be nil. Thus such a universe could not be inhabited
by matter everywhere ; it would present to us that unsatisfactory
picture which we portrayed in Section 30.

If we are to have in the universe an average density of matter which
differs from zero, however small may be that difference, then the
universe cannot be quasi-Euclidean. On the contrary, the results of
calculation indicate that if matter be distributed uniformly, the
universe would necessarily be spherical (or elliptical). Since in
reality the detailed distribution of matter is not uniform, the real
universe will deviate in individual parts from the spherical, i.e. the
universe will be quasi-spherical. But it will be necessarily finite.
In fact, the theory supplies us with a simple connection *  between
the space-expanse of the universe and the average density of matter in
it.


  Notes

*) For the radius R of the universe we obtain the equation

                        eq. 28: file eq28.gif

The use of the C.G.S. system in this equation gives 2/k = 1^.08.10^27;
p is the average density of the matter and k is a constant connected
with the Newtonian constant of gravitation.



APPENDIX I

SIMPLE DERIVATION OF THE LORENTZ TRANSFORMATION
(SUPPLEMENTARY TO SECTION 11)


For the relative orientation of the co-ordinate systems indicated in
Fig. 2, the x-axes of both systems pernumently coincide. In the
present case we can divide the problem into parts by considering first
only events which are localised on the x-axis. Any such event is
represented with respect to the co-ordinate system K by the abscissa x
and the time t, and with respect to the system K1 by the abscissa x'
and the time t'. We require to find x' and t' when x and t are given.

A light-signal, which is proceeding along the positive axis of x, is
transmitted according to the equation

                                x = ct

or

                 x - ct = 0     .     .     .    (1).

Since the same light-signal has to be transmitted relative to K1 with
the velocity c, the propagation relative to the system K1 will be
represented by the analogous formula

                x' - ct' = O     .     .     .    (2)

Those space-time points (events) which satisfy (x) must also satisfy
(2). Obviously this will be the case when the relation

          (x' - ct') = l (x - ct)     .     .     .    (3).

is fulfilled in general, where l indicates a constant ; for, according
to (3), the disappearance of (x - ct) involves the disappearance of
(x' - ct').

If we apply quite similar considerations to light rays which are being
transmitted along the negative x-axis, we obtain the condition

           (x' + ct') = �(x + ct)    .     .     .    (4).

By adding (or subtracting) equations (3) and (4), and introducing for
convenience the constants a and b in place of the constants l and �,
where

                        eq. 29: file eq29.gif

and

                        eq. 30: file eq30.gif

we obtain the equations

                        eq. 31: file eq31.gif

We should thus have the solution of our problem, if the constants a
and b were known. These result from the following discussion.

For the origin of K1 we have permanently x' = 0, and hence according
to the first of the equations (5)

                        eq. 32: file eq32.gif

If we call v the velocity with which the origin of K1 is moving
relative to K, we then have

                        eq. 33: file eq33.gif

The same value v can be obtained from equations (5), if we calculate
the velocity of another point of K1 relative to K, or the velocity
(directed towards the negative x-axis) of a point of K with respect to
K'. In short, we can designate v as the relative velocity of the two
systems.

Furthermore, the principle of relativity teaches us that, as judged
from K, the length of a unit measuring-rod which is at rest with
reference to K1 must be exactly the same as the length, as judged from
K', of a unit measuring-rod which is at rest relative to K. In order
to see how the points of the x-axis appear as viewed from K, we only
require to take a " snapshot " of K1 from K; this means that we have
to insert a particular value of t (time of K), e.g. t = 0. For this
value of t we then obtain from the first of the equations (5)

                               x' = ax

Two points of the x'-axis which are separated by the distance Dx' = I
when measured in the K1 system are thus separated in our instantaneous
photograph by the distance

                        eq. 34: file eq34.gif

But if the snapshot be taken from K'(t' = 0), and if we eliminate t
from the equations (5), taking into account the expression (6), we
obtain

                        eq. 35: file eq35.gif

From this we conclude that two points on the x-axis separated by the
distance I (relative to K) will be represented on our snapshot by the
distance

                        eq. 36: file eq36.gif

But from what has been said, the two snapshots must be identical;
hence Dx in (7) must be equal to Dx' in (7a), so that we obtain

                        eq. 37: file eq37.gif

The equations (6) and (7b) determine the constants a and b. By
inserting the values of these constants in (5), we obtain the first
and the fourth of the equations given in Section 11.

                        eq. 38: file eq38.gif

Thus we have obtained the Lorentz transformation for events on the
x-axis. It satisfies the condition

         x'2 - c^2t'2 = x2 - c^2t2    .     .     .    (8a).

The extension of this result, to include events which take place
outside the x-axis, is obtained by retaining equations (8) and
supplementing them by the relations

                        eq. 39: file eq39.gif

In this way we satisfy the postulate of the constancy of the velocity
of light in vacuo for rays of light of arbitrary direction, both for
the system K and for the system K'. This may be shown in the following
manner.

We suppose a light-signal sent out from the origin of K at the time t
= 0. It will be propagated according to the equation

                        eq. 40: file eq40.gif

or, if we square this equation, according to the equation

          x2 + y2 + z2 = c^2t2 = 0    .     .     .    (10).

It is required by the law of propagation of light, in conjunction with
the postulate of relativity, that the transmission of the signal in
question should take place -- as judged from K1 -- in accordance with
the corresponding formula

                               r' = ct'

or,

       x'2 + y'2 + z'2 - c^2t'2 = 0    .     .     .    (10a).

In order that equation (10a) may be a consequence of equation (10), we
must have

   x'2 + y'2 + z'2 - c^2t'2 = s (x2 + y2 + z2 - c^2t2)       (11).

Since equation (8a) must hold for points on the x-axis, we thus have s
= I. It is easily seen that the Lorentz transformation really
satisfies equation (11) for s = I; for (11) is a consequence of (8a)
and (9), and hence also of (8) and (9). We have thus derived the
Lorentz transformation.

The Lorentz transformation represented by (8) and (9) still requires
to be generalised. Obviously it is immaterial whether the axes of K1
be chosen so that they are spatially parallel to those of K. It is
also not essential that the velocity of translation of K1 with respect
to K should be in the direction of the x-axis. A simple consideration
shows that we are able to construct the Lorentz transformation in this
general sense from two kinds of transformations, viz. from Lorentz
transformations in the special sense and from purely spatial
transformations. which corresponds to the replacement of the
rectangular co-ordinate system by a new system with its axes pointing
in other directions.

Mathematically, we can characterise the generalised Lorentz
transformation thus :

It expresses x', y', x', t', in terms of linear homogeneous functions
of x, y, x, t, of such a kind that the relation

     x'2 + y'2 + z'2 - c^2t'2 = x2 + y2 + z2 - c^2t2       (11a).

is satisficd identically. That is to say: If we substitute their
expressions in x, y, x, t, in place of x', y', x', t', on the
left-hand side, then the left-hand side of (11a) agrees with the
right-hand side.



APPENDIX II

MINKOWSKI'S FOUR-DIMENSIONAL SPACE ("WORLD")
(SUPPLEMENTARY TO SECTION 17)


We can characterise the Lorentz transformation still more simply if we
introduce the imaginary eq. 25 in place of t, as time-variable. If, in
accordance with this, we insert

                              x[1] = x
                              x[2] = y
                              x[3] = z
                              x[4] = eq. 25

and similarly for the accented system K1, then the condition which is
identically satisfied by the transformation can be expressed thus :

x[1]'2 + x[2]'2 + x[3]'2 + x[4]'2 = x[1]^2 + x[2]^2 + x[3]^2 + x[4]^2
    (12).

That is, by the afore-mentioned choice of " coordinates," (11a) [see
the end of Appendix II] is transformed into this equation.

We see from (12) that the imaginary time co-ordinate x[4], enters into
the condition of transformation in exactly the same way as the space
co-ordinates x[1], x[2], x[3]. It is due to this fact that, according
to the theory of relativity, the " time "x[4], enters into natural
laws in the same form as the space co ordinates x[1], x[2], x[3].

A four-dimensional continuum described by the "co-ordinates" x[1],
x[2], x[3], x[4], was called "world" by Minkowski, who also termed a
point-event a " world-point." From a "happening" in three-dimensional
space, physics becomes, as it were, an " existence " in the
four-dimensional " world."

This four-dimensional " world " bears a close similarity to the
three-dimensional " space " of (Euclidean) analytical geometry. If we
introduce into the latter a new Cartesian co-ordinate system (x'[1],
x'[2], x'[3]) with the same origin, then x'[1], x'[2], x'[3], are
linear homogeneous functions of x[1], x[2], x[3] which identically
satisfy the equation

        x'[1]^2 + x'[2]^2 + x'[3]^2 = x[1]^2 + x[2]^2 + x[3]^2

The analogy with (12) is a complete one. We can regard Minkowski's "
world " in a formal manner as a four-dimensional Euclidean space (with
an imaginary time coordinate) ; the Lorentz transformation corresponds
to a " rotation " of the co-ordinate system in the fourdimensional "
world."



APPENDIX III

THE EXPERIMENTAL CONFIRMATION OF THE GENERAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY


From a systematic theoretical point of view, we may imagine the
process of evolution of an empirical science to be a continuous
process of induction. Theories are evolved and are expressed in short
compass as statements of a large number of individual observations in
the form of empirical laws, from which the general laws can be
ascertained by comparison. Regarded in this way, the development of a
science bears some resemblance to the compilation of a classified
catalogue. It is, as it were, a purely empirical enterprise.

But this point of view by no means embraces the whole of the actual
process ; for it slurs over the important part played by intuition and
deductive thought in the development of an exact science. As soon as a
science has emerged from its initial stages, theoretical advances are
no longer achieved merely by a process of arrangement. Guided by
empirical data, the investigator rather develops a system of thought
which, in general, is built up logically from a small number of
fundamental assumptions, the so-called axioms. We call such a system
of thought a theory. The theory finds the justification for its
existence in the fact that it correlates a large number of single
observations, and it is just here that the " truth " of the theory
lies.

Corresponding to the same complex of empirical data, there may be
several theories, which differ from one another to a considerable
extent. But as regards the deductions from the theories which are
capable of being tested, the agreement between the theories may be so
complete that it becomes difficult to find any deductions in which the
two theories differ from each other. As an example, a case of general
interest is available in the province of biology, in the Darwinian
theory of the development of species by selection in the struggle for
existence, and in the theory of development which is based on the
hypothesis of the hereditary transmission of acquired characters.

We have another instance of far-reaching agreement between the
deductions from two theories in Newtonian mechanics on the one hand,
and the general theory of relativity on the other. This agreement goes
so far, that up to the preseat we have been able to find only a few
deductions from the general theory of relativity which are capable of
investigation, and to which the physics of pre-relativity days does
not also lead, and this despite the profound difference in the
fundamental assumptions of the two theories. In what follows, we shall
again consider these important deductions, and we shall also discuss
the empirical evidence appertaining to them which has hitherto been
obtained.

 (a) Motion of the Perihelion of Mercury

According to Newtonian mechanics and Newton's law of gravitation, a
planet which is revolving round the sun would describe an ellipse
round the latter, or, more correctly, round the common centre of
gravity of the sun and the planet. In such a system, the sun, or the
common centre of gravity, lies in one of the foci of the orbital
ellipse in such a manner that, in the course of a planet-year, the
distance sun-planet grows from a minimum to a maximum, and then
decreases again to a minimum. If instead of Newton's law we insert a
somewhat different law of attraction into the calculation, we find
that, according to this new law, the motion would still take place in
such a manner that the distance sun-planet exhibits periodic
variations; but in this case the angle described by the line joining
sun and planet during such a period (from perihelion--closest
proximity to the sun--to perihelion) would differ from 360^0. The line
of the orbit would not then be a closed one but in the course of time
it would fill up an annular part of the orbital plane, viz. between
the circle of least and the circle of greatest distance of the planet
from the sun.

According also to the general theory of relativity, which differs of
course from the theory of Newton, a small variation from the
Newton-Kepler motion of a planet in its orbit should take place, and
in such away, that the angle described by the radius sun-planet
between one perhelion and the next should exceed that corresponding to
one complete revolution by an amount given by

                        eq. 41: file eq41.gif

(N.B. -- One complete revolution corresponds to the angle 2p in the
absolute angular measure customary in physics, and the above
expression giver the amount by which the radius sun-planet exceeds
this angle during the interval between one perihelion and the next.)
In this expression a represents the major semi-axis of the ellipse, e
its eccentricity, c the velocity of light, and T the period of
revolution of the planet. Our result may also be stated as follows :
According to the general theory of relativity, the major axis of the
ellipse rotates round the sun in the same sense as the orbital motion
of the planet. Theory requires that this rotation should amount to 43
seconds of arc per century for the planet Mercury, but for the other
Planets of our solar system its magnitude should be so small that it
would necessarily escape detection. *

In point of fact, astronomers have found that the theory of Newton
does not suffice to calculate the observed motion of Mercury with an
exactness corresponding to that of the delicacy of observation
attainable at the present time. After taking account of all the
disturbing influences exerted on Mercury by the remaining planets, it
was found (Leverrier: 1859; and Newcomb: 1895) that an unexplained
perihelial movement of the orbit of Mercury remained over, the amount
of which does not differ sensibly from the above mentioned +43 seconds
of arc per century. The uncertainty of the empirical result amounts to
a few seconds only.

 (b) Deflection of Light by a Gravitational Field

In Section 22 it has been already mentioned that according to the
general theory of relativity, a ray of light will experience a
curvature of its path when passing through a gravitational field, this
curvature being similar to that experienced by the path of a body
which is projected through a gravitational field. As a result of this
theory, we should expect that a ray of light which is passing close to
a heavenly body would be deviated towards the latter. For a ray of
light which passes the sun at a distance of D sun-radii from its
centre, the angle of deflection (a) should amount to

                        eq. 42: file eq42.gif

It may be added that, according to the theory, half of Figure 05 this
deflection is produced by the Newtonian field of attraction of the
sun, and the other half by the geometrical modification (" curvature
") of space caused by the sun.

This result admits of an experimental test by means of the
photographic registration of stars during a total eclipse of the sun.
The only reason why we must wait for a total eclipse is because at
every other time the atmosphere is so strongly illuminated by the
light from the sun that the stars situated near the sun's disc are
invisible. The predicted effect can be seen clearly from the
accompanying diagram. If the sun (S) were not present, a star which is
practically infinitely distant would be seen in the direction D[1], as
observed front the earth. But as a consequence of the deflection of
light from the star by the sun, the star will be seen in the direction
D[2], i.e. at a somewhat greater distance from the centre of the sun
than corresponds to its real position.

In practice, the question is tested in the following way. The stars in
the neighbourhood of the sun are photographed during a solar eclipse.
In addition, a second photograph of the same stars is taken when the
sun is situated at another position in the sky, i.e. a few months
earlier or later. As compared whh the standard photograph, the
positions of the stars on the eclipse-photograph ought to appear
displaced radially outwards (away from the centre of the sun) by an
amount corresponding to the angle a.

We are indebted to the [British] Royal Society and to the Royal
Astronomical Society for the investigation of this important
deduction. Undaunted by the [first world] war and by difficulties of
both a material and a psychological nature aroused by the war, these
societies equipped two expeditions -- to Sobral (Brazil), and to the
island of Principe (West Africa) -- and sent several of Britain's most
celebrated astronomers (Eddington, Cottingham, Crommelin, Davidson),
in order to obtain photographs of the solar eclipse of 29th May, 1919.
The relative discrepancies to be expected between the stellar
photographs obtained during the eclipse and the comparison photographs
amounted to a few hundredths of a millimetre only. Thus great accuracy
was necessary in making the adjustments required for the taking of the
photographs, and in their subsequent measurement.

The results of the measurements confirmed the theory in a thoroughly
satisfactory manner. The rectangular components of the observed and of
the calculated deviations of the stars (in seconds of arc) are set
forth in the following table of results :

                      Table 01: file table01.gif

 (c) Displacement of Spectral Lines Towards the Red

In Section 23 it has been shown that in a system K1 which is in
rotation with regard to a Galileian system K, clocks of identical
construction, and which are considered at rest with respect to the
rotating reference-body, go at rates which are dependent on the
positions of the clocks. We shall now examine this dependence
quantitatively. A clock, which is situated at a distance r from the
centre of the disc, has a velocity relative to K which is given by

                                V = wr

where w represents the angular velocity of rotation of the disc K1
with respect to K. If v[0], represents the number of ticks of the
clock per unit time (" rate " of the clock) relative to K when the
clock is at rest, then the " rate " of the clock (v) when it is moving
relative to K with a velocity V, but at rest with respect to the disc,
will, in accordance with Section 12, be given by

                        eq. 43: file eq43.gif

or with sufficient accuracy by

                        eq. 44: file eq44.gif

This expression may also be stated in the following form:

                        eq. 45: file eq45.gif

If we represent the difference of potential of the centrifugal force
between the position of the clock and the centre of the disc by f,
i.e. the work, considered negatively, which must be performed on the
unit of mass against the centrifugal force in order to transport it
from the position of the clock on the rotating disc to the centre of
the disc, then we have

                        eq. 46: file eq46.gif

From this it follows that

                        eq. 47: file eq47.gif

In the first place, we see from this expression that two clocks of
identical construction will go at different rates when situated at
different distances from the centre of the disc. This result is aiso
valid from the standpoint of an observer who is rotating with the
disc.

Now, as judged from the disc, the latter is in a gravititional field
of potential f, hence the result we have obtained will hold quite
generally for gravitational fields. Furthermore, we can regard an atom
which is emitting spectral lines as a clock, so that the following
statement will hold:

An atom absorbs or emits light of a frequency which is dependent on
the potential of the gravitational field in which it is situated.

The frequency of an atom situated on the surface of a heavenly body
will be somewhat less than the frequency of an atom of the same
element which is situated in free space (or on the surface of a
smaller celestial body).

Now f = - K (M/r), where K is Newton's constant of gravitation, and M
is the mass of the heavenly body. Thus a displacement towards the red
ought to take place for spectral lines produced at the surface of
stars as compared with the spectral lines of the same element produced
at the surface of the earth, the amount of this displacement being

                        eq. 48: file eq48.gif

For the sun, the displacement towards the red predicted by theory
amounts to about two millionths of the wave-length. A trustworthy
calculation is not possible in the case of the stars, because in
general neither the mass M nor the radius r are known.

It is an open question whether or not this effect exists, and at the
present time (1920) astronomers are working with great zeal towards
the solution. Owing to the smallness of the effect in the case of the
sun, it is difficult to form an opinion as to its existence. Whereas
Grebe and Bachem (Bonn), as a result of their own measurements and
those of Evershed and Schwarzschild on the cyanogen bands, have placed
the existence of the effect almost beyond doubt, while other
investigators, particularly St. John, have been led to the opposite
opinion in consequence of their measurements.

Mean displacements of lines towards the less refrangible end of the
spectrum are certainly revealed by statistical investigations of the
fixed stars ; but up to the present the examination of the available
data does not allow of any definite decision being arrived at, as to
whether or not these displacements are to be referred in reality to
the effect of gravitation. The results of observation have been
collected together, and discussed in detail from the standpoint of the
question which has been engaging our attention here, in a paper by E.
Freundlich entitled "Zur Pr�fung der allgemeinen
Relativit&umlaut;ts-Theorie" (Die Naturwissenschaften, 1919, No. 35,
p. 520: Julius Springer, Berlin).

At all events, a definite decision will be reached during the next few
years. If the displacement of spectral lines towards the red by the
gravitational potential does not exist, then the general theory of
relativity will be untenable. On the other hand, if the cause of the
displacement of spectral lines be definitely traced to the
gravitational potential, then the study of this displacement will
furnish us with important information as to the mass of the heavenly
bodies. [5][A]


  Notes

*) Especially since the next planet Venus has an orbit that is
almost an exact circle, which makes it more difficult to locate the
perihelion with precision.

The displacentent of spectral lines towards the red end of the
spectrum was definitely established by Adams in 1924, by observations
on the dense companion of Sirius, for which the effect is about thirty
times greater than for the Sun. R.W.L. -- translator



APPENDIX IV

THE STRUCTURE OF SPACE ACCORDING TO THE GENERAL THEORY OF RELATIVITY
(SUPPLEMENTARY TO SECTION 32)


Since the publication of the first edition of this little book, our
knowledge about the structure of space in the large (" cosmological
problem ") has had an important development, which ought to be
mentioned even in a popular presentation of the subject.

My original considerations on the subject were based on two
hypotheses:

(1) There exists an average density of matter in the whole of space
which is everywhere the same and different from zero.

(2) The magnitude (" radius ") of space is independent of time.

Both these hypotheses proved to be consistent, according to the
general theory of relativity, but only after a hypothetical term was
added to the field equations, a term which was not required by the
theory as such nor did it seem natural from a theoretical point of
view (" cosmological term of the field equations ").

Hypothesis (2) appeared unavoidable to me at the time, since I thought
that one would get into bottomless speculations if one departed from
it.

However, already in the 'twenties, the Russian mathematician Friedman
showed that a different hypothesis was natural from a purely
theoretical point of view. He realized that it was possible to
preserve hypothesis (1) without introducing the less natural
cosmological term into the field equations of gravitation, if one was
ready to drop hypothesis (2). Namely, the original field equations
admit a solution in which the " world radius " depends on time
(expanding space). In that sense one can say, according to Friedman,
that the theory demands an expansion of space.

A few years later Hubble showed, by a special investigation of the
extra-galactic nebulae (" milky ways "), that the spectral lines
emitted showed a red shift which increased regularly with the distance
of the nebulae. This can be interpreted in regard to our present
knowledge only in the sense of Doppler's principle, as an expansive
motion of the system of stars in the large -- as required, according
to Friedman, by the field equations of gravitation. Hubble's discovery
can, therefore, be considered to some extent as a confirmation of the
theory.

There does arise, however, a strange difficulty. The interpretation of
the galactic line-shift discovered by Hubble as an expansion (which
can hardly be doubted from a theoretical point of view), leads to an
origin of this expansion which lies " only " about 10^9 years ago,
while physical astronomy makes it appear likely that the development
of individual stars and systems of stars takes considerably longer. It
is in no way known how this incongruity is to be overcome.

I further want to rernark that the theory of expanding space, together
with the empirical data of astronomy, permit no decision to be reached
about the finite or infinite character of (three-dimensional) space,
while the original " static " hypothesis of space yielded the closure
(finiteness) of space.


K = co-ordinate system
x, y = two-dimensional co-ordinates
x, y, z = three-dimensional co-ordinates
x, y, z, t = four-dimensional co-ordinates

t = time
I = distance
v = velocity

F = force
G = gravitational field






                          PRACTICAL EXERCISES

                                   IN

                         ELEMENTARY METEOROLOGY

                                   BY

                          ROBERT DECOURCY WARD

            INSTRUCTOR IN CLIMATOLOGY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY

                             BOSTON, U.S.A.
                       GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

                          =The Athenaeum Press=

                                  1899


                          COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
                          ROBERT DECOURCY WARD

                          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




                                PREFACE.


The advance of meteorology as a school study has been much hampered by the
lack of a published outline of work in this subject which may be
undertaken during the school years. There are several excellent text-books
for more advanced study, but there is no laboratory manual for use in the
elementary portions of the science. In many secondary schools some
instruction in meteorology is given, and the keeping of meteorological
records by the scholars is every year becoming more general. There is yet,
however, but little system in this work, and, in consequence, there is
little definite result. The object of this book is to supply a guide in
the elementary observational and inductive studies in meteorology. This
Manual is not intended to replace the text-books, but is designed to
prepare the way for their more intelligent use. Simple preliminary
exercises in the taking of meteorological observations, and in the study
of the daily weather maps, as herein suggested, will lay a good foundation
on which later studies, in connection with the text-books, may be built
up. Explanations of the various facts discovered through these exercises
are not considered to lie within the scope of this book. They may be found
in any of the newer text-books.

This Manual lays little claim to originality. Its essential features are
based on the recommendations in the Report on Geography of the Committee
of Ten. A scheme of laboratory exercises, substantially the same as that
proposed in this Report, was, for some fifteen years, the basis of the
work in elementary meteorology done in Harvard College under the direction
of Professor William M. Davis. The plan proposed by the Committee of Ten
has been thoroughly tested by the writer during the past five years, not
only in college classes, but also in University Extension work among
school teachers, and the present book embodies such modifications of that
scheme and additions to it as have been suggested by experience. Emphasis
is laid throughout this Manual on the larger lessons to be learned from
the individual exercises, and on the relations of various atmospheric
phenomena to human life and activities. No attempt is made to specify in
exactly what school years this work should be undertaken. At present, and
until meteorology attains a recognized position as a school study,
teachers must obviously be left to decide this matter according to the
opportunities offered in each school. The general outline of the work,
however, as herein set forth, is intended to cover the grammar and the
high school years, and may readily be adapted by the teacher to fit the
circumstances of any particular case.

This book contains specific instructions to the student as to the use of
the instruments; the carrying out of meteorological observations; the
investigation of special simple problems by means of the instruments; and
the practical use of the daily weather maps. The Notes for the Teacher, at
the end of the book, are explanatory, and contain suggestions which may be
useful in directing the laboratory work of the class.

It has been the privilege of the author during the past ten years to study
the science of meteorology, and the methods of teaching that science,
under the constant direction of Professor William Morris Davis, of Harvard
University. To Professor Davis the author is further indebted for many
valuable suggestions in connection with the arrangement and treatment of
the subject-matter of this book. Thanks are due also to Mr. William H.
Snyder, of Worcester (Mass.) Academy, and to Mr. John W. Smith, Local
Forecast Official of the United States Weather Bureau, Boston, Mass., for
valued criticisms.

                                                 ROBERT DEC. WARD.

  HARVARD UNIVERSITY, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.,
              September, 1899.




                               CONTENTS.


                             INTRODUCTION.

                                                                  PAGE

  THE IMPORTANCE OF METEOROLOGY: ITS RELATIONS TO MAN               xi


                PART I.--NON-INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.

  CHAPTER I.--OBSERVATIONS OF TEMPERATURE, WIND DIRECTION AND
  VELOCITY, STATE OF SKY, AND RAINFALL                               1


                  PART II.--INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.

  CHAPTER II.--ELEMENTARY INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS                 11

  CHAPTER III.--ADVANCED INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS                  26


          PART III.--EXERCISES IN THE CONSTRUCTION OF WEATHER
                                 MAPS.

  CHAPTER IV.--THE DAILY WEATHER MAP                                47

  CHAPTER V.--TEMPERATURE                                           51

  CHAPTER VI.--WINDS                                                70

  CHAPTER VII.--PRESSURE                                            76

  CHAPTER VIII.--WEATHER                                            85


           PART IV.--THE CORRELATIONS OF THE WEATHER ELEMENTS
                        AND WEATHER FORECASTING.

  CHAPTER IX.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND THE
  PRESSURE                                                          91

  CHAPTER X.--CORRELATION OF THE VELOCITY OF THE WIND AND THE
  PRESSURE                                                          93

  CHAPTER XI.--FORM AND DIMENSIONS OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES     96

  CHAPTER XII.--CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES AND
  THEIR WIND CIRCULATION                                            98

  CHAPTER XIII.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND
  THE TEMPERATURE                                                  101

  CHAPTER XIV.--CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES AND
  THEIR TEMPERATURES                                               104

  CHAPTER XV.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND
  THE WEATHER                                                      106

  CHAPTER XVI.--CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES AND
  THE WEATHER                                                      109

  CHAPTER XVII.--PROGRESSION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES          111

  CHAPTER XVIII.--SEQUENCE OF LOCAL WEATHER CHANGES                113

  CHAPTER XIX.--WEATHER FORECASTING                                114


            PART V.--PROBLEMS IN OBSERVATIONAL METEOROLOGY.

  CHAPTER XX.--TEMPERATURE                                         125

  CHAPTER XXI.--WINDS                                              130

  CHAPTER XXII.--HUMIDITY, DEW, AND FROST                          132

  CHAPTER XXIII.--CLOUDS AND UPPER AIR CURRENTS                    136

  CHAPTER XXIV.--PRECIPITATION                                     138

  CHAPTER XXV.--PRESSURE                                           139

  CHAPTER XXVI.--METEOROLOGICAL TABLES                             142


                              APPENDIX A.

  SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS                                          171


                              APPENDIX B.

  THE EQUIPMENT OF A METEOROLOGICAL LABORATORY                     186


  INDEX                                                            197




                       ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF FIGURES.


  1, 7, 8, 9, 10, 16. Meteorological Instruments. H. J. Green, 1191
      Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y.

  2, 4. Instrument Shelter and Rain Gauge. _Instructions for Voluntary
      Observers._ United States Weather Bureau.

  5. Mercurial Barometer. L. E. Knott Apparatus Co., 14 Ashburton
      Place, Boston, Mass.

  12, 15, 53. Thermograph and Barograph Curves, and Cyclonic
      Composite. Davis, _Elementary Meteorology_.

  17. Nephoscope. _Annals Harvard College Observatory_, Vol. XX, Part
      I.

  48. North Atlantic Cyclone. _Pilot Chart of the North Atlantic
      Ocean._ United States Hydrographic Office.

  51. Wind Rose. _Quarterly Journal Royal Meteorological Society_,
      Vol. XXIV, No. 108.




                             INTRODUCTION.

          THE IMPORTANCE OF METEOROLOGY: ITS RELATIONS TO MAN.


We live in the laboratory of the earth's atmosphere. The changes from hot
to cold, wet to dry, clear to cloudy, or the reverse, profoundly affect
us. We make and unmake our daily plans; we study or we enjoy vacations; we
vary our amusements and our clothing according to these changes. The
weather forecasts for the day in the newspaper are read even before the
telegraphic despatches of important events. Sailors about to put to sea
govern themselves according to the storm warnings of our Weather Bureau.
Farmers and shippers of fruit, meat, and vegetables anxiously watch the
bulletins of cold or warm waves, and guard against damage by frost or
excessive heat. Steam and electric railways prepare their snow-plows when
a severe snowstorm is predicted.

Meteorology, the science of the atmosphere, is thus of very great interest
and importance. There is no subject a knowledge of which does more to make
our daily life interesting. Since we live in the midst of the atmosphere
and cannot escape from the changes that take place in it, we must,
consciously or unconsciously, become observers of these changes. Examples
of the varying processes at work in the atmosphere are always with us.
There is no end to the number and the variety of our illustrations of
these processes. Man is so profoundly affected by weather changes from day
to day that all civilized countries have established weather services.
Observers taking regular weather records are stationed at thousands of
different places in all parts of the world, and the observations which
they make are used by meteorologists in preparing daily weather maps and
forecasts, and in studying the conditions of temperature, winds, and
rainfall. In the United States alone there are about 3000 of these
observers.

These observations are not made on land only. Hundreds of ship captains on
all the oceans of the world are making their regular daily meteorological
records, which at the end of the voyage are sent to some central
office,[1] where they are studied and employed in the preparation of Pilot
Charts for the use of mariners. By means of these ocean meteorological
observations, which were first systematized and carried out on a large
scale under the direction of Lieutenant Matthew Fontaine Maury (born,
1806; died, 1873), of the United States Navy, it has become possible to
lay out the most favorable sailing routes for vessels engaged in commerce
in all parts of the world.

[Footnote 1: In the United States, marine meteorological observations are
forwarded to the United States Hydrographic Office, Navy Department,
Washington.]

So important is a knowledge of the conditions of the winds and the
weather, that scientific expeditions into unexplored or little-known
regions give much of their time to meteorological observations. On the
famous Lady Franklin Bay Expedition (1881-1884) of Lieutenant (now
General) A. W. Greely, of the United States Army, meteorological
observations were kept up by the few feeble survivors, after death by
disease and starvation had almost wiped out the party altogether, and when
those who were left had but a few hours to live unless rescue came at
once. On Nansen's expedition to the "Farthest North," on Peary's trips to
Greenland, and on every recent voyage to the Arctic or the Antarctic,
meteorological instruments have formed an important part of the equipment.

Not content with obtaining records from the air near the earth's surface,
meteorologists have sent up their instruments by means of small, un-manned
balloons to heights of 10 miles; and the use of kites for carrying up such
instruments has been so successful that, at Blue Hill Observatory, near
Boston, Mass., records have been obtained from a height of over 2 miles.
Observatories have also been established on mountain summits, where
meteorological observations have been made with more or less regularity.
Such observatories are those on Pike's Peak, Colorado (14,134 feet), Mont
Blanc, Switzerland (15,780 feet), and on El Misti, in southern Peru. The
latter, 19,200 feet above sea level, is the highest meteorological station
in the world.

The study of the meteorological conditions prevailing over the earth has
thus become of world-wide importance. In the following exercises we shall
carry out, in a small way, investigations similar to those which have
occupied and are now occupying the attention of meteorologists all over
the world.




                   PRACTICAL EXERCISES IN ELEMENTARY
                              METEOROLOGY.




                PART I.--NON-INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.




                               CHAPTER I.

            OBSERVATIONS OF TEMPERATURE; WIND DIRECTION AND
                 VELOCITY; STATE OF SKY, AND RAINFALL.


Before beginning observations with the ordinary instruments, accustom
yourself to making and recording observations of a general character, such
as may be carried out without the use of any instruments whatever. Such
records include: _Temperature_; _Wind Direction and Velocity_; _State of
the Sky_, _and Rainfall_.

=Temperature.=--In keeping a record[2] of temperature without the use of a
thermometer, excellent practice is given in observations of the
temperature actually felt by the human body. Our bodies are not
thermometers. They do not indicate, by our sensations of heat or cold,
just what is the temperature of the surrounding air, but they try to
adjust themselves to the conditions in which they are. This adjustment
depends on many things beside the temperature of the air; _e.g._, the
moisture or humidity of the air; the movement of the air; the temperature
and the nearness of surrounding objects. In summer, a day on which the
temperature reaches 80 deg. or 85 deg. often seems much hotter than another day on
which the temperature rises to 95 deg. In winter, temperatures registered by
the thermometer as 10 deg. or 15 deg. above zero often feel a great deal colder
than temperatures of -5 deg. or -10 deg. In recording your observations on
temperature, the record book may be divided into columns as follows:--

[Footnote 2: Each scholar will need a blank book in which to preserve the
observations.]

                     SAMPLE RECORD OF TEMPERATURE.

  +---------+---------+--------------+-----------------------------------+
     DATE.     HOUR.    TEMPERATURE.           REMARKS.                   
  +---------+---------+--------------+-----------------------------------+
   Jan. 16     9 A.M.     Chilly                                          
    "    "    12 M.       Warmer                                          
    "    "     4 P.M.       "          Growing slowly warmer all day.     
    "   17     8 A.M.      Warm        About the same as Jan. 16, 4 P.M.  
    "    "    11 A.M.     Cooler       Began to grow cooler about 10 A.M. 
    "    "     3 P.M.     Colder       Steadily becoming colder.          
  +---------+---------+--------------+-----------------------------------+

The following are some of the questions you should ask yourself in
carrying out this work. It is not expected that you will be able to answer
all these questions at once, but that you will keep them in mind during
your studies, and try to discover the answers, as a result of your own
observations.

How does it feel to you out of doors to-day? Is it hot, warm, cool, or
cold? What is the difference between your feelings yesterday and to-day?
Between day before yesterday and to-day? Have you noticed any _regular_
change in your feelings as to warmth and cold during three or four
successive days? During the past week or two? During the past month? Is
there any difference between the temperature of morning, noon, afternoon,
and evening? Is there any _regular_ variation in temperature during the
day? Have there been any _sudden_ changes in temperature during the last
few days? Have these sudden changes brought warmer or cooler weather? Has
the warmer or cooler weather continued for a day or so, or has another
change quickly followed the first? Have the sudden changes, if you have
noted any, come at any regular times (as morning, afternoon, evening) or
at irregular intervals? Does there seem to you to be any definite system,
of any kind, in our changes of temperature? In what ways are people in
general affected by hot weather? By cold weather? What difference does a
very hot or a very cold day make in your own case?

=Wind Direction and Velocity.=--Wind is an important meteorological
element because it has many close relations to human life. It affects very
markedly our bodily sensations of heat or cold. A cold, calm day is
pleasanter than a cold, windy day. On the other hand, a hot, calm day is
usually much more uncomfortable than a hot, windy day. High winds cause
wrecks along seacoasts and damage houses, crops, and fruit trees. Sea
breezes bring in fresh, cool, pure air from the ocean on hot summer days.
In the tropics the sea breeze is so important in preserving the health of
Europeans in many places that it is known as "the doctor." The movement of
wind through large cities carries off the foul air which has collected in
the narrow streets and alleys, and is thus a great purifying agent.

Record the _direction of the wind_ according to the four cardinal points
of the compass (N., E., S., and W.) and the four intermediate points (NE.,
SE., SW., and NW.). The direction of the wind is the point _from_ which
the wind blows. You can determine the points of the compass roughly by
noting where the sun rises and where it sets.

Note the _velocity of the wind_ according to the following scale, proposed
by Professor H. A. Hazen of the United States Weather Bureau.

  0 CALM.
  1 LIGHT; just moving the leaves of trees.
  2 MODERATE; moving branches.
  3 BRISK; swaying branches; blowing up dust.
  4 HIGH; blowing up twigs from the ground, swaying whole trees.
  5 GALE; breaking small branches, loosening bricks on chimneys.
  6 HURRICANE or TORNADO; destroying everything in its path.

The record book will need two additional columns when wind observations
are begun, as follows:--

                 SAMPLE RECORD OF TEMPERATURE AND WIND.

  +--------+-----------+--------------+------------+----------+--------------------------+
                                           WIND        WIND                               
     DATE.     HOUR.     TEMPERATURE.    DIRECTION.  VELOCITY.          REMARKS.          
  +--------+-----------+--------------+------------+----------+--------------------------+
    Oct. 3   7.30 A.M.       Cool           NE.      Moderate   Temperature falling       
                                                                since last evening.       
                                                                Wind velocity increasing. 
                                                                                          
     " "       11 A.M.       " "           " "         Brisk    Temperature the           
                                                                 same. Wind velocity      
                                                                 still increasing.        
                                                                                          
     " "        3 P.M.        " "          " "         High     Wind velocity still       
                                                                 increasing.              
  +--------+-----------+--------------+------------+----------+--------------------------+

What is the direction of the wind to-day? What is its velocity? Has its
direction or velocity changed since yesterday? If so, was the change
sudden or gradual? Have you noticed any calms? What was the direction of
the wind before the calm? What after the calm? Does there seem to be more
wind from one compass point than from another? Is there any relation
between the direction of the wind and its velocity? _i.e._, is the NW.
wind, for instance, usually a brisk or a high wind, or, is the SE. or S.
wind usually moderate? Does the wind usually change its direction
gradually, as from SE. to S., then to SW., then to W., etc., or does it
jump all at once, as from SE. to W.? Is there any relation between the
velocity of the wind and the hour of the day, _i.e._, does the wind seem
stronger or weaker at noon than in the morning or at night? Is it a common
occurrence to have a wind from the same direction for several successive
days, or are we apt to have different winds almost every day? Do you
notice any _systematic_ changes in wind direction which are often
repeated? What are these changes? Can you make a simple rule for them? In
what ways does the wind affect us?

=State of the Sky.=--By the _state of the sky_ is meant the condition of
the sky as to its cloudiness. Clouds add much to the beauty and variety of
nature. They are often gorgeously colored at sunset. By their changes in
form, color, and amount from day to day they relieve what might otherwise
be a wearisome succession of the same weather types. Prevailingly overcast
skies have a depressing effect. Prevailingly clear skies become
monotonous. A proper amount of bright sunshine is essential for the
ripening of crops, but too much sunshine may parch soil and vegetation,
and become injurious. Clouds bring rain; hence a sufficient amount of
cloudiness is just as necessary as a sufficient amount of sunshine. The
drift of clouds shows us the direction of movement of the air above us,
and is of considerable help in forecasting the weather. Fog, which is a
very low cloud, is in some cases so common as to be a meteorological
element of great importance. In the city of London, where fogs are very
prevalent, especially in winter, the average number of hours of bright
sunshine in December and January is only fifteen in each month. The London
fogs are, in great part, due to the presence in the air of vast numbers of
particles of soot and smoke from millions of fires. These particles
increase the density of the fog and prolong its duration.

The amount of cloudiness is recorded on a scale of _tenths_. A _clear_ sky
is one that is less than 3/10 cloudy; a _fair_ sky is from 3/10 to 7/10
cloudy; and a _cloudy_ sky is over 7/10 cloudy. In observing the state of
the sky, note such points as the times of clouding and of clearing; the
arrangement of the clouds, _i.e._, whether they are few and scattered, or
cover the sky with a uniform layer; the common forms of clouds; the
changes in the amounts of cloudiness, etc.

Another new column must be added in the record book for the cloudiness.
The table will now appear thus:--

       SAMPLE RECORD OF TEMPERATURE, WIND, AND STATE OF THE SKY.

  +-------+----------+--------------+----------------------+---------+----------------------+
                                              WIND.           STATE                          
    DATE.    HOUR.     TEMPERATURE. +-----------+----------+ OF SKY.        REMARKS.         
                                      DIRECTION.  VELOCITY.                                  
  +-------+----------+--------------+-----------+----------+---------+----------------------+
   Dec. 18  9 A.M.     Very cold         NW.      Brisk       Clear   Very cold all night.   
                                                                      Everything frozen      
                                                                      up.                    
                                                                                             
    "   "   5 P.M.      "     "           "          "          "     Same conditions.       
                                                                                             
    "   19  8.30 A.M.  A little           "       Moderate     Fair   Wind less violent.     
                         warmer                                       Small clouds scattered 
                                                                      over the sky.          
  +-------+----------+--------------+-----------+----------+---------+----------------------+

Is the sky _clear_, _fair_, or _cloudy_ to-day? Is there more or less
cloud than there was yesterday? Than the day before yesterday? Is to-day a
day of increasing or of decreasing cloudiness? Is the sky usually
perfectly clear, or is it oftenest somewhat clouded over? How long does it
take for the sky to become completely covered with clouds from the time
when it first begins to become cloudy? When there are a few clouds in the
sky, are these usually scattered all over the sky, or are they in groups?
Have you noticed any particular form of clouds which seemed familiar to
you? Do clouds seem to have certain definite shapes and appearances which
are to be seen often? Do you discover any variation of cloudiness during
the day, _i.e._, is it apt to be more cloudy in the afternoon than in the
morning or at night? Can you make a list describing some of the clouds
that you see most often? Can you give these common kinds of clouds some
names of your own that shall describe them briefly? In what ways does a
clear sky, with bright sunshine, affect us?

=Rainfall.=--Under the general term _rainfall_, meteorologists include,
besides _rain_ itself, _snow_, _hail_, _sleet_, etc. The term
_precipitation_ is also often used. Rainfall stands in close relation to
human life and occupations. It feeds lakes and rivers, thus furnishing
means of transportation, power for running mills and factories, and water
supplies for cities. Regions of abundant rainfall are usually heavily
forested, like the Amazon valley in South America, and parts of Equatorial
Africa. In civilized countries lumbering is apt to be an important
occupation in districts of heavy rainfall, as in Oregon and Washington in
our own country, and in Southern Chile in South America. Where there is a
moderate rainfall, and other conditions are favorable, there agriculture
is possible, and farming becomes one of the chief occupations, as in the
Mississippi and Missouri valleys in the United States, and in Western
Canada. Districts which have a rainfall too small for successful
agriculture, but are not by any means deserts, are often excellent grazing
lands, as in the case of parts of Texas, Nebraska, and Kansas in the
United States, and the Argentine Republic in South America. Where there is
very little rainfall deserts are found. Cities are not built in deserts,
because there are no occupations to attract large numbers of men. The
inhabitants of the desert are wandering tribes, which move from place to
place in search of water and food for themselves and their animals. Rain
and snow cleanse the air, washing out impurities such as dust and smoke.
Hence they are important agents in preserving health.

Note the _kind_ of precipitation (rain, snow, hail, sleet); the _amount_
(heavy, moderate, light, trace); and the _time of the beginning and
ending_ of the storm or shower.

The record book must now be further subdivided into columns, to make room
for the rainfall observations, in this manner:--

  SAMPLE RECORD OF TEMPERATURE, WIND, STATE OF SKY, AND PRECIPITATION.

  +-------+---------+------------+--------------------+--------+-------------------+------------------+
                                          WIND.                    PRECIPITATION.                      
                                 +----------+---------+ STATE  +-------+-----+-----+                   
    DATE.    HOUR.   TEMPERATURE.                         OF     TIME                    REMARKS.      
                                  DIRECTION. VELOCITY.   SKY.     OF    KIND. AM'T.                    
                                                                BEGINN.                                
  +-------+---------+------------+----------+---------+--------+-------+-----+-----+------------------+
   Mar. 21 8.30 A.M.    Mild          S.       Light   Overcast 8 A.M.  Rain  Light   Raining.         
                                                                                                       
    "   "    12 M.        "           "          "     Overcast           "     "        "             
                                                                                                       
    "   "    4 P.M.       "           "      Moderate  Overcast                     Stopped raining    
                                                                                     about 3 P.M.      
                                                                                                       
    "   22   8 A.M.     Cool         NW.       Brisk    Clear                       Cleared off during 
                                                                                     the night.        
  +-------+---------+------------+----------+---------+--------+-------+-----+-----+------------------+

Does most of our rain come in brief showers, or in storms lasting a day or
two? Do we have about the same amount of rain or snow every week and every
month, or does the amount vary a good deal from week to week and from
month to month? Do you notice much difference in the characteristics of
successive storms, or do they all seem pretty much alike? Are
thunderstorms limited to any particular season of the year? If so, to what
season? Have you discovered any rule as to the time of day when rainstorms
or snowstorms begin? When thunderstorms begin and end? Is it common or
uncommon for us to have a storm lasting three or four days? How long does
a thunderstorm usually last? Do we have most hail in winter or in summer?
In what ways does a rainy day affect people? How are you yourself
affected? How does a heavy snowstorm affect travel and transportation? In
what ways does a snowstorm differ from a rainstorm as to the character of
the precipitation and its effects?

After studying the _temperature_, _wind_, _state of sky_, and _rainfall_
separately, take two elements together and see what relation one has to
the other. Try to answer such questions as these:--

=Temperature and Wind.=--What relations can you discover between the
direction of the wind and the temperature? Which winds are the coolest?
Which the warmest? Does a hot, calm day seem warmer or cooler than a hot,
windy day? Does a cold, calm day seem colder or warmer than a cold, windy
day? Does the _velocity_ of the wind have any effect on your feeling of
cold or of warmth? If so, what effect?

=Wind and State of Sky.=--Has the direction of the wind anything to do
with the cloudiness? Is there more apt to be considerable cloudiness with
wind from one direction than from another? What winds are usually
accompanied by the largest amount of cloud? What winds usually blow when
the sky is clear? Is the relation of cloudiness to certain wind directions
so close that, if you know the wind direction, you can make a prediction
as to the probable cloudiness? Are the winds with clouds more common in
one month than another? In one season than another? If so, which month?
which season?

=Temperature and State of Sky.=--Do you notice any relation between the
temperature and the state of the sky? In winter are our coldest days
usually cloudy or clear? In summer are our hottest days cloudy or clear?
Are the winds that give us the most cloudiness warm or cold winds in
winter and in summer? Is a cloudy night colder or warmer than a clear
night? Is a cloudy day colder or warmer than a clear day?

=State of Sky and Precipitation.=--How is rainfall or snowfall related to
the cloudiness? Do we ever have rain or snow when the sky is not
completely covered with clouds? Does the sky usually become quickly
covered with clouds before a rain? Does a sky wholly covered with clouds
always give us rain or snow? Does the sky clear rapidly or slowly after a
rain? Are any particular kinds of clouds associated with rain or with
snowstorms? With brief showers? With thunderstorms?

=Wind and Precipitation.=--Are any particular wind directions more likely
than others to give us rain or snow? Are these the same winds as those
which give us the most cloudiness? What winds are they? Has the velocity
of the wind any relation to the rain or snowstorm? Does the wind blow
harder before, during, or after the rain or snow? What changes of wind
direction have you noted before, during, and after any storm? Have you
noticed these same changes in other storms? Are they so common in our
storms that you can make a rule as to these changes?

=Temperature and Precipitation.=--Does a shower or a rainstorm in the
hotter months affect the temperature of the air in any way? How? In the
winter does the temperature show any changes before a snowstorm? Is it
usually warmer or colder then than a day or two before the storm and the
day after? Is it usually uncomfortably cold during a snowstorm? Are rainy
spells in the spring and the autumn months cooler or warmer than clear dry
weather?




                  PART II.--INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.




                              CHAPTER II.

                 ELEMENTARY INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.


The non-instrumental observations, suggested in the preceding chapter,
prepare the way for the more exact records of the weather elements which
are obtainable only by the use of instruments. The non-instrumental
records are not to be entirely given up, even after the instrumental work
and the weather-map exercises have begun, but should be continued
throughout the course. Notes on the forms and changes of clouds, on the
times of beginning and ending, and on the character of the precipitation,
as outlined in the last chapter, and other observations made without the
use of instruments, are an essential part of even the most advanced
meteorological records.

The simpler instruments are the _ordinary thermometer_, the _wind vane_,
the _rain gauge_, and the _mercurial barometer_ (in a modified form).
Observations with these instruments, although of a simple character, can
be made very useful. The advance over the non-instrumental observations,
which latter may be termed observations of _sensation_, is a decided one.
In place of the vague and untrustworthy statements concerning hot and
cold, warm and cool days, we now have actual degrees of temperature to
serve as a basis for comparison of day with day or month with month. The
measurements of rain and snowfall enable us to study the amounts brought
in different storms, the average precipitation of the various months, etc.
The important facts of change of pressure now become known, and also the
relation of these changes to the weather. Just as we have, in the earlier
work, become familiar with our typical weather changes and types, so we
shall now have our eyes opened to the actual values of the temperatures
and precipitation connected with these changes.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

The =ordinary thermometer= (Greek: _heat measure_), the most commonly used
and most widely known of all meteorological instruments, was in an
elementary form known to Galileo, and was used by him in his lectures at
the University of Padua during the years 1592 to 1609. Thermometers enable
us to measure the temperatures of different bodies by comparison with
certain universally accepted standards of temperature. These standards are
the freezing and boiling points of distilled water. In its common form the
thermometer consists of a glass tube, closed at the top, and expanding at
its lower end into a hollow spherical or cylindrical glass bulb. This bulb
and part of the tube are filled with mercury or alcohol. As the
temperature rises, the liquid expands, flows out of the bulb, and rises in
the tube. As the temperature falls, the mercury or alcohol contracts, and
therefore stands at a lower level in the tube. In order that the amount of
this rise or fall may be accurately known, some definite scale for
measurement must be adopted. The scale commonly used in this country owes
its name to Fahrenheit (born in Danzig in 1686; died in 1736), who was the
first to settle upon the use of mercury as the liquid in thermometers, and
also the first definitely to adopt two fixed points in graduating the
scale. The division of this scale into 180 deg. between the freezing point
(32 deg.) and the boiling point (212 deg.) seems to have been taken from the
graduation of a semicircle. Fahrenheit was a manufacturer of all sorts of
physical apparatus, and it has been thought probable that he had some
special facilities for dividing his thermometer tubes into 180 parts.
Mercury is most commonly used as the liquid in thermometers, because it
readily indicates changes of temperature, and because over most of the
world the winter cold is not sufficient to freeze it. The freezing point
of mercury is about 40 deg. below zero (-40 deg. F.). Alcohol, which has a much
lower freezing point, is therefore used in thermometers which are to be
employed in very cold regions. Alcohol thermometers must, for instance, be
used in Northern Siberia, where the mean January temperature is 60 deg. below
zero.

The temperature which meteorologists desire to obtain by the ordinary
thermometer is the _temperature of the free air in the shade_. In order
that thermometers may indicate this temperature, they must, if possible,
be placed in an open space where there is an unobstructed circulation of
the air, and they must be protected from the direct rays of the sun. They
are, therefore, usually _exposed_ inside of a cubical enclosure of wooden
lattice work, in an open space away from buildings, and at a height of 4
to 10 feet above the ground, preferably a grass-covered surface. This
enclosure is called the _shelter_, and its object is to screen the
instrument from the direct and reflected sunshine, to allow free
circulation of air around the bulb, and to keep the thermometer dry.
Sometimes the shelter, instead of being in an open space on the ground, is
built on the roof or against the north wall of a building, or outside of
one of the windows. Fig. 2 shows an ordinary shelter.

A still simpler method of exposure is described in the "Instructions for
Voluntary Observers" (United States Weather Bureau, 1892) as follows:
"Select a north window, preferably of an unoccupied room, especially in
winter. Fasten the blinds open at right angles to the wall of the house.
Fasten a narrow strip 3 inches wide across the window outside, and from 8
to 12 inches from the window-pane. To this fasten the thermometers." If
none of these methods of sheltering the instrument is feasible, the
thermometer may be fastened to the window frame, about a foot from the
window, and so arranged that it can be read from the inside of the room
without opening the window.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

Readings of the thermometer, to the nearest degree of temperature
indicated on the scale by the top of the mercury column, are to be made at
the regular observation hours, and are to be entered in your record book.
Temperatures below zero are preceded by a minus sign (-). A table similar
to that suggested towards the close of the last chapter (p. 8) may be used
in keeping these instrumental records, except that actual thermometer
readings can now be entered in the column headed "Temperature," instead of
using only the general terms _warm_, _cold_, _chilly_, etc. This is a
great gain. You will now be able to give fairly definite answers to many
of the questions asked in Chapter I. Answer these questions with the help
of your thermometer readings, as fully as you can.

The greater part of the Temperate Zone, in which we live, is peculiar in
having frequent and rapid changes of temperature, not only from season to
season, but from day to day, and during a single day. In winter, we are
apt to have a warm wind immediately after a spell of crisp cold weather.
In summer, cloudy, cool days come as a sudden relief when we have been
suffering from intense heat, with brilliant sunshine.

These changes give a variety to our climate which is, on the whole, very
beneficial to man. The North Temperate Zone, with strong seasonal changes
in temperature and weather, is the zone of the highest civilization and of
the greatest energy of man. In the Torrid Zone the changes of temperature
are, as a whole, small. There is no harsh winter. The climate is
monotonous and deadening, rather than enlivening. Man finds it easy to
live without much work, and the inhabitants of the Torrid Zone have not,
as a rule, advanced far in the scale of civilization.

The =wind vane= used by the Weather Bureau is about 6 feet long, and has a
divided tail made of pine boards, the two pieces making an angle of
22-1/2 deg. The purpose of this divided tail is to steady the vane and to
make it more sensitive to light currents.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.]

A common wind vane on a neighboring church steeple or flagstaff will
usually serve sufficiently well for ordinary use. Observations of wind
direction (to eight compass points) are to be made as a part of the
ordinary weather record, and to be entered in the proper column of the
record book.

The =rain gauge= consists of three separate parts, the receiver _A_, the
overflow attachment _B_, and the measuring tube _C_.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.]

The inside diameter of the top of the receiver in the standard Weather
Bureau gauge is 8 inches (at _a_ in Fig. 4). This receiver has a
funnel-shaped bottom, so that all the precipitation which falls into it
is carried at once into the measuring tube _C_, whose inside height is 20
inches. The diameter of the measuring tube is 2.53 inches. The rain
falling into the receiver _A_ fills this tube _C_ to a depth greater than
the actual rainfall, in proportion as the area of the receiver is greater
than the area of the measuring tube. In the standard Weather Bureau gauges
the ratio of the area of the receiver to the area of the measuring tube is
such that the depth of rainfall is magnified exactly ten times. The object
of magnifying the amount in this way is to measure a very small quantity
more easily. The narrow portion of the receiver [_d_] fits over the top of
the measuring tube, holding the latter firmly in place and preventing any
loss of rainfall. An opening, _e_, in the lower portion of the receiver
[_d_], just on a level with the top of the measuring tube, serves as an
escape for the water into the overflow attachment _B_, in case the
rainfall is so heavy as to more than fill the tube. The inside diameter of
the overflow attachment is the same as that of the receiver (8 inches), as
will be seen from the figure.

The rain gauge should be firmly set in a wooden frame, so arranged that
the overflow attachment can readily be removed from the frame. The box in
which the gauge is sent out by the manufacturer is usually designed to
serve as a permanent support when the gauge is set up. The best exposure
for the gauge is an open space unobstructed by large trees, buildings, or
fences. Fences, walls, or trees should be at a distance from the gauge not
less than their own height. If an exposure upon the ground is out of the
question, the gauge may be placed upon a roof, in which case the middle of
a flat unobstructed roof is the best position.

=Records of Rainfall.=--Every rain gauge is provided with a measuring
stick, which is graduated into inches and hundredths. It must be
remembered that the amount of rain in the measuring tube is, by the
construction of the ordinary gauge, ten times greater than the actual
rainfall. This fact need not, however, be taken into account by the
observer, for the numbers used in graduating the measuring sticks have all
been divided by 10, and therefore they represent the actual rainfall. The
graduations on the stick indicate hundredths of an inch, and should appear
in the record as decimals (.10, .20, etc.). Ten inches of water in the
measuring tube will reach the mark 1.00 on the stick; thus 1.00 denotes 1
inch and zero hundredths of rain. One inch of water in the tube will reach
the .10 mark, indicating 10/100 of an inch. The shortest lines on the
measuring stick denote successive hundredths of an inch. Thus, if water
collected comes to a point halfway between the .10 and .20 lines, the
amount is .15 inch, and so on. In measuring rainfall, the stick is lowered
through the bottom of the receiver into the measuring tube, and on being
withdrawn the wet portion of the stick at once shows the depth of water in
the tube. Care must be exercised to put the end of the stick where the
numbering begins first into the gauge, and to pass the stick through the
middle of the tube. After each observation the gauge should be emptied
and drained, and immediately put back into place. When the total rainfall
more than fills the measuring tube, _i.e._, exceeds 2 inches, the receiver
should first be lifted off and the tube removed with great care so as not
to spill any water. After emptying the tube, the surplus water in the
overflow attachment must be poured into the measuring tube and measured.
The amount of rainfall thus found is to be added to the 2 inches contained
in the measuring tube in order to give the total rainfall. If any water
happens to be spilled during its removal from the overflow attachment,
then the amount in the tube will be less than 2 inches, and it must be
carefully measured before the latter is emptied.

During the winter season, in all regions where snow forms the chief part
of the precipitation, the only portion of the rain gauge that need be
exposed is the overflow attachment. The snow which falls into the gauge
may be measured by first melting the snow and then measuring the water as
rainfall. About 10 inches of snow give, on the average, 1 inch of water,
but the ratio varies very greatly according to the density of the snow.
Besides the measurement of the melted snow collected in the gauge, it is
customary to keep a record of the depth of snowfall in inches, as measured
by means of an ordinary foot rule or a yardstick, on some level place
where there has been little or no drifting.

Measurements of rain and snowfall are usually made once a day, at 8 P.M.,
and also at the end of every storm. Enter the amounts of precipitation in
the column of the table headed "Amount" and state always whether it is
_rain_ or _melted snow_ that you have measured. When there has been no
precipitation since the last observation, an entry of 0.00 should be made
in the column of the record book devoted to "Amount of Precipitation."
When the amount is too small to measure, the entry T (for _Trace_) should
be made.

Continue your non-instrumental record of the time of beginning and ending
of the precipitation as before. Whenever it is possible, keep a record of
the total amount of precipitation in each storm, noting this under
"Remarks." Try to answer such questions as are asked in Chapter I with the
help of your instrumental record of the rain and snowfall. Note what
depths of snow in different snowstorms are necessary, when melted, to make
1 inch of water.

=The Mercurial Barometer.=--Air has weight. At sea level this weight
amounts to nearly 15 pounds on every square inch of surface. Imagine a
layer of water, 34 feet deep, covering the earth. The weight of this water
on every square inch of surface would be the same as the weight of the
air. Under ordinary circumstances the weight of the air is not noticeable,
because air presses equally in all directions, and the pressure within a
body is the same as that outside of it. On account of this equal pressure
in all directions, we speak of the _pressure_ of the air instead of its
_weight_. The effects of the air pressure may become apparent when we
remove the air from a surface. By working the piston of a pump in a well
we may remove the pressure on the surface of the water in the tube of the
pump. When this is done, a column of water rises in the tube until the top
of this column is about 34 feet above the level of the rest of the water
in the well. The pressure of the atmosphere on the water _outside_ of the
tube holds up this column of water _inside_ the tube.

Galileo (1564-1642) first taught that the air has weight. His pupil
Torricelli went a step further. Torricelli saw that the column of water,
held up by the pressure of the air in the tube of the pump, must exactly
balance a similar column of air, reaching from the surface of the water in
the well to the top of the atmosphere. The column of water, in other
words, exactly replaces this column of air. While working on this subject,
Torricelli, in 1643, performed the following experiment. He filled a glass
tube, about 3 feet long and closed at one end, with mercury. After
filling the tube, he put his finger over the open end and inverted the
tube over a vessel containing mercury. When the lower end of the tube was
below the surface of the mercury in the dish, he removed his finger. At
once the column of mercury fell in the tube until it stood at a height of
about 30 inches, leaving a vacant space of 6 inches in the upper part of
the tube. This space has since been known as the _Torricellian vacuum_.
Torricelli had proved what he had expected, viz., that the height of the
column of liquid which replaces and balances an air column of the same
size varies with the weight of that liquid. It takes a column of water 34
feet long to balance a similar column of air. It takes a column of mercury
only 30 inches long to balance a similar column of air. This, as
Torricelli correctly explained, is due to the fact that mercury is so much
(13-1/2 times) heavier than water. The column of water weighs just the
same as the column of mercury. Each column exactly balances an air column
of similar cross-section. The height of the water or of the mercury is a
measure of the weight or pressure of the air. The greater the pressure on
the surface of the water in the well, the higher will be the top of the
water in the pump. The greater the pressure on the surface of the mercury
in the basin, in the experiment of Torricelli, the higher will the mercury
column stand in the glass tube. Either water or mercury may be used as the
liquid in the barometer. Otto von Guericke (1602-1686), of Magdeburg,
constructed a water barometer about 36 feet long, which he attached to the
outside wall of his house. This barometer he used for some months, and
made predictions of coming weather changes by means of it. A water
barometer is, however, a very unwieldy thing to manage, on account of the
great length of its tube. Furthermore, water barometers cannot be used in
any countries where the temperatures fall to freezing. Mercury is the
liquid universally employed in barometers. It is so heavy that only a
small column of it is necessary to balance the atmospheric pressure.
Therefore a mercurial barometer is portable. Further, mercury does not
freeze until the temperature falls to 40 deg. below zero.

Another name which should be mentioned in connection with the barometer is
that of Blaise Pascal, who in 1648 fully confirmed Torricelli's results.
Pascal saw that if the mercury column is really supported by the weight of
the air, the height of that column must be less on the summit of a
mountain than at the base, because there is less air over the top of the
mountain than at the bottom, and therefore the weight of the air must be
less at the summit. To prove this, he asked his brother-in-law Perrier,
who lived at Clermont, in France, to carry the Torricellian tube up the
Puy-de-Dome, a mountain somewhat over 3500 feet high in Central France.
This Perrier did on Sept. 19, 1648, and he found, as predicted by Pascal,
that the mercury fell steadily in the tube as he went up the mountain, and
that at the top of the mountain the column of mercury was over 3 inches
shorter than at the base.

The pressure of the atmosphere is a weather element which, unlike the
other elements already considered, cannot be observed without an
instrument. We cannot, under ordinary conditions at sea level, determine
by any of our senses whether the pressure is rising or falling, or is
stationary. The pressure on the upper floors of one of our high buildings
is shown by a barometer to be considerably lower than it is at the level
of the street below, and yet we notice no difference in our feelings at
the two levels.

It is only when we ascend far into the air, as in climbing a high mountain
or in a balloon, that the much-diminished pressure at these great heights
perceptibly influences the human body. Mountain climbers and aeronauts who
reach altitudes of 15,000 to 20,000 feet or more, usually suffer from
headache, nausea, and faintness, which have their cause in the reduced
pressure encountered at these heights.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.]

The ordinary mercurial barometer in use to-day is, essentially, nothing
more than the glass tube and vessel of Torricelli's famous experiment. A
simple form of the mercurial barometer is shown in Fig. 5. It consists of
a glass tube about one-quarter of an inch in inside diameter and about 36
inches long. This tube, closed at the top and open at the bottom, is
filled with mercury, the lower, open end dipping into a cup of mercury
known as the _cistern_. The space above the mercury is a vacuum. The
mercury extends inside the tube to a height corresponding to the weight or
pressure of the air, the vertical height of the top of the mercury column
above the level of the mercury in the cistern, in inches and hundredths of
an inch, being the barometer reading. At sea level the normal barometer
reading is about 30 inches. There is an opening near the top of the
cistern, at the back of the instrument, through which the air gains access
to the mercury and holds up the mercury column. It will readily be seen
that, as the mercury in the tube rises, the level of the mercury in the
cistern falls, and _vice versa_, so that there is a varying relation
between the two levels. In order to have the reading accurate, it is
necessary that the surface of the mercury in the cistern should be just at
the zero of the barometer scale when a reading is made. To accomplish
this, the bottom of the cistern consists of a buckskin bag which may be
raised or lowered by means of a thumb-screw, seen at the lower end of the
instrument. The level of the mercury may thus be changed and adjusted to
the top of a black line, marked on the outside of the cistern, and which
indicates the zero of the scale. Before making a reading, the surface of
the mercury in the cistern must be raised or lowered until it _just_
reaches this black line. Then the top of the mercury column will give the
pressure of the air. The reading is made on an aluminum scale at the top
of the wooden back on which the tube is mounted, this scale being
graduated both on the English and on the metric system. This barometer may
be hung against the wall of a room.

The =aneroid barometer= (Greek: _without fluid_), although less desirable
in many ways than the mercurial, is nevertheless a useful instrument for
rough observations. The aneroid is not good for careful scientific work,
because its readings are apt to be rather inaccurate. To be of much value
in indicating exact pressures, it should frequently be compared with and
adjusted to a mercurial barometer. An ordinary aneroid barometer is shown
in Fig. 6.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

In this instrument the changes in atmospheric pressure are measured by
their effects in altering the shape of a small metallic box, known as the
_vacuum chamber_. The upper and lower surfaces of this box are made of
thin circular sheets of corrugated German silver, soldered together around
their outer edges, thus forming a short cylinder. From this the air is
exhausted, and it is then hermetically sealed. A strong steel spring,
inside or outside of the vacuum chamber, holds apart the corrugated
surfaces, which tend to collapse, owing to the pressure of the external
air upon them. An increase or decrease in the air pressure is accompanied
by an approach, or a drawing apart, of the surfaces of the chamber. These
slight movements are magnified by means of levers, a chain, and a spindle,
and are made to turn an index hand or pointer on the face of the
instrument. The outer margin of the face, underneath the glass, is
graduated into inches and hundredths, and the pressure may thus be read at
once.

As the tension of the steel spring varies with the temperature, aneroids
are usually _compensated_ for temperature by having one of the levers made
of two different metals, _e.g._, brass and iron, soldered together, or
else by leaving a small quantity of air in the vacuum chamber. This air,
when heated, expands, and thus tends to compensate for the weaker action
of the spring, due to the higher temperature. At best, however, this
compensation is but imperfect, and this fact, together with the friction
of the different parts, the changes in the spring with age, and the need
of frequent adjustments, makes aneroids rather inaccurate. They may be
adjusted to mercurial barometers by means of a small screw, whose head may
be found on the lower surface of the instrument. The words _fair_,
_stormy_, etc., which frequently appear on the face of aneroid barometers,
are of little use in foretelling weather changes, as no definite pressures
always occur with the same weather conditions. The instrument should be
tapped lightly a few times with the finger before a reading is made. The
second pointer, which is often found in aneroids, is set by the observer
on the position marked by the index hand when he makes his reading. The
difference between the pressure marked by this set pointer and that shown
by the index hand at the next observation is the measure of the change of
pressure in the interval.

Another column must now be added to the record book (preferably between
the columns devoted to _temperature_ and _wind_) to receive the "Pressure
in Inches and Hundredths."

Is the pressure constant (_i.e._, are the readings always the same) or
does it vary? If it varies, is there any apparent system in the
variations? Is there a tendency to a daily maximum? To a daily minimum? If
so, about what time do these occur, respectively? What is the average
variation (in inches and hundredths) in the course of a day? What is the
greatest difference in pressure which you have observed in a day? What is
the least? Does the pressure seem to vary more or less in the colder
months than in the warmer? Has the height of the mercury column any
relation to the weather? Are we likely to have rainy weather with rising
barometer? Is the velocity of the wind related to the pressure in any way?
How? Can you make any general rules for weather prediction based on the
action of the barometer? What rules?

=Tabulation of Observations.=--The tables suggested in the preceding
chapter can be used unchanged with the simple instruments just described.

=Summary of Observations.=--At the end of each month summarize your
instrumental observations in the following way:--

_Temperature._--Add together all your temperature readings; divide their
sum by the total number of observations of temperature, and the quotient
will give you a sufficiently accurate _mean_ or _average_ temperature for
the month in question. It is to be noted that the mean monthly
temperatures obtained from these observations will be much more accurate
if the thermometer readings are made at 7 A.M. and 7 P.M., at 8 A.M. and 8
P.M., etc., and the mean of these is taken; or if the mean is derived from
the maximum and the minimum temperatures, discussed in Chapter III. This
_mean_ temperature should be written at the bottom of the temperature
column, and marked "Mean." The mean monthly temperature is one of the
important meteorological data in considering the climatic conditions of
any place.

_Wind._--Determine the frequency of the different wind directions by
counting the total number of times the wind has blown from N., NE., E.,
etc., during the month. The wind which you have observed the greatest
number of times is the _prevailing_ wind. It may, of course, happen that
two or three directions have been observed an equal number of times. The
number of calms should also be recorded.

_Rainfall._--The total monthly precipitation is obtained by adding
together all the separate amounts of rainfall noted in your record book,
and expressing the total, in inches and hundredths, at the bottom of the
rainfall column. You now have the means for comparing one month's rainfall
with that of another month, and of seeing how these amounts vary.

Examine carefully also your _non-instrumental observations_. See whether
you can draw any general conclusions as to the greater prevalence of
cloud, or of rain or snow, in one month than in another. Did the last
month have more high winds than the one before? Or than the average? Were
the temperature changes more sudden and marked? Was there more or less
precipitation than in previous months?




                              CHAPTER III.

                  ADVANCED INSTRUMENTAL OBSERVATIONS.


The instruments for more advanced study are the following: _maximum and
minimum thermometers, wet and dry-bulb thermometers, sling psychrometer,
standard barometer, thermograph, barograph, and anemometer_.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

=Maximum and minimum thermometers= are usually mounted together on a
board, as shown in Fig. 7, the lower one of the two being the maximum, and
the upper the minimum. In the view of the instrument shelter (Fig. 2),
these thermometers are seen on the left. The minimum thermometer, when
attached to its support, is either exactly horizontal or else slopes
downward somewhat towards the bulb end, as shown in Fig. 7. These
instruments, as their names imply, register the highest and the lowest
temperatures, respectively, which occur during each day of 24 hours. The
maximum thermometer is filled with mercury. Its tube is narrowed just
above the bulb, in such a way that the mercury passes through the
constriction with some difficulty. As the temperature rises, the mercury,
in expanding, is forced out from the bulb through this narrow passage.
When the temperature falls, however, the mercury above this point cannot
get back into the bulb, there being nothing to force it back. The length
of the mercury column, therefore, remains the same as it was when the
temperature was highest, and the instrument is read by observing the
number of degrees indicated by the top, or right-hand end, of the mercury
column upon the scale. After reading, the thermometer is set by removing
the brass pin upon which the bulb end rests, and whirling the instrument
rapidly around the pin to which its upper end is fastened. By this process
the mercury is driven back into the bulb, past the constriction. Care must
be taken to stop the thermometer safely while it is whirling. After
setting, the reading of the maximum thermometer should agree closely with
that of the ordinary or dry-bulb thermometer.

The _minimum thermometer_ is filled with alcohol, and contains within its
tube a small black object, called the _index_, which resembles a
double-headed black pin. The instrument is so constructed that this index,
when placed with its upper, or right-hand end, at the surface of the
alcohol, is left behind, within the alcohol, when the temperature rises.
On the other hand, when the temperature falls, the index is drawn towards
the bulb by the surface cohesion of the alcohol, the top or right end of
the index thus marking the lowest temperature reached. The upper end of
the thermometer is firmly fastened, by means of a screw, to a brass
support, while the lower end rests upon a notched arm. In setting this
instrument, the bulb end is raised until the index slides along the tube
to the end of the alcohol column. The thermometer is then carefully
lowered back into the notch just referred to. Maximum and minimum
thermometers need to be read only once a day, in the evening. The
temperatures then recorded are the highest and lowest reached during the
preceding 24 hours. The observation hour is preferably 8 P.M., but if this
is inconvenient, or impracticable, the reading may be made earlier in the
afternoon. The hour, however, should be as late as possible, and should
not be varied from day to day. The maximum temperature sometimes occurs in
the night. The maximum and the minimum temperatures should be entered
every day, in a column headed "Maximum and Minimum Temperatures," in your
record book.

The =wet- and dry-bulb thermometers=, together commonly known as the
_psychrometer_ (Greek: _cold measure_), are simply two ordinary mercurial
thermometers, the bulb of one of which is wrapped in muslin, and kept
moist by means of a wick leading from the muslin cover to a small vessel
of water attached to the frame (see Fig. 8). The wick carries water to the
bulb just as a lamp wick carries oil to the flame. The psychrometer is
seen inside the shelter on the right in Fig. 2.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.]

The air always has more or less moisture in it. Even the hot, dry air of
deserts contains some moisture. This moisture is either invisible or
visible. When invisible it is known as _water vapor_, and is a gas. When
visible, it appears as _clouds_ and _fog_, or in the liquid or solid form
of _rain_, _snow_, and _hail_. The amount of moisture in the air, or the
_humidity_ of the air, varies according to the temperature and other
conditions. When the air contains as much water vapor as it can hold, it
is said to be _saturated_. Its humidity is then high. When the air is not
saturated, evaporation goes on into it from moist surfaces and from
plants. Water which changes to vapor is said to _evaporate_.

This process of evaporation needs energy to carry it on, and this energy
often comes from the heat of some neighboring body. When you fan yourself
on a very hot day in summer, the evaporation of the moisture on your face
takes away some of the heat from the skin, and you feel cooler. The drier
the air on a hot day, the greater is the evaporation from all moist
bodies, and hence the greater the amount of cooling of the surfaces of
those bodies. For this reason a hot day in summer, when the air is
comparatively dry, that is, not saturated with moisture, is cooler, other
things being equal, than a hot day when the air is very moist. Over
deserts the air is often so hot and dry that evaporation from the face and
hands is very great, and the skin is burned and blistered. Over the
oceans, near the equator, the air is hot and excessively damp, so that
there is hardly any cooling of the body by evaporation, and the conditions
are very uncomfortable. This region is known as the "Doldrums."

The temperatures that are felt at the surface of the skin, especially
where the skin is exposed, as on the face and hands, have been named
_sensible temperatures_. Our sense of comfort in hot weather depends on
the _sensible_ temperatures. These sensible temperatures are not the same
as the readings of the ordinary (dry-bulb) thermometer, because our
sensation of heat or cold depends very largely on the amount of
evaporation from the surface of the body, and the temperature of
evaporation is obtained by means of the wet-bulb thermometer. Wet-bulb
readings at the various stations of the Weather Bureau are entered on
all our daily weather maps. In summer (July) the sensible (wet-bulb)
temperatures are 20 deg. below the ordinary air temperature in the dry
southwestern portion of the United States (Nevada, Arizona, Utah). The
mean July sensible temperatures there are from 50 deg. to 65 deg.; while on the
Atlantic coast, from Boston to South Carolina, they are between 65 deg. and
75 deg. Hence over the latter district the temperatures actually experienced
in July average higher than in the former.

Unless the air is saturated with water vapor, the evaporation from the
surface of the wet-bulb thermometer will lower the temperature indicated
by that instrument below that shown by the dry-bulb thermometer next to
it, from which there is no evaporation. The drier the air, the greater the
evaporation, and therefore the greater the difference between the readings
of the two thermometers. By means of tables, constructed on the basis of
laboratory experiments, we may, knowing the readings of the wet and
dry-bulb thermometers, easily determine the _dew-point_ and the _relative
humidity_ of the air--important factors in meteorological observations
(see Chapter XXVI). In winter, when the temperature is below freezing, the
muslin of the wet-bulb thermometer should be moistened with water a little
while before a reading is to be made. The amount of water vapor which air
can contain depends on the temperature of the air. The higher the
temperature, the greater is the capacity of the air for water vapor. Hence
it follows that, if the temperature is lowered when air is saturated, the
capacity of the air is diminished. This means that the air can no longer
contain the same amount of moisture (invisible water vapor) as before.
Part of this moisture is therefore changed, _condensed_, as it is said,
from the condition of water vapor into that of cloud, fog, rain, or snow.
The temperature at which this change begins is called the _dew-point_ of
the air.

The _relative humidity_ of the air is the ratio between the amount of
water vapor which the air contains at any particular time and the total
amount which it could contain at the temperature it then has. Relative
humidity is expressed in percentages. Thus, air with a relative humidity
of 50% has just half as much water vapor in it as it _could_ hold.

It is found that the readings of the wet-bulb thermometer are considerably
affected by the amount of air movement past the bulb, and that in a light
breeze, or in a calm, the reading does not give accurate results as to the
humidity of the general body of air outside the shelter.

To overcome this difficulty another form of psychrometer has been devised.

The =sling psychrometer= (Fig. 9) consists simply of a pair of wet and
dry-bulb thermometers, fastened together on a board or a strip of metal,
to the upper part of which a cord with a loop at the end is attached. In
this form of psychrometer there is no vessel of water and no wick, but the
muslin cover of the wet-bulb thermometer must be thoroughly wet, by
immersion in water, just before each observation. The instrument is then
whirled around the hand at the rate of about 12 feet a second. After
whirling about 50 times, note the readings, and then whirl the instrument
again, and so on, until the wet bulb reaches its lowest reading. The
lowest reading of the wet bulb, and the reading of the dry bulb at the
same time, are the two observations that should be recorded. Take care to
have the muslin wet throughout each observation, and in windy weather
stand to leeward of the instrument, so that it may not be affected by the
heat of your body. The true reading may be obtained within two or three
minutes.

[Illustration: FIG. 9.]

Make observations with the wet-bulb thermometer or the sling psychrometer
as a part of your regular daily weather record. Note the temperatures
indicated by the wet and dry bulbs, and, by means of the table in Chapter
XXVI, obtain the _dew-point_ and the _relative humidity_ of the air at
each observation. Enter these data in your record book, in a column headed
"Humidity," and subdivided into two columns, one for the dew-point and one
for the relative humidity.

[Illustration: FIG. 10.]

By means of observations with the psychrometer you will be able to answer
such questions as the following:--

Does the relative humidity vary from day to day? Has it any relation to
the direction of the wind? To the state of the sky? To precipitation? Does
it show any _regular_ variations during the course of a day? How does a
high degree of relative humidity affect you in cold weather? In hot
weather? Between what limits of percentages does the relative humidity
vary? Do the changes come gradually or suddenly? Are these changes related
in any way to the changes in the other weather elements? How do the
sensible temperatures vary? In what weather conditions do the sensible
temperatures differ most from the air temperatures? In what seasons?
Compare the sensible temperatures obtained by your own observations with
the sensible temperatures at various stations of the Weather Bureau, as
given on the daily weather map. Are there any fairly regular differences
between the sensible temperatures observed at your own station and the
Weather Bureau stations?

=Standard Mercurial Barometer.=--A simple form of barometer has been
described in Chapter II. The ordinary standard mercurial barometer used by
the Weather Bureau (Fig. 10) has the glass tube containing the mercury
surrounded by a thin brass covering, through which openings are cut, near
the top, on the front and back, exposing to view the glass tube and the
top of the mercury column. On one side of this opening there is a strip of
metal, graduated to inches and tenths or twentieths, by means of which the
height of the barometer is determined. This strip, for barometers used at
or near sea level, is about 4 inches long, the variations in pressure
under normal conditions not exceeding that amount. In addition to this
fixed scale there is a small scale, also graduated, which may be moved up
and down the opening in the enclosing brass case by means of a milled head
outside and a small rack and pinion inside the brass case. This movable
scale, known as the _vernier_ from the name of its inventor, Vernier, is
an ingenious device, by means of which more accurate readings of the
barometer can be made than is possible with the ordinary fixed scale. A
_vernier_ graduated into twenty-five parts enables the observer to make
readings accurately to the one-thousandth part of an inch. On the front of
the barometer there is a small thermometer, known as the _attached
thermometer_. The bulb of this thermometer, concealed within the metal
casing of the barometer, is nearly in contact with the glass tube
containing the mercury. The air, upon whose weight the height of the
mercury column depends, gains access to the top of the cistern through
leather joints, by which the cistern is joined to the glass tube.

Mercurial barometers of the Weather Bureau pattern are best hung in a
barometer box, fastened securely against the wall of a room, where there
is a good light on the instrument and where the temperature is as constant
as possible.

In all accurate work certain corrections have to be applied to barometer
readings to make them strictly comparable. These are: (1) _correction for
altitude_; (2) _correction for temperature_; and (3) _correction for
latitude_. The first is necessary because of the fact that the weight of
the air decreases upwards, and a barometer reading on a hill or a
mountain is not comparable with one at sea level unless the former has
been corrected by the addition of the weight of the column of air between
the hill or mountain and sea level. The correction for temperature is
rendered necessary by the fact that with increasing temperature the
mercury in the barometer tube expands more than the metallic scale,
because mercury is more sensitive to heat, and unless some allowance is
made for this fact, barometer readings made at high temperatures will show
somewhat too high a pressure. The readings of the attached thermometer
give the temperature of the mercury and are used in making the corrections
for temperature. As gravity varies from a maximum value at the poles to a
minimum value at the equator, barometer readings made at different
latitudes are _corrected for latitude_, which means that they are reduced
to latitude 45 deg., midway between 0 deg. and 90 deg. The correction is +0.08'' at
the poles and -0.08'' at the equator. Tables for use in correcting
barometer readings for altitude and for temperature are given in Chapter
XXVI.

[Illustration: FIG. 11.]

=Thermograph and Barograph.=--Two instruments of much interest are the
self-recording thermometer, or _thermograph_, and the self-recording
barometer, or _barograph_, manufactured by Richard Brothers of Paris. In
the thermograph (Fig. 11) there is a brass cylinder around which a sheet
of paper is wound, this paper being divided into two-hour intervals of
time and into spaces representing differences of 5 deg. or 10 deg. of temperature.
The cylinder revolves once in a week, being driven by clock-work contained
within it. The thermometer consists of a flat, bent, hollow brass tube
containing alcohol, one end of the tube being fastened to the metallic
frame seen at the right of the figure, and the other end being free to
move. With rising temperature, the liquid in the tube expanding more than
the metallic casing, by reason of its greater sensitiveness to heat, tends
to straighten the tube, while with falling temperature the elasticity of
the tube turns it into a sharper curve. These movements of the free end of
the tube are carried through a train of levers and thus magnified. At the
end of the last lever is a metallic pen filled with ink, which rests
lightly against the paper on the revolving drum. A rise or fall in
temperature is thus recorded by a rise or fall of the pen on the record
sheet, and a continuous curve of temperature is secured. The pen of the
thermograph should be frequently adjusted to make the reading of the
instrument accord with that of a standard mercurial thermometer, and care
should be taken to have the clock keep good time. These adjustments can
readily be made by means of a screw and a regulator, respectively. The
thermograph should be exposed in the instrument shelter with the other
thermometers. The sheets should be changed, the clock wound, and the pen
filled once a week, preferably on Monday, at 8 A.M., or at noon.

The continuous records written by a thermograph are a valuable addition to
the fragmentary observations which are the result of eye readings of the
ordinary thermometer. From the former any omitted thermometer readings may
be supplied. The interest of thermograph records may be seen in the
following figure (Fig. 12), in which curves traced under different
conditions are reproduced. Curve _a_ illustrates a period of clear
warming weather at Nashua, N. H., April 27-30, 1889. Curve _b_ was traced
during a spell of cloudy weather at Nashua, accompanying the passage of a
West India hurricane, Sept. 13-16, 1889. Curve _c_ illustrates the change
from a time of moderate winter weather to a cold spell (Nashua, Feb.
22-25, 1889). Curve _d_ exhibits a steady fall of temperature from the
night of one day over the next noon to the following night, during the
approach of a winter cold spell (Nashua, Jan. 19-21, 1889). Curve _e_
shows a reverse condition, viz., a continuous rise of temperature through
a night from noon to noon (Nashua, Dec. 16-17, 1888). Curve _f_ shows the
occurrence of a high temperature at night, caused by warm southerly winds,
followed by cold westerly winds (Cambridge, Mass., Nov. 30-Dec. 1, 1890).
Curve _g_ illustrates the sudden rise of temperature due to the coming of
a hot, dry wind (chinook) at Fort Assiniboine, Mont. (Jan. 19, 1892). A
study of such records leads to the discovery of many important facts,
which would be completely lost sight of without a continuous record.

[Illustration: FIG. 12.]

The =barograph= (Fig. 13) is very similar to the thermograph in general
appearance. The essential portion of this instrument consists of a series
of six or eight hollow shells of corrugated metal screwed one over the
other in a vertical column. These shells are exhausted of air, and form,
in reality, an aneroid barometer which is six or eight times as sensitive
as the ordinary single-chamber aneroid. The springs for distending the
shells are inside. The base of the column being fixed, the upper end rises
and falls with the variations in pressure. The movements of the shells are
magnified by being carried through a series of levers, and, as in the
thermograph, the motion is finally given to a pen at the end of the long
lever. The compensation for temperature is the same as in the ordinary
aneroid. A small quantity of air is left in one of the shells to
counteract, by its own expansion at increased temperature, the tendency of
the barometer to register too low on account of the weakening of the
springs. The barograph may be placed upon a shelf in the schoolroom, where
it can remain free from disturbance, and yet where the record may be
clearly seen. The general care of the barograph is the same as that of the
thermograph. Brief instructions concerning the care and adjustments of
these instruments are sent out by the makers with each instrument.
Frequent comparison with a mercurial barometer is necessary, the
adjustment of the barograph being made by turning a screw, underneath the
column of shells, on the lower side of the wooden case.

[Illustration: FIG. 13.]

Barograph records are fully as interesting as those made by the
thermograph. The week's record traced on the writer's barograph during a
winter voyage from Punta Arenas, Strait of Magellan, to Corral, Chile,
Aug. 2-9, 1897, gives a striking picture of the rapid and marked changes
of pressure during seven days in the South Pacific Ocean (Fig. 14).

[Illustration: FIG. 14.]

The following figure (Fig. 15) presents samples of barograph curves traced
at Harvard College Observatory, Cambridge, Mass., during Feb. 22-28, 1887,
and May 17-23, 1887. The February curve illustrates well the large and
irregular fluctuations in pressure, characteristic of our winter months;
while the May curve shows clearly the more even quality of the pressure
changes in our summer.

The =anemometer= shown in Fig. 16 is the most generally used of
instruments designed to measure wind velocity. It is known as the Robinson
cup anemometer, and consists of four hollow hemispherical cups upon arms
crossed at right angles, and all facing the same way around the circle.
The cross-arms are fixed upon a vertical axis having an endless screw at
its lower end. When the cups move around, the endless screw turns two
dials which register the number of miles traveled by the wind. The Weather
Bureau pattern of anemometer has the dials mounted concentrically, the
outer dial having 100, and the inner, 99 divisions. The revolutions of
the outer dial are recorded on the inner one, and in making an observation
of the number of miles traveled by the wind, the hundreds and tens of
miles are taken from the inner dial, and the miles and tenths from the
outer one. Take from the inner scale the hundreds and tens of miles
contained between the zero of that scale and the zero of the outer one.
Take on the outer scale the miles and tenths of miles contained between
the zero of that scale and the index point of the instrument. The sum of
these readings is the reading of the instrument at the time of the
observation.

[Illustration: FIG. 15.]

[Illustration: FIG. 16.]

Wind velocities are recorded in miles per hour. The velocity of the wind
at any particular moment is found by noting the number of miles and tenths
of miles recorded by the index before and after an interval of one minute,
or of five minutes, and multiplying this rate by 60 or by 12 as the case
may be. This gives the number of miles an hour that the wind is blowing at
the time of observation.

Records of wind velocity (in miles per hour) are to be made at each
regular observation hour, and are to be entered in the proper column of
the table in your record book. The total wind movement in each 24 hours is
to be observed once a day, always at the same hour, and is to be entered
in its proper column in the record book.

The total wind movement for 24 hours is obtained as follows: Subtract the
reading of the anemometer at 12 noon (or 8 A.M., or any other hour) of the
preceding day from the reading taken at 12 noon or the corresponding hour
of the current day, and the difference will be the total movement of the
wind. When the reading of the anemometer is less than the reading of the
preceding day, 990 miles should be added to it; and the remainder, after
subtracting the reading of the preceding day, will be the total wind
movement for the 24 hours. Thus: To-day's reading = 91 miles; yesterday's
reading = 950 miles. Hence 91 + 990 = 1081 miles, 1081 - 950 = 131 miles
= total wind movement for the current day.

By means of an electrical attachment the anemometer may be arranged so as
to record continuously on a cylinder rotating by clock-work, a pen making
a mark on the paper for every mile traveled by the wind. The anemometer
should be exposed on top of a building where there is as little
obstruction as possible by tall chimneys, higher buildings, and the like.

The =nephoscope= (Greek: _cloud observer_) is an instrument used in
determining the directions of movement of clouds. These directions, if
determined by ordinary eye observation of the clouds as they drift across
the sky, are apt to be quite inaccurate. The best method of observing
directions of cloud movement is to note the path of the reflection of the
cloud in a horizontal mirror, the observer looking at this reflection
through an eyepiece which remains fixed during the operation. Such a
horizontal mirror, adapted to measure the direction of motion of clouds,
is known as a _nephoscope_. A form of nephoscope devised by Mr. H. H.
Clayton, of Blue Hill Observatory, Hyde Park, Mass., is shown in Fig. 17.

[Illustration: FIG. 17.]

This instrument consists of a circular mirror, 13 inches in diameter,
sunk in a narrow circular wooden frame, on top of which is fastened a
brass circle, S.W.N.E., divided to 5 deg. of arc. Inside of this fixed circle
is a movable brass one, to which is attached a brass arc, _BD_, rising
above the mirror and bearing a movable eyepiece, _C_. This arc forms the
quadrant of a circle whose center is the center of the mirror, and is
divided to 5 deg. of arc. Its top is held vertically over the center of the
mirror by two rods fastened to the movable circle. The center of the
mirror _A_ is marked by cross lines on the reflecting surface, the glass
of which is thin. In order to determine the motion of a cloud, the movable
circle and tripod are revolved until the arc _BD_ is in the vertical plane
formed by the cloud, the center of the mirror, and the eye. The eyepiece
_C_ is then shifted until some point of the cloud image, as seen through
the eyepiece, is projected on the intersection of the cross lines on the
glass. The cloud image soon changes its position, and while the eye is
still held at the eyepiece, a small index is placed on the part of the
cloud image which previously appeared on the center of the mirror. If now
a ruler be placed on the index and the center of the mirror and extended
backward, its intersection with the divided scale will give the direction
from which the cloud came to the nearest degree, if all the measurements
have been accurately made. The height of the cloud above the horizon is
found by reading the position of the eyepiece on the divided quadrant.

The nephoscope may be placed on a table, out of doors in fine weather, or
close to a window from which the clouds to be observed can be seen. The
instrument must be properly oriented, so that the four points marked N.,
E., S., and W. on the frame shall correspond to the four chief compass
directions. The zero (0 deg.) of the movable brass scale is usually put at the
S. Hence, if a cloud is found moving from exactly SW., the angular
measurement of its direction of motion will be 45 deg. If a cloud is moving
from due E., the angular measurement of its direction of motion will be
270 deg.

When the sky is completely overcast with a uniform layer of cloud, it is
usually impossible to determine any direction of movement, because of the
difficulty of selecting and keeping in view, on the mirror, some
particular point of cloud.

Observations with the nephoscope may be made as often as is desired, and
should be entered in an appropriate column in the record book.

=Tabulation of Observations.=--A convenient form of table which may be
used in the complete instrumental observations is given on the next page.
The number of columns and their arrangement may, of course, be varied to
suit the number and the nature of the records.

=Summary of Observations.=--In the preceding chapter we have seen how to
obtain the mean monthly temperature from the daily observations, the
frequency of the different wind directions for each month, and the total
monthly precipitation. The addition of the new instruments, the maximum
and minimum thermometers, the psychrometer, the anemometer, and the
nephoscope, enables us to obtain the following additional data in our
monthly summaries.

_Temperature._--The _mean monthly temperature_ may be obtained from the
maximum and minimum temperatures as follows: Add together all the daily
maximum and minimum temperatures for a month. Divide this sum by the total
number of readings you have made of each thermometer (_i.e._, one reading
of the maximum and one of the minimum each day, making two readings a
day), and the result will be the _mean monthly temperature_ derived from
the maximum and minimum temperature. This is a more accurate mean
temperature than the one noted in the summary of the preceding chapter.

Add together all the maximum temperatures noted during one month. Divide
this sum by the number of observations, and the result gives the _mean
maximum temperature_ for the month.

                    TABLE FOR METEOROLOGICAL RECORD.

                                            DATE.                            
   +--------------------------------------+--------------------------------+ 
                                            HOUR.                            
   +--------------------------------------+--------------------------------+ 
                                            PRESSURE (in                     
                                             inches).                        
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            DRY BULB.                        
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            WET BULB.        TEMPERATURE.    
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            MAX.                             
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            MIN.                             
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            DEW-POINT.                       
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            RELATIVE         HUMIDITY.       
                                             HUMIDITY.                       
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            DIRECTION.                       
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            VELOCITY         WIND.           
                                             (miles per                      
                                             hr.).                           
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            TOTAL MILES                      
                                              PER DAY.                       
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            KIND.                            
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            AMOUNT (in                       
                                             tenths).                        
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            DIRECTION OF     CLOUDS.         
                                             MOVEMENT.                       
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            ANGULAR                          
                                             ALTITUDE                        
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            TIME OF                          
                                             BEGINNING                       
                                             AND ENDING.                     
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            KIND.            PRECIPITATION.  
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+                 
                                            AMOUNT.                          
   +--------------------------------------+----------------+---------------+ 
                                            REMARKS.                         
                                                                             
                                                                             
                                                                             
                                                                             

A similar operation applied to the minimum temperatures gives the _mean
minimum temperature_ for the month.

In meteorological summaries it is customary also to include the _absolute
maximum_ and the _absolute minimum_ temperatures, _i.e._, the highest and
lowest single readings of the thermometer made during each month. These
can easily be determined by simple inspection of your record book. Note
also the dates on which the absolute maximum and the absolute minimum
occurred.

The _absolute monthly range_ of temperature is the difference, in degrees,
between the absolute maximum and the absolute minimum.

_Humidity._--The _mean relative_ humidity is obtained by adding together
all the different percentages of relative humidity obtained during the
month, and dividing this sum by the whole number of observations of this
weather element.

_Wind._--The _mean velocity_ of the wind corresponding to the different
wind directions is readily obtained by adding together all the different
velocities (in miles per hour) observed in winds from the different
directions, and dividing these sums by the number of cases. The wind
summaries will thus give the frequency of the different directions during
each month, and the corresponding mean velocities.

The _maximum hourly wind velocity_ is obtained by inspection of the
velocity column.

The _total monthly wind movement_ is readily deduced from the daily
records in the twelfth column of the table on p. 44.

_State of the Sky._--In connection with the more advanced records
described in this chapter, the observations of cloudiness should record
the number of _tenths_ of the sky cloudy, as closely as the amount can be
estimated by eye, instead of indicating the state of the sky as _cloudy_,
_fair_, etc. A detailed record of cloudiness in tenths gives opportunity
to determine the _mean cloudiness_ for each month, by averaging, as in the
case of the other means already described.

If nephoscope observations are made, the monthly summary may include the
_mean direction of cloud movement_ for each month. This is obtained by
adding together all the different angular measurements of directions of
cloud movement, and dividing by the whole number of such observations.

By means of your monthly summaries compare one month with another. Notice
how the means and the extremes of the different weather elements are
related; how they vary from month to month. Are there any _progressive_
changes in temperature, cloudiness, precipitation, etc., from month to
month? What are the changes? Summarize, in a short written statement, the
meteorological characteristics of each month as shown by your tables.




       PART III.--EXERCISES IN THE CONSTRUCTION OF WEATHER MAPS.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                         THE DAILY WEATHER MAP.


The first daily weather maps were issued in connection with the Great
Exhibition of 1851 in London. The data were collected by the Electric
Telegraph Company and transmitted to London over its wires. These maps
were published and sold daily (excepting Sundays) from Aug. 8 to Oct. 11,
1851. The first official weather map of the United States Weather Service
was prepared in manuscript on Nov. 1, 1870, and on Jan. 14, 1871, the work
of manifolding the maps for distribution was begun at Washington. Previous
to the publication of this government map, Professor Cleveland Abbe had
issued in Cincinnati, with the support of the Chamber of Commerce of that
city, the first current weather maps published in the United States (Feb.
24 to Dec. 10, 1870). In France, daily weather maps have been published
continuously since Sept. 16, 1863.

Two things are essential for the publication of a daily synoptic weather
map; _first_, simultaneous meteorological observations over an extended
area; and, _second_, the immediate collection of these observations by
telegraph. The weather map of the United States is based on simultaneous
observations made at about 150 stations in different parts of this
country, besides several cooperating stations in Canada, Central America,
Mexico, and the West Indies. At each of our stations, whose location may
be seen on any weather map, the Weather Bureau employs one or more
observers, who, twice a day, at 8 A.M. and 8 P.M., "Eastern Standard
Time," make regular observations of the ordinary weather elements, _i.e._,
temperature, pressure, humidity, wind direction and velocity,
precipitation, cloudiness, etc. The instruments at these stations are all
standard, but the completeness of the equipment varies according to the
importance of the station. The 8 A.M. observations are the only ones now
generally used in the preparation of weather maps. When the Weather
Service was first established, tri-daily charts were for some time issued
from the central office in Washington. On April 1, 1888, the number was
reduced to two a day, and on Sept. 30, 1895, a further change was made,
and now there is but one map a day.

The 8 A.M. observations, as soon as made, are corrected for certain
instrumental errors, and the barometer readings are reduced to sea level.
The data are then put into cipher, not for secrecy, but to facilitate
transmission and to lessen the chances of error, and are telegraphed from
all parts of the country to the central office of the Weather Bureau in
Washington. Besides sending their own messages to Washington, all the
important stations of the Weather Bureau receive, by a carefully devised
system of telegraphic circuits, a sufficient number of the reports from
other stations to enable their observers to draw and issue local weather
maps.

The observations are received at the central office of the Weather Bureau
in Washington by special wires, and are usually all there within an hour
after the readings were made. As the messages are received in the forecast
room, they are translated from the cipher back again into the original
form, and the data are entered upon blank maps. The official charged with
making the forecasts then draws upon the maps lines of equal temperature,
lines of equal pressure, lines of equal pressure-change and
temperature-change during the past 24 hours. These several sets of lines,
together with those showing the regions of precipitation during the past
24 hours, furnish the necessary data on which the forecasts can be based.
In other words, the forecast official has before him, on the several maps,
a bird's-eye view of the weather conditions over the United States as they
were an hour before, and also of the changes that have taken place in
these conditions during the preceding 24 hours. Thus, by knowing the
general laws which govern the movements of areas of high and low
temperature, of fair and stormy weather, across the country, he can make a
prediction as to the probable conditions which any state or section of the
country will experience in 12, 24, or 36 hours.

In a later chapter some suggestions will be given for studies of
forecasting.

The forecasts made in Washington, and printed on the Washington daily
weather map, relate to all sections of the United States, and include
predictions of cold waves, killing frosts, storm winds, river floods, and
the like, besides the ordinary changes in weather conditions. These
forecasts, as soon as made, are at once given to the local newspapers and
to the press associations. They are also sent by telegraph to all regular
stations of the Weather Bureau, and to all stations at which cautionary or
storm signals are to be displayed, along the Atlantic or Gulf coasts, and
on the Great Lakes.

The Washington weather map is about 24 by 16 inches in size, and is newly
lithographed each day. The total number of maps issued from the central
office during the fiscal year ending June 30, 1898, was 310,250. In
addition to these, there are now 84 stations of the Weather Bureau in
different parts of the country, at which daily weather maps are issued and
local forecasts made. These latter forecasts are made by a corps of local
forecast officials, each of whom has to make the weather prediction for
his own district. At first, and until within a few years, one predicting
officer in Washington made all the forecasts for the country, but it was
found better to have the country divided into geographical sections, over
each one of which the meteorological conditions are fairly similar, and to
have a local forecast official in charge of each section. These local
forecast officials have the double advantage of being able to study the
weather conditions over the whole country, as sent them by telegraph each
morning, and also of knowing the special peculiarities of their own
regions. This enables them to make more accurate predictions than can be
made by an official who may be one or two thousand miles distant, in
Washington.

The greater portion of the maps issued at the map stations outside of
Washington are prepared by what is known as the chalk-plate process,
suggested by Mr. J. W. Smith, local forecast official at Boston. This
process is as follows: A thin covering of specially prepared chalk, 1/8 of
an inch in thickness, is spread upon a steel plate of the size of the
prospective weather map. On this chalk are engraved, by means of suitable
instruments, the various weather symbols, the lines of equal pressure and
of equal temperature, and the wind arrows. The plate is then stereotyped
in the ordinary way, and printed on a sheet prepared for the purpose,
which has a blank outline map of the United States at the top, and space
in the lower half for the forecasts, summary, and tables.

The size of the chalk-plate map itself is 10 by 6-1/2 inches; the size of
the whole sheet, which includes also the text and tables, 16 by 11 inches.
Weather maps prepared by the chalk-plate process are now issued from 28 of
the 84 stations which publish daily maps. At the remaining stations the
maps are prepared by a stencil process, the size of the map being 13-1/2
by 22 inches. The total number of weather maps issued at the various
stations during the fiscal year 1897-1898 was 5,239,300.

Besides recording the usual meteorological data, and publishing weather
maps and forecasts, the various stations of the Weather Bureau serve as
distributing centers for cold wave, frost, flood, and storm warnings.
These warnings are promptly sent out by telegraph, telephone, and mail.
Besides these usual methods of distributing forecasts, other means have
also been adopted. In some places factory whistles are employed to inform
those within hearing as to the coming weather; railway trains are provided
with flags, whose various colors announce to those who are near the train
fair or stormy weather, rising or falling temperature; and at numerous
so-called "display stations," scattered all over the country, the
forecasts are widely disseminated by means of flags.




                               CHAPTER V.

                              TEMPERATURE.


_A._ =Lines of Equal Temperature.=--Temperature is the most important of
all the weather elements. It is therefore with a study of the distribution
of temperature over the United States, and of the manner of representing
that distribution, that we begin our exercises in map drawing. In carrying
out the work we shall proceed in a way similar to that adopted by the
officials of the Weather Bureau in Washington and at the other
map-publishing stations over the country.

Enter on a blank weather map the temperature readings found in the first
column of the table in Chapter VIII. These readings are given in degrees
of the ordinary Fahrenheit scale [those which are preceded by the minus
sign (-) being below zero], and were made at the same time (7 A.M.,
"Eastern Standard Time") all over the United States. Make your figures
small but distinct, and place them close to the different stations to
which they belong. This is done every morning at the Weather Bureau in
Washington, when the telegraphic reports of weather conditions come in
from all over the country. When all the temperature readings have been
entered on the outline map, you have before you a view of the actual
temperature distribution over the United States at 7 A.M., on the first
day of the series. Describe the distribution of temperature in general
terms, comparing and contrasting the different sections of the country in
respect to their temperature conditions. Where are the lowest
temperatures? Where are the highest? What was the lowest thermometer
reading recorded anywhere on the morning of this day? At what station was
this reading made? What was the highest temperature recorded? And at what
station was this reading made?

Notice that the warmest districts on the map are in Florida, along the
Gulf Coast, and along the coast of California. The marked contrasts in
temperature between the Northwest and the Pacific and Gulf Coasts at once
suggest a reason why Florida and Southern California are favorite winter
resorts. To these favored districts great numbers of people who wish to
escape the severe cold of winter in the Northern States travel every
year, and here they enjoy mild temperature and prevailingly sunny
weather. To the cold Northwest, on the other hand, far from the warm
waters of the Pacific, where the days are short and the sun stands low in
the sky, no seekers after health travel. This annual winter migration
from the cities of the North to Florida and Southern California has led
to the building of great hotels in favored locations in these States, and
during the winter and spring fast express trains, splendidly equipped,
are run from north to south and from south to north along the Atlantic
Coast to accommodate the great numbers of travelers between New York,
Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, and other large northern cities, and the
Florida winter resorts. Southern California also is rapidly developing as
a winter resort, and rivals the far-famed Riviera of Southern Europe as a
mild and sunny retreat from the severe climates of the more northern
latitudes. The control which meteorological conditions exercise over
travel and over habitability is thus clearly shown. Florida and Southern
California are also regions in which, owing to the mildness of their
winter climates, certain fruits, such as oranges and lemons, which are
not found elsewhere in the country, can be grown out of doors, and these
are shipped to all parts of the United States.

Let us take another step in order to emphasize more clearly the
distribution of temperature over the United States on the first day of our
series. Draw a line which shall separate all places having a temperature
_above_ 30 deg. from those having temperatures _below_ 30 deg., 30 deg. being nearly
the freezing point and, therefore, a critical temperature. Evidently this
will help us to make our description of the temperature distribution more
detailed. If this line is to separate places having temperatures _above_
30 deg. from those having temperatures _below_ 30 deg., it must evidently pass
through all places whose temperature is exactly 30 deg. Examine the
thermometer readings entered on your map to see whether there are any
which indicate exactly 30 deg. You will find this reading at Norfolk, Va.,
Wilmington, S. C., Atlanta, Ga., Chattanooga, Tenn., Ft. Smith, Ark., and
Portland, Ore. Through all these stations the line of 30 deg. must be drawn.
Begin the line on the Atlantic Coast at Norfolk, Va., and draw it wherever
you find a thermometer reading of 30 deg. It is best to trace the line
faintly with pencil at first, so that any mistakes can be easily
rectified, and it should be drawn in smooth curves, not in angles. From
Norfolk the line must run southwest through Wilmington, and then westward
through Atlanta, passing just north of Augusta, which has 31 deg. From
Atlanta the line goes northwest through Chattanooga, and thence westward,
curving south of Memphis (28 deg.) and Little Rock (26 deg.), and then
northwestward again through Ft. Smith.

In fixing the _exact_ position of the 30 deg. line south of Memphis and Little
Rock, the following considerations must be our guide: Memphis has 28 deg.;
Vicksburg has 35 deg. Neither of these stations has 30 deg. Suppose, however,
that you had started from Memphis, with a thermometer, and had traveled
very rapidly to Vicksburg. The thermometer reading at starting in Memphis
would have been 28 deg., and at the end of your journey in Vicksburg it would
have been 35 deg., presuming that no change in temperature at either station
took place during the journey. Evidently the mercury rose during the
journey, and in rising from 28 deg. to 35 deg. it must, somewhere on the way, have
stood at exactly 30 deg. Now this place, where the temperature was exactly
30 deg., is the point through which our 30 deg. line ought to pass. How are we to
determine its location? Assume, as is always done in such cases, that the
temperature increased at a uniform rate between Memphis and Vicksburg. The
total rise was from 28 deg. to 35 deg. = 7 deg. In order to find a temperature 7 deg.
higher than at Memphis, you had to travel the whole distance from Memphis
to Vicksburg. Suppose you had only wished to find a temperature 5 deg. higher.
Then, assuming a uniform rate of increase between the two stations, you
would have had to travel only 5/7 of the distance, and your thermometer at
that place would have read 28 deg. + 5 deg. = 33 deg. But assume you had wanted to
find the place where the thermometer stood at 30 deg. In this case you would
have been obliged to go but 2/7 of the total distance from Memphis to
Vicksburg, and at that point your thermometer reading would have been 28 deg.
+ 2 deg. = 30 deg., which is the point we wish to find. In this way, then, when we
do not find the _exact_ temperature we are looking for on the map, we can
calculate where that temperature prevails by noting places which have
temperatures somewhat higher and somewhat lower, and proceeding as in the
case just described. Take another example. Little Rock, Ark., has 26 deg.;
Shreveport, La., has 40 deg. 40 deg. - 26 deg. = 14 deg., which is the total difference.
From 26 deg. to 30 deg. is 4 deg. Therefore a point 4/14 or 2/7 of the distance from
Little Rock to Shreveport should have a temperature of 26 deg. + 4 deg. = 30 deg.,
which is the point we wish to find, and through which our 30 deg. line must
pass.

From Ft. Smith the line cannot go north or northwest or west, because the
temperatures there are all below 30 deg. To the south the temperatures are
all above 30 deg. Evidently there is only one direction in which you can
prolong the line, and that is to the southwest. Temperatures of 30 deg. cannot
be found north of El Paso (28 deg.), because there the temperature distinctly
falls, Santa Fe having 4 deg., Denver, -14 deg., and Cheyenne, -23 deg. Therefore
temperatures _above_ 28 deg. must be found south of El Paso. From Ft. Smith
you may, therefore, continue the 30 deg. line southwest and west, passing
close to El Paso, but to the south of it. In determining the further
course of the 30 deg. line, note that Yuma and all the California stations
have temperatures above 30 deg., while Winnemucca, Nev., has 13 deg., and
Portland, Ore., has exactly 30 deg. From El Paso you may, therefore, continue
the line to the northwest, passing up through Central California parallel
with the coast line, and to the east of all the California stations and of
Roseburg, Ore., and thence running through Portland, Ore., ending just
west of Seattle, Wash. Notice that the 30 deg. line should be nearer to
Sacramento, Cal., with 36 deg., than to Red Bluff with 44 deg.

Thus you have drawn the line which passes through all places that have a
temperature of 30 deg. on the map under discussion. This may be called _a line
of equal temperature_. _Isotherm_, a compound of two Greek words meaning
_equal temperature_, is the name given in meteorology to such lines as
this. You have drawn the isotherm of 30 deg. All parts of the United States
north and east of this line are below 30 deg., while all districts south and
west of it are above 30 deg. You see, therefore, how much easier the drawing
of this one line has made the description of the temperature distribution
over the United States.

Carry this process a step further by drawing the line which shall pass
through all places with a temperature of 40 deg. This line begins at
Jacksonville, Fla. (40 deg.), and runs west, passing between Montgomery, Ala.
(33 deg.), and Pensacola, Fla. (46 deg.). Thence it turns to the northwest,
passing between Vicksburg, Miss. (35 deg.), and New Orleans, La. (48 deg.), and
through Shreveport, La. (40 deg.). From Shreveport it turns to the southwest,
passing to the north and west of Palestine, Tex. (46 deg.), and down through
San Antonio, Tex. (40 deg.). Its further exact location cannot be determined
in Mexico, because there are no observations from Mexican stations, but
the readings at Yuma, Ariz. (41 deg.), and at San Diego (42 deg.), Los Angeles
(44 deg.), San Francisco (45 deg.), Red Bluff (44 deg.), and Cape Mendocino (43 deg.), all
in California, show that the 40 deg. isotherm may be started again just north
of Yuma, and may be carried up through California, nearly parallel with
the Pacific Coast, ending between Cape Mendocino, Cal. (43 deg.), and
Roseburg, Ore. (37 deg.). You have now drawn the isotherms of 30 deg. and of 40 deg.,
and in order to avoid confusion, mark the ends of the first line 30 deg. and
the ends of the second line 40 deg.

Isotherms on weather maps are drawn for every even 10 deg. of temperature.
They are drawn in smooth curves and not in angular sections. Two isotherms
cannot cross one another, for if they did you would have two temperatures,
differing by 10 deg., at the point of crossing, which is obviously impossible.
Complete the chart for this day by drawing the remaining isotherms,
_i.e._, those for 50 deg., 20 deg., 10 deg., 0 deg., -10 deg., -20 deg., and -30 deg., bearing in mind
what has been said in regard to the determination of the positions of
isotherms when the _exact_ temperature you are seeking is not given on the
map.

The dotted lines in Fig. 18 show the positions of the isotherms when
drawn. Notice how clearly the temperature distribution now stands out, and
how simple the description of that distribution has become. Observe that
the isotherms, although more or less irregular, show a good deal of
uniformity in their general courses, and this uniformity is a great
assistance in drawing them. Study the distribution of temperature on this
map, and the positions of the isotherms, very carefully.

Construct isothermal charts for the remaining days of the series. Use a
new blank map for each day, and take the temperature observations from
the table in Chapter VIII. Proceed as in the case of the first day. Draw
the isotherms for every even 10 deg. of temperature, taking care to study the
course of each line before you begin to draw the line. The charts when
completed form a series in which the temperature distribution over the
United States is shown at successive intervals of 24 hours.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--Isotherms. First day.]

In order to bring out the temperature distribution on the maps more
clearly, color (with colored pencils or water colors) all that portion of
each map which lies within the -20 deg. isotherm a dark blue; that portion
which is between the 0 deg. isotherm and the -20 deg. isotherm a somewhat lighter
shade of blue, and those districts which are between 0 deg. and +30 deg. a still
lighter blue. The portion of the map above 30 deg. and below 40 deg. may be left
uncolored, while the districts having temperatures over 40 deg. may be colored
red. In the map for the third day the district which has temperatures
below -50 deg. should be colored darker blue than any shade used on the other
maps, or black, in order to emphasize the extremely low temperatures
there found. Figs. 19-24, on which the isotherms are shown, also
illustrate the appearance of these maps when the different temperature
areas are colored, as has been suggested.

[Illustration: FIG. 19.--Temperature. First Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 20.--Temperature. Second Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 21.--Temperature. Third Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 22.--Temperature. Fourth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 23.--Temperature. Fifth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 24.--Temperature. Sixth Day.]

Study the maps individually at first. Describe the temperature
distribution on each map. Ask yourself the following questions in each
case: Where is it coldest? Where warmest? What is the lowest temperature
on the map? What is the highest? At what stations were these readings
made?

Then compare the successive maps and answer these questions: What changes
have taken place in the intervening 24 hours? In what districts has the
temperature risen? What is the greatest rise that has occurred? Where? In
what districts has the temperature fallen? What was the greatest fall in
temperature and where did it occur? Has the temperature remained nearly
stationary in any districts? In which? You will find it a help in
answering such questions to make out a table of all the stations, and to
indicate in columns, after the names of the stations, the number of
degrees of rise or fall in temperature at each place during the 24-hour
interval between the successive maps. When the temperature is higher at
any station than it was on the preceding day, note this by writing a plus
sign (+) before the number of degrees of rise in temperature. When the
temperature has fallen, put a minus sign (-) before the number of degrees
of fall. Thus, New Orleans, La., had a temperature of 48 deg. on the first
day. On the second it had 33 deg. Therefore the change at New Orleans was
-15 deg. in the 24 hours. At Key West, Fla., the change was +11 deg. in the same
time.

Write a brief account of the temperature distribution on each day of the
series, and of the changes which took place between that day and the one
preceding, naming the districts and States over which the most marked
falls and rises in temperature occurred, with some indication of the
amount of these changes. Note especially the changes in position, and the
extent, of the districts with temperatures below -20 deg.; between 0 deg. and
-20 deg., and between 30 deg. and 0 deg. Write out a clear, concise statement of the
temperature distribution and changes shown on the whole set of six maps.

=Cold Waves.=--The series of charts for these six days furnishes an
excellent illustration of a severe cold wave.

A _cold wave_, as the term is now used by the Weather Bureau, means,
during December, January, and February, a fall in temperature of from 20 deg.
to 16 deg. in 24 hours, with a resulting reduction of temperature to between
0 deg. and 32 deg., and, during the months from March to November inclusive, a
fall of from 20 deg. to 16 deg. in 24 hours, with a reduction of temperature from
16 deg. to 36 deg. During December, January, and February a _cold wave_ means
the following falls and reductions of temperature. Over the Northwestern
States, from western Wisconsin to Montana, including Wyoming, Nebraska,
and western Iowa, and over northeastern New York and northern New
Hampshire, northern Vermont and northern Maine, a fall of 20 deg. or more to
zero or below; over southern New England and adjoining districts, the
Lake region, the central valleys and west to Colorado, including northern
New Mexico and northwestern Texas, a fall of 20 deg. or more to 10 deg. or below;
over southern New Jersey, Delaware, eastern Maryland, Virginia, western
North Carolina, northwestern South Carolina, northern Georgia, northern
Alabama, northern Mississippi, Tennessee, southern Kentucky, Arkansas,
Oklahoma, and southern New Mexico, a fall of 20 deg. or more to 20 deg. or below;
over eastern North Carolina, central South Carolina, central Georgia,
central Alabama, central Mississippi, central and northern Louisiana and
central and interior Texas, a fall of 18 deg. or more to 25 deg. or below; along
the Gulf coasts of Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, over all
of Florida, and over the coasts of Georgia and South Carolina, a fall of
16 deg. or more to 32 deg. or below. From March to November inclusive a _cold
wave_ means falls of temperature of the same amounts over the same
districts, with resulting temperatures of 16 deg., 24 deg., 28 deg., 32 deg., and 36 deg.
respectively.

Notice that the region from which the greatest cold came in this cold wave
is Canada. In that northern country, with its short days and little
sunshine, and its long, cold nights, everything is favorable to the
production of very low temperatures.

Cold waves occur only in winter. In the summer cool spells, with similar
characteristics, may be called _cool waves_.

=Cold-Wave Forecasts.=--A severe cold wave in winter does much damage to
fruit and crops growing out of doors in our Southern States, and to
perishable food products in cars, on the way from the South to supply the
great cities of the North. Therefore it is important that warnings should
be issued giving early information of the coming cold, so that farmers and
fruit growers and shippers may take every precaution to protect their
crops and produce. Our Weather Bureau takes special pains to study the
movements of cold waves and to make forecasts of them, and so well are the
warnings distributed over the country that the fruit growers and the
transportation companies, and the dealers in farm produce, are able every
winter to save thousands of dollars' worth of fruit and vegetables which
would otherwise be lost. Cold-wave warnings are heeded by many persons
besides those who are directly interested in fruits and farm products. The
ranchmen in the West, with thousands of cattle under their charge; the
trainmen in charge of cattle trains; the engineers of large buildings,
such as hotels, stores, and office buildings, who must have their fires
hotter in cold weather,--these and many more watch, and are governed by,
the cold-wave forecasts of our Weather Bureau.

=Mean Annual and Mean Monthly Isothermal Charts.=--We have thus far
considered isothermal charts for the United States only, based on the
temperature observations made at a single moment of time. It is, of
course, possible to draw isothermal charts, the data for which are not
the temperatures at a given moment, but are the mean or average
temperatures for a month or a year. Such charts have been constructed for
other countries besides our own, as well as for the whole world. An
isothermal chart based on the mean annual temperatures is known as a
_mean annual isothermal chart_. These charts show at once the average
distribution of temperature for the month or for the year, just as the
ones we have drawn show the distribution of temperature over the United
States at a single moment.

_B._ =Direction and Rate of Temperature Decrease. Temperature
Gradient.=--Take your isothermal map for the first day and imagine
yourself at Kansas City, Mo. In what direction must you go from Kansas
City in order to enter most rapidly into colder weather? In what direction
must you go from Kansas City in order to enter most rapidly into warmer
weather? Take the case of Salt Lake City. In what direction must you go
from that station in order to enter most rapidly into colder weather? Into
warmer weather? What are the corresponding directions in the case of
Spokane, Wash.? Of Bismarck, N. Dak.? Of Buffalo, N. Y.? Of Montreal,
Que.? Of Portland, Me.? Of Sacramento, Cal.?

Draw a line from Kansas City to the nearest point at which there is a
temperature 10 deg. lower than at Kansas City. Evidently this point is on the
isotherm of 0 deg., and will be found if a line be drawn from Kansas City
towards, and at right angles to, the isotherm of 0 deg. Continue the line
beyond the 0 deg. isotherm in the direction of still lower temperatures,
_i.e._, to the isotherms of -10 deg., -20 deg., and -30 deg. Beyond the isotherm of
-30 deg. the line must stop. Draw similar lines from Seattle, Wash.; Salt Lake
City, Utah; Denver, Col.; St. Paul, Minn.; Cleveland, O.; and New York, N.
Y. Prolong these lines all across the map, so that they will extend from
the regions of highest temperature to those of the lowest. A number of
intermediate lines may also be added. Note that the various directions
followed by these lines are square to, or at right angles to, the
successive isotherms, and that although the lines all run from higher to
lower temperatures, they do not all trend in the same direction. These
lines may be called _lines of decrease of temperature_. Fig. 25 shows a
few of these lines of decrease of temperature drawn for the first day.

Draw similar lines on the other isothermal charts, for the same stations.
Are the directions of temperature decrease the same on these charts as on
the chart for the first day, for Kansas City, Seattle, Salt Lake City,
Denver, St. Paul, Cleveland, New York? Draw lines of decrease of
temperature from the following additional stations: Key West, Fla.; New
Orleans, La.; Charleston, S. C.; El Paso, Tex.; San Diego, Cal.; Hatteras,
N. C.

Compare the directions of these lines on the different days. How do they
change from one day to the next?

[Illustration: FIG. 25.--Temperature Gradients. First Day.]

Next select some line of decrease of temperature on the map for the first
day which begins in Texas, and follow it northward. Where, along this
line, is the decrease of temperature most rapid? Evidently this must be
where the isotherms are closest together, because every isotherm that is
crossed means a change of temperature of 10 deg., and the more isotherms there
are in a given distance, the more rapidly the temperature is changing.
Where the isotherms are closest together, a given decrease of temperature
is passed over in the least distance, or, conversely, a greater decrease
of temperature is experienced in a given distance. Study this question of
rapidity or slowness of temperature decrease on the whole series of
charts. On which of the charts, and where, do you find the most rapid
decrease? The slowest decrease? Is there any regularity in these _rates_
of temperature decrease either on one map or in the whole series of maps?

The term _temperature gradient_ is used by meteorologists to describe the
_direction_ and _rate of temperature decrease_ which we have been
studying.

If we are to compare these rates of temperature change, we must have some
definite scale of measurement. Thus, for example, in speaking of the wind
velocity we say the velocity of the wind is so many miles per hour; in
describing the grade of a railroad we say it is so many feet in a mile. In
dealing with these temperature changes, we adopt a similar scheme. We say:
The rate of temperature decrease is so many degrees Fahrenheit in a
distance of one latitude degree (about 70 miles). In order to make our
measurements, we use a scale of _latitude degrees_, just as, in
calculating railroad grades, we must have a way to measure the miles of
track in which the ascent or descent of the roadbed is so many feet. Take
a strip of paper 6 inches long, with a straight edge, and lay this edge
north and south at the middle of the weather map, along a longitudinal or
meridian line. Mark off on the strip of paper the points where any two
latitude lines cross the meridian line. These latitude lines are five
(latitude) degrees apart. Therefore divide the space between them on your
paper into five divisions, and each of these will measure just one
latitude degree. Continue making divisions of the same size until you have
ten altogether on the strip of paper. Select, on any weather map, some
station lying between two isotherms at which you wish to measure the rate
of temperature decrease. Take, for instance, Buffalo, N. Y., on the first
day. What you want to find is this: What is the _rate of temperature
decrease_, or the _temperature gradient_, at Buffalo? Lay your paper scale
of latitude degrees through Buffalo, from the isotherm of 10 deg. to the
isotherm of 0 deg., and as nearly as possible at right angles to the
isotherms.[3] Count the number of latitude degrees on your scale between
the isotherms of 10 deg. and 0 deg., on a line running through Buffalo. There are,
roughly, about two degrees of latitude in this distance. That is, in the
district in which Buffalo lies, the temperature is changing _at the rate_
of 10 deg. Fahrenheit (between isotherms 10 deg. and 0 deg.) in two latitude degrees.
As our standard of measurement is the amount of change of temperature in
one latitude degree, we divide the 10 (the number of degrees of
temperature) by the 2 (the number of degrees of latitude), which gives us
5 as the rate of decrease of temperature per latitude degree at Buffalo,
N. Y., at 7 A.M., on the first day of the series. The temperature gradient
at Buffalo is therefore 5. The rule may be stated as follows: Select the
station for which you wish to know the rate of temperature decrease or
temperature gradient. Lay a scale of latitude degrees through the station,
and as nearly as possible at right angles to the adjacent isotherms. If
the station is exactly on an isotherm then measure the distance _from_ the
station to the nearest isotherm indicating a temperature 10 deg. lower. The
scale must, however, be laid perpendicularly to the isotherm, as before.
Divide the number of degrees of difference of temperature between the
isotherms (always 10 deg.) by the distance (in latitude degrees) between the
isotherms, and the quotient is the _rate of temperature decrease per
latitude degree_. Or, to formulate the operation:

                              _R = T / D_,

in which _R_ = rate; _T_ = temperature difference between isotherms
(always 10 deg.), and _D_ = distance between isotherms in latitude degrees.
Thus, a distance of 10 latitude degrees gives a rate of 1; a distance of 5
gives a rate of 2; a distance of 2 gives a rate of 5; a distance of 4
gives a rate of 2.5, etc.

[Footnote 3: Unless the isotherms are exactly parallel, the scale cannot
be at right angles to both of them. It should, however, be placed as
nearly as possible in that position.]

Determine the rates of temperature decrease in the following cases:--

_A._ For a considerable number of stations in different parts of the same
map, as for each of the six days of the series.

And, using the school file of weather maps,

_B._ For one station during a winter month and during a summer month,
measuring the rate on each map throughout the month and obtaining an
average rate for the month.

_C._ For a station on the Pacific Coast, and one on the Atlantic Coast
during the same months.

_D._ For a station on the Gulf of Mexico, or in Florida, and one in the
Northwest during a winter month.

_E._ For a station in the central United States, and one on the Pacific
Coast, the Gulf Coast, and the Atlantic Coast, respectively, during
different months of the winter and summer.

The determination of the rates of temperature decrease under these
different conditions over the United States prepares us for an
appreciation of the larger facts, of a similar kind, to be found on the
mean annual and mean monthly isothermal charts of various countries, and
also of the whole world.

=Temperature Gradients on Isothermal Charts of the Globe.=--The mean
annual isothermal charts of the globe (see page 63) bring out some very
marked contrasts in rates of temperature decrease. Thus, along the eastern
side of the North American continent the isotherms are crowded close
together, while on the western coast of Europe they are spread far apart.
Between southern Florida and Maine there is the same change in mean annual
temperature as is found between the Atlantic coast of the Sahara and
central England. The latter is a considerably longer distance, and this
means that the decrease of temperature is much slower on the European
Atlantic coast than on the North American Atlantic coast. In fact, the
rate of temperature decrease with latitude in the latter case is the most
rapid anywhere in the world, in the same distance. These great
contrasts in temperature which occur within short distances along the
eastern coast of North America have had great influence upon the
development of this region, as has been pointed out by Woeikof, an eminent
Russian meteorologist. The products of the tropics and of the Arctic are
here brought very near together; and at the same time intercommunication
between these two regions of widely differing climates is very easy.
Labrador is climatically an Arctic land, and man is there forced to seek
his food chiefly in the sea, for nature supplies him with little on shore,
while southern Florida is quite tropical in its temperature conditions and
in the abundance of its vegetation. Between the Pacific coasts of Asia and
of North America there is a similar but less pronounced contrast, the
isotherms being crowded together on the eastern coast of China and
Siberia, and being spread apart as they cross the Pacific Ocean and reach
our Pacific Coast.

In general, we naturally expect to find that the temperature decreases as
one goes poleward from the equator; from lower latitudes, where the sun is
always high in the heavens, to higher latitudes, where it is near the
horizon, and its warming effect is less. But there are some curious
exceptions to this general rule. The lowest temperatures on the January
isothermal chart (-60 deg.) are found in northeastern Siberia, and not, so far
as our observations go, near the North Pole. If you find yourself at this
"cold pole," as it is called, in Siberia in January, you can reach higher
temperatures by traveling north, south, east, or west. In other words,
here is a case of _increase_ of temperature in a _northerly_ direction, as
well as east, south, and west. Again, there is a district of high
temperature (90 deg.) over southern Asia in July, from which you can travel
south towards the equator and yet reach lower temperatures.

In our winter months the contrasts of temperature in the United States
are, as a rule, violent, there being great differences between the cold of
the Northwest and the mild air of Florida and the Gulf States. In the
summer, on the other hand, the distribution of temperature is relatively
equable, the isotherms being, as a rule, far apart. In summer, therefore,
we approach the conditions characteristic of the Torrid Zone. These are
uniformly high temperatures over large areas. The same thing, on a larger
scale, is seen over the whole Northern Hemisphere. During our winter
months the isotherms are a good deal closer together than they are during
the summer, or, in more technical language, the temperature
gradient between the equator and the North Pole is steeper in winter than
in summer.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                                 WINDS.


The observational work already done, whether non-instrumental or
instrumental, has shown that there is a close relation between the
_direction of the wind_ at any station and the _temperature_ at that
station. Our second step in weather-map drawing is concerned with the
winds on the same series of maps which we have thus far been studying from
the point of view of temperature alone.

In the second column of the table in Chapter VIII are given the wind
directions and the wind velocities (in miles per hour) recorded at the
Weather Bureau stations at 7 A.M., on the first day of the series. Enter
on a blank weather map, at each station for which a wind observation is
given in the table, a small arrow flying _with_ the wind, _i.e._, pointing
in the direction _towards_ which the wind is blowing. Make the lengths of
the wind arrows roughly proportionate to the velocity of the wind, the
winds of higher velocities being distinguished by longer arrows, and those
of lower velocities by shorter arrows. The letters _Lt._ (= light) in the
table denote wind velocities of 5 miles, or less, per hour.

When you have finished drawing these arrows, you will have before you a
picture of the wind directions and velocities all over the United States
at the time of the morning observation on this day. (See solid arrows in
Fig. 26.)

The wind arrows on your map show the wind directions at only a few
scattered points as compared with the vast extent of the United States. We
must remember that the whole lower portion of the atmosphere is moving,
and not merely the winds at these scattered stations. It will help you to
get a clearer picture of this actual movement of the atmosphere as a
whole, if you draw some additional wind arrows between the stations of
observation, but in sympathy with the observed wind directions given in
the table and already entered on your map. These new arrows may be drawn
in broken lines, and may be curved to accord in direction with the
surrounding wind arrows. Heavier or longer lines may be used to indicate
faster winds. (See broken arrows, Fig. 26.)

[Illustration: FIG. 26.--Winds. First Day.]

It is clear that the general winds must move in broad sweeping paths,
changing their directions gradually, rather than in narrow belts, with
sudden changes in direction. Therefore long curving arrows give a better
picture of the actual drift of the atmospheric currents than do short,
straight, disconnected arrows.

Study the winds on this chart with care. Describe the conditions of wind
distribution in a general way. Can you discover any apparent relation
between the different wind directions in any part of the map? Is there
any system whatever in the winds? Write out a brief and concise
description of the results of the study of this map.

Enter on five other blank maps the wind directions given in the table in
Chapter VIII for the other five days of the series, making, as before, the
lengths of the arrows roughly proportionate to the velocity of the wind,
and adding extra broken arrows as suggested. (See Figs. 27-31.)

_A._ Study the whole series of six maps. Describe the wind conditions on
each map by itself, noting carefully any system in the wind circulation
that you may discover. Examine the wind velocities also. Are there any
districts in which the velocities are especially high? Have these
velocities any relation to whatever wind systems you may have discovered?
If so, include in your description of these systems some consideration of
the wind _velocities_ as well as of the wind _directions_.

[Illustration: FIG. 27.--Winds. Second Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 28.--Winds. Third Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 29.--Winds. Fourth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 30.--Winds. Fifth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 31.--Winds. Sixth Day.]

_B._ Compare each map of the series with the map preceding it. Note what
changes in direction and velocity have taken place at individual
stations. Group these changes as far as possible by the districts over
which similar changes have occurred. Compare the wind systems on each map
with those on the map for the preceding day. Has there been any
alteration in the position or relation of these systems? Write for each
day an account of the conditions on that map, and of the changes that have
taken place in the preceding 24-hour interval.

_C._ Write out a short connected account of the wind conditions and
changes illustrated on the whole set of six maps.

In the last chapter we studied the progression of the cold wave of low
temperatures in an easterly direction across the United States. Notice now
the relation of the winds on the successive maps of our series to the
movement of the cold wave. Place your wind charts and isothermal charts
for the six days side by side, and study them together. The temperature
distribution on the second day differs from that on the first. What are
the chief differences? Examine the wind charts for these two days. Do you
detect any differences in the wind directions or systems on these days? Do
these differences help to explain some of the changes in temperature?

Compare the temperature distribution on the second day with that on the
third. What are the most marked changes in the distribution? What changes
in the winds on the corresponding wind maps seem to offer an explanation
of these variations?

Proceed similarly with each map of the series. Formulate, in writing, the
general relation between winds and cold waves, discovered through your
study of these charts.

=Cold Waves in Other Countries.=--Cold waves in the United States come, as
has been seen, from the northwest, that being the region of greatest
winter cold. In Europe, cold waves come from the northeast. This is
because northwest of Europe there is a large body of warm water supplied
by the Gulf Stream drift, and therefore this is a source of warmth and not
of cold. The cold region of Europe is to the northeast, over Russia and
Siberia.

Cold waves have different names in different countries. In southern France
the cold wind from the north and northeast is known as the _mistral_,
derived from the Latin word _magister_, meaning _master_, on account of
its strength and violence. In Russia the name _buran_ or _purga_ is given
to the cold wave when it blows along with it the fine dry snow
from the surface of the ground. This _buran_ is apt to cause the loss of
many lives, both of men and cattle. In the Argentine Republic the coolest
wind is from the southwest. It is known as a _pampero_, from the Spanish
_pampa_, a _plain_.

=Cyclones and Anticyclones.=--A system of winds blowing towards a common
center (such as is well shown over the Gulf States on the weather map for
the second day, and over the middle Atlantic coast on the third day) is
called by meteorologists a _cyclone_. The name was first suggested by
Piddington early in this century. It is derived from the Greek word for
_circle_, and hence it embodies the idea of a circular or spiral movement
of the winds. A system of _outflowing_ winds, such as that over the
northwestern United States shown on the maps for the first five days, and
over the western Gulf States on the sixth day is called an _anticyclone_.
This name was proposed by Galton in 1863, and means the opposite of
_cyclone_.




                              CHAPTER VII.

                               PRESSURE.


_A._ =Lines of Equal Pressure: Isobars.=--One of the most important
weather elements is the _pressure_ of the atmosphere. This has already
been briefly discussed in the sections on the mercurial barometer (Chapter
II). It was there learned that atmospheric pressure is measured by the
number of inches of mercury which the weight of the air will hold up in
the glass tube of the barometer. Our sensation of heat or cold gives us
some general idea as to the air temperature. We can tell the wind
direction when we know the points of the compass, and can roughly estimate
its velocity. No instrumental aid is necessary to enable us to decide
whether a day is clear, fair or cloudy, or whether it is raining or
snowing. Unlike the temperature, the wind, or the weather, the pressure
cannot be determined by our own senses without instrumental aid. The next
weather element that we shall study is pressure.

Proceed as in the case of the thermometer readings. Enter upon a blank
map the barometer readings for the different stations given in the third
column of the table in Chapter VIII. When this has been done you have
before you the actual pressure distribution over the United States at 7
A.M., on the first day of the series. Describe the distribution of
pressure in general terms. Where is the pressure highest? Where lowest?
What are the highest and the lowest readings of the barometer noted on the
map? What is the difference (in inches and hundredths) between these
readings?

[Illustration: FIG. 32.--Isobars. First Day.]

Draw lines of equal pressure, following the same principles as were
adopted in the case of the isotherms. The latter were drawn for every even
10 deg. of temperature. The former are to be drawn for every even .10 inch of
pressure. Every station which has a barometer reading of an even .10 inch
will be passed through by some line of equal pressure. Philadelphia, Pa.,
with 29.90 must be passed through by the 29.90 line; Wilmington, N. C.,
with 30.00, must have the 30.00 line passing through it, etc. Chicago,
with 30.17 inches, must lie between the lines of 30.10 and 30.20 inches,
and nearer the latter than the former. Denver, Col., with 30.35 inches,
must lie midway between the 30.30 and 30.40 lines (Fig. 32).

Lines of equal pressure are called _isobars_, a word derived from two
Greek words meaning _equal pressure_.

Describe the distribution of pressure as shown by the arrangement of the
isobars. Note the differences in form between the isotherms and the
isobars. The words _high_ and _low_ are printed on weather maps to mark
the regions where the pressure is highest and lowest.

Draw isobars for the other days, using the barometer readings given in the
table in Chapter VIII. Figs. 33-38 show the arrangement of the isobars on
these days.

The pressure charts may be colored, as indicated by the shading in these
figures, in order to bring out more clearly the distribution of pressure,
according to the same general scheme as that adopted in the temperature
charts. Color _brown_ all parts of your six isobaric charts over which the
pressures are below 29.50 inches; color _red_ all parts with pressure
above 30.00 inches. Use a _faint shade of brown_ for pressures between
29.50 inches and 29.00 inches, and a _darker shade_ for pressures below
29.00 inches. In the case of pressures over 30.00 inches, use a _pale red_
for pressures between 30.00 and 30.50 inches, and a _darker shade of red_
for pressures above 30.50 inches. By means of these colors the pressure
distribution will stand out very clearly. The scheme of color and shading
may, of course, be varied to suit the individual fancy.

Study the isobaric chart of each day of the series by itself at first.
Describe the pressure distribution on each chart.

Then compare the successive charts. Note what changes have taken place in
the interval between each chart and the one preceding; where the pressures
have risen; where they have fallen, and where they have remained
stationary. Write a brief account of the facts of pressure change
illustrated on the whole series of six charts.

[Illustration: FIG. 33.--Pressure. First Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 34.--Pressure. Second Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 35.--Pressure. Third Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 36.--Pressure. Fourth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 37.--Pressure. Fifth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 38.--Pressure. Sixth Day.]

Compare the charts of temperature and of pressure, first individually,
then collectively. What relations do you discover between temperature
distribution and pressure distribution on the isothermal and the isobaric
charts for the same day? What relations can you make out between the
changes in temperature and pressure distribution on successive days? On
the whole series of maps? Write out the results of your study concisely
and clearly.

Compare the wind charts and the pressure charts for the six days. Is there
any relation between the direction and velocity of the winds and the
pressure? Observe carefully the changes in the winds from day to day on
these charts, and the changes in pressure distribution. Formulate and
write out a brief general statement of all the relations that you have
discovered.

=Mean Annual and Mean Monthly Isobaric Charts.=--We have thus far been
studying isobaric charts based on barometer readings made at a single
moment of time. Just as there are mean annual and mean monthly isothermal
charts, based on the mean annual and mean monthly temperatures, so there
are mean annual and mean monthly isobaric charts for the different
countries and for the whole world, based on the mean annual and mean
monthly pressures. The mean annual and mean monthly isobaric charts of
the world show the presence of great oval areas of low and high pressure
covering a whole continent, or a whole ocean, and keeping about the same
position for months at a time. Thus, on the isobaric chart showing the
mean pressure over the world in January, there are seen immense areas of
high pressure (anticyclones) over the two great continental masses of the
Northern Hemisphere. These anticyclonic areas, although vastly greater in
extent than the small ones seen on the weather maps of the United States,
have the same system of spirally _outflowing_ winds. Over the
northeastern portion of the North Pacific and the North Atlantic, in
January, are seen immense areas of low pressure (cyclones) with spirally
_inflowing_ winds. In July the northern continents are covered by
cyclonic areas, and the central portion of the northern oceans by
anticyclonic areas.

_B._ =Direction and Rate of Pressure Decrease: Pressure Gradient.=--In
Chapter V we studied the direction and rate of temperature decrease, or
temperature gradient. We saw that the direction of this decrease varies in
different parts of the map, and that the rate, which depends upon the
closeness of the isotherms, also varies. An understanding of temperature
gradients makes it easy to study the directions and rates of pressure
decrease, or _pressure gradients_, as they are commonly called. Examine
the series of isobaric charts to see how the lines of pressure decrease
run. Draw lines of pressure decrease for the six isobaric charts, as you
have already done on the isothermal charts. When the isobars are near
together, the lines of pressure decrease may be drawn heavier, to indicate
a more rapid rate of decrease of pressure. Fig. 39 shows lines of pressure
decrease for the first day. Note how the arrangement and direction of
these lines change from one map to the next. Compare these lines with the
lines of temperature decrease.

[Illustration: FIG. 39.--Pressure Gradients. First Day.]

Next study the _rate_ of pressure decrease. This rate depends upon the
closeness of the isobars, just as the rate of temperature decrease depends
upon the closeness of the isotherms. Examine the rates of pressure
decrease upon the series of isobaric charts. On which charts do you find
the most rapid rate? Where? On which the slowest? Where? Do you discover
any relation between rate of pressure decrease and the pressure itself?
What relation?

When expressed numerically, the barometric gradient is understood to mean
the number of hundredths of an inch of change of pressure in one latitude
degree. Prepare a scale of latitude degrees, and measure rates of pressure
decrease, just as you have already done in the case of temperature. In
this case, instead of dividing the difference in temperature between the
isotherms (10 deg. = _T_) by the distance between the isobars (_D_), we
substitute for 10 deg. of temperature .10 inch of pressure (_P_). Otherwise
the operation is precisely the same as described in Chapter V. The rule
may be stated as follows: Select the station for which you wish to know
the rate of pressure decrease or the barometric gradient. Lay your scale
through the station, and as nearly as possible at right angles to the
adjacent isobars. If the station is exactly on an isobar, then measure the
distance _from_ the station to the nearest isobar indicating a lower
pressure. The scale must, however, be laid perpendicularly to the isobars,
as before. Divide the number of hundredths of an inch of pressure
difference between the isobars (always .10 inch) by the number expressing
the distance (in latitude degrees) between the isobars; the quotient is
the rate of pressure decrease per latitude degree. Or, to formulate the
operation,

                            _R_ = _P_ / _D_,

in which _R_ = rate; _P_ = pressure difference between isobars (always .10
inch), and _D_ = distance between the isobars in latitude degrees.

Determine the rates of pressure decrease in the following cases:--

_A._ For a number of stations in different parts of the same map, as,
_e.g._, Boston, New York, Washington, Charleston, New Orleans, St. Louis,
St. Paul, Denver, and on the same day.

_B._ For one station during a winter month and during a summer month,
measuring the rate on each map throughout the month, and obtaining an
average rate for the month.

Have these gradients at the different stations any relation to the
proximity of low or high pressure? To the velocity of the wind?

=Pressure Gradients on Isobaric Charts of the Globe.=--The change from
low pressure to high pressure or _vice versa_ with the seasons, already
noted as being clearly shown on the isobaric charts of the globe,
evidently means that the directions of pressure decrease must also change
from season to season. The rates of pressure decrease likewise do not
remain the same all over the world throughout the year. If we examine
isobaric charts for January and July, we shall find that these gradients
are stronger or steeper over the Northern Hemisphere in the former month
than in the latter.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                                WEATHER.


Hitherto nothing has been said about the _weather_ itself, as shown on the
series of maps we have been studying. By weather, in this connection, we
mean the state of the sky, whether it is clear, fair, or cloudy, or
whether it is raining or snowing at the time of the observation. While it
makes not the slightest difference to our feelings whether the _pressure_
is high or low, the _character of the weather_ is of great importance.

The character of the weather on each of the days whose temperature, wind,
and pressure conditions we have been studying is noted in the table in
this chapter. The symbols used by the Weather Bureau to indicate the
different kinds of weather on the daily weather maps are as follows: [full
moon] clear; [quarter moon] fair, or partly cloudy; [new moon] cloudy;
[circle-R] rain; [circle-S] snow.

Enter on a blank map, at each station, the sign which indicates the
weather conditions at that station at 7 A.M., on the first day, as given
in the table. When you have completed this, you have before you on the map
a bird's-eye view of the weather which prevailed over the United States at
the moment of time at which the observations were taken. Describe in
general terms the distribution of weather here shown, naming the districts
or States over which similar conditions prevail. Following out the general
scheme adopted in the case of the temperature and the pressure
distribution, separate, by means of a line drawn on your map, the
districts over which the weather is prevailingly cloudy from those over
which the weather is partly cloudy or clear. In drawing this line,
scattering observations which do not harmonize with the prevailing
conditions around them may be disregarded, as the object is simply to
emphasize the _general_ characteristics. Enclose also, by means of another
line, the general area over which it was snowing at the time of
observation, and shade or color the latter region differently from the
cloudy one. Study the weather distribution shown on your chart. What
general relation do you discover between the kinds of weather and the
temperature, winds, and pressure?

Proceed similarly with the weather on the five remaining days, as noted in
the table. Enter the weather symbols for each day on a separate blank map,
enclosing and shading or coloring the areas of cloud and of snow as above
suggested. In Figs. 40-45 the cloudy areas are indicated by single-line
shading, and the snowy areas by double-line shading.

Now study carefully each weather chart with its corresponding temperature,
wind, and pressure charts. Note whatever relations you can discover among
the various meteorological elements on each day. Then compare the weather
conditions on the successive maps. What changes do you note? How are these
changes related to the changes of temperature; of wind; of pressure?
Write a summary of the results derived from your study of these four sets
of charts.

[Illustration: FIG. 40.--Weather. First Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 41.--Weather. Second Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 42.--Weather. Third Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 43.--Weather. Fourth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 44.--Weather. Fifth Day.]

[Illustration: FIG. 45.--Weather. Sixth Day.]

=The Weather of Temperate and Torrid Zones.=--The facts of the presence of
clear weather in one region while snow is falling in another, and of the
variability of our weather from day to day in different parts of the
United States, are emphasized by these charts of weather conditions. This
changeableness of weather is a marked characteristic of the greater
portion of the Temperate Zones, especially in winter. The weather maps for
successive days do not, as a rule, show a repetition of the same
conditions over extended regions. In the Torrid Zone it is different. Over
the greater part of that zone the regularity of the weather conditions is
such that, day after day, for weeks and months, the same features are
repeated. There monotony, here variety, is the dominant characteristic of
the weather.




               PART IV.--THE CORRELATIONS OF THE WEATHER
                   ELEMENTS AND WEATHER FORECASTING.




                              CHAPTER IX.

            CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND THE
                               PRESSURE.


The study of the series of weather maps in Chapters V-VIII has made it
clear that some fairly definite relation exists between the general flow
of the winds and the distribution of pressure. We now wish to obtain some
more definite result as to the relation of the direction of the wind and
the pressure. In doing this it is convenient to refer the wind direction
to the _barometric_ or _pressure gradient_ at the station at which the
observation is made. The barometric gradient, it will be remembered, is
the line along which there is the most rapid change of pressure, and lies
at right angles to the isobars (Chapter VII).

[Illustration: FIG. 46.]

Take a small piece of tracing paper, about 3 inches square, and draw upon
it a diagram similar to the one here shown. Select the station (between
two isobars on any weather map) at which you intend to make your
observation. Place the center of the tracing paper diagram over the
station, with the dotted line along the barometric gradient, the minus end
of the line being towards the area of low pressure. Observe into which of
the four sectors (marked _right_, _left_, _with_, _against_) the wind
arrow at the station points. Keep a record of the observation. Repeat the
observation at least 100 times, using different stations, on the same map
or on different maps. Tabulate your results according to the following
scheme, noting in the first column the date of the map, in the second,
third, fourth, and fifth columns the number of winds found blowing _with_,
to the _right_ or _left_ of, and _against_, the gradient.

           TABLE I.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND
                           AND THE PRESSURE.

  +------------+--------+---------+--------+---------+
      DATES       WITH     RIGHT     LEFT    AGAINST  
  +------------+--------+---------+--------+---------+
                                                      
                                                      
                                                      
                                                      
                                                      
  +------------+--------+---------+--------+---------+
      Sums                                            
  +------------+--------+---------+--------+---------+
   Percentages                                        
  +------------+--------+---------+--------+---------+

At the bottom of each column write down the number of cases in that
column, and then determine the percentages which these cases are of the
total number of observations. This is done by dividing the number of cases
in each column by the sum-total of all the observations. When you have
obtained the percentage of each kind of wind direction, you have a
numerical result.

A graphical presentation of the results may be made by laying off radii
corresponding in position to those which divide the sectors in Fig. 46,
and whose lengths are proportionate to the percentages of the different
wind directions in the table. Thus, for a percentage of 20, the radii may
be made 1 inch long, for 40%, 2 inches, etc. When completed, the relative
sizes of the sectors will show the relative frequencies of winds blowing
in the four different directions with reference to the gradient, as is
indicated in Fig. 47.

=The Deflection of the Wind from the Gradient: Ferrel's Law.=--The law of
the deflection of the wind prevailingly to the right of the gradient is
known as _Ferrel's Law_, after William Ferrel, a noted American
meteorologist, who died in 1891. The operation of this law has already
been seen in the spiral circulation of the winds around the cyclone and
the anticyclone, as shown on the maps of our series. In the case of the
cyclone the gradient is directed inward towards the center; in the case
of the anticyclone the gradient is directed outward from the center. In
both cases the right-handed deflection results in a spiral whirl, inward
in the cyclone, outward in the anticyclone. The operation of this law is
further seen in the case of the _Northeast Trade Winds_. These winds blow
from about Lat. 30 deg. N. towards the equator, with wonderful regularity,
especially over the oceans. Instead of following the gradient and blowing
as north winds, these trades turn to the right of the gradient and become
_northeast_ winds, whence their name. From about Lat. 30 deg. N. towards the
North Pole there is another great flow of winds over the earth's surface.
These winds do not flow due north, as south winds. They turn to the
right, as do the trades, and become southwest or west-southwest winds,
being known as the _Prevailing Westerlies_. Ferrel's Law thus operates in
the larger case of the general circulation of the earth's atmosphere, as
well as in the smaller case of the local winds on our weather maps.

[Illustration: FIG. 47.]




                               CHAPTER X.

              CORRELATION OF THE VELOCITY OF THE WIND AND
                             THE PRESSURE.


Prepare a scale of latitude degrees, as explained in Chapter V. Select
some station on the weather map at which there is a wind arrow, and at
which you wish to study the relation of wind velocity and pressure. Find
the rate of pressure change per degree as explained in Chapter VII. Note
also the velocity, in miles per hour, of the wind at the station. Repeat
the operation 100 or more times, selecting stations in different parts of
the United States. It is well, however, to include in one investigation
either interior stations alone (_i.e._, more than 100 miles from the
coast) or coast stations alone, as the wind velocities are often
considerably affected by proximity to the ocean. And, if coast stations
are selected, either onshore or offshore winds should alone be included in
one exercise. The investigation may, therefore, be carried out so as to
embrace the following different sets of operations:--

  _A._ Interior stations.
  _B._ Coast stations with onshore winds.
  _C._ Coast stations with offshore winds.

Enter your results in a table similar to the one here given:--

         TABLE II.--CORRELATION OF WIND VELOCITY AND BAROMETRIC
                               GRADIENT.

For interior (or coast) stations, with onshore (or offshore) winds, in the
United States during the month (or months) of

  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
   Rates of Pressure                                                               
   Change per Latitude  infinity 20-10   10-5    5-       3-1/2-   2-1/2     etc.  
   Degree                 -20                     3-1/2    2-1/2    -2             
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
   Distances between                                                               
   Isobars in Latitude   0-1/2   1/2-1    1-2     2-3      3-4       4-5     etc.  
   Degrees                                                                         
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
                                                                                   
                                                                                   
   Wind Velocities                                                                 
    (miles per hour)                                                               
                                                                                   
                                                                                   
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
         Sums                                                                      
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
         Cases                                                                     
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+
         Means                                                                     
  +--------------------+-------+-------+-------+--------+--------+---------+------+

The wind velocity for each station is to be entered in the column at whose
top is the rate of pressure change found for that station. Thus, if for
any station the rate of pressure change is 3-1/2 (_i.e._, .03 inch in one
latitude degree), and the wind velocity at that station is 17 miles an
hour, enter the 17 in the fourth and fifth columns of the table. When you
find that the rate of pressure change for any station falls into two
columns of the table, as, _e.g._, 10, or 5, or 3-1/3, then enter the
corresponding wind velocity in both those columns.

In the space marked _Sums_ write the sum-total of all the wind velocities
in each column. The _Cases_ are the number of separate observations you
have in each column. The _Means_ denote the average or mean wind
velocities found in each column, and are obtained by dividing the sums by
the cases.

Study the results of your table carefully. Deduce from your own results a
general rule for wind velocities as related to barometric gradients.

=The dependence of wind velocities on the pressure gradient= is a fact of
great importance in meteorology. The ship captain at sea knows that a
rapid fall of his barometer means a rapid rate of pressure change, and
foretells high winds. He therefore makes his preparations accordingly, by
shortening sail and by making everything fast. The isobaric charts of the
globe for January and July show that the pressure gradients are stronger
(_i.e_., the rate of pressure change is more rapid) over the Northern
Hemisphere in January than in July. This fact would lead us to expect
that the velocities of the general winds over the Northern Hemisphere
should be higher in winter than in summer, and so they are. Observations
of the movements of clouds made at Blue Hill Observatory, Hyde Park,
Mass., show that the whole atmosphere, up to the highest cloud level,
moves almost twice as fast in winter as in summer. In the higher
latitudes of the Southern Hemisphere, where the barometric gradients are
prevailingly much stronger than in the Northern, the wind velocities are
also prevailingly higher than they are north of the equator. The
prevailing westerly winds of the Southern Hemisphere, south of latitude
of 30 deg. S., blow with high velocities nearly all the time, especially
during the winter months (June, July, August). These winds are so strong
from the westward that vessels trying to round Cape Horn from the east
often occupy weeks beating against head gales, which continually blow
them back on their course.




                              CHAPTER XI.

           FORM AND DIMENSIONS OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES.


_A._ =Cyclones.=--Provide yourself with a sheet of tracing paper about
half as large as the daily weather map. Draw a straight line across the
middle of it; mark a dot at the center of the line, the letter _N_ at one
end, and the letter _S_ at the other. Place the tracing paper over a
weather map on which there is a fairly well enclosed center of low
pressure (_low_), having the dot at the center of the _low_, and the line
parallel to the nearest meridian, the end marked _N_ being towards the top
of the map. When thus placed, the paper is said to be _oriented_. Trace
off the isobars which are nearest the center. In most cases the 29.80-inch
isobar furnishes a good limit, out to which the isobars may be traced.
Continue this process, using different weather maps, until the lines on
the tracing paper begin to become too confused for fairly easy seeing.
Probably 15 or 20 separate areas of low pressure may be traced on to the
paper. It is important to have all parts of the cyclonic areas represented
on your tracing. If most of the isobars you have traced are on the
southern side of cyclones central over the Lakes or lower St. Lawrence, so
that the isobars on the northern sides are incomplete, select for your
further tracings weather maps on which the cyclonic centers are in the
central or southern portions of the United States, and therefore have
their northern isobars fully drawn.

When your tracing is finished you have a _composite portrait_ of the
isobars around several areas of low pressure. Now study the results
carefully. Draw a heavy pencil or an ink line on the tracing paper, in
such a way as to enclose the average area outlined by the isobars. This
average area will naturally be of smaller dimensions than the outer
isobars on the tracing paper, and of larger dimensions than the inner
isobars, and its form will follow the general trend indicated by the
majority of the isobars, without reproducing any exceptional shapes.

Write out a careful description of the average _form_, _dimensions_
[measured by a scale of miles or of latitude degrees (70 miles = 1 degree
about)] and _gradients_ of these areas of low pressure, noting any
tendency to elongate in a particular direction; any portions of the
composite where the gradients are especially strong, weak, etc.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--This investigation is carried out in precisely the
same manner as the preceding one, except that anticyclones (_highs_) are
now studied instead of cyclones. The isobars may be traced off as far away
from the center as the 30.20-inch line in most cases. When, however, the
pressure at the center is exceptionally high, it will not be necessary to
trace off lower isobars than those for 30.30, or 30.40, or sometimes 30.50
inches.

=Loomis's Results as to Form and Dimensions of Cyclones and
Anticyclones.=--One of the leading American meteorologists, Loomis, who
was for many years a professor in Yale University, made an extended study
of the form and dimensions of areas of low and high pressure as they
appear on our daily weather maps. In the cases of areas of low pressure
which he examined, the average form of the areas was elliptical, the
longer diameter being nearly twice as long as the shorter (to be exact
the ratio was 1.94 : 1). The average direction of the longer diameter he
found to be about NE. (N. 36 deg. E.), and the length of the longer diameter
often 1600 miles. In the case of areas of high pressure, Loomis also
found an elliptical form predominating; the longer diameter being about
twice as long as the shorter (ratio 1.91 : 1), and the direction of trend
about NE. (N. 44 deg. E.). These characteristics hold, in general, for the
cyclonic and anticyclonic areas of Europe also. The cyclones of the
tropics differ considerably from those of temperate latitudes in being
nearly circular in form.




                              CHAPTER XII.

          CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES WITH THEIR
                           WIND CIRCULATION.


_A._ =Cyclones.=--Something as to the control of pressure over the
circulation of the wind has been seen in the preliminary exercises on the
daily weather maps. We now proceed to investigate this correlation further
by means of the composite portrait method. This method is a device to
bring out more clearly the general systems of the winds by throwing
together on to one sheet a large number of wind arrows in their proper
position with reference to the controlling center of low pressure. In this
way we have many more observations to help us in our investigation than if
we used only those which are given on one weather map, and the circulation
can be much more clearly made out.

Provide yourself with a sheet of tracing paper, prepared as described in
Chapter XI. Place the paper over an area of low pressure on some weather
map, with the dot at the center of the _low_, and having the paper
properly oriented, as already explained. Trace off all the wind arrows
around the center of low pressure, making the lengths of these arrows
roughly proportionate (by eye) to the velocity of the wind, according to
some scale previously determined upon. Include on your tracing all the
wind arrows reported at stations whose lines of pressure-decrease converge
towards the low pressure center. Repeat this operation, using other
centers of low pressure on other maps, until the number of arrows on the
tracing paper is so great that the composite begins to become confused. Be
careful always to center and orient your tracing paper properly. Select
the weather maps from which you take your wind arrows so that the
composite shall properly represent winds in all parts of the cyclonic
area.

Deduce a general rule for the circulation and velocity of the wind in a
cyclonic area, as shown on your tracing, and write it out.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--This exercise is done in precisely the same way as
the preceding one, except that anticyclones and their winds are studied
instead of cyclones.

Deduce a general rule for the circulation and velocity of the wind in an
anticyclonic area, as shown on your tracing, and write it out.

=The control of the wind circulation by areas of low and high pressure= is
one of the most important laws in meteorology. Buys-Ballot, a Dutch
meteorologist, first called attention to the importance of this law in
Europe, and it has ever since been known by his name. Buys-Ballot's Law is
generally stated as follows: _Stand with your back to the wind, and the
barometer will be lower on your left hand than on your right._[4] This
statement, as will be seen, covers both cyclonic and anticyclonic systems.
The circulations shown on your tracings hold everywhere in the Northern
Hemisphere, not only around the areas of low and high pressure seen on the
United States weather maps, but around those which are found in Europe and
Asia, and over the oceans as well. Mention has already been made, in the
chapter on isobars (VII), of the occurrence of immense cyclonic and
anticyclonic areas, covering the greater portion of a continent or an
ocean, and lasting for months at a time. These great cyclones and
anticyclones have the same systems of winds around them that the smaller
areas, with similar characteristics, have on our weather maps. A further
extension of what has just been learned will show that if in any region
there comes a change from low pressure to high pressure, or _vice versa_,
the system of winds in that region will also change. Many such changes of
pressures and winds actually occur in different parts of the world, and
are of great importance in controlling the climate. The best-known and the
most-marked of all these changes occurs in the case of India.
During the winter, an anticyclonic area of high pressure is central over
the continent of Asia. The winds blow out from it on all sides, thus
causing general northeasterly winds over the greater portion of India.
These winds are prevailingly dry and clear, and the weather during the
time they blow is fine. India then has its dry season. As the summer comes
on, the pressure over Asia changes, becoming low; a cyclonic area replaces
the winter anticyclone, and inflowing winds take the place of the
outflowing ones of the winter. The summer winds cross India from a general
southwesterly direction, come from over the ocean, and are moist and
rainy. India then has its rainy season. These seasonal winds are known as
_Monsoons_, a name derived from the Arabic and meaning _seasonal_.

[Footnote 4: In the Northern Hemisphere.]

[Illustration: FIG. 48.]

The accompanying figure (Fig. 48) is taken from the _Pilot Chart of the
North Atlantic Ocean_, published by the Hydrographic Office of the United
States Navy for the use of seamen. It shows the wind circulation around
the center of a cyclone which is moving northward along the Atlantic Coast
of the United States. The long arrow indicates the path of movement; the
shorter arrows indicate the directions of the winds. By means of such a
diagram as this a captain is able to calculate, with a considerable degree
of accuracy, the position of the center of the cyclone, and can often
avoid the violent winds near that center by sailing away from it, or by
"lying to," as it is called, and waiting until the center passes by him at
a safe distance. These cyclones which come up the eastern coast of the
United States at certain seasons are usually violent, and often do
considerable damage to shipping. The Weather Bureau gives all the warning
possible of the coming of these _hurricanes_, as they are called, by
displaying _hurricane signals_ along the coast, and by issuing telegraphic
warnings to newspapers. In this way ship captains, knowing of the approach
of gales dangerous to navigation, may keep their vessels in port until all
danger is past. Millions of dollars' worth of property and hundreds of
lives have thus been saved.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

            CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND THE
                              TEMPERATURE.


It is evident, from even the most general observation of the weather
elements, that the temperature experienced at any place is very largely
dependent upon the direction of the wind. Thus, for instance, in the
United States, a wind from some northerly point is likely to bring a lower
temperature than a southerly wind. To investigate this matter more
closely, and to discover how the winds at any station during any month are
related to the temperatures noted at that station, we proceed as
follows:--

Select the Weather Bureau station at which you wish to study these
conditions. Note the direction of the wind and the temperature at that
station on the first day of any month. Prepare a table similar to the
following one.

          TABLE III.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND
                          AND THE TEMPERATURE.


  At ..................... during the Month of ........

  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+-------+-------+
    WIND                                                                      
    DIRECTIONS     N.   NE.   E.   SE.   S.   SW.   W.   NW.                  
  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+               +
                                                                              
  +              +----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+               +
                                                                              
  +              +----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+               +
    TEMPERATURES                                                              
  +              +----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+               +
                                                                              
  +              +----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+                
                                                                              
  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+-------+-------+
    Sums                                                               Total  
  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+-------+-------+
    Cases                                                              Total  
  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+-------+-------+
    Means                                                              Mean   
  +--------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+-------+-------+

Enter the temperature at 8 A.M. on the first day of the month in a column
of the table under the proper wind direction. Thus, if the wind is NE.,
and the temperature 42 deg., enter 42 in the second column of the table.
Repeat the observation for the same station, and for all the other days of
the month, recording the temperatures in each case in their appropriate
columns in the table. Omit all cases in which the wind is _light_, because
winds of low velocities are apt to be considerably affected by local
influences. When the observations for the whole month have been entered in
the table, add up all the temperatures in each column (_sums_). Find the
mean temperature (_means_) observed with each wind direction by dividing
the sums by the number of observations in each column (_cases_). Add all
the sums together; divide by the total number of cases, and the result
will be the mean temperature[5] for the month at the station. The general
effect of the different wind directions upon the temperature is shown by a
comparison of the means derived from each column with the mean for the
month.

[Footnote 5: Derived from the 8 A.M. observations. This does not give the
true mean temperature.]

[Illustration: FIG. 49.]

A graphic representation of the results of this investigation will help to
emphasize the lesson. Draw, as in the accompanying figure (Fig. 49), eight
lines from a central point, each line to represent one of the eight wind
directions. About the central point describe a circle, the length of whose
radius shall correspond to the mean temperature of the month, measured on
some convenient scale. Thus, if the mean temperature of the month is 55 deg.
and a scale of half an inch is taken to correspond to 10 deg. of temperature,
the radius of the circle must be five and a half times half an inch, or
2-3/4 inches. Next lay off on the eight wind lines the mean temperatures
corresponding to the eight different wind directions, using the same scale
(1/2 in. = 10 deg.) as in the previous case. Join the points thus laid off by
a heavy line, as shown in Fig. 49. The figure, when completed, gives at a
glance a general idea of the control exercised by the winds over the
temperatures at the station selected. Where the heavy line crosses a wind
line _inside_ the circle it shows that the average temperature
accompanying the corresponding wind direction is below the mean. When the
heavy line crosses any wind line _outside_ the circle, it shows that the
average temperature accompanying the corresponding wind direction is above
the mean. Such a figure is known as a _wind rose_.

=The cold wave and the sirocco= are two winds which exercise marked
controls over the temperature at stations in the central and eastern
United States. The _cold wave_ has already been described in Chapter V.
It is a characteristic feature of our winter weather. It blows down from
our Northwestern States or from the Canadian Northwest, on the western
side of a cyclone. It usually causes sudden and marked falls in
temperature, sometimes amounting to as much as 50 deg. in 24 hours. The
_sirocco_ is a southerly or southwesterly wind. It also blows into a
cyclone, but on its southern or southeastern side. Coming from warmer
latitudes, and from over warm ocean waters, the sirocco is usually a warm
wind, in marked contrast to the cold wave. In winter, in the Mississippi
Valley and on the Atlantic Coast, the sirocco is usually accompanied by
warm, damp, cloudy, and snowy or rainy weather. The high temperatures
accompanying it (they may be as high as 50 deg. or 60 deg. even in midwinter) are
very disagreeable. Our warm houses and our winter clothing become
oppressive and we long for the bright, crisp, cold weather brought by the
_cold wave_. In summer when a sirocco blows we have our hottest spells.
Then sunstrokes and prostrations by the heat are most common, and our
highest temperatures are recorded. The word _sirocco_ (from
_Syriacus_=Syrian) was first used as the name of a warm southerly wind in
Italy. The cause and the characteristics of the Italian sirocco and of
the American sirocco are similar, and the name may therefore be applied
to our wind as well as to the Italian one. In the Southern Hemisphere, at
Buenos Ayres, Argentine Republic, there is a similar contrast between two
different winds. The _pampero_ is similar in many respects to our cold
wave. It is a dry, cool, and refreshing wind, blowing over the vast level
stretches of the Argentine pampas from the southwest. The _norte_ is a
warm, damp, depressing northerly wind corresponding to our sirocco.




                              CHAPTER XIV.

           CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES AND THEIR
                             TEMPERATURES.


_A._ =Cyclones.=--It follows from the two preceding exercises that some
fairly definite distribution of temperature, depending upon the wind
direction, should exist around areas of low and high pressure. Try to
predict, on the basis of the results obtained in Chapters XII and XIII,
what this relation of temperatures and cyclones and anticyclones is. Then
work out the relation independently of your prediction, by studying actual
cases obtained from the weather maps, as follows:--

[Illustration: FIG. 50.]

Prepare a sheet of tracing paper as shown in Fig. 50. The diameter of the
circle should be sufficiently large to include within the circle the
average area covered by a cyclone on the weather maps. Place the tracing
paper, properly divided in accordance with the figure, over a well-defined
area of low pressure on a weather map, centering and orienting it
carefully. Take the temperature at the station which lies nearest the
center of the figure as the standard. Notice the temperatures at all the
other stations which fall within the limits of the circle, and mark down
at the proper places on the tracing paper, the + or - departures of these
local temperatures from the standard temperature. Thus, if the standard is
37 deg., and a station has a temperature of 46 deg., enter +9 deg. at the proper place
on your tracing paper. Again, if a certain station has 24 deg., enter -13 deg. at
the proper place on the paper. Continue this process until your paper has
all of its divisions well filled. It is best to select all the maps used
in this investigation from the same month, for in that case the data are
more comparable than if different months are taken. When a sufficient
number of examples has been obtained, find the average departure (+ or -)
of the temperatures in each division of the tracing from the central
standard temperature. Express these averages graphically by means of a
_wind rose_, as in the last exercise.

=Another Method.=--The above correlation may be investigated by means of
another method, as follows:--

Prepare a piece of tracing paper by drawing an N. and S. line upon it, and
placing a dot at the center of the line. Lay the paper over an area of low
pressure on any weather map, centering and orienting it properly, as in
the previous exercises. Trace off the isotherms which are near the center
of low pressure. Repeat this process with several maps, selecting
different ones from those used in the first part of this exercise.
Formulate a rule for the observed distribution of temperature, and
determine the reasons for this distribution. Note carefully any effects of
the cyclone upon the temperature gradient.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--The correlation of anticyclones with their
temperatures is studied in precisely the same way as the preceding
correlation. Both methods suggested in the case of cyclones should be used
in the case of anticyclones. When your results have been obtained,
formulate a general rule for the observed distribution of temperature in
anticyclones, and determine the reasons for this distribution.

Find from your composites the average temperature of cyclones and of
anticyclones, and compare these averages.

=The unsymmetrical distribution of temperature around cyclones=, which is
made clear by the foregoing exercises, is very characteristic of these
storms in our latitudes, and especially in the eastern United States.
That this has an important effect upon weather changes is evident, and
will be further noted in the chapter on _Weather Forecasting_. The
cyclones which begin over the oceans near the equator at certain seasons,
and thence travel to higher latitudes,--_tropical cyclones_, so
called,--differ markedly from our cyclones in respect to the distribution
of temperature around them. The temperatures on all sides of tropical
cyclones are usually remarkably uniform, the isotherms coinciding fairly
closely with the isobars. The reason for this is to be found in the
remarkable uniformity of the temperature and humidity conditions over the
surrounding ocean surface, from which the inflowing winds come. In the
case of our own cyclones, in the eastern United States, the warm southerly
wind, or sirocco, in front of the center has very different
characteristics from those of the cold northwesterly wind, or _cold wave_,
in the rear, as has become evident through the preceding exercise. These
winds, therefore, naturally show their effects in the distribution of the
temperatures in different parts of the cyclonic area.




                              CHAPTER XV.

            CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND AND THE
                                WEATHER.


Select a file of daily weather maps for some month. Commencing with the
first map in the set, observe the weather and the direction of the wind at
a considerable number of stations in the same general region (as, _e.g._,
the Lake region, the lower Mississippi Valley, the Pacific Coast, etc.).
Enter each case in a table, similar to Table IV below, by making a check
in the column under the appropriate wind direction and on a line with the
appropriate type of weather.

          TABLE IV.--CORRELATION OF THE DIRECTION OF THE WIND
                            AND THE WEATHER.

At ________ during the Month of ________.

  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
                  N.   NE.   E.   SE.   S.   SW.   W.   NW.  TOTALS PERCENTAGES 
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Clear                                                       D         J      
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Fair                                                        F         K      
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Cloudy                                                      G         L      
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Rain and Snow                                               H         M      
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Totals                                                      A                
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+
   Percentages    B     C   etc.                                                
  +-------------+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+----+-----+------+-----------+

Count every observation of _rain_ or _snow also as cloudy_, for it usually
rains or snows only when the sky is cloudy. Continue your observations on
all the maps for the month you have chosen. Then count up the whole number
of cases of _clear_ weather you have found with north winds, and write
down this sum in the first space, in the column reserved for N. winds. Do
the same with _fair_ and _cloudy_ weather. Add up and enter at the bottom
of the column in the space marked _Totals_ the whole number of
observations of _clear_, _fair_, and _cloudy_ weather you have observed
with N. winds. Then find what percentage of the weather with N. winds was
_clear_, and enter this percentage next to the sum of _clear_ weather
observations, in the first division in the column headed N. Do the same
for _fair_, _cloudy_, and _rainy_ or _snowy_ weather, deriving the
percentages of rain or snow from the total of _clear_ and _fair_ and
_cloudy_. Repeat this process of summarizing in every column. Your
results will then show the percentages of the different kinds of weather
noted with the different wind directions.

The lower division of the table and the last two columns on the right are
to be used for a general summary of the whole investigation. By adding
together all the totals of _clear_, _fair_, and _cloudy_ weather observed
with all the eight wind directions you obtain the whole number of
observations you have made. Enter this in the space marked A, at the right
of the table. From this grand total and the total number of observations
in each column you may find (in percentages) the relative frequencies of
the different wind directions. These should be entered under the totals at
the bottom of each column, in the spaces marked _Percentages_ (spaces B,
C, etc.). The total number of observations of _clear_, _fair_, _cloud_,
and _rain_ or _snow_, noted with all the wind directions, are to be
entered in spaces D, F, G, and H, at the right of the table. From these
totals, and from the grand total in space A, we can determine the relative
frequency (in percentages) of each kind of weather during the month. These
results should be entered in spaces J, K, L, and M.

Study these results carefully. Formulate them in a brief written
statement. Express graphically the following:--

_A._ The percentages of frequency of the different wind directions during
the month.

_B._ The percentages of the different kinds of weather noted during the
whole month for all wind directions.

[Illustration: FIG. 51.]

A wind rose, indicating the percentages of frequency of different winds
during a month, or a year, or several years, may be constructed as shown
in Fig. 51.

A certain convenient scale is adopted as representing a frequency of 10%,
and a circle is drawn with this unit as a radius. A second circle, with a
radius twice as long, represents a frequency of 20%, and a third circle,
with a radius three times as long, represents a frequency of 30%.
Additional circles may be added if necessary. Distances corresponding to
the different percentages of frequency of the eight wind directions are
then laid off along the eight radii of the circles, and the points thus
fixed are joined by a line.

The results asked for under question _B_ may be plotted as a weather rose
on a diagram similar to that above figured. In this case the percentages
of frequency of the different varieties of weather (_clear_, _fair_,
_cloudy_, _stormy_) may be indicated on the same figure by using different
kinds of lines. Thus, a _solid_ line may be employed to represent _clear_
weather; a _broken_ line for _fair_; a _broken and dotted_ line for
_cloudy_; and a _dotted_ line for _stormy_ weather.




                              CHAPTER XVI.

            CORRELATION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES AND THE
                                WEATHER.


_A._ =Cyclones.=--Prepare a piece of tracing paper as shown in Fig. 52,
making the diameter of the outer circle about 1000 miles[6] and of the
inner circle 500 miles. Place this diagram over a cyclone on any weather
map, centering and orienting it carefully. Trace off the weather signs
(indicating _clear_, _fair_, _cloudy_, _rain_ or _snow_) around the
cyclonic center from the map on to the tracing paper, taking only
observations which are not more than halfway from the cyclonic center to
the neighboring anticyclonic center. Repeat this process with successive
weather maps until the diagram is well filled in all its different
divisions.

[Footnote 6: Use the scale of miles given on the weather map.]

_A._ Draw a line on the tracing paper enclosing the average area of
_cloud_ (including _rain and snow_), and a second line enclosing the
average area of _precipitation_ (_rain_ or _snow_).

_B._ Determine the percentages of _clear_, _fair_, _cloudy_, and _stormy_
observations for each division of the tracing paper, _i.e._, (_a_) for the
eight sectors of the large circle; (_b_) for the whole of the small
circle; and (_c_) for the portion of the diagram between the circumference
of the inner circle and the circumference of the outer circle.

[Illustration: FIG. 52.]

_C._ Write out in general terms a description of the weather distribution
in cyclones as illustrated by your own investigation.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--This exercise is done in the same way as the
preceding one, except that anticyclones are substituted for cyclones.

=The association of fair weather with anticyclones and of stormy weather
with cyclones= is one of the most important lessons learned from a study
of the weather maps. The great areas of high and low pressure control our
weather. On land, where daily weather maps are so easily accessible, a
glance at the map serves in most cases to give a fairly accurate idea of
the position and extent of cyclones and anticyclones, and hence also of
the distribution of weather. At sea, on the other hand, the navigator has
no daily weather maps to refer to, and his knowledge of the weather
conditions which he may expect must be gained from his own observations
alone. Of these local observations, the pressure readings are by far the
most important. A falling barometer usually means the approach of a
cyclone, with wind, or storm, or both. A rising barometer, on the other
hand, is usually an indication of the fine weather associated with an
anticyclone. The unsymmetrical distribution of weather, characteristic of
our cyclones in the United States, and also of most cyclones in the
Temperate Zone, is associated with their unsymmetrical form, and the
unsymmetrical distribution of their temperature already studied. Tropical
cyclones have a wonderfully uniform distribution of weather on all sides
of their centers, just as they have a symmetrical form and an even
temperature distribution all around them.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

               PROGRESSION OF CYCLONES AND ANTICYCLONES.


So far no definite study has been made of the changes in the positions of
cyclones and anticyclones. If these areas of stormy and fair weather
always occupied the same geographic positions, the different portions of
the country would always have the same kinds of weather. A knowledge of
the movements of the areas of low and high pressure makes weather
forecasting possible.

_A._ =Cyclones.=--Select a set of daily weather maps for a month. Turn to
the first map of the series. Note the position of the center of low
pressure, and indicate this position on a blank weather map of the United
States by marking down a small circle at the proper place. If there are
two or more areas of low pressure on the map, indicate the position of
each one of them in a similar way. Turn to the second map of the series,
and again enter on the blank map the position of the center of low
pressure. Connect the two positions of each center by a line. This line
may be called the _track_ of the low pressure center. Continue this
process through the whole set of maps, connecting all the new positions
with the last positions of their respective centers. Mark each position
with the appropriate date in small, neat figures. When completed your map
will show at a glance the tracks followed by all the cyclones which
traveled across the United States during the month you selected. Study
these tracks carefully. Notice whether there is any prevailing direction
in which the cyclones move, and whether they show any preference for
particular paths across the country. Can you frame a general rule for the
prevailing direction and path of movement? Are there any cases which do
not accord with the rule? If so, describe them. In what position, with
reference to the cyclonic tracks during the month you are studying, is the
region in which you are now living?

Next determine the _velocities_ with which these cyclones moved. Prepare a
scale of latitude degrees, as described in Chapter V, or of miles, as
given at the bottom of the weather map. Measure the distances, in miles,
between the successive positions of all the cyclonic centers. Divide these
distances by 24 in order to obtain the velocity in _miles per hour_. What
is the highest velocity per hour with which any cyclone moved during the
month? What is the lowest? What is the mean, or average, velocity?

Study the tracks and velocities of cyclones in a similar way during
several other months. Compare the positions of the tracks, and the
velocities of progression, in summer and winter.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--Study the tracks and velocities of anticyclones in
precisely the same manner. Compare the results derived from your
investigations in the two cases.

=Cyclonic Tracks and the Prevailing Westerly Winds.=--The correspondence
in the direction of movement of most of our cyclones and of the
prevailing westerly winds of the Northern Hemisphere (see Chapter IX)
will readily be noted. Our weather maps show us the atmospheric
conditions over the United States alone, and we can therefore trace the
progression of our cyclones over but a limited area of the Northern
Hemisphere. An examination of the daily weather maps of the North
Atlantic and North Pacific Oceans, which are based on observations made
on board ships, and of the weather maps of other countries, shows us that
these atmospheric disturbances which appear on our maps may often be
traced for long distances across oceans and lands, and that they in
reality form a great procession across the northern portion of this
hemisphere, and towards and around the North Pole.

=The average velocity of cyclones in the United States= was carefully
determined by Loomis. His observations show that the mean hourly velocity
of cyclones for the entire year is 28.4 miles, the maximum (34.2 miles)
coming in February, and the minimum (22.6 miles) in August. Over the North
Atlantic Ocean the hourly velocity is 18 miles; in Europe, 16.7 miles. The
greater velocity of cyclonic movement in the United States in winter
recalls what was said at the close of Chapter X concerning the steeper
barometric gradient and the more rapid movement of the whole atmosphere
over the Northern Hemisphere in winter.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

                   SEQUENCE OF LOCAL WEATHER CHANGES.


The next, and last, step in our study of the correlation of the various
weather elements concerns the sequence of weather changes at a station
before, during, and after the passage of a cyclone and of an anticyclone.

_A._ =Cyclones.=--I. Select some station which the weather maps show to
have been directly on the track of a well-developed cyclone, _i.e._, to
have been passed over by the center of the cyclone. Note the weather
conditions at this station, before, during, and after the passage of the
storm. Tabulate your observations according to the following scheme:--

                                TABLE V.

Weather Changes at ________________________ during ______________.

  +-------+----------+---------+-----------+----------+---------+----------------+
    DATES   PRESSURE   TEMPER-     WIND        WIND     WEATHER  DIREC. AND DIST. 
                        ATURE    DIRECTION   VELOCITY            OF STORM CENTER  
  +-------+----------+---------+-----------+----------+---------+----------------+
                                                                                  
                                                                                  
                                                                                  
                                                                                  
                                                                                  
                                                                                  
  +-------+----------+---------+-----------+----------+---------+----------------+

In the last column of the table enter the direction and the distance of
the cyclonic center from the station, at each observation.

II. Select a station which was north of the track of a cyclone, and
tabulate (in a separate table) the weather conditions at that station
before, during, and after the passage of the center.

III. Do the same for a station which was south of the track of a cyclone.
Repeat these observations for several stations.

_B._ =Anticyclones.=--Make a similar series of observations for the
passage of an anticyclone centrally over, north and south of, several
stations.

Study the sequence of the weather changes shown in the various tables.
Deduce a general rule for these changes and write it out.




                              CHAPTER XIX.

                          WEATHER FORECASTING.


In a letter dated at Philadelphia, July 16, 1747, Benjamin Franklin wrote
to his friend Jared Eliot as follows: "We have frequently along the North
American coast storms from the northeast which blow violently sometimes
three or four days. Of these I have had a very singular opinion for some
years, viz.: that, though the course of the wind is from northeast to
southwest, yet the course of the storm is from southwest to northeast; the
air is in violent motion in Virginia before it moves in Connecticut, and
in Connecticut before it moves at Cape Sable, etc. My reason for this
opinion (if the like have not occurred to you) I will give in my next."

In a second letter to the same correspondent, dated Philadelphia, Feb. 13,
1749-50, Franklin states his reasons as follows: "You desire to know my
thoughts about the northeast storms beginning to leeward. Some years
since, there was an eclipse of the moon at nine o'clock in the evening,
which I intended to observe; but before night a storm blew up at
northeast, and continued violent all night and all the next day; the sky
thick-clouded, dark, and rainy, so that neither moon nor stars could be
seen. The storm did great damage all along the coast, for we had accounts
of it in the newspapers from Boston, Newport, New York, Maryland, and
Virginia; but what surprised us was to find in the Boston newspapers an
account of the observation of that eclipse made there; for I thought as
the storm came from the northeast it must have begun sooner at Boston than
with us, and consequently have prevented such an observation. I wrote to
my brother about it, and he informed me that the eclipse was over there an
hour before the storm began. Since which time I have made inquiries from
time to time of travelers, and observed the accounts in the newspapers
from New England, New York, Maryland, Virginia, and South Carolina; and I
find it to be a constant fact that northeast storms begin to leeward, and
are often more violent there than to windward" (Sparks's _Life of
Franklin_, VI, 79, 105, 106).

The fact that our northeast storms come from the southwest, which was
first noticed by Benjamin Franklin some years before he put the suggestion
just quoted in writing, was one of the great contributions to meteorology
made by Americans. Modern weather forecasting essentially depends upon the
general eastward movement of cyclones and anticyclones, with their
accompanying weather conditions.

The daily weather map shows us the actual condition of the weather all
over the United States at 8 A.M., "Eastern Standard Time." The positions
of cyclones and of anticyclones; of areas of clear, fair, cloudy or stormy
weather, and of regions of high or low temperatures, are plainly seen at a
glance. These areas of fair and foul weather, with their accompanying
systems of spiralling winds, move across country in a general easterly
direction. Knowing something of their direction and rate of movement, we
can determine, with greater or less accuracy, their probable positions in
12, 24, 36, or 48 hours. The prediction or foretelling of the weather
which may be expected to prevail at any station or in any district is
_weather forecasting_.

Weather forecasts are usually made on our daily weather maps for 24 hours
in advance. It is by no means an easy thing to make accurate weather
forecasts. Careful study and much practice are required of the forecasters
of the Weather Bureau before they are permitted to make the official
forecasts which are printed on the daily maps and in the newspapers.

A simple extension and application of the principles learned through the
preceding exercises make it possible for us to forecast coming weather
changes in a general way. These suggestions are, however, not at all to be
considered as a complete discussion of this complicated problem.

Weather forecasts include the probable changes in _temperature_, _wind
direction_ and _velocity_, and _weather_. Pressure is not included. Begin
your practice in weather forecasting by considering only the changes that
may be expected at your own point of observation, and at first confine
yourself to predicting temperature changes alone.

=Temperature.=--Provide yourself with a blank weather map. Draw an
isotherm east and west across the map, through your station. Draw a few
other isotherms all the way across the map, parallel with the first one,
and so arranged that they will be equal distances apart, the most
northerly one running through northern Maine and the Northwestern States,
and the most southerly one through southern Florida and Texas. Recalling
what you have already discovered concerning the eastward movement of our
weather conditions, what forecast will you make as to the coming
temperatures at your station? Add some additional east and west isotherms,
so that there will be twice as many on your map as before. What effect
will this change in the temperature distribution on your map have upon
the temperature forecast you make for your station? Formulate a general
rule as to temperature forecasts under the conditions of isothermal
arrangement here suggested.

On a second blank weather map draw an isotherm through your station
inclined from northwest to southeast. Draw a few other isotherms parallel
to the first, and each one representing a temperature 10 deg. higher than that
indicated by the adjacent isotherm on the east. Make a general forecast of
the temperature conditions that may be expected at your station, as to
_kind of change_, if any; _amount of change_, and _rapidity of change_. Of
the isotherms just drawn, erase every second one; still, however, letting
those that are left represent differences of temperature of 10 deg. What
forecast will you now make as to temperature? How does this forecast
compare with that just made?

Now draw twice as many isotherms on your map as you had in the first
place, still letting these lines represent differences of temperature of
10 deg. in each case. Make a forecast of the kind, amount, and rapidity of
temperature change at your station under the conditions represented on
this map. How does this forecast compare with the two just made? Formulate
a general rule governing temperature forecasts in cases of isothermal
arrangement such as those here considered.

Take another blank map. Draw through your station an isotherm inclined
from northeast to southwest. Draw other isotherms parallel to this, west
of your station, letting each successive isotherm represent a temperature
10 deg. lower than that indicated by the adjacent isotherm on the east. Make a
temperature forecast for your station under these conditions. Diminish and
increase the number of isotherms on your map, as suggested in the
preceding example, making temperature forecasts in each case, and
comparing the three sets of forecasts. Formulate a general rule for
temperature forecasts made under these systems of isotherms.

Make temperature forecasts from the daily weather maps for your own
station, using the knowledge that you have already gained as to the
progression of cyclones and anticyclones (Chapter XVII), and as to the
temperature distribution in these areas (Chapter XIV), to help you in this
work. Study each day's map carefully before you decide on what you will
say. Then write out your own forecast, and afterwards compare your
forecast with that made by the Weather Bureau. Note also, by reference to
your own instrumental observations, whether the succeeding temperature
conditions are such as you predicted.

=Wind Direction.=--The weather maps already studied taught us that our
winds habitually move in spirals. The composite picture of the wind
circulation around cyclones and anticyclones (Chapter XII) further
emphasized this important fact. Evidently this law of the systematic
circulation of the winds around centers of low and high pressure may be
utilized in making forecasts of wind direction.

Applying the knowledge already gained concerning cyclonic and anticyclonic
wind circulations, ask yourself what winds a station should have which is
within the range of the cyclonic wind system, and is in the following
positions with reference to the center: _northeast_, _north_, _northwest_,
_east_, _at the center_, _west_, _southeast_, _south_, _southwest_. Ask
yourself precisely the same questions with reference to a station within
an anticyclonic wind system. Write out a general rule for the kinds of
wind changes which may be expected to take place under these different
conditions.

When a station is south of the track of a passing cyclone its winds are
said to _veer_, and the change in the direction of its winds is called
_veering_. A station north of the track of a passing cyclone has a change
of direction in its winds which is known as _backing_, the winds
themselves being said to _back_.

=Wind Velocity.=--What general relation between wind velocities and areas
of low and high pressure did you discover in your study of the weather
maps? What was the result of your work on the correlation of the velocity
of the wind and the barometric gradient in Chapter X? And what general
statement as to the relation between the velocity of the wind and its
distance from a cyclonic or anticyclonic center may be made as the result
of your work in Chapter XII, on the correlation of cyclones and
anticyclones with their wind circulation? These results must be borne in
mind in making predictions of coming changes in wind velocities. Forecasts
of wind velocities are made in general terms only,--_light_, _moderate_,
_fresh_, _brisk_, _high_, _gale_, _hurricane_,--and are not given in miles
per hour.

Make forecasts of wind direction and velocity from the daily weather maps
for your own station. Continue these for a week or two, keeping record of
the verification or non-verification of each of your forecasts. Then make
daily forecasts of temperature and of wind direction and velocity
together. Write out your own forecast for each day before you compare it
with the official forecast, and if the two differ, keep note of which one
seemed to you to be the most accurate.

=Weather.=--What general relation between kind of weather and cyclones and
anticyclones was illustrated on the six maps of our series? What is the
average distribution of the different kinds of weather around cyclones and
anticyclones, as shown by your composites? (Chapter XVI.) What changes in
weather will ordinarily be experienced at a station as a cyclone
approaches, passes over, and moves off? What conditions will prevail in an
anticyclone?

Make a series of daily forecasts for your own station of probable weather
changes, omitting temperature and winds at first. Include in your weather
forecasts the state of the sky (_clear_, _fair_, _cloudy_); the changes in
the state of the sky (increasing or decreasing cloudiness); the kind of
precipitation (_rain_ or _snow_) and the amount of precipitation (_light_
or _heavy_). Write out your forecasts; compare them with the official
forecasts, and notice how fully they are verified. Then add temperature
and winds to your forecasts so that you will make a complete prediction of
probable changes in temperature (kind, amount, and rapidity of change),
wind (direction and velocity), and weather. Practice making these complete
forecasts for several weeks, if time allows. Use all the knowledge that
you have gained in the preceding work to aid you in this. Study each
weather map very carefully. Do not write down your forecast until you are
sure that you have done the best you can.

[Illustration: FIG. 53.]

Vary this exercise by extending your forecasts so as to embrace the whole
section of country in which your station is situated (as, _e.g._, New
England, the Gulf States, the Lake region). Pay special attention to
making forecasts of cold waves, of heavy rain or snowstorms, of high
winds over the lakes or along the Atlantic coast, etc. When possible,
obtain from the daily newspapers any particulars as to damage done by
frost or gales, or concerning snow blockades, floods due to heavy rains,
etc.

Fig. 53 summarizes what has thus far been learned as to the distribution
of the various weather elements around a well-developed center of low
pressure. The curved broken lines represent the _isotherms_ (Chapter XIV).
The solid concentric oval lines are the _isobars_ (Chapter XI). The arrows
represent the _winds_, the lengths of the arrows being roughly
proportionate to the wind velocities (Chapter XII). The whole shaded area
represents the region over which the sky is covered by heavy lower clouds.
The smaller shaded area, within the larger, encloses the district over
which rain or snow is falling (Chapter XVI). The lines running out in
front of the cloudy area represent the light upper clouds (_cirrus_ and
_cirro-stratus_) which usually precede an area of low pressure.

Imagine this whole disturbance moving across the United States in a
northeasterly direction, and imagine yourself at a station (1) directly in
the path of the cyclone; (2) south of the track; and (3) north of the
track. In the first case, as the disturbance moved on in its path, you
would successively occupy the positions marked _A_, _B_, and _C_ on the
line _AC_, passing through the center of the cyclone. In the second case
you would be first at _D_, then at _E_, and then at _F_. In the third case
you would be at _G_, _H_, and _J_ in succession. What changes of weather
would you experience in each of these positions as the cyclone passed by
you? Imagine yourself at some station halfway between the lines _AC_ and
_DF_. What weather changes would you have in that position with reference
to the storm track? In what respects would these weather changes differ
from those experienced along the line _DF_? Imagine your station halfway
between the lines _AC_ and _GJ_. What weather changes would you have
there? How would these changes differ from those experienced along the
line _GJ_?

It must be remembered that Fig. 53 is an ideal diagram. It represents
conditions which are not to be expected in every cyclone which appears on
our weather maps. If all cyclones were exactly alike in the weather
conditions around them, weather forecasting would be a very easy task. But
cyclones are not all alike--far from it. Some are well developed, with
strong gradients, high winds, extended cloud areas, heavy precipitation,
and decided temperature contrasts. Others are but poorly developed, with
weak gradients, light winds, small temperature differences, and it may be
without any precipitation whatever. Some cover immense districts of
country; others are small and affect only a limited area. It therefore
becomes necessary to examine the characteristics of each approaching
cyclone, as shown on the daily weather map, very carefully. Notice whether
it is accompanied by heavy rain or snow; whether its winds are violent;
how far ahead of the center the cloudy area extends; how far behind the
outer cloud limit the rain area begins; what is the position of the cloud
and rain area with reference to the center, and other points of equal
importance, and govern yourself, in making your forecast, according to the
special features of each individual cyclone. Well-developed cyclones will
be accompanied by marked weather changes. Weak cyclones will have their
weather changes but faintly marked.

The distance of your station from the center of the cyclone is of great
importance in determining what the weather conditions and changes shall
be, as may easily be seen by examining Fig. 53. If the storm passes far to
the north or far to the south of your station, you may notice none of its
accompanying weather conditions, except, perhaps, a bank of clouds on your
horizon. You may for a few hours be under the cloudy sky of some passing
storm, and yet not be reached by its rainy area. The shifts in the wind
may be marked and the wind velocities high, or the expected veering or
backing may hardly be noticeable, owing to the weakness or the distance of
the controlling cyclone.

Again, the rapidity with which weather conditions will change depends upon
the rate of movement of the cyclone itself. The better developed the
cyclone, the higher its velocity of progression, and the nearer its track
lies to the station, the more emphatic and the more rapid are the weather
changes it causes. On the other hand, the weaker the cyclone, the slower
its rate of progression, and the further away its track, the less marked
and the slower the weather changes. The probable track of a coming storm,
and its probable rate of movement, therefore, need careful study if our
forecasts are to be reliable.

There are many other obstacles in the way which combine to render weather
forecasting extremely difficult. Some of these difficulties you will learn
to overcome more or less successfully by the experience you will gain from
a careful and persevering study of the daily weather maps; others, the
best forecast officials of our Weather Bureau have not yet entirely
overcome. The tracks followed by our cyclones vary more or less from month
to month, and even if the average tracks for each month are known,
individual cyclones may occur which absolutely disregard these tracks.
While the average hourly velocity of cyclones is accurately known for the
year and for each month, the movements of individual storms are often very
capricious. They may move with a fairly uniform velocity throughout the
time of their duration; they may suddenly and unexpectedly increase their
rate of movement, or they may as suddenly come nearly to a standstill. The
characteristics of cyclones vary in different portions of the country and
at different times. Cyclones which have been accompanied by little
precipitation on most of their journey are apt to give increased rain or
snowfall as they near the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of St. Lawrence.
Cyclones which over one portion of the country were rainy, may give little
or no precipitation in another portion. Cyclones and anticyclones are
found to have considerable influence on one another, retarding or
accelerating one another's advance, or changing one another's normal path
of progression. While this mutual interaction is clearly seen, and may be
successfully predicted in many cases, many other cases arise in which,
under apparently similar conditions, the result is very different from the
anticipation. Such are some of the difficulties with which weather
forecasters have to contend, and which prevent the attainment of greater
accuracy in weather prediction.




                   PART V.--PROBLEMS IN OBSERVATIONAL
                              METEOROLOGY.




                              CHAPTER XX.

                              TEMPERATURE.


The chief interest and value of the instrumental work in meteorology are
to be found not only in the taking of the daily observations at stated
hours, but in the working out of numerous simple problems, such as may
readily be undertaken with the help of the instruments already described.
Thus, the temperature of the air (obtained by the sling thermometer,
supplemented by maximum and minimum thermometers, and by the thermograph
if available) can be determined under a variety of conditions, _e.g._,
close to the ground, and at different heights above the ground; at
different hours, by day and night; in different seasons; in sunshine and
in shade; during wind and calms; in clear and cloudy weather; in woods and
in the open; over bare ground, grass, snow, or ice; on hills and in
valleys. Observations may also be made of the temperature of the ground
and of a snow cover, at the surface and at slight depths beneath the
surface, in different seasons and under different weather conditions.
Among the problems which may be worked out by means of such observations
as these are the following:--

_A._ =The Diurnal Range of Temperature under Different Conditions and at
Different Heights above the Ground.=--Under the influence of the sun the
regular normal variation of temperature during 24 hours is as follows: A
gradual increase, with the increasing altitude of the sun, from sunrise
until shortly after noon, and a gradual decrease, with decreasing altitude
of the sun, from the maximum, shortly after noon, until the minimum, about
sunrise. This variation is known as the _diurnal variation of
temperature_. Curve _a_ in Fig. 12 illustrates well the normal diurnal
variation of temperature, as recorded by the thermograph during a period
of clear, warm spring weather (April 27-30, 1889, Nashua, N. H.). The
_diurnal range of temperature_ is the difference between the maximum and
minimum of the diurnal oscillation. The regular normal diurnal variation
in temperature is often much interfered with by other controlling causes
than the sun, _e.g._, cyclonic winds, clouds, etc.

I. Study and compare the diurnal ranges of temperature as indicated by the
maximum and minimum thermometers, or the thermograph, in the instrument
shelter, in clear, fair, cloudy, and stormy weather, during winds and in
calms, in different months. Summarize your results by grouping them
according to the general weather conditions, and according to the months
or seasons in which the observations were made. For example, group
together and average the ranges observed on clear, calm days in winter; on
similar days in early summer or autumn; on clear days with brisk northwest
winds in winter; on similar days in early summer or autumn; on calm days
with overcast sky in the different seasons; on stormy days with strong
winds, etc. Study carefully the weather maps for the days on which your
observations are made. Pay special attention to the relation between the
diurnal ranges and the control exercised over these ranges by cyclones and
anticyclones through their winds and general weather conditions.

II. Observations of diurnal ranges of temperature at different heights
above the ground may be made by means of maximum and minimum thermometers
fastened (temporarily) outside of the windows of different stories of the
school or of some other building. These observations should be made out of
windows facing north, and care should be taken to check, so far as
possible, any draft from within the building out through the window during
the taking of the observation. If a fire escape is provided on the
building, the instruments may often be conveniently fastened to that.

Study the ranges under different conditions of wind and weather at various
heights above the ground, and compare these results with those obtained
under I. Notice the relations of all your results to the cyclonic and
anticyclonic areas of the weather maps.

The diurnal range of temperature in the air over the open ocean from the
equator to latitude 40 deg. has been found to average only 2 deg. to 3 deg. In
southeastern California and the adjacent portion of Arizona the average
diurnal temperature range in summer is 40 deg. or 45 deg. Over other arid
regions, such as the Sahara, Arabia, and the interior of Australia, the
range also often amounts to 40 deg. Observations of temperature above the
earth's surface, in the free air, made on mountains, in balloons, and by
means of instruments elevated by kites, indicate very clearly that the
diurnal range of temperature decreases with increasing elevation above
sea level. The results obtained at Blue Hill Observatory, Massachusetts,
by means of kites, show that the diurnal range of temperature almost
disappears, on the average, at 3300 feet (1000 meters).

_B._ =Changes of Temperature in the Lower Air, and their Control by the
Condition of the Ground, the Movement of the Air, and Other
Factors.=--Determine the changes of the temperature in the lower air by
making frequent readings of the ordinary thermometer in the instrument
shelter, of the sling thermometer, or by an examination of the thermograph
record. Group these changes, as in Problem _A_, so far as possible
according to the weather conditions under which they occurred, and try to
classify the kinds of change roughly into types. Study the control of
these various types by the wind and other weather conditions accompanying
them, as illustrated on the daily weather maps. The control exercised by
different conditions of the earth's surface may be studied by means of
observations made with the sling thermometer over different surfaces, such
as grass, bare ground, snow, etc.

Examples of temperature changes in the lower air, under different
conditions of weather, recorded on the thermograph, are given in Fig. 12,
and are briefly referred to their causes in the text accompanying that
figure.

_C._ =Vertical Distribution of Temperature in the Atmosphere.=--The
vertical distribution of temperature in the lower air may be studied by
having ordinary thermometers or thermographs exposed at different heights
above the ground, _e.g._, close to the surface; in an instrument shelter;
out of windows on successive stories of some high building; and on the
roof of the building. They may also, in cases where there is a hill in the
neighborhood, be exposed in a valley at the bottom of the hill and at
successive elevations up the side of the hill. It is, however, usually
much simpler, as well as more practicable, to take these temperature
readings by means of the sling thermometer. In the case of observations
made out of the windows of a building, one observer can take the readings
at different elevations in succession. When the observations are made at
different altitudes on the side of a hill, it is best to have the
cooperation of several observers, who shall all read their thermometers at
the same moment of time. The results obtained in the previous problems
(_A_ and _B_) may, of course, also be utilized in studying the vertical
distribution of temperature in the atmosphere.

Study the vertical distribution of temperature in the lower air under
various conditions of weather and season; at various hours of the day, and
with varying conditions of surface cover. Make your observations
systematically, at regular hours, so that the results may be comparable.
Group together observations made under similar conditions of weather,
season, time, and surface cover. Determine the average vertical
distribution of temperature in the different cases. Note especially any
seeming peculiarities or irregularities in this distribution at certain
times. Study carefully, as in the previous problems, the relation of the
different types of temperature distribution in the atmosphere to the
weather conditions as shown on the daily weather maps.

Observations made in different parts of the world, on mountains and in
balloons, have shown that on the average the temperature decreases from
the earth's surface upwards at the rate of about 1 deg. in 300 feet of
ascent. The rate of vertical decrease of temperature is known in
meteorology as the _vertical temperature gradient_. When it happens that
there is for a time an _increase in temperature upwards_ from the earth's
surface, the condition is known as an _inversion of temperature_.

As a result of the decrease of temperature with increasing altitude above
sea level, the tops of many high mountains even in the Torrid Zone are
always covered with snow, while no snow can ever fall at their bases,
owing to the high temperatures which prevail there. Balloons sent up
without aeronauts, but with self-recording instruments, have given us
temperatures of -90 deg. at a height of 10 miles above the earth's surface. On
Dec. 4, 1896, Berson reached a height of 30,000 feet and noted a
temperature of -52 deg. Inversions of temperature are quite common,
especially during the clear cold spells of winter. Under such conditions
the tops and sides of hills and mountains are often much warmer than the
valley bottoms at their bases. A good example of an inversion of
temperature occurred in New Hampshire on Dec. 27, 1884. The pressure was
above the normal, the sky clear and the wind light. The observer on the
summit of Mt. Washington reported a temperature of +16 deg. on the morning of
that day, while the thermometers on the neighboring lowlands gave readings
of from -10 deg. to -24 deg. In Switzerland, the villages and cottages are
generally built on the mountain sides and not down in the valley bottoms,
experience having taught the natives that the greatest cold is found at
the lower levels.




                              CHAPTER XXI.

                                 WINDS.


The determination of the direction of the wind (by means of the wind vane)
and of its velocity (by means of the anemometer, or by estimating its
strength) at different hours, under different conditions of weather and in
different seasons, leads to a number of problems. The following simple
investigations may readily be undertaken in schools:--

_A._ =The Diurnal Variation in Wind Velocity in Fair Weather.=--Observe
and record the velocity of the wind (either estimated or registered by the
anemometer) every hour, or as often as possible, on clear or fair days in
different months. Can you discover any regular change in the velocities
during the day? If so, what is the change? Does the season seem to have
any control over the results obtained? Examine the daily weather maps in
connection with your observations and determine the effect that different
weather conditions have upon the diurnal variation in wind velocity.

The diurnal variation in wind velocity over the open ocean is so slight
as hardly to be noticeable. Over the land, the daytime winds are commonly
strongest in arid regions. Traveling across the desert often becomes
extremely disagreeable, owing to the clouds of dust which these winds
sweep up from the surface.

_B._ =The Variations in Direction and Velocity due to Cyclones and
Anticyclones.=--Record the direction and velocity of the wind at your
station at frequent intervals during the passage of a considerable number
of cyclones and anticyclones. Enter your observations in some form of
table so that they may be readily examined. (See p. 113.) Note the
character of the changes that occur, classifying them into types, so far
as possible. Study the control of wind directions and velocities by the
special features of the individual cyclones and anticyclones as shown on
the daily weather maps. How are the different types of change in
direction and velocity affected by the tracks of cyclones and
anticyclones? By their velocity of progression? By the arrangement of
isobars around them? By the height of the barometer at the center? By the
season in which the cyclones and anticyclones occur?

Frequent changes in the direction and velocity of our winds are one great
characteristic of the Temperate Zones, especially in winter. The
continuous procession of cyclones and anticyclones across the United
States involves continuous shifts of wind. Over much of the earth's
surface, however, the regularity and constancy of the winds are the
distinguishing feature of the climate. Over a considerable part of the
belts blown over by the northeast and southeast trades, roughly between
latitude 30 deg. N. and S. and the equator, the winds keep very nearly the
same direction and the same velocity day after day and month after month.
Thus the trades are of great benefit to commerce. Sailing ships may
travel for days in the trade wind belts without having their sails
shifted at all, with a fair wind all the time carrying them rapidly on to
their destination.

_C._ =The Occurrence and Characteristics of Local Winds, such as Mountain
and Valley and Land and Sea Breezes.=--If the observer happens to be
living in or near the mouth of a valley or on a mountain side, opportunity
may be given for the observation of the local winds down the mountain
sides and down the valley at night, and up the valley and the mountain
sides by day, known as mountain and valley breezes. Keep a record of wind
direction and velocity during the day, and especially during the morning
and evening hours. Notice any marked changes in direction, and the
relation of these changes to the time of day. Does the velocity of the
daytime up-cast breeze show any systematic variation during the day? Study
the relation of mountain and valley breezes to the general weather
conditions shown on the weather maps. How are these breezes affected by
season? By the presence of a cyclone over the region? Of an anticyclone?
By the state of the sky?

If near the seacoast (_i.e._, within 10 or 15 miles), an interesting study
may be made of local land and sea breezes. The sea breeze is a wind from
the ocean onshore, while the land breeze blows offshore. These breezes
occur only in the warmer months. Take frequent observations during the
day, as in the case of mountain and valley winds, noting especially any
changes in direction and velocity, and the relation of these changes to
the time of day. Study also the control exercised by the prevailing
weather conditions over the occurrence and the strength of development of
the land and sea breezes.

This problem may be considerably extended by adding temperature
observations to the simpler record of wind direction and velocity.

In some of the Swiss valleys the mountain and valley breezes are such
regular daily weather phenomena that it has become a weather proverb that
a failure of the daily change in wind direction indicates a change of
weather. Special names are often given to these breezes where they are
well marked. In a part of the Tyrol sailing boats go up the lakes by day
with the valley breeze, and sail back at night with the mountain breeze.
It is therefore unnecessary for the boats to be rowed either way. Land
and sea breezes, although an unimportant climatic feature in these
northern latitudes, are often of the highest importance in the Torrid
Zone. The fresh pure sea breeze from over the ocean makes it possible for
Europeans to live in many tropical climates where otherwise they would
not keep their health. The land breeze, on the other hand, is apt to be
an unhealthy wind in the tropics, especially when it blows off of swampy
land.




                             CHAPTER XXII.

                       HUMIDITY, DEW, AND FROST.


The humidity of the air, as determined by the wet and dry-bulb
thermometers or the sling psychrometer, and the occurrence or absence of
dew or frost, should be studied together. Observations should be made at
different hours, in different kinds of weather, and in different seasons.
From such observations the following problems may be solved:--

_A._ =Diurnal Variation of Relative Humidity under Different
Conditions.=--Readings of the wet and dry-bulb thermometers in the
instrument shelter, or of the sling psychrometer, several times during the
day, will furnish data for determining the diurnal variation of relative
humidity. Classify your observations according to the weather conditions
under which they were made, and by months or seasons. Summarize the
results of your investigation, paying special attention to the relation
between the diurnal variation of relative humidity and the temperature.

The variations of relative humidity are generally the reverse of those of
absolute humidity. In the case of the latter the average diurnal
variations are small. The fluctuations in the relative humidity during
the day on the northwestern coast of Europe amount to about 7% in
December and 17% in August, while in central Asia they average about 25%
in winter and 50% in summer.

_B._ =Relation of Relative Humidity to the Direction of the
Wind.=--Observations by means of the wet and dry-bulb thermometers in the
shelter, or by means of the sling psychrometer, supplemented by records of
wind direction, will furnish data for the solution of this problem.
Tabulate your observations according to wind directions and seasons.
Determine the characteristics of the different winds as to their relative
humidities. Consider the control of these winds and humidity conditions by
cyclones and anticyclones.

The warm wave, or sirocco, in front of our winter cyclones in the eastern
United States is a damp, disagreeable, irritating wind. In summer, the
sirocco is usually dry, and during the prevalence of such winds we have
our hottest spells, when sunstrokes are not uncommon. In southern Italy
the sirocco has the same position with reference to the controlling
cyclone. There the wind is often so dry as seriously to injure
vegetation. The cold wave, on the rear of our winter cyclones, with its
low temperature and dry air, often comes as a refreshing change after the
enervating warmth of the preceding sirocco. Our feelings of bodily
comfort or discomfort are thus in a large measure dependent upon the
humidity and the movement of the air.

_C._ =The Formation of Dew.=--The formation of dew is to be studied from
the following points of view, viz., as dependent upon: _a_, the
temperature and the humidity of the air; _b_, the exposure and condition
of the ground; _c_, the state of the sky; and _d_, the movement of the
air. The occurrence of dew on any night, as well as the amount, whether
large or small, can readily be ascertained by inspection. Observe the
conditions of temperature, humidity, cloudiness, and wind direction and
velocity, as in previous exercises. Pay special attention to the state of
the sky, the wind movement, and the vertical distribution of temperature
near the ground. Under heading _b_ (exposure and condition of the ground)
make observations of the amounts of dew formed on hilltops, hillsides, and
in valleys; on different kinds of surface covering, as grass, leaves,
pavements, etc., and over different kinds of soil. Classify the results in
accordance with the conditions under which the observations were made.
Compare the results and draw your conclusions from this study. Practise
making predictions of the formation of dew in different places and under
different weather conditions.

Over the greater portion of the earth's surface the amount of dew which
is deposited is very small. It has been estimated that in Great Britain
the total annual amount would measure only an inch and a half in depth;
and in central Europe the depth is given as hardly one inch. In some
parts of the Torrid Zone, on the other hand, dew is deposited in much
larger quantities. According to Humboldt, the traveler through some of
the South American forests often finds what seems to be a heavy shower
falling under the trees, while the sky is perfectly clear overhead. In
this case dew is formed on the tops of the tree in sufficiently large
quantities to give a shower underneath. It is reported that on the Guinea
coast of Africa the dew sometimes runs off the roofs of the huts like
rain. In many dry regions the dew is an important agency in keeping the
plants alive.

_D._ =The Formation of Frost.=--The formation of frost is to be studied in
the same way as that suggested in the case of dew, _i.e._, as dependent
upon: _a_, the temperature and the humidity of the air; _b_, the exposure
and condition of the ground; _c_, the state of the sky; and _d_, the
movement of the air. Frosts are usually classified as _light_ or _heavy_.
The words _killing frost_ are also used. Study the weather and surface
conditions which are most favorable to the formation of frost. Pay special
attention to the relation of frost and inversions of temperature; to the
frequency of frost on open or sheltered surfaces; on hills or in valleys,
and on the lower and upper branches of trees and shrubs. Determine, as
well as you can, the weather conditions which precede light or heavy
frosts, and make predictions of coming frosts, when the conditions warrant
them.

Our Weather Bureau gives much attention to the prediction of frosts and
to the prompt and widespread distribution of frost warnings. Growing
crops and fruits are often seriously injured by frosts, and farmers are
naturally anxious to have as early warning as possible of their
occurrence. Various methods of protecting crops and trees against frost
are used. The method most commonly employed consists in the building of
fires of brush or other inflammable material on the windward side of the
field or the orchard when a frost is expected. The smoke from the fire is
blown to leeward across the field, and acts as an artificial cloud,
affording protection to the vegetation underneath. Such fires are known
as _smudges_.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

                     CLOUDS AND UPPER AIR CURRENTS.


Attentive observation of clouds will soon lead to a familiarity with their
common type forms. A series of cloud views,[7] with accompanying
descriptive accounts, will teach the names of the clouds and give
definiteness to the record. The directions of movement of clouds are
determined by means of the nephoscope. Cloud observations should be made
at different hours, in different weather conditions, and in different
seasons. The following problems are concerned with clouds and upper air
currents:--

[Footnote 7: See _Hydrographic Office Cloud Types_, Appendix B.]

_A._ =The Typical Cloud Forms and their Changes.=--Note carefully the
characteristic forms assumed by clouds; their mode of occurrence, whether
in single clots, or in groups, in lines, or all over the sky; their
changes in form and in mode of occurrence. Classify and summarize your
results. Compare the clouds of the warm months with those of the cold
months.

Observations have shown that clouds have certain definite characteristic
forms which are substantially the same in all parts of the world. This
fact makes it possible to give names to the different typical forms, and
these names are used by observers the world over. Hence cloud
observations, wherever made, are comparable. The first classification of
clouds was proposed by Luke Howard, in 1803. The classification at
present in use is known as the _International Classification_, and was
adopted by the International Meteorological Congress in 1896.

_B._ =The Prevailing Direction of Cloud Movements.=--The use of the
nephoscope is necessary in the accurate determination of cloud movements.
Study the prevailing directions of movement of the clouds, by means of
frequent observations with the nephoscope, in different weather
conditions. Separate the upper and lower clouds in this study. Summarize
your results according to the weather conditions and the kinds of clouds.

_C._ =Correlation of Cloud Form and Movement with Surface Winds, with
Cyclones and Anticyclones, and with Weather Changes.=--The results
obtained in the working out of the two preceding problems may be used in
the present problem. Tabulate your observations of cloud forms with
reference to the wind directions which prevailed at the time of making the
observations. Do the same with the directions of cloud movement. Determine
the relation between surface winds and cloud types, and between surface
winds and the direction of the upper air currents, as shown by the
movements of the upper clouds. Study the control exercised by cyclones and
anticyclones over cloud forms and over the direction of the upper air
currents.

_D._ =The Use of Clouds as Weather Prognostics.=--Attentive observation of
the forms and changes of clouds, and of the accompanying and following
weather changes, will lead to the association of certain clouds with
certain coming weather conditions. Make your cloud observations carefully,
taking full notes at the time of observation. Give special attention to
the weather conditions that follow. Continue this investigation through as
long a period as possible, until you have gathered a considerable body of
fact to serve as a basis, and then frame a set of simple rules for
forecasting fair or stormy weather on the basis of the forms and changes
of the clouds. Such local observations as these may be employed as a help
in making forecasts from the daily weather maps.

Clouds were used as weather prognostics long before meteorological
observations and weather maps were thought of. To-day sailors and farmers
still look to the clouds to give them warning of approaching storms. Many
of our common weather proverbs are based on the use of clouds as weather
prognostics.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

                             PRECIPITATION.


The special study of various problems connected with precipitation
involves detailed observations of the amount and rate of precipitation of
various kinds, measured by the rain gauge during storms in different
seasons. These observations of precipitation should, of course, be
supplemented by the usual record of the other weather elements. The
following problems are suggested:--

A. _The relation of precipitation in general to the other weather
elements, and to cyclones and anticyclones._

B. _The conditions under which special forms of precipitation (rain, snow,
sleet, hail, frozen rain) occur._

C. _The conditions associated with light and heavy, brief and prolonged,
local and general rainfall._

These problems are studied by means of a careful comparison of full
weather records with the daily weather maps during a considerable period
of time.

Rain is the most common form of precipitation the world over, although
snow falls over large portions of both hemispheres. In the Arctic and
Antarctic zones almost all the precipitation, which is small in amount,
comes in the form of snow. In southern Europe snow falls at sea level
during the winter as far south as 36 deg. north latitude on the average. In
eastern Asia snow occasionally falls as far south as 23 deg. north latitude.
The mean annual rainfall varies greatly in different parts of the world.
In desert regions it is practically nothing. At Cherrapunjee, in India,
it reaches 493 inches, or over 40 feet. A fall of 40.8 inches in a single
day occurred at this station on June 14, 1876. In the United States,
Upper Mattole, Cal., had an extraordinary monthly rainfall of 41.63
inches in January, 1888. An excessive daily rainfall of 8 inches occurred
at Syracuse, N. Y., on June 8, 1876. At Washington, D. C., 2.34 inches
fell in 37 minutes on June 27, 1881. A sudden and very heavy fall of rain
occurred at Palmetto, Nevada, in August, 1890. A rain gauge which was not
exposed to the full intensity of the storm caught 8.80 inches of water in
one hour. In August, 1891, an observer at Campo, Cal., measured 11.5
inches as the rainfall in one hour from one very heavy downpour, and from
a portion of a second storm.




                              CHAPTER XXV.

                               PRESSURE.


The variations of atmospheric pressure, although insensible to
non-instrumental observation, are so intimately connected with atmospheric
processes that they deserve careful attention. Their observation leads to
several problems.

_A._ =The Decrease of Pressure with Height, as between Valley and Hill, or
between the Base and Top of a Building.=--Make these observations with the
mercurial barometer, if possible. Note the air temperatures at the two
levels at which the barometer readings are made. Determine the heights of
hill or building by means of the following rule: Multiply by 9 the
difference in barometrical readings at the two stations, given in
hundredths of an inch, and the result will be approximately the difference
in height between the stations in feet. A more accurate result may be
reached by means of the following rule: The difference of level in feet is
equal to the difference of the pressures in inches divided by their sum,
and multiplied by the number 55,761, when the mean of the air temperatures
of the two places is 60 deg. If the mean temperature is above 60 deg., the
multiplier must be increased by 117 for every degree by which the mean
exceeds 60 deg.; if less than 60 deg., the multiplier must be decreased in the
same way. For example, if the lower station has a pressure of 30.00
inches and a temperature of 62 deg., and the upper station has 29.00 inches
and 58 deg. respectively, the difference of level between the two will be

         (30.00 - 29.00) / (30.00 + 29.00) x 55,761 = 945 feet.

If the lower values are 30.15 inches and 65 deg., while the upper values are
28.67 inches and 59 deg., then the formula becomes

 (30.15 - 28.67) / (30.15 + 28.67) x [55,761 + (2 x 117)] = 1409 feet.

The determination of heights by means of the barometer depends upon the
fact that the rate of decrease of pressure upwards is known. As the
weight of a column of air of a given height varies with the temperature
of the air, it is necessary, in accurate work of this sort, to know the
air temperatures at both the lower and upper stations at the time of
observation. From these temperatures the mean temperature of the air
column between the two stations may be determined. Tables have been
published which facilitate the reductions in this work. The heights of
mountains are usually determined, in the first instance, by means of
barometric observations, carried out by scientific expeditions or by
travelers that have been able to reach their summits. More accurate
measurements are later made, when possible, by means of trigonometrical
methods.

_B._ =The Diurnal and Cyclonic Variation of Pressure in Different
Seasons.=--This problem is satisfactorily solved only by a study of the
curves traced by the barograph, or by plotting, as a curve, hourly or
half-hourly readings of the mercurial barometer. The _diurnal variation of
the barometer_ is the name given to a slight double oscillation of
pressure, with two maxima and two minima occurring during the 24 hours.
This oscillation is in some way, not yet understood, connected with the
diurnal variation in temperature. It is most marked in the tropics and
diminishes towards the poles. Fig. 15 illustrates, in the May curve, the
diurnal variation of the barometer at Cambridge, Mass., during a spell of
fair spring weather, May 18-22, 1887. The maxima are marked by + and the
minima by 0. The _cyclonic variation of pressure_ is the name given to
those irregular changes in pressure which are caused by the passage of
cyclones and anticyclones. The second curve in Fig. 15 shows the cyclonic
variations in pressure recorded by the barograph at Cambridge, Mass.,
during a spell of stormy weather, Feb. 23-28, 1887. These curves serve as
good illustrations of these two kinds of pressure variations.

Study your barograph tracings, or your barometer readings, as illustrating
diurnal or cyclonic variations of pressure. Note the character and the
amount of the diurnal and cyclonic variations, and their dependence on
seasons.

Over the greater part of the Torrid Zone the diurnal variation of the
barometer is remarkably distinct and regular. Humboldt first called
attention to the fact that in those latitudes the time of day may be told
within about 15 minutes if the height of the barometer is known.

_C._ =The Relation of Local Pressure Changes to Cyclones and Anticyclones,
and thus to Weather Changes.=--Make a detailed study of the relation of
the local pressure changes at your station, as shown by the barograph
curves, or by frequent readings of the mercurial or aneroid barometers, to
the passage of cyclones and anticyclones, and to their accompanying
weather changes. Classify the simple types of pressure change, so far as
possible, together with the general weather conditions that usually
accompany these types. Apply the knowledge of local weather changes thus
gained when you make your forecast on the basis of the daily weather
maps.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

                         METEOROLOGICAL TABLES.


The tables which follow are those which are now in use by the United
States Weather Bureau. They were first published in the _Instructions for
Voluntary Observers_ issued in 1892, and were reprinted in 1897. The
following instructions will be found of service in the use of the
tables:--

                          TABLE I.--DEW-POINT.

The figures in heavy type, arranged in vertical columns at each side of
the page, are the _air temperatures_ in degrees Fahrenheit, as recorded by
the dry-bulb thermometer. The figures in heavy type, running across the
page, denote the _differences_, in degrees and tenths of degrees, _between
the dry-bulb and wet-bulb readings_, or, technically, the _depression of
the wet-bulb thermometer_. The figures in the vertical columns denote the
_dew-points_. Make your observation of the wet and dry-bulb thermometers
and note the difference between the two readings. Find, in the vertical
columns of heavy type, the temperature corresponding to your dry-bulb
reading, or the nearest temperature to that. Then look along the
horizontal lines of figures in heavy type for the figure which corresponds
exactly, or most nearly, with the difference between your wet and dry-bulb
readings. Look down the vertical column under this latter figure until you
reach the horizontal line corresponding to your dry-bulb reading. At this
point the figures in the vertical column give the dew-point of the air at
the time of your observation.

_Example_: Air Temperature (dry bulb), 47 deg.; Wet Bulb, 44 deg.; Difference, 3 deg.
On page 148 will be found the table containing both 47 deg. (dry bulb) and 3 deg.
(depression of the dew-point). In the twenty-eighth line of this table and
in the seventh column will be found the dew-point, viz., 41 deg.

_Example_: Air Temperature, 61.5 deg.; Wet Bulb, 55.5 deg.; Difference, 6 deg.

In this case 61.5 deg. is not found in the vertical columns of dry-bulb
readings, but 61 deg. and 62 deg. are found. The dew-point, with a difference
between wet and dry-bulb readings of 6 deg., for an air temperature of 61 deg., is
50 deg.; for an air temperature of 62 deg., it is 52 deg. Evidently, then, for an air
temperature of 61.5 deg. the dew-point will be 51 deg., _i.e._, halfway between
50 deg. and 52 deg. This method of determining dew-points at air temperatures or
with depressions of the wet-bulb thermometer which are not given exactly
in the tables, is known as _interpolation_.

_Example_: Air Temperature, 93 deg.; Wet Bulb, 90.5 deg.; Difference, 2.5 deg. Our
table gives no dew-points for wet-bulb depressions of 2.5 deg., with air
temperature 93 deg., but we find (on page 152) that for air temperature 93 deg.
and depression of wet bulb of 2 deg., the dew-point is 91 deg., while for a
wet-bulb depression of 3 deg., the dew-point is 89 deg. By the method of
interpolation we can readily determine the dew-point in the special case
under consideration as 90 deg., _i.e._, halfway between 89 deg. and 91 deg.

                     TABLE II.--RELATIVE HUMIDITY.

The general plan of this table is the same as that of Table I. The figures
in the vertical columns are the relative humidities (in percentages)
corresponding to the different readings of the wet and dry-bulb
thermometers.

               TABLE III.--REDUCTION OF BAROMETER TO 32 deg.

The figures in heavy type, arranged in vertical columns at the left of the
page, refer to the temperature in degrees Fahrenheit, as indicated by the
attached thermometer. The figures in heavy type, running across the top
of the page, are the barometer readings in inches and tenths. Make a
reading of the attached thermometer and of the barometer. Find in the
vertical column the temperature corresponding to the reading of the
attached thermometer, and in the horizontal line of heavy figures the
reading corresponding to the height of the barometer. The decimal in the
vertical column, under the appropriate barometer reading, and in the same
horizontal line with the appropriate thermometer reading, is to be
subtracted from the height of the barometer as observed, thus correcting
the reading to freezing. When the attached thermometer reads below 28 deg.,
the correction is additive.

_Example_: Attached Thermometer, 69 deg.; Barometer, 30.00 inches; Correction,
-.110; Corrected reading, 29.890 inches.

_Example_: Attached Thermometer, 73 deg.; Barometer, 29.75 inches; Correction
= ?

We do not find any column corresponding to a barometer reading of 29.75
inches. We do find, however, that with a barometer reading of 29.50, and
an attached thermometer reading of 73, the correction is -.118 inch, and
with a barometer reading of 30.00, the correction is -.120. By
interpolating, as in the case of the humidity table above, we find the
correction for a barometer reading of 29.75 inches, and an attached
thermometer reading of 73 deg. The correction is -.119, and the corrected
reading is 29.75 - .119 = 29.63 inches.

            TABLE IV.--REDUCTION OF BAROMETER TO SEA LEVEL.

The figures in heavy type, in the left-hand vertical columns, are the
heights, in feet, of the barometer above sea level. The figures in heavy
type at the top of the columns, running across the page, are the readings
of the ordinary thermometer. The numbers of inches and hundredths of
inches to be subtracted from the barometer reading (corrected for
temperature by Table III), for the different heights above sea level, are
given in the vertical columns.

The altitude above sea level of the city or town at which the observation
is made should be ascertained as accurately as possible from some
recognized authority, as, _e.g._, from a railroad survey; from Government
measurements, or from some engineer's office. The correction to be made is
determined by a simple inspection of the table or by the method of
interpolation.

_Example_: Altitude of Barometer above sea level, 840 feet; Temperature of
the air, 40 deg.; Correction, +.931 inch.

_Example_: Altitude of Barometer above sea level, 205 feet; Temperature of
the air, 45 deg.; Correction = ?

Here 205 feet and 45 deg. are neither of them found in the table. Hence a
double interpolation is necessary. For 200 feet and 40 deg. the correction is
+.224 inch. For 200 feet and 50 deg. the correction is +.220 inch. Hence for
200 feet and 45 deg. the correction is +.222 inch. For 210 feet and 40 deg. the
correction is +.235 inch. For 210 feet and 50 deg. the correction is +.231
inch. Hence for 210 feet and 45 deg. the correction is +.233 inch. Now for 205
feet we should have a correction midway between +.235 inch and +.233 inch
or +.234 inch.



                              APPENDIX A.

                        SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS.


It is the object of this book to lead the student to the independent
discovery of the most important facts in our ordinary weather conditions,
and of the interrelations of the different weather elements. This
practical study having taught something as to the real nature of
atmospheric phenomena by actual observation, rapid and substantial
progress may be made in the knowledge of the distribution and of the
explanation of similar phenomena in other parts of the world, as derived
through a study of the text-books. By means of this combination of the two
kinds of study, the inductive and the didactic, the advantages of both may
be preserved, and the slow progress of the first method and the unsound
progress of the second may be avoided. This book is not a text-book, and
it therefore does not attempt to give explanations of various phenomena
discovered by the class. Explanations will, of course, be called for by
the scholars, in increasing number as the work progresses, and the larger
relations of the study become apparent. It is best, if possible, to leave
the more complicated matters (such as the cause of the deflection of the
wind from the gradient, of cyclones and anticyclones, etc.) until the
subjects can be taken up in detail and fully explained, for instance in
the later years of the high school course. It is not advisable to raise
such complicated questions in the grammar school work if they can be
avoided. The teacher who has a fairly good knowledge of one comprehensive
modern text-book of meteorology, such as Davis's _Elementary Meteorology_,
will find himself sufficiently well equipped to answer the questions put
by the class.

The value of the work outlined in this little book can be much increased
if the larger applications of the lessons here learned are strongly
emphasized. Suggestions along this line have been made in fine print
throughout the text, but the examples given may be further extended to the
great advantage of the student. Careful attention ought to be given to the
formulating and writing out of the generalizations reached by the class,
for in these written summaries the results are preserved in compact form.


                               CHAPTER I.

The work outlined in this chapter is adapted to the lower grades in the
grammar school. It is assumed that the pupils have already had some
preliminary training in the simplest non-instrumental weather
observations, such as can readily be made during the primary school years.
For the convenience of teachers who may desire it, a brief outline of work
suited to the primary school grades is here given. It is desirable that
even older scholars be given some such training as this before they take
up the exercises of Chapter II.

The central idea in this elementary work is to train the children in
intelligent weather observation, so that they may come to appreciate what
our typical weather changes are; that they may recognize the types as they
recur, and may see how each example differs from, or accords with, those
that have preceded it. We are all so directly affected by the weather
conditions prevailing at any time that even the youngest children are
forced, unconsciously to be sure, to take some notice of these changes.
The work of the teacher is, therefore, simply to direct attention to what
is already seen.

When the children come to school on some snowy winter day, with a
northeast wind, chilling and damp, attention may be called to the need of
overshoes and overcoats, to the piling up of the snow in deep drifts at
certain places near the school or in the town, while in other places the
ground is left bare; to the ease with which snowballs may be made, and to
other facts which will very readily suggest themselves. A day or two after
such a storm, when the sun is shining bright in a cloudless sky, when
there is no wind and the air is dry, cold, and crisp, the contrasts
between these two weather types should be brought out. Instead of snow we
now have sunshine: instead of a damp, chilling northeaster we now have a
calm and the air is dry; snowballs cannot easily be made in the early
morning because the snow is frozen hard and is too dry, but towards noon,
if the temperature rise high enough, there may be thawing on the tops or
sides of the snowdrifts, and there the snow becomes soft enough for
snowballing. Another weather type, often noted during our winter in the
central and eastern United States, and strongly contrasted with both of
the preceding conditions, is that which brings us a warm, damp, southerly
wind, frequently accompanied by heavy rains. As these damp winds blow over
snow-covered surfaces they become foggy and the ground is said to "smoke";
the heavy rain rapidly melts the snow; slush and mud make bad walking;
rivers and brooks rise rapidly, perhaps overflowing their banks; low-lying
places become filled with standing water. These and other features should
all be brought out by the teacher, not by telling the class of them
directly, but by judicious questioning, and they should be contrasted with
the conditions which may immediately follow, when the storm has cleared
off, and when the low temperatures brought by a cold wave, with its dry
northwest wind, have resulted in freezing lakes, rivers, and brooks, and
when skating and sliding may be indulged in. Early summer weather
conditions, with their characteristic warm spells, cumulus clouds,
thunderstorms, and (near the coast) sea breezes, furnish another long list
of typical changes that should be just as carefully noted and described as
the more striking winter characteristics. Autumn types add further to the
list, which might be extended almost indefinitely.

One whole year of the grammar school course may well be given to the
observations suggested in Chapter I, provided that there is no need of
hastening on to the more advanced work. The advantage of extending the
course over a whole school year is great, because such extension gives
opportunity for becoming familiar with late summer, autumn, winter,
spring, and early summer weather types, and this is far better than
attempting to crowd all the work into one short season. The interest of a
class can easily be kept up throughout a school year by means of a
progressive system of observations. It is best to vary the observations
from time to time, and to arrange them so that, beginning with the more
simple, they shall gradually become more complete and more advanced as
the year goes on. Thus, starting with temperature observations alone,
these may be continued for one or two weeks before they are supplemented
by records of wind direction and velocity. After some practice in the
observation of these two weather elements (say during one month), data as
to the state of the sky may be added. Cloud observations themselves may
well be graded during successive weeks, so that, beginning with the
simplest notes concerning amounts of cloudiness, the pupils shall
gradually advance to the point of observing, and perhaps even of
sketching, the common cloud forms and their changes. Thus an important
step will have been taken towards appreciating the need of a standard
cloud classification, which may be given later.

The addition of records of precipitation completes the list of simple
non-instrumental weather observations, and these records, as well as the
cloud records, can easily be graded, so that, during successive weeks,
every week's work shall be different from that of every other week. In
this progression from the simpler to the more complicated observations
lies the secret of making the work attractive. Nothing will sooner check
interest in the study than the necessity of making exactly the same
observations day after day and week after week throughout the year. A
graded course of non-instrumental observation, such as is suggested, gives
a very practical general knowledge of our common weather types and
changes, and of the relations of one weather element to another. The
questions asked under the different headings in this chapter are designed
to awaken the interest of the scholars, and to call their attention to the
more important points of diurnal, cyclonic, and seasonal changes in
weather elements. The teacher will readily think of other questions which
may be suggested for the consideration of the class.

Although the non-instrumental records are of little value for future
reference, as compared with the instrumental observations, they should
nevertheless be systematically preserved by the class in their record
books. After discussion of the daily observations made by the different
scholars, or by one of their number, the records may be written upon one
of the blackboards reserved for this purpose. At the close of the day, or
the next morning, the blackboard notes should be entered in a record book
kept in the schoolroom. The teacher may guide in the discussion of the
observations; may suggest points overlooked by the scholars; may draw
comparisons between the weather conditions of other weeks and of other
days. This talking over of the observations is most important, as it never
fails to bring out much of interest.


                              CHAPTER II.

This work may usually be begun in the early years of the grammar school
course, as soon as the non-instrumental observations have been
satisfactorily completed. The scheme of progressive observations already
suggested may be followed to advantage in the instrumental work as well as
in the non-instrumental. It is often a good plan to have a different
scholar assigned to the task of taking the observations every day, or it
may be more advisable to divide the work, making one responsible for the
temperature observations, another for the precipitation, etc. It is well
to have the daily instrumental weather records written upon the
blackboard in the schoolroom, as already suggested in the case of the
non-instrumental observations. At the end of each day the blackboard data
should be entered in a permanent record book by some one of the scholars,
and some ingenuity can be exercised in devising the best scheme for
keeping this record. The record book should be carefully preserved in the
schoolroom, where it may be referred to by the scholars of future years
when any unusually severe storm, or a spell of excessively hot or dry
weather, or a remarkable cold wave occurs, in order that comparison with
past occurrences of a similar kind may be made. It is well to have the
record book of large size, and to have each day's record entered across
two full pages. On the left-hand page the temperature, pressure, rainfall,
wind direction and velocity, etc., may be entered, each observation in its
proper column, the number of columns being increased according to the
increasing number of observations. The right-hand page may be left for
"Remarks." These "Remarks" should include notes of any meteorological
phenomena which did not find a place in the columns reserved for the
regular observations, _e.g._, occurrence of hail, or frozen rain; damage
by lightning, winds, or floods; freezing up of rivers or brooks;
interruption of railroad or street-car traffic by snow, etc., and, in
general, explanatory comments on the weather conditions. Instructive
lessons may be taught as to the relation of the local weather conditions
which prevail in the vicinity of the school, and those of other portions
of the country, by comments on newspaper despatches concerning gales along
the coast or on the lakes, and resulting damage to shipping; of snow
blockades and stalled trains; of severe thunderstorms and tornadoes; of
hot waves and sunstrokes, or of cold waves and the destruction of crops or
fruits by the frost. The scholars should be encouraged to bring into the
class any comments on such phenomena as may be of interest in the work.
Such of these newspaper clippings as are of the most value may be pasted
in the space reserved for the "Remarks," where they may be referred to by
succeeding classes; and in this space also may be pasted at the end of
each week the barograph and thermograph sheets, if these instruments are
in use at the school.


                              CHAPTER III.

These observations may usually be profitably undertaken in the later
grammar and in the high school years. The instruments described, while all
desirable, are by no means all necessary, and no teacher should postpone
the establishment of a course in observational meteorology for the reason
that a complete set of first-class instruments cannot be secured at the
start.

If the school is provided with a psychrometer, there will be no need of
the ordinary thermometer, because the psychrometer gives the true air
temperature. It is well, however, to have both stationary wet and dry-bulb
thermometers, in the shelter, for ordinary school use, and also a sling
psychrometer for use in the meteorological _field work_ which forms an
important part of the more advanced instrumental work in meteorology. The
sling psychrometer may, of course, be used simply as an ordinary sling
thermometer.

The simple form of mercurial barometer, without vernier and without
attached thermometer, described in Chapter II, will be found the best
barometer for general school use. The standard barometer, described in
this chapter, is too expensive and too complicated to come into extended
use in our schools. Full instructions concerning the care, the reading,
and the corrections of the standard mercurial barometer are published by
the Weather Bureau, and to these instructions teachers who have such an
instrument are referred. (See Appendix B.)

The form of table given at the end of this chapter is intended merely as a
suggestion, and not as a rigid scheme to be adopted in every school. In
using the instruments here described, practice with the maximum and
minimum thermometers (in addition to the simpler work of Chapter II) may
be given before any attempt is made to have the class use the
psychrometer. And in using the psychrometer one week may well be given to
the determination of the dew-point alone, before the wet and dry-bulb
readings are employed to determine the relative humidity. Absolute
humidity, which is not referred to in this chapter, may, if the teacher
deem it advisable, be added as another weather element for study. A
refinement in the notes on the state of the sky is suggested, viz., that
cloudiness should be recorded in tenths of the sky covered by clouds. This
is an advance over the earlier, less accurate cloud observations, and is
in line with such a progressive scheme as has been recommended. This book
is not intended to present a rigid scheme of observational work in
meteorology, alike for all schools, but rather to make suggestions for the
guidance of teachers in laying out such a course as may fit their own
cases.

Under the heading _Summary of Observations_ only a few of the most
important climatic elements have been noted. The list may easily be
extended by the addition of such data as the following: For temperature,
mean diurnal range; mean diurnal variability (the mean of the differences
between the successive daily means). For humidity, monthly mean absolute
humidity. For precipitation, the maximum daily precipitation; the number
of rainy and snowy days in every month, the number of clear, fair, and
cloudy days in every month; the mean frequency of rainfall in every month
(number of rainy days divided by the total number of days); the number of
days with thunderstorms, etc.

It is important that the monthly summaries should be discussed in the
class, and that the scholars should give verbal statements as to the
numerical results which they have obtained. In this way the work will have
a living interest, which the mere compilation of summaries does not
possess.


                              CHAPTER IV.

The first thing for any teacher to do who intends to establish a course in
meteorology is to secure a supply of daily weather maps. Arrangements
should be made to have them mailed regularly from the nearest
map-publishing station of the Bureau. It is important that the Saturday
morning map, which is usually not sent to schools, should be included in
the set, as the break of two days (Saturday and Sunday) in every week
seriously interferes with the value of the work that may be done on
consecutive maps. The maps should be securely fastened up in the
schoolroom or in the hall. It is advisable to keep at least two maps thus
on view all the time, in order that the scholars may be able to study the
changes from day to day by comparing the last two or three maps with one
another. As soon as they are removed from the wall, the maps should be
carefully filed away for future reference. They may be conveniently kept
in stiff brown paper folders, each month's maps being enclosed in a
separate folder, with the name of the month and the year written on the
outside. It is a good plan to keep with the file of maps any newspaper
clippings referring to notable meteorological phenomena associated with
the conditions shown on the maps. Thus, newspaper accounts of the damage
done by a hurricane along the Atlantic Coast; of the blockades caused by a
heavy snowstorm in the Northwest; of tornadoes in the Mississippi Valley;
of hot waves and sunstrokes in our larger cities, will serve to enliven
the study of the maps, and will also help, in later references to them, to
recall interesting points that might otherwise escape the memory. It is
true that newspapers are prone to exaggerate, and that they are lamentably
inaccurate in their use of meteorological terms; but nevertheless they
may often be profitably used in such general studies as these. Besides the
complete weather map, the school will need a supply of blank weather maps,
as used by the Weather Bureau. These may usually be secured from the
nearest map-publishing station at cost price. In the case of the
preparation of illustrations for permanent class use, as suggested later,
it is advisable to employ the blank maps used as the base of the
Washington daily weather maps, and to be obtained, at cost price, on
application to the Chief of the Weather Bureau, Washington, D. C. These
are larger in size (16-1/2 by 23-3/4 inches) than the station maps, and
the paper is of a better quality. Colored illustrations with these
Washington blank maps as the base furnish an economical, simple, and
effective means of teaching elementary meteorology.


                               CHAPTER V.

In this chapter a series of six consecutive weather maps is taken as the
basis of the work. The study of the weather elements on such a series of
maps gives a far clearer understanding of the distribution of these
elements and of their relation one with another, than if a far larger
number of single maps are studied which do not follow one another in
regular sequence. Teachers should add to the map-drawing exercises by
giving their classes the data from other sets of maps selected from the
school files. Summer maps as well as winter ones should be used, in order
that too much emphasis may not be laid on winter conditions. The search
for the various cities in which Weather Bureau stations are established,
involved in the work of entering the data on the blank maps, furnishes
excellent practice in geography. This exercise may be varied, and practice
in the location of the different States may be given, if the teacher reads
out to the class the temperatures in different parts of the various
States, as, _e.g._, central Arizona, 34 deg.; southwestern Tennessee, 30 deg.;
northern Nevada, 38 deg., etc. As the State names are not given on the Weather
Bureau maps, such a method as this will give a very desirable familiarity
with the relative positions of the States of the Union. If the school
possesses a blackboard outline map of the United States, it may be a good
plan, if the class is small, to have one of the pupils enter the
temperatures and draw the isotherms on the board before the class, and to
let the others correct him if they see that he is going wrong. As to
irregularities in the isotherms, which may cause trouble, the officials of
the Weather Bureau vary somewhat among themselves in dealing with such
cases, and no definite rules can be laid down to fit all occasions. It is
best to select maps with few irregularities at first, and in time
experience will show how the exceptional cases may be treated.

By the scheme of coloring isothermal maps, suggested in this chapter, a
valuable series of permanent illustrations of noteworthy weather types for
class use can readily be prepared at very slight cost. For the purposes of
these colored illustrations it is best to use the large scale Washington
blank weather maps, as suggested in the preceding chapter, and to have
each map mounted on heavy cardboard after it has been colored. By means of
this mounting the maps are prevented from tearing, and can be kept smooth
and in good condition.

The scheme of coloring may be varied to suit the fancy of the scholars,
for the preparation of these permanent illustrations may well be intrusted
to those of the class who are especially interested in the work, and who
are skillful in their use of the paint brush. The work is really very
simple and needs only ordinary care. As soon as the drawing of isotherms
and the coloring of isothermal charts have been sufficiently studied, the
teacher should hang up the daily weather map each day (or a blank map with
the isotherms for the day drawn on it), and should call attention to the
temperature changes from day to day. In this way the facts of actual
temperature changes experienced by the class will be associated with the
larger temperature changes shown on the weather maps.

The sections on temperature gradients may be postponed, if the teacher
deems it advisable, until other matters of a simpler nature are passed.
The idea of rates of change is not an easy one for students to grasp, and
it is far better to postpone the consideration of this subject than to
involve the class in any confusion at this stage. It is a mistake,
however, to omit these sections altogether, as a clear conception of the
principle of rates is a valuable part of a student's mental equipment. It
is a good plan, in the exercises on lines of temperature decrease, to
have maps prepared with _faint_ isotherms and _heavy_ lines of temperature
decrease, in order to emphasize the idea of change of temperature, in
contrast to the idea of constancy of temperature expressed by the
isotherms.


                              CHAPTER VI.

In the work on the wind charts it is essential to proceed very slowly, in
order that the best results may be obtained by the pupils. Some of the
aberrant wind courses, which complicate the discovery of the cyclonic and
anticyclonic spirals, may well be omitted in the case of the younger
classes, and considerable assistance in facilitating these discoveries may
be given by suggestions as to adding intermediate dotted wind arrows, in
sympathy with the observed wind directions. The anticyclonic systems are
always much more difficult to discover than the cyclonic, and care should
be taken to assist the class in this matter as much as seems necessary.

The questions in the text are merely suggestive, and are by no means as
numerous as it would be well to make them in the class. The discovery of
the spirals will probably be made by degrees. The concise formulation of
the facts discovered will furnish excellent basis for exercises in
writing.

It is interesting to note that the discussion as to whether the winds blow
circularly around, or radially in towards, centers of low pressure, which
usually comes up in every class in meteorology at some stage in the study,
was carried on in a very animated way about the middle of the present
century in this country. Two noted American meteorologists, Redfield and
Espy, and their respective followers, took opposite sides in this
controversy, Redfield maintaining at the start that the winds moved in
circles, and Espy maintaining that they followed radial courses. The truth
lay between the two.


                              CHAPTER VII.

The study of atmospheric pressure is not easy, because the pupils cannot
perceive the changes in pressure from day to day by their unaided senses.
Especially difficult does this study become if the class has not already
had some practice in making barometer readings. When this observational
work has not preceded the consideration of the isobaric lines of the daily
weather maps, the teacher should introduce the subject of pressure very
carefully. The experiment with the Torricellian tube will show the class
something of the reality of atmospheric pressure, and the variations in
this pressure from day to day can readily be made apparent by means of a
few barometer readings, if time cannot be spared for a regular and
continued series of barometer observations. A word may be said as to the
correction of barometric readings for local influences, in order to make
these readings comparable, if this matter has not been previously met
with, but care should be taken not to confuse the younger pupils too much
with explanations at this stage of the work. It may be well to omit this
point unless it is brought up by some pupil. The questions asked in the
text are merely suggestive. They may be added to and varied at the
discretion of the teacher.

Lines of pressure-decrease should be drawn on all isobaric charts studied
in the class, as they are highly instructive. When the isobars are near
together, these lines of pressure-decrease may be drawn heavier, to
indicate a steeper gradient. The convergence of these lines towards
regions of low pressure, and their divergence from regions of high
pressure, seen on every map on which these gradients are drawn, emphasizes
an important lesson. Before measuring rates of pressure-decrease by means
of a scale, considerable practice should be given in the study, by means
of the eye, of the rapidity or slowness of decrease of pressure, as shown
by the heavier or lighter lines of pressure-decrease. When the broad facts
of differing rates are comprehended, then the actual measurement of these
rates is a comparatively easy matter. In any case, however, an
appreciation of these rates of change is not always readily gained, even
by older scholars in the high school. It is, therefore, of prime
importance to proceed very slowly indeed at this point, and to have every
step fully understood before another step is taken.

The instructions in the text for measuring rates of pressure-decrease are,
that these rates shall be recorded as so many hundredths of an inch of
change of pressure in one latitude-degree. This is done for the sake of
simplicity. If this rate is expressed in hundredths of an inch of pressure
in a quarter of a latitude-degree of distance, the numerical value is the
same as if expressed in millimeters of pressure per latitude-degree of
distance.


                             CHAPTER VIII.

The fact of the prevalence of different kinds of weather over the country
at the same time is of great importance. It should be strongly emphasized
by the teacher in the course of the discussion of the maps of weather
distribution. Additional exercises of the same sort may be given to
advantage, by letting the class plot and study the weather signs taken
from any current weather map. Instructive lessons may be taught by talking
over, in the class, the different ways in which people all over the
country are affected by the character of the weather that happens to
prevail where they are.


                           CHAPTERS IX-XVIII.

The correlation exercises will, as a whole, teach few entirely new facts
to the brighter scholars who have faithfully completed the preceding work
in observations and in the construction and study of the daily weather
maps. These exercises do, however, lead to detailed examination and to the
careful working out of the relations which may have been previously
noticed in a general way only. They give the repeated illustration which
is necessary in order to impress firmly on the mind the lesson that the
weather map has to teach.

It is a good plan to let different scholars work out the problems for
different months. The results reached in each case should be discussed in
the class, and thus each member may have the double advantage of working
out his own problem, and of profiting by the work done by his fellows.
Throughout these exercises care should be taken to have weather maps of
all months studied. The exercise on the correlation of the velocity of the
wind with the pressure cannot be undertaken unless the work on
temperature and pressure gradients (Chapters V and VII) has been
completed.


                            CHAPTERS XX-XXV.

It is not expected that any one scholar can accomplish all that is here
outlined. Examples may be selected from the list, as opportunity offers,
so that each scholar shall become familiar with several problems.

Few of the problems suggested call for continuous routine observation at
fixed hours. They require, on the other hand, an intelligent examination
of ordinary weather phenomena, with special reference to discovering their
explanation. In most of the problems a small number of observations will
suffice. Under the supervision of the teacher, different problems may be
assigned to the several members of a class; or several scholars may work
on different parts of the same problem, exchanging records in order to
save time. All the scholars should have a general knowledge of the results
which have been obtained from the observations made by the other members
of their class. The teacher will use his discretion in arranging the order
of the problems, and in selecting those that are best suited to the season
in which the work is done, to the locality in which the school is
situated, and to the facilities and apparatus at command. Although the
variety of accessible problems is less in city schools than in country
schools, much may be done in the city as well as in the country.

The opportunities for carrying out such observational work vary so much in
different schools that it is impossible to give specific instructions,
which shall be available in all cases. Some general suggestions are
therefore given, which the teacher may supplement by more detailed
instructions framed to fit the particular circumstances of each case.

A review of the headings of the different problems shows that a very
general correlation exists among them, whereby the subjects of every
heading are associated with those of nearly every other. In other words,
every weather element is treated as a function of several other elements.
It follows from this that the variety of work here outlined is more
apparent than real, and that many problems which appear from their wording
to be entirely new are in large part rearrangements of problems previously
encountered.




                              APPENDIX B.

             THE EQUIPMENT OF A METEOROLOGICAL LABORATORY.


                           _A._ INSTRUMENTS.

_Exposed Thermometer_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern), with brass
support, $2.75.

_Maximum and Minimum Thermometers_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern),
mounted together on one board, $6.25.

_Wet- and Dry-Bulb Thermometers_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern),
mounted on one board, complete with water cup, $6.50.

_Sling Psychrometer_ (designed by Professor C. F. Marvin, of the United
States Weather Bureau), consisting of two exposed mercurial thermometers,
mounted on an aluminum back, and provided with polished, turned hard-wood
handle and brass trimmings, $5.00.

_Sling Psychrometer_, consisting of two cylindrical bulb thermometers,
mounted one a little above the other upon a light brass frame, with a
perforated guard to protect the bulbs while swinging, but which can be
raised (by sliding upon the frame) for the purpose of moistening the linen
covering of the wet bulb. Much less liable to be broken than the Weather
Bureau pattern, $5.00.

_Rain Gauge_ (United States Weather Bureau standard), 8 inches in
diameter, complete, with measuring stick, $5.25.

_Rain Gauge_, 3 inches in diameter, with overflow and measuring stick,
$1.25.

_Wind Vane_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern), $10.00.

_Anemometer_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern), with indicator,
aluminum cups, and electrical attachment, $25.00.

The same, with painted brass cups, $23.00.

_Anemometer Register_ (United States Weather Bureau pattern), with pen and
ink attachment, $35.00.

The same, with pencil attachment (old style), $24.00.

_Aneroid Barometer_ (for meteorological work), $14.00-$16.00.

    NOTE.--Much cheaper aneroids can be purchased, and may be used
    to some advantage in the simpler observations in schools.

_Mercurial Barometer_ (Standard United States Weather Bureau pattern),
complete with attached thermometer, vernier, etc., $30.00-$33.00.

    NOTE.--The above instruments, as used by the United States
    Weather Bureau, are made by H. J. Green, 1191 Bedford Avenue,
    Brooklyn, N. Y. The prices are those given in Green's latest
    catalogue.

_Mercurial Barometer._ New improved form, especially designed for school
use. Mounted on mahogany back. Scale engraved on aluminum. Divisions of
scale on metric and English systems. No vernier, $5.75.

    (L. E. Knott Apparatus Co., 14 Ashburton Place, Boston, Mass.)

_Thermograph_ (designed by Dr. Daniel Draper, of New York). Consists of a
bimetallic thermometer in a case which carries a disk, with a chart upon
its axle instead of hands like the ordinary clock. A pen (resting on the
face of the disk) registers the fluctuations of temperature as the chart
is carried around. Sizes, 14 x 20 inches, $30.00; 10 x 14 inches, $15.00.
This instrument may be purchased of H. J. Green.

_Thermograph._ Self-recording thermometer (as adopted by the United States
Weather Bureau), made by Richard Freres, of Paris. Records continuously on
a sheet of paper wound around a revolving drum, which is driven by
clock-work inside. Standard size (without duty), $30.00.

_Barograph._ Self-recording barometer (as adopted by the United States
Weather Bureau), made by Richard Freres, of Paris. Similar in general
arrangement to the thermograph. Standard size (without duty), $27.60.

These last two instruments can be procured through Glaenzer Freres &
Rheinboldt, 26 & 28 Washington Place, New York City.

_Instrument Shelter_ (standard United States Weather Bureau pattern) will
hold a set of maximum and minimum thermometers, psychrometer, and a
thermograph. May be set up on top of posts driven into the ground, or may
be attached to a wall, $18.00.

_Barometer Box_, for the standard mercurial barometer. Made of mahogany,
with glass panels on front and sides; lock and key, and with fittings
complete, $8.50.

These may be purchased of H. J. Green.


                            _B._ TEXT-BOOKS.

_The Story of the Earth's Atmosphere._ DOUGLAS ARCHIBALD. New York, D.
Appleton & Co., 1898. 18mo, pp. 194. 40 cents.

To be recommended to the general reader who wishes to gain some knowledge
of meteorology quickly. Not a text-book. Contains a chapter on "Flight in
the Atmosphere."

_Elementary Meteorology._ WILLIAM MORRIS DAVIS. Boston, Ginn & Co., 1898.
8vo, pp. 355. $2.50.

The most complete of the modern text-books, and the best adapted for use
in the systematic teaching of meteorology. The modern views are presented
clearly and without the use of mathematics. Portions of it are somewhat
too advanced for school study, but teachers will find it invaluable as a
reference book in directing the laboratory work, and in answering the
questions of school classes.

_A Popular Treatise on the Winds._ WILLIAM FERREL. New York, John Wiley &
Sons, 1890. 8vo, pp. 505. $3.40.

This can hardly be regarded as a _popular_ treatise. It embodies, in
condensed and chiefly non-mathematical form, the results of Ferrel's
researches during his long and profound study of the general circulation
and phenomena of the atmosphere. Teachers who advance far into meteorology
will find this book indispensable. It is not at all suited for general
class-room use.

_American Weather._ A. W. GREELY. New York, Dodd, Mead & Co., 1888. 8vo,
pp. 286. Out of print, but secondhand copies are probably obtainable.

Deals, as the title implies, especially with the weather phenomena of the
United States. Contains brief accounts of individual hot and cold waves,
hurricanes, blizzards and tornadoes, and gives specific data concerning
maxima and minima of temperature, precipitation, etc., in the United
States.

_Meteorology: Practical and Applied._ JOHN WILLIAM MOORE. London, F. J.
Rebman, 1894. 8vo, pp. 445. 8 shillings.

A readable book. Considerable space is given to instrumental meteorology.
Contains chapters on the climate of the British Isles and on the relations
of weather and disease in the British Isles. Especially adapted for the
use of English readers.

_Elementary Meteorology._ ROBERT H. SCOTT. International Scientific
Series. London, Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1885; Boston, A. A. Waterman &
Co., 1889. 8vo, pp. 410. 6 shillings.

The standard text-book in Great Britain. The author is secretary to the
Meteorological Council of the Royal Society. Fairly complete, but now
somewhat out of date in some portions. It is a useful book in a
meteorological library, but does not treat the subject in a way very
helpful to the teacher.

_Meteorology._ THOMAS RUSSELL. New York, The Macmillan Company, 1895. 8vo,
pp. 277.

Brief and incomplete as a text-book of meteorology, but containing a very
comprehensive account, fully illustrated, of rivers and floods in the
United States, and their prediction.

_Elementary Meteorology._ FRANK WALDO. New York, American Book Company,
1896. 8vo, pp. 373. 90 cents.

A compact summary. Useful to teachers as a handy reference book.

_Modern Meteorology._ FRANK WALDO. New York, Charles Scribner's Sons,
1893. 8vo, pp. 460. $1.25.

Very complete account of meteorological apparatus and methods, and
admirable summary of recent German studies of the thermodynamics and
general motions of the atmosphere.


              _C._ INSTRUCTIONS IN THE USE OF INSTRUMENTS.

_Instructions for Voluntary Observers._ 1899. 8vo, pp. 23. Brief
instructions for taking and recording observations of temperature and
precipitation with ordinary and maximum and minimum thermometers and with
the rain gauge.

_Barometers and the Measurement of Atmospheric Pressure._ C. F. MARVIN.
1894. 8vo, pp. 74. A pamphlet of information respecting the theory and
construction of barometers in general, with summary of instructions for
the care and use of the standard Weather Bureau instruments.

_Instructions for Obtaining and Tabulating Records from Recording
Instruments._ 1898. 8vo, pp. 31. Contains directions concerning the care
and use of the Richard thermograph and barograph.

    NOTE.--These pamphlets are prepared under the direction of
    Professor Willis L. Moore, Chief of the United States Weather
    Bureau, and are published, under authority of the Secretary of
    Agriculture, by the Weather Bureau. They will be found the best
    guides in making observations, the care of instruments, etc.


                          _D._ JOURNALS, ETC.

_Monthly Weather Review._ Prepared under the direction of Willis L. Moore,
Chief of Weather Bureau, Professor Cleveland Abbe, Editor. United States
Department of Agriculture, Weather Bureau, Washington, D. C. 10 cents a
copy.

An invaluable publication for teachers and students alike. Contains
complete meteorological summaries for each month; accounts of all notable
storms, cold and hot waves, etc.; and a large number of articles on a wide
range of meteorological subjects. The charts show the tracks of areas of
high and low pressure which crossed the United States during the month,
the total precipitation, sea-level pressure, temperature and surface
winds, percentage of sunshine, etc., for the month. Other charts are also
frequently added.

_The Journal of School Geography._ Professor Richard E. Dodge, Teachers
College, Columbia University, New York City, Editor. Publication Office,
41 No. Queen Street, Lancaster, Pa. Ten numbers a year. $1.00 per annum.

A monthly journal devoted to the interests of the common school teacher of
geography. Contains numerous articles and notes on meteorological and
climatological subjects.

_Science._ Edited by Professor J. McK. Cattell, Columbia University, New
York City, New York, The Macmillan Company. Weekly. $5.00 per annum.

Devoted to the advancement of all sciences. Contains brief _Current Notes
on Meteorology_, which summarize the more important meteorological
publications.

_Monthly Bulletins of the Climate and Crop Service of the Weather Bureau._

These _Bulletins_ are issued every month at the central office of the
Weather Bureau in each State, under the direction of the Section Director
of the Climate and Crop Service in that State. They contain meteorological
data for the month, and frequently notes of interest. The annual summaries
are especially valuable.


                              _E._ CHARTS.

_Daily Weather Maps._ These are published at the central office of the
Weather Bureau in Washington, and at eighty-four other stations of the
Bureau throughout the United States. It is best to have the daily maps
sent from the nearest map-publishing station, and not from Washington, as
the delay in the latter case is often so great that much of the immediate
value of the maps is lost.

_Climate and Crop Bulletin of the United States Weather Bureau._
Washington, D. C. Monthly.

Chart showing, by means of small maps, the actual precipitation,
departures from normal precipitation, departures from normal temperature,
and maximum and minimum temperatures. Also a printed summary of the
weather and of the crop conditions in the different sections of the United
States. Issued on the first of each month.

_Snow and Ice Chart of the United States Weather Bureau._ Washington, D.
C. Weekly during the winter season.

Based on data from regular Weather Bureau stations, supplemented by
reports from selected voluntary observers. Shows, by shading, the area
covered with snow at 8 P.M. each Tuesday during the winter, and by lines,
the depth of snow in inches. Explanatory tables and text accompany the
chart.

_Storm Bulletin of the United States Weather Bureau._ Washington, D. C.
Issued at irregular intervals.

Charts, with text, illustrating the history of individual notable storms.

_Pilot Chart of the North Atlantic and North Pacific Oceans._ Hydrographic
Office, Bureau of Equipment, Department of the Navy, Washington, D. C.
Monthly. Price 10 cents a copy.

Shows calms and prevailing winds, ocean currents, regions of fog and
equatorial rains, the positions of icebergs and wrecks, steamship and
sailing routes, storm tracks, magnetic variation, etc. Also gives isobars
and isotherms and a forecast for the month succeeding the date of
publication, and a review of the weather over the oceans for the preceding
month. Supplementary charts are occasionally issued.

_Rainfall and Snow of the United States as compiled to the End of 1891,
with Annual, Seasonal, Monthly, and other Charts._ MARK W. HARRINGTON.
United States Department of Agriculture. Weather Bureau, Bulletin C,
Washington, D. C. 1894. Atlas, 18 x 24 inches. Charts 23. Text, 4-80 pp.

Contains twenty-three charts as follows: Monthly rainfall, seasonal
rainfall, annual rainfall, monthly snowfall, monthly maxima of rainfall,
rainy seasons, details of rainfall, details of occurrence of
thunderstorms. Well adapted to serve as illustrations for use in the
class-room. The text is explanatory, and is published separately in quarto
form.

_Rainfall of the United States, with Annual, Seasonal, and other Charts._
ALFRED J. HENRY. United States Department of Agriculture, Weather Bureau,
Bulletin D, Washington, D. C. 1897. 9-1/4 x 11-1/2 inches. Pp. 58. Charts
10. Plates III.

A more recent publication than the preceding one, the averages having been
compiled to the end of 1896. The charts are smaller than most of those in
Bulletin C, and therefore not so well adapted for class-room illustration.
The chart of mean annual precipitation is the latest and best published.
The rainfall of the crop-growing season receives separate treatment, and
is illustrated by means of two charts. The discussion in the text is
excellent.


                      _F._ METEOROLOGICAL TABLES.

_Smithsonian Meteorological Tables._ Smithsonian Miscellaneous
Collections, 844. Washington, D. C. 1893. 8vo. Pp. 262.

A very complete set of tables.

_Handbook of Meteorological Tables._ H. A. HAZEN (of the United States
Weather Bureau). Washington, D. C. 1888. 8vo. Pp. 127. $1.50.

Contains forty-seven tables, comprising all that are needed by the working
meteorologist. Includes tables for Fahrenheit and Centigrade conversions,
for barometric hypsometry and reduction to sea level, for the
psychrometer, etc.

_Tables for Obtaining the Temperature of the Dew-Point, Relative Humidity,
etc._ United States Department of Agriculture, Weather Bureau, Washington,
D. C. 1897. 8vo. Pp. 29.

These are the tables now in use by the Weather Bureau.


                          _G._ ILLUSTRATIONS.

_Classification of Clouds for the Weather Observers of the Hydrographic
Office._ Hydrographic Office, Bureau of Navigation, Department of the
Navy, Washington, D. C. 1897. Sheet of twelve colored views. Price 40
cents. In book form, with descriptive text, $1.00.

An excellent set of cloud views, classified according to the
_International Nomenclature_. The text describes the various cloud forms
and shows their value as weather prognostics. An attractive addition to
the furnishings of a schoolroom.

_Selected List of Cloud Photographs and Lantern Slides._

Consists of twenty-eight photographs, and the same number of lantern
slides, of the typical cloud forms, selected by the present writer from
the collection in the Physical Geography Laboratory of Harvard University.
The photographs (20 cents each, mounted) and slides (40 cents each) may be
purchased of E. E. Howell, 612 17th Street, N. W., Washington, D. C. A
description of these views was published in the _American Meteorological
Journal_ for July, 1894 (Boston, Mass., Ginn & Company).

_Photographs._ Photographs of miscellaneous meteorological phenomena, such
as snow and ice storms, damage by storm-waves or high winds, wind-blown
trees, lightning, etc., may often be purchased of local dealers. They add
to the attractiveness of a schoolroom and furnish excellent illustrations
in teaching.



PREFACE

It is somewhat curious that among the great number of books on occult
science and all forms of divination which have been published in the
English language there should be none dealing exclusively with the
Tea-cup Reading and the Art of Telling Fortunes by the Tea-leaves:
notwithstanding that it is one of the most common forms of divination
practised by the peasants of Scotland and by village fortune-tellers
in all parts of this country. In many of the cheaper handbooks to
Fortune-telling by Cards or in other ways only brief references to the
Tea-cup method are given; but only too evidently by writers who are
merely acquainted with it by hearsay and have not made a study of it for
themselves.

This is probably because the Reading of the Tea-cups affords but little
opportunity to the Seer of extracting money from credulous folk; a
reason why it was never adopted by the gypsy soothsayers, who preferred
the more obviously lucrative methods of crossing the palm with gold or
silver, or of charging a fee for manipulating a pack of playing-cards.

Reading the Cup is essentially a domestic form of Fortune-telling to be
practised at home, and with success by anyone who will take the trouble
to master the simple rules laid down in these pages: and it is in the
hope that it will provide a basis for much innocent and inexpensive
amusement and recreation round the tea-table at home, as well as for
a more serious study of an interesting subject, that this little
guide-book to the science is confidently offered to the public.




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION TO THE ART OF DIVINATION FROM TEA-LEAVES

It seems highly probable that at no previous period of the world's
history have there been so many persons as there are at the present
moment anxious to ascertain in advance, if that be humanly possible, a
knowledge of at least 'what a day may bring forth.' The incidence of the
greatest of all wars, which has resulted in sparse news of those from
whom they are separated, and produces a state of uncertainty as to what
the future holds in store for each of the inhabitants of the British
Empire, is, of course, responsible for this increase in a perfectly sane
and natural curiosity; with its inevitable result, a desire to employ
any form of divination in the hope that some light may haply be cast
upon the darkness and obscurity of the future.

It is unfortunately the case, as records of the police-courts have
recently shown, that the creation of this demand for foreknowledge
of coming events or for information as to the well-being of distant
relatives and friends has resulted in the abundant supply of the want by
scores of pretended 'Fortune-tellers' and diviners of the Future;
who, trading upon the credulity and anxieties of their unfortunate
fellow-countrywomen, seek to make a living at their expense.

Now it is an axiom, which centuries of experience have shown to be as
sound as those of Euclid himself, that the moment the taint of money
enters into the business of reading the Future the accuracy and credit
of the Fortune told disappears. The Fortune-teller no longer possesses
the singleness of mind or purpose necessary to a clear reading of
the symbols he or she consults. The amount of the fee is the first
consideration, and this alone is sufficient to obscure the mental vision
and to bias the judgment. This applies to the very highest and most
conscientious of Fortune-tellers--persons really adept at foreseeing the
future when no taint of monetary reward intervenes. The greater number,
however, of so-called Fortune-tellers are but charlatans, with the
merest smattering of partly-assimilated knowledge of some form of
divination or 'character-reading'; whether by the cards, coins, dice,
dominoes, hands, crystal, or in any other pretended way. With these, the
taint of the money they hope to receive clouds such mind or intuition
as they may possess, and it follows that their judgments and
prognostications have precisely the same value as the nostrums of the
quack medicine-vendor. They are very different from the Highlander who,
coming to the door of his cottage or bothie at dawn, regards steadfastly
the signs and omens he notes in the appearance of the sky, the actions
of animals, the flight of birds, and so forth, and derives there from
a foresight into the coming events of the opening day. They differ also
from the 'spae-wife,' who, manipulating the cup from which she has taken
her morning draught of tea, looks at the various forms and shapes the
leaves and dregs have taken, and deduces thence such simple horary
prognostications as the name of the person from whom 'postie' will
presently bring up the glen a letter or a parcel or a remittance of
money; or as to whether she is likely to go a journey, or to hear news
from across the sea, or to obtain a good price for the hose she has
knitted or for the chickens or eggs she is sending to the store-keeper.
Here the taint of a money-payment is altogether absent; and no Highland
'spae-wife' or seer would dream of taking a fee for looking into the
future on behalf of another person.

It follows, therefore, that provided he or she is equipped with the
requisite knowledge and some skill and intuition, the persons most
fitted to tell correctly their own fortune are themselves; because they
cannot pay themselves for their own prognostications, and the absence of
a monetary taint consequently leaves the judgment unbiased. Undoubtedly
one of the simplest, most inexpensive and, as the experience of nearly
three centuries has proved, most reliable forms of divination within its
own proper limits, is that of reading fortunes in tea-cups. Although it
cannot be of the greatest antiquity, seeing that tea was not introduced
into Britain until the middle of the seventeenth century, and for many
years thereafter was too rare and costly to be used by the great bulk
of the population, the practice of reading the tea-leaves doubtless
descends from the somewhat similar form of divination known to the
Greeks as "_{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER
OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK
SMALL LETTER BETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER
FINAL SIGMA~}_" by which fortune in love was discovered by the
particular splash made by wine thrown out of a cup into a metal basin. A
few spae-wives still practise this method by throwing out the tea-leaves
into the saucer, but the reading of the symbols as they are originally
formed in the cup is undoubtedly the better method.

Any person after a study of this book and by carefully following the
principles here laid down may with practice quickly learn to read the
horary fortunes that the tea-leaves foretell. It should be distinctly
understood, however, that tea-cup fortunes are only horary, or dealing
with the events of the hour or the succeeding twenty-four hours at
furthest. The immediately forthcoming events are those which cast their
shadows, so to speak, within the circle of the cup. In this way the
tea-leaves may be consulted once a day, and many of the minor happenings
of life foreseen with considerable accuracy, according to the skill
in discerning the symbols and the intuition required to interpret
them which may be possessed by the seer. Adepts like the Highland
peasant-women can and do foretell events that subsequently occur,
and that with remarkable accuracy. Practice and the acquirement of a
knowledge of the signification of the various symbols is all that is
necessary in order to become proficient and to tell one's fortune and
that of one's friends with skill and judgment.

There is, of course, a scientific reason for all forms of divination
practised without hope or promise of reward. Each person carries in
himself his own Destiny. Events do not happen to people by chance, but
are invariably the result of some past cause. For instance, in the
last years a man becomes a soldier who had never intended to pursue a
military career. This does not happen to him by chance, but because
of the prior occurrence of la European war in which his country was
engaged. The outbreak of war is similarly the result of other causes,
none of which happened by chance, but were founded by still remoter
occurrences. It is the same with the Future. That which a person does
today as a result of something that happened in the past, will in its
turn prove the cause of something that will happen at some future date.
The mere act of doing something today sets in motion forces that in
process of time will inevitably bring about some entirely unforeseen
event.

This event is not decreed by Fate or Providence, but by the person who
by the committal of some act unconsciously compels the occurrence of
some future event which he does not foresee. In other words, a man
decrees his own destiny and shapes his own ends by his actions, whether
Providence rough-hew them or not. Now this being so, it follows that
he carries his destiny with him, and the more powerful his mind and
intellect the more clearly is this seen to be the case. Therefore it is
possible for a person's mind, formed as the result of past events over
which he had no control, to foresee by an effort what will occur in the
future as the result of acts deliberately done. Since it is given to but
few, and that not often of intention, to see actually what is about to
happen in a vision or by means of what is called the 'second sight,'
some machinery must be provided in the form of symbols from which an
interpretation of the future can be made. It matters little what the
method or nature of the symbols chosen is--dice or dominoes, cards or
tea-leaves. What matters is that the person shaking the dice, shuffling
the dominoes, cutting the cards or turning the tea-cup, is by these very
acts transferring from his mind where they lie hidden even from himself
the shadows of coming events which by his own actions in the past he
has already predetermined shall occur in the future. It only remains
for someone to read and interpret these symbols correctly in order to
ascertain something of what is likely to happen; and it is here that
singleness of purpose and freedom from ulterior motives are necessary in
order to avoid error and to form a true and clear judgment.

This is the serious and scientific explanation of the little-understood
and less-comprehended action of various forms of divination having for
their object the throwing of a little light upon the occult. Of all
these forms perhaps divination by tea-leaves is the simplest, truest,
and most easily learned. Even if the student is disinclined to
attach much importance to what he sees in the cup, the reading of the
tea-leaves forms a sufficiently innocent and amusing recreation for the
breakfast- or tea-table; and the man who finds a lucky sign such as
an anchor or a tree in his cup, or the maiden who discovers a pair
of heart-shaped groups of leaves in conjunction with a ring, will be
suffering no harm in thus deriving encouragement for the future, even
should they attach no importance to their occurrence, but merely treat
them as an occasion for harmless mirth and badinage.

Whether, however, the tea-leaves be consulted seriously or in mere sport
and love of amusement, the methods set forth in succeeding chapters
should be carefully followed, and the significations of the pictures and
symbols formed in the cup scrupulously accepted as correct, for reasons
which are explained in a subsequent chapter.




CHAPTER II

RITUAL AND METHOD OF USING THE TEA-CUP

The best kind of tea to use if tea-cup reading is to be followed is
undoubtedly China tea, the original tea imported into this country and
still the best for all purposes. Indian tea and the cheaper mixtures
contain so much dust and so many fragments of twigs and stems as often
to be quite useless for the purposes of divination, as they will not
combine to form pictures, or symbols clearly to be discerned.

The best shape of cup to employ is one with a wide opening at the top
and a bottom not too small. Cups with almost perpendicular sides are
very difficult to read, as the symbols cannot be seen properly, and
the same may be said of small cups. A plain-surfaced breakfast-cup is
perhaps the best to use; and the interior should be white and have no
pattern printed upon it, as this confuses the clearness of the picture
presented by the leaves, as does any fluting or eccentricity of shape.

The ritual to be observed is very simple. The tea-drinker should
drink the contents of his or her cup so as to leave only about half a
teaspoonful of the beverage remaining. He should next take the cup by
the handle in his left hand, rim upwards, and turn it three times from
left to right in one fairly rapid swinging movement. He should then very
slowly and carefully invert it over the saucer and leave it there for a
minute, so as to permit of all moisture draining away.

If he approaches the oracle at all seriously he should during the whole
of these proceedings concentrate his mind upon his future Destiny, and
'will' that the symbols forming under the guidance of his hand and
arm (which in their turn are, of course, directed by his brain) shall
correctly represent what is destined to happen to him in the future.

If, however, he or she is not in such deadly earnest, but merely
indulging in a harmless pastime, such an effort of concentration need
not be made. The 'willing' is, of course, akin to 'wishing' when cutting
the cards in another time-honoured form of fortune-telling.

The cup to be read should be held in the hand and turned about in order
to read the symbols without disturbing them, which will not happen
if the moisture has been properly drained away. The handle of the cup
represents the consultant and is akin to the 'house' in divination by
the cards. By this fixed point judgment is made as to events approaching
the 'house' of the consultant, journeys away from home, messages or
visitors to be expected, relative distance, and so forth. The advantage
of employing a cup instead of a saucer is here apparent.

'The bottom of the cup represents the remoter future foretold; the side
events not so far distant; and matters symbolised near the rim those
that may be expected to occur quickly. The nearer the symbols approach
the handle in all three cases the nearer to fulfilment will be the
events prognosticated.

If this simple ritual has been correctly carried out the tea-leaves,
whether many or few, will be found distributed about the bottom and
sides of the cup. The fortune may be equally well told whether there are
many leaves or few; but of course there must be some, and therefore the
tea should not have been made in a pot provided with one of the patent
arrangements that stop the leaves from issuing from the spout when the
beverage is poured into the cups. There is nothing to beat one of the
plain old-fashioned earthenware teapots, whether for the purpose of
preparing a palatable beverage or for that of providing the means of
telling a fortune.




CHAPTER III

GENERAL PRINCIPLES TO BE OBSERVED IN READING THE CUP

The interior of the tea-cup when it is ready to be consulted will
exhibit the leaves scattered apparently in a fortuitous and accidental
manner, but really in accordance with the muscular action of the left
arm as controlled by the mind at whose bidding it has worked. These
scattered leaves will form lines and circles of dots or small leaves
and dust combined with stems, and groups of leaves in larger or smaller
patches: apparently in meaningless confusion.

Careful notice should now be taken of all the shapes and figures formed
inside the cup. These should be viewed front different positions, so
that their meaning becomes clear. It is not very easy at first to see
what the shapes really are, but after looking at them carefully they
become plainer. The different shapes and figures in the cup must be
taken together in a general reading. Bad indications will be balanced by
good ones; some good ones will be strengthened by others, and so on.

It is now the business of the seer--whether the consultant or some adept
to whom he has handed the cup to be read--to find some fairly close
resemblance between the groups formed by the leaves and various natural
or artificial objects. This part of the performance resembles the
looking for 'pictures in the fire' as practised by children in nurseries
and school-rooms and occasionally by people of a larger growth. Actual
representations of such things as trees, animals, birds, anchors,
crowns, coffins, flowers, and so forth may by the exercise of the
powers of observation and imagination be discerned, as well as squares,
triangles, and crosses. Each of these possesses, as a symbol, some
fortunate or unfortunate signification. Such signs may be either large
or small, and their relative importance must be judged according to
their size. Supposing the symbol observed should be that indicating
the receipt of a legacy, for instance: if small it would mean that
the inheritance would be but trifling, if large that it would be
substantial, while if leaves grouped to form a resemblance to a coronet
accompany the sign for a legacy, a title would probably descend upon
the consultant at the same time. The meaning of all the symbols of this
nature likely to be formed by the fortuitous arrangement of leaves in
a tea-cup is fully set forth in the concluding chapter; and it is
unnecessary therefore to enlarge upon this branch of the subject.

There are, however, several points of a more general character that must
be considered before it is possible to form an accurate judgment of
the fortune displayed. For instance, isolated leaves or groups of a
few leaves or stems frequently form letters of the alphabet or numbers.
These letters and numbers possess meanings which must be sought in
conjunction with other signs. If near a letter L is seen a small square
or oblong leaf, or if a number of very small dots form such a square
or oblong, it indicates that a letter or parcel will be received from
somebody whose surname (not Christian name) begins with an L. If the
combined symbol appears near the handle and near the rim of the cup,
the letter is close at hand; if in the bottom there will be delay in its
receipt. If the sign of a letter is accompanied by the appearance of
a bird flying towards the 'house' it means a telegraphic despatch:
if flying away from the house the consultant will have to send the
telegram. Birds flying always indicate news of some sort.

Again, the dust in the tea and the smaller leaves and stems frequently
form lines of dots. These are significant of a journey, and their extent
and direction shows its length and the point of the compass towards
which it will extend: the handle for this purpose being considered as
due south. If the consultant is at home and lines lead from the handle
right round the cup and back to the handle, it shows that he will
return; if they end before getting back to the handle, and especially
if a resemblance to a house appears where the journey line ends, it
betokens removal to some other place. If the consultant be away from
home, lines leading to the handle show a return home, and if free
from crosses or other symbols of delay that the return will be speedy:
otherwise it will be postponed. The occurrence of a numeral may
indicate the number of days, or if in connection with a number of small
dots grouped around the sign of a letter, a present or a legacy, the
amount of the remittance in the former, the number of presents to be
expected, or the amount of the legacy coming. Dots surrounding a symbol
always indicate money coming in some form or other, according to the
nature of the symbol.

It will be seen that to read a fortune in the tea-cup with any real
approach to accuracy and a serious attempt to derive a genuine forecast
from the cup the seer must not be in a hurry. He or she must not only
study the general appearance of the horoscope displayed before him,
and decide upon the resemblance of the groups of leaves to natural or
artificial objects, each of which possesses a separate significance, but
must also balance the bad and good, the lucky and unlucky symbols, and
strike an average. For instance, a large bouquet of flowers, which is a
fortunate sign, would outweigh in importance one or two minute crosses,
which in this case would merely signify some small delay in the
realisation of success; whereas one large cross in a prominent position
would be a warning of disaster that would be little, if at all,
mitigated by the presence of small isolated flowers, however lucky
individually these may be. This is on the same principle as that by
which astrologers judge a horoscope, when, after computing the aspects
of the planets towards each other, the Sun and Moon, the Ascendant,
Mid-heaven, and the significator of the Native, they balance the good
aspects against the bad, the strong against the weak, the Benefics
against the Malefics, and so strike an average. In a similar way the
lucky and unlucky, signs in a tea-cup must be balanced one against the
other and an average struck: and in this connection it may be pointed
out that symbols which stand out clearly and distinctly by themselves
are of more importance than those with difficulty to be discerned amid
cloudlike masses of shapeless leaves. When these clouds obscure or
surround a lucky sign they weaken its force, and vice versa. In tea-cup
reading, however, the fortune told must be regarded chiefly as of a
horary character, not, as with an astrological horoscope, that of a
whole life; and where it is merely indulged in as a light amusement to
while away a few minutes after a meal such nicety of judgment is not
called for. The seer will just glance at the cup, note the sign for
a letter from someone, or that for a journey to the seaside or the
proximity of a gift, or an offer of marriage, and pass on to another
cup.

It should be observed that some cups when examined will present no
features of interest, or will be so clouded and muddled that no clear
meaning is to be read in them. In such a case the seer should waste no
time over them. Either the consultant has not concentrated his or her
attention upon the business in hand when turning the cup, or his destiny
is so obscured by the indecision of his mind or the vagueness of his
ideas that it is unable to manifest itself by symbols. Persons who
consult the tea-leaves too frequently often find this muddled state of
things to supervene. Probably once a week will be often enough to look
into the future, although there is something to be said for the Highland
custom of examining the leaves of the morning cup of tea in order to
obtain some insight into the events the day may be expected to bring
forth. To 'look in the cup' three or four times a day, as some
silly folk do, is simply to ask for contradictory manifestations and
consequent bewilderment, and is symptomatic of the idle, empty, bemused
minds that prompt to such ill-advised conduct.

Of course the tea-cup may be employed solely for the purpose of asking
what is known to astrologers as 'a horary question', such, for instance,
as 'Shall I hear from my lover in France, and when?' In this case the
attention of the consultant when turning the cup must be concentrated
solely on this single point, and the seer will regard the shapes taken
by the tea-leaves solely in this connection in order to give a definite
and satisfactory answer. An example of this class of horary question is
included among the illustrations (Fig. 10).




CHAPTER IV

AN ALPHABETICAL LIST OF SYMBOLS WITH THEIR SIGNIFICATIONS

A question that will very naturally occur to persons of an enquiring
turn of mind in regard to the figures and symbols seen in the tea-cup
is: Why should one symbol necessarily signify one thing and not
something quite different?

The answer, of course, is that the meanings given to the symbols are
purely arbitrary, and that there is no scientific reason why one should
signify one thing and not another. There is no real reason why the
ace of clubs, for instance, should not be considered the 'House Card'
instead of the nine of hearts, or why the double four in dominoes should
signify an invitation instead of a wedding, like the double three.

It is obviously necessary, however, in attempting to read the future by
means of any kind of symbols, whether pips, dots, numbers or anything
else, to fix beforehand upon some definite meaning to be attributed to
each separate symbol and to hold fast to this meaning in all events.
In the case of tea-leaves, where the symbols are not mere 'conventional
signs' or numbers but actual figures like the pictures seen in the fire
or those envisaged in dreams, there is no doubt that the signification
of most of them is the result of empyrical experience. Generations of
spae-wives have found that the recurrence of a certain figure in the
cup has corresponded with the occurrence of a certain event in the
future lives of the various persons who have consulted them: and this
empyrical knowledge has been handed down from seer to seer until a
sufficient deposit of tradition has been formed from which it has been
found possible to compile a detailed list of the most important symbols
and to attach to each a traditional meaning. These significations have
been collected by the writer--in a desultory manner--over a long period
of years chiefly from spae-wives in both Highland and Lowland Scotland,
but also in Cornwall, on Dartmoor, in Middle England, in Gloucestershire
and Northumberland. Occasionally it has been found that a different
meaning is attributed to a symbol by one seer from that given it by
another. In such cases an alternative signification might, of course,
have been given here, but as the essence of all such significations
is that they shall be stable and unvarying, the writer has fixed upon
whichever meaning has been most widely attributed to the symbol or
appears to have the best authority for its adoption, so that the element
of doubt may be excluded.

Although included in their alphabetical order in the list which follows,
there are certain figures and symbols which are of so common occurrence
and bear such definite interpretation that it is advisable to refer to
them here in detail. Certain symbols are invariably signs of approaching
good-fortune: certain others of threatened ill-luck. Among the former
may be mentioned triangles, stars, trefoil or clover-leaves, anchors,
trees, garlands and flowers, bridges or arches, and crowns. Among the
latter, coffins, clouds, crosses, serpents, rats and mice and some
wild beasts, hour-glasses, umbrellas, church-steeples, swords and guns,
ravens, owls, and monkeys are all ominous symbols.

SYMBOLS AND SIGNIFICATIONS

ABBEY, future ease and freedom from worry.

ACORN, improvement in health, continued health, strength, and good
fortune.

AIRCRAFT, unsuccessful projects.

ANCHOR, a lucky sign; success in business and constancy in love; if
cloudy, the reverse must be read.

ANGEL, good news, especially good fortune in love.

APES, secret enemies.

APPLES, long life; gain by commerce.

APPLE-TREE, change for the better.

ARCH, a journey abroad.

ARROW, a disagreeable letter from the direction in which it comes.

ASS, misfortune overcome by patience; or a legacy.

AXE, difficulties overcome.

BADGER, long life and prosperity as a bachelor.

BASKET, an addition to the family.

BAT, fruitless journeys or tasks.

BEAR, a long period of travel.

BEASTS, other than those mentioned, foretell misfortune.

BIRDS, a lucky sign; good news if flying, if at rest a fortunate
journey.

BOAT, a friend will visit the consultant.

BOUQUET, one of the luckiest of symbols; staunch friends, success, a
happy marriage.

BRIDGE, a favourable journey.

BUILDING, a removal.

BULL, slander by some enemy.

BUSH, an invitation into society.

BUTTERFLY, success and pleasure.

CAMEL, a burden to be patiently borne.

CANNON, good fortune.

CAR (MOTOR), and CARRIAGE, approaching wealth, visits from friends.

CART, fluctuations of fortune.

CASTLE, unexpected fortune or a legacy.

CAT, difficulties caused by treachery.

CATHEDRAL, great prosperity.

CATTLE, prosperity.

CHAIN, an early marriage; if broken, trouble in store.

CHAIR, an addition to the family.

CHURCH, a legacy.

CIRCLES, money or presents. They mean that the person whose fortune is
read may expect money or presents.

CLOUDS, serious trouble; if surrounded by dots, financial success.

CLOVER, a very lucky sign; happiness and prosperity. At the top of the
cup, it will come quickly. As it nears the bottom, it will mean more or
less distant.

COCK, much prosperity.

COFFIN, long sickness or sign of death of a near relation or great
friend.

COMET, misfortune and trouble.

COMPASSES, a sign of travelling as a profession.

COW, a prosperous sign.

CROSS, a sign of trouble and delay or even death.

CROWN, success and honour.

CROWN AND CROSS, signifies good fortune resulting from death.

DAGGER, favours from friends.

DEER, quarrels, disputes; failure in trade.

DOG, a favourable sign; faithful friends, if at top of cup; in middle of
cup, they are untrustworthy; at the bottom means secret enemies.

DONKEY, a legacy long awaited.

DOVE, a lucky symbol; progress in prosperity and affection.

DRAGON, great and sudden changes.

DUCK, increase of wealth by trade.

EAGLE, honour and riches through change of residence.

ELEPHANT, a lucky sign; good health.

FALCON, a persistent enemy.

FERRET, active enemies.

FISH, good news from abroad; if surrounded by dots, emigration.

FLAG, danger from wounds inflicted by an enemy.

FLEUR-DE-LYS, same as LILY (q.v.).

FLOWERS, good fortune, success; a happy marriage.

FOX, treachery by a trusted friend.

FROG, success in love and commerce.

GALLOWS, a sign of good luck.

GOAT, a sign of enemies, and of misfortune to a sailor.

GOOSE, happiness; a successful venture.

GRASSHOPPER, a great friend will become a soldier.

GREYHOUND, a good fortune by strenuous exertion.

GUN, a sign of discord and slander.

HAMMER, triumph over adversity.

HAND, to be read in conjunction with neighbouring symbols and according
to what it points.

HARE, a sign of a long journey, or the return of an absent friend. Also
of a speedy and fortunate marriage to those who are single.

HARP, marriage, success in love.

HAT, success in life.

HAWK, an enemy.

HEART, pleasures to come; if surrounded by dots, through money; if
accompanied by a ring, through marriage.

HEAVENLY BODIES, SUN, MOON AND STARS, signifies happiness and success.

HEN, increase of riches or an addition to the family.

HORSE, desires fulfilled through a prosperous journey.

HORSE-SHOE, a lucky journey or success in marriage and choosing a
partner.

HOUR-GLASS, imminent peril.

HOUSE, success in business.

HUMAN FIGURES must be judged according to what they appear to be doing.
They are generally good and denote love and marriage.

INTERROGATION (mark of), doubt or disappointment.

IVY, honour and happiness through faithful friends.

JACKAL, a sly animal who need not be feared. A mischief maker of no
account.

JOCKEY, successful speculation.

JUG, good health.

KANGAROO, a rival in business or love.

KETTLE, death.

KEY, money, increasing trade, and a good husband or wife.

KITE, a sign of lengthy voyaging and travel leading to honour and
dignity.

KNIFE, a warning of disaster through quarrels and enmity.

LADDER, a sign of travel.

LEOPARD, a sign of emigration with subsequent success.

LETTERS, shown by square or oblong tea-leaves, signifies news. Initials
near will show surnames of writers; if accompanied by dots they will
contain money; if unclouded, good; but if fixed about by clouds, bad
news or loss of money.

LILY, at top of cup, health and happiness; a virtuous wife; at bottom,
anger and strife.

LINES indicate journeys and their direction, read in conjunction with
other signs of travel; wavy lines denote troublesome journeys or losses
therein.

LION, greatness through powerful friends.

LYNX, danger of divorce or break off of an engagement.

MAN, a visitor arriving. If the arm is held out, he brings a present.
If figure is very clear, he is dark; if indistinct, he is of light
complexion.

MERMAID, misfortune, especially to seafaring persons.

MITRE, a sign of honour to a clergyman or through religious agency.

MONKEY, the consultant will be deceived in love.

MOON (as a crescent), prosperity and fortune.

MOUNTAIN, powerful friends; many mountains, equally powerful enemies.

MOUSE, danger of poverty through theft or swindling.

MUSHROOM, sudden separation of lovers after a quarrel.

NOSEGAY, the same as BOUQUET (q.v.).

NUMBERS depends on symbols in conjunction with them.

OAK, very lucky; long life, good health, profitable business, and a
happy marriage.

OBLONG FIGURES, family or business squabbles.

OWL, an evil omen, indicative of sickness, poverty, disgrace, a warning
against commencing any new enterprise. If the consultant be in love he
or she will be deceived.

PALM-TREE, good luck; success in any undertaking. A sign of children to
a wife and of a speedy marriage to a maid.

PARROT, a sign of emigration for a lengthy period.

PEACOCK, denotes success and the acquisition of property; also a happy
marriage.

PEAR, great wealth and improved social position; success in business,
and to a woman a wealthy husband.

PEDESTRIAN, good news; an important appointment.

PHEASANT, a legacy.

PIG, good and bad luck mixed: a faithful lover but envious friends.

PIGEONS, important news if flying; if at rest, domestic bliss and wealth
acquired in trade.

PINE-TREE, continuous happiness.

PISTOL, disaster.

RABBIT, fair success in a city or large town.

RAT, treacherous servants; losses through enemies.

RAVEN, death for the aged; disappointment in love, divorce, failure in
business, and trouble generally.

RAZOR, lovers' quarrels and separation.

REPTILE, quarrels.

RIDER, good news from overseas regarding financial prospects.

RIFLE, a sign of discord and strife.

RING, a ring means marriage; and if a letter can be found near it, this
is the initial of the future spouse. If clouds are near the ring, an
unhappy marriage; if all is clear about it, the contrary. A ring right
at the bottom means the wedding will not take place.

ROSE, a lucky sign betokening good fortune and happiness.

SAW, trouble brought about by strangers.

SCALES, a lawsuit.

SCEPTRE, a sign of honour from royalty.

SCISSORS, quarrels; illness; separation of lovers.

SERPENT, spiteful enemies; bad luck; illness.

SHARK, danger of death.

SHEEP, success, prosperity.

SHIP, a successful journey.

SNAKES are a sign of bad omen. Great caution is needed to ward off
misfortune.

SPIDER, a sign of money coming to the consultant.

SQUARES, comfort and peace.

STAR, a lucky sign; if surrounded by dots foretells great wealth and
honours.

STEEPLE, bad luck.

STRAIGHT LINE, a journey, very pleasant.

STRAIGHT LINES are an indication of peace, happiness, and long life.

SWALLOW, a journey with a pleasant ending.

SWAN, good luck and a happy marriage.

SWORD, dispute, quarrels between lovers; a broken sword, victory of an
enemy.

TIMBER, logs of timber indicate business success.

TOAD, deceit and unexpected enemies.

TREES, a lucky sign; a sure indication of prosperity and happiness;
surrounded by dots, a fortune in the country.

TRIANGLES, always a sign of good luck and unexpected legacies.

TRIDENT, success and honours in the Navy.

TWISTED FIGURES, disturbances and vexation; grievances if there are many
such figures.

UMBRELLA, annoyance and trouble.

UNICORN, scandal.

VULTURE, bitter foes.

WAGON, a sign of approaching poverty.

WAVY LINES, if long and waved, denote losses and vexations. The
importance of the lines depends upon the number of them and if heavy or
light.

WHEEL, an inheritance about to fall in.

WINDMILL, success in a venturous enterprise.

WOLF, beware of jealous intrigues.

WOMAN, pleasure and happiness; if accompanied by dots, wealth or
children. Several women indicate scandal.

WOOD, a speedy marriage.

WORMS indicate secret foes.

YACHT, pleasure and happiness.

YEW-TREE indicates the death of an aged person who will leave his
possessions to the consultant.

ZEBRA, travel and adventure in foreign lands.




CHAPTER V

A COLLECTION OF SPECIMEN CUPS, WITH INTERPRETATIONS

The succeeding ten figures are copied from actual tea-cups that have
been at different times subjected to the proper ritual by various
consultants and duly interpreted by seers. They are selected out of
a larger number as being representative of many different classes of
horoscope, and they should afford students practical instruction in what
symbols to look for, and how to discern them clearly as they turn the
cup about and about in their hands.

By reference to the interpretations provided upon the pages facing the
illustrations he will be able to ascertain the principles upon which to
form a judgment of the cup generally; and this, once he has mastered the
method, he will be able to supplement, by consulting the alphabetical
list of symbols and their significations in the previous chapter, and
in this way will speedily attain proficiency in reading any tea-cup
presented for his consideration.


INTERPRETATIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS



INTERPRETATION

FIG.1

This is a fortunate horoscope. If cup has been turned by a man it shows
that he will gain success, honour, and wealth in the profession of a
naval officer. If by a woman then her luck is bound up with that of a
sailor or marine.

The pistols on the sides show the profession of arms, and the naval gun
in the bottom of the cup accompanied by a trident the branch to which he
belongs. The on one side and the tree on the other are two of the best
signs of promotion, rewards, and prosperity. The house near the pistol
pointing towards the handle of the cup indicates the acquisition of
property, but as neither tree nor house are surrounded by dots this will
be a town, not a country, residence. The repetition of the initial 'L'
may show the name of the admiral, ship, or battle in which the officer
will win renown. The triangles confirm the other signs of good fortune.

[ILLUSTRATION 1]

FIG.1

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Two pistols on sides.
     A cannon in conjunction with a trident in centre.
     A pear.
     A tree.

     on sides.
     A house.
     A pair of compasses near the rim.
     Several small triangles scattered about. Initial letters 'L'
     (twice), 'N,' and 'V' (twice).



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 2

There is nothing very significant in this tea-cup. The wavy lines denote
a troublesome journey leading to some small amount of luck in connection
with a person or place whose name begins with the initial 'E.' The
hour-glass near the rim and the place from which the journey starts
denotes that it will be undertaken in order to avoid some imminent
peril. The numeral '4' conjoined with the sign of a parcel shows that
one may be expected in that number of days.

[ILLUSTRATION 2]

FIG.2

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Wavy lines.
     Initial 'E' in conjunction with Horse-shoe.
     Hour-glass near rim.
     Parcel in conjunction with numeral '4.'



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 3

This shows, by means of the crescent moon on the side, prosperity and
fortune as the result of a journey denoted by the lines. The number
of triangles in conjunction with the initial 'H' indicates the name
commences with that letter, and, being near the rim, at no great
distance of time. The bird flying towards and near the handle,
accompanied by a triangle and a long envelope, denotes good news from an
official source. The flag gives warning of some danger from an enemy.

[ILLUSTRATION 3]

FIG. 3

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Crescent moon.
     Bird flying.
     Triangles.
     Flag.
     Initial 'A' in conjunction with sign of letter in official
     envelope.
     Other initials, 'H' and two 'L's.'



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 4

The consultant is about to journey eastward to some large building or
institution, shown by the figure at the end of the straight line of
dots. There is some confusion in his or her affairs caused by too much
indulgence in pleasure and gaiety, denoted by the butterfly involved
in obscure groups of tea-leaves near the handle. The tree and the
fleur-de-lys (or lily) in the bottom of the cup are, however, signs of
eventual success, probably through the assistance of some person whose
name begins with an 'N.'

[ILLUSTRATION 4]

FIG. 4

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Large tree in bottom of cup.
     Fleur-de-lys (or lily).
     Butterfly on side approaching handle.
     Line of dots leading east to Building.
     Initials 'N' and 'C.'



INTERPRETATION

FIG.5

A letter is approaching the consultant containing a considerable sum of
money, as it is surrounded by dots. The future, shown by the bottom of
the cup, is not clear, and betokens adversities; but the presence of the
hammer there denotes triumph over these, a sign confirmed by the hat on
the side. The consultant will be annoyed by somebody whose name begins
with 'J,' and assisted by one bearing the initial 'Y.'

[ILLUSTRATION 5]

FIG. 5

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Hammer in centre of bottom.
     A letter approaching the house, accompanied by
     Dots,
     Hat,
     Initials 'Y' and 'J' (accompanied by small cross).



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 6

A letter containing good news, shown by bird flying and the triangle,
may be expected immediately. If from a lover it shows that he is
constant and prosperous, owing to the anchor on the side. The large
tree on the side indicates happiness and prosperity. A letter will be
received from someone whose initial is 'L.' In the bottom of the cup
there are signs of minor vexations or delays in connection with someone
whose name begins with 'C.'

[ILLUSTRATION 6]

FIG. 6

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Large tree on side.
     Anchor on side.
     Bird flying high towards handle.
     Small cross in bottom.
     Letter sign close to handle.
     Triangle.
     Initial 'L' with letter sign.
     Other initials, 'C' and 'H.'



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 7

The two horse-shoes indicate a lucky journey to some large residence
in a north-easterly direction, the tree surmounting which denotes that
happiness and fortune will be found there and that (as it is surrounded
by dots) it is situated in the country. The sitting hen in the bottom
of the cup, surmounted by a triangle (to see which properly the
illustration must be turned round) is indicative of increased wealth by
an unexpected legacy. A letter from someone whose name begins with
'T' will contain a remittance of money, but it may not arrive for some
little time.

[ILLUSTRATION 7]

FIG.7

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Large horse-shoe, edge of bottom, in conjunction with
     smaller horse-shoe.
     Line of dots leading E.N.E. to
     Large building surmounted by
     Tree, overlapping rim.
     Flowers.
     Small triangles.
     Initial 'T' with letter and money signs.



INTERPRETATION

FIG.8

This tea-cup appears to give warning by the flag in conjunction with
a rifle and the letter 'V' that some friend of the consultant will be
wounded in battle, and as there is a coffin in the bottom of the cup
that the wounds will be fatal. On the other side, however, a sceptre,
surrounded by signs of honours, seems to indicate that 'V' will be
recognized by his sovereign and a decoration bestowed upon him
for bravery in battle, shown by the initial 'K' accompanied by a
letter-sign, and by the astrological sign of Mars, intervening between
these and the sceptre.

[ILLUSTRATION 8]

FIG. 8

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Coffin in bottom, in conjunction with 'V.'
     Flag in conjunction with rifle on side.
     Sceptre on side.
     Large initial 'K' with letter sign near sceptre.
     Astrological sign of Mars between them.
     Initial 'V' near flag and rifle.



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 9

If the consultant be single this cup will, by means of the hare on the
side, tell him that he will speedily be married. The figure of a lady
holding out an ivy-leaf is a sign that his sweetheart will prove true
and constant, and the heart in conjunction with a ring and the initial
'A' still further points to marriage with a person whose name begins
with that letter. The flower, triangle, and butterfly are all signs of
prosperity, pleasure and happiness.

[ILLUSTRATION 9]

FIG.9

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Hare sitting on side.
     Butterfly near rim.
     Heart and ring.
     Large flower on edge of bottom.
     Figure of woman holding ivy-leaf in bottom.
     Triangle.
     Initials 'A' and small 'C' with dots.



INTERPRETATION

FIG. 10

This is typical of the cup being too often consulted by some people. It
is almost void of meaning, the only symbols indicating a short journey,
although the flower near the rim denotes good luck, and the fact that
the bottom is clear that nothing very important is about to happen to
the consultant.

[ILLUSTRATION 10]

FIG. 10

_Principal Symbols_:--

     Line of dots leading W.S.W to
     Flower.
     Two letters near rim



CHAPTER VI

OMENS

How have omens been regarded in the past? An appeal to anciency is
usually a safeguard for a basis. It is found that most of the earliest
records are now subsisting. See official guide to the British Museum.
Babylonian and Assyrian antiquities, table case H. Nineveh Gallery, the
following appears:

"By means of omen tablets the Babylonian and Assyrian priests from time
immemorial predicted events which they believed would happen in the near
or in the remote future. They deduced these omens from the appearance
and actions of animals, birds, fish, and reptiles; from the appearance
of the entrails of sacrificial victims; from the appearance and
condition of human and animal offspring at birth; from the state and
condition of various members of the human body."

In India, where the records of the early ages of civilization go back
hundreds of years, omens are considered of great importance.

Later, in Greece, the home of the greatest and highest culture and
civilization, we find, too, omens regarded very seriously, while to-day
there are vast numbers of persons of intellect, the world over, who
place reliance upon omens.

That there is some good ground for belief in some omens seems
indisputable. Whether this has arisen as the result of experience, by
the following of some particular event close upon the heels of signs
observed, or whether it has been an intuitive science, in which
provision has been used to afford an interpretation, is not quite
clear. It seems idle to attempt to dismiss the whole thing as mere
superstition, wild guessing, or abject credulity, as some try to do,
with astrology and alchemy also, and other occult sciences; the fact
remains that omens have, in numberless instances, given good warnings.

To say that these are just coincidences is to beg the question. For
the universe is governed by law. Things happen because they must, not
because they may. There is no such thing as accident or coincidence. We
may not be able to see the steps and the connections. But they are there
all the same.

In years gone by many signs were deduced from the symptoms of sick
men; the events or actions of a man's life; dreams and visions; the
appearance of a man's shadow; from fire, flame, light, or smoke; the
state and condition of cities and their streets, of fields, marshes,
rivers, and lands. From the appearances of the stars and planets, of
eclipses, meteors, shooting stars, the direction of winds, the form of
clouds, thunder and lightning and other weather incidents, they were
able to forecast happenings. A number of tablets are devoted to these
prophecies.

It is conceivable that many of these omens should have found their way
into Greece, and it is not unreasonable to believe that India may have
derived her knowledge of omens from Babylonia; or it may have been the
other way about. The greatest of scholars are divided in their opinions
as to which really is the earlier civilization.

The point to be made here is that in all parts of the world--in
quarters where we may be certain that no trace of Grecian, Indian, or
Babylonian science or civilization has appeared--there are to be found
systems of prophecies by omens.

It may be accounted for in two ways. One that in all races as they grow
up, so to speak, there is the same course of evolution of ideas and
superstition which to many appears childish. The other explanation seems
to be the more reasonable one, if we believe, as we are forced to
do, that omens do foretell--that all peoples, all races, accumulate a
record, oral or otherwise, of things which have happened more or less
connected with things which seemed to indicate them. In course of time
this knowledge appears to consolidate. It gets generally accepted as
true. And then it is handed on from generation to generation. Often with
the passage of years it gets twisted and a new meaning taken out of it
altogether different from the original.

It would be difficult to attempt to classify omens. Many books have been
written on the subject and more yet to be written of the beliefs of the
various races. The best that can be offered here is a selection from one
or other of the varied sources. In Greece sneezing was a good omen and
was considered a proof of the truth of what was said at the moment by
the sneezer.

A tingling in the hand denoted the near handling of money, a ringing
in the ears that news will soon be received. The number of sneezes then
became a sign for more definite results. The hand which tingled, either
right or left, indicated whether it were to be paid or received. The
particular ear affected was held to indicate good or evil news.
Other involuntary movements of the body were also considered of prime
importance.

Many omens are derived from the observation of various substances
dropped into a bowl of water. In Babylon oil was used. To-day in various
countries melted lead, wax, or the white of an egg, is used. From the
shapes which result, the trade or occupation of a future husband, the
luck for the year, and so on, are deduced in the folk practices of
modern Europe. Finns use stearine and melted lead, Magyars lead,
Russians wax, Danes lead and egg, and the northern counties of England
egg, wax and oil.

Bird omens were the subject of very serious study in Greece. It has been
thought that this was because in the early mythology of Greece some
of their gods and goddesses were believed to have been birds. Birds,
therefore, were particularly sacred, and their appearances and movements
were of profound significance. The principal birds for signs were the
raven, the crow, the heron, wren, dove, woodpecker, and kingfisher, and
all the birds of prey, such as the hawk, eagle, or vulture, which the
ancients classed together (W. R. Halliday, "Greek Divination"). Many
curious instances, which were fulfilled, of bird omens are related in
"The Other World," by Rev. F. Lee. A number of families have traditions
about the appearance of a white bird in particular.

"In the ancient family of Ferrers, of Chartley Park, in Staffordshire, a
herd of wild cattle is preserved. A tradition arose in the time of Henry
III. that the birth of a parti-coloured calf is a sure omen of death,
within the same year, to a member of the Lord Ferrers family. By
a noticeable coincidence, a calf of this description has been born
whenever a death has happened of late years in this noble family."
(_Staffordshire Chronicle_, July, 1835). The falling of a picture or a
statue or bust of the individual is usually regarded as an evil omen.
Many cases are cited where this has been soon followed by the death of
the person.

It would be easy to multiply instances of this sort: of personal omen or
warning. The history and traditions of our great families are saturated
with it. The predictions and omens relating to certain well known
families, and others, recur at once; and from these it may be inferred
that beneath the more popular beliefs there is enough fire and truth to
justify the smoke that is produced, and to reward some of the faith
that is placed in the modern dreambooks and the books of fate and the
interpretations of omens.

OMENS

ACORN.--Falling from the oak tree on anyone, is a sign of good fortune
to the person it strikes.

BAT.--To see one in day time means long journey.

BIRTHDAYS.--

     "Monday's child is fair of face,
     Tuesday's child is full of grace,
     Wednesday's child is full of woe,
     Thursday's child has far to go,
     Friday's child is loving and giving,
     Saturday's child works hard for its living;
     But a child that's born on the Sabbath-day
     Is handsome and wise and loving and gay."

BUTTERFLY.--In your room means great pleasure and success, but you must
not catch it, or the luck will change.

CANDLE.--A spark on the wick of a candle means a letter for the one who
first sees it. A big glow like a parcel means money coming to you.

CAT.--Black cat to come to your house means difficulties caused by
treachery. Drive it away and avoid trouble.

CHAIN.--If your chain breaks while on you means disappointments or a
broken engagement of marriage.

CLOTHES.--To put on clothes the wrong way out is a sign of good luck;
but you must not alter them, or the luck will change.

CLOVER.--To find a four-leaf clover means luck to you, happiness and
prosperity.

COW.--Coming in your yard or garden a very prosperous sign.

CRICKETS.--A lucky omen. It foretells money coming to you. They should
not be disturbed.

DOG.--Coming to your house, means faithful friends and a favourable
sign.

DEATH-WATCH.--A clicking in the wall by this little insect is regarded
as evil, but it does not necessarily mean a death; possibly only some
sickness.

EARS.--You are being talked about if your ear tingles. Some say, "right
for spite, left for love." Others reverse this omen. If you think of the
person, friend, or acquaintance who is likely to be talking of you, and
mention the name aloud, the tingling will cease if you say the right
one.

FLAG.--If it falls from the staff, while flying it means danger from
wounds inflicted by an enemy.

FRUIT STONES OR PIPS.--Think of a wish first, and then count your stones
or pips. If the number is even, the omen is good. If odd, the reverse is
the case.

GRASSHOPPER in the house means some great friend or distinguished person
will visit you.

HORSESHOE.--To find one means it will bring you luck.

KNIVES crossed are a bad omen. If a knife or fork or scissors falls to
the ground and sticks in the floor you will have a visitor.

LADYBIRDS betoken visitors.

LOOKING GLASS.--To break means it will bring you ill luck.

MAGPIES.--One, bad luck; two, good luck; three, a wedding; four, a
birth.

MARRIAGE.--A maid should not wear colours; a widow never white. Happy
omens for brides are sunshine and a cat sneezing.

MAY.--"Marry in May, and you'll rue the day."

NEW MOON on a Monday signifies good luck and good weather. The new moon
seen for the first time over the right shoulder offers the chance for a
wish to come true.

NIGHTINGALE.--Lucky for lovers if heard before the cuckoo.

OWLS are evil omens. Continuous hooting of owls in your trees is said to
be one of ill-health.

PIGS.--To meet a sow coming towards you is good; but if she turns away,
the luck flies.

RABBITS.--A rabbit running across your path is said to be unlucky.

RAT.--A rat running in front of you means treacherous servants and
losses through enemies.

RAVEN.--To see one, means death to the aged or trouble generally.

SALT spilled means a quarrel. This may be avoided by throwing a pinch
over the left shoulder.

SCISSORS.--If they fall and stick in the floor it means quarrels,
illness, separation of lovers.

SERPENT OR SNAKE.--If it crosses your path, means spiteful enemies, bad
luck. Kill it and your luck will be reversed.

SHOES.--The right shoe is the best one to put on first.

SHOOTING STARS.--If you wish, while the star is still moving, your wish
will come true.

SINGING before breakfast, you'll cry before night.

SPIDERS.--The little red spider is the money spider, and means good
fortune coming to you. It must not be disturbed. Long-legged spiders are
also forerunners of good fortune.

TOWEL.--To wipe your hands on a towel at the same time with another,
means you are to quarrel with him or her in the near future.

WHEEL.--The wheel coming off any vehicle you are riding in means you are
to inherit some fortune, a good omen.

WASHING HANDS.--If you wash your hands in the water just used by
another, a quarrel may be expected, unless you first make the sign of
the cross over the water.


INTRODUCTION 

Emm a, a Novel : By the Author of Pride and Prejudice; 3 
vols., i2mo, price One Guinea, was first announced in the 
Quarterly's list of New Publications for January 1816 — the 
year which appears upon its title-page. In common with 
Miss Austen's previous efforts, it was anonymous; but 
whereas Sense and Sensibility ', Pride and Prejudice^ and 
Mansfield Park had been obscurely put forth by the obscure 
Mr. Egerton of the 'Military Library,' Whitehall, Emma 
was ushered into the world under the auspices of the great 
Mr. Murray. How this transfer of publishers came about 
is not stated; but from the fact that the announcement 
of Emma is immediately followed by that of the second 
edition of Mansfield Park y it must be assumed that the 
author's fortunes were now wholly entrusted to the Albe- 
marle Street house. Notwithstanding the date upon its 
title-page, it is clear that (as is often the case) Emma was 
actually in circulation in the December of the previous 
year, and at a still earlier date either the proofs or the MS. 
must have been in the hands of the Quarterly's reviewers, 
since the book is noticed at considerable length in the 
number for October 1815. Upon the growth and progress 
of the story the published correspondence of the author, 
as usual, throws no light. It should have been begun, how- 
ever, shortly after Mansfield Park was finished; and, in 
November 1815, — while Miss Austen was nursing her sick 

vii 



EMMA 

brother Henry at 23 Hans Place, — it was apparently passing 
through the press with all the tardiness traditionally attached 
to that operation. Proof of this may be said to be supplied 
by deprecatory explanations from Mr. Murray, and apologies 
from Mr. Roworth, the Quarterly printer. But before 
the leisurely letter which tells Cassandra Austen of these 
things was ended, the book was proceeding — again after 
the customary fashion of books at press — by leaps and 
bounds; and in the next bulletin the author is wrestling 
with the printer's reader over the inevitable (and generally 
invaluable) marginal queries in proof. Before the middle 
of December, Emma was on the point of issue ; and before 
the year had closed it was in the hands of some of the 
writer's friends, including, of necessity, that distinguished 
Patron of Art and Letters, the Prince Regent, to whom, 
as already related in the Introduction to Pride and 
Prejudice} it had been inscribed by invitation. In writing 
to the Prince's librarian, Mr. J. S. Clarke, on the subject 
of the presentation copy, which was to reach His Royal 
Highness three days before any one else, Miss Austen 
(much in the same way as she had done to her sister with 
regard to Pride and Prejudice) sets forth her own ideas of the 
new book — the last, as a matter of fact, which she was 
destined to behold in type. * My greatest anxiety at present 
is that this fourth work should not disgrace what was good 
in the others. But on this point (she says) I will do 
myself the justice to declare that, whatever may be my 
wishes for its success, I am strongly haunted with the 
idea that to those readers who have preferred Pride and 
Prejudice it will appear inferior in wit, and to those who 
have preferred Mansfield Park inferior in good sense.' 

1 Pride and Prejudice (Macmillan's Illustrated Standard Novels), 
1895, xvii. 

viii 



INTRODUCTION 

Upon any disparities between Emma and its immediate 
predecessor, Miss Austen must have derived but scant 
enlightenment from the notice in the Quarterly^ which, by 
some mischance, while professing to summarise her former 
novels, is absolutely silent as to Mansfield Park. Of the 
story of Emma it gives a sufficient report, and an extract 
of considerable length in illustration of Mr. Woodhouse's 
peculiarities. The merits of the author are declared to 
consist in the neatness and point of the narrative, and the 
quiet comedy of the dialogue, ' in which the characters of 
the speakers evolve themselves with dramatic effect ' ; while 
the faults are said to lie in the minute detail of the plan, 
and in a certain tedium in the presentment of such 
' characters of folly and simplicity ' as Mr. Woodhouse and 
Miss Bates. This latter deliverance, as may well be 
imagined, gave but qualified satisfaction to Miss Austen's 
first biographer, Mr. Austen-Leigh, nor was it to the taste 
of her next critic, Dr. Whately, who, five years later, in 
the same periodical, traversed both these propositions, 
besides devoting several pages to special examination of 
the neglected beauties of Mansfield Park. Miss Austen's 
minuteness, Dr. Whately argues, even if it can be 
characterised as tedious, is essential to that complete 
acquaintance with her characters which is necessary to 
interest the reader in them ; and in regard to the strictures 
which his forerunner makes upon her fools, he roundly 
maintains that it requires more genius to paint a fool than a 
person of sense, — ' that to the eye of a skilful naturalist, the 
insects on a leaf present as wide differences as exist between 
the elephant and the lion,' — and that the critics who find 
Miss Austen's fools too like nature, must (whatever deference 
they may outwardly pay to received opinions) also find 
Twelfth Night and the Merry Wives of Windsor exceedingly 

ix 



EMMA 

tiresome. In this, and in other parts of his paper, which 
unhappily was not published until after Miss Austen's 
death, Dr. Whately struck the note of subsequent criticism, 
by which, with more or less emphasis, these opinions have 
been reasserted — the comparison with Shakespeare not 
omitted. 'The hand which drew Miss Bates, though it 
could not have drawn Lady Macbeth, could have drawn 
Dame Quickly or the nurse in Romeo and Juliet? So says 
Mr. Austen- Leigh's latest successor, Prof. Gold win Smith. 
Yet a genuine admirer may perhaps allow that some of the 
excellent Miss Bates's speeches, even though they should 
be taken by the reader in double-quick time, would not 
be the worse for curtailment. ' La nature est bonne a imiter, 
mats non pas jusqtfa V ennui? This, however, is the solitary 
concession we are disposed to make to the first critic of 
Emma, whose depressing remarks upon its humorous per- 
sonages had probably their baneful effect upon the humorous 
personages of Persuasion. 

The prolonged interval which lies between the com- 
position of Mansfield Park and Emma and the composition 
of Miss Austen's previously published novels has doubtless 
prompted the discovery of a difference between the styles 
of the earlier and later work — a difference which is perhaps 
more expected than apparent. For, if a comparison of 
style must be made, it should surely be between the books 
last written and Northanger Abbey, rather than between 
those books and Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensi- 
bility ', since both of these latter were revised by the author at 
Chawton, while Northanger Abbey was printed precisely as 
it had been left when the Bath bookseller buried it pro- 
visionally in his drawer. But without refining too nicely, 
it may be granted that the Chawton group of books exhibit 
just that progress towards perfection which should be expected 



INTRODUCTION 

when we contrast the efforts of a clever girl in her teens 
with the same person's productions after she has gained 
experience of life. We have seen that Miss Austen her- 
self was prepared to be told that Emma was less witty 
than Pride and Prejudice^ and it is manifest that there 
is a prodigality of sparkle in the one which is — at least — 
subdued in the other. In Emma^ indeed, Miss Austen 
appears to have adopted Mademoiselle de Lespinasse's 
motto of Rien en relief. With the exception of the some- 
what laboured outburst in Chapter III in favour of the old- 
fashioned boarding-school as against the new, the style is 
everywhere carefully subordinated to the needs of the 
narrative, while the slender thread of the intrigue is followed 
with the closest tenacity. The heroine, at first, is scarcely 
as winning as some of her predecessors, certainly she is not 
so clever. 'I am going to take a heroine whom no one 
but myself will much like,' said Emma's creator at the 
outset, and in part she was right; for Emma's devices to 
alienate Harriet from Robert Martin do, at first, create a 
positive prejudice against her. But her character is so 
subtly and gradually developed, that by the time she has 
come to see the errors of match-making, and has reached 
the luminous moment when 'it darted through her with 
the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no 
one but herself,' we are almost prepared to forgive her 
for being rude to Miss Bates. Whether Mr. Knightley 
really made an ideal husband is impossible to say, since 
Miss Austen, although she seems to have vouchsafed some 
supplementary particulars to her family respecting Frank 
Churchill and Jane Fairfax, has, on this topic, preserved a 
discreet silence. Lord Brabourne, who is only lukewarm 
about Emma as a novel, is distinctly of opinion that the 
marriage did not prove a success. But he is unreasonably 

xi 



EMMA 

prejudiced against Mr. Knightley, who, he says, * interfered 
too much.' Perhaps he does, but he loves Emma through 
all her faults, and all his fault-finding. Again, Lord 
Brabourne considers Mr. Knightley too old. But here he 
has Shakespeare against him : — 

" Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself. So wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart." 

Emma, let us hope, wore well, for she can only have been 
forty when her husband was fifty-six. Those, however, who 
regard Mr. Knightley as the Grandison of Miss Austen's 
little gallery will do well to bear in mind her own warning 
words: — 'They (Mr. Knightley and Edmund Bertram of 
Mansfield Park) are very far from being what I know 
English gentlemen often are.' 

Of the remaining characters, Frank Churchill is of the 
race of the Willoughbys and Wickhams, though perhaps more 
genuinely agreeable; while of Jane Fairfax and blue-eyed 
Harriet Smith, with the vacuous ' heart to let,' there is not 
much to say. The valetudinarian vagaries of Mr. Wood- 
house, with his cultus of thin gruel (which once moved a 
noble Earl to poetry in a contemporary Keepsake), his 
horror of the deadly effects of wedding-cake, and his rigid 
views on the reckless circulation of the muffin, are certainly 
comic, if they do not even rise to tragedy at the point 
where poor Mrs. Bates is summarily deprived of her sweet- 
bread because the attendant asparagus is decided to be 
imperfectly cooked. But according to our strenuous modern 
ideas, Miss Austen would have succeeded in attaching us 
more closely to Emma's father if she could have given him 
some stronger rectifying qualities than amiability and polite- 
ness, and it is impossible not to be haunted by the feeling 
that he receives from those about him rather more con- 



INTRODUCTION 

sideration and devotion than he rightly deserves. Of Miss 
Bates and her inimitable (if inordinate) babble enough has 
been said. But the Eltons are little masterpieces. The 
husband with his watery acquiescences and stereotyped 
'Exactly so's,' and the flashy, rattle-pated wife with her Maple- 
Grove -and -barouche -landau background, are character- 
sketches of absolute fidelity to nature. Utterly commonplace 
they may be, but they are also undeniably alive. 

Turning the pages oiEmma as we close, we are reminded 
once again of the writer's limitations, or, to speak with 
stricter accuracy, of the limitations within which she prefers 
to exercise her powers. Her characters, as before, are 
taken from the middle classes; they live in a country 
village, to which the story is confined; and they are ex- 
hibited in enterprises of no greater pith and moment than 
are involved in the arrangements for a subscription ball at the 
Crown, or the preliminaries to a picnic at Box Hill. They 
are unperplexed by problems, social or political : if they are 
interested in riddles, — transcribed upon hot-pressed paper 
1 and ornamented with ciphers and trophies/ — the riddle of 
the painful earth has plainly no place in that elegant 
anthology. There is a clergyman of whose theology we 
know no more than that lists were made of his texts, not 
because the discourses thereon were good, but because he 
himself was good-looking; there are a barrister and a 
magistrate, to whose practice of their respective vocations 
about three lines are devoted in three volumes. Books must 
sometimes have been read even at Highbury ; but the evi- 
dences of belles lettres are confined to three or four hack- 
neyed quotations (two of which belong to Mrs. Elton) and 
the casual mention of certain unnamed authors who lie (like 
Baker's Chronicle at Sir Roger de Coverley's) in the window 
seat at Abbey-Mill Farm. There are references to parochial 

xiii 



EMMA 

meetings at the village inn, which must have brought out 
the relative positions of Mr. Knightley, Mr. Weston, and 
Mr. Elton, in a way that would have tempted the pen of 
Anthony Trollope. But all these things Miss Austen passes 
by. Doubtless, if she could have been interrogated upon 
the subject she would have replied — much as she did to 
the equally impertinent suggestions of the egregious Mr. 
Clarke — that they were, if not necessarily beyond her hand, 
at all events beside her matter ; and that in any case they 
were by no means indispensable to the safe conduct of three 
or four couples towards that ultimate consummation which 
the high-flown Mrs. Elton describes as 'Hymen's saffron 
robe.' And whatever Miss Austen's answer might have 
been, she is justified by her results. The candid reader of 
Emma — unless, of course, he chance to be the 'severe, sour- 
complexioned man ' whom Izaak Walton disallows as a com- 
petent judge of literary merit — must admit that the narrative, 
criticise it as he may, carries him on, interested and ex- 
pectant, from the first page to the last. 

There is another noticeable, and probably hitherto un- 
noticed, difference between Miss Austen's work and the 
novel of to-day, and that is, her almost entire disregard of 
the servants' hall as a source for her humorous character. 
It is true that the names of Mr. Woodhouse's James, Mrs. 
Elton's Wright, Mr. Knightley's Larkins and Harry, reach 
us vaguely from the lower regions ; but the persons them- 
selves are never definitely presented. Yet, as Thackeray 
would certainly have hinted, James the coachman must have 
had his own private views as to the dangerous nature of the 
'corner into Vicarage Lane' ; and George Eliot would scarcely 
have omitted to report at least one of the consultations be- 
tween William Larkins and his master on the management 
of the Donwell Abbey Estate, besides letting us know pretty 



INTRODUCTION 

distinctly the opinion of the said William with respect to 
that master's marriage. Nor can we help believing that Miss 
Bates's Patty (if she had encountered her historian in Mrs. 
Gaskell) would also be found to have entertained from the 
first very sagacious and profound opinions as to Miss Jane 
Fairfax and the cause of her mysterious indisposition. The 
absence of such matters is to the full as remarkable as the 
sparing use, already referred to in a previous preface, of de- 
scriptive detail. Yet even in the present volume Miss Austen 
shows that she could, if she would, rival the best of the topo- 
graphers. Take, for example, the following vignette of the 
village High Street * Emma went to the door for amuse- 
ment. Much could not be hoped from the traffic of 
even the busiest part of Highbury; — Mr. Perry walking 
hastily by ; Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the office 
door; Mr. Cole's carriage- horses returning from exercise; 
or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest 
objects she could presume to expect; and when her eyes 
fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman 
travelling homewards from shop with her full basket, two 
curs quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling 
children round the baker's little bow -window eyeing the 
gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and 
was amused enough : quite enough still to stand at the door.' 
That, we submit, is not only clearly seen, but touched in 
with the true economy of line. 



POSTSCRIPT 

In Mr. Clement Snorter's highly interesting Charlotte 
Bronte and her Circle is a hitherto unpublished letter from the 
author of Jane Eyre^ which contains a passage relating to 

xv 



EMMA 

the author of Emma. Although unjust to Miss Austen, it 
is so characteristic of the writer that, with Mr. Snorter's 
permission, it is here reproduced : — 

"I have likewise read one of Miss Austen's works — Emma — read 
it with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss 
Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable. Anything 
like warmth or enthusiasm, anything energetic, poignant, heart-felt, is 
utterly out of place in commending these works : all such demonstration 
the authoress would have met with a well-bred sneer, would have 
calmly scorned as outri and extravagant. She does her business of 
delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously 
well. There is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature delicacy, in the painting. 
She ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing 
profound. The passions are perfectly unknown to her ; she rejects 
even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy sisterhood. Even to 
the feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but 
distant recognition — too frequent converse with them would ruffle the 
smooth elegance of her progress. Her business is not half so much 
with the human heart as with the human eyes, mouth, hands, and feet. 
What sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study ; 
but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes 
through, what is the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death 
— this Miss Austen ignores. She no more, with her mind's eye, be- 
holds the heart of her race than each man, with bodily vision, sees the 
heart in his heaving breast. Jane Austen was a complete and most 
sensible lady, but a very incomplete and rather insensible (not senseless) 
woman. If this is heresy, I cannot help it." 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Emma was not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey 

Frontispiece 

* Two umbrellas for us ' . . . . 8 

With a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake . . .14 

Ready to jump up and see the progress . . .38 

* Showing your picture to his mother and sisters ' .47 
Rode off in great spirits . . . . 58 

* Tosses them up to the ceiling ' . . .71 

* Flying Henry's kite for him ' . , .84 
She had never been able to get anything tolerable . . 93 
As they walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing-room . .103 

* Is this fair, Mrs. Weston ? ' . . . . .111 

1 A pert young lawyer ' . , . . .121 

'Oh, here it is ' . . . .136 

'Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured' . .149 

' Who should come in but Elizabeth and her brother ! ' . 156 

In that very room she had been measured . . .165 

He stopt to look in . , . . . .175 

Having his hair cut . . . . . .182 

Had secured her hand ..... 203 

Deeply occupied about her spectacles . . . .213 

4 Oh, Mr. Knightley, one moment more ' , . .218 



EMMA 

PAGE 

' He has asked her, my dear ' . . . .228 

Mrs. Elton was first seen at church .... 240 
Some vulgar, dashing widow . . . . .246 

* You have heard those charming lines of the poet ' . 253 

* I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this 

morning in the rain ' . . . .264 

* How my brother, Mr. Suckling, sometimes flies about' . 275 
'Well! This is brilliant indeed ! ' . . . .288 
Among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders . . 292 
Harriet was soon assailed ..... 300 
Mr. Perry passed by on horseback . . . .310 

* Oh, now you are looking very sly ' . . . .320 
Able to take an interest in their employment . . .329 
Seen the Crown chaise pass by ... 346 
Miss Bates came to the carriage door . . . -353 
He stopped to look the question .... 387 
Walking away from William Larkins .... 404 

* Such a dreadful broiling morning ' . . . 4 J 3 
Emma hung about him affectionately .... 4 2 ° 
It passed to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton . . 423 



XVU1 



CHAPTER I 

Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a com- 
fortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some 
of the best blessings of existence ; and had lived nearly 
twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or 
vex her. 

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affec- 
tionate, indulgent father, and had, in consequence of her 
sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early 
period. Her mother had died too long ago for her to have 
more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses, and her 
place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, 
who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. 

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's 
family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both 
daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it was 
more the intimacy of sisters. Even before Miss Taylor had 
ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the mildness 
of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint ; 
and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they 
had been living together as friend and friend very mutually 
attached, and Emma doing just what she liked ; highly esteem- 
ing Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by her own. 

The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power 
of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to 
think a little too well of herself: these were the disadvantages 
which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments. The danger, 
however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by 
any means rank as misfortunes with her. 

Sorrow came — a gentle sorrow — but not at all in the shape 
of any disagreeable consciousness. Miss Taylor married. It 
was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief. It was on 
B I £ 



EMMA 

the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in 
mournful thought of any continuance. The wedding over, 
and the bride-people gone, her father and herself were left to 
dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long 
evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, 
as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she 
had lost. 

The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. 
Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable character, easy 
fortune, suitable age, and pleasant manners ; and there was 
some satisfaction in considering with what self-denying, gener- 
ous friendship she had always wished and promoted the 
match ; but it was a black morning's work for her. The want 
of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She 
recalled her past kindness — the kindness, the affection of 
sixteen years — how she had taught and how she had played 
with her from five years old — how she had devoted all her 
powers to attach and amuse her in health — and how nursed 
her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt 
of gratitude was owing here ; but the intercourse of the last 
seven years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which 
had soon followed Isabella's marriage on their being left to 
each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection. She had 
been a friend and companion such as few possessed : intelli- 
gent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of 
the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly 
interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme of hers, — 
one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and 
who had such an affection for her as could never find fault. 

How was she to bear the change ? It was true that her 
friend was going only half a mile from them ; but Emma was 
aware that great must be the difference between a Mrs. 
Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss Taylor in the 
house ; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic, 
she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual 
solitude. She dearly loved her father, but he was no com- 
panion for her. He could not meet her in conversation, 
rational or playful. 

The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. 
Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased by 
his constitution and habits ; for having been a valetudinarian 



EMMA 

all his life, without activity of mind or body, he was a much 
older man in ways than in years ; and though everywhere 
beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable 
temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any 
time. 

Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by 
matrimony, being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, 
was much beyond her daily reach ; and many a long October 
and November evening must be struggled through at Hartfield, 
before Christmas brought the next visit from Isabella and her 
husband, and their little children, to fill the house, and give 
her pleasant society again. 

Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amount- 
ing to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, 
and shrubberies, and name, did really belong, afforded her no 
equals. The Woodhouses were first in consequence there. 
All looked up to them. She had many acquaintances in the 
place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among 
them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even 
half a day. It was a melancholy change ; and Emma could 
not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till her 
father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful. His 
spirits required support. He was a nervous man, easily de- 
pressed ; fond of everybody that he was used to, and hating 
to part with them ; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, 
as the origin of change, was always disagreeable ; and he was 
by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying, 
nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it 
had been entirely a match of affection, when he was now 
obliged to part with Miss Taylor too ; and from his habits 
of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that 
other people could feel differently from himself, he was very 
much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing 
for herself as for them, and would have been a great deal 
happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. 
Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep 
him from such thoughts ; but when tea came, it was impossible 
for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner, 

' Poor Miss Taylor ! — I wish she were here again. What 
a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her !' 

* I cannot agree with you, papa ; you know I cannot. Mr. 
3 



EMMA 

Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, 
that he thoroughly deserves a good wife ; and you would not 
have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, and bear all my 
odd humours, when she might have a house of her own ? 3 

' A house of her own ! — but where is the advantage of a 
house of her own ? This is three times as large ; — and you 
have never any odd humours, my dear.' 

* How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming 
to see us ! — We shall be always meeting ! We must begin ; 
we must go and pay our wedding-visit very soon. 5 

* My dear, how am I to get so far ? Randalls is such a 
distance. I could not walk half so far.' 

* No, papa ; nobody thought of your walking. We must 
go in the carriage, to be sure.' 

* The carriage ! But James will not like to put the horses 
to for such a little way ; — and where are the poor horses to be 
while we are paying our visit ? ' 

* They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa. You 
know we have settled all that already. We talked it all over 
with Mr. Weston last night. And as for James, you may be 
very sure he will always like going to Randalls, because of his 
daughter's being housemaid there. I only doubt whether he 
will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, papa. 
You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah 
till you mentioned her — James is so obliged to you ! ' 

* I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, 
for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted 
upon any account ; and I am sure she will make a very good 
servant ; she is a civil, pretty spoken girl ; I have a great 
opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always courtesies 
and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner ; and when 
you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always 
turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. 
I am sure she will be an excellent servant ; and it will be a 
great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about 
her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes over to 
see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. He 
will be able to tell her how we all are. 3 

Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of 
ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her 
father tolerably through the evening, and be attacked by no 



EMMA 

regrets but her own. The backgammon-table was placed ; 
but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it 
unnecessary. 

Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight and 
thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the 
family, but particularly connected with it as the elder brother 
of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, 
was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time 
more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual 
connections in London. He had returned to a late dinner 
after some days' absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to 
say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy 
circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. 
Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him 
good; and his many inquiries after 'poor Isabella' and her 
children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was 
over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed — 

* It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this 
late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a 
shocking walk.' 

1 Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night ; and so 
mild that I must draw back from your great fire.' 

' But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish 
you may not catch cold.' 

£ Dirty, sir ! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.' 

* Well ! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal 
of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour, while 
we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding.' 

£ By the bye, I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well 
aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have 
been in no hurry with my congratulations ; but I hope it all 
went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who 
cried most ? ' 

4 Ah ! poor Miss Taylor ! 'tis a sad business.' 

* Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please ; but I 
cannot possibly say "poor Miss Taylor." I have a great 
regard for you and Emma ; but when it comes to the question 
of dependence or independence ! At any rate, it must be 
better to have only one to please than two.' 

* Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful, trouble- 
some creature ! ' said Emma playfully. ' That is what you 

5 



EMMA 

have in your head, I know — and what you would certainly say 
if my father were not by.' 

' I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,' said Mr. Wood- 
house with a sigh. * I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful 
and troublesome/ 

* My dearest papa ! You do not think I could mean you, 
or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean you. What a horrible idea! 
Oh no ! I meant only myself. Mr. Knightley loves to find 
fault with me, you know — in a joke — it is all a joke. We 
always say what we like to one another.' 

Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who 
could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who 
ever told her of them ; and though this was not particularly 
agreeable to Emma herself, she knew it would be so much less 
so to her father, that she would not have him really suspect such 
a circumstance as her not being thought perfect by everybody. 

* Emma knows I never flatter her,' said Mr. Knightley ; 
' but I meant no reflection on anybody. Miss Taylor has been 
used to have two persons to please ; she will now have but 
one. The chances are that she must be a gainer.' 

' Well,' said Emma, willing to let it pass, * you want to hear 
about the wedding ; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we 
all behaved charmingly. Everybody was punctual, everybody 
in their best looks : not a tear, and hardly a long face to be 
seen. Oh no ; we all felt that we were going to be only half 
a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day.' 

* Dear Emma bears everything so well,' said her father. 
' But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor 
Miss Taylor, and I am sure she will miss her more than she 
thinks for.' 

Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and 
smiles. 

* It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a com- 
panion,' said Mr. Knightley. * We should not like her so well 
as we do, sir, if we could suppose it ; but she knows how much 
the marriage is to Miss Taylor's advantage ; she knows how 
very acceptable it must be at Miss Taylor's time of life to be 
settled in a home of her own, and how important to her to be 
secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow 
herself to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss 
Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married.' 

6 



EMMA 

'And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,' said 
Emma, ' and a very considerable one — that I made the match 
myself. I made the match, you know, four years ago ; and to 
have it take place, and be proved in the right, when so many 
people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may com- 
fort me for anything.' 

Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly 
replied, « Ah ! my dear, I wish you would not make matches 
and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. 
Pray do not make any more matches.' 

' I promise you to make none for myself, papa ; but I must, 
indeed, for other people. It is the greatest amusement in the 
world ! And after such success, you know ! Everybody said 
that Mr. Weston would never marry again. Oh dear no ! 
Mr. Weston who had been a widower so long, and who seemed 
so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied 
either in his business in town or among his friends here, 
always acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful — Mr. 
Weston need not spend a single evening in the year alone if 
he did not like it. Oh no ! Mr. Weston certainly would 
never marry again. Some people even talked of a promise to 
his wife on her deathbed, and others of the son and the uncle 
not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked 
on the subject, but I believed none of it. Ever since the day 
(about four years ago) that Miss Taylor and I met with him in 
Broadway Lane, when, because it began to mizzle, he darted 
away with so much gallantry and borrowed two umbrellas for 
us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject. 
I planned the match from that hour ; and when such success 
has blessed me in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think 
that I shall leave off match-making.' 

* I do not understand what you mean by " success," ' said 
Mr. Knightley. 'Success supposes endeavour. Your time 
has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been en- 
deavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage. 
A worthy employment for a young lady's mind ! but if, which 
I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means 
only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, " I 
think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. 
Weston were to marry her," and saying it again to yourself 
every now and then afterwards, — why do you talk of success ? 




c Two umbrellas for us.' 



EMMA 

where is your merit ? What are you proud of? You made a 
lucky guess ; and that is all that can be said.' 

* And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a 
lucky guess ? I pity you. I thought you cleverer j for depend 
upon it, a lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always 
some talent in it. And as to my poor word "success," which 
you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so entirely without 
any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures ; but I 
think there may be a third, — a something between the do- 
nothing and the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's 
visits here, and given many little encouragements, and smoothed 
many little matters, it might not have come to anything after 
all. I think you must know Hartfield enough to comprehend 
that.' 

'A straightforward, open-hearted man, like Weston, and a 
rational unaffected woman, like Miss Taylor, may be safely left 
to manage their own concerns. You are more likely to have 
done harm to yourself than good to them by interference.' 

'Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to 
others, 5 rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part. 
* But, my dear, pray do not make any more matches ; they are 
silly things, and break up one's family circle grievously.' 

« Only one more, papa ; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. 
Elton ! You like Mr. Elton, papa ; I must look about for a 
wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves 
him, — and he has been here a whole year, and has fitted up 
his house so comfortably that it would be a shame to have 
him single any longer ; and I thought when he was joining 
their hands to-day, he looked so very much as if he would like 
to have the same kind office done for him ! I think very well 
of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a 
service.' 

4 Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a 
very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. 
But if you want to show him any attention, my dear, ask him 
to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much 
better thing. I daresay Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to 
meet him.' 

1 With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,' said Mr. 
Knightley, laughing ; * and I agree with you entirely, that it 
will be a much better thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, 



EMMA 

and help him to the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave 
him to choose his own wife. Depend upon it, a man of six or 
seven and twenty can take care of himself.' 



CHAPTER II 

Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a 
respectable family, which for the last two or three generations 
had been rising into gentility and property. He had received 
a good education, but on succeeding early in life to a small 
independence, had become indisposed for any of the more 
homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged, and had 
satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by enter- 
ing into the militia of his county, then embodied. 

Captain Weston was a general favourite ; and when the 
chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss 
Churchill, of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell 
in love with him, nobody was surprised except her brother 
and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were full of 
pride and importance, which the connection would offend. 

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full 
command of her fortune — though her fortune bore no propor- 
tion to the family estate — was not to be dissuaded from the 
marriage, and it took place, to the infinite mortification of Mr. 
and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with due decorum. It 
was an unsuitable connection, and did not produce much 
happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for 
she had a husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made 
him think everything due to her in return for the great good- 
ness of being in love with him ; but though she had one sort 
of spirit, she had not the best. She had resolution enough to 
pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to 
refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's unreasonable 
anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home. 
They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in 
comparison of Enscombe ; she did not cease to love her 
husband ; but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain 
Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe. 

10 



EMMA 

Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by 
the Churchills, as making such an amazing match, was proved 
to have much the worst of the bargain ; for when his wife died, 
after a three years' marriage, he was rather a poorer man than 
at first, and with a child to maintain. From the expense of 
the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy had, with 
the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his 
mother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation ; and Mr. 
and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any 
other young creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to 
take the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her decease. 
Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-father may be 
supposed to have felt ; but as they were overcome by other 
considerations, the child was given up to the care and the 
wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfort to 
seek, and his own situation to improve as he could. 

A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted 
the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers already 
established in a good way in London, which afforded him a 
favourable opening. It was a concern which brought just 
employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury, 
where most of his leisure days were spent ; and between useful 
occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or 
twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by 
that time, realised an easy competence — enough to secure the 
purchase of a little estate adjoining Highbury, which he had 
always longed for — enough to marry a woman as portionless 
even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of 
his own friendly and social disposition. 

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to 
influence his schemes ; but as it was not the tyrannic influence 
of youth on youth, it had not shaken his determination of never 
settling till he could purchase Randalls, and the sale of 
Randalls was long looked forward to ; but he had gone 
steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were accom- 
plished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and 
obtained his wife, and was beginning a new period of existence 
with every probability of greater happiness than in any yet 
passed through. He had never been an unhappy man ; his 
own temper had secured him from that, even in his first 
marriage ; but his second must show him how delightful a 

Ul>UV£KSiTY Of CALIFORNIA U3RAHY 



EMMA 

well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give 
him the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to 
choose than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it. 

He had only himself to please in his choice : his fortune 
was his own ; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly 
brought up as his uncle's heir ; it had become so avowed an 
adoption as to have him assume the name of Churchill on 
coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should 
ever want his father's assistance. His father had no appre- 
hension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed 
her husband entirely ; but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature 
to imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect 
one so dear, and, as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw 
his son every year in London, and was proud of him ; and his 
fond report of him as a very fine young man had made 
Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on 
as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and 
prospects a kind of common concern. 

Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, 
and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the 
compliment was so little returned that he had never been 
there in his life. His coming to visit his father had been 
often talked of but never achieved. 

Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally 
proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should 
take place. There was not a dissentient voice on the subject, 
either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates, 
or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now was 
the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them ; and 
the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had 
written to his new mother on the occasion. For a few days 
every morning visit in Highbury included some mention of 
the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. ' I suppose 
you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill 
had written to Mrs. Weston ? I understand it was a very 
handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. 
Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a 
handsome letter in his life.' 

It was, indeed, a highly-prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, 
of course, formed a very favourable idea of the young man ; 
and such a pleasing attention was an irresistible proof of his 



EMMA 

great good sense, and a most welcome addition to every source 
and every expression of congratulation which her marriage had 
already secured. She felt herself a most fortunate woman ; 
and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate she 
might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial 
separation from friends, whose friendship for her had never 
cooled, and who could ill bear to part with her. 

She knew that at times she must be missed, and could not 
think, without pain, of Emma's losing a single pleasure, or 
suffering an hour's ennui, from the want of her companionable- 
ness ; but dear Emma was of no feeble character ; she was 
more equal to her situation than most girls would have been, 
and had sense and energy and spirits that might be hoped 
would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties 
and privations. And then there was such comfort in the very 
easy distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for 
even solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston's disposition 
and circumstances, which would make the approaching season 
no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in the week 
together. 

Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude 
to Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of regret ; and her satis- 
faction — her more than satisfaction — her cheerful enjoyment 
was so just and so apparent, that Emma, well as she knew her 
father, was sometimes taken by surprise at his being still able 
to pity * poor Miss Taylor,' when they left her at Randalls in 
the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go away in 
the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of 
her own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's 
giving a gentle sigh, and saying — 

' Ah, poor Miss Taylor ! She would be very glad to stay.' 

There was no recovering Miss Taylor — nor much likeli- 
hood of ceasing to pity her ; but a few weeks brought some 
alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments of his neigh- 
bours were over ; he was no longer teased by being wished joy 
of so sorrowful an event ; and the wedding-cake, which had 
been a great distress to him, was all ate up. His own stomach 
could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other 
people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome 
to him, he regarded as unfit for anybody ; and he had, there- 
fore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any wedding- 

13 




With a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake . 



EMMA 

cake at all ; and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to 
prevent anybody's eating it. He had been at the pains of 
consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. 
Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent 
visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's life ; and, 
upon being applied to, he could not but acknowledge (though 
it seemed rather against the bias of inclination) that wedding- 
cake might certainly disagree with many — perhaps with most 
people, unless taken moderately. With such an opinion, in 
confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence 
every visitor of the new-married pair ; but still the cake was 
eaten ; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it 
was all gone. 

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little 
Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake 
in their hands ; but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it. 



CHAPTER III 

Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He 
liked very much to have his friends come and see him ; and 
from various united causes, from his long residence at Hart- 
field, and his good nature, from his fortune, his house, and his 
daughter, he could command the visits of his own little circle, 
in a great measure, as he liked. He had not much intercourse 
with any families beyond that circle : his horror of late hours 
and large dinner-parties made him unfit for any acquaintance 
but such as would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately 
for him, Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish, 
and Donwell Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of 
Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such. Not unfrequently, 
through Emma's persuasion, he had some of the chosen and 
the best to dine with him ; but evening parties were what he 
preferred ; and, unless he fancied himself at any time unequal 
to company, there was scarcely an evening in the week in 
which Emma could not make up a card-table for him. 

Real, long standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. 
Knightley; and by Mr. Elton, a young man living alone 

J 5 



EMMA 

without liking it, the privilege of exchanging any vacant 
evening of his own blank solitude for the elegancies and 
society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room, and the smiles of 
his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away. 

After these came a second set : among the most comeat- 
able of whom were Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, 
three ladies almost always at the service of an invitation from 
Hartfield, and who were fetched and carried home so often 
that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship for either James 
or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it would 
have been a grievance. 

Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was 
a very old lady, almost past everything but tea and quadrille. 
She lived with her single daughter in a very small way, and 
was considered with all the regard and respect which a harm- 
less old lady, under such untoward circumstances, can excite. 
Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity 
for a woman neither young, handsome, rich nor married. Miss 
Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for 
having much of the public favour ; and she had no intellectual 
superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten those who 
might hate her into outward respect. She had never boasted 
either beauty or cleverness. Her youth had passed without 
distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to the care of a 
failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go 
as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a 
woman whom no one named without goodwill. It was her 
own universal goodwill and contented temper which worked 
such wonders. She loved everybody, was interested in every- 
body's happiness, quick-sighted to everybody's merits ; thought 
herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings 
in such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbours and 
friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The simplicity 
and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful 
spirit, were a recommendation to everybody, and a mine of 
felicity to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, 
which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communica- 
tions and harmless gossip. 

Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a school, — not of a 
seminary, or an establishment, or anything which professed, in 
long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquire- 

16 



EMMA 

ments with elegant morality, upon new principles and new 
systems, — and where young ladies for enormous pay might be 
screwed out of health and into vanity, — but a real, honest, old- 
fashioned boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of 
accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where 
girls might be sent to be out of the way, and scramble them- 
selves into a little education, without any danger of coming 
back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute, 
and very deservedly ; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly 
healthy spot : she had an ample house and garden, gave the 
children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great 
deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with 
her own hands. It was no wonder that a train of twenty young 
couple now walked after her to church. She was a plain, 
motherly kind of woman, who had worked hard in her youth, 
and now thought herself entitled to the occasional holiday of a 
tea-visit ; and having formerly owed much to Mr. Woodhouse's 
kindness, felt his particular claim on her to leave her neat 
parlour, hung round with fancy work, whenever she could, and 
win or lose a few sixpences by his fireside. 

These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very 
frequently able to collect ; and happy was she, for her father's 
sake, in the power ; though, as far as she was herself concerned, 
it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston. She was 
delighted to see her father look comfortable, and very much 
pleased with herself for contriving things so well j but the quiet 
prosings of three such women made her feel that every evening 
so spent was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully 
anticipated. 

As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a 
close of the present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, 
requesting, in most respectful terms, to be allowed to bring 
Miss Smith with her : a most welcome request ; for Miss Smith 
was a girl of seventeen whom Emma knew very well by sight, 
and had long felt an interest in, on account of her beauty. A 
very gracious invitation was returned, and the evening no 
longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion. 

Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. 
Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. God- 
dard's school, and somebody had lately raised her from the 
condition of scholar to that of parlour boarder. This was all 
c 17 



EMMA 

that was generally known of her history. She had no visible 
friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and was now 
just returned from a long visit in the country to some young 
ladies who had been at school there with her. 

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be 
of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, 
plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular 
features, and a look of great sweetness ; and, before the end of 
the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as 
her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance. 

She was not struck by anything remarkably clever in Miss 
Smith's conversation, but she found her altogether very en- 
gaging, — not inconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk, — and 
yet so far from pushing, showing so proper and becoming a 
deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for being admitted 
to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by the appearance of 
everything in so superior a style to what she had been used 
to, that she must have good sense, and deserve encouragement. 
Encouragement should be given. Those soft blue eyes, and 
all those natural graces, should not be wasted on the inferior 
society of Highbury, and its connections. The acquaintance 
she had already formed were unworthy of her. The friends 
from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of 
people, must be doing her harm. They were a family of the 
name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as 
renting a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the 
parish of Don well, — very creditably, she believed : she knew 
Mr. Knightley thought highly of them ; but they must be 
coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of a 
girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and elegance to 
be quite perfect. She would notice her ; she would improve 
her; she would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and 
introduce her into good society ; she would form her opinions 
and her manners. It would be an interesting and certainly a 
very kind undertaking ; highly becoming her own situation in 
life, her leisure, and powers. 

She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking 
and listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, 
that the evening flew away at a very unusual rate ; and the 
supper-table, which always closed such parties, and for which 
she had been used to sit and watch the due time, was all set 

18 



EMMA 

out and ready, and moved forwards to the fire, before she was 
aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a 
spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing 
everything well and attentively, with the real goodwill of a 
mind delighted with its own ideas, did she then do all the 
honours of the meal, and help and recommend the minced 
chicken and scalloped oysters, with an urgency which she knew 
would be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of 
their guests. 

Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse's feelings were 
in sad warfare. He loved to have the cloth laid, because it 
had been the fashion of his youth : but his conviction of 
suppers being very unwholesome, made him rather sorry to 
see anything put on it ; and while his hospitality would have 
welcomed his visitors to everything, his care for their health 
made him grieve that they would eat. 

Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all 
that he could, with thorough self-approbation, recommend ; 
though he might constrain himself, while the ladies were 
comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say — 

' Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these 
eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle 
understands boiling an egg better than anybody. I would not 
recommend an egg boiled by anybody else, — but you need 
not be afraid, they are very small, you see, — one of our small 
eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a 
little bit of tart — a very little bit. Ours are all apple tarts. 
You need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do 
not advise the custard. Mrs. Goddard, what say you to half 
a glass of wine ? A small half glass, put into a tumbler of 
water ? I do not think it could disagree with you.' 

Emma allowed her father to talk — but supplied her visitors 
in a much more satisfactory style ; and on the present evening 
had particular pleasure in sending them away happy. The 
happiness of Miss Smith was quite equal to her intentions. 
Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage in Highbury that 
the prospect of the introduction had given as much panic as 
pleasure ; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with 
highly gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with 
which Miss Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and 
actually shaken hands with her at last. 

19 



EMMA 



CHAPTER IV 

Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled 
thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time 
in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come very often ; 
and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction 
in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had very 
early foreseen how useful she might find her. In that respect 
Mrs. Weston's loss had been important. Her father never 
went beyond the shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground 
sufficed him for his long walk, or his short, as the year varied ; 
and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been too 
much confined. She had ventured once alone to Randalls, 
but it was not pleasant ; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one 
whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a 
valuable addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as 
she saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in 
all her kind designs. 

Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, 
grateful disposition ; was totally free from conceit, and only 
desiring to be guided by any one she looked up to. Her early 
attachment to herself was very amiable ; and her inclination 
for good company, and power of appreciating what was elegant 
and clever, showed that there was no want of taste, though 
strength of understanding must not be expected. Altogether 
she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the 
young friend she wanted, — exactly the something which her 
home required. Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the 
question. Two such could never be granted. Two such she 
did not want. It was quite a different sort of thing, — a 
sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the 
object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem. 
Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. 
For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be done ; for Harriet 
everything. 

Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to 
find out who were the parents ; but Harriet could not tell. 



EMMA 

She was ready to tell everything in her power, but on this 
subject questions were vain. Emma was obliged to fancy 
what she liked ; but she could never believe that in the same 
situation she should not have discovered the truth. Harriet 
had no penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and 
believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her, and looked 
no further. 

Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls, and the 
affairs of the school in general, formed naturally a great part 
of her conversation, — and but for her acquaintance with the 
Martins of Abbey-Mill Farm, it must have been the whole. 
But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good deal ; she had 
spent two very happy months with them, and now loved to 
talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many 
comforts and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her 
talkativeness, — amused by such a picture of another set of 
beings, and enjoying the youthful simplicity which could speak 
with so much exultation of Mrs. Martin's having ' two parlours, 
two very good parlours, indeed : one of them quite as large as 
Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room ; and of her having an upper 
maid who had lived five-and-twenty years with her ; and of 
their having eight cows, two of them Alderneys, and one a 
little Welsh cow, a very pretty little Welsh cow, indeed ; and 
of Mrs. Martin's saying, as she was so fond of it, it should be 
called her cow ; and of their having a very handsome summer- 
house in their garden, where some day next year they were all 
to drink tea, — a very handsome summer-house, large enough 
to hold a dozen people.' 

For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond 
the immediate cause ; but as she came to understand the 
family better, other feelings arose. She had taken up a wrong 
idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter, a son and son's 
wife, who all lived together ; — but when it appeared that the 
Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was always 
mentioned with approbation for his great good-nature in doing 
something or other, was a single man ; that there was no 
young Mrs. Martin, no wife in the case ; — she did suspect 
danger to her poor little friend from all this hospitality and 
kindness, — and that if she were not taken care of, she might 
be required to sink herself for ever. 

With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number 



EMMA 

and meaning ; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of 
Mr. Martin — and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet 
was very ready to speak of the share he had had in their 
moonlight walks and merry evening games ; and dwelt a good 
deal upon his being so very good-humoured and obliging. 
* He had gone three miles round one day, in order to bring 
her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of 
them, — and in everything else he was so very obliging. He 
had his shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose 
to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could sing 
a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and under- 
stood everything. He had a very fine flock ; and, while she 
was with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any- 
body in the country. She believed everybody spoke well of 
him. His mother and sisters were very fond of him. Mrs. 
Martin had told her one day (and there was a blush as she 
said it) that it was impossible for anybody to be a better 
son ; and therefore she was sure whenever he married he would 
make a good husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. 
She was in no hurry at all.' 

1 Well done, Mrs. Martin ! ' thought Emma. ' You know 
what you are about.' 

c And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very 
kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose : the finest 
goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen. Mrs. Goddard had 
dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three teachers, Miss 
Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with her.' 

' Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond 
the line of his own business. He does not read ? ' 

1 Oh yes ! — that is, no — I do not know — but I believe he 
has read a good deal — but not what you would think anything 
of. He reads the Agricultural Reports, and some other books 
that lie in one of the window seats — but he reads all them to 
himself. But sometimes of an evening, before we went to 
cards, he would read something aloud out of the Elegant 
Extracts, very entertaining. And I know he has read the 
Vicar of Wakefield. He never read the Romance of the Forest ', 
nor the Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such 
books before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get 
them now as soon as ever he can.' 

The next question was — 

22 



EMMA 

1 What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin ? ' 

* Oh ! not handsome — not at all handsome. I thought him 
very plain at first, but I do not think him so plain now. One 
does not, you know, after a time. But did you never see him ? 
He is in Highbury every now and then, and he is sure to ride 
through every week in his way to Kingston. He has passed 
you very often.' 

* That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but 
without having any idea of his name. A young farmer, 
whether on horseback or on foot, is the very last sort of 
person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are precisely the 
order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. 
A degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance might 
interest me ; I might hope to be useful to their families in some 
way or other. But a farmer can need none of my help, and is 
therefore, in one sense, as much above my notice as in every 
other he is below it.' 

' To be sure. Oh yes, it is not likely you should ever have 
observed him ; but he knows you very well, indeed — I mean 
by sight.' 

* I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young 
man. I know, indeed, that he is so ; and, as such, wish him 
well. What do you imagine his age to be ? ' 

' He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my 
birthday is the 23rd : just a fortnight and a day's difference ; 
which is very odd.' 

* Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His 
mother is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem 
very comfortable as they are, and if she were to take any pains 
to marry him, she would probably repent it. Six years hence, 
if he could meet with a good sort of young woman in the 
same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very 
desirable.' 

1 Six years hence ! dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be 
thirty years old.' 

< Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to 
marry, who are not born to an independence. Mr. Martin, 
I imagine, has his fortune entirely to make — cannot be at all 
beforehand with the world. Whatever money he might come 
into when his father died, whatever his share of the family 
property, it is, I daresay, all afloat, all employed in his stock 

2 3 



EMMA 

and so forth ; and though, with diligence and good luck, he 
may be rich in time, it is next to impossible that he should 
have realised anything yet.' 

* To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. 
They have no indoors man — else they do not want for any- 
thing ; and Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another year,' 

1 1 wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever 
he does marry, — I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife ; 
for though his sisters, from a superior education, are not to be 
altogether objected to, it does not follow that he might marry 
anybody at all fit for you to notice. The misfortune of your 
birth ought to make you particularly careful as to your 
associates. There can be no doubt of your being a gentleman's 
daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by 
everything within your own power, or there will be plenty of 
people who would take pleasure in degrading you.' 

* Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at 
Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am 
not afraid of what anybody can do. } 

* You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet, 
but I would have you so firmly established in good society, as 
to be independent even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I 
want to see you permanently well connected, — and to that end 
it will be advisable to have as few odd acquaintance as may 
be ; and, therefore, I say, that if you should still be in this 
country when Mr. Martin marries, I wish you may not be 
drawn in, by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted 
with the wife, who will probably be some mere farmer's 
daughter, without education.' 

« To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would 
ever marry anybody but what had had some education, and 
been very well brought up. However, I do not mean to set 
up my opinion against yours, — and I am sure I shall not wish 
for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always have a great 
regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth, and should 
be very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well 
educated as me. But if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar 
woman, certainly I had better not visit her, if I can help it.' 

Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, 
and saw no alarming symptoms of love. The young man had 
been the first admirer, but she trusted there was no other hold, 

24 



EMMA 

and that there would be no serious difficulty on Harriet's side 
to oppose any friendly arrangement of her own. 

They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were 
walking on the Don well road. He was on foot, and after 
looking very respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned 
satisfaction at her companion. Emma was not sorry to have 
such an opportunity of survey ; and walking a few yards for- 
ward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye 
sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin. His appear- 
ance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, 
but his person had no other advantage ; and when he came to 
be contrasted with gentlemen, she thought he must lose all the 
ground he had gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet was 
not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily noticed her 
father's gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. 
Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was. 

They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Wood- 
house must not be kept waiting ; and Harriet then came 
running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, 
which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to compose. 

* Only think of our happening to meet him ! How very 
odd ! It was quite a chance, he said, that he had not gone 
round by Randalls. He did not think we ever walked this 
road. He thought we walked towards Randalls most days. 
He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest yet. 
He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite 
forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we 
should happen to meet ! Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like 
what you expected ? What do you think of him ? Do you 
think him so very plain ? ' 

* He is very plain, undoubtedly, remarkably plain ; but that 
is nothing compared with his entire want of gentility. I had 
no right to expect much, and I did not expect much ; but I 
had no idea that he could be so very clownish, so totally 
without air. I had imagined him, I confess, a degree or two 
nearer gentility.' 

'To be sure,' said Harriet, in a mortified voice, 'he is not 
so genteel as real gentlemen.' 

' I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you 
have been repeatedly in the company of some, such very real 
gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck with the difference 

2 5 



EMMA 

in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield, you have had very good speci- 
mens of well-educated, well-bred men. I should be surprised 
if, after seeing them, you could be in company with Mr. Martin 
again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature, — 
and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him 
at all agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that now ? 
Were not you struck ? I am sure you must have been struck 
by his awkward look and abrupt manner ; and the uncouthness 
of a voice, which I heard to be wholly unmodulated as I stood 
here.' 

* Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such 
a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the 
difference plain enough. But Mr. Knightley is so very fine a 
man !' 

* Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not 
fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might not see one 
in a hundred, with gentleman so plainly written as in Mr. 
Knightley. But he is not the only gentleman you have been 
lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton ? 
Compare Mr. Martin with either of them. Compare their 
manner of carrying themselves ; of walking ; of speaking ; of 
being silent. You must see the difference.' 

* Oh yes, there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is 
almost an old man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and 
fifty.' 

* Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The 
older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it is that 
their manners should not be bad, — the more glaring and dis- 
gusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awkwardness becomes. 
What is passable in youth is detestable in later age. Mr. 
Martin is now awkward and abrupt ; what will he be at Mr. 
Weston's time of life ? ' 

* There is no saying, indeed,' replied Harriet, rather 
solemnly. 

* But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a 
completely gross, vulgar farmer, — totally inattentive to appear- 
ances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss.' 

* Will he, indeed ? that will be very bad.' 

* How much his business engrosses him already is very 
plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for 
the book you recommended. He was a great deal too full of 

26 



EMMA 

the market to think of anything else, — which is just as it 
should be, for a thriving man. What has he to do with 
books ? And I have no doubt that he will thrive and be a 
very rich man in time, — and his being illiterate and coarse 
need not disturb usJ 

1 1 wonder he did not remember the book, 7 was all Harriet's 
answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which 
Emma thought might be safely left to itself. She, therefore, 
said no more for some time. Her next beginning was — 

* In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superior 
to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentle- 
ness. They might be more safely held up as a pattern. There 
is an openness, a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, 
which everybody likes in him, because there is so much good- 
humour with it — but that would not do to be copied. Neither 
would Mr. Knightley's downright, decided, commanding sort of 
manner — though it suits him very well : his figure, and look, 
and situation in life seem to allow it ; but if any young man 
were to set about copying him, he would not be sufferable. 
On the contrary, I think a young man might be very safely 
recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton is 
good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems to 
me to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know 
whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with either 
of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that his 
manners are softer than they used to be. If he means any- 
thing, it must be to please you. Did not I tell you what he 
said of you the other day ? ' 

She then repeated some warm personal praise which she 
had drawn from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to ; and 
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had always thought 
Mr. Elton very agreeable. 

Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for 
driving the young farmer out of Harriet's head. She thought 
it would be an excellent match ; and only too palpably desir- 
able, natural, and probable for her to have much merit in plan- 
ning it. She feared it was what everybody else must think of 
and predict. It was not likely, however, that anybody should 
have equalled her in the date of the plan, as it had entered her 
brain during the very first evening of Harriet's coming to 
Hartfield. The longer she considered it, the greater was her 

27 



EMMA 

sense of its expediency. Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable, 
quite the gentleman himself, and without low connections ; at 
the same time not of any family that could fairly object to the 
doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a comfortable home for her, 
and Emma imagined a very sufficient income ; for though the 
vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known to have 
some independent property ; and she thought very highly of 
him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, 
without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of 
the world. 

She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a 
beautiful girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings 
at Hartfield, was foundation enough on his side ; and on 
Harriet's there could be little doubt that the idea of being pre- 
ferred by him would have all the usual weight and efficacy. 
And he was really a very pleasing young man, a young man 
whom any woman not fastidious might like. He was reckoned 
very handsome ; his person much admired in general, though 
not by her, there being a want of elegance of feature which she 
could not dispense with ; but the girl who could be gratified 
by a Robert Martin's riding about the country to get walnuts 
for her might very well be conquered by Mr. Elton's ad- 
miration. 



CHAPTER V 

* I DO not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,' 
said Mr. Knightley, ' of this great intimacy between Emma 
and Harriet Smith, but I think it is a bad thing.' 

1 A bad thing ! Do you really think it a bad thing ? — 
why so ? ' 

* I think they will neither of them do the other any good.' 
' You surprise me ! Emma must do Harriet good ; and by 
supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet may be 
said to do Emma good. I have been seeing their intimacy with 
the greatest pleasure. How very differently we feel ! Not 
think they will do each other any good ! This will certainly 
be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. 
Knightley.' 

28 



EMMA 

* Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with 
you, knowing Weston to be out, and that you must still fight 
your own battle/ 

* Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were 
here, for he thinks exactly as I do on the subject. We were 
speaking of it only yesterday, and agreeing how fortunate it 
was for Emma that there should be such a girl in Highbury 
for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not allow 
you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to 
live alone that you do not know the value of a companion ; 
and, perhaps, no man can be a good judge of the comfort a 
woman feels in the society of one of her own sex, after being used 
to it all her life. I can imagine your objection to Harriet 
Smith. She is not the superior young woman which Emma's 
friend ought to be. But, on the other hand, as Emma wants 
to see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to 
read more herself. They will read together. She means it, I 
know.' 

* Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was 
twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of her draw- 
ing up at various times of books that she meant to read 
regularly through — and very good lists they were — very well 
chosen, and very neatly arranged — sometimes alphabetically, 
and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up 
when only fourteen — I remember thinking it did her judg- 
ment so much credit, that I preserved it some time ; and I 
daresay she may have made out a very good list now. But I 
have done with expecting any course of steady reading from 
Emma. She will never submit to anything requiring industry 
and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the under- 
standing. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may 
safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing. You never 
could persuade her to read half so much as you wished. You 
know you could not.' 

* I daresay,' replied Mrs. Weston smiling, * that I thought 
so then; but since we have parted, I can never remember 
Emma's omitting to do anything I wished.' 

' There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as 
that] said Mr. Knightley feelingly ; and for a moment or 
two he had done. 'But I,' he soon added, 'who have had 
no such charm thrown over my senses, must still see, hear, 

29 



EMMA 

and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of 
her family. At ten years old she had the misfortune of 
being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at 
seventeen. She was always quick and assured ; Isabella 
slow and diffident. And ever since she was twelve, Emma 
has been mistress of the house and of you all. In her mother 
she lost the only person able to cope with her. She inherits 
her mother's talents, and must have been under subjection 
to her.' 

' I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent 
on your recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse's 
family and wanted another situation ; I do not think you 
would have spoken a good word for me to anybody. I am 
sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held.' 

* Yes/ said he smiling. i You are better placed here; very 
fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were 
preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were 
at Hartfield. You might not give Emma such a complete 
education as your powers would seem to promise ; but you 
were receiving a very good education from her y on the very 
material matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and 
doing as you were bid ; and if Weston had asked me to 
recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named Miss 
Taylor.' 

* Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a 
good wife to such a man as Mr. Weston.' 

* Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown 
away, and that with every disposition to bear, there will be 
nothing to be borne. We will not despair, however. Weston 
may grow cross from the wantonness of comfort, or his son 
may plague him.' 

'I hope not that It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, 
do not foretell vexation from that quarter. 5 

c Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pre- 
tend to Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, 
with all my heart, the young man may be a Weston in merit, 
and a Churchill in fortune. But Harriet Smith,— I have not 
half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the very worst 
sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She 
knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing 
everything. She is a flatterer in all her ways ; and so much 

3o 



EMMA 

the worse, because undesigned. Her ignorance is hourly 
flattery. How can Emma imagine she has anything to learn 
herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority ? 
And as for Harriet, 1 will venture to say that she cannot gain 
by the acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of con- 
ceit with all the other places she belongs to. She will grow 
just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among 
whom birth and circumstances have placed her home. I am 
much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of mind, 
or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the 
varieties of her situation in life. They only give a little 
polish.' 

' I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you 
do, or am more anxious for her present comfort ; for I cannot 
lament the acquaintance. How well she looked last night.' 

' Oh, you would rather talk of her person than her mind, 
would you ! Very well ; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's 
being pretty.' 

1 Pretty ! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine anything 
nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether — face and 
figure ? ' 

* I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I 
have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than 
hers. But I am a partial old friend.' 

i Such an eye! — the true hazel eye — and so brilliant! 
regular features, open countenance, with a complexion — oh, 
what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size ; 
such a firm and upright figure. There is health, not merely 
in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. One hears 
sometimes of a child being " the picture of health ; " now 
Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture 
of grown-up health. She is loveliness itself, Mr. Knightley, 
is not she ? ' 

* I have not a fault to find with her person,' he replied. 
* 1 think her all you describe. 1 love to look at her ; and I 
will add this praise, that I do not think her personally vain. 
Considering how very handsome she is, she appears to be 
little occupied with it ; her vanity lies another way. Mrs. 
Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of her 
intimacy with Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them 
both harm.' 

3i 



EMMA 

'And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence 
of its not doing them any harm. With all dear Emma's little 
faults, she is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a 
better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend ? No, 
no ; she has qualities which may be trusted ; she will never 
lead any one really wrong ; she will make no lasting blunder ; 
where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times.' 

* Very well ; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall 
be an angel, and I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas 
brings John and Isabella. John loves Emma with a reason- 
able and therefore not a blind affection, and Isabella always 
thinks as he does, except when he is not quite frightened 
enough about the children. I am sure of having their opinions 
with me.' 

1 1 know that you all love her really too well to be unjust 
or unkind ; but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty 
(I consider myself, you know, as having somewhat of the 
privilege of speech that Emma's mother might have had), the 
liberty of hinting that I do not think any possible good can 
arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy being made a matter of 
much discussion among you. Pray excuse me ; but supposing 
any little inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, 
it cannot be expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but 
her father, who perfectly approves the acquaintance, should 
put an end to it, so long as it is a source of pleasure to herself. 
It has been so many years my province to give advice, that 
you cannot be surprised, Mr. Knightley, at this little remains 
of office.' 

' Not at all,' cried he ; * I am much obliged to you for it. 
It is very good advice, and it shall have a better fate than 
your advice has often found ; for it shall be attended to.' 

c Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made 
unhappy about her sister.' 

' Be satisfied,' said he ; 'I will not raise any outcry. I 
will keep my ill -humour to myself. I have a very sincere 
interest in Emma. Isabella does not seem more my sister ; 
has never excited a greater interest — perhaps hardly so great. 
There is an anxiety, a curiosity, in what one feels for Emma. 
I wonder what will become of her.' 

* So do I,' said Mrs. Weston gently, * very much.' 

1 She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, 

32 



EMMA 

means just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has 
yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad 
thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object. 
I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a 
return ; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts 
to attach her ; and she goes so seldom from home.' 

* There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break 
her resolution at present,' said Mrs. Weston, 'as can well 
be ; and while she is so happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her 
to be forming any attachment which would be creating such 
difficulties, on poor Mr. Woodhouse's account. I do not 
recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean 
no slight to the state, I assure you.' 

Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts 
of her own and Mr. Weston's on the subject as much as 
possible. There were wishes at Randalls respecting Emma's 
destiny, but it was not desirable to have them suspected ; 
and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards 
made to * What does Weston think of the weather ? — shall we 
have rain ? ' — convinced her that he had nothing more to say 
or surmise about Hartfield. 



CHAPTER VI 

Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's fancy 
a proper direction, and raised the gratitude of her young vanity 
to a very good purpose ; for she found her decidedly more sen- 
sible than before of Mr. Elton's being a remarkably handsome 
man, with most agreeable manners ; and as she had no hesita- 
tion in following up the assurance of his admiration by agree- 
able hints, she was soon pretty confident of creating as much 
liking on Harriet's side as there could be any occasion for. 
She was quite convinced of Mr. Elton's being in the fairest 
way of falling in love, if not in love already. She had no 
scruple with regard to him. He talked of Harriet ; and 
praised her so warmly, that she could not suppose anything 
wanting which a little time would not add. His perception of 
the striking improvement of Harriet's manner, since her intro- 

D 33 



EMMA 

duction at Hartfield, was not one of the least agreeable proofs 
of his growing attachment. 

'You have given Miss Smith all that she required/ said 
he : ( you have made her graceful and easy. She was a 
beautiful creature when she came to you ; but, in my opinion, 
the attractions you have added are infinitely superior to what 
she received from nature.' 

' I am glad you think I have been useful to her ; but 
Harriet only wanted drawing out, and receiving a few, very 
few, hints. She had all the natural grace of sweetness of 
temper and artlessness in herself. I have done very little.' 

' If it were admissible to contradict a lady ' said gallant 

Mr. Elton. 

( I have, perhaps, given her a little more decision of 
character, — have taught her to think on points which had not 
fallen in her way before.' 

' Exactly so ; that is what principally strikes me. So 
much superadded decision of character I Skilful has been the 
hand.' 

c Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met 
with a disposition more truly amiable.' 

' I have no doubt of it.' And it was spoken with a sort of 
sighing animation which had a vast deal of the lover. She 
was not less pleased, another day, with the manner in which 
he seconded a sudden wish of hers — to have Harriet's picture. 

'Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?' said 
she ; J did you ever sit for your picture ? ' 

Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only 
stopped to say with a very interesting naivetd — 

' Oh, dear, no, — never.' 

No sooner was she out of sight than Emma exclaimed — 

' What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would 
be ! I would give any money for it. I almost long to attempt 
her likeness myself. You do not know it, I daresay ; but, 
two or three years ago, I had a great passion for taking like- 
nesses, and attempted several of my friends, and was thought 
to have a tolerable eye in general ; but from one cause or 
another, I gave it up in disgust. But, really, I could almost 
venture, if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such a 
delight to have her picture 1 ' 

' Let me entreat you,' cried Mr. Elton, — ' it would indeed 

34 



EMMA 

be a delight ; let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise 
so charming a talent in favour of your friend. I know what 
your drawings are. How could you suppose me ignorant ? 
Is not this room rich in specimens of your landscapes and 
flowers ? and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable figure- 
pieces in her drawing-room at Randalls ? ' 

Yes, good man ! — thought Emma — but what has all that to 
do with taking likenesses ? You know nothing of drawing. 
Don't pretend to be in raptures about mine. Keep your 
raptures for Harriet's face. ' Well, if you give me such kind 
encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can do. 
Harriet's features are very delicate, which makes a likeness 
difficult ; and yet there is a peculiarity in the shape of the 
eye and the lines about the mouth which one ought to 
catch.' 

* Exactly so, — the shape of the eye and the lines about the 
mouth, — I have not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray 
attempt it. As you will do it, it will indeed, to use your own 
words, be an exquisite possession.' 

4 But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit, — 
she thinks so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe 
her manner of answering me? How completely it meant, 
"Why should my picture be drawn ?" ' 

* Oh yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on 
me. But still I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.' 

Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost 
immediately made ; and she had no scruples which could 
stand many minutes against the earnest pressing of both the 
others. Emma wished to go to work directly, and therefore 
produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at 
portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they 
might decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many 
beginnings were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole- 
lengths, pencil, crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in 
turn. She had always wanted to do everything, and had 
made more progress both in drawing and music than many 
might have done with so little labour as she would ever submit 
to. She played and sang, and drew in almost every style ; 
but steadiness had always been wanting ; and in nothing had 
she approached the degree of excellence which she would have 
been glad to command, and ought not to have failed of. She 

35 



EMMA 

was not much deceived as to her own skill, either as an artist 
or a musician ; but she was not unwilling to have others 
deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment 
often higher than it deserved. 

There was merit in every drawing, — in the least finished, 
perhaps the most. Her style was spirited ; but had there 
been much less, or had there been ten times more, the delight 
and admiration of her two companions would have been the 
same. They were both in ecstasies. A likeness pleases 
everybody ; and Miss Woodhouse's performances must be 
capital. 

* No great variety of faces for you,' said Emma. 1 1 had 
only my own family to study from. There is my father, — 
another of my father ; — but the idea of sitting for his picture 
made him so nervous that I could only take him by stealth ; 
neither of them very like, therefore. Mrs. Weston again, and 
again, and again, you see. Dear Mrs. Weston — always my 
kindest friend on every occasion. She would sit whenever I 
asked her. There is my sister; and really quite her own 
little elegant figure — and the face not unlike. I should have 
made a good likeness of her, if she would have sat longer ; 
but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her four children 
that she would not be quiet. Then, here come all my attempts 
at three of those four children : — there they are, Henry, and 
John, and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and 
any one of them might do for any one of the rest. She was 
so eager to have them drawn that I could not refuse ; but 
there is no making children of three or four years old stand 
still, you know ; nor can it be very easy to take any likeness 
of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they are 
coarser featured than any of mamma's children ever were. 
Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him 
as he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness 
of his cockade as you would wish to see. He had nestled 
down his head most conveniently : — that's very like. I am 
rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa is very 
good. Then here is my last,' — unclosing a pretty sketch of a 
gentleman in small size, whole-length, — * my last and my best, 
— my brother, Mr. John Knightley. This did not want much 
of being" finished, when I put it away in a pet, and vowed I 
would never take another likeness. I could not help being 

36 



EMMA 

provoked ; for after all my pains, and when I had really made 
a very good likeness of it — (Mrs. Weston and I were quite 
agreed in thinking it very like) — only too handsome — too 
flattering — but that was a fault on the right side ; — after all 
this, came poor dear Isabella's cold approbation of — "Yes, it 
was a little like ; but to be sure it did not do him justice." 
We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to sit 
at all. It was made a great favour of; and altogether it was 
more than I could bear; and so I never would finish it, to 
have it apologised over as an unfavourable likeness, to every 
morning visitor in Brunswick Square ; and, as I said, I did then 
forswear ever drawing anybody again. But for Harriet's sake, 
or rather for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives 
in the case at present, I will break my resolution now.' 

Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by 
the idea, and was repeating, ' No husbands and wives in the 
case at present, indeed, as you observe. Exactly so. No 
husbands and wives,' with so interesting a consciousness that 
Emma began to consider whether she had not better leave 
them together at once. But as she wanted to be drawing, the 
declaration must wait a little longer. 

She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It 
was to be a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John 
Knightley's, and was destined, if she could please herself, to 
hold a very honourable station over the mantelpiece. 

The sitting began ; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and 
afraid of not keeping her attitude and countenance, presented 
a very sweet mixture of youthful expression to the steady eyes 
of the artist. But there was no doing anything, with Mr. 
Elton fidgeting behind her, and watching every touch. She 
gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze 
and gaze again without offence ; but was really obliged to put 
an end to it, and request him to place himself elsewhere. It 
then occurred to her to employ him in reading. 

* If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be 
a kindness indeed. It would amuse away the difficulties of 
her part, and lessen the irksomeness of Miss Smith's.' 

Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and 
Emma drew in peace. She must allow him to be still fre- 
quently coming to look ; anything less would certainly have 
been too little in a lover ; and he was ready at the smallest 

37 




Ready to jum£ -up and see ike progress. 



EMMA 

intermission of the pencil to jump up and see the progress, 
and be charmed. There was no being displeased with such 
an encourager, for his admiration made him discern a like- 
ness almost before it was possible. She could not respect his 
eye, but his love and his complaisance were unexceptionable. 

The sitting was altogether very satisfactory ; she was quite 
enough pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to go on. 
There was no want of likeness ; she had been fortunate in the 
attitude ; and as she meant to throw in a little improvement 
to the figure, to give a little more height, and considerably 
more elegance, she had great confidence of its being in every 
way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling its destined 
place with credit to them both ; — a standing memorial of the 
beauty of one, the skill of the other, and the friendship of 
both ; with as many other agreeable associations as Mr. 
Elton's very promising attachment was likely to add. 

Harriet was to sit again the next day ; and Mr. Elton, just 
as he ought, entreated for the permission of attending and 
reading to them again. 

* By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you 
as one of the party.' 

The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and 
satisfaction, took place on the morrow, and accompanied the 
whole progress of the picture, which was rapid and happy. 
Everybody who saw it was pleased, but Mr. Elton was in con- 
tinual raptures, and defended it through every criticism. 

* Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty 
she wanted,' observed Mrs. Weston to him, not in the least 
suspecting that she was addressing a lover. ' The expression 
of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those 
eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her face that she 
has them not.' 

1 Do you think so ? ' replied he. c I cannot agree with you. 
It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. 
I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for 
the effect of shade, you know.' 

* You have made her too tall, Emma,' said Mr. Knightley. 
Emma knew that she had, but would not own it ; and Mr. 

Elton warmly added — 

* Oh no — certainly not too tall — not in the least too tall. 
Consider she is sitting down, which naturally presents a 

39 



EMMA 

different — which in short gives exactly the idea ; — and the 
proportions must be preserved, you know. Proportions, 
foreshortening : — oh no ; it gives one exactly the idea of such 
a height as Miss Smith's ; exactly so, indeed.' 

' It is very pretty,' said Mr. Woodhouse. * So prettily 
done ! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not 
know anybody who draws so well as you do. The only thing 
I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of 
doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders ; and it 
makes one think she must catch cold.' 

' But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer ; a warm 
day in summer. Look at the tree.' 

4 But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.' 

* You, sir, may say anything,' cried Mr. Elton ; * but I 
must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the 
placing Miss Smith out of doors ; and the tree is touched 
with such inimitable spirit ! Any other situation would have 
been much less in character. The naiveti of Miss Smith's 
manners, — and altogether — oh, it is most admirable ! I cannot 
keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.' 

The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed ; 
and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly ; it 
must be done in London ; the order must go through the 
hands of some intelligent person whose taste could be 
depended on ; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, 
must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. 
Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her 
house in the fogs of December. But no sooner was the 
distress known to Mr. Elton than it was removed. His 
gallantry was always on the alert. * Might he be trusted with 
the commission ; what infinite pleasure should he have in 
executing it ! he could ride to London at any time. It was 
impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being 
employed on such an errand.' 

* He was too good ! — she could not endure the thought ! — 
she would not give him such a troublesome office for the 
world,' — brought on the desired repetition of entreaties and 
assurances, — and a very few minutes settled the business. 

Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, choose the 
frame, and give the directions ; and Emma thought she could 
so pack it as to ensure its safety without much incommoding 

40 



EMMA 

him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded 
enough. 

* What a precious deposit ! * said he, with a tender sigh, as 
he received it. 

l This man is almost too gallant to be in love/ thought 
Emma. * I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a 
hundred different ways of being in love. He is an excellent 
young man, and will suit Harriet exactly ; it will be an 
" exactly so," as he says himself; but he does sigh and languish, 
and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as 
a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. 
But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account.' 



CHAPTER VII 

The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a 
fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend. 
Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast ; 
and after a time had gone home to return again to dinner; 
she returned, and sooner than had been talked of, and with an 
agitated, hurried look, announcing something extraordinary to 
have happened which she was longing to telL Half a minute 
brought it all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to 
Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour 
before, and finding she was not at home, not particularly 
expected, had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, 
and gone away ; and on opening this parcel, she had actually 
found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to 
copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from 
Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage. 
c Who could have thought it ! She was so surprised she did 
not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage ; and 
a very good letter, at least, she thought so. And he wrote as 
if he really loved her very much — but she did not know — and 
so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse 
what she should do.' Emma was half ashamed of her friend 
for seeming so pleased and so doubtful. 

' Upon my word,' she cried, * the young man is determined 

4i 



EMMA 

not to lose anything for want of asking. He will connect 
himself well if he can.' 

* Will you read the letter ? ' cried Harriet. i Pray do. I'd 
rather you would.' 

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was 
surprised. The style of the letter was much above her 
expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, 
but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman : 
the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and 
the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the 
writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm 
attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. 
She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for 
her opinion, with a l Well, well,' and was at last forced to add, 
* Is it a good letter, or is it too short ? ' 

'Yes, indeed, a very good letter,' replied Emma, rather 
slowly ; — 'so good a letter, Harriet, that, everything considered, 
I think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly 
imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other 
day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own 
powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman ; no, certainly, 
it is too strong and concise ; not diffuse enough for a woman. 
No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a 
natural talent for — thinks strongly and clearly— and when he 
takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. 
It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. 
Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not 
coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it), than I 
had expected.' 

' Well,' said the still waiting Harriet ; — * well — and — and 
what shall I do ? ' 

' What shall you do ! In what respect ? Do you mean 
with regard to this letter ? ' 

' Yes.' 

' But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it, of 
course — and speedily.' 

* Yes. But what shall I say ? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do 
advise me.' 

* Oh no, no ; the letter had much better be all your own. 
You will express yourself very properly, I am sure. There is 
no danger of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing. 

42 



EMMA 

Your meaning must be unequivocal ; no doubts or demurs ; and 
such expressions of gratitude and concern for the pain you are 
inflicting as propriety requires, will present themselves unbidden 
to your mind, I am persuaded. You need not be prompted to 
write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment.' 

' You think I ought to refuse him, then ? ' said Harriet, 
looking down. 

* Ought to refuse him ! My dear Harriet, what do you 
mean ? Are you in any doubt as to that ? I thought — but I 
beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake. I 
certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt 
as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you were 
consulting me only as to the wording of it.' 

Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma 
continued — 

* You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.' 

1 No, I do not ; that is I do not mean — What shall I do ? 
What would you advise me to do ? Pray, dear Miss Wood- 
house, tell me what I ought to do.' 

* I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have 
nothing to do with it. This is a point which you must settle 
with your own feelings.' 

* I had no notion that he liked me so very much,' said 
Harriet, contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma 
persevered in her silence ; but beginning to apprehend the 
bewitching flattery of that letter might be too powerful, she 
thought it best to say — 

* I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman 
doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she 
certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to 
" Yes," she ought to say " No " directly. It is not a state to 
be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart. 
I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to 
say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to 
influence you.' 

( Oh no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to but 

if you would just advise me what I had best do : — no, no, I do 
not mean that : — as you say one's mind ought to be quite made 
up — one should not be hesitating : — it is a very serious thing. 
It will be safer to say " No," perhaps. Do you think I had 
better say "No?"' 

43 



EMMA 

' Not for the world,' said Emma, smiling graciously, * would 
I advise you either way. You must be the best judge of your 
own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other 
person ; if you think him the most agreeable man you have 
ever been in company with, why should you hesitate ? You 
blush, Harriet. Does anybody else occur to you at this 
moment under such a definition ? Harriet, Harriet, do not 
deceive yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and 
compassion. At this moment whom are you thinking of? ' 

The symptoms were favourable. Instead of answering, 
Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the 
fire ; and though the letter was still in her hand, it was now 
mechanically twisted about without regard. Emma waited the 
result with impatience, but not without strong hopes. At last, 
with some hesitation, Harriet said — 

1 Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I 
must do as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite 
determined, and really almost made up my mind, to refuse Mr. 
Martin. Do you think I am right ? ' 

' Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet ; you are 
doing just what you ought. While you were at all in suspense, 
I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you are so com- 
pletely decided I have no hesitation in approving. Dear 
Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have grieved me 
to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the conse- 
quence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the 
smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I 
would not influence ; but it would have been the loss of a friend 
to me. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey- 
Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever.' 

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it 
struck her forcibly. 

' You could not have visited me ! ' she cried, looking 
aghast. ' No, to be sure you could not ; but I never thought 
of that before. That would have been too dreadful ! What 
an escape I Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the 
pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for anything in 
the world.' 

1 Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose 
you i but it must have been. You would have thrown yourself 
out of all good society. I must have given you up.' 

44 



EMMA 

* Dear me ! How should I ever have borne it ? It would 
have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more.' 

* Dear, affectionate creature ! You banished to Abbey-Mill 
Farm ! You confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar 
all your life ! I wonder how the young man could have the 
assurance to ask it. He must have a pretty good opinion of 
himself.' 

4 1 do not think he is conceited either, in general,* said 
Harriet, her conscience opposing such censure • * at least he is 
very good-natured, and I shall always feel much obliged to 
him, and have a great regard for — but that is quite a different 
thing from — and you know, though he may like me, it does not 
follow that I should — and, certainly, I must confess that since 
my visiting here I have seen people — and if one comes to 
compare them, person and manners, there is no comparison at 
all, one is so very handsome and agreeable. However, I do 
really think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man, and have a 
great opinion of him ; and his being so much attached to me — 
and his writing such a letter — but as to leaving you, it is what 
I would not do upon any consideration. 

* Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We 
will not be parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely 
because she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can 
write a tolerable letter.' 

' Oh no ; — and it is but a short letter, too.' 

Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with 
a c very true ; and it would be a small consolation to her, for 
the clownish manner which might be offending her every hour 
of the day, to know that her husband could write a good 
letter.' 

* Oh yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter : the thing is, 
to be always happy with pleasant companions. I am quite 
determined to refuse him. But how shall I do ? What shall 
I say?' 

Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the 
answer, and advised its being written directly, which was 
agreed to, in the hope of her assistance ; and though Emma 
continued to protest against any assistance being wanted, it 
was in fact given in the formation of every sentence. The 
looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a 
softening tendency, that it was particularly necessary to brace 

45 



EMMA 

her up with a few decisive expressions ; and she was so very 
much concerned at the idea of making him unhappy, and 
thought so much of what his mother and sisters would think 
and say, and was so anxious that they should not fancy her 
ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had come 
in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted 
after all. 

This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. 
The business was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather 
low all the evening ; but Emma could allow for her amiable 
regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own 
affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr. 
Elton. 

' I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again/ was said in 
rather a sorrowful tone. 

' Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my 
Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to 
be spared to Abbey- Mill.' 

4 And I am sure I should never want to go there ; for I am 
never happy but at Hartfield.' 

Some time afterwards it was, 4 I think Mrs. Goddard would 
be very much surprised if she knew what had happened. I 
am sure Miss Nash would — for Miss Nash thinks her own 
sister very well married, and it is only a linen-draper.' 

* One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in 
the teacher of a school, Harriet. I daresay Miss Nash would 
envy you such an opportunity as this of being married. Even 
this conquest would appear valuable in her eyes. As to any- 
thing superior for you, I suppose she is quite in the dark. The 
attentions of a certain person can hardly be among the tittle- 
tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I are the 
only people to whom his looks and manners have explained 
themselves.' 

Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about 
wondering that people should like her so much. The idea of 
Mr. Elton was certainly cheering ; but still, after a time, she 
was tender-hearted again towards the rejected Mr. Martin. 

* Now he has got my letter,' said she softly. { I wonder 
what they are all doing — whether his sisters know — if he is 
unhappy, they will be unhappy too. I hope he will not mind 
it so very much.' 

4 6 




Showing your picture to his mother and sisters. 



EMMA 

' Let us think of those among our absent friends who are 
more cheerfully employed,' cried Emma. ' At this moment, 
perhaps, Mr. Elton is showing your picture to his mother and 
sisters, telling how much more beautiful is the original, and 
after being asked for it five or six times, allowing them to hear 
your name, your own dear name.' 

' My picture ! But he has left my picture in Bond Street.' 

' Has he so ! Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No, 
my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it, the picture will 
not be in Bond Street till just before he mounts his horse to- 
morrow. It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his 
delight. It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you 
among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest 
feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession. 
How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy their 
imaginations all are ! ' 

Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger. 



CHAPTER VIII 

Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past 
she had been spending more than half her time there, and 
gradually getting to have a bedroom appropriated to herself; 
and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, 
to keep her with them as much as possible just at present. 
She was obliged to go the next morning, for an hour or two 
to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was then to be settled that she 
should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some 
days. 

While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some 
time with Mr. Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, 
who had previously made up his mind to walk out, was per- 
suaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was induced by 
the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his own 
civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose. Mr. Knightley, 
who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering, by his 
short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted 
apologies and civil hesitations of the other, 

4 8 



EMMA 

'Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if 
you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall 
take Emma's advice and go out for a quarter of an hour. As 
the sun is out, I believe I had better take my three turns 
while I can. I treat you without ceremony, Mr. Knightley. 
We invalids think we are privileged people.' 

I My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.' 

« I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma 
will be happy to entertain you. And therefore I think I will 
beg your excuse, and take my three turns — my winter walk.' 

* You cannot do better, sir.' 

<I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. 
Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be 
tedious to you ; and, besides, you have another long walk 
before you, to Donwell Abbey.' 

< Thank you, sir, thank you ; I am going this moment 
myself; and I think the sooner you go the better. I will fetch 
your greatcoat and open the garden door for you.' 

Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead 
of being immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly 
inclined for more chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and 
speaking of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had 
ever heard before. 

I I cannot rate her beauty as you do,' said he ; * but she is 
a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well 
of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is 
with ; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.' 

* I am glad you think so ; and the good hands, I hope, may 
not be wanting.' 

{ Come,' said he, ' you are anxious for a compliment, so I 
will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured 
her of her schoolgirl's giggle ; she really does you credit.' 

'Thank you. I should be mortified, indeed, if I did not 
believe I had been of some use ; but it is not everybody who 
will bestow praise where they may. You do not often over- 
power me with it.' 

{ You are expecting her again, you say, this morning ? ' 

1 Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already 
than she intended.' 

' Something has happened to delay her ; some visitors, 
perhaps.' 

E 49 



EMMA 

' Highbury gossips ! Tiresome wretches ! ' 

' Harriet may not consider everybody tiresome that you 
would/ 

Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and, there- 
fore, said nothing. He presently added, with a smile — 

' I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell 
you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will 
soon hear of something to her advantage.' 

* Indeed ! how so ? of what sort ? ' 

' A very serious sort, I assure you,' still smiling. 

* Very serious ! I can think of but one thing : — who is in 
love with her ? Who makes you their confidant ? ' 

Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having 
dropped a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend 
and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to him. 

* I have reason to think,' he replied, * that Harriet Smith 
will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unex- 
ceptionable quarter : — Robert Martin is the man. Her visit 
to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business. 
He is desperately in love, and means to marry her.' 

c He is very obliging,' said Emma ; * but is he sure that 
Harriet means to marry him ? ' 

* Well, well, means to make her an offer, then. Will that 
do ? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to 
consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough regard for 
him and all his family, and, I believe, considers me as one of 
his best friends. He came to ask me whether I thought it 
would be imprudent in him to settle so early ; whether I 
thought her too young : in short, whether I approved his 
choice altogether ; having some apprehension, perhaps, of her 
being considered (especially since your making so much of 
her) as in a line of society above him. I was very much 
pleased with all that he said. I never hear better sense from 
any one than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the 
purpose ; open, straightforward, and very well judging. He 
told me everything ; his circumstances and plans, and what 
they all proposed doing in the event of his marriage. He is 
an excellent young man, both as son and brother. I had no 
hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me that 
he could afford it ; and that being the case, I was convinced 
he could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and 

5° 



EMMA 

altogether sent him away very happy. If he had never 
esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought highly of 
me then ; and, I daresay, left the house thinking me the best 
friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the 
night before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would 
not allow much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and 
as he does not appear to have spoken yesterday, it is not 
unlikely that he should be at Mrs. Goddard's to-day ; and she 
may be detained by a visitor, without thinking him at all a 
tiresome wretch.' 

' Pray, Mr. Knightley,' said Emma, who had been smiling 
to herself through a great part of this speech, ' how do you 
know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday ? ' 

* Certainly,' replied he, surprised, * I do not absolutely know 
it ; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with 
you ? ' 

' Come,' said she, 'I will tell you something, in return for 
what you have told me. He did speak yesterday — that is, he 
wrote, and was refused.' 

This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed ; 
and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprise and dis- 
pleasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said — 

* Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. 
What is the foolish girl about ? ' 

* Oh, to be sure,' cried Emma, < it is always incomprehen- 
sible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of 
marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for 
anybody who asks her.' 

* Nonsense ! a man does not imagine any such thing. But 
what is the meaning of this ? Harriet Smith refuse Robert 
Martin ! Madness, if it is so ; but I hope you are mistaken.' 

* I saw her answer ; nothing could be clearer.' 

* You saw her answer ! You wrote her answer too. Emma, 
this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.' 

* And if I did (which, however, I am far from allowing), I 
should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very 
respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's 
equal ; and am rather surprised, indeed, that he should have 
ventured to address her. By your account, he does seem to 
have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got 
over.' 

5i 



EMMA 

* Not Harriet's equal ! ' exclaimed Mr. Knightley, loudly 
and warmly ; and with calmer asperity added, a few moments 
afterwards, * No, he is not her equal, indeed, for he is as much 
her superior in sense as in situation. Emma, your infatuation 
about that girl blinds you. What are Harriet Smith's claims, 
either of birth, nature, or education, to any connection higher 
than Robert Martin ? She is the natural daughter of nobody 
knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and 
certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as 
parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible 
girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been taught 
nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have 
acquired anything herself. At her age she can have no ex- 
perience ; and, with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have 
any that can avail her. She is pretty and she is good-tempered, 
and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was 
on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connec- 
tion for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he 
might do much better ; and that, as to a rational companion 
or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not 
reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there 
being no harm in her ; to her having that sort of disposition 
which, in good hands like his, might be easily led aright, and 
turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be 
all on her side, and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I 
now) that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme 
good luck. Even your satisfaction I made sure of. It crossed 
my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend's 
leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I 
remember saying to myself, " Even Emma, with all her parti- 
ality for Harriet, will think this a good match." ' 

* I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of 
Emma as to say any such thing. What ! think a farmer (and 
with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing 
more) a good match for my intimate friend ! Not regret her 
leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I 
could never admit as an acquaintance of my own ! I wonder 
you should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I 
assure you mine are very different. I must think your state- 
ment by no means fair. You are not just to Harriet's claims. 
They would be estimated very differently by others as well as 

5 2 



EMMA 

myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is 
undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. The sphere in 
which she moves is much above his. It would be a degra- 
dation.' 

1 A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married 
to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer ? ' 

'As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal 
sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common 
sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being 
held below the level of those with whom she is brought up. 
There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a gentleman 
— and a gentleman of fortune. Her allowance is very liberal ; 
nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or comfort. 
That she is a gentleman's daughter is indubitable to me ; that 
she associates with gentlemen's daughters, no one, I apprehend, 
will deny. She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.' 

* Whoever might be her parents,' said Mr. Knightley, ' who- 
ever may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to 
have been any part of their plan to introduce her into what 
you would call good society. After receiving a very indifferent 
education, she is left in Mrs. Goddard's hands to shift as she 
can ; — to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard's line, to have Mrs. 
Goddard's acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought this 
good enough for her ; and it was good enough. She desired 
nothing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, 
her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition 
beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in 
the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she 
lias it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to 
Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have 
proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being 
disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much real 
feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish 
passion. And as to conceit, he is the furthest from it of any 
man I know. Depend upon it, he had encouragement.' 

It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply 
to this assertion ; she chose rather to take up her own line of 
the subject again. 

* You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin ; but, as I said 
before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to marry well 
are not so contemptible as you represent them. She is not a 

53 



EMMA 

clever girl, but she has better sense than you are aware of, and 
does not deserve to have her understanding spoken of so 
slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and supposing her 
to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, let 
me tell you that, in the degree she possesses them, they are 
not trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she is, 
in fact, a beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine 
people out of a hundred ; and till it appears that men are 
much more philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are 
generally supposed ; till they do fall in love with well-informed 
minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness 
as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought after, 
of having the power of choosing from among many, conse- 
quently a claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so 
very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough 
sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of 
herself, and a great readiness to be pleased with other people. 
I am very much mistaken if your sex in general would not 
think such beauty and such temper the highest claims a woman 
could possess.' 

'Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason 
you have is almost enough to make me think so too. Better 
be without sense than misapply it as you do.' 

* To be sure,' cried she playfully. * I know that is the 
feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is 
exactly what every man delights in — what at once bewitches 
his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh, Harriet may pick 
and choose. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the 
very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just entering 
into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at because 
she does not accept the first offer she receives ? No — pray let 
her have time to look about her.' 

( I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,' said 
Mr. Knightley presently, * though I have kept my thoughts 
to myself ; but I now perceive that it will be a very unfortunate 
one for Harriet. You will puff her up with such ideas of her 
own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, in a little 
while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. 
Vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief. 
Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations 
too high. Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage 

54 



EMMA 

flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, 
whatever you may choose to say, do not want silly wives. 
Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves 
with a girl of such obscurity, — and most prudent men would 
be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be 
involved in when the mystery of her parentage came to be 
revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, 
respectable, and happy for ever ; but if you encourage her to 
expect to marry greatly, and teach her to be satisfied with 
nothing less than a man of consequence and large fortune, she 
may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard's all the rest of her 
life, — or, at least (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry 
somebody or other), till she grow desperate, and is glad to 
catch at the old writing-master's son.' 

* We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, 
that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be 
making each other more angry. But as to my letting her 
marry Robert Martin, it is impossible ; she has refused him, 
and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any second applica- 
tion. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, what- 
ever it may be ; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend 
to say that I might not influence her a little ; but I assure you 
there was very little for me or for anybody to do. His appear- 
ance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if 
she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can 
imagine that before she had seen anybody superior she might 
tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took 
pains to please her ; and altogether, having seen nobody better 
(that must have been his great assistant), she might not, while 
she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case 
is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are ; and 
nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any 
chance with Harriet.' 

* Nonsense, arrant nonsense, as ever was talked ! ' cried 
Mr. Knightley. * Robert Martin's manners have sense, sin- 
cerity, and good-humour to recommend them ; and his mind 
has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand.' 

Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully uncon- 
cerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable, and wanting him 
very much to be gone ; she did not repent what she had done ; 
she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female 

55 



EMMA 

right and refinement than he could be ; but yet she had a sort 
of habitual respect for his judgment in general, which made 
her dislike having it so loudly against her ; and to have him 
sitting just opposite to her in angry state was very disagreeable. 
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one 
attempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made 
no answer. 

He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at 
last in these words — 

< Robert Martin has no great loss — if he can but think so ; 
and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your views 
for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you make no 
secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to suppose that 
views, and plans, and projects you have : — and, as a friend, I 
shall just hint to you, that if Elton is the man, I think it will 
be all labour in vain.' 

Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued — 

c Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good 
sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but 
not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He knows 
the value of a good income as well as anybody. Elton may 
talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is as well 
acquainted with his own claims as you can be with Harriet's. 
He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great 
favourite wherever he goes ; and from his general way of 
talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men 
present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw him- 
self away. I have heard him speak with great animation of 
a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, 
who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.' 

* I am very much obliged to you,' said Emma, laughing 
again. * If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying 
Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes ; but 
at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself. I have done 
with match-making, indeed. I could never hope to equal 
my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am 
well.' 

* Good morning to you,' said he, rising, and walking off 
abruptly. He was very much vexed. He felt the disappoint- 
ment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the 
means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given ; and the 

56 



EMMA 

part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair 
was provoking him exceedingly. 

Emma remained in a state of vexation too ; but there was 
more indistinctness in the causes of hers than in his. She did 
not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely 
convinced that her opinions were right and her adversary's 
wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in more complete 
self-approbation than he left for her. She was not so materially 
cast down, however, but that a little time and the return of 
Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet's staying 
away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The 
possibility of the young man's coming to Mrs. Goddard's that 
morning, and meeting with Harriet, and pleading his own 
cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread of such a failure, 
after all, became the prominent uneasiness, and when Harriet 
appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any 
such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction 
which settled her with her own mind, and convinced her that, 
let Mr. Knightley think or say what he would, she had done 
nothing which woman's friendship and woman's feeling would 
not justify. 

He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton ; but when 
she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have observed 
him as she had done, neither with the interest nor (she must 
be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. Knightley's pre- 
tensions) with the skill of such an observer on such a question 
as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she was 
able to believe that he had rather said what he wished resent- 
fully to be true, than what he knew anything about. He 
certainly might have heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve 
than she had ever done, and Mr. Elton might not be of an 
imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to money matters ; he 
might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them ; 
but then Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the 
influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. 
Mr. Knightley saw no such passion, and, of course, thought 
nothing of its effects ; but she saw too much of it to feel a 
doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a reasonable 
prudence might originally suggest ; and more than a reasonable, 
becoming degree of prudence she was very sure did not belong 
to Mr. Elton. 

57 






EMMA 

Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers ; she 
came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. 
Elton. Miss Nash had been telling her something, which she 
repeated immediately with great delight. Mr. Perry had been 
to Mrs. Goddard's to attend a sick child, and Miss Nash had 
seen him ; and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was coming 
back yesterday from Clayton Park he had met Mr. Elton, and 
found, to his great surprise, that Mr. Elton was actually on 
his road to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, 
though it was the whist-club night, which he had been never 
known to miss before ; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with 
him about it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their 
best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade 
him to put off his journey only one day ; but it would not do ; 
Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said, in a 
very particular way indeed, that he was going on business which 
he would not put off for any inducement in the world ; and 
something about a very enviable commission, and being the 
bearer of something exceedingly precious. Mr, Perry could 
not quite understand him, but he was very sure there must be 
a lady in the case, and he told him so ; and Mr. Elton only 
looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits. 
Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal 
more about Mr. Elton ; and said, looking so very significantly 
at her, * that she did not pretend to understand what his 
business might be, but she only knew that any woman whom 
Mr. Elton could prefer she should think the luckiest woman in 
the world ; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal 
for beauty or agreeableness.* 



CHAPTER IX 

Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could 
not quarrel with herself. He was so much displeased that 
it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again ; 
and when they did meet, his grave looks showed that she was 
not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. On the 
contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more 

59 



EMMA 

justified and endeared to her by the general appearances of 
the next few days. 

The picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon 
after Mr. Elton's return, and being hung over the mantel- 
piece of the common sitting-room, he got up to look at it, and 
sighed out his half sentences of admiration just as he ought ; 
and as for Harriet's feelings, they were visibly forming them- 
selves into as strong and steady an attachment as her youth 
and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied 
of Mr. Martin's being no otherwise remembered than as he 
furnished a contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage 
to the latter. 

Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great 
deal of useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to 
more than a few first chapters, and the intention of going on 
to-morrow. It was much easier to chat than to study ; much 
pleasanter to let her imagination range and work at Harriet's 
fortune than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension, or 
exercise it on sober facts ; and the only literary pursuit which 
engaged Harriet at present, the only mental provision she was 
making for the evening of life, was the collecting and tran- 
scribing all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, 
into a thin quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, 
and ornamented with ciphers and trophies. 

In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand 
scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head teacher at Mrs. 
Goddard's, had written out at least three hundred ; and Harriet, 
who had taken the first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss 
Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more. Emma assisted 
with her invention, memory, and taste ; and as Harriet wrote 
a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the 
first order, in form as well as quantity. 

Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the busi- 
ness as the girls, and tried very often to recollect some- 
thing worth their putting in. c So many clever riddles as there 
used to be when he was young — he wondered he could not 
remember them; but he hoped he should in time.' And it 
always ended in < Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.' 

His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the 
subject, did not at present recollect anything of the riddle 
kind ; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as 

60 






EMMA 

he went about so much, something, he thought, might come 
from that quarter. 

It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects 
of Highbury in general should be put under requisition. Mr. 
Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked. He was 
invited to contribute any really good enigmas, charades, or 
conundrums that he might recollect ; and she had the pleasure 
of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections ; and 
at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful 
that nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compli- 
ment to the sex, should pass his lips. They owed to him 
their two or three politest puzzles ; and the joy and exultation 
with which at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, 
that well-known charade — 

My first doth affliction denote, 

Which my second is destin'd to feel ; 

And my whole is the best antidote 
That affliction to soften and heal — 

made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed 
it some pages ago already. 

' Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton ? ' 
said she ; ' that is the only security for its freshness ; and 
nothing could be easier to you.' 

c Oh no ; he had never written, hardly ever, anything of 
the kind in his life. The stupidest fellow ! He was afraid 
not even Miss Woodhouse,' — he stopped a moment — ' or Miss 
Smith could inspire him.' 

The very next day, however, produced some proof of inspira- 
tion. He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of 
paper on the table containing, as he said, a charade which a 
friend of his had addressed to a young lady, the object of his 
admiration ; but which, from his manner, Emma was immedi- 
ately convinced must be his own, 

' I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection,' said he. 
* Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree 
to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike looking 
at it.' 

This speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which 
Emma could understand. There was deep consciousness 
about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her 

61 



EMMA 

friend's. He was gone the next moment: — after another 
moment's pause— 

'Take it,' — said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper 
towards Harriet, — £ it is for you. Take your own.' 

But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it ; and 
Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself. 

To Miss 



CHARADE 

My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, 
Lords of the earth ! their luxury and ease. 

Another view of man, my second brings ; 
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas ! 

But, ah ! united, what reverse we have ! 

Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown ; 
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, 

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, 
May its approval beam in that soft eye ! 

She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, 
read it through again to be quite certain, and quite mistress 
of the lines, and then passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, 
and saying to herself, while Harriet was puzzling over the paper 
in all the confusion of hope and dulness, c Very well, Mr. Elton, 
very well, indeed. I have read worse charades. Courtship — a 
very good hint. I give you credit for it. This is feeling your 
way. This is saying very plainly — "Pray, Miss Smith, give 
me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade 
and my intentions in the same glance." 

May its approval beam in that soft eye ! 

Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye — of all 
epithets, the justest that could be given. 

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply. 

Humph — Harriet's ready wit ! All the better. A man must 
be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah ! Mr. 
Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this ; I think this 
would convince you. For once in your life you would be obliged 

62 



EMMA 

to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade indeed — and 
very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon 
now.' 

She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant 
observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into great 
length, by the eagerness of Harriet's wondering questions. 

* What can it be, Miss Woodhouse ? — what can it be ? I 
have not an idea — I cannot guess it in the least. What can 
it possibly be ? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do 
help me. I never saw anything so hard. Is it kingdom ? I 
wonder who the friend was — and who could be the young lady. 
Do you think it is a good one ? Can it be woman ? 

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 

Can it be Neptune ? 

Behold him there, the monarch of the seas ! 

Or a trident ? or a mermaid ? or a shark ? Oh no ; shark is 
only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not 
have brought it. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall 
ever find it out ? ' 

' Mermaids and sharks ! Nonsense ! My dear Harriet, 
what are you thinking of? Where would be the use of his 
bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or a 
shark ? Give me the paper, and listen. 

" For Miss ," read Miss Smith. 

My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, 
Lords of the earth ! their luxury and ease. 

That is court. 

Another view of man, my second brings ; 
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas ! 

That is s/tzfi, — plain as he can be. — Now for the cream. 

But, ah ! united {courtships you know), what reverse we have 1 
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown ; 

Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, 
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 

A very proper compliment ! — and then follows the application, 
which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty 

63 



EMMA 

in comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There 
can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you. 5 

Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. 
She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happi- 
ness. She could not speak. But she was not wanted to 
speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma spoke for her. 

' There is so pointed and so particular a meaning in this 
compliment,' said she, ' that I cannot have a moment's doubt 
as to Mr. Elton's intentions. You are his object, — and you 
will soon receive the completest proof of it. I thought it must 
be so. I thought I could not be so deceived ; but now it is 
clear : the state of his mind is as clear and decided as my 
wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, 
Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circum- 
stance to happen which has happened. I could never tell 
whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were most 
desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility 
have really so equalled each other ! I am very happy. I 
congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This 
is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creat- 
ing. This is a connection which offers nothing but good. It 
will give you everything that you want, — consideration, inde- 
pendence, a proper home, — it will fix you in the centre of all 
your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm 
our intimacy for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can 
never raise a blush in either of us.' 

' Dear Miss Woodhouse,' and * Dear Miss Woodhouse,' was 
all that Harriet, with many tender embraces, could articulate 
at first ; but when they did arrive at something more like 
conversation, it was sufficiently clear to her friend that she 
saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she ought. Mr. 
Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment. 

'Whatever you say is always right,' cried Harriet, 'and 
therefore, I suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so ; but 
otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is so much beyond 
anything I deserve. Mr. Elton, who might marry anybody S 
There cannot be two opinions about him. He is so very 

superior. Only think of those sweet verses — " To Miss " 

Dear me, how clever ! Could it really be meant for me ? ' 

c I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about 
that. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is 

64 



EMMA 

a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter ; and 
will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose.* 

' It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. 
I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself! The 
strangest things do take place ! ' 

' When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted — they 
do indeed — and really it is strange ; it is out of the common 
course that what is so evidently, so palpably desirable — what 
courts the pre-arrangement of other people — should so im- 
mediately shape itself into the proper form. You and Mr. 
Elton are by situation called together ; you belong to one 
another by every circumstance of your respective homes. 
Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls. There 
does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which 
gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it into the 
very channel where it ought to flow. 

The course of true love never did run smooth — 

A Hartfield edition of Shakspeare would have a long note on 
that passage.' 

1 That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me, — me, 
of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him, at 
Michaelmas ! And he, the very handsomest man that ever 
was, and a man that everybody looks up to, quite like Mr. 
Knightley ! His company so sought after, that everybody says 
he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not choose 
it ; that he has more invitations than there are days in the 
week. And so excellent in the church ! Miss Nash has put 
down all the texts he has ever preached from since he came 
to Highbury. Dear me ! When I look back to the first time 
I saw him ! How little did I think I The two Abbotts and 
I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when 
we heard he was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded 
us away, and stayed to look through herself; however, she 
called me back presently, and let me look too, which was very 
good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked ! 
He was arm in arm with Mr. Cole.' 

c This is an alliance which, whoever — whatever your friends 
may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at least they 
have common sense ; and we are not to be addressing our 
conduct to fools. If they are anxious to see you happily 
married, here is a man whose amiable character gives every 
F 65 



EMMA 

assurance of it ; if they wish to have you settled in the same 
country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, 
here it will be accomplished ; and if their only object is that 
you should, in the common phrase, be well married, here is 
the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment, the rise 
in the world, which must satisfy them. 5 

I Yes, very true. How nicely you talk ! I love to hear 
you. You understand everything. You and Mr. Elton are 
one as clever as the other. This charade ! If I had studied 
a twelvemonth, I could never have made anything like it.' 

' I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of 
declining it yesterday.' 

* I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever 
read.' 

c I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.' 
f It is as long again as almost all we have had before.' 

I I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. 
Such things in general cannot be too short.' 

Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most 
satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind. 

1 It is one thing,' said she, presently, her cheeks in a glow, 
' to have very good sense in a common way, like everybody 
else, and if there is anything to say, to sit down and write a 
letter, and say just what you must, in a short way ; and 
another, to write verses and charades like this.' 

Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of 
Mr. Martin's prose. 

* Such sweet lines ! ' continued Harriet — c these two last ! 
But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I 
have found it out ? Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what can we do 
about that ! ' 

6 Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this 
evening, I daresay, and then I will give it him back, and 
some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you shall 
not be committed. Your soft eyes shall choose their own 
time for beaming. Trust to me.' 

* Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write 
this beautiful charade into my book ! I am sure I have not 
got one half so good.' 

' Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why 
you should not write it into your book.' 

66 



EMMA 

* Oh, but those two lines are ' — * The best of all. 

Granted ; — for private enjoyment ; and for private enjoyment 
keep them. They are not at all the less written, you know, 
because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to 
be, nor does its meaning change. But take it away, and 
all appropriation ceases, and a very pretty, gallant charade 
remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon it, he would not 
like to have his charade slighted much better than his passion. 
A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or 
neither. Give me the book ; I will write it down, and then 
there can be no possible reflection on you.' 

Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate 
the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not 
writing down a declaration of love. It seemed too precious an 
offering for any degree of publicity. 

* I shall never let that book go out of my own hands, 1 said 
she. 

£ Very well,' replied Emma, ' a most natural feeling, and the 
longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my 
father coming ; you will not object to my reading the charade 
to him. It will be giving him so much pleasure. He loves 
anything of the sort, and especially anything that pays woman 
a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards 
us all. You must let me read it to him.' 

Harriet looked grave. 
» * My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this 
charade. You will betray your feelings improperly, if you are 
too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning, 
or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it. Do 
not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration. If 
he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the 
paper while I was by ; but he rather pushed it towards me than 
towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. 
He has encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing 
out our souls over this charade.' 

' Oh no ; I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as 
you please.' 

Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject 
again, by the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of * Well, 
my dears, how does your book go on ? Have you got anything 
fresh ? ' 

6 7 



EMMA 

' Yes, papa ; we have something to read to you, something, 
quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this 
morning — (dropped, we suppose, by a fairy) — containing a very 
pretty charade, and we have just copied it in.' 

She read it to him, just as he liked to have anything read, 
slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with ex- 
planations of every part as she proceeded ; and he was very 
much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially struck with 
the complimentary conclusion. 

i Ay, that's very just, indeed ; that's very properly said. 
Very true. "Woman, lovely woman." It is such a pretty 
charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought 
it. Nobody could have written so prettily but you, Emma. 

Emma only nodded, and smiled. After a little thinking, 
and a very tender sigh, he added — 

c Ah, it is no difficulty to see who you take after Your 
dear mother was so clever at all those things. If I had but 
her memory. But I can remember nothing ; not even that 
particular riddle which you have heard me mention ; I can 
only recollect the first stanza ; and there are several : — 

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, 

Kindled a flame I yet deplore ; 
The hoodwink'd boy I called to aid, 
Though of his near approach afraid, 

So fatal to my suit before. 

And that is all that I can recollect of it ;-but it is very clever 
all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had 
got it.' 

' Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We 
copied it from the Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick's, you 
know.' 

* Ay, very true : — I wish I could recollect more of it. 

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid. 

The name makes me think of poor Isabella ; for she was very 
near being christened Catherine after her grandmamma. I 
hope we shall have her here next week. Have you thought, 
my dear, where you shall put her, and what room there will be 
for the children ? ' 

* Oh yes — she will have her own room, of course ; the 
room she always has ; — and there is the nursery for the 

68 



EMMA 

children, — just as usual, you know. Why should there be any 
change ? ' 

' I do not know, my dear — but it is so long since she was 
here — not since last Easter, and then only for a few days. 
Mr. John Knightley's being a lawyer is very inconvenient. 
Poor Isabella ! — she is sadly taken away from us all ; — and how 
sorry she will be when she comes not to see Miss Taylor here.' 

* She will not be surprised, papa, at least.' 

* I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much 
surprised when I first heard she was going to be married. ' 

1 We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while 
Isabella is here.' 

4 Yes, my dear, if there is time. But — (in a very depressed 
tone) — she is coming for only one week. There will not be 
time for anything.' 

* It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer, — but it 
seems a case of necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in 
town again on the 28th; and we ought to be thankful, papa, 
that we are to have the whole of the time they can give to the 
country, that two or three days are not to be taken out for the 
Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this 
Christmas, though you know it is longer since they were with 
him than with us.' 

* It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella 
were to be anywhere but at H airfield.' 

Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's 
claims on his brother, or anybody's claims on Isabella, except 
his own. He sat musing a little while, and then said — 

1 But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to 
go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try 
and persuade her to stay longer with us. She and the children 
might stay very well.' 

1 Ah, papa, that is what you never have been able to accom- 
plish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear 
to stay behind her husband.' 

This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it 
was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh ; and as 
Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his daughter's 
attachment to her husband, she immediately led to such a 
branch of the subject as must raise them. 

' Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can 

69 



EMMA 

while my brother and sister are here. I am sure she will be 
pleased with the children. We are very proud of the children, 
are not we, papa ? I wonder which she will think the hand- 
somest, Henry or John ? ' 

c Ay, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad 
they will be to come. They are very fond of being at Hart- 
field, Harriet.' 

' I daresay they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not.' 

* Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mamma. 
Henry is the eldest ; he was named after me, not after his 
father. John, the second, is named after his father. Some 
people are surprised, I believe, that the eldest was not, but 
Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very 
pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They are 
all remarkably clever ; and they have so many pretty ways. 
They will come and stand by my chair and say, " Grandpapa, 
can you give me a bit of string ? " and once Henry asked me 
for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grand- 
papas. I think their father is too rough with them very often.' 

* He appears rough to you,' said Emma, * because you are 
so very gentle yourself; but if you could compare him with other 
papas, you would not think him rough. He wishes his boys 
to be active and hardy ; and if they misbehave, can give them 
a sharp word now and then ; but he is an affectionate father — 
certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate father. The 
children are all fond of him.' 

* And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the 
ceiling in a very frightful way.' 

* But they like it, papa ; there is nothing they like so much. 
It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay 
down the rule of their taking turns, which ever began would 
never give way to the other.' 

* Well, I cannot understand it.' 

* That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world 
cannot understand the pleasures of the other.' 

Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to 
separate in preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the 
hero of this inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet 
turned away ; but Emma could receive him with the usual 
smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his the conscious- 
ness of having made a push — of having thrown a die ; and 

70 




Tosses them up to the ceiting! 



EMMA 

she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His 
ostensible reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Wood- 
house's party could be made up in the evening without him, 
or whether he should be in the smallest degree necessary at 
Hartfield. If he were, everything else must give way ; but 
otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his 
dining with him — had made such a point of it — that he had 
promised him conditionally to come. 

Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing 
his friend on their account ; her father was sure of his rubber. 
He re-urged — she re-declined ; and he seemed then about to 
make his bow, when, taking the paper from the table, she 
returned it. 

< Oh, here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave 
with us ; thank you for the sight of it. We admired it so 
much that I have ventured to write it into Miss Smith's 
collection. Your friend will not take it amiss, I hope. Of 
course, I have not transcribed beyond the eight first lines.' 

Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. 
He looked rather doubtingly — rather confused ; said some- 
thing about 'honour;' — glanced at Emma and at Harriet, 
and then seeing the book open on the table, took it up, and 
examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an 
awkward moment, Emma smilingly said — 

* You must take my apologies to your friend ; but so good 
a charade must not be confined to one or two. He may be 
sure of every woman's approbation while he writes with such 
gallantry.' 

* I have no hesitation in saying,' replied Mr. Elton, though 
hesitating a good deal while he spoke, — ' I have no hesitation 
in saying — at least if my friend feels at all as / do — I have 
not the smallest doubt that, could he see his little effusion 
honoured as / see it (looking at the book again, and replacing 
it on the table), he would consider it as the proudest moment 
of his life.' 

After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma 
could not think it too soon ; for with all his good and agreeable 
qualities there was a sort of parade in his speeches which was 
very apt to incline her to laugh. She ran away to indulge the 
inclination, leaving the tender and the sublime of pleasure to 
Harriet's share. 

72 



EMMA 



CHAPTER X 

THOUGH now the middle of December, there had yet been no 
weather to prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular 
exercise ; and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to 
pay to a poor sick family who lived a little way out of 
Highbury. 

Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage 
Lane, a lane leading at right angles from the broad, though 
irregular, main street of the place ; and, as may be inferred, 
containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton. A few inferior 
dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a quarter of 
a mile down the lane, rose the vicarage ; an old and not very 
good house, almost as close to the road as it could be. It 
had no advantage of situation ; but had been very much 
smartened up by the present proprietor ; and, such as it was, 
there could be no possibility of the two friends passing it with- 
out a slackened pace and observing eyes. Emma's remark 
was — 

1 There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of 
these days.' 

Harriet's was — 

1 Oh, what a sweet house ! How yery beautiful ! There 
are the yellow curtains that Miss Nash admires so much.' 

* 1 do not often walk this way now? said Emma, as they 
proceeded, * but then there will be an inducement, and I shall 
gradually get intimately acquainted with all the hedges, gates, 
pools, and pollards of this part of Highbury. 5 

Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within-side 
the vicarage ; and her curiosity to see it was so extreme that, 
considering exteriors and probabilities, Emma could only class 
it, as a proof of love, with Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her. 

* I wish we could contrive it,' said she ; ' but I cannot 
think of any tolerable pretence for going in ; — no servant that 
I want to inquire about of his housekeeper — no message from 
my father.' 

She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual 
silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began again — 

* I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be 
married, or going to be married — so charming as you are.' 

73 



EMMA 

Emma laughed, and replied — 

* My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to 
induce me to marry ; I must find other people charming — one 
other person at least. And I am not only not going to be 
married at present, but have very little intention of ever 
marrying at all' 

' Ah, so you say ; but I cannot believe it' 

* I must see somebody very superior to any one I have 
seen yet to be tempted ; Mr. Elton, you know (recollecting 
herself), is out of- the question ; and I do not wish to see any 
such person. I would rather not be tempted. I cannot 
really change for the better. If I were to marry, I must 
expect to repent it.' 

* Dear me ! — it is so odd to hear a woman talk so ! ' 

4 1 have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. 
Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing ; 
but I never have been in love ; it is not my way, or my nature ; 
and I do not think I ever shall. And, without love, I am 
sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as mine. 
Fortune I do not want ; employment I do not want ; con- 
sequence I do not want ; I believe few married women are 
half as much mistress of their husband's house as I am of 
Hartfield; and never, never could I expect to be so truly 
beloved and important \ so always first and always right in any 
man's eyes as I am in my father's.' 

« But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates ! ' 

'That is as formidable an image as you could present, 
Harriet ; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates — 
so silly, so satisfied, so smiling, so prosing, so undistinguish- 
ing and unfastidious, and so apt to tell everything relative 
to everybody about me, I would marry to-morrow. But be- 
tween us> I am convinced there never can be any likeness, 
except in being unmarried.' 

'But still, you will be an old maid — and that's so 
dreadful 1 ' 

'Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; 
and it is poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a 
generous public. A single woman with a very narrow income 
must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old maid — the proper sport 
of boys and girls ; but a single woman of good fortune is 
always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as 

74 



EMMA 

anybody else. And the distinction is not quite so much 
against the candour and common-sense of the world as appears 
at first ; for a very narrow income has a tendency to contract 
the mind, and sour the temper. Those who can barely live, 
and who live perforce in a very small, and generally very 
inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross. This does 
not apply, however, to Miss Bates ; she is only too good- 
natured and too silly to suit me ; but in general, she is very 
much to the taste of everybody, though single and though 
poor. Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind. I 
really believe, if she had only a shilling in the world, she 
would be very likely to give away sixpence of it ; and nobody 
is afraid of her ; that is a great charm.' 

* Dear me ! but what shall you do ? How shall you employ 
yourself when you grow old ? ' 

i If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, 
with a great many independent resources ; and I do not 
perceive why I should be more in want of employment at forty 
or fifty than at one-and-twenty. Woman's usual occupations of 
eye, and hand, and mind, will be as open to me then as they 
are now, or with no important variation. If I draw less, I 
shall read more ; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet- 
work. And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections, 
which is, in truth, the great point of inferiority, the want of 
which is really the great evil to be avoided in not marrying, 
I shall be very well off, with all the children of a sister I love 
so much to care about. There will be enough of them, in all 
probability, to supply every sort of sensation that declining 
life can need. There will be enough for every hope and every 
fear ; and though my attachment to none can equal that of a 
parent, it suits my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer 
and blinder. My nephews and nieces : I shall often have a 
niece with me.' 

* Do you know Miss Bates's niece ? That is, I know you 
must have seen her a hundred times — but are you acquainted ?' 

' Oh yes ; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever 
she comes to Highbury. By the bye, that is almost enough 
to put one out of conceit with a niece. Heaven forbid, at 
least, that I should ever bore people half so much about all 
the Knightleys together as she does about Jane Fairfax. 
One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter 

75 



EMMA 

from her is read forty times over : her compliments to all 
friends go round and round again ; and if she does but send 
her aunt the pattern of a stomacher, or knit a pair of 
garters for her grandmother, one hears of nothing else for 
a month. I wish Jane Fairfax very well ; but she tires me 
to death.' 

They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle 
topics were superseded. Emma was very compassionate ; 
and the distresses of the poor were as sure of relief from 
her personal attention and kindness, her counsel and her 
patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways, 
could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no 
romantic expectations of extraordinary virtue from those for 
whom education had done so little, entered into their troubles 
with ready sympathy, and always gave her assistance with 
as much intelligence as good -will. In the present instance 
it was sickness and poverty together which she came to visit ; 
and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort 
or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression 
of the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked 
away — 

* These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How 
trifling they make everything else appear ! I feel now as if 
I could think of nothing but these poor creatures all the 
rest of the day ; and yet who can say how soon it may all 
vanish from my mind ? ' 

1 Very true,' said Harriet. ' Poor creatures ! one can think 
of nothing else 

'And really, I do not think the impression will soon be 
over,' said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge and tottering 
footstep which ended the narrow, slippery path through the 
cottage garden, and brought them into the lane again. * I 
do not think it will, 5 stopping to look once more at all the 
outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still greater 
within. 

' Oh dear, no,' said her companion. 

They walked on. The lane made a slight bend ; and when 
that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight, 
and so near as to give Emma time only to say further — 

' Ah, Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability 
in good thoughts. Well (smiling), I hope it may be allowed 

76 



EMMA 

that if compassion has produced exertion and relief to the 
sufferers, it has done all that is truly important. If we feel 
for the wretched, enough to do all we can for them, the rest 
is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves.' 

Harriet could just answer, * Oh dear, yes,' before the 
gentleman joined them. The wants and sufferings of the 
poor family, however, were the first subject on meeting. 
He had been going to call on them. His visit he would now 
defer ; but they had a very interesting parley about what could 
be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to 
accompany them. 

'To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,' 
thought Emma ; ' to meet in a charitable scheme ; this will 
bring a great increase of love on each side. I should not 
wonder if it were to bring on the declaration. It must, if I 
were not here. I wish I were anywhere else/ 

Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, 
she soon afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, 
a little raised on one side of the lane, leaving them together 
in the main road. But she had not been there two minutes 
when she found that Harriet's habits of dependence and 
imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, they 
would both be soon after her. This would not do j she 
immediately stopped, under pretence of having some alteration 
to make in the lacing of her half-boot, and stooping down 
in complete occupation of the footpath, begged them to have 
the goodness to walk on, and she would follow in half a 
minute. They did as they were desired ; and by the time 
she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she 
had the comfort of further delay in her power, being over- 
taken by a child from the cottage, setting out, according to 
orders, with her pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield. To 
walk by the side of this child, and talk to and question her, 
was the most natural thing in the world, or would have been 
the most natural, had she been acting just then without 
design ; and by this means the others were still able to keep 
ahead without any obligation of waiting for her. She gained 
on them, however, involuntarily ; the child's pace was quick, 
and theirs rather slow ; and she was the more concerned at 
it, from their being evidently in a conversation which interested 
them. Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet 

77 



EMMA 

listening with a very pleased attention ; and Emma, having 
sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might draw 
back a little more, when they both looked around, and she 
was obliged to join them. 

Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting 
detail ; and Emma experienced some disappointment when 
she found that he was only giving his fair companion an 
account of the yesterday's party at his friend Cole's, and 
that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese, and the 
north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beetroot, and all 
the dessert. 

* This would soon have led to something better, of course,' 
was her consoling reflection ; * anything interests between 
those who love; and anything will serve as introduction to 
what is near the heart. If I could but have kept longer 
away.' 

They now walked on together quietly till within view of 
the vicarage pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least 
getting Harriet into the house, made her again find some- 
thing very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind to 
arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short, and 
dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to 
entreat them to stop, and acknowledge her inability to put 
herself to rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable 
comfort. 

* Part of my lace is gone,' said she, * and I do not know 
how I am to contrive. I really am a most troublesome com- 
panion to you both, but I hope I am not often so ill-equipped. 
Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop at your house, and ask 
your housekeeper for a bit of riband or string, or anything 
just to keep my boot on.' 

Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition ; and 
nothing could exceed his alertness and attention in conducting 
them into his house, and endeavouring to make everything 
appear to advantage. The room they were taken into was 
the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards ; behind 
it was another with which it immediately communicated; 
the door between them was open, and Emma passed into it 
with the housekeeper, to receive her assistance in the most 
comfortable manner. She was obliged to leave the door 
ajar as she found it ; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton 

7 8 






EMMA 

should close it. It was not closed, however — it still remained 
ajar ; but by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conver- 
sation, she hoped to make it practicable for him to choose 
his own subject in the adjoining room. For ten minutes she 
could hear nothing but herself. It could be protracted no 
longer. She was then obliged to be finished, and make her 
appearance. 

The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. 
It had a most favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, 
Emma felt the glory of having schemed successfully. But it 
would not do ; he had not come to the point. He had been 
most agreeable, most delightful ; he had told Harriet that he 
had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them ; 
other little gallantries and allusions had been dropped, but 
nothing serious. 

1 Cautious, very cautious,' thought Emma; 'he advances 
inch by inch, and will hazard nothing till he believes himself 
secure.' 

Still, however, though everything had not been accom- 
plished by her ingenious device, she could not but flatter 
herself that it had been the occasion of much present enjoy- 
ment to both, and must be leading them forward to the great 
event. 



CHAPTER XI 

Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer 
in Emma's power to superintend his happiness, or quicken 
his measures. The coming of her sister's family was so very 
near at hand, that first in anticipation, and then in reality, it 
became henceforth the prime object of interest ; and during 
the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be expected 
— she did not herself expect — that anything beyond occasional, 
fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. 
They might advance rapidly if they would, however ; they 
must advance somehow or other, whether they would or no. 
She hardly wished to have more leisure for them. There are 
people who, the more you do for them, the less they will do for 
themselves. 

79 



EMMA 

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer 
than usual absent from Surrey, were exciting, of course, rather 
more than the usual interest. Till this year, every long 
vacation since their marriage had been divided between 
Hartfield and Donwell Abbey ; but all the holidays of this 
autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children ; and 
it was therefore many months since they had been seen in a 
regular way by their Surrey connections, or seen at all by Mr. 
Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London, 
even for poor Isabella's sake, and who consequently was now 
most nervously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this 
too short visit. 

He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and 
not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman, who 
were to bring some of the party the last half of the way ; but 
his alarms were needless ; the sixteen miles being happily 
accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, their five 
children, and a competent number of nursery-maids, all reach- 
ing Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival, 
the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously 
dispersed and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion 
which his nerves could not have borne under any other cause, 
nor have endured much longer even for this ; but the ways of 
Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected by 
Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solicitude for 
the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their having 
instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and drink- 
ing, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish 
for, without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed 
to be long a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any 
restless attendance on them. 

Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of 
gentle, quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable 
and affectionate, wrapt up in her family, a devoted wife, a 
doting mother, and so tenderly attached to her father and sister 
that, but for these higher ties, a warmer love might have 
seemed impossible. She could never see a fault in any of 
them. She was not a woman of strong understanding or any 
quickness ; and with this resemblance of her father, she in- 
herited also much of his constitution ; was delicate in her own 
health, over-careful of that of her children, had many fears and 

80 



EMMA 

many nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in 
town as her father could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike, 
too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of 
regard for every old acquaintance. 

Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very 
clever man ; rising in his profession, domestic and respectable 
in his private character ; but with reserved manners which 
prevented his being generally pleasing, and capable of being 
sometimes out of humour. He was not an ill-tempered man, 
not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a reproach ; 
but his temper was not his great perfection ; and, indeed, with 
such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any 
natural defects in it should not be increased. The extreme 
sweetness of her temper must hurt his. He had all the clear- 
ness and quickness of mind which she wanted ; and he could 
sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing. He was 
not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing 
wrong in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little 
injuries to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps 
she might have passed over more had his manners been flatter- 
ing to Isabella's sister, but they were only those of a calmly 
kind brother and friend, without praise and without blindness ; 
but hardly any degree of personal compliment could have made 
her regardless of that greatest fault of all in her eyes which he 
sometimes fell into, the want of respectful forbearance towards 
her father. There he had not always the patience that could 
have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgeti- 
ness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance 
or sharp retort equally ill bestowed. It did not often happen ; 
for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard for his father- 
in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due to him ; 
but it was too often for Emma's charity, especially as there 
was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured, 
though the offence came not. The beginning, however, of 
every visit displayed none but the properest feelings, and 
this being of necessity so short, might be hoped to pass 
away in unsullied cordiality. They had not been long seated 
and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy 
shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's atten- 
tion to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there 
last. 

G 81 



EMMA 

c Ah, my dear,' said he, ' poor Miss Taylor. It is a grievous 
business.' 

' Oh yes, sir,' cried she, with ready sympathy ; c how you 
must miss her ! And dear Emma, too. What a dreadful loss 
to you both ! I have been so grieved for you. I could not 
imagine how you could possibly do without her. It is a sad 
change, indeed ; but I hope she is pretty well, sir ? ; 

' Pretty well, my dear, — I hope, — pretty well. I do not know 
but that the place agrees with her tolerably.' 

Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma, quietly, whether 
there were any doubts of the air of Randalls. 

1 Oh no, none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston 
better in my life, — never looking so well. Papa is only speak- 
ing his own regret.' 

' Very much to the honour of both,' was the handsome 
reply. 

'And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?' asked Isabella 
in the plaintive tone which just suited her father. 

Mr. Woodhouse hesitated. * Not near so often, my dear, as 
I could wish.' 

* Oh, papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire 
day since they married. Either in the morning or evening 
of every day, excepting one, have we seen either Mr. Weston 
or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, either at Randalls or 
here ; and, as you may suppose, Isabella, most frequently 
here. They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston 
is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak in that 
melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of 
us all. Everybody must be aware that Miss Taylor must be 
missed ; but everybody ought also to be assured that Mr. and 
Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by any means 
to the extent we ourselves anticipated, — which is the exact 
truth.' 

< Just as it should be,' said Mr. John Knightley, l and just 
as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of showing you 
attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and 
social man makes it all easy. I have been always telling you, 
my love, that I had no idea of the change being so very 
material to Hartfield as you apprehended ; and now you have 
Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied.' 

1 Why, to be sure,' said Mr. Woodhouse, — ' yes, certainly. 
82 



EMMA 

I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, — poor Mrs. Weston, — does 
come and see us pretty often ; but then, she is always obliged 
to go away again.' 

1 It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, 
papa. You quite forget poor Mr. Weston.' 

* I think, indeed,' said Mr. John Knightley pleasantly, 
4 that Mr. Weston has some little claim. You and I, Emma, 
will venture to take the part of the poor husband. I being 
a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims of the man 
may very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, 
she has been married long enough to see the convenience 
of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can.' 

i Me, my love ? ' cried his wife, hearing and understanding 
only in part. ' Are you talking about me ? I am sure nobody 
ought to be, or can be, a greater advocate for matrimony than 
I am ; and if it had not been for the misery of her leaving 
Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss Taylor but as 
the most fortunate woman in the world ; and as to slighting 
Mr. Weston, — that excellent Mr. Weston, — I think there is 
nothing he does not deserve. I believe he is one of the very 
best-tempered men that ever existed. Excepting yourself and 
your brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall 
never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy 
day last Easter ; and ever since his particular kindness last 
September twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o'clock 
at night, on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet 
fever at Cobham, I have been convinced there could not be a 
more feeling heart nor a better man in existence. If anybody 
can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor.' 

1 Where is the young man ? ' said John Knightley. ' Has 
he been here on this occasion, or has he not ? ' 

( He has not been here yet,' replied Emma. * There was a 
strong expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, 
but it ended in nothing ; and I have not heard him mentioned 
lately.' 

4 But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,' said her 
father. 4 He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratu- 
late her, and a very proper, handsome letter it was. She 
showed it to me. I thought it very well done of him, indeed. 
Whether it was his own idea, you know, one cannot tell. He 
is but young, and his uncle perhaps ' 

83 










^ 



^X^Ui, 



Flying Henry's kite for him. 



EMMA 

'My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how 
time passes.' 

' Three-and-twenty ! is he, indeed ? Well, I could not have 
thought it ; and he was but two years old when he lost his 
poor mother. Well, time does fly indeed ! and my memory 
is very bad. However, it was an exceeding good, pretty 
letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal of pleasure. 
I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept. 
28th, and began, " My dear Madam," but I forget how it went 
on ; and it was signed " F. C. Weston Churchill," I remember 
that perfectly.' 

' How very pleasing and proper of him,' cried the good- 
hearted Mrs. John Knightley. ' I have no doubt of his being 
a most amiable young man. But how sad it is that he should 
not live at home with his father ! There is something so 
shocking in a child's being taken away from his parents and 
natural home ! I never can comprehend how Mr. Weston 
could part with him. To give up one's child ! I really never 
could think well of anybody who proposed such a thing to 
anybody else.' 

'Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,' 
observed Mr. John Knightley coolly. 'But you need not 
imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving 
up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful- 
tempered man, than a man of strong feelings ; he takes things 
as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or 
other, depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called 
society for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and 
drinking, and playing whist with his neighbours five times a- 
week, than upon family affection, or anything that home 
affords.' 

Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. 
Weston, and had half a mind to take it up ; but she struggled, 
and let it pass. She would keep the peace if possible ; and 
there was something honourable and valuable in the strong 
domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to himself, whence 
resulted her brother's disposition to look down on the common 
rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was important. 
It had a high claim to forbearance. 



85 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XII 

Mr. Knightley was to dine with them, rather against the 
inclination of Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one 
should share with him in Isabella's first day. Emma's sense 
of right, however, had decided it ; and, besides the considera- 
tion of what was due to each brother, she had particular 
pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement 
between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the 
proper invitation. 

She hoped they might now become friends again. She 
thought it was time to make up. Making up, indeed, would 
not do. She certainly had not been in the wrong, and he 
would never own that he had. Concession must be out of the 
question ; but it was time to appear to forget that they had 
ever quarrelled ; and she hoped it might rather assist the 
restoration of friendship, that when he came into the room she 
had one of the children with her, — the youngest, a nice little 
girl, about eight months old, who was now making her first 
visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced about in her 
aunt's arms. It did assist ; for though he began with grave 
looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them 
all in the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms 
with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt 
they were friends again ; and the conviction giving her at 
first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could 
not help saying, as he was admiring the baby — 

1 What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our 
nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions 
are sometimes very different ; but with regard to these 
children, I observe we never disagree.' 

1 If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of 
men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and 
whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these 
children are concerned, we might always think alike.' 

1 To be sure — our discordances must always arise from my 
being in the wrong.' 

4 Yes,' said he, smiling, 'and reason good. I was sixteen 
years old when you were born.' 

86 



EMMA 

* A material difference, then,' she replied ; * and no doubt 
you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our 
lives ; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring 
our understandings a good deal nearer ? ' 

' Yes, a good deal nearer? 

' But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being 
right, if we think differently.' 

' I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' ex- 
perience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a 
spoilt child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and 
say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she 
ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old 
grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she 
is now.' 

* That's true,' she cried, 'very true. Little Emma, grow 
up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer 
and not half so conceited. Now, Mr. Knightley, a word 
or two more, and I have done. As far as good intentions 
went, we were both right, and I must say, that no effects 
on my side of the argument have yet proved wrong. I only 
want to know that Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly 
disappointed.' 

4 A man cannot be more so ' was his short, full answer. 

* Ah ! Indeed I am very sorry. Come, shake hands 
with me.' 

This had just taken place, and with great cordiality, when 
John Knightley made his appearance ; and * How d'ye do, 
George ? ' and ' John, how are you ? ' succeeded in the true 
English style, burying under a calmness that seemed all 
but indifference the real attachment which would have led 
either of them, if requisite, to do everything for the good of 
the other. 

The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse 
declined cards entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with 
his dear Isabella, and the little party made two natural divi- 
sions : on one side he and his daughter ; on the other the 
two Mr. Knightleys ; their subjects totally distinct, or very 
rarely mixing, and Emma only occasionally joining in one or 
the other. 

The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, 
but principally of those of the elder, whose temper was by 

37 



EMMA 

much the most communicative, and who was always the 
greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally some point 
of law to consult John about, or, at least, some carious anec- 
dote to give ; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home- 
farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bear 
next year, and to give all such local information as could not 
fail of being interesting to a brother, whose home it had 
equally been the longest part of his life, and whose attachments 
were strong. The plan of a drain, the change of a fence, the 
felling of a tree, and the destination of every acre for wheat, 
turnips, or spring corn, were entered into with as much equality 
of interest by John as his cooler manners rendered possible ; 
and if his willing brother ever left him anything to inquire 
about, his inquiries even approached a tone of eagerness. 

While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse 
was enjoying a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection 
with his daughter. 

' My poor dear Isabella,' said he, fondly taking her hand, 
and interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for 
some one of her five children, 'how long it is, how terribly 
long, since you were here ! And how tired you must be after 
your journey ! You must go to bed early, my dear, — and I 
recommend a little gruel to you before you go. You and I 
will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, 
suppose we all have a little gruel.' 

Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing, as she 
did, that both the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on 
that article as herself, and two basins only were ordered. 
After a little more discourse in praise of gruel, with some 
wondering at its not being taken every evening by everybody, 
he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection — 

1 It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the 
autumn at South End instead of coming here. I never had 
much opinion of the sea air.' 

' Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir, or we 
should not have gone. He recommended it for all the children, 
but particularly for the weakness in little Bella's throat, — both 
sea air and bathing.' 

'Ah, my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea 
doing her any good ; and as to myself, I have been long per- 
fectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you so before, 

88 



EMMA 

that the sea is very rarely of use to anybody. I am sure it 
almost killed me once.' 

' Come, come/ cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe 
subject, * I must beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me 
envious and miserable ; I who have never seen it ! South 
End is prohibited, if you please. My dear Isabella, I have 
not heard you make one inquiry after Mr. Perry yet ; and he 
never forgets you.' 

' Oh, good Mr. Perry, how is he, sir ? ' 

4 Why, pretty well ; but not quite well. Poor Perry is 
bilious, and he has not time to take care of himself ; he tells 
me he has not time to take care of himself — which is very sad 
— but he is always wanted all round the country. I suppose 
there is not a man in such practice anywhere. But then, there 
is not so clever a man anywhere.' 

* And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they ? Do the 
children grow ? I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope 
he will be calling soon. He will be so pleased to see my little 
ones.' 

c I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or 
two to ask him about myself of some consequence. And, my 
dear, whenever he comes, you had better let him look at little 
Bella's throat.' 

c Oh, my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have 
hardly any uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of 
the greatest service to her, or else it is to be attributed to an 
excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's, which we have been 
applying at times ever since August.' 

* It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have 
been of use to her ; and if I had known you were wanting an 
embrocation, I would have spoken to ' 

* You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,' 
said Emma ; * I have not heard one inquiry after them.' 

4 Oh, the good Bateses — I am quite ashamed of myself ; but 
you mention them in most of your letters. I hope they are 
quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates. I will call upon her to- 
morrow, and take my children. They are always so pleased 
to see my children. And that excellent Miss Bates ! — such 
thorough worthy people ! How are they, sir ? ' 

'Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor 
Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago.' 

s 9 



EMMA 

* How sorry I am ! but colds were never so prevalent as 
they have been this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he 
had never known them more general or heavy, except when it 
has been quite an influenza. ' 

1 That has been a good deal the case, my dear, but not to 
the degree you mention. Perry says that colds have been very 
general, but not so heavy as he has very often known them in 
November. Perry does not call it altogether a sickly season.' 

* No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it very 
sickly, except ' 

c Ah, my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is 
always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody 
can be. It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there ; 
—so far off ! — and the air so bad ! ' 

* No, indeed, we are not at all in a bad air. Our part of 
London is so very superior to most others. You must not 
confound us with London in general, my dear sir. The neigh- 
bourhood of Brunswick Square is very different from almost 
all the rest. We are so very airy ! I should be unwilling, I 
own, to live in any other part of the town ; there is hardly any 
other that I could be satisfied to have my children in ; but we 
are so remarkably airy ! Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of 
Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable as to air.' 

* Ah, my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best 
of it — but after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all 
of you different creatures ; you do not look like the same. Now, 
I cannot say that I think you are any of you looking well at 
present.' 

4 1 am sorry to hear you say so, sir ; but I assure you, 
excepting those little nervous headaches and palpitations, 
which I am never entirely free from anywhere, I am quite well 
myself; and if the children were rather pale before they went to 
bed, it was only because they were a little more tired than 
usual, from their journey and the happiness of coming. I hope 
you will think better of their looks to-morrow ; for I assure you 
Mr. Wingfield told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent 
us off, altogether, in such good case. I trust, at least, that you 
do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill,' turning her eyes with 
affectionate anxiety towards her husband. 

* Middling, my dear ; I cannot compliment you. I think 
Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well.' 

90 



EMMA 

' What is the matter, sir ? Did you speak to me?' cried 
Mr. John Knightley, hearing his own name. 

4 1 am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you 
looking well ; but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued. 
I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seen 
Mr. Wingfield before you left home.' 

c My dear Isabella,' exclaimed he, hastily, 'pray do not con- 
cern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring 
and coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as 
I choose.' 

* I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling 
your brother,' cried Emma, ' about your friend Mr. Graham's 
intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to look after his new 
estate. But will it answer ? Will not the old prejudice be too 
strong ? ' 

And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, 
when forced to give her attention again to her father and 
sister, she had nothing worse to hear than Isabella's kind 
inquiry after Jane Fairfax ; and Jane Fairfax, though no great 
favourite with her in general, she was, at that moment, very 
happy to assist in praising. 

1 That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax ! ' said Mrs. John 
Knightley. ' It is so long since I have seen her, except now 
and then for a moment accidentally in town ; what happiness 
it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, 
when she comes to visit them ! I always regret excessively, 
on dear Emma's account, that she cannot be more at High- 
bury ; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel 
and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to part with her at all. 
She would be such a delightful companion for Emma.' 

Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added — 

'Our little friend, Harriet Smith, however, is just such 
another pretty kind of young person. You will like Harriet. 
Emma could not have a better companion than Harriet.' 

' I am most happy to hear it ; but only Jane Fairfax one 
knows to be so very accomplished and superior, and exactly 
Emma's age.' 

This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded 
of similar moment, and passed away with similar harmony ; 
but the evening did not close without a little return of agitation. 
The gruel came, and supplied a great deal to be said — much 

9i 



EMMA 

praise and many comments — undoubting decision of its whole- 
someness for every constitution, and pretty severe philippics 
upon the many houses where it was never met with tolerable ; 
but, unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had 
to instance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent, 
was in her own cook at South End, a young woman hired for 
the time, who never had been able to understand what she 
meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin. 
Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never 
been able to get anything tolerable. Here was a dangerous 
opening. 

1 Ah,' said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head, and fixing 
his eyes on her with tender concern. The ejaculation in 
Emma's ear expressed, 'Ah, there is no end of the sad con- 
sequences of your going to South End. It does not bear 
talking of.' And for a little while she hoped he would not talk 
of it, and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him 
to the relish of his own smooth gruel. After an interval of 
some minutes, however, he began with — 

' I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this 
autumn, instead of coming here.' 

1 But why should you be sorry, sir ? I assure you, it did 
the children a great deal of good.' 

c And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better 
not have been to South End. South End is an unhealthy place. 
Perry was surprised to hear you had fixed upon South End.' 

' I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed 
it is quite a mistake, sir. We all had our health perfectly well 
there, never found the least inconvenience from the mud, and 
Mr. Wingfield says it is entirely a mistake to suppose the place 
unhealthy ; and I am sure he may be depended on, for he 
thoroughly understands the nature of the air, and his own 
brother and family have been there repeatedly.' 

4 You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went 
anywhere. Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds 
it to be the best of all the sea-bathing places. A fine open 
sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by what I understand, 
you might have had lodgings there quite away from the sea — 
a quarter of a mile off — very comfortable. You should have 
consulted Perry. 3 

* But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey ; only con- 
92 




She had never been able to get anything tolerable. 



EMMA 

sider how great it would have been. A hundred miles, per- 
haps, instead of forty.' 

'Ah, my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, 
nothing else should be considered ; and if one is to travel, 
there is not much to choose between forty miles and a hundred. 
Better not move at all, better stay in London altogether, than 
travel forty miles to get into a worse air. This is just what 
Perry said. It seemed to him a very ill-judged measure.' 

Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain ; and 
when he had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder 
at her brother-in-law's breaking out. 

' Mr. Perry,' said he, m a. voice of very strong displeasure, 
c would do as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why 
does he make it any business of his to wonder at what I do ? 
— at my taking my family to one part of the coast or another ? 
I may be allowed, I hope, the use of my judgment as well as 
Mr. Perry. I want his directions no more than his drugs.' 
He paused, and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only 
sarcastic dryness, l If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a 
wife and five children a distance of a hundred and thirty miles 
with no greater expense or inconvenience than a distance of 
forty, I should be as willing to prefer Cromer to South End as 
he could himself.' 

'True, true,' cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready inter- 
position, — 'very true. That's a consideration, indeed. But, 
John, as to what I was telling you of my idea of moving the 
path to Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may 
not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any 
difficulty, I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means 
of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to 
mind exactly the present line of the path. . . . The only way of 
proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps. I shall see 
you at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will 
look them over, and you shall give me your opinion.' 

Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflec- 
tions on his friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact, though un- 
consciously, been attributing many of his own feelings and 
expressions ; but the soothing attentions of his daughters 
gradually removed the present evil, and the immediate alert- 
ness of one brother, and better recollections of the other, 
prevented any renewal of it. 

94 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XIII 



There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than 
Mrs. John Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going 
about every morning among her old acquaintance with her 
five children, and talking over what she had done every evening 
with her father and sister. She had nothing to wish otherwise, 
but that the days did not pass so swiftly. It was a delightful 
visit — perfect, in being much too short 

In general their evenings were less engaged with friends 
than their mornings : but one complete dinner engagement, 
and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though at 
Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no denial ; they must all 
dine at Randalls one day ; — even Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded 
to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of the 
party. 

How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made a 
difficulty if he could, but as his son and daughter's carriage 
and horses were actually at Hartfield, he was not able to make 
more than a simple question on that head ; it hardly amounted 
to a doubt ; nor did it occupy Emma long to convince him 
that they might in one of the carriages find room for Harriet 
also. 

Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own especial 
set, were the only persons invited to meet them : — the hours 
were to be early as well as the numbers few ; Mr. Woodhouse's 
habits and inclination being consulted in everything. 

The evening before this great event (for it was a very great 
event that Mr. Woodhouse should dine out on the 24th of 
December) had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and she 
had gone home so much indisposed with a cold, that, but for 
her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. Goddard, Emma 
could not have allowed her to leave the house. Emma called 
on her the next day, and found her doom already signed with 
regard to Randalls. She was very feverish and had a bad 
sore throat ; Mrs. Goddard was full of care and affection, Mr. 
Perry was talked of, and Harriet herself was too ill and low to 
resist the authority which excluded her from this delightful 

95 



EMMA 

engagement, though she could not speak of her loss without 
many tears. 

Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in 
Mrs. Goddard's unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits by 
representing how much Mr. Elton's would be depressed when 
he knew her state ; and left her at last tolerably comfortable, 
in the sweet dependence of his having a most comfortless visit, 
and of their all missing her very much. She had not advanced 
many yards from Mrs. Goddard's door, when she was met by 
Mr. Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they 
walked on slowly together in conversation about the invalid, — 
of whom he, on the rumour of considerable illness, had been 
going to inquire, that he might carry some report of her to 
Hartfield, — they were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley return- 
ing from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest boys, 
whose healthy, glowing faces showed all the benefit of a country 
run, and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton 
and rice-pudding they were hastening home for. They joined 
company and proceeded together. Emma was just describing 
the nature of her friend's complaint : — ' a throat very much 
inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a quick low pulse, 
etc., and she was sorry to find from Mrs. Goddard that Harriet 
was liable to very bad sore throats, and had often alarmed her 
with them.' Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as 
he exclaimed — 

4 A sore throat ! — I hope not infectious. I hope not of a 
putrid, infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed, you 
should take care of yourself as well as of your friend. Let me 
entreat you to run no risks. Why does not Perry see her ? ' 

Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tran- 
quillised this excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs. 
Goddard's experience and care ; but as there must still re- 
main a degree of uneasiness which she could not wish to reason 
away, which she would rather feel and assist than not, she 
added soon afterwards — as if quite another subject — 

'It is so cold, so very cold, and looks and feels so very 
much like snow, that if it were to any other place or with any 
other party, I should really try not to go out to-day, and 
dissuade my father from venturing ; but as he has made up his 
mind, and does not seem to feel the cold himself, I do not like 
to interfere, as I know it would be so great a disappointment to 

9 6 









EMMA 

Mr. and Mrs. Weston, But upon my word, Mr. Elton, in 
your case I should certainly excuse myself. You appear to 
me a little hoarse already ; and when you consider what demand 
of voice and what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it 
would be no more than common prudence to stay at home and 
take care of yourself to-night.' 

Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what 
answer to make ; which was exactly the case ; for though 
very much gratified by the kind care of such a fair lady, and 
not liking to resist any advice of hers, he had not really the 
least inclination to give up the visit ; but Emma, too eager 
and busy in her own previous conceptions and views to hear 
him impartially, or see him with clear vision, was very well 
satisfied with his muttering acknowledgment of its being ' very 
cold, certainly very cold,' and walked on, rejoicing in having 
extricated himself from Randalls, and secured him the power 
of sending to inquire after Harriet every hour of the evening. 

'You do quite right/ said she: — 'we will make your 
apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Weston.' 

But hardly had she so spoken when she found her brother 
was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were 
Mr. Elton's only objection, and Mr. Elton actually accepting 
the offer with much prompt satisfaction. It was a done thing : 
Mr. Elton was to go ; and never had his broad handsome 
face expressed more pleasure than at this moment ; never had 
his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when 
he next looked at her. 

' Well,' said she to herself, * this is most strange ! After 
I had gotten him off so well, to choose to go into company, 
and leave Harriet ill behind ! Most strange indeed ! But 
there is, I believe, in many men, especially single men, such 
an inclination — such a passion for dining out ; a dinner 
engagement is so high in the class of their pleasures, their 
employments, their dignities, almost their duties, that anything 
gives way to it — and this must be the case with Mr. Elton ; 
a most valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, 
and very much in love with Harriet ; but still, he cannot refuse 
an invitation, he must dine out wherever he is asked. What 
a strange thing love is ! he can see ready wit in Harriet, but 
will not dine alone for her.' 

Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could 
H 97 



EMMA 

not but do him the justice of feeling that there was a great 
deal of sentiment in his manner of naming Harriet at parting ; 
in the tone of his voice while assuring her that he should call 
at Mrs. Goddard's for news of her fair friend, the last thing 
before he prepared for the happiness of meeting her again, 
when he hoped to be able to give a better report ; and he 
sighed and smiled himself off in a way that left the balance of 
approbation much in his favour. 

After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John 
Knightley began with — 

1 1 never in my life saw a man more intent on being 
agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright labour to him 
where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational 
and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please every feature 
works.' 

* Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect,' replied Emma ; ' but 
where there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and 
one does overlook, a great deal. Where a man does his best 
with only moderate powers, he will have the advantage over 
negligent superiority. There is such perfect good temper 
and goodwill in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value.' 

* Yes,' said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some 
slyness, 'he seems to have a great deal of goodwill to- 
wards you? 

1 Me ! ' she replied, with a smile of astonishment ; * are 
you imagining me to be Mr. Elton's object ? 

1 Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma ; and 
if it never occurred to you before, you may as well take it 
into consideration now.' 

1 Mr. Elton in love with me ! What an idea ! ' 

' I do not say it is so ; but you will do well to consider 
whether it is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour 
accordingly. I think your manners to him encouraging. I 
speak as a friend, Emma. You had better look about you, 
and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do.' 

' I thank you ; but I assure you you are quite mistaken. 
Mr. Elton and I are very good friends, and nothing more;' 
and she walked on, amusing herself in the consideration of 
the blunders which often arise from a partial knowledge of 
circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high pre- 
tensions to judgment are for ever falling into ; and not very 

98 



£mma 

well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and 
ignorant, and in want of counsel. He said no more. 

Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to 
the visit, that in spite of the increasing coldness he seemed 
to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set forward at last 
most punctually with his eldest daughter in his own carriage, 
with less apparent consciousness of the weather than either 
of the others ; too full of the wonder of his own going, and 
the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was 
cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it. The cold, however, 
was severe ; and by the time the second carriage was in 
motion, a few flakes of snow were finding their way down, 
and the sky had the appearance of being so overcharged as 
to want only a milder air to produce a very white world in a 
very short time. 

Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the hap- 
piest humour. The preparing and the going abroad in such 
weather, with the sacrifice of his children after dinner, were 
evils, were disagreeables at least, which Mr. John Knightley 
did not by any means like ; he anticipated nothing in the 
visit that could be at all worth the purchase ; and the whole 
of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing 
his discontent. 

<A man,' said he, 'must have a very good opinion of 
himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, 
and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming to 
see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow ; I 
could not do such a thing. It is the greatest absurdity — 
actually snowing at this moment ! The folly of not allowing 
people to be comfortable at home — and the folly of peopled 
not staying comfortably at home when they can ! If we were 
obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call of duty 
or business, what a hardship we should deem it ; — and here 
are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, 
setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the 
voice of nature, which tells man, in everything given to his 
view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all 
under shelter that he can ; — here are we setting forward to 
spend five dull hours in another man's house, with nothing to 
say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may 
not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal 

99 



EMMA 

weather, to return probably in worse ; — four horses and four 
servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shiver- 
ing creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they 
might have had at home.' 

Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased 
assent, which no doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to 
emulate the 'Very true, my love,' which must have been 
usually administered by his travelling companion ; but she 
had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer at 
all. She could not be complying ; she dreaded being quarrel- 
some; her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed 
him to talk, and arrange the glasses, and wrapped herself up, 
without opening her lips ! 

They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, 
and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with them 
instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some change of 
subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness ; he 
was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she began 
to think he must have received a different account of Harriet 
from what had reached her. She had sent while dressing, 
and the answer had been, f Much the same — not better.' 

* My report from Mrs. Goddard's,' said she presently, ' was 
not so pleasant as I had hoped: — "Not better," was my answer.' 

His face lengthened immediately ; and his voice was the 
voice of sentiment as he answered — 

* Oh no — I am grieved to find — I was on the point of 
telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door, which 
I did the very last thing before I returned to dress, I was told 
that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather 
worse. Very much grieved and concerned — I had flattered 
myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I knew 
had been given in the morning.' 

Emma smiled, and answered, — ' My visit was of use to 
the nervous part of her complaint, I hope ; but not even I can 
charm away a sore throat ; it is a most severe cold, indeed. 
Mr. Perry has been with her, as you probably heard.' 

( Yes — I imagined — that is — I did not ' 

£ He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope 
to-morrow morning will bring us both a more comfortable 
report. But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a 
sad loss to our party to-day ! ' 

ioo 



EMMA 

' Dreadful ! Exactly so, indeed. She will be missed every 
moment.' 

This was very proper ; the sigh which accompanied it was 
really estimable ; but it should have lasted longer. Emma 
was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he 
began to speak of other things, and in a voice of the greatest 
alacrity and enjoyment. 

* What an excellent device,' said he, * the use of a sheep- 
skin for carriages. How very comfortable they make it ; — 
impossible to feel cold with such precautions. The con- 
trivances of modern days, indeed, have rendered a gentleman's 
carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced and guarded 
from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way 
unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. 
It is a very cold afternoon — but in this carriage we know 
nothing of the matter. Ha ! snows a little, I see.' 

* Yes,' said John Knightley, * and I think we shall have a 
good deal of it.' 

* Christmas weather,' observed Mr. Elton. * Quite season- 
able ; and extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it 
did not begin yesterday, and prevent this day's party, which 
it might very possibly have done, for Mr. Woodhouse would 
hardly have ventured had there been much snow on the 
ground ; but now it is of no consequence. This is quite the 
season, indeed, for friendly meetings. At Christmas every- 
body invites their friends about them, and people think little 
of even the worst weather. I was snowed up at a friend's 
house once for a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I 
went for only one night, and could not get away till that very 
day se'nnight.' 

Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend 
the pleasure, but said only coolly — 

( I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls.' 
At another time Emma might have been amused, but 
she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirits for 
other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the expect- 
ation of a pleasant party. 

* We are sure of excellent fires,' continued he, * and every- 
thing in the greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr. and 
Mrs. Weston ; — Mrs. Weston indeed is much beyond praise, 
and he is exactly what one values, so hospitable, and so fond 



EMMA 

of society ; — it will be a small party, but where small parties 
are select, they are, perhaps, the most agreeable of any. Mr. 
Weston's dining-room does not accommodate more than ten 
comfortably ; and for my part, I would rather, under such 
circumstances, fall short by two than exceed by two. I 
think you will agree with me (turning with a soft air to 
Emma), I think I shall certainly have your approbation, 
though Mr. Knightley, perhaps, from being used to the large 
parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings.' 

* I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir — I 
never dine with anybody.' 

1 Indeed ! (in a tone of wonder and pity) I had no idea 
that the law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time 
must come when you will be paid for all this, when you will 
have little labour and great enjoyment.' 

' My first enjoyment,' replied John Knightley, as they 
passed through the sweep-gate, ' will be to find myself safe at 
Hartfield again.' 



CHAPTER XIV 

SOME change of countenance was necessary for each gentle- 
man as they walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing-room ; — Mr. 
Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley 
disperse his ill-humour. Mr. Elton must smile less, and Mr. 
John Knightley more, to fit them for the place. Emma only 
might be as nature prompted, and show herself just as happy 
as she was. To her it was real enjoyment to be with the 
Westons. Mr. Weston was a great favourite, and there was 
not a creature in the world to whom she spoke with such 
unreserve as to his wife ; not any one to whom she related 
with such conviction of being listened to and understood, of 
being always interesting and always intelligible, the little 
affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father 
and herself. She could tell nothing of Hartfield in which 
Mrs. Weston had not a lively concern ; and half an hour's 
uninterrupted communication of all those little matters on 
which the daily happiness of private life depends, was one of 
the first gratifications of each. 




As they walked into Mrs. Weston s drawing-room. 



EMMA 

This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit 
might not afford, which certainly did not belong to the 
present half-hour ; but the very sight of Mrs. Weston, her 
smile, her touch, her voice, was grateful to Emma, and she 
determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton's oddities, 
or of anything else unpleasant, and enjoy all that was enjoy- 
able to the utmost. 

The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well gone 
through before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been safely 
seated long enough to give the history of it, besides all the 
history of his own and Isabella's coming, and of Emma's being 
to follow ; and had, indeed, just got to the end of his satis- 
faction that James should come and see his daughter, when 
the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston, who had been almost 
wholly engrossed by her attentions to him, was able to turn 
away and welcome her dear Emma. 

Emma's project of forgetting, Mr. Elton for a while made 
her rather sorry to find, when they had all taken their places, 
that he was close to her. The difficulty was great of driving 
his strange insensibility towards Harriet from her mind, while 
he not only sat at her elbow, but was continually obtruding 
his happy countenance on her notice, and solicitously ad- 
dressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting 
him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the 
internal suggestion of * Can it really be as my brother im- 
agined ? can it be possible for this man to be beginning to 
transfer his affections from Harriet to me? — Absurd and 
insufferable.' — Yet he would be so anxious for her being 
perfectly warm, would be so interested about her father, and 
so delighted with Mrs. Weston ; and, at last, would begin 
admiring her drawings with so much zeal and so little know- 
ledge, as seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and made it 
some effort with her to preserve her good manners. For her 
own sake she could not be rude ; and for Harriet's, in the 
hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even positively 
civil ; but it was an effort ; especially as something was 
going on amongst the others, in the most overpowering 
period of Mr. Elton's nonsense, which she particularly wished 
to listen to. She heard enough to know that Mr. Weston 
was giving some information about his son ; she heard the 
words * my son,' and * Frank,' and * my son,' repeated several 

104 



EMMA 

times over ; and, from a few other half syllables, very much 
suspected that he was announcing an early visit from his son ; 
but before she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so 
completely past that any reviving question from her would 
have been awkward. 

Now it so happened that, in spite of Emma's resolution 
of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the 
idea, of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested her. 
She had frequently thought, — especially since his father's 
marriage with Miss Taylor, — that if she were to marry, he 
was the very person to suit her in age, character, and con- 
dition. He seemed, by this connection between the families, 
quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be 
a match that everybody who knew them must think of. 
That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very 
strongly persuaded ; and though not meaning to be induced 
by him, or by anybody else, to give up a situation which 
she believed more replete with good than any she could 
change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided 
intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a 
certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being 
coupled in their friends' imaginations. 

With such sensations, Mr. Elton's civilities were dreadfully 
ill-timed ; but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, 
while feeling very cross ; — and of thinking that the rest of the 
visit could not possibly pass without bringing forward the same 
information again, or the substance of it, from the open- 
hearted Mr. Weston. So it proved ; — for, when happily 
released from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston at dinner, 
he made use of the very first interval in the cares of hospitality, 
the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say to her — 

1 We want only two more to be just the right number. I 
should like to see two more here, — your pretty little friend, 
Miss Smith, and my son, — and then I should say we were 
quite complete. I believe you did not hear me telling the 
others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank. I 
had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us 
within a fortnight.' 

Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure, and 
fully assented to his proposition, of Mr. Frank Churchill and 
Miss Smith making their party quite complete. 

io5 



EMMA 

* He has been wanting to come to us/ continued Mr. 
Weston, ' ever since September : every letter has been full of 
it ; but he cannot command his own time. He has those to 
please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves) are 
sometimes to be pleased, only by a good many sacrifices. 
But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second 
week in January.' 

* What a very great pleasure it will be to you ! and Mrs. 
Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must 
be almost as happy as yourself.' 

'Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be 
another put-off. She does not depend upon his coming so 
much as I do ; but she does not know the parties so well as I 
do. The case, you see, is — (but this is quite between our- 
selves ; I did not mention a syllable of it in the other room. 
There are secrets in all families, you know) — the case is, 
that a party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe 
in January, and that Frank's coming depends upon their 
being put off. If they are not put off, he cannot stir. But 
I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady, 
of some consequence at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to ; 
and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in two 
or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the 
point. I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as 
confident of seeing Frank here before the middle of January, 
as I am of being here myself; but your good friend there 
(nodding towards the upper end of the table) has so few 
vagaries herself, and has been so little used to them at Hart- 
field, that she cannot calculate on their effects, as I have been 
long in the practice of doing.' 

' I am sorry there should be anything like doubt in the case,' 
replied Emma; 'but am disposed to side with you, Mr. 
Weston. If you think he will come, I shall think so too ; for 
you know Enscombe.' 

< Yes — I have some right to that knowledge ; though I have 
never been at the place in my life. She is an odd woman ! 
But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on Frank's 
account ; for I do believe her to be very fond of him. I used 
to think she was not capable of being fond of anybody except 
herself ; but she has always been kind to him (in her way — 
allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting everything 

106 



EMMA 

to be as she likes). And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to 
him that he should excite such an affection ; for, though I 
would not say it to anybody else, she has no more heart than a 
stone to people in general, and the devil of a temper.' 

Emma liked the subject so well that she began upon it to 
Mrs. Weston, very soon after their moving into the drawing- 
room ; wishing her joy — yet observing, that she knew the 
first meeting must be rather alarming. Mrs. Weston agreed 
to it ; but added that she should be very glad to be secure of 
undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked of ; 
'for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so 
sanguine as Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid that it will 
all end in nothing. Mr. Weston, I daresay, has been telling 
you exactly how the matter stands.' 

' Yes — it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour 
of Mrs. Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain 
thing in the world.' 

' My Emma ! ' replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, ' what is the 
certainty of caprice ? ' Then turning to Isabella, who had not 
been attending before, — 'You must know, my dear Mrs. 
Knightley, that we are by no means so sure of seeing Mr. 
Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father thinks. It 
depends entirely upon his aunt's spirits and pleasure ; in short, 
upon her temper. To you — to my two daughters — I may 
venture on the truth. Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and 
is a very odd-tempered woman ; and his coming now depends 
upon her being willing to spare him.' 

'Oh, Mrs. Churchill, everybody knows Mrs. Churchill,' 
replied Isabella; 'and I am sure I never think of that poor 
young man without the greatest compassion. To be constantly 
living with an ill-tempered person must be dreadful. It is 
what we happily have never known anything of ; but it must 
be a life of misery. . What a blessing that she never had any 
children ! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have 
made them ! ' 

Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston. She 
should then have heard more ; Mrs. Weston would speak to 
her with a degree of unreserve which she would not hazard 
with Isabella ; and, she really believed, would scarcely try to 
conceal anything relative to the Churchills from her, excepting 
those views on the young man, of which her own imagination 

107 



EMMA 

had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at 
present there was nothing more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse 
very soon followed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting 
long after dinner was a confinement that he could not endure. 
Neither wine nor conversation was anything to him ; and 
gladly did he move to those with whom he was always com- 
fortable. 

While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an 
opportunity of saying — 

' And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by 
any means certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must 
be unpleasant, whenever it takes place ; and the sooner it could 
be over the better. 

' Yes ; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of 
other delays. Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, 
I am still afraid that some excuse may be found for disap- 
pointing us. I cannot bear to imagine any reluctance on his 
side ; but I am sure there is a great wish on the Churchills to 
keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They are jealous 
even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no de- 
pendence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less 
sanguine.' 

' He ought to come,' said Emma. ' If he could stay only 
a couple of days, he ought to come ; and one can hardly con- 
ceive a young man's not having it in his power to do as much 
as that. A young woman, if she fall into bad hands, may be 
teased, and kept at a distance from those she wants to be with ; 
but one cannot comprehend a young marts being under such 
restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if 
he likes it.' 

' One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the 
family, before one decides upon what he can do,' replied Mrs. 
Weston. ' One ought to use the same caution, perhaps, in 
judging of the conduct of any one individual of any one family ; 
but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must not be judged by 
general rules : she is so very unreasonable, and everything 
gives way to her.' 

' But she is so fond of the nephew ; he is so very great a 
favourite. Now, according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it 
would be most natural, that while she makes no sacrifice for 
the comfort of the husband, to whom she owes everything, 

108 



EMMA 

while she exercises incessant caprice towards /iz'm, she should 
frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom she owes 
nothing at all.' 

* My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, 
to understand a bad one, or to lay down rules for it ; you must 
let it go its own way. I have no doubt of his having, at times, 
considerable influence ; but it may be perfectly impossible for 
him to know beforehand when it will be.' 

Emma listened, and then coolly said, c I shall not be 
satisfied unless he comes.' 

* He may have a great deal of influence on some points,' 
continued Mrs. Weston, l and on others very little ; and 
among those on which she is beyond his reach it is but too 
likely may be this very circumstance of his coming away from 
them to visit us.' 



CHAPTER XV 

Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea ; and when he 
had drank his tea he was quite ready to go home ; and it was 
as much as his three companions could do to entertain away 
his notice of the lateness of the hour, before the other gentlemen 
appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty and convivial and no friend 
to early separations of any sort ; but at last the drawing-room 
party did receive an augmentation. Mr. Elton, in very good 
spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and 
Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them 
immediately, and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himself 
between them. 

Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded 
her mind by the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing 
to forget his late improprieties, and be as well satisfied with 
him as before, and on his making Harriet his very first subject, 
was ready to listen with most friendly smiles. 

He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair 
friend — her fair, lovely, amiable friend. 'Did she know? — 
had she heard anything about her, since their being at Randalls ? 
— he felt much anxiety — he must confess that the nature of her 

109 



EMMA 

complaint alarmed him considerably.' And in this style he 
talked on for some time very properly, not much attending to 
any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a 
bad sore throat ; and Emma was quite in charity with him. 

But at last there seemed a perverse turn ; it seemed all at 
once as if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat 
on her account than on Harriet's — more anxious that she 
should escape the infection than that there should be no 
infection in the complaint. He began with great earnestness 
to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick chamber again, 
for the present — to entreat her to promise him not to venture 
into such hazard till he had seen Mr. Perry and learned his 
opinion ; and though she tried to laugh it off and bring the 
subject back into its proper course, there was no putting an 
end to his extreme solicitude about her. She was vexed. It 
did appear — there was no concealing it — exactly like the 
pretence of being in love with her, instead of Harriet ; an 
inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable ! 
and she had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned 
to Mrs. Weston to implore her assistance : * Would not she 
give him her support ? — would not she add her persuasions to 
his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's 
till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had no infection ? 
He could not be satisfied without a promise — would not she 
give him her influence in procuring it ? ' 

1 So scrupulous for others,' he continued, * and yet so careless 
for herself? She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at 
home to-day, and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of 
catching an ulcerated sore throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. 
Weston ? Judge between us. Have not I some right to 
complain ? I am sure of your kind support and aid.' 

Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprise, and felt that it must 
be great, at an address which, in words and manner, was 
assuming to himself the right of first interest in her ; and as 
for herself, she was too much provoked and offended to have 
the power of directly saying anything to the purpose. She 
could only give him a look ; but it was such a look as she 
thought must restore him to his senses ; and then left the 
sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and giving her all her 
attention. 

She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the re- 




' Is thisjair, Mrs. Wesioii ? * 



EMMA 

proof, so rapidly did another subject succeed ; for Mr. John 
Knightley now came into the room from examining the 
weather, and opened on them all with the information of the 
ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing fast, 
with a strong drifting wind ; concluding with these words to 
Mr. Woodhouse — 

* This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engage- 
ments, sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to 
be making their way through a storm of snow.' 

Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation ; but 
everybody else had something to say; everybody was either 
surprised, or not surprised, and had some question to ask, or 
some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly 
to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-in-law, who 
was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly. 

i I admired your resolution very much, sir,' said he, * in 
venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw there 
would be snow very soon. Everybody must have seen the 
snow coming on. I admired your spirit ; and I daresay we 
shall get home very well. Another hour or two's snow can 
hardly make the road impassable ; and we are two carriages ; 
if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field 
there will be the other at hand. I daresay we shall be all safe 
at Hartfield before midnight.' 

Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was con- 
fessing that he had known it to be snowing some time, but 
had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse 
uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying away. As to 
there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to fall to impede 
their return, that was a mere joke ; he was afraid they would 
find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impassable, 
that he might be able to keep them all at Randalls ; and with 
the utmost goodwill was sure that accommodation might be 
found for everybody, calling on his wife to agree with him, 
that, with a little contrivance, everybody might be lodged, 
which she hardly knew how to do, from the consciousness of 
there being but two spare rooms in the house. 

1 What is to be done, my dear Emma ? what is to be done ? ' 
was Mr. Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all that he could 
say for some time. To her he looked for comfort ; and her 
assurances of safety, her representation of the excellence of 



EMMA 

the horses, and of James, and of their having so many friends 
about them, revived him a little. 

His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own. The 
horror of being blocked up at Randalls, while her children 
were at Hartfield, was full in her imagination ; and fancying 
the road to be now just passable for adventurous people, but 
in a state that admitted no delay, she was eager to have it 
settled, that her father and Emma should remain at Randalls, 
while she and her husband set forward instantly through all 
the possible accumulations of drifted snow that might impede 
them. 

4 You had better order the carriage directly, my love,' said 
she ; * I daresay we shall be able to get along, if we set off 
directly ; and if we do come to anything very bad, I can get 
out and walk. I am not at all afraid. I should not mind 
walking half the way. I could change my shoes, you know, 
the moment I got home ; and it is not the sort of thing that 
gives me cold.' 

'Indeed!' replied he. 'Then, my dear Isabella, it is the 
most extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general 
everything does give you cold. Walk home ! — you are prettily 
shod for walking home, I daresay. It will be bad enough 
for the horses.' 

Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the 
plan. Mrs. Weston could only approve. Isabella then went 
to Emma ; but Emma could not so entirely give up the hope 
of their being all able to get away; and they were still discussing 
the point, when Mr. Knightley, who had left the room imme- 
diately after his brother's first report of the snow, came back 
again, and told them that he had been out of doors to examine, 
and could answer for there not being the smallest difficulty in 
their getting home, whenever they liked it, either now or an 
hour hence. He had gone beyond the sweep — some way along 
the Highbury road — the snow was nowhere above half an inch 
deep — in many places hardly enough to whiten the ground ; a 
very few flakes were falling at present, but the clouds were 
parting, and there was every appearance of it being soon over. 
He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him 
in there being nothing to apprehend. 

To Isabella the relief of such tidings was very great, and 
they were scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father's 
I 113 



EMMA 

account, who was immediately set as much at ease on the 
subject as his nervous constitution allowed ; but the alarm that 
had been raised could not be appeased so as to admit of any 
comfort for him while he continued at Randalls. He was 
satisfied of there being no present danger in returning home, 
but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay ; 
and while the others were variously urging and recommending, 
Mr. Knightley and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences : 
thus — 

4 Your father will not be easy ; why do not you go ? ' 

* I am ready, if the others are.' 
< Shall I ring the* bell?' 

* Yes, do.' 

And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A 
few minutes more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome 
companion deposited in his own house, to get sober and cool, 
and the other recover his temper and happiness when this visit 
of hardship were over. 

The carriage came ; and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first 
object on such occasions, was carefully attended to his own by 
Mr. Knightley and Mr. Weston ; but not all that either could 
say could prevent some renewal of alarm at the sight of the 
snow which had actually fallen, and the discovery of a much 
darker night than he had been prepared for. ' He was afraid 
they should have a very bad drive. He was afraid poor Isabella 
would not like it. And there would be poor Emma in the 
carriage behind. He did not know what they had best do. 
They must keep as much together as they could ; ' and James 
was talked to, and given a charge to go very slow, and wait 
for the other carriage. 

Isabella stept in after her father ; John Knightley, forget- 
ting that he did not belong to their party, stept in after his wife 
very naturally ; so that Emma found, on being escorted and 
followed into the second carriage by Mr. Elton, that the door 
was to be lawfully shut on them, and that they were to have a 
tete-h-tete drive. It would not have been the awkwardness of 
a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, previous to 
the suspicions of this very day ; she would have talked to him 
of Harriet, and the three quarters of a mile would have seemed 
but one. But now, she would rather it had not happened. 
She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's 

114 



EMMA 

good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be talking 
nonsense. 

To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, 
she was immediately preparing to speak with exquisite calmness 
and gravity of the weather and the night ; but scarcely had 
she begun, scarcely had they passed the sweep-gate and joined 
the other carriage, than she found her subject cut up — her 
hand seized — her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton actually 
making violent love to her : availing himself of the precious 
opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well 
known, hoping — fearing — adoring — ready to die if she refused 
him ; but flattering himself that his ardent attachment and 
unequalled love and unexampled passion could not fail of having 
some effect, and, in short, very much resolved on being seriously 
accepted as soon as possible. It really was so. Without 
scruple — without apology — without much apparent diffidence, 
Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself her 
lover. She tried to stop him ; but vainly ; he would go on, 
and say it all. Angry as she was, the thought of the moment 
made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak. She 
felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore 
could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour. 
Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, 
which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she 
replied — 

' I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to me i you 
forget yourself — you take me for my friend — any message to 
Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver ; but no more of this 
to 7ne i if you please.' 

' Miss Smith ! — Message to Miss Smith ! — What could she 
possibly mean ! ' — And he repeated her words with such assur- 
ance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that she 
could not help replying with quickness — 

* Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct t and I 
can account for it only in one way ; you are not yourself, or 
you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in such a 
manner. Command yourself enough to say no more, and I 
will endeavour to forget it.' 

But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his 
spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew 
his own meaning ; and having warmly protested against her 

"5 



EMMA 

suspicion as most injurious, and slightly touched upon his 
respect for Miss Smith as her friend, — but acknowledging his 
wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all, — he 
resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent 
for a favourable answer. 

As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of 
his inconstancy and presumption ; and with fewer struggles 
for politeness, replied — 

' It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have 
made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is 
much beyond anything I can express. After such behaviour, 
as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith — 
such attentions as I have been daily in the habit of observing 
— to be addressing me in this manner — this is an unsteadiness 
of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible ! Be- 
lieve me, sir, I am far — very far — from gratified in being the 
object of such professions.' 

* Good heaven ! ' cried Mr. Elton, l what can be the mean- 
ing of this ? Miss Smith ! I never thought of Miss Smith 
in the whole course of my existence — never paid her any 
attentions, but as your friend ; never cared whether she were 
dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancied other- 
wise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry — 
extremely sorry. But, Miss Smith, indeed ! Oh, Miss Wood- 
house, who can think of Miss Smith when Miss Woodhouse is 
near ? No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of 
character. I have thought only of you. I protest against 
having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Every- 
thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been 
with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You 
cannot really, seriously doubt it. No ! (in an accent meant 
to be insinuating) I am sure you have seen and understood me. 
It would be impossible to say what Emma felt on hearing 
this, which of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. 
She was too completely overpowered to be immediately able 
to reply ; and two moments of silence being ample encourage- 
ment for Mr. Elton s sanguine state of mind, he tried to take 
her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed — 

c Charming Miss Woodhouse ! allow me to interpret this 
interesting silence. It confesses that you have long under- 
stood me.' 

116 



EMMA 

'No, sir,' cried Emma, 'it confesses no such thing. So 
far from having long understood you, I have been in a most 
complete error with respect to your views till this moment. 
As to myself I am very sorry that you should have been giving 

way to any feelings Nothing could be further from my 

wishes — your attachment to my friend Harriet — your pursuit of 
her (pursuit it appeared) — gave me great pleasure, and I have 
been very earnestly wishing you success ; but had I supposed 
that she were not your attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly 
have thought you judged ill in making your visits so frequent. 
Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend 
yourself particularly to Miss Smith ? that you have never 
thought seriously of her ? ' 

' Never, madam,' cried he, affronted in his turn ; ' never, 
I assure you. / think seriously of Miss Smith ! — Miss Smith 
is a very good sort of girl ; and I should be happy to see her 
respectably settled. I wish her extremely well ; and no doubt 

there are men who might not object to Everybody has 

their level ; but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much 
at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance as 
to be addressing myself to Miss Smith ! No, madam, my 
visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only ; and the encourage- 
ment I received ' 

' Encouragement ! I give you encouragement ! — sir, you 
have been entirely mistaken in supposing it. I have seen you 
only as the admirer of my friend. In no other light could 
you have been more to me than a common acquaintance. I 
am exceedingly sorry ; but it is well that the mistake ends 
where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith 
might have been led into a misconception of your views ; not 
being aware, probably, any more than myself of the very 
great inequality which you are so sensible of. But, as it is, 
the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting. 
I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.' 

He was too angry to say another word ; her manner too 
decided to invite supplication : and in this state of swelling 
resentment, and mutually deep mortification, they had to con- 
tinue together a few minutes longer, for the fears of Mr. Wood- 
house had confined them to a foot-pace. If there had not 
been so much anger, there would have been desperate awkward- 
ness ; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the 

117 



EMMA 

little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when the 
carriage turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they 
found themselves, all at once, at the door of his house ; and 
he was out before another syllable passed. Emma then felt it 
indispensable to wish him a good-night. The compliment was 
just returned, coldly and proudly ; and, under indescribable 
irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfleld. 

There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her 
father, who had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary 
drive from Vicarage Lane — turning a corner which he could 
never bear to think of — and in strange hands — a mere common 
coachman — no James ; and there it seemed as if her return 
only were wanted to make everything go well ; for Mr. John 
Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour, was now all kindness 
and attention ; and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of 
her father, as to seem — if not quite ready to join him in a 
basin of gruel — perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly 
wholesome ; and the day was concluding in peace and comfort 
to all their little party, except herself. But her mind had 
never been in such perturbation ; and it needed a very strong 
effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of 
separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection. 



CHAPTER XVI 

The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat 
down to think and be miserable. It was a wretched business, 
indeed. Such an overthrow of everything she had been wish- 
ing for ! Such a development of everything most unwelcome ! 
Such a blow for Harriet ! — that was the worst of all. Every 
part of it brought pain and humiliation of some sort or other ; 
but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light ; and she 
would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken — more 
in error — more disgraced by misjudgment than she actually 
was, — could the effects of her blunders have been confined to 
herself. 

' If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I 
118 



EMMA 

could have borne anything. He might have doubled his pre- ' 
sumption to me — but poor Harriet ! ' 

How she could have been so deceived ! He protested that 
he had never thought seriously of Harriet — never ! She 
looked back as well as she could ; but it was all confusion. 
She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and made every- 
thing bend to it. His manners, however, must have been 
unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so 
misled. 

The picture ! How eager he had been about the picture ! 
— and the charade ! — and a hundred other circumstances ; — 
how clearly they had seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, 
the charade, with its 'ready wit' — but then the 'soft eyes,' 
— in fact, it suited neither; it was a jumble without taste 
or truth. Who could have seen through such thick-headed 
nonsense ? 

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his 
manners to herself unnecessarily gallant ; but it had passed as 
his way, as a mere error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, 
as one proof, among others, that he had not always lived in 
the best society ; that with all the gentleness of his address, 
true elegance was sometimes wanting ; but, till this very day, 
she had never for an instant suspected it to mean anything but 
grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend. 

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea 
on the subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was 
no denying that those brothers had penetration. She remem- 
bered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr. 
Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction he had pro- 
fessed that Mr. Elton would never marry indiscreetly ; and 
blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his character 
had been there shown than any she had reached herself. It 
was dreadfully mortifying ; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, 
in many respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and 
believed him ; proud, assuming, conceited : very full of his own 
claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others. 

Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting 
to pay his addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His 
professions and his proposals did him no service. She thought 
nothing of his attachment, and was insulted by his hopes. He 
wanted to marry well, and having the arrogance to raise his 

119 



EMMA 

eyes to her, pretended to be in love; but she was perfectly 
easy as to his not suffering any disappointment that need be 
cared for. There had been no real affection either in his 
language or manners. Sighs and fine words had been given 
in abundance ; but she could hardly devise any set of expres- 
sions, or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love. 
She need not trouble herself to pity him. He only wanted to 
aggrandise and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse of 
Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite 
so easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for 
Miss Somebody else with twenty, or with ten. 

But, that he should talk of encouragement, should consider 
her as aware of his views, accepting his intentions, meaning, 
in short, to marry him ! — should suppose himself her equal in 
connection or mind ! — look down upon her friend, so well 
understanding the gradations of rank below him, and be so 
blind to what rose above, as to fancy himself showing no pre- 
sumption in addressing her ! — it was most provoking. 

Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much 
he was her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. 
The very want of such equality might prevent his perception 
of it ; but he must know that in fortune and consequence she 
was greatly his superior. He must know that the Woodhouses 
had been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the 
younger branch of a very ancient family, — and that the Eltons 
were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly was 
inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey 
estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged ; but their 
fortune, from other sources, was such as to make them scarcely 
secondary to Donwell Abbey itself in every other kind of con- 
sequence ; and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in 
the consideration of the neighbourhood which Mr. Elton had 
first entered not two years ago, to make his way as he could, 
without any alliances but in trade, or anything to recommend 
him to notice but his situation and his civility. But he had 
fancied her in love with him ; that evidently must have been 
his dependence ; and after raving a little about the seeming 
incongruity of gentle manners and a conceited head, Emma 
was obliged, in common honesty, to stop and admit that her 
own behaviour to him had been so complaisant and obliging, 
so full of courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real motive 




A pert young lawyer* 



EMMA 

unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary observation and 
delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided 
favourite. If she had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had 
little right to wonder that he, with self-interest to blind him, 
should have mistaken hers. 

The first error, and the worst, lay at her door. It was 
foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any 
two people together. It was adventuring too far, assuming 
too much, making light of what ought to be serious, a trick 
of what ought to be simple. She was quite concerned and 
ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more. 

' Here have I,' said she, ' actually talked poor Harriet into 
being very much attached to this man. She might never have 
thought of him but for me ; and certainly never would have 
thought of him with hope, if I had not assured her of his 
attachment, for she is as modest and humble as I used to 
think him. Oh that I had been satisfied with persuading her 
not to accept young Martin ! There I was quite right : that 
was well done of me ; but there I should have stopped, and 
left the rest to time and chance. I was introducing her into 
good company, and giving her the opportunity of pleasing 
some one worth having ; I ought not to have attempted more. 
But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time. I have 
been but half a friend to her ; and if she were not to feel this 
disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea 
of anybody else who would be at all desirable for her : — 
William Coxe — oh no, I could not endure William Coxe, — a 
pert young lawyer. 3 

She stopped to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and 
then resumed a more serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon 
what had been, and might be, and must be. The distressing 
explanation she had to make to Harriet, and all that poor 
Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness of future 
meetings, the difficulties of continuing or discontinuing the 
acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and 
avoiding delate were enough to occupy her in most unmirthful 
reflections some time longer, and she went to bed at last with 
nothing settled but the conviction of her having blundered 
most dreadfully. 

To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though 
under temporary gloom at night, the return of day will hardly 

122 



EMMA 

fail to bring return of spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of 
morning are in happy analogy, and of powerful operation ; and 
if the distress be not poignant enough to keep the eyes un- 
closed, they will be sure to open to sensations of softened pain 
and brighter hope. 

Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort 
than she had gone to bed ; more ready to see alleviations of the 
evil before her, and to depend on getting tolerably out of it. 

It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be 
really in love with her, or so particularly amiable as to make 
it shocking to disappoint him ; that Harriet's nature should 
not be of that superior sort in which the feelings are most 
acute and retentive ; and that there could be no necessity for 
anybody's knowing what had passed except the three prin- 
cipals, and especially for her father's being given a moment's 
uneasiness about it. 

These were very cheering thoughts ; and the sight of a 
great deal of snow on the ground did her further service, for 
anything was welcome that might justify their all three being 
quite asunder at present. 

The weather was most favourable for her ; though Christ- 
mas Day, she could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse would 
have been miserable had his daughter attempted it, and she 
was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant 
and most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered with snow, 
and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and 
thaw, which is of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, 
every morning beginning in rain or snow, and every evening 
setting in to freeze, she was for many days a most honourable 
prisoner. No intercourse with Harriet possible but by note ; 
no church for her on Sunday any more than on Christmas Day ; 
and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting himself. 

It was weather which might fairly confine everybody at 
home ; and though she hoped and believed him to be really 
taking comfort in some society or other, it was very pleasant 
to have her father so well satisfied with his being all alone in 
his own house, too wise to stir out, and to hear him say to 
Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from 
them — 

*Ah, Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like 
poor Mr. Elton ? ' 



EMMA 

These days of confinement would have been, but for her 
private perplexities, remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion 
exactly suited her brother, whose feelings must always be of 
great importance to his companions ; and he had, besides, so 
thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at Randalls, that his 
amiableness never failed him during the rest of his stay at 
Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, and speak- 
ing pleasantly of everybody. But with all the hopes of cheer- 
fulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was still 
such an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with 
Harriet, as made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly 
at ease. 



CHAPTER XVII 

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at 
Hartfield. The weather soon improved enough for those to 
move who must move ; and Mr. Woodhouse having, as usual, 
tried to persuade his daughter to stay behind with all her 
children, was obliged to see the whole party set off, and 
returned to his lamentations over the destiny of poor Isabella ; 
— which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doted 
on, full of their merits, blind to their faults, and always in- 
nocently busy, might have been a model of right feminine 
happiness. 

The evening of the very day on which they went brought 
a note from Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, 
ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. Elton's best compliments, 
1 that he was proposing to leave Highbury the following 
morning in his way to Bath, where, in compliance with the 
pressing entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend 
a few weeks ; and very much regretted the impossibility he 
was under, from various circumstances of weather and busi- 
ness, of taking a personal leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose 
friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful sense ; and 
had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be happy to 
attend to them.' 

Emma was most agreeably surprised. Mr. Elton's absence 
just at this time was the very thing to be desired. She 

124 



EMMA 

admired him for contriving it, though not able to give him 
much credit for the manner in which it was announced. 
Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than 
in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly 
excluded. She had not even a share in his opening com- 
pliments. Her name was not mentioned ; and there was so 
striking a change in all this, and such an ill-judged solemnity of 
leave-taking in his grateful acknowledgments, as she thought, 
at first, could not escape her father's suspicion. 

It did, however. Her father was quite taken up with the 
surprise of so sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton 
might never get safely to the end of it, and saw nothing 
extraordinary in his language. It was a very useful note, 
for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought and 
conversation during the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. 
Woodhouse talked over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits 
to persuade them away with all her usual promptitude. 

She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. 
She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, 
and it was desirable that she should have as much time as 
possible for getting the better of her other complaint before 
the gentleman's return. She went to Mrs. Goddard's accord- 
ingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary penance of 
communication ; and a severe one it was. She had to destroy 
all the hopes which she had been so industriously feeding, to 
appear in the ungracious character of the one preferred, and 
acknowledge herself grossly mistaken and misjudging in all 
her ideas on one subject, all her observations, all her convic- 
tions, all her prophecies for the last six weeks. 

The confessiqn completely renewed her first shame, and 
the sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should 
never be in charity with herself again. 

Harriet bore the intelligence very well, blaming nobody, 
and in everything testifying such an ingenuousness of dis- 
position and lowly opinion of herself, as must appear with 
particular advantage at that moment to her friend. 

Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty 
to the utmost ; and all that was amiable, all that ought to be 
attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her own. Harriet 
did not consider herself as having anything to complain of. 
The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton would have been 

125 



EMMA 

too great a distinction. She never could have deserved him ; 
and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Wood- 
house would have thought it possible. 

Her tears fell abundantly ; but her grief was so truly artless, 
that no dignity could have made it more respectable in 
Emma's eyes ; and she listened to her, and tried to console 
her with all her heart and understanding, — really for the time 
convinced that Harriet was the superior creature of the two, 
and that to resemble her would be more for her own welfare 
and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could do. 

It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple- 
minded and ignorant ; but she left her with every previous 
resolution confirmed of being humble and discreet, and re- 
pressing imagination all the rest of her life. Her second 
duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to promote 
Harriet's comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection 
in some better method than by match-making. She got her 
to Hartfield, and showed her the most unvarying kindness, 
striving to occupy and amuse her, and by books and conver- 
sation to drive Mr. Elton from her thoughts. 

Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly 
done ; and she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge 
of such matters in general, and very inadequate to sympathise 
in an attachment to Mr. Elton in particular ; but it seemed to 
her reasonable that at Harriet's age, and with the entire 
extinction of all hope, such a progress might be made towards 
a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton's return, as to 
allow them all to meet again in the common routine oif 
acquaintance, without any danger of betraying sentiments or 
increasing them. 

Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintain the non- 
existence of anybody equal to him in person or goodness, and 
did, in truth, prove herself more resolutely in love than Emma 
had foreseen ; but yet it appeared to her so natural, so inevit- 
able to strive against an inclination of that sort unrequited, 
that she could not comprehend its continuing very long in 
equal force. 

If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as 
evident and indubitable as she could not doubt he would 
anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting to 
place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of him. 

126 



EMMA 

Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, 
was bad for each, for all three. Not one of them had the 
power of removal, or of effecting any material change of 
society. They must encounter each other, and make the best 
of it. 

Harriet was further unfortunate in the tone* of her com- 
panions at Mrs. Goddard's, Mr. Elton being the adoration of 
all the teachers and great girls in the school ; and it must be 
at Hartfield only that she could have any chance of hearing 
him spoken of with cooling moderation or repellent truth. 
Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be 
found, if anywhere ; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in 
the way of cure, there could be no true peace for herself. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time pro- 
posed drew near, Mrs. Weston's fears were justified in the 
arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he could not be 
spared, to his * very great mortification and regret ; but still 
he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls at no 
distant period.' 

Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed, — much more 
disappointed, in fact, than her husband, though her dependence 
on seeing the young man had been so much more sober ; but 
a sanguine temper, though for ever expecting more good than 
occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by any proportionate 
depression. It soon flies over the present failure, and begins 
to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprised 
and sorry ; but then he began to perceive that Frank's coming 
two or three months later would be a much better plan, better 
time of year, better weather ; and that he would be able, with- 
out any doubt, to stay considerably longer with them than if 
he had come sooner. 

These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. 
Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing 
but a repetition of excuses and delays ; and after all her concern 
for what her husband was to suffer, suffered a great deal more 
herself. 

127 



EMMA 

Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care 
really about Mr. Frank Churchill's not coming, except as a 
disappointment at Randalls. The acquaintance, at present, 
had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to be quiet and 
out of temptation ; but still as it was desirable that she should 
appear, in general, like her usual self, she took care to express 
as much interest in the circumstance,* and enter as warmly 
into Mr. and Mrs. Weston's disappointment as might naturally 
belong to their friendship. 

She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley ; and ex- 
claimed quite as much as was necessary (or, being acting a 
part, perhaps rather more) at the conduct of the Churchills 
in keeping him away. She then proceeded to say a good deal 
more than she felt of the advantage of such an addition to 
their confined society in Surrey ; the pleasure of looking at 
somebody new ; the gala day to Highbury entire, which the 
sight of him would have made ; and ending with reflections on 
the Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a dis- 
agreement with Mr. Knightley ; and, to her great amusement, 
perceived that she was taking the other side of the question 
from her real opinion, and making use of Mrs. Weston's 
arguments against herself. 

'The Churchills are very likely in fault,' said Mr. 
Knightley coolly ; c but I daresay he might come if he would.' 

' 1 do not know why you- should say so. He wishes ex- 
ceedingly to come ; but his uncle and aunt will not spare 
him.' 

• I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if 
he made a point of it. It is too unlikely for me to believe it 
without proof.' 

c How odd you are ! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done 
to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature ? ' 

1 1 am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in 
suspecting that he may have learned to be above his connec- 
tions, and to care very little for anything but his own pleasure, 
from living with those who have always set him the example of 
it. It is a great deal more natural than one could wish, that 
a young man, brought up by those who are proud, luxurious, 
and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If 
Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have 
contrived it between September and January. A man at his 

128 



EMMA 

age, — what is he? — three or four and twenty — cannot be 
without the means of doing as much as that. It is impos- 
sible.' 

* That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always 
been your own master. You are the worst judge in the world, 
Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence. You do not 
know what it is to have tempers to manage.' 

' It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four and 
twenty should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. 
He cannot want money, he cannot want leisure. We know, 
on the contrary, that he has so much of both that he is glad 
to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in the kingdom. We 
hear of him for ever at some watering-place or other ; a little 
while ago he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can 
leave the Churchills.' 

* Yes, sometimes he can.' 

'And those times are, whenever he thinks it worth his 
while — whenever there is any temptation of pleasure.' 

It is very unfair to judge of anybody's conduct without an 
intimate knowledge of their situation. Nobody who has not 
been in the interior of a family can say what the difficulties of 
any individual of that family may be. We ought to be ac- 
quainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. Churchill's temper, 
before we pretend to decide with what her nephew can do. He 
may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at 
others.' 

4 There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do if 
he chooses, and that is, his duty — not by manoeuvring and 
finessing, but by vigour and resolution. It is Frank Churchill's 
duty to pay this attention to his father. He knows it to be 
so, by his promises and messages ; but if he wished to do it, it 
might be done. A man who felt rightly would say at once, 
simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill, "Every sacrifice of 
mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your 
convenience ; but I must go and see my father immediately. 
I know he would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of 
respect to him on the present occasion. I shall, therefore, set 
off to-morrow." If he would say so to her at once, in the tone 
of decision becoming a man, there would be no opposition 
made to his going.' 

1 No,' said Emma laughing ; * but perhaps there might be 
K 129 



EMMA 

some made to his coming back again. Such language for a 
young man entirely dependent to use ! Nobody but you, Mr. 
Knightley, would imagine it possible ; but you have not an 
idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite to your 
own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as 
that to the uncle and aunt who have brought him up, and are 
to provide for him ! — standing up in the middle of the room, I 
suppose, and speaking as loud as he could. How can you 
imagine such conduct practicable ?' 

1 Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no 
difficulty in it. He would feel himself in the right ; and the 
declaration, — made, of course, as a man of sense would make 
it, in a proper manner, — would do him more good, raise him 
higher, fix his interest stronger with the people he depended 
on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients can ever do. 
Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that 
they could trust him ; that the nephew who had done rightly 
by his father would do rightly by them ; for they know, as well 
as he does, — as well as all the world must know, — that he 
ought to pay this visit to his father ; and while meanly exerting 
their power to delay it are in their hearts not thinking the better 
of him for submitting to their whims. Respect for right 
conduct is felt by everybody. If he would act in this sort 
of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their little 
minds would bend to his.' 

c I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little 
minds ; but where little minds belong to rich people in 
authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out, till they 
are quite as unmanageable as great ones. I can imagine that 
if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be transported and 
placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill's situation, you would 
be able to say and do just what you have been recommend- 
ing for him ; and it might have a very good effect. The 
Churchills might not have a word to say in return ; but then 
you would have no habits of early obedience and long ob- 
servance to break through. To him who has, it might not 
be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect independence, 
and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard at naught. 
He may have as strong a sense of what would be right as you 
can have, without being so equal, under particular circum- 
stances, to act up to it.' 

130 



EMMA 

f Then, it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to 
produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.' 

' Oh, the difference of situation and habit ! I wish you 
would try to understand what an amiable young man may be 
likely to feel in directly opposing those whom, as child and 
boy, he has been looking up to all his life.' 

'Your amiable young man is a very weak young man, if 
this be the first occasion of his carrying through a resolution 
to do right against the will of others. It ought to have been 
a habit with him, by this time, of following his duty, instead 
of consulting expediency. I can allow for the fears of the 
child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he ought 
to have roused himself, and shaken off all that was unworthy 
in their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt 
on their side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as 
he ought, there would have been no difficulty now.' 

1 We shall never agree about him,' cried Emma ; c but that 
is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his 
being a weak young man ; I feel sure that he is not. Mr. 
Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own son ; 
but he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild 
disposition than would suit your notions of man's perfection. 
I daresay he has ; and though it may cut him off from some 
advantages, it will secure him many others.' 

' Yes ; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to 
move, and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying 
himself extremely expert in finding excuses for it. He can 
sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions 
and falsehoods, and persuade himself that he has hit upon 
the very best method in the world of preserving peace at home, 
and preventing his father's having any right to complain. His 
letters disgust me.' 

* Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every- 
body else.' 

* I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly 
can satisfy a woman of her good sense and quick feelings : 
standing in a mother's place, but without a mother's affection 
to blind her. It is on her account that attention to Randalls 
is doubly due, and she must doubly feel the omission. Had 
she been a person of consequence herself, he would have 
come, I daresay ; and it would not have signified whether he 

131 



EMMA 

did or no. Can you think your friend behind-hand in these 
sort of considerations ? Do you suppose she does not often 
say all this to herself? No, Emma ; your amiable young man 
can be amiable only in French, not in English. He may be 
very " amiable," have very good manners, and be very agree- 
able ; but he can have no English delicacy towards the 
feelings of other people, — nothing really amiable about him.' 

' You seem determined to think ill of him.' 

1 Me ! not at all,' replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased ; 
' 1 do not want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to 
acknowledge his merits as any other man ; but I hear of none, 
except what are merely personal, — that he is well-grown 
and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners.' 

* Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will 
be a treasure at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine 
young men, well bred and agreeable. We must not be nice, 
and ask for all the virtues into the bargain. Cannot you 
imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his coming will 
produce ? There will be but one subject throughout the 
parishes of Don well and Highbury, but one interest — one 
object of curiosity ; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill ; we 
shall think and speak of nobody else.' 

'You will excuse my being so much overpowered. If I 
find him conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance ; but 
if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of 
my time or thoughts.' 

' My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to 
the taste of everybody, and has the power as well as the wish 
of being universally agreeable. To you, he will talk of 
farming ; to me, of drawing or music ; and so on to every- 
body, having that general information on all subjects which 
will enable him to follow the lead, or take the lead, just as 
propriety may require, and to speak extremely well on each ; 
that is my idea of him.' 

'And mine,' said Mr. Knightley warmly, 'is, that if he 
turn out anything like it, he will be the most insufferable 
fellow breathing ! What ! at three-and-twenty to be the king 
of his company — the great man — the practised politician, who 
is to read everybody's character, and make everybody's talents 
conduce to the display of his own superiority ; to be dispensing 
his flatteries around, that he may make all appear like fools 

132 






EMMA 

compared with himself! My dear Emma, your own good 
sense could not endure such a puppy when it came to the 
point* 

' I will say no more about him/ cried Emma, — ' you turn 
everything to evil. We are both prejudiced ; you against, I 
for him ; and we have no chance of agreeing till he is really 
here.' 

4 Prejudiced ! I am not prejudiced.' 

* But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of 
it. My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided 
prejudice in his favour.' 

* He is a person I never think of from one month's end to 
another/ said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation which 
made Emma immediately talk of something else, though she 
could not comprehend why he should be angry. 

To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared 
to be of a different disposition from himself, was unworthy the 
real liberality of mind which she was always used to acknow- 
ledge in him ; for with all the high opinion of himself, which 
she had often laid to his charge, she had never before for a 
moment supposed it could make him unjust to the merit of 
another. 



CHAPTER XIX 

Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, 
and, in Emma's opinion, been talking enough of Mr. Elton for 
that day. She could not think that Harriet's solace or her 
own sins required more ; and she was therefore industriously 
getting rid of the subject as they returned ; — but it burst out 
again when she thought she had succeeded, and after speaking 
some time of what the poor must suffer in winter, and receiving 
no other answer than a very plaintive — * Mr. Elton is so good 
to the poor ! ' she found something else must be done. 

They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs. 
and Miss Bates. She determined to call upon them and seek 
safety in numbers. There was always sufficient reason for 
such an attention ; Mrs. and Miss Bates loved to be called on; 
and she knew she was considered by the very few who pre- 

133 



EMMA 

sumed ever to see imperfection in her as rather negligent in 
that respect, and as not contributing what she ought to the 
stock of their scanty comforts. 

She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley and some 
from her own heart, as to her deficiency, but none were equal 
to counteract the persuasion of its being very disagreeable, — a 
waste of time — tiresome women — and all the horror of being 
in danger of falling in with the second-rate and third-rate of 
Highbury, who were calling on them for ever, and therefore 
she seldom went near them. But now she made the sudden 
resolution of not passing their door without going in ; observ- 
ing, as she proposed it to Harriet, that, as well as she could 
calculate, they were just now quite safe from any letter from 
Jane Fairfax. 

The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and Miss 
Bates occupied the drawing-room floor ; and there, in the very 
moderate-sized apartment, which was everything to them, the 
visitors were most cordially and even gratefully welcomed ; 
the quiet neat old lady, who with her knitting was seated in 
the warmest corner, wanting even to give up her place to Miss 
Woodhouse, and her more active, talking daughter, almost 
ready to overpower them with care and kindness, thanks for 
their visit, solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after 
Mr. Woodhouse's health, cheerful communications about her 
mother's, and sweet-cake from the buffet : — * Mrs. Cole had 
just been there, just called in for ten minutes, and had been so 
good as to sit an hour with them, and she had taken a piece of 
cake, and been so kind as to say she liked it very much ; and, 
therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith would 
do them the favour to eat a piece too. 5 

The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that 
of Mr. Elton. There was intimacy between them, and Mr. 
Cole had heard from Mr. Elton since his going away. Emma 
knew what was coming ; they must have the letter over again, 
and settle how long he had been gone, and how much he was 
engaged in company, and what a favourite he was wherever 
he went, and how full the Master of the Ceremonies' ball had 
been ; and she went through it very well, with all the interest 
and all the commendation that could be requisite, and always 
putting forward to prevent Harriet's being obliged to say a 
word. 

134 



EMMA 

This she had been prepared for when she entered the 
house ; but meant, having once talked him handsomely over, 
to be no further incommoded by any troublesome topic, and to 
wander at large amongst all the mistresses and misses of High- 
bury, and their card-parties. She had not been prepared to 
have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton ; but he was actually 
hurried off by Miss Bates ; she jumped away from him at last 
abruptly to the Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece. 

* Oh yes, — Mr. Elton, I understood, — certainly as to 
dancing, — Mrs. Cole was telling me that dancing at the rooms 
at Bath was — Mrs. Cole was so kind as to sit some time with 
us, talking of Jane ; for as soon as she came in she began 
inquiring after her, Jane is so very great a favourite there. 
Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not know how to 
show her kindness enough ; and I must say that Jane deserves 
it as much as anybody can. And so she began inquiring after 
her directly, saying, " I know you cannot have heard from Jane 
lately, because it is not her time for writing ; " and when I 
immediately said, " But indeed we have, we had a letter this 
very morning," I do not know that I ever saw anybody more 
surprised. " Have you, upon your honour ?" said she ; "well, 
that is quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says." ' 

Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling 
interest — 

* Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately ? I am ex- 
tremely happy. I hope she is well ? ' 

1 Thank you. You are so kind ! ' replied the happily de- 
ceived aunt, while eagerly hunting for the letter. * Oh, here 
it is. I was sure it could not be far off; but I had put my 
huswife upon it, you see, without being aware, and so it was 
quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately that I was 
almost sure it must be on the table. I was reading it to Mrs. 
Cole, and, since she went away, I was reading it again to my 
mother, for it is such a pleasure to her — a letter from Jane — 
that she can never hear it often enough ; so I knew it could 
not be far off, and here it is, only just under my huswife, — and 
since you are so kind as to wish to hear what she says ; but, 
first of all, I really must, in justice to Jane, apologise for her 
writing so short a letter, only two pages you see, hardly two, 
and in general she fills the whole paper and crosses half. My 
mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. She 

*35 




' Oh y here it is. 



EMMA 

often says, when the letter is first opened, " Well, Hetty, now 
I think you will be put to it to make out all that checker-work " 
— don't you, ma'am ? And then I tell her, I am sure she 
would contrive to make it out herself, if she had nobody to do 
it for her, every word of it, — I am sure she would pore over it 
till she had made out every word. And, indeed, though my 
mother's eyes are not so good as they were, she can see 
amazingly well still, thank God ! with the help of spectacles. 
It is such a blessing ! My mother's are really very good 
indeed. Jane often says, when she is here, " I am sure, grand- 
mamma, you must have had very strong eyes to see as you do 
— and so much fine work as you have done too ! — I only wish 
my eyes may last me as well." ' 

All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop 
for breath ; and Emma said something very civil about the 
excellence of Miss Fairfax's handwriting. 

' You are extremely kind,' replied Miss Bates, highly grati- 
fied ; ' you who are such a judge, and write so beautifully your- 
self. I am sure there is nobody's praise that could give us so 
much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse's. My mother does not 
hear ; she is a little deaf, you know. Ma'am,' addressing her, 
* do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say about 
Jane's handwriting ? ' 

And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly 
compliment repeated twice over before the good old lady could 
comprehend it. She was pondering, in the meanwhile, upon 
the possibility, without seeming very rude, of making her 
escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had almost resolved on 
hurrying away directly under some slight excuse, when Miss 
Bates turned to her again and seized her attention. 

' My mother's deafness is very trifling, you see, just nothing 
at all. By only raising my voice, and saying anything two or 
three times over, she is sure to hear ; but then she is used to 
my voice. But it is very remarkable that she should always 
hear Jane better than she does me. Jane speaks so distinct I 
However, she will not find her grandmamma at all deafer than 
she was two years ago ; which is saying a great deal at my 
mother's time of life, and it really is full two years, you know, 
since she was here. We never were so long without seeing 
her before, and as I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly 
know how to make enough of her now.' 

137 



EMMA 

1 Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon ? ' 

4 Oh yes ; next week.' 

' Indeed ! That must be a very great pleasure/ 

£ Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Every- 
body is so surprised ; and everybody says the same obliging 
things. I am sure she will be as happy to see her friends at 
Highbury as they can be to see her. Yes, Friday or Saturday; 
she cannot say which, because Colonel Campbell will be wanting 
the carriage himself one of those days. So very good of them 
to send her the whole way ! But they always do, you know. 
Oh yes, Friday or Saturday next. That is what she writes 
about. That is the reason of her writing out of rule, as we 
call it ; for, in the common course, we should not have heard 
from her before next Tuesday or Wednesday.' 

'Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little 
chance of my hearing anything of Miss Fairfax to-day.' 

4 So obliging of you ! No, we should not have heard, if it 
had not been for this particular circumstance, of her being to 
come here so soon. My mother is so delighted ! for she is to 
be three months with us at least. Three months, she says 
so, positively, as I am going to have the pleasure of reading 
to you. The case is, you see, that the Campbells are going to 
Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother 
to come over and see her directly. They had not intended 
to go over till the summer, but she is so impatient to see them 
again ; for till she married, last October, she was never away 
from them so much as a week, which must make it very 
strange to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say, 
but however different countries, and so she wrote a very 
urgent letter to her mother, or her father, — I declare I do not 
know which it was, but we shall see presently in Jane's letter, 
— wrote in Mr. Dixon's name as well as her own, to press 
their coming over directly ; and they would give them the 
meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country-seat, 
Baly-craig, — a beautiful place I fancy. Jane has heard a 
great deal of its beauty, — from Mr. Dixon, I mean, — I do not 
know that she ever heard about it from anybody else, — but it 
was very natural, you know, that he should like to speak of 
his own place while he was paying his addresses, — and as 
Jane used to be very often walking out with them, — for 
Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their 

138 



EMMA 

daughter's not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for 
which I do not at all blame them ; of course she heard every- 
thing he might be telling Miss Campbell about his own home 
in Ireland ; and I think she wrote us word that he had shown 
them some drawings of the place, views that he had taken 
himself. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I 
believe. Jane was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his 
account of things. 

At this moment an ingenious and animating suspicion enter- 
ing Emma's brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming 
Mr. Dixon, and the not going to Ireland, she said, with the 
insidious design of further discovery — 

* You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should 
be allowed to come to you at such a time. Considering the 
very particular friendship between her and Mrs. Dixon, you 
could hardly have expected her to be excused from accompany- 
ing Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.' 

'Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we 
have always been rather afraid of; for we should not have 
liked to have her at such a distance from us, for months to- 
gether, — not able to come if anything was to happen ; but you 
see everything turns out for the best. They want her (Mr. 
and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel and 
Mrs. Campbell ; quite depend upon it ; nothing can be more 
kind or pressing than their joint invitation, Jane says, as you 
will hear presently. Mr. Dixon does not seem in the least 
backward in any attention. He is a most charming young 
man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane at Weymouth, 
when they were out in that party on the water, and she, by 
the sudden whirling round of something or other among the 
sails, would have been dashed into the sea at once, and actually 
was all but gone, if he had not, with the greatest presence of 
mind, caught hold of her habit, — I can never think of it with- 
out trembling ! — but ever since we had the history of that day, 
I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon ! ' 

' But, in spite of all her friends' urgency, and her own wish 
of seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to 
you and Mrs. Bates?' 

* Yes — entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice ; 
and Colonel and Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right, 
just what they should recommend; and indeed they particularly 

139 



EMMA 

wish her to try her native air, as she has not been quite so 
well as usual lately. 1 

* I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely ; 
but Mrs. Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs. Dixon, 
I understand, has no remarkable degree of personal beauty, — 
is not by any means to be compared with Miss Fairfax. 1 

'Oh no. You are very obliging to say such things, but 
certainly not. There is no comparison between them. Miss 
Campbell always was absolutely plain, but extremely elegant 
and amiable.' 

' Yes, that of course.' 

' Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing ! so long ago as the 
7th of November (as I am going to read to you), and has never 
been well since. A long time, is not it, for a cold to hang 
upon her ? She never mentioned it before, because she would 
not alarm us. Just like her ! so considerate ! But, however, 
she is so far from well that her kind friends the Campbells 
think she had better come home, and try an air that always 
agrees with her ; and they have no doubt that three or four 
months at Highbury will entirely cure her ; and it is certainly 
a great deal better that she should come here than go to 
Ireland, if she is unwell. Nobody could nurse her as we 
should do.' 

1 It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the 
world.' 

* And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, 
and the Campbells leave town in their way to Holyhead the 
Monday following, as you will find from Jane's letter. So 
sudden ! — You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, what a flurry 
it has thrown me in ! If it was not for the drawback of her 
illness, — but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown 
thin, and looking very poorly. I must tell you what an un- 
lucky thing happened to me as to that. I always make a 
point of reading Jane's letters through to myself first, before I 
read them aloud to my mother, you know, for fear of there 
being anything in them to distress her. Jane desired me to 
do it, so I always do ; and so I began to-day with my usual 
caution ; but no sooner did I come to the mention of her being 
unwell, than I burst out, quite frightened, with " Bless me ! 
poor Jane is ill!" — which my mother, being on the watch, 
heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed at. However, when I 

140 



EMMA 

read on, I found it was not near so bad as I fancied at first, 
and I make so light of it now to her that she does not think 
much about it ; but I cannot imagine how I could be so off 
my guard ! If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in Mr. 
Perry. The expense shall not be thought of; and though he 
is so liberal and so fond of Jane that I daresay he would not 
mean to charge anything for attendance, we could not suffer it 
to be so, you know. He has a wife and family to maintain, 
and is not to be giving away his time. Well, now I have just 
given you a hint of what Jane writes about, we will turn to her 
letter ; and I am sure she tells her own story a great deal better 
than I can tell it for her.' 

* I am afraid we must be running away,' said Emma, 
glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise ; * my father will be 
expecting us. I had no intention, I thought I had no power, 
of staying more than five minutes, when I first entered the 
house. I merely called because I would not pass the door 
without inquiring after Mrs. Bates ; but I have been so 
pleasantly detained ! Now, however, we must wish you and 
Mrs. Bates good morning.' 

And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. 
She regained the street, happy in this, that though much had 
been forced on her against her will, though she had, in fact, 
heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax's letter, she had 
been able to escape the letter itself. 



CHAPTER XX 

Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates's 
youngest daughter. 

The marriage of Lieutenant Fairfax of the regiment of 

infantry and Miss Jane Bates had had its day of fame and 
pleasure, hope and interest ; but nothing now remained of it 
save the melancholy remembrance of him dying in action 
abroad — of his widow sinking under consumption and grief 
soon afterwards — and this girl. 

By birth she belonged to Highbury ; and when at three 
years old, on losing her mother, she became the property, the 

141 



EMMA 

charge, the consolation, the fondling of her grandmother and 
aunt, there had seemed every probability of her being per- 
manently fixed there ; of her being taught only what very 
limited means could command, and growing up with no ad- 
vantages of connection or improvement to be engrafted on 
what nature had given her in a pleasing person, good under- 
standing, and warm-hearted, well-meaning relations. 

But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave 
a change to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell, who had 
very highly regarded Fairfax as an excellent officer and most 
deserving young man ; and further, had been indebted to him 
for such attentions, during a severe camp-fever, as he believed 
had saved his life. These were claims which he did not learn 
to overlook, though some years passed away from the death of 
poor Fairfax before his own return to England put anything in 
his power. When he did return, he sought out the child and 
took notice of her. He was a married man with only one 
living child, a girl, about Jane's age ; and Jane became their 
guest, paying them long visits and growing a favourite with 
all ; and, before she was nine years old, his daughter's great 
fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real friend, 
united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell of under- 
taking the whole charge of her education. It was accepted ; 
and from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell's 
family, and had lived with them entirely, only visiting her 
grandmother from time to time. 

The plan was that she should be brought up for educating 
others ; the very few hundred pounds which she inherited from 
her father making independence impossible. To provide for 
her otherwise was out of Colonel Campbell's power ; for though 
his income, by pay and appointments, was handsome, his 
fortune was moderate, and must be all his daughter's ; but, by 
giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means 
of respectable subsistence hereafter. 

Such was Jane Fairfax's history. She had fallen into good 
hands, known nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and 
been given an excellent education. Living constantly with 
right-minded and well-informed people, her heart and under- 
standing had received every advantage of discipline and culture ; 
and Colonel Campbell's residence being in London, every 
lighter talent had been done full justice to by the attendance 

142 






EMMA 

of first-rate masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally- 
worthy of all that friendship could do ; and at eighteen or 
nineteen she was, as far as such an early age can be qualified 
for the care of children, fully competent to the office of 
instruction herself; but she was too much beloved to be parted 
with. Neither father nor mother could promote, and the 
daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put off. It 
was easy to decide that she was still too young ; and Jane 
remained with them, sharing, as another daughter, in all the 
rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a judicious mixture 
of home and amusement, with only the drawback of the future, 
— the sobering suggestions of her own good understanding to 
remind her that all this might soon be over. 

The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment 
of Miss Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to 
each party from the circumstance of Jane's decided superiority 
both in beauty and acquirements. That nature had given it 
in feature could not be unseen by the young woman, nor could 
her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the parents. They 
continued together with unabated regard, however, till the 
marriage of Miss Campbell, who by that chance, that luck 
which so often defies anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving 
attraction to what is moderate rather than to what is superior, 
engaged the affections of Mr. Dixon, a young man rich and 
agreeable, almost as soon as they were acquainted, and was 
eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had yet her 
bread to earn. 

This event had very lately taken place ; too lately for any- 
thing to be yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards 
entering on her path of duty, though she had now reached 
the age which her own judgment had fixed on for beginning. 
She had long resolved that one-and-twenty should be the 
period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had 
resolved at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire 
from all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal 
society, peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever. 

The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not 
oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did. As long 
as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their home 
might be hers for ever ; and for their own comfort they would 
have retained her wholly ; but this would be selfishness : — 

143 



EMMA 

what must be at last had better be soon. Perhaps they 
began to feel it might have been kinder and wiser to have 
resisted the temptation of any delay, and spared her from a 
taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure as must now be 
relinquished. Still, however, affection was glad to catch at 
any reasonable excuse for not hurrying on the wretched 
moment. She had never been quite well since the time of 
their daughter's marriage ; and till she should have completely 
recovered her usual strength, they must forbid her engaging in 
duties, which so far from being compatible with a weakened 
frame and varying spirits, seemed, under the most favourable 
circumstances, to require something more than human perfection 
of body and mind to be discharged with tolerable comfort. 

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, 
her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though 
there might be some truths not told. It was her own choice 
to give the time of their absence to Highbury ; to spend, 
perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with those kind 
relations to whom she was so very dear ; and the Campbells, 
whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or 
double, or treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, 
and said that they depended more on a few months spent in 
her native air, for the recovery of her health, than on anything 
else. Certain it was that she was to come ; and that High- 
bury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which had 
been so long promised it — Mr. Frank Churchill — must put up 
for the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the 
freshness of a two years' absence. 

Emma was sorry to have to pay civilities to a person she 
did not like through three long months ! — to be always doing 
more than she wished, and less than she ought ! Why she 
did not like Jane Fairfax might be a difficult question to 
answer ; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was because she 
saw in her the really accomplished young woman which she 
wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had 
been eagerly refuted at the time, there were moments of self- 
examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit 
her. But c she could never get acquainted with her ; she did 
not know how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve 
— such apparent indifference whether she pleased or not — and 
then, her aunt was such an eternal talker ! — and she was made 

144 



EMMA 

such a fuss with by everybody ! — and it had been always 
imagined that they were to be so intimate because their ages 
were the same, everybody had supposed they must be so 
fond of each other.' These were her reasons ; she had no 
better. 

It was a dislike so little just, — every imputed fault was so 
magnified by fancy, — that she never saw Jane Fairfax, the 
first time after any considerable absence, without feeling that 
she had injured her ; and now, when the due visit was paid, 
on her arrival, after a two years' interval, she was particularly 
struck with the very appearance and manners which for those 
two whole years she had been depreciating. Jane Fairfax was 
very elegant, remarkably elegant \ and she had herself the 
highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just such 
as almost everybody would think tall, and nobody could think 
very tall ; her figure particularly graceful ; her size a most 
becoming medium, between fat and thin, though a slight 
appearance of ill-health seemed to point out the likeliest evil of 
the two. Emma could not but feel all this ; and then, her face 
— her features — there was more beauty in them all together 
than she had remembered ; it was not regular, but it was very 
pleasing beauty. Her eyes, a deep gray, with dark eyelashes 
and eyebrows, had never been denied their praise ; but the skin, 
which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting colour, had a 
clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom. 
It was a style of beauty of which elegance was the reigning 
character, and as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, 
admire it : elegance which, whether of person or of mind, she 
saw so little in Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was 
distinction and merit. 

In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane 
Fairfax with twofold complacency, — the sense of pleasure and 
the sense of rendering justice, and was determining that she 
would dislike her no longer. When she took in her history, 
indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty ; when she con- 
sidered what all this elegance was destined to, what she was 
going to sink from, how she was going to live, it seemed im- 
possible to feel anything but compassion and respect ; especi- 
ally, if to every well-known particular, entitling her to interest, 
were added the highly probable circumstance of an attachment 
to Mr. Dixon, which she had so naturally started to herself. 

L 145 



EMMA 

In that case nothing could be more pitiable or more honour- 
able than the sacrifices she had resolved on. Emma was very 
willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon's 
affections from his wife, or of anything mischievous which her 
imagination had suggested at first. If it were love, it might 
be simple, single, successless love on her side alone. She 
might have been unconsciously sucking in the sad poison, 
while a sharer of his conversation with her friend ; and from 
the best, the purest of motives, might now be denying herself 
this visit to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself effectually 
from him and his connections by soon beginning her career of 
laborious duty. 

Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charit- 
able feelings, as made her look around in walking home, and 
lament that Highbury afforded no young man worthy of 
giving her independence, — nobody that she could wish to 
scheme about for her. 

These were charming feelings, but not lasting. Before she 
had committed herself by any public profession of eternal friend- 
ship for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of 
past prejudices and errors, than saying to Mr. Knightley, ' She 
certainly is handsome ; she is better than handsome ! ' Jane 
had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandmother and 
aunt, and everything was relapsing much into its usual state. 
Former provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresome 
as ever; more tiresome, because anxiety for her health was 
now added to admiration of her powers ; and they had to 
listen to the description of exactly how little bread and butter 
she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice of mutton for 
dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new 
workbags for her mother and herself; and Jane's offences rose 
again. They had music : Emma was obliged to play ; and 
the thanks and praise which necessarily followed appeared to 
her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness, meaning 
only to show off in higher style her own very superior per- 
formance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so 
cold, so cautious ! There was no getting at her real opinion. 
Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined 
to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously 
reserved. 

If anything could be more, where all was most, she was 
146 



EMMA 

more reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons 
than anything. She seemed bent on giving no real insight 
into Mr. Dixon's character, or her own value for his company, 
or opinion of the suitableness of the match. It was all 
general approbation and smoothness ; nothing delineated or 
distinguished. It did her no service, however. Her caution 
was thrown away. Emma saw its artifice, and returned to her 
first surmises. There probably was something more to con- 
ceal than her own preference ; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been 
very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed 
only to Miss Campbell for the sake of the future twelve thousand 
pounds. 

The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. 
Frank Churchill had been at Weymouth at the same time. 
It was known that they were a little acquainted ; but not a 
syllable of real information could Emma procure as to what 
he truly was. * Was he handsome ? ' ' She believed he was 
reckoned a very fine young man.' * Was he agreeable ? ' 
1 He was generally thought so.' * Did he appear a sensible 
young man ; a young man of information ? ' * At a watering- 
place, or in a common London acquaintance, it was difficult to 
decide on such points. Manners were all that could be safely 
judged of, under much longer knowledge than they had yet had 
of Mr. Churchill. She believed everybody found his manners 
pleasing.' Emma could not forgive her. 



CHAPTER XXI 

Emma could not forgive her; but as neither provocation 
nor resentment were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who had 
been of the party, and had seen only proper attention and 
pleasing behaviour on each side, he was expressing the next 
morning, being at Hartfield again on business with Mr. 
Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole ; not so openly as 
he might have done had her father been out of the room, but 
speaking plain enough to be very intelligible to Emma. 
He had been used to think her unjust to Jane, and had now 
great pleasure in marking an improvement. 

147 



EMMA 

'A very pleasant evening/ he began as soon as Mr. 
Woodhouse had been talked into what was necessary, told 
that he understood, and the papers swept away ; — * par- 
ticularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave us some 
very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state, 
sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained a whole 
evening by two such young women ; sometimes with music 
and sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss Fairfax 
must have found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left 
nothing undone. I was glad you made her play so much, 
for having no instrument at her grandmother's, it must have 
been a real indulgence.' 

1 1 am happy you approved,' said Emma smiling ; < but I 
hope I am not often deficient in what is due to guests at 
Hartfield.' 

* No, my dear,' said her father instantly ; ' that I am sure 
you are not. There is nobody half so attentive and civil as 
you are. If anything, you are too attentive. The muffin 
last night, if it had been handed round once, I think it would 
have been enough.' 

6 No,' said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time ; ' you 
are not often deficient ; not often deficient, either in manner 
or comprehension. I think you understand me, therefore.' 

An arch look expressed — * I understand you well enough ; ' 
but she said only, * Miss Fairfax is reserved.' 

* I always told you she was — a little ; but you will soon 
overcome all that part of her reserve which ought to be over- 
come, all that has its foundation in diffidence. What arises 
from discretion must be honoured.' 

* You think her diffident. I do not see it' 

I My dear Emma,' said he, moving from his chair into one 
close by her, c you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you 
had not a pleasant evening.' 

i Oh no ; I was pleased with my own perseverance in 
asking questions, and amused to think how little information 
I obtained.' 

I I am disappointed,' was his only answer. 

1 1 hope everybody had a pleasant evening,' said Mr. 
Woodhouse, in his quiet way. £ I had. Once, I felt the 
fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair a 
little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss Bates was 

148 




r Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured' 



EMMA 

very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though she 
speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, 
and Mrs. Bates, too, in a different way. I like old friends ; 
and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady ; 
a very pretty and a very well-behaved young lady indeed. 
She must have found the evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, 
because she had Emma.' 

* True, sir ; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax.' 
Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least 

for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could 
question — 

1 She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep 
one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire ; and 
I do pity her from my heart.' 

Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he 
cared to express ; and before he could make any reply, 
Mr. Woodhouse, whose thoughts were on the Bates's, said — 

1 It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so 
confined ! a great pity indeed ! and I have often wished — 
but it is so little one can venture to do — small, trifling pre- 
sents, of anything uncommon. Now, we have killed a 
porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg ; 
it is very small and delicate — Hartfield pork is not like any 
other pork — but still it is pork — and, my dear Emma, unless 
one could be sure of their making it into steaks, nicely 
fried, as ours are fried, without the smallest grease, and not 
roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork — I think we Jiad 
better send the leg — do not you think so, my dear ? ' 

* My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew 
you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you 
know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed 
directly, in any manner they like.' 

1 That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of 
it before, but that was the best way. They must not over- 
salt the leg ; and then, if it is not over-salted, and if it is very 
thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils ours, and eaten very 
moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little carrot or 
parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome.' 

c Emma,' said Mr. Knightley presently, c I have a piece 
of news for you. You like news — and I heard an article in 
my way hither that I think will interest you.' 

IS© 



EMMA 

* News ! Oh yes, I always like news. What is it ? — why 
do you smile so ? — where did you hear it ? — at Randalls ? ' 

He had time only to say — 

* No, not at Randalls ; I have not been near Randalls,' — 
when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss 
Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, 
Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr. Knightley 
soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another 
syllable of communication could rest with him. 

' Oh, my dear sir, how are you this morning ? My dear 
Miss Woodhouse — I come quite overpowered. Such a 
beautiful hind -quarter of pork ! You are too bountiful ! 
Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be 
married. ' 

Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and 
she was so completely surprised that she could not avoid a 
little start, and a little blush, at the sound. 

* There is my news : — I thought it would interest you,' said 
Mr. Knightley, with a smile, which implied a conviction of 
some part of what had passed between them. 

' But where could you hear it ?' cried Miss Bates. ' Where 
could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley ? For it is not 
five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's note — no, it can- 
not be more than five — or at least ten — for I had got my 
bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out — I was only 
gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork — Jane 
was standing in the passage — were not you, Jane ? — for my 
mother was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large 
enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, 
" Shall I go down instead ? for I think you have a little cold, 
and Patty has been washing the kitchen." " Oh, my dear," 
said I — well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins 
— that's all I know — a Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. 
Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it? for the 
very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down 
and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins ' 

* I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago. 
He had just read Elton's letter as I was shown in, and 
handed it to me directly.' 

1 Well ! that is quite — I suppose there never was a piece of 
news more generally interesting. My dear sir, you really 

i5i 



EMMA 

are too bountiful. My mother desires her very best compli- 
ments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and says you 
really quite oppress her.' 

4 We consider our Hartfield pork,' replied Mr. Wood- 
house — * indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all other 
pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure 
than 

' Oh, my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only 
too good to us. If ever there were people who, without 
having great wealth themselves, had everything they could 
wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say, that " our lot 
is cast in a goodly heritage." Well, Mr. Knightley, and so 
you actually saw the letter — well ' 

* It was short, merely to announce — but cheerful, exulting 
of course.' Here was a sly glance at Emma. * He had 
been so fortunate as to — I forget the precise words — one has 
no business to remember them. The information was, as 
you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. 
By his style, I should imagine it just settled. 7 

£ Mr. Elton going to be married ! ' said Emma, as soon as 
she could speak. * He will have everybody's wishes for his 
happiness.' 

* He is very young to settle,' was Mr. Woodhouse's obser- 
vation. * He had better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me 
very well off as he was. We were always glad to see him at 
Hartfield.' 

* A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse ! ' said Miss 
Bates joyfully ; * my mother is so pleased ! — she says she 
cannot bear to have the poor old vicarage without a mistress. 
This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have never seen Mr. 
Elton : — no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see him.' 

Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as 
wholly to occupy her. 

1 No, I have never seen Mr. Elton,' she replied, starting on 
this appeal ; * is he — is he a tall man ? ' 

* Who shall answer that question ? ' cried Emma. My 
father would say, " Yes ; " Mr. Knightley, " No j " and Miss 
Bates and I, that he is just the happy medium. When you 
have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you will under- 
stand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, 
both in person and mind.' 



EMMA 

*Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very 
best young man ; — but, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told 
you yesterday he was precisely the height of Mr. Perry. 
Miss Hawkins, — I daresay, an excellent young woman. His 
extreme attention to my mother — wanted her to sit in the 
vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my mother is 
a little deaf, you know — it is not much, but she does not hear 
quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. 
He fancied bathing might be good for it — the warm bath — 
but she says it did him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, 
you know, is quite our angel. And Mr. Dixon seems a very 
charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a 
happiness when good people get together — and they always 
do. Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins ; and 
there are the Coles, such very good people ; and the Perrys — 
I suppose there never was a happier or a better couple than 
Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir,' turning to Mr. Woodhouse, 
* I think there are few places with such society as Highbury. 
I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours. My 
dear sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than 
another, it is pork — a roast loin of pork ' 

i As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has 
been acquainted with her,' said Emma, * nothing, I suppose, 
can be known. One feels that it cannot be a very long ac- 
quaintance. He has been gone only four weeks.' 

Nobody had any information to give ; and, after a few more 
wonderings, Emma said — 

'You are silent, Miss Fairfax — but I hope you mean to 
take an interest in this news. You, who have been hearing 
and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who must have 
been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell's account — 
we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. Elton 
and Miss Hawkins.' 

* When I have seen Mr. Elton,' replied Jane, c I daresay I 
shall be interested — but I believe it requires that with me. 
And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the 
impression may be a little worn off.' 

'Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, 
Miss Woodhouse,' said Miss Bates, ' four weeks yesterday : 
— a Miss Hawkins : — well, I had always rather fancied it 
would be some young lady hereabouts ; not that I ever — Mrs. 

153 



EMMA 

Cole once whispered to me — but I immediately said, "No, 

Mr. Elton is a most worthy young man — but " In short, 

I do not think I am particularly quick at those sort of dis- 
coveries. I do not pretend to it. What is before me, I see. 
At the same time, nobody could wonder if Mr. Elton should 

have aspired Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good- 

humouredly. She knows I would not offend for the world. 
How does Miss Smith do ? She seems quite recovered now. 
Have you heard from Mrs. John Knightley lately ? Oh, those 
dear little children. Jane, do you know I always fancy Mr. 
Dixon like Mr. John Knightley ? I mean in person — tall, and 
with that sort of look — and not very talkative.' 

' Quite wrong, my dear aunt ; there is no likeness at all.' 

' Very odd ! but one never does form a just idea of any- 
body beforehand. One takes up a notion, and runs away 
with it. Mr. Dixon, you say, is not, strictly speaking, hand- 
some.' 

< Handsome ! Oh no — far from it — certainly plain. I told 
you he was plain.' 

* My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow 
him to be plain, and that you yourself ' 

' Oh, as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where 
I have a regard, I always think a person well-looking. But 
I gave what I believed the general opinion, when I called him 
plain.' 

' Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. 
The weather does not look well, and grandmamma will be 
uneasy. You are too obliging, my dear Miss Woodhouse ; 
but we really must take leave. This has been a most agree- 
able piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs. 
Cole's ; but I shall not stop three minutes ; and, Jane, you 
had better go home directly — I would not have you out in a 
shower ! We think she is the better for Highbury already. 
Thank you, we do indeed. I shall not attempt calling on 
Mrs. Goddard, for I really do not think she cares for anything 
but boiled pork ; when we dress the leg it will be another 
thing. Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh, Mr. Knightley 
is coming too. Well, that is so very ! — I am sure if Jane is 
tired, you will be so kind as to give her your arm. Mr. Elton, 
and Miss Hawkins. Good morning to you.' 

Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted 

154 



EMMA 

by him, while he lamented that young people would be in such 
a hurry to marry — and to marry strangers, too — and the other 
half she could give to her own view of the subject. It was to 
herself an amusing and a very welcome piece of news, as 
proving that Mr. Elton could not have suffered long ; but she 
was sorry for Harriet : Harriet must feel it — and all that she 
could hope was, by giving the first information herself, to save 
her from hearing it abruptly from others. It was now about 
the time that she was likely to call. If she were to meet Miss 
Bates in her way ! — and upon its beginning to rain, Emma 
was obliged to expect that the weather would be detaining her 
at Mrs. Goddard's, and that the intelligence would undoubtedly 
rush upon her without preparation. 

The shower was heavy, but short ; and it had not been 
over five minutes, when in came Harriet, with just the heated, 
agitated look which hurrying thither with a full heart was 
likely to give ; and the ' Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what do you 
think has happened ? ' which instantly burst forth, had all the 
evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the blow was 
given, Emma felt that she could not now show greater kindness 
than in listening ; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through 
what she had to tell. * She had set out from Mrs. Goddard's 
half an hour ago — she had been afraid it would rain — she had 
been afraid it would pour down every moment — but she 
thought she might get to Hartfield first — she had hurried on as 
fast as possible ; but then, as she was passing by the house 
where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she 
thought she would just step in and see how it went on ; and 
though she did not seem to stay half a moment there, soon 
after she came out it began to rain, and she did not know 
what to do ; so she ran on directly, as fast as she could, and 
took shelter at Ford's.' Ford's was the principal woollen- 
draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher's shop united — the shop 
first in size and fashion in the place. 'And so, there she 
had sat, without an idea of anything in the world, full ten 
minutes, perhaps — when, all of a sudden, who should come in 
— to be sure it was so very odd ! — but they always dealt at 
Ford's — who should come in but Elizabeth Martin and her 
brother ! Dear Miss Woodhouse ! only think. I thought I 
should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was 
sitting near the door — Elizabeth saw me directly ; but he did 

155 




1 Who should come in but Elizabeth and her brother! ' 



EMMA 

not ; he was busy with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, 
but she looked away directly, and took no notice ; and they 
both went to quite the farther end of the shop, and I kept 
sitting near the door. Oh dear, I was so miserable ! I am 
sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go 
away, you know, because of the rain ; but I did so wish 
myself anywhere in the world but there. Oh dear, Miss 
Woodhouse — well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and saw 
me ; for, instead of going on with their buyings, they began 
whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking of 
me ; and I could not help thinking that he was persuading her 
to speak to me — (do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse ?) — 
for presently she came forward — came quite up to me, and 
asked me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, if I 
would. She did not do any of it in the same way that she 
used ; I could see she was altered ; but, however, she seemed 
to try to be very friendly, and we shook hands, and stood 
talking some time ; but I know no more what I said — I was in 
such a tremble ! I remember she said she was sorry we never 
met now ; which I thought almost too kind ! dear Miss 
Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable ! By that time it was 
beginning to hold up, and I was determined that nothing 
should stop me from getting away — and then — only think ! — I 
found he was coming up towards me, too — slowly, you know, 
and as if he did not quite know what to do ; and so he came 
and spoke, and I answered — and I stood for a minute, feeling 
dreadfully, you know, one cannot tell how ; and then I took 
courage, and said it did not rain, and I must go ; and so off I 
set ; and I had not got three yards from the door, when he 
came after me, only to say, if I was going to Hartfield, he 
thought I had much better go round by Mr. Cole's stables, for 
I should find the near way quite floated by this rain. Oh dear, 
I thought it would have been the death of me ! So I said, I 
was very much obliged to him : you know I could not do less ; 
and then he went back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the 
stables — I believe I did — but I hardly knew where I was, or 
anything about it. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, I would rather have 
done anything than had it happen ; and, yet, you know, there 
was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly 
and so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, do 
talk to me, and make me comfortable again.' 

157 



EMMA 

Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so ; but it was not 
immediately in her power. She was obliged to stop and think. 
She was not thoroughly comfortable herself. The young 
man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed the result of real 
feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet described 
it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection 
and genuine delicacy in their behaviour ; but she had believed 
them to be well-meaning, worthy people, before ; and what 
difference did this make in the evils of the connection ? It 
was folly to be disturbed by it. Of course, he must be sorry 
to lose her, — they must be all sorry : ambition, as well as love, 
had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped to 
rise by Harriet's acquaintance ; and besides, what was the 
value of Harriet's description ? So easily pleased, — so little 
discerning, — what signified her praise ? 

She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, 
by considering all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite 
unworthy of being dwelt on. 

1 It might be distressing for the moment,' said she, 'but 
you seem to have behaved extremely well ; and it is over, 
— and may never, — can never, as a first meeting, — occur 
again, and therefore you need not think about it.' 

Harriet said, ' Very true,' and she ' would not think about 
it ; ' but still she talked of it- — still she could talk of nothing 
else ; and Emma, at last, in order to put the Martins out of 
her head, was obliged to hurry on the news, which she had 
meant to give with so much tender caution, hardly knowing 
herself whether to rejoice or be angry, ashamed or only amused, 
at such a state of mind in poor Harriet — such a confusion 
of Mr. Elton's importance with her ! 

Mr. Elton's rights, however, gradually revived. Though 
she did not feel the first intelligence as she might have done 
the day before, or an hour before, its interest soon increased ; 
and before their first conversation was over, she had talked 
herself into all the sensations of curiosity, wonder and regret, 
pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate Miss Hawkins, which 
could conduce to place the Martins under proper subordination 
in her fancy. 

Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such 
a meeting. It had been serviceable in deadening the first 
shock, without retaining any influence to alarm. As Harriet 

158 



EMMA 

now lived, the Martins could not get at her without seeking 
her, where hitherto they had wanted either the courage or the 
condescension to seek her ; for since her refusal of the brother, 
the sisters had never been at Mrs. Goddard's ; and a twelve- 
month might pass without their being thrown together again 
with any necessity, or even any power of speech. 



CHAPTER XXII 

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in 
interesting situations, that a young person who either marries 
or dies is sure of being kindly spoken of. 

A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was 
first mentioned in Highbury before she was, by some means 
or other, discovered to have every recommendation of person 
and mind, — to be handsome, elegant, highly accomplished, 
and perfectly amiable ; and when Mr. Elton himself arrived 
to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of 
her merits, there was very little more for him to do than to 
tell her Christian name, and say whose music she principally 
played. 

Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone 
away rejected and mortified, disappointed in a very sanguine 
hope, after a series of what had appeared to him strong en- 
couragement ; and not only losing the right lady, but finding 
himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He had 
gone away deeply offended ; he came back engaged to another, 
and to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under 
such circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. 
He came back gay and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring 
nothing for Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith. 

The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the 
usual advantages of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession 
of an independent fortune, of so many thousands as would 
always be called ten, — a point of some dignity, as well as some 
convenience. The story told well ; he had not thrown himself 
away — he had gained a woman of ,£10,000, or thereabouts, 
and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity ; the first 

159 



EMMA 

hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by 
distinguishing notice ; the history which he had to give Mrs. 
Cole of the rise and progress of the affair was so glorious ; 
the steps so quick, from the accidental rencontre to the dinner 
at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs. Brown's, — smiles and 
blushes rising in importance, — with consciousness and agitation 
richly scattered ; the lady had been so easily impressed, — so 
sweetly disposed; — had, in short, to use a most intelligible 
phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and 
prudence were equally contented. 

He had caught both substance and shadow, both fortune 
and affection, and was just the happy man he ought to be ; 
— talking only of himself and his own concerns, — expecting to 
be congratulated, — ready to be laughed at, — and with cordial, 
fearless smiles, now addressing all the young ladies of the 
place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more 
cautiously gallant. 

The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only 
themselves to please, and nothing but the necessary prepara- 
tions to wait for ; and when he set out for Bath again, there 
was a general expectation, which a certain glance of Mrs. 
Cole J s did not seem to contradict, that when he next entered 
Highbury he would bring his bride. 

During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him ; 
but just enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and 
to give her the impression of his not being improved by the 
mixture of pique and pretension now spread over his air. 
She was, in fact, beginning very much to wonder that she 
had ever thought him pleasing at all ; and his sight was so 
inseparably connected with some very disagreeable feelings 
that, except in a moral light — as a penance, a lesson, a source 
of profitable humiliation to her own mind — she would have 
been thankful to be assured of never seeing him again. She 
wished him very well ; but he gave her pain ; and his welfare 
twenty miles off would administer most satisfaction. 

The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, 
must certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solici- 
tudes would be prevented — many awkwardnesses smoothed 
by it. A Mrs. Elton would be an excuse for any change 
of intercourse ; former intimacy might sink without remark. 
It would be almost beginning their life of civility again. 

160 






EMMA 

Of the lady individually, Emma thought very little. She 
was good enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt ; accomplished 
enough for Highbury — handsome enough — to look plain, 
probably, by Harriet's side. As to connection, there Emma 
was perfectly easy ; persuaded that after all his own vaunted 
claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On 
that article, truth seemed attainable. What she was must 
be uncertain ; but who she was might be found out ; and 
setting aside the ^io,ooo, it did not appear that she was at 
all Harriet's superior. She brought no name, no blood, no 
alliance. Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two 
daughters of a Bristol — merchant, of course, he must be 
called ; but, as the whole of the profits of his mercantile life 
appeared so very moderate, it was not unfair to guess the 
dignity of his line of trade had been very moderate also. 
Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath ; 
but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol ; for 
though the father and mother had died some years ago, an 
uncle remained — in the law line : — nothing more distinctly 
honourable was hazarded of him than that he was in the law 
line ; and with him the daughter had lived. Emma guessed 
him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise. 
And all the grandeur of the connection seemed dependent on 
the elder sister, who was very well married^ to a gentleman 
in a great way^ near Bristol, who kept two carriages ! That 
was the wind-up of the history ; that was the glory of Miss 
Hawkins. 

Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all ! 
She had talked her into love ; but, alas ! she was not so easily 
to be talked out of it. The charm of an object to occupy the 
many vacancies of Harriet's mind was not to be talked away. 
He might be superseded by another ; he certainly would, 
indeed ; nothing could be clearer ; even a Robert Martin 
would have been sufficient ; but nothing else, she feared, would 
cure her. Harriet was one of those who, having once begun, 
would be always in love. And now, poor girl, she was con- 
siderably worse from this reappearance of Mr. Elton — she was 
always having a glimpse of him somewhere or other. Emma 
saw him only once ; but two or three times every day Harriet 
was sure just to meet with him, or just to miss him, just to 
hear his voice, or see his shoulder, just to have something 
M 161 



EMMA 

occur to preserve him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth 
of surprise and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually 
hearing about him ; for, excepting when at Hartfield, she was 
always among those who saw no fault in Mr. Elton, and found 
nothing so interesting as the discussion of his concerns ; and 
every report, therefore, every guess, — all that had already 
occurred, all that might occur in the arrangement of his affairs, 
comprehending income, servants and furniture, — was con- 
tinually in agitation around her. Her regard was receiving 
strength by invariable praise of him, and her regrets kept alive, 
and feelings irritated, by ceaseless repetitions of Miss Hawkins's 
happiness, and continual observation of how much he seemed 
attached ! — his air as he walked by the house — the very sitting 
of his hat, being all in proof of how much he was in love ! 

Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no 
pain to her friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of 
Harriet's mind, Emma would have been amused by its varia- 
tions. Sometimes Mr. Elton predominated, sometimes the 
Martins ; and each was occasionally useful as a check to the 
other. Mr. Elton's engagement had been the cure of the 
agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced 
by the knowledge of that engagement had been a little put 
aside by Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs. Goddard's a few 
days afterwards. Harriet had not been at home ; but a note 
had been prepared and left for her, written in the very style to 
touch, — a small mixture of reproach with a great deal of kind- 
ness ; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had been much 
occupied by it, continually pondering over what could be done 
in return, and wishing to do more than she dared to confess. 
But Mr. Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares. 
While he stayed, the Martins were forgotten ; and on the very 
morning of his setting off for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate 
some of the distress it occasioned, judged it best for her to 
return Elizabeth Martin's visit. 

How that visit was to be acknowledged, what would be 
necessary, and what might be safest, had been a point of some 
doubtful consideration. Absolute neglect of the mother and 
sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude. It must 
not be ; and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance ! 

After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better 
than Harriet's returning the visit : but in a way that, if they 

162 



EMMA 

had understanding, should convince them that it was to be only 
a formal acquaintance. She meant to take her in the carriage, 
leave her at the Abbey-Mill, while she drove a little farther, 
and call for her again so soon as to allow no time for insidious 
applications or dangerous recurrences to the past, and give the 
most decided proof of what degree of intimacy was chosen for 
the future. 

She could think of nothing better ; and though there was 
something in it which her own heart could not approve — some- 
thing of ingratitude, merely glossed over — it must be done, or 
what would become of Harriet ? 



CHAPTER XXIII 

Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an hour 
before her friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard's, her evil 
stars had led her to the very spot, where, at that moment, a 
trunk, directed to The Rev. Philip Elton, White Hart, Bath, 
was to be seen under the operation of being lifted into the 
butcher's cart, which was to convey it to where the coaches 
passed ; and everything in this world, excepting that trunk and 
the direction, was consequently a blank. 

She went, however ; and when they reached the farm, and 
she was to be put down, at the end of the broad, neat gravel 
walk, which led between espalier apple-trees to the front door, 
the sight of everything which had given her so much pleasure 
the autumn before was beginning to revive a little local agita- 
tion ; and when they parted, Emma observed her to be looking 
around with a sort of fearful curiosity, which determined her 
not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed quarter of an hour. 
She went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old 
servant who was married, and settled in Donwell. 

The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the white 
gate again ; and Miss Smith receiving her summons, was with 
her without delay, and unattended by any alarming young man. 
She came solitarily down the gravel walk — a Miss Martin just 
appearing at the door, and parting with her seemingly with 
ceremonious civility. 

163 



EMMA 

Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account. 
She was feeling too much ; but at last Emma collected from 
her enough to understand the sort of meeting, and the sort of 
pain it was creating. She had seen only Mrs. Martin and the 
two girls. They had received her doubtingly, if not coolly ; 
and nothing beyond the merest commonplace had been talked 
almost all the time — till just at last, when Mrs. Martin's saying, 
all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had 
brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. 
In that very room she had been measured last September with 
her two friends. There were the pencilled marks and memo- 
randums on the wainscot by the window. He had done it. 
They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, the party, the 
occasion, — to feel the same consciousness, the same regrets, — 
to be ready to return to the same good understanding ; and 
they were just growing again like themselves (Harriet, as 
Emma must suspect, as ready as the best of them to be cordial 
and happy), when the carriage reappeared, and all was over. 
The style of the visit, and the shortness of it, were then felt to 
be decisive. Fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom 
she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago ! 
Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they 
might resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad 
business. She would have given a great deal, or endured a 
great deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of life. 
They were so deserving, that a little higher should have been 
enough ; but as it was, how could she have done otherwise ? 
Impossible ! She could not repent. They must be separated ; 
but there was a great deal of pain in the process — so much to 
herself at this time, that she soon felt the necessity of a little 
consolation, and resolved on going home by way of Randalls 
to procure it. Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and 
the Martins. The refreshment of Randalls was absolutely 
necessary. 

It was a good scheme ; but on driving to the door they 
heard that neither l master nor mistress was at home ; ' they 
had both been out some time ; the man believed they were 
gone to Hartfield. 

'This is too bad,' cried Emma, as they turned away. 
1 And now we shall just miss them ; too provoking ; I do not 
know when I have been so disappointed.' And she leaned 

164 







In tJiat very room sJie had been measured. 



EMMA 

back in the corner, to indulge her murmurs, or to reason them 
away ; probably a little of both — such being the commonest 
process of a not ill-disposed mind. Presently the carriage 
stopped ; she looked up ; it was stopped by Mr. and Mrs. 
Weston, who were standing to speak to her. There was 
instant pleasure in the sight of them, and still greater pleasure 
was conveyed in sound ; for Mr. Weston immediately accosted 
her with — 

* How d'ye do ? — how d'ye do ? We have been sitting with 
your father — glad to see him so well. Frank comes to-morrow 
— I had a letter this morning — we see him to-morrow by 
dinner-time to a certainty — he is at Oxford to-day, and he 
comes for a whole fortnight ; I knew it would be so. If he 
had come at Christmas he could not have stayed three days ; 
I was always glad he did not come at Christmas ; now we are 
going to have just the right weather for him, — fine, dry, settled 
weather. We shall enjoy him completely ; everything has 
turned out exactly as we could wish.' 

There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding 
the influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston's, confirmed 
as it all was by the words and the countenance of his wife, 
fewer and quieter, but not less to the purpose. To know that 
she thought his coming certain was enough to make Emma 
consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in their joy. It 
was a most delightful re-animation of exhausted spirits. The 
worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming ; 
and in the rapidity of half a moment's thought, she hoped Mr. 
Elton would now be talked of no more. 

Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at 
Enscombe, which allowed his son to answer for having an 
entire fortnight at his command, as well as the route and the 
method of his journey ; and she listened, and smiled, and 
congratulated. 

' I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,' said he, at the 
conclusion. 

Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this 
speech, from his wife. 

* We had better move ^on, Mr. Weston,' said she ; * we are 
detaining the girls.' 

' Well, well, I am ready ; ' and turning again to Emma, 
1 but you must not be expecting such a very fine young man ; 

166 



EMMA 

you have only had my account, you know ; I daresay he is 
really nothing extraordinary,' — though his own sparkling eyes at 
the moment were speaking a very different conviction. 

Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and 
answer in a manner that appropriated nothing. 

'Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four 
o'clock,' was Mrs. Weston's parting injunction ; spoken with 
some anxiety, and meant only for her. 

* Four o'clock ! — depend upon it he will be here by three ' 
was Mr. Weston's quick amendment ; and so ended a most 
satisfactory meeting. Emma's spirits were mounted quite up 
to happiness ; everything wore a different air ; James and 
his horses seemed not half so sluggish as before. When she 
looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at least must soon 
be coming out ; and when she turned round to Harriet she 
saw something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there. 

' Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as 
Oxford ? ' was a question, however, which did not augur much. 

But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at 
once ; and Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they 
should both come in time. 

The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs. 
Weston's faithful pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, 
or twelve o'clock, that she was to think of her at four. 

1 My dear, dear, anxious friend,' said she, in mental soliloquy, 
while walking downstairs from her own room, 'always over- 
careful for everybody's comfort but your own ; I see you now 
in all your little fidgets, going again and again into his room, 
to be sure that all is right.' The clock struck twelve as she 
passed though the hall. "Tis twelve, — I shall not forget to 
think of you for hours hence ; and, by this time to-morrow, 
perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the possibility 
of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him soon.' 

She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen 
sitting with her father, — Mr. Weston and his son. They had 
been arrived only a few minutes ; and Mr. Weston had 
scarcely finished his explanation of Frank's being a day before 
his time, and her father was yet in the midst of his very civil 
welcome and congratulations, when she appeared, to have her 
share of surprise, introduction, and pleasure. 

The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, 
167 



EMMA 

was actually before her — he was presented to her ; and she 
did not think too much had been said in his praise ; he was a 
very good-looking young man ; height, air, address, all were 
unexceptionable, and his countenance had a great deal of the 
spirit and liveliness of his father's ; he looked quick and 
sensible. She felt immediately that she should like him ; and 
there was a well-bred ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, 
which convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted 
with her, and that acquainted they soon must be. 

He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was 
pleased with the eagerness to arrive which had made him alter 
his plan, and travel earlier, later, and quicker, that he might 
gain half a day. 

* I told you yesterday,' cried Mr. Weston with exultation, 
— * I told you all that he would be here before the time named. 
I remember what I used to do myself. One cannot creep 
upon a journey ; one cannot help getting on faster than one 
has planned ; and the pleasure of coming in upon one's friends 
before the look-out begins is worth a great deal more than any 
little exertion it needs.' 

1 It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it,' said 
the young man, c though there are not many houses that I 
should presume on so far ; but in coming home I felt I might 
do anything.' 

The word home made his father look on him with fresh 
complacency. Emma was directly sure that he knew how to 
make himself agreeable ; the conviction was strengthened by 
what followed. He was very much pleased with Randalls, 
thought it was a most admirably arranged house, would hardly 
allow it even to be very small, admired the situation, the walk 
to Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed 
himself to have always felt the sort of interest in the country 
which none but one's own country gives, and the greatest 
curiosity to visit it. That he should never have been able to 
indulge so amiable a feeling before passed suspiciously through 
Emma's brain ; but still, if it were a falsehood, it was a pleasant 
one, and pleasantly handled. His manner had no air of study 
or exaggeration. He did really look and speak as if in a state 
of no common enjoyment. 

Their subjects, in general, were such as belong to an open- 
ing acquaintance. On his side were the inquiries, — 'Was she 

168 



EMMA 

a horsewoman? — Pleasant rides? — Pleasant walks? — Had 
they a large neighbourhood? — Highbury, perhaps, afforded 
society enough ? — There were several very pretty houses in 
and about it. — Balls — had they balls? — Was it a musical 
society ? ' 

But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance 
proportionably advanced, he contrived to find an opportunity, 
while their two fathers were engaged with each other, of 
introducing his mother-in-law, and speaking of her with so 
much handsome praise, so much warm admiration, so much 
gratitude for the happiness she secured to his father, and her 
very kind reception of himself, as was an additional proof of 
his knowing how to please — and of his certainly thinking it 
worth while to try to please her. He did not advance a word 
of praise beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by 
Mrs. Weston ; but, undoubtedly, he could know very little of 
the matter. He understood what would be welcome ; he could 
be sure of little else. 'His father's marriage,' he said, 'had 
been the wisest measure : every friend must rejoice in it ; and 
the family from whom he had received such a blessing must 
be ever considered as having conferred the highest obligation 
on him.' 

He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss 
Taylor's merits, without seeming quite to forget that, in the 
common course of things, it was to be rather supposed that 
Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse's character than 
Miss AVoodhouse Miss Taylor's. And at last, as if resolved to 
qualify his opinion completely for travelling round to its object, 
he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty 
of her person. 

' Elegant, agreeable manners I was prepared for,' said he ; 
' but I confess that, considering everything, I had not expected 
more than a very tolerably well-looking woman of a certain 
age ; I did not know that I was to find a pretty young woman 
in Mrs. Weston. 7 

'You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for 
my feelings,' said Emma ; ' were you to guess her to be eigh- 
teen, I should listen with pleasure ; but she would be ready to 
quarrel with you for using such words. Don't let her imagine 
that you have spoken of her as a pretty young woman.' 

1 I hope I should know better,' he replied ; ' no, depend 
169 



EMMA 

upon it (with a gallant bow), that in addressing Mrs. Weston 
I shall understand whom I might praise without any danger of 
being thought extravagant in my terms.' 

Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might 
be expected from their knowing each other, which had taken 
strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed his ; and 
whether his compliments were to be considered as marks of 
acquiescence, or proofs of defiance. She must see more of him 
to understand his ways ; at present, she only felt they were 
agreeable. 

She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often thinking 
about. His quick eye she detected again and again glancing 
towards them with a happy expression ; and even, when he 
might have determined not to look, she was confident that he 
was often listening. 

Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought of the 
kind, the entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration 
or suspicion, was a most comfortable circumstance. Happily, 
he was not further from approving matrimony than from fore- 
seeing it. Though always objecting to every marriage that 
was arranged, he never suffered beforehand from the apprehen- 
sion of any; it seemed as if he could not think so ill of any 
two persons' understanding as to suppose they meant to marry 
till it were proved against them. She blessed the favouring 
blindness. He could now, without the drawback of a single 
unpleasant surmise, without a glance forward at any possible 
treachery in his guest, give way to all his natural kind-hearted 
civility in solicitous inquiries after Mr. Frank Churchill's ac- 
commodation on his journey, through the sad evils of sleeping 
two nights on the road, and express very genuine unmixed 
anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped catching cold, — 
which, however, he could not allow him to feel quite assured 
of himself, till after another night. 

A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move. 

i He must be going. He had business at the Crown about 
his hay, and a great many errands for Mrs. Weston at Ford's ; 
but he need not hurry anybody else.' His son, too well bred 
to hear the hint, rose immediately also, saying — 

'As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take the 
opportunity of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or 
other, and therefore may as well be paid now. I have the 

170 



EMMA 

honour of being acquainted with a neighbour of yours (turning 
to Emma), a lady residing in or near Highbury ; a family of 
the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty, I suppose, in 
finding the house ; though Fairfax, I believe, is not the proper 
name, — I should rather say Barnes or Bates. Do you know 
any family of that name ? ' 

c To be sure we do/ cried his father; 'Mrs. Bates — we 
passed her house — I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, 
true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax ; I remember you 
knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl she is. Call upon her, 
by all means.' 

'There is no necessity for my calling this morning,' said 
the young man ; ' another day would do as well ; but there 
was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth which ' 

' Oh, go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is 
right to be done cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I 
must give you a hint, Frank — any want of attention to her here 
should be carefully avoided. You saw her with the Campbells, 
when she was the equal of everybody she mixed with, but here 
she is with a poor old grandmother who has barely enough 
to live on. If you do not call early it will be a slight.' 

The son looked convinced. 

1 1 have heard her speak of the acquaintance,' said Emma ; 
' she is a very elegant young woman.' 

He agreed to it, but with so quiet a ' Yes,' as inclined her 
almost to doubt his real concurrence ; and yet there must be 
a very distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable world, if 
Jane Fairfax could be thought only ordinarily gifted with it. 

' If you were never particularly struck by her manners 
before,' said she, ' I think you will to-day. You will see her 
to advantage ; see her and hear her — no, I am afraid you will 
not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her 
tongue.' 

1 You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you ? ' 
said Mr. Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in con- 
versation ; ' then give me leave to assure you that you will 
find her a very agreeable young lady. She is staying here on 
a visit to her grandmamma and aunt, very worthy people ; I 
have known them all my life. They will be extremely glad to 
see you, I am sure ; and one of my servants shall go with you 
to show you the way.' 

171 



EMMA 

' My dear sir, upon no account in the world ; my father can 
direct me. ; 

1 But your father is not going so far ; he is only going to 
the Crown, quite on the other side of the street, and there are 
a great many houses ; you might be very much at a loss, and 
it is a very dirty walk, unless you keep on the footpath ; but 
my coachman can tell you where you had best cross the street.' 

Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious as 
he could ; and his father gave his hearty support, by calling 
out, * My good friend, this is quite unnecessary ; Frank knows 
a puddle of water when he sees it, and as to Mrs. Bates's, he 
may get there from the Crown in a hop, step, and jump.' 

They are permitted to go alone ; and with a cordial nod 
from one, and a graceful bow from the other, the two gentle- 
men took leave. Emma remained very well pleased with this 
beginning of the acquaintance, and could now engage to think 
of them all at Randalls any hour of the day, with full confidence 
in their comfort. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again. He 
came with Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed 
to take very cordially. He had been sitting with her, it 
appeared, most companionably at home, till her usual hour of 
exercise ; and on being desired to choose their walk, immedi- 
ately fixed on Highbury. c He did not doubt there being very 
pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him, he should 
always choose the same. Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy- 
looking Highbury, would be his constant attraction.' High- 
bury, with Mrs. Weston, stood for Hartfield ; and she trusted 
to its bearing the same construction with him. They walked 
thither directly. 

Emma had hardly expected them ; for Mr. Weston, who 
had called in for half a minute, in order to hear that his son 
was very handsome, knew nothing of their plans ; and it was 
an agreeable surprise to her, therefore, to perceive them walk- 
ing up to the house together, arm in arm. She was wanting 
to see him again ; and especially to see him in company with 

172 



EMMA 

Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him 
was to depend. If he were deficient there, nothing should 
make amends for it. But on seeing them together, she became 
perfectly satisfied. It was not merely in fine words or hyper- 
bolical compliment that he paid his duty ; nothing could be 
more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her, — 
nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering 
her as a friend and securing her affection. And there was 
time enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as 
their visit included all the rest of the morning. They were all 
three walking about together for an hour or two, — first round 
the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury. He 
was delighted with everything ; admired Hartfield sufficiently 
for Mr. Woodhouse's ear ; and when their going farther was 
resolved on, confessed his wish to be made acquainted with 
the whole village, and found matter of commendation and 
interest much oftener than Emma could have supposed. 

Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable 
feelings. He begged to be shown the house which his father 
had lived in so long, and which had been the home of his 
father's father ; and on recollecting that an old woman who 
had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of her cot- 
tage from one end of the street to the other ; and though in 
some points of pursuit or observation there was no positive 
merit, they showed, altogether, a goodwill towards Highbury 
in general which must be very like a merit to those he was 
with. 

Emma watched, and decided that, with such feelings as 
were now shown, it could not be fairly supposed that he had 
been ever voluntarily absenting himself; that he had not been 
acting a part, or making a parade of insincere professions ; 
and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him justice. 

Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable 
house, though the principal one of the sort, where a couple 
of pair of post-horses were kept, more for the convenience of 
the neighbourhood than from any run on the road ; and his 
companions had not expected to be detained by any interest 
excited there ; but in passing it they gave the history of the 
large room visibly added. It had been built many years 
ago for a ballroom, and while the neighbourhood had been 
in a particularly populous, dancing state, had been occasion- 

173 



EMMA 

ally used as such ; but such brilliant days had long passed 
away ; and now the highest purpose for which it was ever 
wanted was to accommodate a whist club established among 
the gentlemen and half gentlemen of the place. He was 
immediately interested. Its character as a ballroom caught 
him ; and instead of passing on, he stopt for several minutes 
at the two superior sashed windows, which were open, to 
look in and contemplate its capabilities, and lament that 
its original purpose should have ceased. He saw no fault 
in the room ; he would acknowledge none which they sug- 
gested. No ; it was long enough, broad enough, handsome 
enough. It would hold the very number for comfort. They 
ought to have balls there at least every fortnight through the 
winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former 
good old days of the room ? She who could do anything 
in Highbury ! The want of proper families in the place, and 
the conviction that none beyond the place and its immediate 
environs could be tempted to attend, were mentioned ; but 
he was not satisfied. He could not be persuaded that so 
many good-looking houses as he saw around him could not 
furnish numbers enough for such a meeting ; and even when 
particulars were given and families described, he was still 
unwilling to admit that the inconvenience of such a mixture 
would be anything, or that there would be the smallest 
difficulty in everybody's returning into their proper place the 
next morning. He argued like a young man very much 
bent on dancing ; and Emma was rather surprised to see the 
constitution of the Weston prevail so decidedly against the 
habits of the Churchills. He seemed to have all the life and 
spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, 
and nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, 
indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough ; his indifference 
to a confusion of rank bordered too much on inelegance of 
mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was 
holding cheap. It was but an effusion of lively spirits. 

At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the 
Crown ; and being now almost facing the house where the 
Bates's lodged, Emma recollected his intended visit the day 
before, and asked him if he had paid it. 

* Yes, oh yes,' he replied, c I was just going to mention it. 
A very successful visit. I saw all the three ladies ; and felt 

174 




He stopt to look in. 



EMMA 

very much obliged to you for your preparatory hint. If the 
talking aunt had taken me quite by surprise, it must have 
been the death of me. As it was, I was only betrayed into 
paying a most unreasonable visit. Ten minutes would have 
been all that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper ; 
and I had told my father I should certainly be at home 
before him, but there was no getting away, no pause ; and 
to my utter astonishment, I found, when he (finding me no- 
where else) joined me there at last, that I had been actually 
sitting with them very nearly three-quarters of hour. The 
good lady had not given me the possibility of escape before.' 

4 And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking ?' 

' 111, very ill ; — that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed 
to look ill ; but the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. 
Weston, is it ? Ladies can never look ill ; and, seriously, 
Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost always to give 
the appearance of ill -health — a most deplorable want of 
complexion.' 

Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence 
of Miss Fairfax's complexion. ' It was certainly never brilliant, 
but she would not allow it to have a sickly hue in general ; 
and there was a softness and delicacy in her skin which gave 
peculiar elegance to the character of her face. 5 He listened 
with all due deference ; acknowledged that he had heard many 
people say the same ; but yet he must confess that to him 
nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of 
health. Where features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave 
beauty to them all ; and where they were good, the effect was — 
fortunately he need not attempt to describe what the effect was. 

1 Well,' said Emma, * there is no disputing about taste. 
At least you admire her, except her complexion.' 

He shook his head and laughed. c I cannot separate Miss 
Fairfax and her complexion.' 

* Did you see her often at Weymouth ? Were you often 
in the same society ? ' 

At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he 
hastily exclaimed, c Ha ! this must be the very shop that 
everybody attends every day of their lives, as my father 
informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six 
days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford's. 
If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I 

176 



EMMA 

may prove myself to belong to the place, — to be a true 
citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at Ford's. It 
will be taking out my freedom. I daresay they sell gloves.' 

( Oh yes, gloves and everything. I do admire your pat- 
riotism. You will be adored in Highbury. You were very 
popular before you came, because you were Mr. Weston's 
son ; but lay out half a guinea at Ford's, and your popularity 
will stand upon your own virtues.' 

They went in ; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of 
1 Men's Beavers ' and * York Tan ' were bringing down and 
displaying on the counter, he said, — ' But I beg your pardon, 
Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, you were saying 
something at the very moment of this burst of my amor patrice. 
Do not let me lose it ; I assure you the utmost stretch of 
public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any 
happiness in private life.' 

4 1 merely asked whether you had known much of Miss 
Fairfax and her party at Weymouth ? ' 

'And now that I understand your question, I must pro- 
nounce it to be a very unfair one. It is always the lady's 
right to decide on the degree of acquaintance. Miss Fair- 
fax must already have given her account. I shall not commit 
myself by claiming more than she may choose to allow.' 

4 Upon my word, you answer as discreetly as she could do 
herself. But her account of everything leaves so much 
to be guessed ; she is so very reserved, so very unwilling 
to give the least information about anybody, that I really 
think you may say what you like of your acquaintance with her.' 

* May I, indeed ? Then I will speak the truth, and nothing 
suits me so well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had 
known the Campbells a little in town ; and at Weymouth 
we were very much in the same set. Colonel Campbell 
is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a friendly, 
warm-hearted woman. I like them all.' 

' You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude ; 
what she is destined to be.' 

« Yes ' — (rather hesitatingly) — < I believe I do.' 

' You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,' said Mrs. 
Weston, smiling ; ' remember that I am here. Mr. Frank 
Churchill hardly knows what to say when you speak of Miss 
Fairfax's situation in life. I will move a little farther off.' 
N 177 



EMMA 

<I certainly do forget to think of her? said Emma, 'as 
having ever been anything but my friend and my dearest 
friend.' 

He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a 
sentiment. 

When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the 
shop again, — 'Did you ever hear the young lady we were 
speaking of play ? ' said Frank Churchill. 

' Ever hear her ! ' repeated Emma. * You forget how 
much she belongs to Highbury. I have heard her every 
year of our lives since we both began. She plays charmingly.' 

' You think so, do you ? I wanted the opinion of some one 
who could really judge. She appeared to me to play well, 
that is, with considerable taste, but I know nothing of the 
matter myself. I am excessively fond of music, but without 
the smallest skill or right of judging of anybody's performance. 
I have been used to hear hers admired ; and I remember one 
proof of her being thought to play well : a man, a very musical 
man, and in love with another woman — engaged to her — on 
the point of marriage — would yet never ask that other woman 
to sit down to the instrument if the lady in question could sit 
down instead — never seemed to like to hear one if he could 
hear the other. That I thought, in a man of known musical 
talent, was some proof.' 

1 Proof, indeed ! ' said Emma, highly amused. ' Mr. Dixon 
is very musical, is he ? We shall know more about them all, 
in half an hour, from you, than Miss Fairfax would have 
vouchsafed in half a year.' 

* Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons ; 
and I thought it a very strong proof.' 

* Certainly, very strong it was ; to own the truth, a great 
deal stronger than, if / had been Miss Campbell, would have 
been at all agreeable to me. I could not excuse a man's 
having more music than love — more ear than eye — a more 
acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings. How did 
Miss Campbell appear to like it ? ' 

' It was her very particular friend, you know.' 

' Poor comfort ! ' said Emma laughing. c One would 

rather have a stranger preferred than one's very particular 

friend ; with a stranger it might not recur again ; but the 

misery of having a very particular friend always at hand, to do 

178 



EMMA 

everything better than one does one's self! Poor Mrs. Dixon ! 
Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland.' 

'You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Camp- 
bell ; but she really did not seem to feel it.' 

* So much the better, or so much the worse ; I do not 
know which. But be it sweetness, or be it stupidity in her — 
quickness of friendship, or dulness of feeling — there was one 
person, I think, who must have felt it — Miss Fairfax herself. 
She must have felt the improper and dangerous distinction.' 

' As to that — I do not ' 

'Oh, do not imagine that I expect an account' of Miss 
Fairfax's sensations from you, or from anybody else. They 
are known to no human being, I guess, but herself; but if she 
continued to play whenever she was asked by Mr. Dixon, one 
may guess what one chooses.' 

'There appeared such a perfectly good understanding 

among them all ' he began rather quickly, but checking 

himself, added, ' However, it is impossible for me to say on 
what terms they really were — how it might all be behind the 
scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness outwardly. 
But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be 
a better judge of her character, and of how she is likely to 
conduct herself in critical situations, than I can be.' 

' I have known her from a child, undoubtedly ; we have 
been children and women together ; and it is natural to sup- 
pose that we should be intimate, — that we should have taken 
to each other whenever she visited her friends. But we never 
did. I hardly know how it has happened ; a little, perhaps, 
from that wickedness on my side which was prone to take 
disgust towards a girl so idolised and so cried up as she 
always was, by her aunt and grandmother, and all their set. 
And then, her reserve ; I never could attach myself to any 
one so completely reserved.' 

'It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,' said he. ' Often- 
times very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There 
is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a 
reserved person.' 

'Not till the reserve ceases towards one's self; and then 
the attraction may be the greater. But I must be more in 
want of a friend, or an agreeable companion, than I have yet 
been, to take the trouble of conquering anybody's reserve to 

179 



EMMA 

procure one. Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite 
out of the question. I have no reason to think ill of her — not 
the least — except that such extreme and perpetual cautiousness 
of word and manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea 
about anybody, is apt to suggest suspicions of there being 
something to conceal.' 

He perfectly agreed with her ; and after walking together 
so long, and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so 
well acquainted with him that she could hardly believe it to 
be only their second meeting. He was not exactly what she 
had expected ; less of the man of the world in some of his 
notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better 
than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate — 
his feelings warmer. She was particularly struck by his 
manner of considering Mr. Elton's house, which, as well as 
the church, he would go and look at, and would not join them 
in rinding much fault with. No, he could not believe it a bad 
house ; not such a house as a man was to be pitied for having. 
If it were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not 
think any man to be pitied for having that house. There 
must be ample room in it for every real comfort. The man 
must be a blockhead who wanted more. 

Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he 
was talking about. Used only to a large house himself, and 
without ever thinking how many advantages and accommoda- 
tions were attached to its size, he could be no judge of the 
privations inevitably belonging to a small one. But Emma, 
in her own mind, determined that he did know what he was 
talking about, and that he showed a very amiable inclination 
to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He 
might not be aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be 
occasioned by no housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry ; 
but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not 
make him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he 
would willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early 
establishment. 



180 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XXV 

Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little 
shaken the following day by hearing that he was gone off to 
London, merely to have his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed 
to have seized him at breakfast, and he had sent for a chaise 
and set off, intending to return to dinner, but with no more 
important view that appeared than having his hair cut. 
There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles 
twice over on such an errand ; but there was an air of foppery 
and nonsense in it which she could not approve. It did not 
accord with the rationality of plan, the moderation in expense, 
or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which she had believed 
herself to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, 
love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing 
something, good or bad ; heedlessness as to the pleasure of 
his father and Mrs. Weston, indifference as to how his con- 
duct might appear in general ; he became liable to all these 
changes. His father only called him a coxcomb, and thought 
it a very good story; but that Mrs. Weston did not like it 
was clear enough, by her passing it over as quickly as possible, 
and making no other comment than that ' all young people 
would have their little whims.' 

With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his 
visit hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. 
Mrs. Weston was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant 
a companion he made himself, — how much she saw to like in 
his disposition altogether. He appeared to have a very open 
temper, — certainly a very cheerful and lively one ; she could 
observe nothing wrong in his notions, a great deal decidedly 
right ; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard, was fond of 
talking of him ; said he would be the best man in the world 
if he were left to himself; and though there was no being 
attached to the aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with 
gratitude, and seemed to mean always to speak of her with 
respect. This was all very promising ; and, but for such an 
unfortunate fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to 
denote him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her 

181 




Having his hair cut. 



EMMA 

imagination had given him ; the honour, if not of being really 
in love with her, of being at least very near it, and saved only 
by her own indifference — (for still her resolution held of never 
marrying) — the honour, in short, of being marked out for her 
by all their joint acquaintance. 

Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account 
which must have some weight. He gave her to understand 
that Frank admired her extremely — thought her very beautiful 
and very charming ; and with so much to be said for him 
altogether, she found she must not judge him harshly : — as 
Mrs. Weston observed, 'All young people would have their 
little whims.' 

There was one person among his new acquaintance in 
Surrey not so leniently disposed. In general he was judged, 
throughout the parishes of Don well and Highbury, with great 
candour ; liberal allowances were made for the little excesses 
of such a handsome young man, — one who smiled so often 
and bowed so well ; but there was one spirit among them not 
to be softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles, 
— Mr. Knightley. The circumstance was told him at Hart- 
field ; for the moment, he was silent ; but Emma heard him 
almost immediately afterwards say to himself, over a newspaper 
he held in his hand, ' Hum ! just the trifling, silly fellow I took 
him for.' She had half a mind to resent ; but an instant's 
observation convinced her that it was really said only to re- 
lieve his own feelings, and not meant to provoke ; and there- 
fore she let it pass. 

Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, 
Mr. and Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another re- 
spect particularly opportune. Something occurred while they 
were at Hartfield to make Emma want their advice ; and, which 
was still more lucky, she wanted exactly the advice they gave. 

This was the occurrence : — The Coles had been settled 
some years in Highbury, and were very good sort of people, 
friendly, liberal, and unpretending ; but, on the other hand, 
they were of low origin, in trade, and only moderately genteel. 
On their first coming into the country, they had lived in pro- 
portion to their income, quietly, keeping little company, and 
that little unexpensively ; but the last year or two had brought 
them a considerable increase of means — the house in town 
had yielded greater profits, and fortune in general had smiled 

183 



EMMA 

on them. With their wealth, their views increased ; their 
want of a larger house, their inclination for more company. 
They added to their house, to their number of servants, to 
their expenses of every sort ; and by this time were, in fortune 
and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield. 
Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared 
everybody for their keeping dinner -company ; and a few 
parties, chiefly among the single men, had already taken 
place. The regular and best families Emma could hardly 
suppose they would presume to invite,— neither Donwell, nor 
Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt her to go, if 
they did ; and she regretted that her father's known habits 
would be giving her refusal less meaning than she could wish. 
The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they ought 
to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on 
which the superior families would visit them. This lesson, 
she very much feared, they would receive only from herself; 
she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston. 

But she had made. up her mind how to meet this presump- 
tion so many weeks before it appeared, that when the insult 
came at last, it found her very differently affected. Donwell 
and Randalls had received their invitation, and none had come 
for her father and herself; and Mrs. Weston's accounting for 
it with f I suppose they will not take the liberty with you ; 
they know you do not dine out,' was not quite sufficient. She 
felt that she should like to nave had the power of refusal ; and 
afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there, 
consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, 
occurred again and again, she did not know that she might 
not have been tempted to accept. Harriet was to be there in 
the evening, and the Bateses* They had been speaking of it 
as they walked about Highbury the day before, and Frank 
Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might 
not the evening end in a dance ? had been a question of his. 
The bare possibility of it acted as a further irritation on her 
spirits ; and her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing 
the omission to be intended as a compliment, was but poor 
comfort. 

It was the arrival of this very invitation, while the Westons 
were at Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable ; 
for though her first remark on reading it was that * Of course it 

184 



EMMA 

must be declined,' she so very soon proceeded to ask them 
what they advised her to do, that their advice for her going 
was most prompt and successful. 

She owned that, considering everything, she was not ab- 
solutely without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed 
themselves so properly — there was so much real attention in 
the manner of it — so much consideration for her father. 
' They would have solicited the honour earlier, but had been 
waiting the arrival of a folding screen from London, which 
they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of 
air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them 
the honour of his company.' Upon the whole, she was very 
persuadable ; and it being briefly settled among themselves 
how it might be done without neglecting his comfort, — how 
certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended 
on for bearing him company, — Mr. Woodhouse was to be 
talked into an acquiescence of his daughter's going out to 
dinner on a day now near at hand, and spending the whole 
evening away from him. As for his going, Emma did not 
wish him to think it possible ; the hours would be too late, 
and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well 
resigned. 

* I am not fond of dinner-visiting,' said he ; * I never was. 
No more is Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am 
sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole should have done it. I think it 
would be much better if they would come in one afternoon 
next summer, and take their tea with us ; take us in their 
afternoon walk, which they might do, as our hours are so 
reasonable, and yet get home without being out in the damp 
of the evening. The dews of a summer evening are what I 
would not expose anybody to. However, as they are so very 
desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as you will 
both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take care of her, I 
cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what it 
ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy.' Then turning to 
Mrs. Weston with a look of gentle reproach, — 'Ah, Miss 
Taylor, if you had not married, you would have stayed at home 
with me.' 

'Well, sir,' cried Mr. Weston, 'as I took Miss Taylor 
away, it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can ; and 
I will step to Mrs. Goddard in a moment, if you wish it,' 

185 



EMMA 

But the idea of anything to be done in a moment was 
increasing, not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse's agitation. The 
ladies knew better how to allay it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, 
and everything deliberately arranged. 

With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed 
enough for talking as usual. * He should be happy to see 
Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard for Mrs. Goddard ; 
and Emma should write a line and invite her. James could 
take the note. But first of all, there must be an answer 
written to Mrs. Cole.' 

i You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. 
You will say that I am quite an invalid, and go nowhere, and 
therefore must decline their obliging invitation ; beginning 
with my compliments, of course. But you will do everything 
right. I need not tell you what is to be done. We must 
remember to let James know that the carriage will be wanted 
on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him. We 
have never been there above once since the new approach was 
made ; but still I have no doubt that James will take you very 
safely ; and when you get there, you must tell him at what 
time you would have him come for you again ; and you had 
better name an early hour. You will not like staying late. 
You will get very tired when tea is over.' 

i But you would not wish me to come away before I am 
tired, papa.' 

' Oh no, my love ; but you will soon be tired. There will 
be a great many people talking at once. You will not like 
the noise.' 

' But, my dear sir,' cried Mr. Weston, * if Emma comes 
away early, it will be breaking up the party.' 

4 And no great harm if it does,' said Mr. Woodhouse. 
* The sooner every party breaks up the better.' 

* But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. 
Emma's going away directly after tea might be giving offence. 
They are good-natured people, and think little of their own 
claims ; but still they must feel that anybody's hurrying away 
is no great compliment ; and Miss Woodhouse's doing it would 
be more thought of than any other person's in the room. 
You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am 
sure, sir ; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who 
have been your neighbours these ten years.' 

186 



EMMA 

c No, upon no account in the world. Mr. Weston, I am 
much obliged to you for reminding me. I should be extremely 
sorry to be giving them any pain. I know what worthy people 
they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole never touches malt 
liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but he is 
bilious — Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the 
means of giving them any pain. My dear Emma, we must 
consider this. I am sure, rather than run the risk of hurting 
Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a little longer than you 
might wish. You will not regard being tired. You will be 
perfectly safe, you know, among your friends. 

' Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself ; and I 
should have no scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but 
on your account. I am only afraid of your sitting up for me. 
I am not afraid of your not being exceedingly comfortable 
with Mrs. Goddard. She loves piquet, you know ; but when 
she is gone home, I am afraid you will be sitting up by your- 
self, instead of going to bed at your usual time ; and the idea 
of that would entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise 
me not to sit up.' 

He did, on the condition of some promises on her side : 
such as that, if she came home cold, she would be sure to 
warm herself thoroughly ; if hungry, that she would take some- 
thing to eat ; that her own maid should sit up for her ; and 
that Serle and the butler should see that everything were safe 
in the house as usual. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

Frank Churchill came back again ; and if he kept his 
father's dinner waiting it was not known at Hartfield ; for 
Mrs. Weston was too anxious for his being a favourite with 
Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection which could be 
concealed. 

He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at him- 
self with a very good grace, but without seeming really at all 
ashamed of what he had done. He had no reason to wish 
his hair longer to conceal any confusion of face ; no reason to 

187 



EMMA 

wish the money unspent to improve his spirits. He was 
quite as undaunted and as lively as ever; and, after seeing 
him, Emma thus moralised to herself : — 

* I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly 
silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible 
people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, 
but folly is not always folly. It depends upon the character of 
those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is not a trifling, silly 
young man. If he were, he would have done this differently. 
He would either have gloried in the achievement, or been 
ashamed of it. There would have been either the ostenta- 
tion of a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to 
defend its own vanities. No, I am perfectly sure that he is 
not trifling or silly.* 

With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing him 
again, and for a longer time than hitherto ; of judging of his 
general manners, and, by inference, of the meaning of his 
manners towards, herself; of guessing how soon it might be 
necessary for her to throw coldness into her air ; and of fancy- 
ing what the observations of all those might be, who were 
now seeing them together for the first time. 

She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being 
laid at Mr. Cole's ; and without being able to forget that 
among the failings of Mr. Elton, even in the days of his 
favour, none had disturbed her more than his propensity to 
dine with Mr. Cole. 

Her father's comfort was amply secured, Mrs. Bates as 
well as Mrs. Goddard being able to come ; and her last pleas- 
ing duty, before she left the house, was to pay her respects 
to them as they sat together after dinner ; and while her 
father was fondly noticing the beauty of her dress, to make 
the two ladies all the amends in her power, by helping them 
to large slices of cake and full glasses of wine, for whatever 
unwilling self-denial his care of their constitution might have 
obliged them to practise during the meal. She had provided 
a plentiful dinner for them ; she wished she could know that 
they had been allowed to eat it. 

She followed another carriage to Mr. Cole's door ; and was 
pleased to see that it was Mr. Knightley's ; for Mr. Knightley 
keeping no horses, having little spare money and a great 
deal of health, activity, and independence, was too apt, in 

188 






EMMA 

Emma's opinion, to get about as he could, and not use his 
carriage so often as became the owner of Donwell Abbey. 
She had an opportunity now of speaking her approbation 
while warm from her heart, for he stopped to hand her out. 

* This is coming as you should do,' said she ; * like a gentle- 
man. I am quite glad to see you.' 

He thanked her, observing, ' How lucky that we should 
arrive at the same moment ; for, if we had met first in the 
drawing-room, I doubt whether you would have discerned me 
to be more of a gentleman than usual. You might not have 
distinguished how I came by my look or manner.' 

* Yes, I should ; I am sure I should. There is always a 
look of consciousness or bustle when people come in a way 
which they know to be beneath them. You think you carry 
it off very well, I daresay ; but with you it is a sort of bravado, 
an air of affected unconcern ; I always observe it whenever I 
meet you under those circumstances. Now you have nothing 
to try for. You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed. 
You are not striving to look taller than anybody else. Now 
I shall really be very happy to walk into the same room with 
you.' 

' Nonsensical girl ! ' was his reply, but not at all in anger. 

Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of 
the party as with Mr. Knightley. She was received with a 
cordial respect which could not but please, and given all the 
consequence she could wish for. When the Westons arrived, 
the kindest looks of love, the strongest of admiration, were 
for her, from both husband and wife ; the son approached her 
with a cheerful eagerness which marked her as his peculiar 
object, and at dinner she found him seated by her ; and, as 
she firmly believed, not without some dexterity on his side. 

The party was rather large, as it included one other family, 
— a proper unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles 
had the advantage of naming among their acquaintance, — 
and the male part of Mr. Cox's family, the lawyer of High- 
bury. The less worthy females were to come in the evening, 
with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith ; but already, 
at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of con- 
versation to be general ; and, while politics and Mr. Elton 
were talked over, Emma could fairly surrender all her atten- 
tion to the pleasantness of her neighbour. The first remote 

189 



EMMA 

sound to which she felt herself obliged to attend was the name 
of Jane Fairfax. Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something 
of her that was expected to be very interesting. She listened, 
and found it well worth listening to. That very dear part of 
Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply. Mrs. Cole 
was telling that she had been calling on Miss Bates ; and, as 
soon as she entered the room, had been struck by the sight 
of a pianoforte, a very elegant -looking instrument ; not a 
grand, but a large-sized square pianoforte ; and the substance 
of the story, the end of all the dialogue which ensued of sur- 
prise, and inquiry, and congratulations on her side, and ex- 
planations on Miss Bates's, was, that this pianoforte had 
arrived from Broadwood's the day before, to the great astonish- 
ment of both aunt and niece, entirely unexpected ; that, at 
first, by Miss Bates's account, Jane herself was quite at a loss, 
quite bewildered to think who could possibly have ordered 
it ; but now they were both perfectly satisfied that it could be 
from only one quarter, — of course it must be from Colonel 
Campbell. 

* One can suppose nothing else,' added Mrs. Cole ; ' and 
I was only surprised that there could ever have been a doubt. 
But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them very lately, and 
not a word was said about it. She knows their ways best, 
but I should not consider their silence as any reason for their 
not meaning to make the present. They might choose to 
surprise her.' 

Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; everybody who 
spoke on the subject was equally convinced that it must come 
from Colonel Campbell, and equally rejoiced that such a 
present had been made; and there were enough ready to 
speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still listen to 
Mrs. Cole. 

* I declare, I do not know when I have heard anything 
that has given me more satisfaction. It always has quite 
hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who plays so delightfully, should 
not have an instrument. It seemed quite a shame, especially 
considering how many houses there are where fine instruments 
are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving ourselves a 
slap, to be sure ; and it was but yesterday I was telling Mr. 
Cole I really was ashamed to look at our new grand pianoforte 
in the drawing-room, while I do not know one note from 

190 



EMMA 

another, and our little girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps 
may never make anything of it ; and there is poor Jane Fair- 
fax, who is mistress of music, has not anything of the nature 
of an instrument, not even the pitifulest old spinet in the 
world, to amuse herself with. I was saying this to Mr. Cole 
but yesterday, and he quite agreed with me ; only he is so 
particularly fond of music that he could not help indulging 
himself in the purchase, hoping that some of our good neigh- 
bours might be so obliging occasionally to put it to a better 
use than we can ; and that really is the reason why the in- 
strument was bought — or else I am sure we ought to be 
ashamed of it. We are in great hopes that Miss Woodhouse 
may be prevailed with to try it this evening.' 

Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence ; and find- 
ing that nothing more was to be entrapped from any communi- 
cation of Mrs. Cole's, turned to Frank Churchill. 

* Why do you smile ? ' said she. 

* Nay, why do you ? ' 

1 Me ! I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Camp- 
bell's being so rich and so liberal. It is a handsome present.' 

* Very.' 

* I rather wonder that it was never made before.' 

1 Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long 
before.' 

I Or that he did not give her the use of their own instru- 
ment, which must now be shut up in London, untouched by 
anybody.' 

* That is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too 
large for Mrs. Bates's house.' 

'You may say what you choose, but your countenance 
testifies that your thoughts on this subject are very much like 
mine.' 

I I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me more 
credit for acuteness than I deserve. I smile because you 
smile, and shall probably suspect whatever I find you suspect ; 
but at present I do not see what there is to question. If 
Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can be ? ' 

1 What do you say to Mrs. Dixon ?' 

4 Mrs. Dixon ! very true, indeed. I had not thought of 
Mrs. Dixon. She must know, as well as her father, how ac- 
ceptable an instrument would be ; and perhaps the mode of it, 

191 



EMMA 

the mystery, the surprise, is more like a young woman's 
scheme than an elderly man's. It is Mrs. Dixon, I daresay. 
I told you that your suspicions would guide mine.' 

' If so, you must extend your suspicions, and comprehend 
Mr. Dixon in them.* 

* Mr. Dixon ! very well. Yes, I immediately perceive that 
it must be the joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. We 
were speaking the other day, you know, of his being so warm 
an admirer of her performance.' 

'Yes, and what you told me on that head confirmed an 
idea which I had entertained before. I do not mean to reflect 
upon the good intentions of either Mr. Dixon or Miss Fairfax ; 
but I cannot help suspecting either that, after making his 
proposals to her friend, he had the misfortune to fall in love 
with her^ or that he became conscious of a little attachment on 
her side. One might guess twenty things without guessing 
exactly the right ; but I am sure there must be a particular 
cause for her choosing to come to Highbury, instead of going 
with the Campbells to Ireland. Here, she must be leading a 
life of privation and penance ; there, it would have been all 
enjoyment. As to the pretence of trying her native air, I 
look upon that as a mere excuse. In the summer it might 
have passed ; but what can anybody's native air do for them 
in the months of January, February, and March ? Good fires 
and carriages would be much more to the purpose in most 
cases of delicate health, and I daresay in hers. I do not re- 
quire you to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble 
a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what they are.' 

' And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability. 
Mr. Dixon's preference of her music to her friend's I can 
answer for being very decided.' 

' And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of that ? 
A water party ; and by some accident she was falling over- 
board. He caught her.' 

1 He did. I was there — one of the party.' 

' Were you really ? Well ! But you observed nothing, of 
course, for it seems to be a new idea to you. If I had been 
there, I think I should have made some discoveries.' 

' I daresay you would ; but I, simple I, saw nothing but 
the fact that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel, 
and that Mr. Dixon caught her — it was the work of a moment. 



EMMA 

And though the consequent shock and alarm were very great, 
and much more durable — indeed, I believe it was half an hour 
before any of us were comfortable again — yet that was too 
general a sensation for anything of peculiar anxiety to be 
observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might 
not have made discoveries.* 

The conversation was here interrupted. They were called 
on to share in the awkwardness of a rather long interval be- 
tween the courses, and obliged to be as formal and as orderly 
as the others ; but when the table was again safely covered, 
when every corner dish was placed exactly right, and occupa- 
tion and ease were generally restored, Emma said — 

'The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I 
wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite enough. 
Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is a present from 
Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.' 

1 And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge 
of it, we must conclude it to come from the Campbells.' 

4 No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax 
knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would have been 
guessed at first. She would not have been puzzled, had she 
t dared fix on them. I may not have convinced you, perhaps, 
but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr. Dixon is a prin- 
cipal in the business.' 

4 Indeed, you injure me if you supposed me unconvinced. 
Your reasonings carry my judgment along with them entirely. 
At first, while I supposed you satisfied that Colonel Campbell 
was the giver, I saw it only as a paternal kindness, and 
thought it the most natural thing in the world. But when you 
mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it 
should be the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I 
can see it in no other light than as an offering of love.' 

There was no occasion to press the matter further. The 
conviction seemed real ; he looked as if he felt it. She said 
no more, — other subjects took their turn ; and the rest of the 
dinner passed away ; the dessert succeeded ; the children 
came in, and were talked to and admired amid the usual rate 
of conversation ; a few clever things said, a few downright 
silly, but by much the larger proportion neither the one nor 
the other — nothing worse than everyday remarks, dull repeti- 
tions, old news, and heavy jokes. 
O 193 



EMMA 

The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room before 
the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived. Emma 
watched the entree of her own particular little friend ; and if 
she could not exult in her dignity and grace, she could not 
only love the blooming sweetness and the artless manner, but 
could most heartily rejoice in that light, cheerful, unsentimental 
disposition which allowed her so many alleviations of pleasure 
in the midst of the pangs of disappointed affection. There 
she sat — and who would have guessed how many tears she 
had been lately shedding ? To be in company, nicely dressed 
herself, and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and 
look pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of 
the present hour. Jane Fairfax did look and move superior ; 
but Emma suspected she might have been glad to change 
feelings with Harriet, — very glad to have purchased the mor- 
tification of having loved — yes, of having loved even Mr. Elton 
in vain, — by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of know- 
ing herself beloved by the husband of her friend. 

In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should 
approach her. She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, 
she felt too much in the secret herself, to think the appearance 
of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore purposely kept at a 
distance ; but by the others, the subject was almost immedi- 
ately introduced, and she saw the blush of consciousness with 
which congratulations were received, the blush of guilt which 
accompanied the name of 'my excellent friend Colonel 
Campbell.' 

Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly 
interested by the circumstance, and Emma could not help 
being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on the subject ; 
and having so much to ask and to say as to tone, touch, and 
pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying as little 
about it as possible, which she plainly read in the fair heroine's 
countenance. 

They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen ; and 
the very first of the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, 
the first and the handsomest ; and after paying his com- 
pliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece, made his 
way directly to the opposite side of the circle, where sat Miss 
Woodhouse ; and till he could find a seat by her, would not 
sit at all. Emma divined what everybody present must be 

194 



EMMA 

thinking. She was his object, and everybody must perceive 
it. She introduced him to her friend Miss Smith, and, at 
convenient moments afterwards, heard what each thought of 
the other. * He had never seen so lovely a face, and was de- 
lighted with her naiveti? And she, — * Only to be sure it was 
paying him too great a compliment, but she did think there 
were some looks a little like Mr. Elton.' Emma restrained 
her indignation, and only turned from her in silence. 

Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman 
on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax ; but it was most 
prudent to avoid speech. He told her that he had been 
impatient to leave the dining-room — hated sitting long — was 
always the first to move when he could — that his father, Mr. 
Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were left very busy over 
parish business — that as long as he had stayed, however, it 
had been pleasant enough, as he found them in general a set 
of gentlemen-like, sensible men ; and spoke so handsomely of 
Highbury altogether — thought it so abundant in agreeable 
families — that Emma began to feel she had been used to 
despise the place rather too much. She questioned him as to 
the society in Yorkshire, the extent of the neighbourhood 
about Enscombe, and the sort ; and could make out from his 
answers that, as far as Enscombe was concerned, there was 
very little going on ; that their visitings were among a range 
of great families, none very near ; and that even when days 
were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even chance 
that Mrs. Churchill were not in health or spirits for going; 
that they made a point of visiting no fresh person ; and that, 
though he had his separate engagements, it was not without 
difficulty, without considerable address, at times, that he could 
get away, or introduce an acquaintance for a night. 

She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that High- 
bury, taken in its best, might reasonably please a young man 
who had more retirement at home than he liked. His 
importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did not boast, 
but it naturally betrayed itself that he had persuaded his aunt 
where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and 
noticing it, he owned that he believed (excepting one or two 
points) he could with time persuade her to anything. One 
of those points on which his influence failed he then mentioned. 
He had wanted very much to go abroad — had been very 

195 



EMMA 

eager indeed to be allowed to travel — but she would not 
hear of it. This had happened the year before. Now, he 
said, he was beginning to have no longer the same wish. 

The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma 
guessed to be good behaviour to his father. 

* I have made a most wretched discovery,' said he, after a 
short pause. * I have been here a week to-morrow — half my 
time. I never knew days fly so fast. A week to-morrow ! — 
and I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. But just got ac- 
quainted with Mrs. Weston, and others. I hate the recollection.' 

1 Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one 
whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut.' 

* No,' said he, smiling, * that is no subject of regret at all. 
I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe 
myself fit to be seen.' 

The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma 
found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and 
listen to Mr. Cole. When Mr. Cole had moved away, and 
her attention could be restored as before, she saw Frank 
Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, 
who was sitting exactly opposite, 

' What is the matter ? ' said she. 

He started. f Thank you for rousing me,' he replied. *I 
believe I have been very rude ; but really, Miss Fairfax has 
done her hair in so odd a way — so very odd a way — that I 
cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw anything so 
outrSe / Those curls ! This must be a fancy of her own. I 
see nobody else looking like her. I must go and ask her 
whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I ? — Yes, I will — I de- 
clare I will — and you shall see how she takes it ; — whether 
she colours.' 

He was gone immediately ; and Emma soon saw him 
standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her ; but as to 
its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently placed 
himself exactly between them, exactly in front of Miss 
Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing. 

Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs. 
Weston. 

* This is the luxury of a large party,' said she ; f one can 
get near everybody, and say everything. My dear Emma, I 
am longing to talk to you. I have been making discoveries 

196 






EMMA 

and forming plans, just like yourself, and I must tell them 
while the idea is fresh. Do you know how Miss Bates and 
her niece came here ? ' 

* How ! — They were invited, were not they ? ' 

* Oh yes — but how they were conveyed hither ? — the 
manner of their coming ? ' 

4 They walked, I conclude. How else could they come ? ' 
' Very true. Well, a little while ago it occurred to me how 
very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again, 
late at night, and cold as the nights are now. And as I 
looked at her, though I never saw her appear to more advan- 
tage, it struck me that she was heated, and would therefore 
be particularly liable to take cold. Poor girl ! I could not 
bear the idea of it ; so, as soon as Mr. Weston came into the 
room, and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the 
carriage. You may guess how readily he came into my 
wishes ; and having his approbation, I made my way directly 
to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be at her 
service before it took us home ; for I thought it would be 
making her comfortable at once. Good soul ! she was as 
grateful as possible, you may be sure. " Nobody was ever so 
fortunate as herself!" — but with many, many thanks, — " there 
was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley's carriage had 
brought, and was to take them home again." I was quite 
surprised ; — very glad, I am sure ; but really quite surprised. 
Such a very kind attention — and so thoughtful an attention ! — 
the sort of thing that so few men would think of. And, in 
short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very much inclined to 
think that it was for their accommodation the carriage was used 
at all. I do suspect he would not have had a pair of horses for 
himself, and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them.' 

* Very likely,' said Emma ; * nothing more likely. I know 
no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing 
— to do anything really good-natured, useful, considerate, or 
benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane 
one ; and this, considering Jane Fairfax's ill-health, would 
appear a case of humanity to him ; — and for an act of 
unostentatious kindness there is nobody whom I would fix on 
more than on Mr. Knightley. I know he had horses to-day — 
for we arrived together ; and I laughed at him about it, but he 
said not a word that could betray.' 

197 



EMMA 

'Well,' said Mrs. Weston smiling, 'you give him credit 
for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this instance 
than I do; for while Miss Bates was speaking, a suspicion 
darted into my head, and I have never been able to get it out 
again. The more I think of it, the more probable it appears. 
In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and 
Jane Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping you company ! 
— What do you say to it ? ' 

* Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax 1 ' exclaimed Emma. 
< Dear Mrs. Weston, how could you think of such a thing ? — 
Mr. Knightley! — Mr. Knightley must not marry! — You 
would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell ? — Oh no, 
no, — Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to 
Mr. Knightley's marrying; and I am sure it is not at all 
likely. I am amazed that you should think of such a thing.' 

4 My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of 
it. I do not want the match — I do not want to injure dear 
little Henry — but the idea has been given me by circum- 
stances ; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry, you 
would not have him refrain on Henry's account, a boy of six 
years old, who knows nothing of the matter ? ' 

4 Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted. 
Mr. Knightley marry ! No, I have never had such an idea, 
and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all 
women ! ' 

* Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you 
very well know.' 

1 But the imprudence of such a match ! ' 

c I am not speaking of its prudence — merely its probability.' 

* I see no probability in it, unless you have any better 
foundation than what you mention. His good-nature, his 
humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account for 
the horses. He has a great regard for the Bateses, you know, 
independent of Jane Fairfax — and is always glad to show them 
attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match- 
making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the 
Abbey ! Oh no, no ; — every feeling revolts. For his own 
sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing.' 

' Imprudent, if you please — but not mad. Excepting in- 
equality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can 
see nothing unsuitable.' 

198 



EMMA 

< But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure 
he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. 
Why should he marry ? He is as happy as possible by him- 
self; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the 
parish to manage ; and he is extremely fond of his brother's 
children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his 
time or his heart.' 

c My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so ; but if 
he really loves Jane Fairfax ' 

f Nonsense ! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In 
the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any 
good to her, or her family ; but ' 

'Well,' said Mrs. Weston laughing, 'perhaps the greatest 
good he could do them would be to give Jane such a respect- 
able home.' 

c If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to 
himself — a very shameful and degrading connection. How 
would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him ? To 
have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long 
for his great kindness in marrying Jane ? — " So very kind and 
obliging ! But he always had been such a very kind neigh- 
bour!" And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her 
mother's old petticoat. "Not that it was such a very old 
petticoat either — for still it would last a great while, — and, 
indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all 
very strong." ' 

* For shame, Emma ! Do not mimic her. You divert me 
against my conscience. And, upon my word, I do not think 
Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates. Little 
things do not irritate him. She might talk on ; and if he 
wanted to say anything himself, he would only talk louder, and 
drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be 
a bad connection for him, but whether he wishes it ; and I 
think he does. I have heard him speak, and so must you, so 
very highly of Jane Fairfax ! The interest he takes in her — 
his anxiety about her health — his concern that she should have 
no happier prospect ! I have heard him express himself so 
warmly on those points ! Such an admirer of her performance 
on the pianoforte, and of her voice ! I have heard him say, 
that he could listen to her for ever. Oh, and I had almost 
forgotten one idea that occurred to me — this pianoforte that 

199 



EMMA 

has been sent her by somebody — though we have all been so 
well satisfied to consider it a present from the Campbells, may 
it not be from Mr. Knightley ? I cannot help suspecting him. 
I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in 
love.' 

1 Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. 
But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. 
Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously.' 

' 1 have heard him lamenting her having no instrument 
repeatedly — oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance 
would, in the common course of things, occur to him.' 

' Very well ; and if he had intended to give her one, he 
would have told her so.' 

* There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I 
have a very strong notion that it comes from him. I am sure 
he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told us of it at 
dinner.' . 

i You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it, 
as you have many a time reproached me with doing. I see 
no sign of attachment. I believe nothing of the pianoforte, 
and proof only shall convince me that Mr. Knightley has any 
thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.' 

They combated the point some time longer in the same way, 
Emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her friend ; for 
Mrs. Weston was the most used of the two to yield ; till a little 
bustle in the room showed them that tea was over, and the 
instrument in preparation ; and at the same moment Mr. Cole 
approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the 
honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eager- 
ness of her conversation with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing 
nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, 
followed Mr. Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties ; and as, 
in every respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very 
proper compliance. 

She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to 
attempt more than she could perform with credit ; she wanted 
neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are generally 
acceptable, and could accompany her own voice well. One 
accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by surprise — a 
second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her 
pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every- 

200 



EMMA 

thing usual followed. He was accused of having a delightful 
voice, and a perfect knowledge of music, which was properly 
denied ; and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no 
voice at all, roundly asserted. They sang together once more ; 
and Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose 
performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could at- 
tempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own. 

With mixed feelings she seated herself at a little distance 
from the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank 
Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or twice, 
it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight of Mr. Knightley 
among the most attentive soon drew away half Emma's mind, 
and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs. 
Weston's suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united 
voices gave only momentary interruptions. Her objections to 
Mr. Knightley's marrying did not in the least subside. She 
could see nothing but evil in it. It would be a great dis- 
appointment to Mr. John Knightley, consequently to Isabella. 
A real injury to the children — a most mortifying change, and 
material loss to them all — a very great deduction from her 
father's daily comfort — and, as to herself, she could not at all 
endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. 
Knightley for them all to give way to ! No — Mr. Knightley 
must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of 
Donwell. 

Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat 
down by her. They talked at first only of the performance. 
His admiration was certainly very warm ; yet she thought, but 
for Mrs. Weston, it would not have struck her. As a sort of 
touchstone, however, she began to speak of his kindness in 
conveying the aunt and niece ; and though his answer was in 
the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate 
only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own. 

1 1 often feel concerned,' said she, * that I dare not make 
our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not that I 
am without the wish ; but you know how impossible my father 
would deem it that James should put to for such a purpose.' 

£ Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,' he 
replied ; ' but you must often wish it, I am sure.' And he 
smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction that she 
must proceed another step. 



EMMA 

' This present from the Campbells, 1 said she — * this piano- 
forte is very kindly given.' 

4 Yes,' he replied, and without the smallest apparent em- 
barrassment. * But they would have done better had they 
given her notice of it. Surprises are foolish things. The 
pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often con- 
siderable. I should have expected better judgment in Colonel 
Campbell.' 

From that moment Emma could have taken her oath that 
Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the instrument. 
But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment — 
whether there were no actual preference — remained a little 
longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane's second song, her 
voice grew thick. 

'That will do,' said he, when it was finished, thinking 
aloud ; ' you have sung quite enough for one evening ; now be 
quiet.' 

Another song, however, was soon begged for. ' One 
more ; — they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, 
and would only ask for one more.' And Frank Churchill was 
heard to say, c I think you could manage this without effort ; 
the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls 
on the second.' 

Mr. Knightley grew angry. 

* That fellow,' said he indignantly, c thinks of nothing but 
showing off his own voice. * This must not be.' And touch- 
ing Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near, — 'Miss 
Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in 
this manner ? Go and interfere. They have no mercy on her.' 

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay 
even to be grateful, before she stepped forward and put an end 
to all further singing. Here ceased the concert part of the 
evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax were the only 
young lady performers ; but soon (within five minutes) the 
proposal of dancing — originating nobody exactly knew where 
— was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole that 
everything was rapidly clearing away, to give proper space, 
Mrs. Weston, capital in her country dances, was seated, and 
beginning an irresistible waltz ; and Frank Churchill, coming up 
with most becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, 
and led her up to the top. 

202 







Had secured her hand. 



EMMA 

While waiting till the other young people could pair them- 
selves off, Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she 
was receiving on her voice and her taste, to look about, and 
see what became of Mr. Knightley. This would be a trial. 
He was no dancer in general. If he were to be very alert in 
engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something. There 
was no immediate appearance. No ; he was talking to Mrs. 
Cole — he was looking on unconcerned ; Jane was asked by 
somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole. 

Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry ; his interest was 
yet safe ; and she led off the dance with genuine spirit and 
enjoyment. Not more than five couple could be mustered ; 
but the rarity and the suddenness of it made it very delightful, 
and she found herself well matched in a partner. They were 
a couple worth looking at. 

Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed. 
It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get 
home, on her mother's account. After some attempts, there- 
fore, to be permitted to begin again, they were obliged to thank 
Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done. 

c Perhaps it is as well,' said Frank Churchill, as he attended 
Emma to her carriage. ' I must have asked Miss Fairfax, 
and her languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after 
yours.' 



CHAPTER XXVII 

Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. 
The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections the next 
day ; and all that she might be supposed to have lost on the 
side of dignified seclusion must be amply repaid in the splendour 
of popularity. She must have delighted the Coles — worthy 
people, who deserved to be made happy ! — and left a name 
behind her that would not soon die away. 

Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common ; and 
there were two points on which she was not quite easy. She 
doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of woman 
by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax's 
feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right ; but it had 

204 



EMMA 

been so strong an idea that] it would escape her, and his sub- 
mission to all that she told was a compliment to her penetration 
which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she 
ought to have held her tongue. 

The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax, 
and there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and un- 
equivocally regret the inferiority of her own playing and sing- 
ing. She did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her 
childhood, and sat down and practised vigorously an hour and 
a half. 

She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in ; and if 
Harriet's praise could have satisfied her, she might soon have 
been comforted. 

* Oh, if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax ! ' 

4 Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more 
like hers than a lamp is like sunshine.' 

1 Oh dear, I think you play the best of the two. I think 
you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much 
rather hear you. Everybody last night said how well you 
played.' 

' Those who knew anything about it must have felt the 
difference. The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good 
enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax's is much beyond it.' 

1 Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as 
she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever 
find it out. Mr. Cole said how much taste you had ; and Mr. 
Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your taste ; and that 
he valued taste much more than execution.' 

' Ah, but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.' 

* Are you sure ? I saw she had execution, but I did not 
know she had any taste. Nobody talked about it ; and I hate 
Italian singing ; there is no understanding a word of it. 
Besides, if she does play so very well, you know, it is no more 
than she is obliged to do, because she will have to teach. 
The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get 
into any great family. How did you think the Coxes looked ? ' 

' Just as they always do, — very vulgar.' 

' They told me something,' said Harriet, rather hesitatingly, 
* but it is nothing of any consequence.' 

Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though 
fearful of its producing Mr. Elton. 

205 



EMMA 

/They told me that Mr. Martin dined with them last 
Saturday.' 
'Oh!' 

* He came to their father upon some business, and he asked 
him to stay dinner.' 

'Oh!' 

' They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. 
I do. not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought 
I should go and stay there again next summer.' 

'She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an 
Anne Cox should be.' 

' She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. 
He sat by her at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the 
Coxes would be very glad to marry him.' 

* Very likely ; I think they are, without exception, the most 
vulgar girls in Highbury.' 

Harriet had business at Ford's. Emma thought it most 
prudent to go with her. Another accidental meeting with the 
Martins was possible, and, in her present state, would be 
dangerous. 

Harriet, tempted by everything, and swayed by half a 
word, was always very long at a purchase ; and while she was 
still hanging over muslins, and changing her mind, Emma 
went to the door for amusement. Much could not be hoped 
from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury ; — Mr. 
Perry walking hastily by ; Mr. William Cox letting himself in 
at the office door ; Mr. Cole's carriage-horses returning from 
exercise ; or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, — were the 
liveliest objects she could presume to expect; and when her 
eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman 
travelling homewards from shop with her full basket, two curs 
quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling 
children round the baker's little bow-window eyeing the ginger- 
bread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and was 
amused enough : quite enough still to stand at the door. A 
mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can 
see nothing that does not answer. 

She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged ; 
two persons appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law. 
They were walking into Highbury — to Hartfield of course ; 
they were stopping, however, in the first place at Mrs. Bates's, 

206 



EMMA 

whose house was a little nearer Randalls than Ford's, and 
had all but knocked when Emma caught their eye. Immedi- 
ately they crossed the road and came forward to her ; and the 
agreeableness of yesterday's engagement seemed to give fresh 
pleasure to the present meeting. Mrs. Weston informed her 
that she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the 
new instrument. 

« For my companion tells me,' said she, « that I absolutely 
promised Miss Bates last night that I would come this morn- 
ing. I was not aware of it myself. I did not know that I 
had fixed a day ; but as he says I did, I am going now.' 

' And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, 
I hope,' said Frank Churchill, *to join your party and wait 
for her at Hartfield, if you are going home.' 

Mrs. Weston was disappointed. 

* I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very 
much pleased.' 

* Me ! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps, I may 
be equally in the way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she 
did not want me. My aunt always sends me off when she is 
shopping. She says I fidget her to death ; and Miss Wood- 
house looks as if she could almost say the same. What am 
I to do?' 

* I am here on no business of my own,' said Emma, ' I am 
only waiting for my friend. She will probably have soon 
done, and then we shall go home. But you had better go 
with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument.' 

'Well, if you advise it. But (with a smile) if Colonel 
Campbell should have employed a careless friend, and if it 
should prove to have an indifferent tone, what shall I say ? 1 
shall be no support to Mrs. Weston. She might do very well 
by herself. A disagreeable truth would be palatable through 
her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil 
falsehood.' 

1 1 do not believe any such thing,' replied Emma ; ' I am 
persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbours, 
when it is necessary ; but there is no reason to suppose the 
instrument is indifferent. Quite otherwise, indeed, if I under- 
stood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night.' 

'Do come with me,' said Mrs. Weston, 'if it be not very 
disagreeable to you. It need not detain us long. We will 

207 



EMMA 

go to Hartfield afterwards. We will follow them to Hartfield. 

I really wish you to call with me ; it will be felt so great an 
attention — and I always thought you meant it.' 

He could say no more ; and, with the hppe of Hartfield to 
reward him, returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates's door. 
Emma watched them in, and then joined Harriet at the 
interesting counter, trying, with all the force of her own mind, 
to convince her that, if she wanted plain muslin, it was of no 
use to look at figured ; and that a blue riband, be it ever so 
beautiful, would still never match her yellow pattern. At last 
it was all settled, even to the destination of the parcel. 

< Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard's, ma'am ? ' asked Mrs. 
Ford. — ' Yes — no — yes, to Mrs. Goddard's. Only my pattern 
gown is at Hartfield. No, you shall send it to Hartfield, if 
you please. But then, Mrs. Goddard will want to see it. 
And I could take the pattern gown home any day. But I 
shall want the riband directly ; so it had better go to Hartfield 
— at least the riband. You could make it into two parcels, 
Mrs. Ford, could not you ? ' 

'It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the 
trouble of two parcels. 5 

{ No more it is.' 

' No trouble in the world, ma'am,' said the obliging Mrs. 
Ford. 

* Oh, but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. 
Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard's 
— I do not know — no, I think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just 
as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it home with me at 
night. What do you advise ? ' 

6 That you do not give another half second to the subject. 
To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs. Ford.' 

' Ay, that will be much best,' said Harriet, quite satisfied ; 

I I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard's. 5 
Voices approached the shop, or rather, one voice and two 

ladies ; Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door. 

1 My dear Miss Woodhouse,' said the latter, < I am just run 
across to entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with 
us a little while, and give us your opinion of our new instru- 
ment — you and Miss Smith. How do you do, Miss Smith ? 
— Very well, I thank you. — And I begged Mrs. Weston to 
come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding.' 

208 



EMMA 



: I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are- 



'Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is 
delightfully well ; and Jane caught no cold last night. How 
is Mr. Woodhouse ? I am so glad to hear such a good ac- 
count. Mrs. Weston told me you were here. — Oh, then, 
said I, I must run across ; I am sure Miss Woodhouse will 
allow me just to run across and entreat her to come in ; my 
mother will be so very happy to see her ; and now we are 
such a nice party, she cannot refuse. "Ay, pray do," said 
Mr. Frank Churchill ; " Miss Woodhouse's opinion of the in- 
strument will be worth having." — But, said I, I shall be more 
sure of succeeding if one of you will go with me. — " Oh," 
said he, "wait half a minute, till I have finished my job ;" 
for, would you believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in 
the most obliging manner in the world, fastening in the rivet 
of my mother's spectacles. The rivet came out, you know, 
this morning; so very obliging! — For my mother had no 
use of her spectacles — could not put them on. And, by the 
bye, everybody ought to have two pair of spectacles ; they 
should indeed. Jane said so. I meant to take them over to 
John Saunders the first thing I did, but something or other 
hindered me all the morning ; first one thing, then another, 
there is no saying what, you know. At one time, Patty 
came to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweep- 
ing. Oh, said I, Patty, do not come with your bad news to 
me. Here is the rivet of your mistress's spectacles out. 
Then the baked apples came home ; Mrs. Wallis sent them 
by her boy ; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, the 
Wallises, always. I have heard some people say that Mrs. 
Wallis can be uncivil and give a very rude answer ; but we 
have never known anything but the greatest attention from 
them. And it cannot be for the value of our custom now, for 
what is our consumption of bread, you know ? only three of 
us. Besides, dear Jane, at present, — and she really eats 
nothing, — makes such a shocking breakfast, you would be 
quite frightened if you saw it. I dare not let my mother 
know how little she eats ; so I say one thing, and then I say 
another, and it passes off. But about the middle of the day 
she gets hungry, and there is nothing she likes so well as 
these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome ; for 
I took the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry ; 
p 209 



EMMA 

I happened to meet him in the street. Not that I had any 
doubt before. I have so often heard Mr. Woodhouse re- 
commend a baked apple. I believe it is the only way that 
Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome. We 
have apple- dumplings, however, very often. Patty makes an 
excellent apple -dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have 
prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will oblige us.' 

Emma would be 'very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, etc.,' 
and they did at last move out of the shop, with no further 
delay from Miss Bates than — 

* How do you do, Mrs. Ford ? I beg your pardon \ I did 
not see you before. I hear you have a charming collection 
of new ribands from town. Jane came back delighted yes- 
terday. Thank ye, the gloves do very well — only a little too 
large about the wrist ; but Jane is taking them in.' 

'What was I talking of?' said she, beginning again when 
they were all in the street. 

Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix. 

' I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of. Oh, 
my mother's spectacles. So very obliging of Mr. Frank 
Churchill ! " Oh ! " said he, " I do think I can fasten the 
rivet ; I like a job of this kind excessively." Which, you 

know, showed him to be so very Indeed I must say 

that, much as I had heard of him before, and much as I had 
expected, he very far exceeds anything I do con- 
gratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly. He seems every- 
thing the fondest parent could " Oh ! " said he, " I can 

fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort excessively." I 
never shall forget his manner. And when I brought out the 
baked apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would 
be so very obliging as to take some, " Oh ! " said he directly, 
" there is nothing in the way of fruit half so good, and these 
are the finest-looking home-baked apples I ever saw in my 

life." That, you know, was so very And I am sure, by 

his manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they are very 
delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice, 
only we do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. 
Woodhouse made us promise to have them done three times ; 
but Miss Woodhouse will be so good as not to mention it. 
The apples themselves are the very finest sort for baking, 
beyond a doubt ; all from Donwell — some of Mr, Knightley's 

210 



EMMA 

most liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year ; and 
certainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as 
one of his trees — I believe there is two of them. My mother 
says the orchard was always famous in her younger days. 
But I was really quite shocked the other day ; for Mr. 
Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating these 
apples, and we talked about them, and said how much she 
enjoyed them, and he asked whether we were not got to the 
end of our stock. " I am sure you must be," said he, " and 
I will send you another supply ; for I have a great many 
more than I can ever use. William Larkins let me keep a 
larger quantity than usual this year. I will send you some 
more, before they get good for nothing." So I begged he 
would not — for really as to ours being gone, I could not 
absolutely say that we had a great many left — it was but half 
a dozen indeed ; but they should be all kept for Jane ; and I 
could not at all bear that he should be sending us more, so 
liberal as he had been already ; and Jane said the same. 
And when he was gone, she almost quarrelled with me : no, 
I should not say quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in 
our lives ; but she was quite distressed that I had owned the 
apples were so nearly gone : she wished I had made him 
believe we had a great many left. Oh, said I, my dear, I did 
say as much as I could. However, the very same evening 
William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the 
same sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much 
obliged, and went down and spoke to William Larkins, and 
said everything, as you may suppose. William Larkins is 
such an old acquaintance ! I am always glad to see^ him. 
But, however, I found afterwards from Patty that William 
said it was all the apples of that sort his master had ; he had 
brought them all — and now his master had not one left 
to bake or boil. William did not seem to mind it himself, 
he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many ; 
for William, you know, thinks more of his master's profit 
than anything ; but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite dis- 
pleased at their being all sent away. She could not bear 
that her master should not be able to have another apple- 
tart this spring. He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, 
and be sure not to say anything to us about it, for Mrs. 
Hodges would be cross sometimes, and as long as so many 



EMMA 

sacks were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder. 
And so Patty told me, and I was excessively shocked, indeed ! 
I would not have Mr. Knightley know anything about it for 

the world ! He would be so very I wanted to keep it 

from Jane's knowledge ; but, unluckily, I had mentioned it 
before I was aware.' 

Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door ; and 
her visitors walked upstairs without having any regular narra- 
tion to attend to, pursued only by the sounds of her desultory 
goodwill. 

1 Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turn- 
ing. Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark 
staircase — rather darker and narrower than one could wish. 
Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss Woodhouse, I am quite 
concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss Smith, the step 
at the turning.' 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered was 
tranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employ- 
ment, slumbering on one side of the fire ; Frank Churchill, at 
a table near her, most deeply occupied about her spectacles ; 
and Jane Fairfax, standing with her back to them, intent on 
her pianoforte. 

Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to 
show a most happy countenance on seeing Emma again. 

* This is a pleasure,' said he, in rather a low voice, ' coming 
at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find 
me trying to be useful ; tell me if you think I shall succeed.' 

£ What ! ' said Mrs. Weston, { have not you finished it yet ? 
you would not earn a very good livelihood as a working silver- 
smith at this rate.' 

< I have not been working uninterruptedly,' he replied ; £ I 
have been assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her 
instrument stand steadily ; it was not quite firm ; an uneven- 
ness in the floor, I believe. You see we have been wedg- 
ing one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to be 

212 




Deeply occupied about her spectacles. 



v EMMA 

persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be 
hurrying home.' 

He contrived that she should be seated by him ; and was 
sufficiently employed in looking out the best -baked apple 
for her, and trying to make her help or advise him in his 
work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready to sit down to the 
pianoforte again. That she was not immediately ready, 
Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves ; she 
had not yet possessed the instrument long enough to touch 
it without emotion \ she must reason herself into the power 
of performance ; and Emma could not but pity such feelings, 
whatever their origin, and could not but resolve never to expose 
them to her neighbour again. 

At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly 
given, the powers of the instrument were gradually done full 
justice to. Mrs. Weston had been delighted before, and was 
delighted again ; Emma joined her in all her praise ; and the 
pianoforte, with every proper discrimination, was pronounced 
to be altogether of the highest promise. 

* Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,' said Frank 
Churchill, with a smile at Emma, 'the person has not chosen 
ill. I heard a good deal of Colonel Campbell's taste at 
Weymouth ; and the softness of the upper notes I am sure 
is exactly what he and all that party would particularly prize. 
I daresay, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his friend very 
minute directions, or wrote to Broad wood himself. Do not 
you think so ? ' 

Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. 
Mrs. Weston had been speaking to her at the same moment. 

' It is not fair,' said Emma, in a whisper ; ' mine was a 
random guess. Do not distress her.' 

He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had 
very little doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he 
began again — 

< How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your 
pleasure on this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I daresay they often 
think of you, and wonder which will be the day, the precise 
day of the instrument's coming to hand. Do you imagine 
Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going forward just 
at this time ? Do you imagine it to be the consequence of an 
immediate commission from him, or that he may have sent 

214 



EMMA 

only a general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to 
depend upon contingencies and conveniences ? ' 

He paused. She could not but hear ; she could not avoid 
answering — 

* Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,' said she, in a 
voice of forced calmness, * I can imagine nothing with any 
confidence. It must be all conjecture.' 

' Conjecture ! ay, sometimes one conjectures right, and 
sometimes one conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture 
how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm. What nonsense 
one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at work, if one talks at 
all ; your real workmen, I suppose, hold their tongues ; but 
we, gentlemen labourers, if we get hold of a word — Miss Fair- 
fax said something about conjecturing. There, it is done. I 
have the pleasure, madam (to Mrs. Bates), of restoring your 
spectacles, healed for the present.' 

He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter : 
to escape a little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, 
and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play 
something more. 

1 If you are very kind,' said he, * it will be one of the waltzes 
we danced last night ; let me live them over again. You did 
not enjoy them as I did ; you appeared tired the whole time. 
I believe you were glad we danced no longer ; but I would 
have given worlds — all the worlds one ever has to give — for 
another half hour.' 

She played. 

* What felicity it is to hear a tune again which has made one 
happy ! If I mistake not, that was danced at Weymouth.' 

She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and 
played something else. He took some music from a chair 
near the pianoforte, and turning to Emma, said — 

* Here is something quite new to me. Do you know it ? 
Cramer. And here are a new set of Irish melodies. That, 
from such a quarter, one might expect. This was all sent 
with the instrument. Very thoughtful of Colonel Campbell, 
was not it ? He knew Miss Fairfax could have no music here. 
I honour that part of the attention particularly ; it shows it 
to have been so thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily 
done ; nothing incomplete. True affection only could have 
prompted it.' 

215 



EMMA 

Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help 
being amused ; and when, on glancing her eye towards Jane 
Fairfax, she caught the remains of a smile, — when she saw 
that, with all the deep blush of consciousness, there had been 
a smile of secret delight, — she had less scruple in the amuse- 
ment, and much less compunction with respect to her. This 
amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherish- 
ing very reprehensible feelings. 

He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over 
together. Emma took the opportunity of whispering — 

* You speak too plain. She must understand you.' 

' I hope she does. I would have her understand me. I 
am not in the least ashamed of my meaning.' 

' But, really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never 
taken up the idea.' 

* I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to 
me. I have now a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave 
shame to her. If she does wrong, she ought to feel it.' 

* She is not entirely without it, I think.' 

i I do not see much sign of it. She is playing Robin Adair 
at this moment — his favourite.' 

Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, 
descried Mr. Knightley on horseback not far off. 

* Mr. Knightley, I declare ! I must speak to him, if 
possible, just to thank him. I will not open the window here ; 
it will give you all cold ; but I can go into my mother's room, 
you know. I daresay he will come in when he knows who is 
here. Quite delightful to have you all meet so ! Our little 
room so honoured 1 ' 

She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, 
and, opening the casement there, immediately called Mr. 
Knightley's attention, and every syllable of their conversation 
was as distinctly heard by the others as if it had passed within 
the same apartment. 

( How d'ye do ? How d'ye do ? Very well, I thank you. 
So obliged to you for the carriage last night. We were just 
in time ; my mother just ready for us. Pray com i in ; do 
come in. You will find some friends here.' 

So began Miss Bates ; and Mr. Knightley seemed deter- 
mined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely and com- 
mandingly did he say — 

216 






EMMA 

* How is your niece, Miss Bates ? I want to inquire after 
you all, but particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax? 
I hope she caught no cold last night. How is she to-day? 
Tell me how Miss Fairfax is.' 

And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before 
he would hear her in anything else. The listeners were 
amused ; and Mrs. Weston gave Emma a look of particular 
meaning. But Emma still shook her head in steady scepticism. 

* So obliged to you 1 — so very much obliged to you for the 
carriage,' resumed Miss Bates. 

He cut her short with — 

1 1 am going to Kingston. Can I do anything for you ? ' 

« Oh dear, Kingston — are you ? Mrs. Cole was saying the 
other day she wanted something from Kingston.' 

'Mrs. Cole has servants to send; can I do anything for 
you?'' 

« No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you think 
is here ? Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith ; so kind as to 
call to hear the new pianoforte. Do put up your horse at the 
Crown, and come in.' 

' Well,' said he, in a deliberating manner, ' for five minutes, 
perhaps.' 

' And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill too ! 
Quite delightful ; so many friends ! ' 

' No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes. 
I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can.' 

' Oh, do come in. They will be so very happy to see 
you.' 

1 No, no ; your room is full enough. I will call another 
day, and hear the pianoforte.' 

' Well, I am so sorry ! Oh, Mr. Knightley, what a delight- 
ful party last night ! how extremely pleasant ! Did you ever 
see such dancing ? Was not it delightful ? Miss Woodhouse 
and Mr. Frank Churchill ; I never saw anything equal to it.' 

' Oh, very delightful, indeed : I can say nothing less, for I 
suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill are hearing 
everything that passes. And (raising his voice still more) I 
do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too. I 
think Miss Fairfax dances very well ; and Mrs. Weston is the 
very best country-dance player, without exception, in England. 
Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say some- 

217 




* Ok, Mr. Knightley, one moment more.' 



EMMA 

thing pretty loud about you and me in return ; but I cannot 
stay to hear it.' 

i Oh, Mr. Knightley, one moment more ; something of con- 
sequence — so shocked ! Jane and I are both so shocked 
about the apples ! ' 

* What is the matter now ? ' 

' To think of your sending us all your store apples. You 
said you had a great many, and now you have not one left. 
We really are so shocked ! Mrs. Hodges may well be angry. 
William Larkins mentioned it here. You should not have 
done it, indeed you should not. Ah, he is off. He never can 
bear to be thanked. But I thought he would have stayed 
now, and it would have been a pity not to have mentioned 

Well (returning into the room), I have not been able to 

succeed. Mr. Knightley cannot stop. He is going to King- 
ston. He asked me if he could do anything ' 

* Yes,' said Jane ; * we heard his kind offers ; we heard 
everything.' 

* Oh yes, my dear, I daresay you might ; because, you 
know, the door was open, and the window was open, and Mr. 
Knightley spoke loud. You must have heard everything to be 
sure. " Can I do anything for you at Kingston ? " said he ; 

so I just mentioned Oh, Miss Woodhouse, must you be 

going ? You seem but just come ; so very obliging of you.' 

Emma found it really time to be at home ; the visit had 
already lasted long ; and, on examining watches, so much of 
the morning was perceived to be gone that Mrs. Weston and 
her companion, taking leave also, could allow themselves only 
to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield gates, before 
they set off for Randalls. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances 
have been known of young people passing many, many months 
successively, without being at any ball of any description, and 
no material injury accrue either to body or mind ; — but when 
a beginning is made — when the felicities of rapid motion have 

219 



EMMA 

once been, though slightly, felt — it must be a very heavy set 
that does not ask for more. 

Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed 
to dance again ; and the last half-hour of an evening which 
Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to spend with his daughter at 
Randalls was passed by the two young people in schemes on 
the subject. Frank's was the first idea, and his the greatest 
zeal in pursuing it ; for the lady was the best judge of the 
difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and 
appearance. But still she had inclination enough for showing 
people again how delightfully Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss 
Woodhouse danced — for doing that in which she need not 
blush to compare herself with Jane Fairfax — and even for 
simple dancing itself, without any of the wicked aids of vanity 
— to assist him first in pacing out the room they were in to 
see what it could be made to hold — and then in taking the 
dimensions of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, in 
spite of all that Mr. Weston could say of their exactly equal 
size, that it was a little the largest. 

His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at 
Mr. Cole's should be finished there, — that the same party 
should be collected, and the same musician engaged, — met 
with the readiest acquiescence. Mr. Weston entered into the 
idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs. Weston most willingly 
undertook to play as long as they could wish to dance ; and 
the interesting employment had followed, of reckoning up 
exactly who there would be, and portioning out the indispen- 
sable division of space to every couple. 

c You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and 
the two Miss Coxes five,' had been repeated many times over. 
4 And there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, 
and myself, besides Mr. Knightley. Yes, that will be quite 
enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fair- 
fax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five ; and for five 
couple there will be plenty of room.' 

But soon it came to be on one side — 

' But will there be good room for five couple ? — I really do 
not think there will.' 

On another — 

* And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth 
while to stand up. Five couple are nothing, when one thinks 

220 



EMMA 

seriously about it. It will not do to invite five couple. It 
can be allowable only as the thought of the moment.' 

Somebody said that Miss Gilbert was expected at her 
brother's, and must be invited with the rest. Somebody else 
believed Mrs. Gilbert would have danced the other evening, 
if she had been asked. A word was put in for a second 
young Cox ; and at last, Mr. Weston naming one family of 
cousins who must be included, and another of very old ac- 
quaintance who could not be left out, it became a certainty 
that the five couple would be at least ten, and a very 
interesting speculation in what possible manner they could 
be disposed of. 

The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. 
' Might not they use both rooms, and dance across the pas- 
sage ? ' It seemed the best scheme ; and yet it was not so 
good but that many of them wanted a better. Emma said 
it would be awkward ; Mrs. Weston was in distress about the 
supper : and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly on the 
score of health. It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that 
it could not be persevered in. 

' Oh no,' said he ; i it would be the extreme of imprudence. 
I could not bear it for Emma ! — Emma is not strong. She 
would catch a dreadful cold. So would poor little Harriet. 
So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you would be quite laid up ; 
do not let them talk of such a wild thing ; pray do not let 
them talk of it. That young man (speaking lower) is very 
thoughtless. Do not tell his father, but that young man 
is not quite the thing. He has been opening the doors very 
often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsider- 
ately. He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to 
set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing.' 

Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the 
importance of it, and said everything in her power to do it 
away. Every door was now closed, the passage plan given 
up, and the first scheme, of dancing only in the room they 
were in, resorted to again ; and with such goodwill on Frank 
Churchill's part, that the space which a quarter of an hour 
before had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple was 
now endeavoured to be made out quite enough for ten. 

'We were too magnificent,' said he. 'We allowed un- 
necessary room. Ten couple may stand here very well.' 

221 



EMMA 

Emma demurred. ' It would be a crowd — a sad crowd ; 
and what could be worse than dancing without space to 
turn in ? ' 

'Very true/ he gravely replied; ' it was very bad.' But 
still he went on measuring, and still he ended with — 

' I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple/ 

'No, no,' said she, 'you are quite unreasonable. It would 
be dreadful to be standing so close. Nothing can be further 
from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd — and a crowd 
in a little room.' 

' There is no denying it,' he replied. ' I agree with you 
exactly. A crowd in a little room — Miss Woodhouse, you 
have the art of giving pictures in a few words. Exquisite, 
quite exquisite ! Still, however, having proceeded so far, one 
is unwilling to give the matter up. It would be a disap- 
pointment to my father — and altogether — I do not know 
that — I am rather of opinion that ten couple might stand 
here very well/ 

Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a 
little self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose 
the pleasure of dancing with her ; but she took the compli- 
ment, and forgave the rest. Had she intended ever to marry 
him, it might have been worth while to pause and consider, 
and try to understand the value of his preference, and the 
character of his temper ; but for all the purposes of their 
acquaintance he was quite amiable enough. 

Before the middle of the next day he was at Hartfield ; 
and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as 
certified the continuance of the scheme. It soon appeared 
that he came to announce an improvement. 

' Well, Miss Woodhouse,' he almost immediately began, 
'your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened 
away, I hope, by the terrors of my father's little rooms. I 
bring a new proposal on the subject — a thought of my 
father's, which waits only your approbation to be acted 
upon. May I hope for the honour of your hand for the 
two first dances of this little projected ball, to be given, not 
at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn ?' 

' The Crown ! ' 

' Yes ; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and 
I trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so kind 

222 



EMMA 

as to visit him there. Better accommodations he can pro- 
mise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at Randalls. 
It is his own idea. Mrs. Weston sees no objection to it, 
provided you are satisfied. This is what we all feel. Oh, 
you were perfectly right ! Ten couple, in either of the Ran- 
dalls' rooms, would have been insufferable — dreadful ! I felt 
how right you were the whole time, but was too anxious for 
securing anything to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange ? 
You consent — I hope you consent ? ' 

* It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if 
Mr. and Mrs. Weston do not. I think it admirable ; and as 

far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy It 

seems the only improvement that could be. Papa, do you 
not think it an excellent improvement ? ' 

She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully 
comprehended ; and then, being quite new, further represen- 
tations were necessary to make it acceptable. 

1 No ; he thought it very far from an improvement — a very 
bad plan — much worse than the other. A room at an inn 
was always damp and dangerous ; never properly aired, or 
fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they had better 
dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the 
Crown in his life — did not know the people who kept it by 
sight. Oh no — a very bad plan. They would catch worse 
colds at the Crown than anywhere.' 

' I was going to observe, sir,' said Frank Churchill, * that 
one of the great recommendations of this change would be 
the very little danger of anybody's catching cold — so much 
less danger at the Crown than at Randalls ! Mr. Perry 
might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else 
could.' 

' Sir,' said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, ' you are very 
much mistaken if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that sort of 
character. Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when any of 
us are ill. But I do not understand how the room at the 
Crown can be safer for you than your father's house.' 

* From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We 
shall have no occasion to open the windows at all — not once 
the whole evening ; and it is that dreadful habit of opening 
the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which 
(as you well know, sir) does the mischief.' 

223 



EMMA 

* Open the windows ! but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody 
would think of opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody 
could be so imprudent ! I never heard of such a thing. 
Dancing with open windows ! I am sure, neither your 
father, nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would 
suffer it.' 

* Ah ! sir — but a thoughtless young person will sometimes 
step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash without 
its being suspected. I have often known it done myself.' 

c Have you, indeed, sir ? Bless me ! I never could have 
supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am often 
astonished at what I hear. However, this does make a 
difference ; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it over — but 
these sort of things require a good deal of consideration. 
One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr. and Mrs. 
Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we 
may talk it over, and see what can be done.' 

* But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited ' 

I Oh,' interrupted Emma, * there will be plenty of time for 
talking everything over. There is no hurry at all. If it 
can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it will be very 
convenient for the horses. They will be so near their own 
stable.' 

c So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that 
James ever complains ; but it is right to spare our horses 
when we can. If I could be sure of the rooms being 
thoroughly aired — but is Mrs. Stokes to be trusted ? I doubt 
it. I do not know her, even by sight.' 

I I can answer for everything of that nature, sir, because 
it will be under Mrs. Weston's care. Mrs. Weston under- 
takes to direct the whole.' 

1 There, papa ! Now you must be satisfied — our own dear 
Mrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do not you remember 
what Mr. Perry said, so many years ago, when I had the 
measles ? " If Miss Taylor undertakes to wrap Miss Emma 
up, you need not have any fears, sir." How often have I 
heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her ! ' 

'Ay, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never 
forget it. Poor little Emma ! You were very bad with the 
measles ; that is, you would have been very bad but for 
Perry's great attention. He came four times a day for a week. 

224 



EMMA 

He said, from the first, it was a very good sort — which was 
our great comfort ; but the measles are a dreadful complaint. 
I hope whenever poor Isabella's little ones have the measles, 
she will send for Perry.' 

1 My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this 
moment,' said Frank Churchill, * examining the capabilities of 
the house. I left them there and came on to Hartfield, im- 
patient for your opinion, and hoping you might be persuaded 
to join them and give your advice on the spot. I was desired 
to say so from both. It would be the greatest pleasure to 
them if you could allow me to attend you there. They can 
do nothing satisfactorily without you.' 

Emma was most happy to be called to such a council ; 
and, her father engaging to think it all over while she was 
gone, the two young people set off together without delay for 
the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston ; delighted to 
see her and receive her approbation, very busy and very happy 
in their different way ; she, in some little distress ; and he, 
finding everything perfect. 

'Emma,' said she, 'this paper is worse than I expected. 
Look ! in places you see it is dreadfully dirty, and the wainscot 
is more yellow and forlorn than anything one could have 
imagined.' 

' My dear, you are too particular,' said her husband. 
£ What does all that signify ? You will see nothing of it by 
candlelight. It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight. 
We never see anything of it on our club-nights.' 

The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, 
* Men never know when things are dirty or not ; ' and the 
gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, 'Women will 
have their little nonsenses and needless cares.' 

One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did 
not disdain : it regarded a supper-room. At the time of the 
ballroom's being built, suppers had not been in question ; 
and a small cardroom adjoining was the only addition. 
What was to be done ? This cardroom would be wanted 
as a cardroom now ; or, if cards were conveniently voted un- 
necessary by their four selves, still was not it too small for 
any comfortable supper ? Another room of much better size 
might be secured for the purpose ; but it was at the other end 
of the house, and a long awkward passage must be gone 
Q 225 



EMMA 

through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs. Weston 
was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage ; 
and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the 
prospect of being miserably crowded at supper. 

Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper : merely 
sandwiches, etc., set out in the little room ; but that was 
scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private dance, without 
sitting down to supper, was pronounced an infamous fraud 
upon the rights of men and women ; and Mrs. Weston must 
not speak of it again. She then took another line of ex- 
pediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed — 

{ 1 do not think it is so very small. We shall not be many, 
you know.' 

And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with 
long steps through the passage, was calling out — 

* You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my 
dear. It is a mere nothing after all ; and not the least 
draught from the stairs.' 

* I wish,' said Mrs. Weston, * one could know which ar- 
rangement our guests in general would like best. To do 
what would be most generally pleasing must be our object — 
if one could but tell what that would be.' 

* Yes, very true, 1 cried Frank, * very true. You want your 
neighbours' opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could 
ascertain what the chief of them — the Coles, for instance. 
They are not far off. Shall I call upon them? Or Miss 
Bates ? She is still nearer. And I do not know whether 
Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of 
the rest of the people as anybody. I think we do want a 
larger council. Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us ?' 

' Well — if you please,' said Mrs. Weston, rather hesitating, 
* if you think she will be of any use.' 

«You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,' 
said Emma. f She will be all delight and gratitude, but she 
will tell you nothing. She will not even listen to your 
questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates.' 

' But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing ! I am very 
fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the 
whole family, you know.' 

Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was 
proposed, gave it his decided approbation. 

226 



EMMA 

' Ay, do, Frank. Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end 
the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure ; 
and I do not know a properer person for showing us how to 
do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. We are growing a 
little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be happy. 
But fetch them both. Invite them both.' 

4 Both, sir ! Can the old lady ? ' 

4 The old lady I No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall 
think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt 
without the niece.' 

4 Oh ! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately 
recollect. Undoubtedly, if you wish it, I will endeavour to 
persuade them both.' And away he ran. 

Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, 
brisk -moving aunt, and her elegant niece, Mrs. Weston, 
like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had examined 
the passage again, and found the evils of it much less than 
she had supposed before — indeed very trifling ; and here 
ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation 
at least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements 
of table and chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made 
themselves ; or were left as mere trifles, to be settled at any 
time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Stokes. Everybody 
invited was certainly to come ; Frank had already written to 
Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, 
which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance 
it was to be. 

Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree 
that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted ; but as an 
approver (a much safer character) she was truly welcome. 
Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and 
incessant, could not but please ; and for another half- hour 
they were all walking to and fro between the different rooms, 
some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment 
of the future. The party did not break up without Emma's 
being positively secured for the first two dances by the hero 
of the evening, nor without her overhearing Mr. Weston 
whisper to his wife, * He has asked her, my dear. That's 
right. " I knew he would ! ' 



227 




♦ He has asked Iter, my dear. » 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XXX 

One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the 
ball completely satisfactory to Emma, — its being fixed for a 
day within the granted term of Frank ChurchilPs stay in 
Surrey; for, in spite of Mr, Weston's confidence, she could 
not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might not 
allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight. 
But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must 
take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third 
week were entered on, and for a few days they must be 
planning, proceeding, and hoping in uncertainty — at the risk 
— in her opinion, the great risk of its being all in vain. 

Enscombe, however, was gracious, gracious in fact, if not 
in word. His wish of staying longer evidently did not please ; 
but it was not opposed. All was safe and prosperous ; and 
as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for 
another, Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt 
as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's provoking indifference 
about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or because 
the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he 
seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined 
against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any 
future amusement. To her voluntary communications Emma 
could get no more approving reply than — 

'Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at 
all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have 
nothing to say against it, but that they shall not choose 
pleasures for me. — Oh, yes ! I must be there ; I could not 
refuse ; and I will keep as much awake as I can ; but I would 
rather be at home, looking over William Larkins's week's 
account ; much rather, I confess. — Pleasure in seeing dancing ! 
— not I, indeed, — I never look at it — I do not know who does. 
— Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. 
Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something 
very different.' 

This Emma felt was aimed at her ; and it made her quite 
angry. It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax, however, 

229 



EMMA 

that he was so indifferent, or so indignant ; he was not 
guided by her feelings in reprobating the ball, for she enjoyed 
the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made her 
animated — open-hearted : she voluntarily said — 

* Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to 
prevent the ball ! What a disappointment it would be ! I do 
look forward to it, I own, with very great pleasure.' 

It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax, therefore, that he would 
have preferred the society of William Larkins. No ! — she 
was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite 
mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal of friendly 
and of compassionate attachment on his side — but no love. 

Alas ! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. 
Knightley. Two days of joyful security were immediately 
followed by the overthrow of everything. A letter arrived 
from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew's instant return. Mrs. ' 
Churchill was unwell — far too unwell to do without him ; she 
had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) when 
writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual 
unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never think- 
ing of herself, she had not mentioned it ; but now she was too 
ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe 
without delay. 

The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a 
note from Mrs. Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was 
inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours, though 
without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his 
repugnance. He knew her illnesses ; they never occurred but 
for her own convenience. 

Mrs. Weston added, * that he could only allow himself time 
to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the 
few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest 
in him ; and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.' 

This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast. 
When once it had been read, there was no doing anything, 
but lament and exclaim. The loss of the ball — the loss of 
the young man — and all that the young man might be feeling ! 
— It was too wretched ! — Such a delightful evening as it 
would have been ! — Everybody so happy ! and she and her 
partner the happiest ! — * I said it would be so,' was the only 
consolation. 

230 






EMMA 

Her father's feelings were quite distinct. He thought 
principally of Mrs. Churchill's illness, and wanted to know 
how she was treated ; and as for the ball, it was shocking to 
have dear Emma disappointed ; but they would all be safer at 
home. 

Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he 
appeared ; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his 
sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come 
might redeem him. He felt the going away almost too much 
to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He sat really 
lost in thought for the first few minutes ; and when rousing 
himself, it was only to say — 

' Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.' 

1 But you will come again,' said Emma. c This will not be 
your only visit to Randalls.' 

* Ah ! — (shaking his head) — the uncertainty of when I may 
be able to return ! — I shall try for it with a zeal ! It will be 
the object of all my thoughts and cares ! — and if my uncle 
and aunt go to town this spring — but I am afraid — they did 
not stir last spring — I am afraid it is a custom gone for ever.' 

* Our poor ball must be quite given up.' 

'Ah! that ball! — why did we wait for anything? — why 
not seize the pleasure at once ? — how often is happiness 
destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation ! — You told us 
it would be so. — Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, why are you always 
so right ? ' 

« Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I 
would much rather have been merry than wise.' 

* If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My 
father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement.' 

Emma looked graciously. 

1 Such a fortnight as it has been ! ' he continued ; * every 
day more precious and more delightful than the day before ! — 
every day making me less fit to bear any other place. Happy 
those who can remain at Highbury ! ' 

* As you do us such ample justice now,' said Emma, laugh- 
ing, 1 1 will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little 
doubtingly at first ? Do not we rather surpass your expecta- 
tions ? I am sure we do. I am sure you did not much 
expect to like us. You would not have been so long in coming 
if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.' 

231 



EMMA 

He laughed rather consciously ; and though denying the 
sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so. 

e And you must be off this very morning ? ' 

' Yes ; my father is to join me here : we shall walk back 
together, and I must be off immediately. I am almost afraid 
that every moment will bring him.' 

'Not five minutes to spare, even for your friends Miss 
Fairfax and Miss Bates ? How unlucky ! Miss Bates's 
powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened yours.' 

« Yes — I have called there; passing the door, I thought 
it better. It was a right thing to do. I went in for three 
minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates's being absent. 
She was out ; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she came 
in. She is a woman that one may, that one must laugh at ; 
but that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay 
my visit, then ' 

He hesitated, got up, walked to a window. 

* In short,' said he, ' perhaps, Miss Woodhouse — I think 
you can hardly be quite without suspicion.' 

He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. 
She hardly knew what to say. It seemed like the forerunner 
of something absolutely serious, which she did not wish. 
Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it 
by, she calmly said — 

' You are quite in the right ; it was most natural to pay 
your visit, then ' 

He was silent. She believed he was looking at her ; 
probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to 
understand the manner. She heard him sigh. It was natural 
for him to feel that he had cause to sigh. He could not 
believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward moments 
passed, and he sat down again ; and in a more determined 
manner said — 

4 It was something to feel that all the rest of my time 
might be given to Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is most 
warm ' 

He stopped again, rose again, and seemed quite embar- 
rassed. — He was more in love with her than Emma had 
supposed ; and who can say how it might have ended, if his 
father had not made his appearance ? Mr. Woodhouse soon 
followed ; and the necessity of exertion made him composed. 

232 



EMMA 

A very few minutes more, however, completed the present 
trial. Mr. Weston, always alert when business was to be 
done, and as incapable of procrastinating any evil that was 
inevitable as of foreseeing any that was doubtful, said, ' It was 
time to go ; ' and the young man, though he might and did 
sigh, could not but agree, and rise to take leave. 

' I shall hear about you all,' said he ; * that is my chief 
consolation. I shall hear of everything that is going on 
among you. I have engaged Mrs. Weston to correspond with 
me. She has been so kind as to promise it. Oh ! the bless- 
ing of a female correspondent, when one is really interested in 
the absent ! — she will tell me everything. In her letters I 
shall be at dear Highbury again.' 

A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest ' Good- 
bye,* closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank 
Churchill Short had been the notice — short their meeting ; 
he was gone ; and Emma felt so sorry to part, and foresaw so 
great a loss to their little society from his absence, as to begin 
to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it too much. 

It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost 
every day since his arrival. Certainly his being at Randalls . 
had given great spirit to the last two weeks — indescribable 
spirit ; the idea, the expectation of seeing him which every 
morning had brought, the assurance of his attentions, his 
liveliness, his manners ! It had been a very happy fortnight, 
and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common 
course of Hartfield days. To complete every other recom- 
mendation, he had almost told her that he loved her. What 
strength, or what constancy of affection he might be subject 
to, was another point ; but at present she could not doubt his 
having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious preference 
of herself; and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, made 
her think that she must be a little in love with him, in spite 
of every previous determination against it. 

' I certainly must, 1 said she. ' This sensation of listless- 
ness, weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and 
employ myself, this feeling of everything being dull and 
insipid about the house ! — I must be in love ; I should be the 
oddest creature in the world if I were not — for a few weeks at 
least. Well, evil to some is always good to others. I shall 
have many fellow -mourners for the ball, if not for Frank 

2 33 



EMMA 

Churchill ; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend 
the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.' 

Mr. Knightley, however, showed no triumphant happiness. 
He could not say that he was sorry on his own account ; his 
very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had ; but 
he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the disap- 
pointment of the others, and with considerable kindness 
added : — 

'You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, 
you are really out of luck ; you are very much out of luck ! J 

It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of 
her honest regret in this woeful change ; but when they did 
meet, her composure was odious. She had been particularly 
unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree, which 
made her aunt declare that, had the ball taken place, she did 
not think Jane could have attended it ; and it was charity to 
impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of 
ill health. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. 
Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At first, she 
thought it was a good deal ; and afterwards, but little. She 
had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and, 
for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs. 
Weston ; she was very often thinking of him, and quite im- 
patient for a letter, that she might know how he was, how 
were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance 
of his coming to Randalls again this spring. But, on the 
other hand, she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor, 
after the first morning, to be less disposed for employment than 
usual ; she was still busy and cheerful ; and, pleasing as he 
was, she could yet imagine him to have faults ; and further, 
though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or 
working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress 
and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, 
and inventing elegant letters ; the conclusion of every imaginary- 
declaration on his side was that she refused him. Their 

234 



EMMA 

affection was always to subside into friendship. Everything 
tender and charming was to mark their parting ; but still they 
were to part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her 
that she could not be very much in love ; for in spite of her 
previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, 
never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce 
more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings. 

* I do not find myself making any use of the word sacrifice? 
said she. ' In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate 
negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do 
suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness. So 
much the better. I certainly will not persuade myself to feel 
more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I should be 
sorry to be more.' 

Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view 
of his feelings. 

' He is undoubtedly very much in love — everything denotes 
it — very much in love indeed ! — and when he comes again, if 
his affection continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage 
it. It would be most inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own 
mind is quite made up. Not that I imagine he can think I 
have been encouraging him hitherto. No ; if he had believed 
me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been so 
wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his 
looks and language at parting would have been different. 
Still, however, I must be on my guard. This is in the sup- 
position of his attachment continuing what it now is ; but I do 
not know that I expect it will ; I do not look upon him to be 
quite the sort of man — I do not altogether build upon his steadi- 
ness or constancy. His feelings are warm, but I can imagine 
them rather changeable. Every consideration of the subject, 
in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is not more 
deeply involved. I shall do very well again after a little while 
— and then, it will be a good thing over ; for they say every- 
body is in love once in their lives, and I shall have been let 
off easily.' 

When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the 
perusal of it ; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and 
admiration which made her at first shake her head over her 
own sensations, and think she had undervalued their strength. 
It was a long, well-written letter, giving the particulars of his 

235 



EMMA 

journey and of his feelings, expressing all the affection, grati- 
tude, and respect which was natural and honourable, and 
describing everything exterior and local that could be supposed 
attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes 
now of apology or concern ; it was the language of real feeling 
towards Mrs. Weston ; and the transition from Highbury to 
Enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the first 
blessings of social life, was just enough touched on to show 
how keenly it was felt, and how much more might have been 
said but for the restraints of propriety. — The charm of her 
own name was not wanting. Miss Woodhouse appeared more 
than once, and never without a something of pleasing con- 
nection, either a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of 
what she had said ; and in the very last time of its meeting 
her eye, unadorned as it was by any such broad wreath of 
gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of her influence, and 
acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all conveyed. 
Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these 
words — ' I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, 
for Miss Woodhouse's beautiful little friend. Pray make my 
excuses and adieus to her.' This, Emma could not doubt, 
was all for herself. Harriet was remembered only from being 
her friend. His information and prospects, as to Enscombe, 
were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated ; 
Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even 
in his own imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls 
again. 

Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the 
material part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded 
up and returned to Mrs. Weston, that it had not added any 
lasting warmth — that she could still do without the writer, and 
that he must learn to do without her. Her intentions were 
unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only grew more inter- 
esting, by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consola- 
tion and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the 
words which clothed it, — the ' beautiful little friend,' — suggested 
to her the idea of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections. 
Was it impossible ? — No. Harriet undoubtedly was greatly 
his inferior in understanding; but he had been very much 
struck with the loveliness of her face and the warm simplicity 
of her manner ; and all the probabilities of circumstance and 

236 



EMMA 

connection were in her favour. For Harriet, it would be 
advantageous and delightful indeed. 

* I must not dwell upon it,' said she ; * I must not think of 
it. I know the danger of indulging such speculations. But 
stranger things have happened ; and when we cease to care 
for each other as we do now, it will be the means of con- 
firming us in that sort of true disinterested friendship which I 
can already look forward to with pleasure.' 

It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, 
though it might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom ; for 
evil in that quarter was at hand. As Frank Churchill's arrival 
had succeeded Mr. Elton's engagement in the conversation 
of Highbury, as the latest interest had entirely borne down 
the first, so now, upon Frank Churchill's disappearance, Mr. 
Elton's concerns were assuming the most irresistible form. — 
His wedding day was named. He would soon be among them 
again — Mr. Elton and his bride. There was hardly time to 
talk over the first letter from Enscombe, before * Mr. Elton and 
his bride' was in everybody's mouth, and Frank Churchill was 
forgotten. Emma grew sick at the sound. She had had three 
weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton ; and Harriet's 
mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining 
strength. With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there had 
been a great deal of insensibility to other things ; but it was 
now too evident that she had not attained such a state of 
composure as could stand against the actual approach — new 
carriage, bell ringing and all. 

Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all 
the reasonings, and soothings, and attentions of every kind 
that Emma could give. Emma felt that she could not do too 
much for her, that Harriet had a right to all her ingenuity and 
all her patience ; but it was heavy work to be for ever con- 
vincing without producing any effect ; for ever agreed to, with- 
out being able to make their opinions the same. Harriet 
listened submissively, and said, * it was very true ; it was just 
as Miss Woodhouse described — it was not worth while to think 
about them, — and she would not think about them any longer.' 
But no change of subject could avail, and the next half hour 
saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as before. 
At last Emma attacked her on another ground. 

* Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy 

237 



EMMA 

about Mr. Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach 
you can make me. You could not give me a greater reproof 
for the mistake I fell into. It was all my doing, I know. I 
have not forgotten it, I assure you. Deceived myself, I did 
very miserably deceive you ; and it will be a painful reflection 
to me for ever. Do not imagine me in danger of forgetting it.' 

Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words 
of eager exclamation. Emma continued — 

' I have not said exert yourself, Harriet, for my sake ; 
think less, talk less of Mr. Elton for my sake ; because, for 
your own sake rather, I would wish it to be done, for the sake 
of what is more important than my comfort, — a habit of 
self-command in you, a consideration of what is your duty, an 
attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the suspicions 
of others, to save your health and credit, and restore your 
tranquillity. These are the motives which I have been 
pressing on you. They are very important, and sorry I am 
that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them. My 
being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. I 
want you to save yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may 
sometimes have felt that Harriet would not forget what was 
due, — or rather, what would be kind by me.' 

This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. 
The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss 
Woodhouse, whom she really loved extremely, made her 
wretched for a while ; and when the violence of grief was 
comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to 
what was right, and support her in it very tolerably. 

' You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life ! 
— Want gratitude to you ! — Nobody is equal to you ! I care 
for nobody as I do for you ! Oh, Miss Woodhouse, how 
ungrateful I have been ! ' 

Such expressions, assisted as they were by everything that 
look and manner could do, made Emma feel that she had 
never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly 
before. 

' There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart/ said she 
afterwards to herself. ' There is nothing to be compared to it. 
Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open 
manner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, for 
attraction : I am sure it will. It is tenderness of heart which 

238 



EMMA 

makes my dear father so generally beloved — which gives 
Isabella all her popularity. I have it not ; but I know how to 
prize and respect it. Harriet is my superior in all the charm 
and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet ! I would not change 
you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female 
breathing. Oh, the coldness of a Jane Fairfax ! Harriet is 
worth a hundred such : and for a wife — a sensible man's wife 
— it is invaluable. I mention no names ; but happy the man 
who changes Emma for Harriet ! ' 



CHAPTER XXXII 

Mrs. Elton was first seen at church : but though devotion 
might be interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride 
in a pew, and it must be left for the visits in form which were 
then to be paid, to settle whether she were very pretty indeed, 
or only rather pretty, or not pretty at all. 

Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or 
propriety, to make her resolve on not being the last to pay her 
respects ; and she made a point of Harriet's going with her, 
that the worst of the business might be gone through as soon 
as possible. 

She could not enter the house again, could not be in the 
same room to which she had with such vain artifice retreated 
three months ago, to lace up her boot, without recollecting. 
A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur. Compliments, 
charades, and horrible blunders ; and it was not to be supposed 
that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too ; but she 
behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent. The 
visit was of course short, and there was so much embarrassment 
and occupation of mind to shorten it that Emma would not 
allow herself entirely to form an opinion of the lady, and on no 
account to give one, beyond the nothing-meaning terms of 
being ' elegantly dressed, and very pleasing.' 

She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry 
to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance ; — 
ease, but not elegance. She was almost sure that for a young 

239 




Mrs. Elton was first seen at church. 



EMMA 

woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease. Her 
person was rather good ; her face not unpretty ; but neither 
feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner was elegant Emma 
thought, at least, it would turn out so. 

As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear — but no, she 
would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about 
his manners. It was an awkward ceremony at any time to 
be receiving wedding visits ; and a man had need be all grace 
to acquit himself well through it. The woman was better off; 
she might have the assistance of fine clothes, and the privilege 
of bashfulness ; but the man had only his own good sense to 
depend on : and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky 
poor Mr. Elton was in being in the same room at once with 
the woman he had just married, the woman he had wanted to 
marry, and the woman whom he had been expected to marry, 
she must allow him to have the right to look as little wise, and 
to be as much affectedly, and as little really, easy as could be. 

'Well, Miss Woodhouse, ' said Harriet, when they had 
quitted the house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to 
begin ; « Well, Miss Woodhouse (with a gentle sigh), what do 
you think of her ? Is not she very charming ? ' 

There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer. 

' Oh ! yes — very — a very pleasing young woman.' 

' I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.' 

' Very nicely dressed, indeed ; a remarkably elegant gown.' 

* I am not at all surprised that she should have fallen in 
love.' 

' Oh ! no ; there is nothing to surprise one at all ; — a pretty 
fortune ; and she came in his way.' 

' I daresay,' returned Harriet, sighing again, ' I daresay she 
was very much attached to him.' 

' Perhaps she might ; but it is not every man's fate to 
marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins, per- 
haps, wanted a home, and thought this the best offer she was 
likely to have.' 

' Yes,' said Harriet earnestly, ' and well she might, nobody 
could ever have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all 
my heart. And now, Miss Woodhouse, I do not think I shall 
mind seeing them again. He is just as superior as ever : but 
being married, you know, it is quite a different thing. No, 
indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid ; I can sit 
R 241 



EMMA 

and admire him now without any great misery. To know 
that he has not thrown himself away is such a comfort ! — 
She does seem a charming young woman, just what he de- 
serves. Happy creature 1 He called her "Augusta." How 
delightful!' 

When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind. 
She could then see more and judge better. From Harriet's 
happening not to be at Hartfield, and her father's being 
present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter of an hour of 
the lady's conversation to herself, and could composedly attend 
to her ; and the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that 
Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with 
herself, and thinking much of her own importance ; that she 
meant to shine and be very superior, but with manners which 
had been formed in a bad school, pert and familiar ; that all 
her notions were drawn from one set of people, and one style 
of living ; that, if not foolish, she was ignorant, and that her 
society would certainly do Mr. Elton no good. 

Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or 
refined herself, she would have connected him with those who 
were ; but Miss Hawkins, it might be fairly supposed from 
her easy conceit, had been the best of her own set. The 
rich brother-in-law, near Bristol, was the pride of the alliance, 
and his place and his carriages were the pride of him. 

The very first subject, after being seated, was Maple Grove, 
< My brother Mr. Suckling's seat ; ' a comparison of Hartfield 
to Maple Grove. The grounds of Hartfield were small, but 
neat and pretty ; and the house was modern and well-built. 
Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed by the size of 
the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or imagine. 
' Very like Maple Grove indeed ! She was quite struck by 
the likeness ! — That room was the very shape and size of the 
morning-room at Maple Grove ; her sister's favourite room.' 
Mr. Elton was appealed to. < Was not it astonishingly like ? 
— She could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove.' 

< And the staircase. — You know, as I came in, I observed 
how very like the staircase was ; placed exactly in the same 
part of the house. I really could not help exclaiming ! I 
assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful to me to be 
reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple 
Grove. I have spent so many happy months there ! (with a 

242 



EMMA 

little sigh of sentiment). A charming place, undoubtedly. 
Everybody who sees it is struck by its beauty ; but to me it 
has been quite a home. Whenever you are transplanted, like 
me, Miss Woodhouse, you will understand how very delightful 
it is to meet with anything at all like what one has left behind. 
I always say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony.' 

Emma made as slight a reply as she could ; but it was 
fully sufficient for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking 
herself. 

* So extremely like Maple Grove ! And it is not merely 
the house ; the grounds, I assure you, as far as I could ob- 
serve, are strikingly like. The laurels at Maple Grove are in 
the same profusion as here, and stand very much in the same 
way, — just across the lawn ; and I had a glimpse of a fine 
large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in 
mind ! My brother and sister will be enchanted with this 
place. People who have extensive grounds themselves are 
always pleased with anything in the same style.' 

Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a 
great idea that people who had extensive grounds themselves 
cared very little for the extensive grounds of anybody else ; 
but it was not worth while to attack an error so double-dyed, 
and she therefore only said in reply — 

'When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid 
you will think you have over-rated Hartfield. Surrey is full of 
beauties.' 

*Oh ! yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of 
England, you know. Surrey is the garden of England.' 

* Yes ; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. 
Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as 
well as Surrey.' 

* No, I fancy not,' replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied 
smile. ' I never heard any county but Surrey called so.' 

Emma was silenced. 

' My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the 
spring or summer at farthest,' continued Mrs. Elton ; * and 
that will be our time for exploring. While they are with us, 
we shall explore a great deal, I daresay. They will have 
their barouche-landau, of course, which holds four perfectly ; 
and therefore, without saying anything of our carriage, we 
should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well. 

243 



EMMA 

They would hardly come in their chaise, I think, at that 
season of the year. Indeed, when the time draws on, I shall 
decidedly recommend their bringing the barouche-landau ; it 
will be so very much preferable. When people come into a 
beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one 
naturally wishes them to see as much as possible ; and Mr. 
Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored to 
King's-Weston twice last summer, in that way, most delight- 
fully, just after their first having the barouche-landau. You 
have many parties of that kind here, I suppose, Miss Wood- 
house, every summer ? ' 

' No ; not immediately here. We are rather out of distance 
of the very striking beauties which attract the sort of parties 
you speak of ; and we are a very quiet set of people, I believe ; 
more disposed to stay at home than engage in schemes of 
pleasured 

' Ah ! there is nothing like staying at home, for real comfort. 
Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am. I was 
quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many a time has 
Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, " I really 
cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely 
must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the 
barouche-landau without a companion ; but Augusta, I believe, 
with her own goodwill, would never stir beyond the park 
paling." Many a time has she said so ; and yet I am no 
advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, when 
people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very 
bad thing ; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the 
world in a proper degree, without living in it either too much 
or too little. I perfectly understand your situation, however, 
Miss Woodhouse (looking towards Mr. Woodhouse), your 
father's state of health must be a great drawback. Why does 
not he try Bath? — Indeed he should. Let me recommend 
Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. 
Woodhouse good. 5 

' My father tried it more than once, formerly, but without 
receiving any benefit ; and Mr. Perry, whose name, I daresay, 
is not unknown to you, does not conceive it would be at all 
more likely to be useful now.' 

'Ah ! that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Wood- 
house, where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the 

244 



EMMA 

relief they give. In my Bath life I have seen such instances 
of it ! And it is so cheerful a place that it could not fail of 
being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits, which, I understand, 
are sometimes much depressed. And as to its recommendation 
to you, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell on them. 
The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally 
understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, 
who have lived so secluded a life ; and I could immediately 
secure you some of the best society in the place. A line 
from me would bring you a little host of acquaintance ; and 
my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have always 
resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to show you 
any attentions, and would be the very person for you to go 
into public with.' 

It was as much as Emma could bear without being im- 
polite. The idea of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for 
what was called an introduction — of her going into public 
under the auspices of a friend of Mrs. Elton's, — probably 
some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the help of a boarder, 
just made a shift to live ! — The dignity of Miss Woodhouse, of 
Hartfield, was sunk indeed ! 

She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs 
she could have given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly ; 
4 but their going to Bath was quite out of the question ; and 
she was not perfectly convinced that the place might suit her 
better than her father.' And then, to prevent further outrage 
and indignation, changed the subject directly. 

( I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Upon 
these occasions, a lady's character generally precedes her ; 
and Highbury has long known that you are a superior 
performer.' 

* Oh ! no, indeed ; I must protest against any such idea. 
A superior performer ! — very far from it, I assure you : con- 
sider from how partial a quarter your information came. I 
am doatingly fond of music — passionately fond ; and my 
friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste ; but as to any- 
thing else, upon my honour my performance is mediocre to 
the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play 
delightfully. I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction, 
comfort, and delight to me to hear what a musical society I 
am got into. I absolutely cannot do without music ; it is a 

245 




Some vulgar, dashing widow. 



EMMA 

necessary of life to me ; and having always been used to a 
very musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it 
would have been a most serious sacrifice. I honestly said as 
much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future home, 
and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be 
disagreeable ; and the inferiority of the house too — knowing 
what I had been accustomed to — of course he was not wholly 
without apprehension. When he was speaking of it in that 
way, I honestly said that the world I could give up — parties, 
balls, plays — for I have no fear of retirement. Blessed with 
so many resources within myself, the world was not necessary 
to ?ne. I could do very well without it. To those who had 
no resources it was a different thing ; but my resources made 
me quite independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I 
had been used to, I really could not give it a thought. I 
hoped I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description. 
Certainly, I had been accustomed to every luxury at Maple 
Grove ; but I did assure him that two carriages were not 
necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. 
"But," said I, "to be quite honest, I do not think I can live 
without something of a musical society. I condition for no- 
thing else ; but, without music, life would be a blank to me." ' 

1 We cannot suppose,' said Emma, smiling, ' that Mr. Elton 
would hesitate to assure you of there being a very musical 
society in Highbury ; and I hope you will not find he has 
outstepped the truth more than may be pardoned, in considera- 
tion of the motive.' 

' No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am 
delighted to find myself in such a circle : I hope we shall have 
many sweet little concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, 
you and I must establish a musical club, and have regular 
weekly meetings at your house, or ours. Will not it be a good 
plan ? If we exert ourselves, I think we shall not be long in 
want of allies. Something of that nature would be particularly 
desirable for me, as an inducement to keep me in practice ; for 
married women, you know — there is a sad story against them, 
in general. They are but too apt to give up music' 

* But you, who are so extremely fond of it, — there can be 
no danger, surely.' 

* I should hope not ; but really, when I look round among 
my acquaintance, I tremble. Selina has entirely given up 

247 



EMMA 

music ; — never touches the instrument though she played 
sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs. Jeffereys — Clara 
Partridge that was, — and of the two Milmans, now Mrs. Bird 
and Mrs. James Cooper ; and of more than I can enumerate. 
Upon my word, it is enough to put one in a fright. I used to 
be quite angry with Selina ; but, really, I begin now to com- 
prehend that a married woman has many things to call her 
attention. I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up 
with my housekeeper.' 

* But everything of that kind,' said Emma, * will soon be in 
so regular a train ' 

' Well,' said Mrs. Elton, laughing, ' we shall see.' 

Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her 
music, had nothing more to say ; and, after a moment's pause, 
Mrs. Elton chose another subject. 

' We have been calling at Randalls,' said she, * and found 
them both at home ; and very pleasant people they seem to 
be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston seems an excellent 
creature — quite a first-rate favourite with me already, I assure 
you. And she appears so truly good, — there is something so 
motherly and kind-hearted about her that it wins upon one 
directly. — She was your governess, I think.' 

Emma was almost too much astonished to answer ; but 
Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she went 
on. 

* Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to 
find her so very ladylike. But she is really c^uite the gentle- 
woman.' 

'Mrs. Weston's manners,' said Emma, 'were always par- 
ticularly good. Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance 
would make them the safest model for any young woman.' 

* And who do you think came in while we were there ? ' 
Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old 

acquaintance, and how could she possibly guess ? 

' Knightley !' continued Mrs. Elton ; — * Knightley himself! 
Was not it lucky ? For, not being within when he called the 
other day, I had never seen him before ; and of course, as so 
particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had a great curiosity. " My 
friend Knightley" had been so often mentioned that I was 
really impatient to see him ; and I must do my cara sposo the 
justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. 

248 



EMMA 

Knightley is quite the gentleman ; I like him very much. 
Decidedly, I think, a very gentlemanlike man.' 

Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off, and 
Emma could breathe. 

* Insufferable woman ! ' was her immediate exclamation. 
* Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable ! 
Knightley ! — I could not have believed it. Knightley ! — never 
seen him in her life before, and call him Knightley ! — and 
discover that he is a gentleman I A little upstart, vulgar 
being, with her Mr. E. and her cara sfioso, and her resources, 
and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery. 
Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman ! I 
doubt whether he will return the compliment, and discover her 
to be a lady. I could not have believed it ! And to propose 
that she and I should unite to form a musical club ! One 
would fancy we were bosom friends ! And Mrs. Weston ! — 
Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be 
a gentlewoman ! Worse and worse. I never met with her 
equal. Much beyond my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by 
any comparison. Oh ! what would Frank Churchill say to 
her, if he were here ? How angry and how diverted he would 
be ! Ah ! there I am — thinking of him directly. Always the 
first person to be thought of ! How I catch myself out ! 
Frank Churchill comes as regularly into my mind ! } 

All this ran so glibly through her thoughts that by the 
time her father had arranged himself, after the bustle of the 
Eltons* departure, and was ready to speak, she was very 
tolerably capable of attending. 

'Well, my dear,* he deliberately began, 'considering we 
never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of young 
lady ; and I daresay she was very much pleased with you. 
She speaks a little too quick. A little quickness of voice 
there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe I am nice ; 
I do not like strange voices ; and nobody speaks like you and 
poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, 
pretty-behaved young lady, and no doubt will make him a 
very good wife. Though I think he had better not have 
married. I made the best excuses I could for not having 
been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy 
occasion ; I said that I hoped I should in the course of the 
summer. But I ought to have gone before. Not to wait 

249 



EMMA 

upon a bride is very remiss. Ah ! it shows what a sad invalid 
I am ! — But I do not like the corner into Vicarage Lane.' 

I daresay your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton 
knows you.' 

' Yes : but a young lady — a bride — I ought to have paid 
my respects to her if possible. It was being very deficient.' 

' But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony ; and 
therefore why should you be so anxious to pay your respects 
to a bride f It ought to be no recommendation to you. It 
is encouraging people to marry if you make so much of them.' 

* No, my dear, I never encouraged anybody to marry, but 
I would always wish to pay every proper attention to a lady — 
and a bride, especially, is never to be neglected. More is 
avowedly due to her. A bride, you know, my dear, is always 
the first in company, let the others be who they may.' 

'Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do 
not know what is. And I should never have expected you to 
be lending your sanction to such vanity-baits for poor young 
ladies.' 

' My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of 
mere common politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing 
to do with any encouragement to people to marry.' 

Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and 
could not understand her. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton's 
offences, and long, very long, did they occupy her. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to 
retract her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had 
been pretty correct. Such as Mrs. Elton appeared to her on 
this second interview, such she appeared whenever they met 
again, — self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, and ill- 
bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, 
but so little judgment that she thought herself coming with 
superior knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a 
country neighbourhood, and conceived Miss Hawkins to have 

250 






EMMA 

held such a place in society as Mrs. Elton's consequence only 
could surpass. 

There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all 
differently from his wife. He seemed not merely happy with 
her, but proud. He had the air of congratulating himself on 
having brought such a woman to Highbury as not even Miss 
Woodhouse could equal ; and the greater part of her new 
acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit of 
judging, following the lead of Miss Bates's goodwill, or taking 
it for granted that the bride must be as clever and as agree- 
able as she professed herself, were very well satisfied ; so that 
Mrs. Elton's praise passed from one mouth to another as it 
ought to do, unimpeded by Miss Woodhouse, who readily 
continued her first contribution, and talked with a good grace 
of her being * very pleasant, and very elegantly dressed.' 

In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had 
appeared at first. Her feelings altered towards Emma. — 
Offended, probably, by the little encouragement which her 
proposals of intimacy met with, she drew back, in her turn, 
and gradually became much more cold and distant ; and 
though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced 
it was necessarily increasing Emma's dislike. Her manners 
too — and Mr. Elton's — were unpleasant towards Harriet. 
They were sneering and negligent. Emma hoped it must 
rapidly work Harriet's cure ; but the sensations which could 
prompt such behaviour sunk them both very much. — It was 
not to be doubted that poor Harriet's attachment had been an 
offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story, 
under a colouring the least favourable to her and the most 
soothing to him, had in all likelihood been given also. She 
was, of course, the object of their joint dislike. — When they 
had nothing else to say, it must be always easy to begin 
abusing Miss Woodhouse ; and the enmity which they dared 
not show in open disrespect to her found a broader vent in 
contemptuous treatment of Harriet. 

Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax ; and from 
the first. Not merely when a state of warfare with one young 
lady might be supposed to recommend the other, but from 
the very first ; and she was not satisfied with expressing a 
natural and reasonable admiration — but without solicitation, or 
plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to assist and befriend 

251 



EMMA 

her. — Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about 
the third time of their meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton's 
knight-errantry on the subject. 

* Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse. — 
I quite rave about Jane Fairfax. — A sweet, interesting 
creature. So mild and ladylike — and with such talents ! — 
I assure you I think she has very extraordinary talents. I 
do not scruple to say that she plays extremely well. I know 
enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh ! she 
is absolutely charming ! You will laugh at my warmth — but, 
upon my word, I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax. — And her 
situation is so calculated to affect one ! — Miss Woodhouse, we 
must exert ourselves and endeavour to do something for her. 
We must bring her forward. Such talents as hers must not 
be suffered to remain unknown. — I daresay you have heard 
those charming lines of the poet — 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its fragrance on the desert air. 

We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.* 
1 1 cannot think there is any danger of it,' was Emma's 
calm answer ; — ' and when you are better acquainted with Miss 
Fairfax's situation, and understand what her home has been, 
with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea that you will 
suppose her talents can he unknown.' 

' Oh ! but, dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such 
retirement, such obscurity, so thrown away. Whatever advan- 
tages she may have enjoyed with the Campbells are so palpably 
at an end 1 And I think she feels it. I am sure she does. 
She is very timid and silent. One can see that she feels the 
want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I must 
confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate 
for timidity — and I am sure one does not often meet with 
it. But in those who are at all inferior it is extremely pre- 
possessing. Oh ! I assure you, Jane Fairfax is a very delight- 
ful character, and interests me more than I can express.' 

* You appear to feel a great deal — but I am not aware how 
you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any of those 
who have known her longer than yourself, can show her any 
other attention than ' 

* My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by 

252 




' You have heard those charming lines oftlxcpoctj 



EMMA 

those who dare to act. You and I need not be afraid. If 
we set the example, many will follow it as far as they can ; 
though all have not our situations. We have carriages to 
fetch and convey her home ; and we live in a style which 
could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax at any time 
the least inconvenient. I should be extremely displeased if 
Wright were to send us up such a dinner as could make me 
regret having asked more than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. 
I have no idea of that sort of thing. It is not likely that I 
should, considering what I have been used to. My greatest 
danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the other 
way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense. 
Maple Grove will probably be my model more than it ought 
to be — for we do not at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. 
Suckling, in income. However, my resolution is taken as 
to noticing Jane Fairfax. I shall certainly have her very 
often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall 
have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be 
constantly on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaint- 
ance is so very extensive that I have little doubt of hearing of 
something to suit her shortly. I shall introduce her, of course, 
very particularly to my brother and sister when they come to 
us. I am sure they will like her extremely ; and when she 
gets a little acquainted with them her fears will completely 
wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners of either 
but what is highly conciliating. I shall have her very often 
indeed while they are with me ; and I daresay we shall some- 
times find a seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our 
exploring parties.' 

' Poor Jane Fairfax 1 ' thought Emma, — * you have not de- 
served this. You may have done wrong with regard to Mr. 
Dixon ; but this is a punishment beyond what you can have 
merited 1 The kindness and protection of Mrs. Elton ! — " Jane 
Fairfax and Jane Fairfax." Heavens ! let me not suppose that 
she dares go about Emma Woodhouse-ing me ! But, upon 
my honour, there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that 
woman's tongue ! ' 

Emma had not to listen to such paradings again — to any 
so exclusively addressed to herself — so disgustingly decorated 
with a ' dear Miss Woodhouse.' The change on Mrs. Elton's 
side soon afterwards appeared, and she was left in peace — 

254 



EMMA 

neither forced to be the very particular friend of Mrs. Elton, 
nor, under Mrs. Elton's guidance, the very active patroness of 
Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general way, 
in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done. 

She looked on with some amusement. Miss Bates's grati- 
tude for Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first 
style of guileless simplicity and warmth. She was quite one 
of her worthies — the most amiable, affable, delightful woman 
— just as accomplished and condescending as Mrs. Elton 
meant to be considered. Emma's only surprise was that Jane 
Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs. Elton 
as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with the 
Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the 
Eltons ! This was astonishing ! She could not have believed 
it possible that the taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could 
endure such society and friendship as the Vicarage had to offer. 

' She is a riddle, quite a riddle,' said she. — ' To choose to 
remain here month after month, under privations of every 
sort. And now to choose the mortification of Mrs. Elton's 
notice, and the penury of her conversation, rather than return 
to the superior companions who have always loved her with 
such real, generous affection.' 

Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months ; 
the Campbells were gone to Ireland for three months ; 
but now the Campbells had promised their daughter to stay at 
least till Midsummer, and fresh invitations had arrived for her 
to join them there. According to Miss Bates — it all came 
from her — Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly. Would 
Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends 
contrived — no travelling difficulty allowed to exist ; but still 
she had declined it. 

' She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, 
for refusing this invitation,' was Emma's conclusion. * She 
must be under some sort of penance, inflicted either by the 
Campbells or herself. There is great fear, great caution, 
great resolution somewhere. She is not to be with the Dixons. 
The decree is issued by somebody. But why must she consent 
to be with the Eltons ? Here is quite a separate puzzle.' 

Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the 
subject before the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, 
Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane. 

255 



EMMA 

c We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at 
the Vicarage, my dear Emma — but it is better than being 
always at home. Her aunt is a good creature ; but, as a 
constant companion, must be very tiresome. We must 
consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste 
for what she goes to.' 

* You are right, Mrs. Weston/ said Mr. Knightley warmly ; 
* Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming a just 
opinion of Mrs. Elton. Could she have chosen with whom 
to associate, she would not have chosen her. But (with a 
reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions from Mrs. 
Elton which nobody else pays her.' 

Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary 
glance, and she was herself struck by his warmth. With a 
faint blush, she presently replied — 

* Such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have imagined, 
would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton's 
invitations I should have imagined anything but inviting.' 

c 1 should not wonder,' said Mrs. Weston, * if Miss Fairfax 
were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by 
her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's civilities for her. 
Poor Miss Bates may very likely have committed her niece, 
and hurried her into a greater appearance of intimacy than her 
own good sense would have dictated, in spite of the very 
natural wish of a little change.' 

Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again ; and 
after a few minutes' silence he said — 

* Another thing must be taken into consideration too — Mrs. 
Elton does not talk to Miss Fairfax as she speaks of her. 
We all know the difference between the pronouns he or she 
and thou, the plainest spoken amongst us ; we all feel the 
influence of a something beyond common civility in our 
personal intercourse with each other — a something more early 
implanted. We cannot give anybody the disagreeable hints 
that we may have been very full of the hour before. We feel 
things differently. And besides the operation of this, as a 
general principle, you may be sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. 
Elton by her superiority both of mind and manner ; and that, 
face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the respect which she 
has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably 
never fell in Mrs. Elton's way before — and no degree of vanity 

256 



EMMA 

can prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness 
in action, if not in consciousness.' 

* I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,' said Emma. 
Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and 
delicacy made her irresolute what else to say. 

' Yes,' he replied, ' anybody may know how highly I think 
of her.' 

' And yet,' said Emma, beginning hastily, and with an arch 
look, but soon stopping — it was better, however, to know the 
worst at once — she hurried on, 'and yet, perhaps, you may 
hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent 
of your admiration may take you by surprise some day 
or other.* 

Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons 
of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting 
them together, or some other cause, brought the colour into his 
face, as he answered — 

* Oh ! are you there ? But you are miserably behindhand. 
Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago.' 

He stopped. Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, 
and did not herself know what to think. In a moment he 
went on — 

'That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss 
Fairfax, I daresay, would not have me if I were to ask her ; 
and I am very sure I shall never ask her.' 

Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest ; and 
was pleased enough to exclaim — 

' You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.' 

He seemed hardly to hear her ; he was thoughtful, and, 
in a manner which showed him not pleased, soon afterwards 
said — 

' So you have been settling that I should marry Jane 
Fairfax.' 

' No, indeed, I have not. You have scolded me too much 
for match-making for me to presume to take such a liberty 
with you. What I said just now meant nothing. One says 
those sort of things, of course, without any idea of a serious 
meaning. Oh no ; upon my word I have not the smallest 
wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax, or Jane anybody. You 
would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way if 
you were married.' 

& 257 



EMMA 

Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his 
reverie was — ' No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my 
admiration for her will ever take me by surprise. I never had 
a thought of her in that way, I assure you.' And, soon 
afterwards, ' Jane Fairfax is a very charming young woman — 
but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She 
has not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.' 

Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. 

'Well/ said she, 'and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I 
suppose.' 

£ Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint ; I told him he 
was mistaken ; he asked my pardon, and said no more. Cole 
does not want to be wiser or wittier than his neighbours.' 

1 In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants 
to be wiser and wittier than all the world ! I wonder how 
she speaks of the Coles — what she calls them. How can she 
find any appellation for them, deep enough in familiar vulgarity ? 
She calls you Knightley ; what can she do for Mr. Cole ? 
And so I am not to be surprised that Jane Fairfax accepts her 
civilities, and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your 
argument weighs most with me. I can much more readily 
enter into the temptation of getting away from Miss Bates, 
than I can believe in the triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over 
Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton's acknowledging 
herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed ; or in her being 
under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good breed- 
ing. I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting 
her visitor with praise, encouragement, and offers of service ; 
that she will not be continually detailing her magnificent 
intentions, from the procuring her a permanent situation to the 
including her in those delightful exploring parties which are to 
take place in the barouche-landau.' 

£ Jane Fairfax has feeling,' said Mr. Knightley ; * I do not 
accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are 
strong, and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance, 
patience, self-control ; but it wants openness. She is reserved ; 
more reserved, I think, than she used to be : and I love an 
open temper. No ; till Cole alluded to my supposed attach- 
ment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax, and 
conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always ; but 
with no thought beyond.' 

258 



EMMA 

* Well, Mrs. Weston,' said Emma, triumphantly, when he 
left them, c what do you say now to Mr. Knightley's marrying 
Jane Fairfax ? ' 

« Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much 
occupied by the idea of not being in love with her, that I 
should not wonder if it were to end in his being so at last. 
Do not beat me.' 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

Everybody in and about Highbury, who had ever visited Mr. 
Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. 
Dinner parties and evening parties were made for him and his 
lady ; and invitations flowed in so fast that she had soon the 
pleasure of apprehending they were never to have a disengaged 
day. 

* I see how it is,' said she ; ' I see what a life I am to lead 
among you. Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. 
We really seem quite the fashion. If this is living in the 
country, it is nothing very formidable. From Monday next to 
Saturday, I assure you we have not a disengaged day ! A 
woman with fewer resources than I have need not have been 
at a loss.' 

No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made 
evening parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had 
given her a taste for dinners. She was a little shocked at the 
want of two drawing-rooms, at the poor attempt at rout-cakes, 
and there being no ice in the Highbury card parties. Mrs. 
Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard, and others, were a good 
deal behindhand in knowledge of the world, but she would 
soon show them how everything ought to be arranged. In the 
course of the spring she must return their civilities by one very 
superior party ; in which her card tables should be set out with 
their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true style, 
and more waiters engaged for the evening than their own 
establishment could furnish, to carry round the refreshments 
at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order. 

Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a 
dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do less 

2 59 



EMMA 

than others, or she should be exposed to odious suspicions, 
and imagined capable of pitiful resentment. A dinner there 
must be. After Emma had talked about it for ten minutes, 
Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the 
usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table him- 
self, with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do 
it for him. 

The persons to be invited required little thought. Besides 
the Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley ; so far 
it was all of course : and it was hardly less inevitable that poor 
little Harriet must be asked to make the eighth ; but this 
invitation was not given with equal satisfaction, and, on many 
accounts, Emma was particularly pleased by Harriet's begging 
to be allowed to decline it. ' She would rather not be in his 
company more than she could help. She was not quite able 
to see him and his charming happy wife together, without 
feeling uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be dis- 
pleased she would rather stay at home.' It was precisely what 
Emma would have wished, had she deemed it possible enough 
for wishing. She was delighted with the fortitude of her little 
friend, — for fortitude she knew it was in her to give up being 
in company, and stay at home ; and she could now invite the 
very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane 
Fairfax. Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and 
Mr. Knightley she was more conscience-stricken about Jane 
Fairfax than she had often been. Mr. Knightley's words 
dwelt with her. He had said that Jane Fairfax received 
attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her. 

1 This is very true,' said she, * at least as far as relates to 
me, which was all that was meant, and it is very shameful. 
Of the same age, and always knowing her, I ought to have 
been more her friend. She will never like me now. I have 
neglected her too long. But I will show her greater attention 
than I have done.' 

Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged 
and all happy. The preparatory interest of this dinner, how- 
ever, was not yet over. A circumstance rather unlucky oc- 
curred. The two eldest little Knightleys were engaged to pay 
their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some weeks in the spring, 
and their papa now proposed bringing them, and staying one 
whole day at Hartfield — which one day would be the very day 

260 



EMMA 

of this party. His professional engagements did not allow of 
his being put off, but both father and daughter were*disturbed 
by its happening so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons 
at dinner together as the utmost that his nerves could bear — 
and here would be a ninth — and Emma apprehended that it 
would be a ninth very much out of humour at not being able 
to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without falling 
in with a dinner party. 

She comforted her father better than she could comfort 
herself, by representing that though he certainly would make 
them nine, yet he always said so little, that the increase of 
noise would be very immaterial. She thought it in reality a 
sad exchange for herself, to have him, with his grave looks 
and reluctant conversation, opposed to her instead of his 
brother. 

The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to 
Emma. John Knightley came ; but Mr. Weston was unex- 
pectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very 
day. He might be able to join them in the evening, but 
certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease ; 
and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys and 
the philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, 
removed the chief of even Emma's vexation. 

The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and 
Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the 
business of being agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother 
off to a window while they waited for dinner, he was talking to 
Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could 
make her, he looked at in silence — wanting only to observe 
enough for Isabella's information — but Miss Fairfax was an 
old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her. 
He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a 
walk with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to 
rain. It was natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, 
and he said — 

* I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, 
or I am sure you must have been wet. We scarcely got home 
in time. I hope you turned directly.' 

* I went only to the post-office,' said she, ' and reached 
home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand, I 
always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble, and 

?6i 



EMMA 

is a something to get me out. A walk before breakfast does 
me good.' 

* Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.' 

* No ; but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.' 
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied — 

* That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were 
not six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of 
meeting you ; and Henry and John had seen more drops than 
they could count long before. The post-office has a great 
charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my 
age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going 
through the rain for.' 

There was a little blush, and then this answer : — 

* I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the 
midst of every dearest connection, and therefore I cannot ex- 
pect that simply growing older should make me indifferent 
about letters.' 

1 Indifferent ! Oh no — I never conceived you could become 
indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference ; they are 
generally a very positive curse.' 

1 You are speaking of letters of business ; mine are letters 
of friendship.' 

' 1 have often thought them the worse of the two,' replied 
he coolly. * Business, you know, may bring money, but friend- 
ship hardly ever does.' 

* Ah ! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley 
too well — I am very sure he understands the value of friendship 
as well as anybody. I can easily believe that letters are very 
little to you, much less than to me ; but it is not your being 
ten years older than myself which makes the difference, it is 
not age, but situation. You have everybody dearest to you 
always at hand, I, probably, never shall again ; and therefore 
till I have outlived all my affections, a post-office, I think, must 
always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than 
to-day.' 

* When I talked of your being altered by time, by the pro- 
gress of years,' said John Knightley, ' I meant to imply the. 
change of situation which time usually brings. I consider 
one as including the other. Time will generally lessen the 
interest of every attachment not within the daily circle — but 
that is not the change I had in view for you. As an old 

262 



EMMA 

friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten 
years hence you may have as many concentrated objects as I 
have.' 

It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A 
pleasant 'thank you* seemed meant to laugh it off; but a 
blush, a quivering lip, a tear in the eye, showed that it was 
felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was now claimed by Mr. 
Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such 
occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his 
particular compliments to the ladies, was ending with her — 
and with all his mildest urbanity said — 

1 1 am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out 
this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of 
themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. They should 
take care of their health and their complexion. My dear, did 
you change your stockings ? ' 

1 Yes, sir, I did indeed ; and I am very much obliged by 
your kind solicitude about me ! ' 

' My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be 
cared for. — I hope your good grandmamma and aunt are well. 
They are some of my very old friends. I wish my health 
allowed me to be a better neighbour. You do us a great deal 
of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I are both 
highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest satis- 
faction in seeing you at Hartfield. , 

The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and 
feel that he had done his duty, and made every fair lady 
welcome and easy. 

By this time the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, 
and her remonstrances now opened upon Jane. 

* My dear Jane, what is this I hear ? — Going to the post- 
office in the rain ! — This must not be, I assure you. You sad 
girl, how could you do such a thing ? It is a sign 1 was not 
there to take care of you.* 

Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any 
cold. 

* Oh ! do not tell me. You really are a very sad girl, and 
do not know how to take care of yourself. To the post-office 
indeed ! Mrs. Weston, did you ever hear the like ? You and 
I must positively exert our authority.' 

1 My advice/ said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, * I 
• 263 




'/ am very sorry to Jiear y Miss Fairfax, of your be big out this morning in the rain.' 



EMMA 

certainly do feel tempted to give. — Miss Fairfax, you must not 
run such risks. Liable as you have been to severe colds, 
indeed you ought to be particularly careful, especially at this 
time of year. The spring I always think requires more than 
common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even half a 
day, for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your 
cough again. Now do not you feel that you had ? Yes, I am 
sure you are much too reasonable. You look as if you would 
not do such a thing again.' 

* Oh I she shall not do such a thing again,' eagerly rejoined 
Mrs. Elton. l We will not allow her to do such a thing again :' 
— and nodding significantly — * there must be some arrange- 
ment made, there must indeed. I shall speak to Mr. E. The 
man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I 
forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and bring them to 
you. That will obviate all difficulties, you know ; and from us 
I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept 
such an accommodation.' 

* You are extremely kind,' said Jane ; * but I cannot give 
up my early walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much 
as I can ; I must walk somewhere, and the post-office is an 
object ; and, upon my word, I have scarcely ever had a bad 
morning before.' 

* My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is deter- 
mined, that is (laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to 
determine anything without the concurrence of my lord and 
master. You know, Mrs. Weston, you and I must be cautious 
how we express ourselves. But I do flatter myself, my dear 
Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I meet 
with no insuperable difficulties, therefore, consider that point 
as settled.' 

' Excuse me,' said Jane earnestly, * I cannot by any means 
consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome 
to your servant. If the errand were not a pleasure to me, it 
could be done, as it always is when I am not here, by my 
grandmamma's.' 

* Oh ! my dear ; but so much as Patty has to do ! — And it 
is a kindness to employ our men.' 

Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered ; but, 
instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John 
Knightley. 

265 



EMMA 

4 The post-office is a wonderful establishment ! ' said she. 
1 The regularity and dispatch of it ! If one thinks of all that it 
has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing ! ' 

* It is certainly very well regulated.' 

' So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears ! So 
seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are constantly 
passing about the kingdom, is even carried wrong — and not 
one in a million, I suppose, actually lost ! And when one con- 
siders the variety of hands, and of bad hands too, that are to be 
deciphered, it increases the wonder.' 

'The clerks grow expert from habit. They must begin 
with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise improves 
them. If you want any further explanation,' continued he 
smiling, < they are paid for it. That is the key to a great deal 
of capacity. The public pays and must be served well.' 

The varieties of handwriting were further talked of, and 
the usual observations made. 

' I have heard it asserted,' said John Knightley, { that the 
same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family ; and 
where the same master teaches, it is natural enough. But for 
that reason, I should imagine the likeness must be chiefly con- 
fined to the females, for boys have very little teaching after an 
early age, and scramble into any hand they can get. Isabella 
and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not 
always known their writing apart.' 

1 Yes,' said his brother hesitatingly, ' there is a likeness. I 
know what you mean — but Emma's hand is the strongest.' 

* Isabella and Emma both write beautifully/ said Mr. 
Woodhouse ; * and always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston ' 
— with half a sigh and half a smile at her. 

* I never saw any gentleman's handwriting ' — Emma began, 
looking also at Mrs. Weston ; but stopped, on perceiving that 
Mrs. Weston was attending to some one else — and the pause 
gave her time to reflect. ' Now, how am I going to introduce 
him ? — Am I unequal to speaking his name at once before all 
these people ? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout 
phrase ? — Your Yorkshire friend — your correspondent in York- 
shire ; — that will be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad. 
No, I can pronounce his name without the smallest distress. 
I certainly get better and better. — Now for it.' 

Mrs. Weston was disengaged, and Emma began again — 
266 



EMMA 

1 Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentlemen's 
hands I ever saw.' 

* I do not admire it,' said Mr. Knightley. * It is too small 
— wants strength. It is like a woman's writing.' 

This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated 
him against the base aspersion. * No, it by no means wanted 
strength — it was not a large hand, but very clear and certainly 
strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any letter about her to produce ?' 
No, she had heard from him very lately, but having answered 
the letter, had put it away. 

' If we were in the other room,' said Emma — * if I had my 
writing-desk, I am sure I could produce a specimen. I have 
a note of his. — Do not you remember, Mrs. Weston, employing 
him to write for you one day ? ' 

* He chose to say he was employed.' 

' Well, well, I have that note ; and can show it after dinner 
to convince Mr. Knightley.' 

' Oh 1 when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,' 
said Mr. Knightley drily, 'writes to a fair lady like Miss 
Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best.' 

Dinner was on table. Mrs. Elton, before she could be 
spoken to, was ready ; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached 
her with his request to be allowed to hand her into the dining- 
parlour, was saying — 

* Must I go first ? I really am ashamed of always leading 
the way.' 

Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not 
escaped Emma. She had heard and seen it all ; and felt 
some curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this morning 
had produced any. She suspected that it hadj that it would 
not have been so resolutely encountered but in full expectation 
of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had not been 
in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness 
than usual — a glow both of complexion and spirits. 

She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedi- 
tion and the expense of the Irish mails ; — it was at her tongue's 
end — but she abstained. She was quite determined not to 
utter a word that should hurt Jane Fairfax's feelings ; and they 
followed the other ladies out of the room, arm in arm, with an 
appearance of goodwill highly becoming to the beauty and 
grace of each. 

267 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XXXV 

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, 
Emma found it hardly possible to prevent their making two 
distinct parties ; — with so much perseverance in judging and 
behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross Jane Fairfax and slight 
herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to be almost 
always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton 
left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, 
she soon began again ; and though much that passed between 
them was in a half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton's side, 
there was no avoiding a knowledge of their principal subjects : 
— The post-office — catching cold — fetching letters — and 
friendship, were long under discussion ; and to them suc- 
ceeded one which must be at least equally unpleasant to Jane, 
— inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely 
to suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton's meditated activity. 

' Here is April come ! ' said she ; * I get quite anxious about 
you. June will soon be here.' 

' But I have never fixed on June or any other month — 
merely looked forward to the summer in general. 3 

' But have you really heard of nothing ? ' 

i I have not even made any inquiry ; I do not wish to make 
any yet.' 

' Oh, my dear, we cannot begin too early ; you are not 
aware of the difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.' 

' I not aware ! ' said Jane, shaking her head ; * dear Mrs. 
Elton, who can have thought of it as I have done ? ' 

' But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. 
You do not know how many candidates there always are for 
the first situations. I saw a vast deal of that in the neigh- 
bourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of Mr. Suckling, 
Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications ; everybody 
was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first 
circle. Wax-candles in the school-room ! You may imagine 
how desirable ! Of all houses in the kingdom, Mrs. Bragge's 
is the one I would most wish to see you in.' 

' Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by 
268 



EMMA 

midsummer,' said Jane. ' I must spend some time with them; 
I am sure they will want it ; — afterwards I may probably be 
glad to dispose of myself. But I would not wish you to take 
the trouble of making any inquiries at present.' 

* Trouble ! ay, I know your scruples. You are afraid of 
giving me trouble ; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the 
Campbells can hardly be more interested about you than I am. 
I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two, and shall give 
her a strict charge to be on the look-out for anything eligible.' 

' Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the 
subject to her ; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be 
giving anybody trouble.' 

* But, my dear child, the time is drawing near ; here is 
April, and June, or say even July, is very near, with such 
business to accomplish before us. Your inexperience really 
amuses me ! A situation such as you deserve, and your 
friends would require for you, is no everyday occurrence, is 
not obtained at a moment's notice ; indeed, indeed, we must 
begin inquiring directly.' 

* Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my intention ; 
I make no inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any 
made by my friends. When I am quite determined as to the 
time, I am not at all afraid of being long unemployed. There 
are places in town, offices, where inquiry would soon produce 
something — offices for the sale, not quite of human flesh, but 
of human intellect.' 

* Oh, my dear, human flesh ! You quite shock me ; if you 
mean a fling at the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was 
always rather a friend to the abolition.' 

* I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,' 
replied Jane ; ' governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I 
had in view ; widely different certainly as to the guilt of those 
who carry it on ; but as to the greater misery of the victims, I 
do not know where it lies. But I only mean to say that there 
are advertising offices, and that by applying to them I should 
have no doubt of very soon meeting with something that 
would do.' 

* Something that would do ! ' repeated Mrs. Elton. * Ay, 
tJiat may suit your humble ideas of yourself ; — I know what a 
modest creature you are ; but it will not satisfy your friends to 
have you taking up with anything that may offer, any inferior 

269 



EMMA 

commonplace situation, in a family not moving in a certain 
circle, or able to command the elegancies of life.' 

( You are very obliging ; but as to all that I am very indif- 
ferent ; it would be no object to me to be with the rich ; my 
mortifications, I think, would only be the greater ; I should 
suffer more from comparison. A gentleman's family is all 
that I should condition for.' 

£ I know you, I know you ; you would take up with any- 
thing ; but I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure the 
good Campbells will be quite on my side ; with your superior 
talents, you have a right to move in the first circle. Your 
musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name your own 
terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family 
as much as you chose ; — that is — I do not know — if you knew 
the harp, you might do all that, I am very sure ; but you sing 
as well as play ; — yes, I really believe you might, even without 
the harp, stipulate for what you chose ; — and you must and 
shall be delightfully, honourably and comfortably settled before 
the Campbells or I have any rest.' 

' You may well class the delight, the honour, and the com- 
fort of such a situation together,' said Jane, ' they are pretty 
sure to be equal ; however, I am very serious in not wishing 
anything to be attempted at present for me. I am exceedingly 
obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am obliged to anybody who feels 
for me, but I am quite serious in wishing nothing to be done 
till the summer. For two or three months longer I shall 
remain where I am, and as I am.' 

c And I am quite serious too, I assure you,' replied Mrs. 
Elton gaily, c in resolving to be always on the watch, and em- 
ploying my friends to watch also, that nothing really unex- 
ceptionable may pass us.' 

In this style she ran on ; never thoroughly stopped by any- 
thing till Mr. Woodhouse came into the room ; her vanity had 
then a change of object, and Emma heard her saying in the 
same half-whisper to Jane — 

1 Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest ! — Only 
think of his gallantry in coming away before the other men ! — 
what a dear creature he is ! — I assure you I like him excess- 
ively. I admire all that quaint, old-fashioned politeness ; it is 
much more to my taste than modern ease ; modern ease often 
disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you 

270 






EMMA 

had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh, I assure 
you I began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely 
jealous. I fancy I am rather a favourite ; he took notice of 
my gown. How do you like it ? Selina's choice — handsome, 
I think, but I do not know whether it is not over-trimmed ; I 
have the greatest dislike to the idea of being over-trimmed — 
quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments now, 
because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear 
like a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity ; a simple 
style of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am 
quite in the minority, I believe ; few people seem to value 
simplicity of dress, — show and finery are everything. I have 
some notion of putting such a trimming as this to my white 
and silver poplin. Do you think it will look well ? ' 

The whole party were but just re-assembled in the drawing- 
room when Mr. Weston made his appearance among them. 
He had returned to a late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as 
soon as it was over. He had been too much expected by 
the best judges, for surprise — but there was great joy. Mr. 
Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would 
have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was 
in mute astonishment. That a man who might have spent 
his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London, 
should set off again, and walk half-a-mile to another man's 
house, for the sake of being in mixed company till bed-time, of 
finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of 
numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man 
who had been in motion since eight o'clock in the morning, 
and might now have been still, — who had been long talking, 
and might have been silent, — who had been in more than one 
crowd, and might have been alone ! — Such a man, to quit the 
tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the 
evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the 
world ! — Could he, by a touch of his finger, have instantly 
taken back his wife, there would have been a motive ; but his 
coming would probably prolong rather than break up the party. 
John Kinghtley looked at him with amazement, then shrugged 
his shoulders, and said, * I could not have believed it even of 
kirn,* 

Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the 
indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and 

271 



EMMA 

with all the right of being principal talker, which a day spent 
anywhere from home confers, was making himself agreeable 
among the rest ; and having satisfied the inquiries of his wife 
as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all her careful 
directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread 
abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a 
family communication, which, though principally addressed to 
Mrs. Weston, he had not the smallest doubt of being highly 
interesting to everybody in the room. He gave her a letter — 
it was from Frank, and to herself; he had met with it in his 
way, and had taken the liberty of opening it. 

' Read it, read it, 3 said he, — * it will give you pleasure ; only 
a few lines — will not take you long ; read it to Emma.' 

The two ladies looked over it together ; and he sat smiling 
and talking to them the whole time, in a voice a little 
subdued, but very audible to everybody. 

' Well, he is coming, you see ; good news, I think. Well, 
what do you say to it ? I always told you he would be here 
again soon, did not I ? Anne, my dear, did not I always tell 
you so, and you would not believe me ? In town next week, 
you see — at the latest, I daresay ; for she is as impatient as 
the black gentleman when anything is to be done ; most 
likely they will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her 
illness, all nothing, of course. But it is an excellent thing to 
have Frank among us again, so near as town. They will 
stay a good while when they do come, and he will be half his 
time with us. This is precisely what I wanted. Well, pretty 
good news, is not it ? Have you finished it ? Has Emma 
read it all ? Put it up, put it up ; we will have a good talk 
about it some other time, but it will not do now. I shall 
only just mention the circumstance to the others in a common 
way.' 

Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. 
Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them. She was 
happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be 
happy. Her congratulations were warm and open ; but 
Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a little occupied 
in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the 
degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was 
considerable. 

Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too 
272 






EMMA 

communicative to want others to talk, was very well satisfied 
with what she did say, and soon moved away to make the rest 
of his friends happy by a partial communication of what the 
whole room must have overheard already. 

It was well that he took everybody's joy for granted, or 
he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. 
Knightley particularly delighted. They were the first entitled, 
after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made happy. From 
them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax ; but she was 
so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would 
have been too positive an interruption ; and, finding himself 
close to Mrs. Elton, and her attention disengaged, he neces- 
sarily began on the subject with her. 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

6 1 hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son 
to you/ said Mr. Weston. 

Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment 
intended her by such a hope, smiled most graciously. 

* You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,' 
he continued, * and know him to be my son, though he does 
not bear my name.' 

c Oh yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. 
I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on him ; and 
we shall both have great pleasure in seeing him at the 
Vicarage.' 

' You are very obliging. Frank will be extremely happy, 
I am sure. He is to be in town next week, if not sooner. 
We have notice of it in a letter to-day. I met the letters in 
my way this morning, and seeing my son's hand, presumed to 
open it, though it was not directed to me — it was to Mrs. 
Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I 
hardly ever get a letter.' 

' And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her ! 
Oh, Mr. Weston (laughing affectedly), I must protest against 
that. A most dangerous precedent indeed 1 I beg you will 
not let your neighbours follow your example. Upon my word, 
if this is what I am to expect, we married women must begin 
T 273 



EMMA 

to exert ourselves. Oh, Mr. Weston, I could not have 
believed it of you ! ' 

' Ay, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of 
yourself, Mrs. Elton. This letter tells us — it is a short letter 
— written in a hurry, merely to give us notice : it tells us that 
they are all coming up to town directly, on Mrs. Churchill's 
account : she has not been well the whole winter, and thinks 
Enscombe too cold for her ; so they are all to move south- 
ward without loss of time.' 

4 Indeed ! from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in 
Yorkshire ? ' 

1 Yes, they are about 1 90 miles from London : a consider- 
able journey.' 

1 Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles 
farther than from Maple Grove to London. But what is dis- 
tance, Mr. Weston, to people of large fortune ? You would be 
amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. Suckling, sometimes flies 
about. You will hardly believe me, but twice in one week he 
and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four 
horses.' 

4 The evil of the distance from Enscombe,' said Mr. Weston, 
' is, that Mrs. Churchill, as we understand, has not been able 
to leave the sofa for a week together. In Frank's last letter 
she complained, he said, of being too weak to get into her 
conservatory without having both his arm and his uncle's. 
This, you know, speaks a great degree of weakness ; but now 
she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to sleep only 
two nights on the road — so Frank writes word. Certainly, 
delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. 
Elton ; you must grant me that.' 

' No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take 
the part of my own sex ; I do indeed. I give you notice, you 
will find me a formidable antagonist on that point. I always 
stand up for women ; and I assure you, if you knew how 
Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you would not 
wonder at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible exertions to 
avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her ; and I believe 
I have caught a little of her nicety. She always travels with 
her own sheets ; an excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill 
do the same ? ' 

* Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does everything that any 
274 




' How my brother t Mr. Sucklings somethnts Jlies about: 



EMMA 

other fine lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be second 

to any lady in the land for ' 

Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with — 

* Oh, Mr. Weston, do not mis-take me. Selina is no fine 
lady, I assure you. Do not run away with such an idea.' 

* Is not she ? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who 
is as thorough a fine lady as anybody ever beheld.' 

Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in dis- 
claiming so warmly. It was by no means her object to have 
it believed that her sister was not a fine lady ; perhaps there 
was want of spirit in the pretence of it ; and she was consider- 
ing in what way she had best retract, when Mr. Weston 
went on. 

* Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you 
may suspect ; but this is quite between ourselves. She is very 
fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill of her. 
Besides, she is out of health now ; but that indeed, by her 
own account, she has always been. I would not say so to 
everybody, Mrs. Elton ; but I have not much faith in Mrs. 
Churchill's illness.' 

' If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston ? To 
Bath, or to Clifton ? ' 

' She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold 
for her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. 
She has now been a longer time stationary there than she ever 
was before, and she begins to want change. It is a retired 
place. A fine place, but very retired.' 

*Ay — like Maple Grove, I daresay. Nothing can stand 
more retired from the road than Maple Grove. Such an 
immense plantation all round it ! You seem shut out from 
everything — in the most complete retirement. And Mrs. 
Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy 
that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not have resources 
enough in herself to be qualified for a country life. I always 
say a woman cannot have too many resources — and I feel 
very thankful that I have so many myself as to be quite 
independent of society.' 

* Frank was here in February for a fortnight.' 

* So I remember to have heard. He will find an addition 
to the society of Highbury when he comes again ; that is, if I 
may presume to call myself an addition. But perhaps he 

276 



EMMA 

may never have heard of there being such a creature in the * 
world.' 

This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, 
and Mr. Weston, with a very good grace, immediately ex- 
claimed — 

* My dear madam ! Nobody but yourself could imagine 
such a thing possible. Not heard of you 1 I believe Mrs. 
Weston's letters lately have been full of very little else than 
Mrs. Elton.' 

He had done his duty, and could return to his son. 

' When Frank left us,' continued he, * it was quite uncertain 
when we might see him again, which makes this day's news 
doubly welcome. It has been completely unexpected. That 
is, /always had a strong persuasion he would be here again 
soon ; I was sure something favourable would turn up — but 
nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dread- 
fully desponding. " How could he contrive to come ? And 
how could it be supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare 
him again?" and so forth. I always felt that something 
would happen in our favour ; and so it has, you see. I have 
observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if things 
are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the 
next.' 

1 Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I 
used to say to a certain gentleman in company in the days of 
courtship, when, because things did not go quite right — did 
not proceed with all the rapidity which suited his feelings — he 
was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that he was sure at this 
rate it would be May before Hymen's saffron robe would be 
put on for us 1 Oh ! the pains I have been at to dispel those 
gloomy ideas, and give him cheerfuller views ! The carriage 
— we had disappointments about the carriage — one morning, 
I remember, he came to me quite in despair.' 

She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. 
Weston instantly seized the opportunity of going on. 

'You were mentioning May. May is the very month 
which Mrs. Churchill is ordered, or has ordered herself, to 
spend in some warmer place than Enscombe — in short, to 
spend in London ; so that we have the agreeable prospect of 
frequent visits from Frank the whole spring — precisely the 
season of the year which one should have chosen for it : days 

277 



EMMA 

almost at the longest ; weather genial and pleasant, always 
inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise. When he 
was here before, we made the best of it ; but there was a good 
deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather ; there always is in 
February, you know ; and we could not do half that we in- 
tended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoy- 
ment ; and I do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty 
of our meetings, the sort of constant expectation there will be 
of his coming in to-day or to-morrow, and at any hour, may 
not be more friendly to happiness than having him actually in 
the house. I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind 
which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be 
pleased with my son ; but you must not expect a prodigy. 
He is generally thought a fine young man, but do not expect 
a prodigy. Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very great, 
and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me. She thinks 
nobody equal to him.' 

'And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt 
that my opinion will be decidedly in his favour. I have 
heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank Churchill. At the 
same time it is fair to observe, that I am one of those who 
always judge for themselves, and are by no means implicitly 
guided by others. I give you notice, that as I find your son, 
so I shall judge of him. I am no flatterer.' 

Mr. Weston was musing. 

1 1 hope, 5 said he presently, i I have not been severe upon 
poor Mrs. Churchill. If she is ill, I should be sorry to do her 
injustice ; but there are some traits in her character which 
make it difficult for me to speak of her with the forbearance I 
could wish. You cannot be ignorant, Mrs. Elton, of my 
connection with the family, nor of the treatment I have met 
with ; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be 
laid to her. She was the instigator. Frank's mother would 
never have been slighted as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill 
has pride ; but his pride is nothing to his wife's ; his is a quiet, 
indolent, gentlemanlike sort of pride, that would harm nobody 
and only make himself a little helpless and tiresome ; but her 
pride is arrogance and insolence. And what inclines one less 
to bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood. She was 
nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of a gentle- 
man ; but ever since her being turned into a Churchill, she 

278 



EMMA 

has out-ChurchilPd them all in high and mighty claims : but 
in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart.' 

« Only think ! well, that must be infinitely provoking ! I 
have quite a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a 
thorough disgust to people of that sort ; for there is a family 
in that neighbourhood who are such an annoyance to my 
brother and sister from the airs they give themselves ! Your 
description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them directly. 
People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and 
encumbered with many low connections, but giving themselves 
immense airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old 
established families. A year and a half is the very utmost 
that they can have lived at West Hall ; and how they got 
their fortune nobody knows. They came from Birmingham, 
which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. 
One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say 
there is something direful in the sound : but nothing more is 
positively known of the Tupmans, though a good many things, 
I assure you, are suspected ; and yet by their manners they 
evidently think themselves equal even to my brother, Mr. 
Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest neighbours. 
It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven 
years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it 
before him — I believe, at least — I am almost sure that old 
Mr. Suckling had completed the purchase before his death. ' 

They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. 
Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the oppor- 
tunity of walking away. 

After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton, sat down 
with Mr. Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left 
to their own powers, and Emma doubted their getting on very 
well ; for Mr. Knightley seemed little disposed for conversa- 
tion ; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which nobody had 
inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of spirits 
which would have made her prefer being silent. 

Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. 
He was to leave them early the next day ; and he soon began 
with — 

' Well, Emma, I do not believe I have anything more to say 
about the boys ; but you have your sister's letter, and every- 
thing is down at full length there we may be sure. My charge 

279 



EMMA 

would be much more concise than hers, and probably not 
much in the same spirit ; all that I have to recommend being 
comprised in — Do not spoil them, and do not physic them.' 

' I rather hope to satisfy you both,' said Emma ; ' for I 
shall do all in my power to make them happy, which will be 
enough for Isabella ; and happiness must preclude false in- 
dulgence and physic.' 

* And if you find them troublesome, you must send them 
home again.' 

4 That is very likely. You think so, do not you ? ' 
' I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your 
father ; or even may be some incumbrance to you, if your visit- 
ing engagements continue to increase as much as they have 
done lately.' 

* Increase ! ' 

' Certainly ; you must be sensible that the last half-year has 
made a great difference in your way of life.' 

< Difference ! No, indeed I am not.' 

1 There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged 
with company than you used to be. Witness this very time. 
Here am I come down for only one day, and you are engaged 
with a dinner party ! When did it happen before ? or any- 
thing like it ? Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you 
mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella 
brought an account of fresh gaieties ; dinners at Mr. Cole's, or 
balls at the Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls 
alone, makes in your goings-on is very great' 

' Yes,' said his brother quickly ; * it Is Randalls that does 
it all.' 

' Very well ; and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to 
have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible 
thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be sometimes in the 
way. And if they are, I only beg you to send them home.' 

'No,' cried Mr. Knightley; 'that need not be the conse- 
quence. Let them be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be 
at leisure.' 

' Upon my word,' exclaimed Emma, ' you amuse me ! I 
should like to know how many of all my numerous engage- 
ments take place without your being of the party ; and why I 
am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to attend to 
the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine — what 

280 



EMMA 

have they been ? Dining once with the Coles, and having a 
ball talked of, which never took place. I can understand you 
— (nodding at Mr. John Knightley) — your good fortune in 
meeting with so many of your friends at once here delights 
you too much to pass unnoticed. — But you (turning to Mr. 
Knightley), who know how very, very seldom I am ever two 
hours from Hartfield — why you should foresee such a series of 
dissipation for me, I cannot imagine. And as to my dear 
little boys, I must say, that if aunt Emma has not time for 
them, 1 do not think they would fare much better with uncle 
Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where 
she is absent one ; and who, when he is at home, is either 
reading to himself or settling his accounts.' 

Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile : and 
succeeded without difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton's beginning to 
talk to him. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as 
to the nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank 
Churchill. She was soon convinced that it was not for herself 
she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed — it was for 
him. Her own attachment had really subsided into a mere 
nothing — it was not worth thinking of ; but if he, who had un- 
doubtedly been always so much the more in love of the two, 
were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which 
he had taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation 
of two months should not have cooled him, there were dangers 
and evils before her : caution for him and for herself would be 
necessary. She did not mean to have her own affections 
entangled again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid 
any encouragement of his. 

She wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute 
declaration. That would be so very painful a conclusion of 
their present acquaintance ; and yet, she could not help rather 
anticipating something decisive. She felt as if the spring 
would not pass without bringing a crisis, an event, a something 
to alter her present composed and tranquil state. 



EMMA 

It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston 
had foreseen, before she had the power of forming some opinion 
of Frank Churchill's feelings. The Enscombe family were 
not in town quite so soon as had been imagined, but he was 
at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down for a 
couple of hours ; he could not yet do more ; but as he came 
from Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise 
all her quick observation, and speedily determine how he was 
influenced, and how she must act. They met with the utmost 
friendliness. There could be no doubt of his great pleasure 
in seeing her. But she had an almost instant doubt of his 
caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tender- 
ness in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a 
clear thing he was less in love than he had been. Absence, 
with the conviction probably of her indifference, had produced 
this very natural and very desirable effect. 

He was in high spirits ; as ready to talk and laugh as ever ; 
and seemed delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur 
to old stories ; and he was not without agitation. It was not 
in his calmness that she read his comparative indifference. 
He was not calm ; his spirits were evidently fluttered ; there 
was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed a 
liveliness that did not satisfy himself : but what decided her 
belief on the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, 
and hurrying away to make other calls in Highbury. i He 
had seen a group of old acquaintance in the street as he passed 
— he had not stopped, he would not stop for more than a 
word — but he had the vanity to think they would be disap- 
pointed if he did not call ; and, much as he wished to stay 
longer at Hartfield he must hurry off.' 

She had no doubt as to his being less in love, but neither 
his agitated spirits nor his hurrying away seemed like a perfect 
cure ; and she was rather inclined to think it implied a dread 
of her returning power, and a discreet resolution of not trust- 
ing himself with her long. 

This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course 
of ten days. He was often hoping, intending, to come ; but 
was always prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him 
leave her. Such was his own account at Randalls. If he 
were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was to be in- 
ferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal to London had been of no 

282 



EMMA 

service to the wilful or nervous part of her disorder. That 
she was really ill was very certain ; he had declared himself 
convinced of it at Randalls. Though much might be fancy, 
he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a 
weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago. 
He did not believe it to proceed from anything that care and 
medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not 
have many years of existence before her ; but he could not be 
prevailed on, by all his father's doubts, to say that her com- 
plaints were merely imaginary, or that she was as strong as ever. 

It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. 
She could not endure its noise. Her nerves were under 
continual irritation and suffering ; and by the ten days' end, 
her nephew's letter to Randalls communicated a change of 
plan. They were going to remove immediately to Richmond. 
Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of 
an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the 
place. A ready -furnished house in a favourite spot was 
engaged, and much benefit expected from the change. 

Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this 
arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing 
of having two months before him of such near neighbourhood 
to many dear friends ; for the house was taken for May and 
June. She was told that now he wrote with the greatest con- 
fidence of being often with them, almost as often as he could 
even wish. 

Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous 
prospects. He was considering her as the source of all the 
happiness they offered. She hoped it was not so. Two 
months must bring it to proof. 

Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable. He was 
quite delighted. It was the very circumstance he could have 
wished for. Now, it would be really having Frank in their 
neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a young man ? — 
An hour's ride. He would be always coming over. The 
difference in that respect of Richmond and London was 
enough to make the whole difference of seeing him always 
and seeing him never. Sixteen miles — nay, eighteen — it 
must be full eighteen to Manchester Street — was a serious 
obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be 
spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in 

283 



EMMA 

having him in London ; he might as well be at Enscombe ; 
but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse. 
Better than nearer ! 

One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by 
this removal, — the ball at the Crown. It had not been for- 
gotten before ; but it had been soon acknowledged vain to 
attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was absolutely to be ; 
every preparation was resumed ; and very soon after the 
Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank, 
to say that his aunt felt already much better for the change, 
and that he had no doubt of being able to join them for 
twenty-four hours at any given time, induced them to name 
as early a day as possible. 

Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few 
to-morrows stood between the young people of Highbury and 
happiness. 

Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened 
the evil to him. May was better for everything than February. 
Mrs. Bates was engaged to spend the evening at Hartfield ; 
James had due notice, and he sanguinely hoped that neither 
dear little Henry nor dear little John would have anything the 
matter with them while dear Emma was gone. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

NO misfortune occurred again to prevent the ball. The day 
approached, the day arrived ; and, after a morning of some 
anxious watching, Frank Churchill, in all the certainty of his 
own self, reached Randalls before dinner, and everything was 
safe. 

No second meeting had there yet been between him and 
Emma. The room at the Crown was to witness it ; but it 
would be better than a common meeting in a crowd. Mr. 
Weston had been so very earnest in his entreaties for her 
early attendance, for her arriving there as soon as possible 
after themselves, for the purpose of taking her opinion as to 
the propriety and comfort of the rooms before any other person 
came, that she could not refuse him, and must therefore spend 

284 



EMMA 

some quiet interval in the young man's company. She was to 
convey Harriet, and they drove to the Crown in good time, the 
Randalls party just sufficiently before them. 

Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch ; and 
though he did not say much, his eyes declared that he meant 
to have a delightful evening. They all walked about together, 
to see that everything was as it should be ; and within a few 
minutes were joined by the contents of another carriage, which 
Emma could not hear the sound of at first without great 
surprise. ' So unreasonably early ! ' she was going to exclaim ; 
but she presently found that it was a family of old friends, 
who were coming, like herself, by particular desire, to help 
Mr. Weston's judgment ; and they were so very closely followed 
by another carriage of cousins, who had been entreated to come 
early with the same distinguishing earnestness, on the same 
errand, that it seemed as if half the company might soon be 
collected together for the purpose of preparatory inspection. 

Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on 
which Mr. Weston depended, and felt, that to be the favourite 
and intimate of a man who had so many intimates and con- 
fidants, was not the very first distinction in the scale of vanity. 
She liked his open manners, but a little less of open-heartedness 
would have made him a higher character. — General benevo- 
lence, but not general friendship, made a man what he ought 
to be. — She could fancy such a man. 

The whole party walked about, and looked, and praised 
again ; and then, having nothing else to do, formed a sort of 
half-circle round the fire, to observe in their various modes, 
till other subjects were started, that, though May, a fire in the 
evening was still very pleasant. 

Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston's fault that the 
number of privy counsellors was not yet larger. They had 
stopped at Mrs. Bates's door to offer the use of their carriage, 
but the aunt and niece were to be brought by the Eltons. 

Frank was standing by her, but not steadily ; there was 
a restlessness, which showed a mind not at ease. He was 
looking about, he was going to the door, he was watching for 
the sound of other carriages, — impatient to begin, or afraid of 
being always near her. 

Mrs. Elton was spoken of. * I think she must be here 
soon,' said he, ' I have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton, 

285 



EMMA 

I have heard so much of hen It cannot be long, I think, 
before she comes.' 

A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately ; 
but coming back, said — 

* I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I 
have never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no business 
to put myself forward.' 

Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared ; and all the smiles and the 
proprieties passed. 

* But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax ! ' said Mr. Weston, 
looking about. ' We thought you were to bring them.' 

The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for 
them now. Emma longed to know what Frank's first opinion 
of Mrs. Elton might be ; how he was affected by the studied 
elegance of her dress, and her smiles of graciousness. He 
was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion, by 
giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had 
passed. 

In a few minutes the carriage returned. — Somebody talked 
of rain. — ' I will see that there are umbrellas, sir,' said Frank to 
his father : ' Miss Bates must not be forgotten ' : and away he 
went. Mr. Weston was following ; but Mrs. Elton detained 
him, to gratify him by her opinion of his son ; and so briskly 
did she begin, that the young man himself, though by no 
means moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing. 

* A very fine young man, indeed ? Mr. Weston. You know 
I candidly told you I should form my own opinion ; and I 
am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with him. You 
may believe «me. I never compliment. I think him a very 
handsome young man, and his manners are precisely what 
I like and approve, — so truly the gentleman, without the 
least conceit or puppyism. You must know I have a vast 
dislike to puppies — quite a horror of them. They were 
never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr. Suckling nor 
me had ever any patience with them ; and we used sometimes 
to say very cutting things. Selina, who is mild almost to a 
fault, bore with them much better.' 

While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston's attention was 
chained ; but when she got to Maple Grove, he could recol- 
lect that there were ladies just arriving to be attended to, 
and with happy smiles must hurry away. 

286 



EMMA 

Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. ' I have no doubt of 
its being our carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coach- 
man and horses are so extremely expeditious ! I believe we 
drive faster than anybody. What a pleasure it is to send one's 
carriage for a friend ! I understand you were so kind as to 
offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary. You may 
be very sure I shall always take care of tketn? 

Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentle- 
men, walked into the room ; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think 
it as much her duty as Mrs. Weston's to receive them. Her 
gestures and movements might be understood by any one who 
looked on like Emma ; but her words, everybody's words, 
were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who 
came in talking, and had not finished her speech under many 
minutes after her being admitted into the circle at the fire. 
As the door opened she was heard — 

i So very obliging of you ! — No rain at all. Nothing to 
signify. I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And 
Jane declares — Well ! (as soon as she was within the door), 
well ! This is brilliant indeed ! This is admirable ! Excel- 
lently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could 
not have imagined it. So well lighted up ! Jane, Jane, look ! 
did you ever see anything ? Oh, Mr. Weston, you must 
really have had Aladdin's lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would 
not know her own room again. I saw her as I came in ; she 
was standing in the entrance. " Oh, Mrs. Stokes," said I — 
but I had not time for more.' She was now met by Mrs. 
Weston. * Very well, I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are 
quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might have 
a headache ! seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how 
much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed. — 
Ah ! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage ; 
excellent time ; Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the 
horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage. Oh ! and I 
am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that 
score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we 
should have been. But two such offers in one day ! Never 
were such neighbours. I said to my mother, "Upon my 
word, ma'am." Thank you, my mother is remarkably well. 
Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl, — for 
the evenings are not warm, — her large new shawl, Mrs. Dixon's 

287 




* Well! This is brilliant indeed I ' 



EMMA 

wedding present. So kind of her to think of my mother ! 
Bought at Weymouth, you know ; Mr. Dixon's choice. There 
were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some 
time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive. — My dear 
Jane, are you sure you did not wet your feet ? It was but a 
drop or two, but I am so afraid : but Mr. Frank Churchill was 
so extremely — and there was a mat to step upon. I shall 
never forget his extreme politeness. Oh, Mr. Frank Church- 
hill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been 
in fault since ; the rivet never came out again. My mother 
often talks of your good-nature : does not she, Jane ? Do not 
we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill ? Ah ! here's Miss 
Woodhouse. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do ? Very 
well I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite in fairy- 
land. Such a transformation. Must not compliment, I know 
(eyeing Emma most complacently) — that would be rude ; but 
upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look — how do you 
like Jane's hair ? You are a judge. She did it all herself. 
Quite wonderful how she does her hair ! No hairdresser from 
London, I think, could. — Ah! Dr. Hughes, I declare — and Mrs. 
Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a 
moment. How do you do ? How do you do ? Very well, I 
thank you. This is delightful, is not it ? Where's dear Mr. 
Richard ? Oh, there he is. Don't disturb him. Much 
better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, 
Mr. Richard ? I saw you the other day as you rode through 
the town. Mrs. Otway, I protest ! and good Mr. Otway, and 
Miss Otway, and Miss Caroline. Such a host of friends ! and 
Mr. George and Mr. Arthur ! How do you do ? How do 
you all do ? Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never 
better. Don't I hear another carriage ? Who can this be ? 
— very likely the worthy Coles. Upon my word, this is 
charming, to be standing about among such friends ! And 
such a noble fire ! I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank 
you, for me ; never take coffee. A little tea, if you please, 
sir, by and by, no hurry. Oh, here it comes. Everything 
so good ! ' 

Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma ; and as 

soon as Miss Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily 

overhearing the discourse of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, 

who were standing a little way behind her. He was thought- 

U 289 



EMMA 

ful. Whether he were overhearing too, she could not deter- 
mine. After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress 
and look, — compliments very quietly and properly taken, — 
Mrs. Elton was evidently wanting to be complimented herself 
— and it was, { How do you like my gown ? — How do you like 
my trimming ? — How has Wright done my hair ? ' with many 
other relative questions, all answered with patient politeness. 
Mrs. Elton then said — 

* Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do : but 
upon such an occasion as this, when everybody's eyes are so 
much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons, who I 
have no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me honour, — 
I would not wish to be inferior to others : and I see very few 
pearls in the room except mine. — So, Frank Churchill is a 
capital dancer, I understand. We shall see if our styles suit. 
— A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill. I like him 
very well.' 

At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously that 
Emma could not but imagine he had overheard his own praises, 
and did not want to hear more ; — and the voices of the ladies 
were drowned for awhile, till another suspension brought Mrs. 
Elton's tones again distinctly forward. Mr. Elton had just 
joined them, and his wife was exclaiming — 

4 Oh ! you have found us out at last, have you, in our 
seclusion ? — I was this moment telling Jane, I thought you 
would begin to be impatient for tidings of us.' 

' Jane ! ' repeated Frank Churchill with a look of surprise 
and displeasure. 'That is easy; but Miss Fairfax does not 
disapprove it, I suppose.' 

' How do you like Mrs. Elton ? ' said Emma in a whisper. 

* Not at all' 

' You are ungrateful.' 

c Ungrateful ! — What do you mean ? ' Then changing from 
a frown to a smile, — { No, do not tell me, — I do not want to 
know what you mean. Where is my father ? When are we 
to begin dancing ? ' 

Emma could hardly understand him : he seemed in an odd 
humour. He walked off to find his father, but was quickly 
back again with both Mr. and Mrs. Weston. He had met with 
them in a little perplexity, which must be laid before Emma. 
It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton must be 

290 



EMMA 

asked to begin the ball ; that she would expect it ; which 
interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction ; 
Emma heard the sad truth with fortitude. 

* And what are we to do for a proper partner for her ? ' said 
Mr. Weston. ' She will think Frank ought to ask her.' 

Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former 
promise ; and boasted himself an engaged man, which his 
father looked his most perfect approbation of — and it then 
appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him to dance with 
Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help to 
persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon. Mr. 
Weston and Mrs. Elton led the way ; Mr. Frank Churchill 
and Miss Woodhouse followed. Emma must submit to stand 
second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always considered the 
ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost enough to make her 
think of marrying. 

Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, 
in vanity completely gratified ; for though she had intended 
to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the 
change. Mr. Weston might be his son's superior. In spite 
of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with enjoyment, 
delighted to see the respectable length of the set as it was 
forming, and to feel that she had so many hours of unusual 
festivity before her. She was more disturbed by Mr. 
Knightley's not dancing, than by anything else. There he 
was, among the standers-by, where he ought not to be ; he 
ought to be dancing, — not classing himself with the husbands, 
and fathers, and whist-players, who were pretending to feel an 
interest in the dance till their rubbers were made up, — so 
young as he looked ! He could not have appeared to greater 
advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he had placed 
himself. His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms 
and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma 
felt must draw everybody's eyes ; and, excepting her own 
partner, there was not one among the whole row of young 
men who could be compared with him. He moved a few steps 
nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in how 
gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must 
have danced, would he but take the trouble. Whenever she 
caught his eye, she forced him to smile ; but in general he was 
looking grave. She wished he could love a ball-room better, 

291 




Among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders. 



EMMA 

and could like Frank Churchill better. He seemed often 
observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought of 
her dancing ; but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did 
not feel afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her 
and her partner. They seemed more like cheerful easy friends 
than lovers. That Frank Churchill thought less of her than 
he had done was indubitable. 

The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the 
incessant attentions, of Mrs. Weston were not thrown away. 
Everybody seemed happy ; and the praise of being a delight- 
ful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after a ball has ceased 
to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning of the 
existence of this. Of very important, very recordable events, 
it was not more productive than such meetings usually are. 
There was one, however, which Emma thought something 
of. — The two last dances before supper were begun, and 
Harriet had no partner ; — the only young lady sitting down ; 
— and so equal had been hitherto the number of dancers, that 
how there could be any one disengaged was the wonder. But 
Emma's wonder lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. 
Elton sauntering about. He would not ask Harriet to dance if 
it were possible to be avoided : she was sure he would not — 
and she was expecting him every moment to escape into the 
card-room. 

Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part 
of the room where the sitters -by were collected, spoke to 
some, and walked about in front of them, as if to show his 
liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it. He did not omit 
being sometimes, directly before Miss Smith, or speaking to 
those who were close to her. Emma saw it. She was not 
yet dancing ; she was working her way up from the bottom, 
and had therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning 
her head a little she saw it all. When she was half-way up 
the set, the whole group were exactly behind her, and she 
would no longer allow her eyes to watch ; but Mr. Elton was 
so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue which just 
then took place between him and Mrs. Weston ; and she 
perceived that his wife, who was standing immediately above 
her, was not only listening also, but even encouraging him by 
significant glances. The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston 
had left her seat to join him and say, * Do not you dance, Mr. 

293 



EMMA 

Elton ? 3 to which his j^rompt reply was, ' Most readily, Mrs. 
Weston, if you will dance with me. 5 

'Me! — oh no — I would get you a better partner than 
myself. I am no dancer.' 

* If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance,' said he, ' I shall have 
great pleasure, I am sure ; for, though beginning to feel my- 
self rather an old married man, and that my dancing days are 
over, it would give me very great pleasure at any time to stand 
up with an old friend like Mrs. Gilbert.' 

( Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young 
lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing 
— Miss Smith.' 

6 Miss Smith — oh! — I had not observed. You are 
extremely obliging — and if I were not an old married man, — 
but my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. You will excuse 
me. Anything else I should be most happy to do, at your 
command — but my dancing days are over.' 

Mrs. Weston said no more ; and Emma could imagine 
with what surprise and mortification she must be returning to 
her seat. This was Mr. Elton ! the amiable, obliging, gentle 
Mr. Elton. She looked round for a moment ; he had joined 
Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself 
for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed 
between him and his wife. 

She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and 
she feared her face might be as hot. 

In another moment a happier sight caught her — Mr. 
Knightley leading Harriet to the set ! — Never had she been 
more surprised, seldom more delighted, than at that instant. 
She was all pleasure and gratitude, both for Harriet and her- 
self, and longed to be thanking him ; and though too distant 
for speech, her countenance said much, as soon as she could 
catch his eye again. 

His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, 
extremely good ; and Harriet would have seemed almost too 
lucky, if it had not been for the cruel state of things before, 
and for the very complete enjoyment and very high sense of 
the distinction which her happy features announced. It was 
not thrown away on her ; she bounded higher than ever, flew 
farther down the middle, and was in a continual course of 
smiles. 

294 









EMMA 

Mr. Elton had retreated into the card -room, looking 
(Emma trusted) very foolish. She did not think he was quite 
so hardened as his wife, though growing very like her : she 
spoke some of her feelings, by observing audibly to her 
partner — 

c Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith ! — 
Very good-natured, I declare.' 

Supper was announced. The move began ; and Miss 
Bates might be heard from that moment without interruption, 
till her being seated at table and taking up her spoon. 

1 Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you ? Here is your 
tippet. Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She 
says she is afraid there will be draughts in the passage, though 
everything has been done — one door nailed up — quantities of 
matting — my dear Jane, indeed you must. Mr. Churchill, 
oh! you are too obliging! — How well you put it on! — so 
gratified ! Excellent dancing indeed ! — Yes, my dear, I ran 
home, as I said I should, to help grandmamma to bed, and 
got back again, and nobody missed me. I set off without 
saying a word, just as I told you. Grandmamma was quite 
well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast 
deal of chat, and backgammon. Tea was made downstairs, 
biscuits and baked apples and wine before she came away : 
amazing luck in some of her throws : and she inquired a great 
deal about you, how you were amused, and who were your 
partners. " Oh ! " said I, " I shall not forestall Jane ; I left 
her dancing with Mr. George Otway ; she will love to tell you 
all about it herself to-morrow : her first partner was Mr. 
Elton ; I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr. 
William Cox." My dear sir, you are too obliging. Is there 
nobody you would not rather ? — I am not helpless. Sir, you 
are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and me on 
the other ! Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton 
is going ; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks — beautiful 
lace ! — Now we all follow in her train. Quite the queen of 
the evening ! — Well, here we are at the passage. Two steps, 
Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh no, there is but one. 
Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd ! I 
was convinced there were two, and there is but one. I never 
saw anything equal to the comfort and style — candles every- 
where. I was telling you of your grandmamma, Jane, — there 

295 



EMMA 

was a little disappointment. The baked apples and biscuits, 
excellent in their way, you know ; but there was a delicate 
fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at first, 
and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite 
boiled enough, sent it all out again. Now there is nothing 
grandmamma loves better than sweetbread and asparagus — so 
she was rather disappointed ; but we agreed we would not 
speak of it to anybody, for fear of its getting round to dear 
Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much concerned ! — 
Well, this is brilliant ! I am all amazement ! — could not have 
supposed anything ! — such elegance and profusion ! I have 
seen nothing like it since — Well, where shall we sit ? Where 
shall we sit ? Anywhere, so that Jane is not in a draught. 
Where / sit is of no consequence. Oh, do you recommend 
this side ? Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill — only it seems too 
good — but just as you please. What you direct in this house 
cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect 
half the dishes for grandmamma ? Soup too ! Bless me ! I 
should not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, and 
I cannot help beginning.' 

Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley 
till after supper; but, when they were all in the ball-room 
again, her eyes invited him irresistibly to come to her and be 
thanked. He was warm in his reprobation of Mr. Elton's 
conduct ; it had been unpardonable rudeness : and Mrs. 
Elton's looks also received the due share of censure. 

' They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,' said he. 
' Emma, why is it that they are your enemies ? ' 

He looked with smiling penetration ; and, on receiving no 
answer, added, c S/te ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, 
whatever he may be. — To that surmise you say nothing, of 
course : but confess, Emma, that you did want him to marry 
Harriet.' 

' I did,' replied Emma, £ and they cannot forgive me.' 

He shook his head ; but there was a smile of indulgence 
with it, and he only said — 

' I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections.' 

' Can you trust me with such flatterers ? Does my vain 
spirit ever tell me I am wrong ? ' 

* Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit. If one leads 
you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it.' 

296 






EMMA 

* I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. 
Elton. There is a littleness about him which you discovered, 
and which I did not : and I was fully convinced of his being 
in love with Harriet. It was through a series of strange 
blunders ! * 

* And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do 
you the justice to say that you would have chosen for him 
better than he has chosen for himself. Harriet Smith has 
some first-rate qualities, which Mrs. El^on is totally without. 
An unpretending, single-minded, artless girl — infinitely to be 
preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a woman 
as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than 1 
expected.' 

Emma was extremely gratified. They were interrupted 
by the bustle of Mr. Weston calling on everybody to begin 
dancing again. 

* Come, Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what 
are you all doing ? Come, Emma, set your companions the 
example. Everybody is lazy ! Everybody is asleep ! ' 

' I am ready,' said Emma, ' whenever I am wanted.' 

* Whom are you going to dance with?' asked Mr. Knightley. 
She hesitated a moment, and then replied, 'With you, if 

you will ask me.' 

' Will you ? ' said he, offering his hand. 

c Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance, and 
you know we are not really so much brother and sister as to 
make it at all improper.' 

* Brother and sister ! — no indeed.' 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma con- 
siderable pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections 
of the ball, which she walked about the lawn the next morning 
to enjoy. She was extremely glad that the/ had come to so 
good an understanding respecting the Eltons, and that their 
opinions of both husband and wife were so much alike ; and 
his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was 

297 



EMMA 

peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which 
for a few minutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her even- 
ing, had been the occasion of some of its highest satisfactions ; 
and she looked forward to another happy result — the cure of 
Harriet's infatuation. From Harriet's manner of speaking of 
the circumstance before they quitted the ball-room, she had 
strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, 
and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the 
superior creature she had believed him. The fever was over, 
and Emma could harbour little fear of the pulse being 
quickened again by injurious courtesy. She depended on the 
evil feelings of the Eltons for supplying all the discipline of 
pointed neglect that could be further requisite. Harriet 
rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and Mr. 
Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her ; how very happy 
a summer must be before her ! 

She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had 
told her that he could not allow himself the pleasure of stop- 
ping at Hartfield, as he was to be at home by the middle of 
the day. She did not regret it. 

Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, 
and put them all to rights, she was just turning to the house, 
with spirits freshened up for the demands of the two little boys, 
as well as of their grandpapa, when the great iron sweep-gate 
opened, and two persons entered whom she had never less 
expected to see together — Frank Churchill, with Harriet 
leaning on his arm — actually Harriet ! A moment sufficed to 
convince her that something extraordinary had happened. 
Harriet looked white and frightened, and he was trying to 
cheer her. The iron gates and the front door were not twenty 
yards asunder : — they were all three soon in the hall ; and 
Harriet, immediately sinking into a chair, fainted away. 

A young lady who faints must be recovered ; questions 
must be answered, and surprises be explained. Such events 
are very interesting ; but the suspense of them cannot last 
long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted with the whole. 

Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder 
at Mrs. Goddard's, who had been also at the ball, had walked 
out together, and taken a road — the Richmond road, which, 
though apparently public enough for safety, had led them into 
alarm. About half a mile beyond Highbury, making a sudden 

298 



EMMA 

turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became for a 
considerable stretch very retired ; and when the young ladies 
had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly perceived, 
at a small distance before them, on a broader patch of green- 
sward by the side, a party of gipsies. A child on the watch 
came towards them to beg ; and Miss Bickerton, excessively 
frightened, gave a great scream, and calling on Harriet to 
follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at the 
top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to 
Highbury. But poor Harriet could not follow. She had 
suffered very much from cramp after dancing, and her first 
attempt to mount the bank brought on such a return of it as 
made her absolutely powerless ; and in this state, and exceed- 
ingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain. 

How the trampers might have behaved, had the young 
ladies been more courageous, must be doubtful ; but such an 
invitation for attack could not be resisted ; and Harriet was 
soon assailed by half a dozen children, headed by a stout 
woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent in 
look, though not absolutely in word. More and more 
frightened, she immediately promised them money, and 
taking out her purse, gave them a shilling, and begged them 
not to want more, or to use her ill. She was then able to 
walk, though but slowly, and was moving away — but her terror 
and her purse were too tempting ; and she was followed, or 
rather surrounded, by the whole gang, demanding more. 

In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling 
and conditioning, they loud and insolent. By a most fortunate 
chance, his leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring 
him to her assistance at this critical moment. The pleasant- 
ness of the morning had induced him to walk forward, and 
leave his horses to meet him by another road, a mile or two 
beyond Highbury ; and happening to have borrowed a pair of 
scissors the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten 
to restore them, he had been obliged to stop at her door, and 
go in for a few minutes : he was therefore later than he had 
intended ; and being on foot, was unseen by the whole party 
till almost close to them. The terror which the woman and 
boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own portion. 
He had left them completely frightened ; and Harriet, eagerly 
clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength 

299 




Harriet was soon assailed. 



EMMA 

enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite over- 
come. It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield ; he had 
thought of no other place. 

This was the amount of the whole story, — of his communi- 
cation and of Harriet's, as soon as she had recovered her 
senses and speech. He dared not stay longer than to see her 
well ; these several delays left him not another minute to lose ; 
and Emma engaging to give assurance of her safety to Mrs. 
Goddard, and notice of there being such a set of people in the 
neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he set off, with all the grate- 
ful blessings that she could utter for her friend and herself. 

Such an adventure as this, — a fine young man and a lovely 
young woman thrown together in such a way, — could hardly 
fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the 
steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at least. Could a linguist, 
could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have seen 
what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and 
heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had 
been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each 
other ? How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be 
on fire with speculation and foresight ! — especially with such a 
ground-work of anticipation as her mind had already made. 

It was a very extraordinary thing ! Nothing of the sort 
had ever occurred before to any young ladies in the place, 
within her memory ; no rencontre, no alarm of the kind : and 
now it had happened to the very person, and at the very hour, 
when the other very person was chancing to pass by to rescue 
her ! It certainly was very extraordinary ! And knowing, as 
she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this period, it 
struck her the more. He was wishing to get the better of his 
attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for 
Mr. Elton. It seemed as if everything united to promise the 
most interesting consequences. It was not possible that the 
occurrence should not be strongly recommending each to the 
other. 

In the few minutes' conversation which she had yet had 
with him, while Harriet had been partially insensible, he had 
spoken of her terror, her naivety her fervour as she seized and 
clung to his arm, with a sensibility amused and delighted ; 
and just at last, after Harriet's own account had been given, 
he had expressed his indignation at the abominable folly of 

301 



EMMA 

Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Everything was to 
take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted. 
She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No, she had had 
enough of interference. There could be no harm in a scheme, 
a mere passive scheme. It was no more than a wish. Beyond 
it she would on no account proceed. 

Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the 
knowledge of what had passed, aware of the anxiety and alarm 
it would occasion : but she soon felt that concealment must 
be impossible. Within half an hour it was known all over 
Highbury. It was the very event to engage those who talk 
most, the young and the low ; and all the youth and servants 
in the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. 
The last night's ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. 
Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as Emma had foreseen, 
would scarcely be satisfied without their promising never to go 
beyond the shrubbery again. It was some comfort to him 
that many inquiries after himself and Miss Woodhouse (for 
his neighbours knew that he loved to be inquired after), as 
well as Miss Smith, were coming in during the rest of the 
day ; and he had the pleasure of returning for answer that 
they were all very indifferent ; which, though not exactly true, 
for she was perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, 
Emma would not interfere with. She had an unhappy state 
of health in general for the child of such a man, for she hardly 
knew what indisposition was ; and if he did not invent illnesses 
for her, she could make no figure in a message. 

The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice ; they 
took themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury 
might have walked again in safety before their panic began, 
and the whole history dwindled soon into a matter of little 
importance but to Emma and her nephews : in her imagi- 
nation it maintained its ground ; and Henry and John were 
still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the gipsies, 
and still tenaciously setting her right if she varied in the 
slightest particular from the original recital. 



302 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XL 

A very few days had passed after this adventure, when 
Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel in 
her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus began : — 

* Miss Woodhouse — if you are at leisure, I have something 
that I should like to tell you ; a sort of confession to make — 
and then, you know, it will be over.' 

Emma was a good deal surprised ; but begged her to 
speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet's manner which 
prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something more 
than ordinary. 

' It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,' she con- 
tinued, * to have no reserves with you on this subject. As I 
am, happily, quite an altered creature in one respect^ it is very 
fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing it. I do 
not want to say more than is necessary : I am too much 
ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I daresay 
you understand me.' 

'Yes,' said Emma, ' I hope I do.' 

' How I could so long a time be fancying myself ' cried 

Harriet warmly. * It seems like madness ! I can see nothing 
at all extraordinary in him now. I do not care whether I meet 
him or not, except that, of the two, I had rather not see him ; 
and, indeed, I would go any distance round to avoid him ; but 
I do not envy his wife in the least : I neither admire her nor 
envy her, as I have done. She is very charming, I daresay, 
and all that ; but I think her very ill-tempered and disagree- 
able : I shall never forget her look the other night. However, 
I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No ; let 
them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another 
moment's pang ; and, to convince you that I have been speak- 
ing truth, I am now going to destroy — what I ought to have 
destroyed long ago — what I ought never to have kept : I 
know that very well (blushing as she spoke). However, now 
I will destroy it all ; and it is my particular wish to do it in 
your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown. 

303 



EMMA 

Cannot you guess what this parcel holds ? ' said she, with a 
conscious look. 

' Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you any- 
thing ? ' 

< No — I cannot call them gifts ; but they are things that I 
have valued very much.' 

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the 
words ( Most precious treasures ' on the top. Her curiosity 
was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she 
looked on with impatience. Within abundance of silver paper 
was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened : 
it was well lined with the softest cotton ; but, excepting the 
cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister. 

* Now,' said Harriet, ' you must recollect.' 

4 No, indeed, I do not.' 

< Dear me ! I should not have thought it possible you could 
forget what passed in this very room about court-plaister, one 
of the very last times we ever met in it. It was but a very 
few days before I had my sore throat — just before Mr. and 
Mrs. John Knightley came ; I think the very evening. Do 
not you remember his cutting his finger with your new pen- 
knife, and your recommending court-plaister ? But, as you 
had none about you, and knew I had, yon desired me to 
supply him ; and so I took mine out, and cut him a piece ; 
but it was a great deal too large, and he cut it smaller, and 
kept playing some time with what was left before he gave it 
back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help 
making a treasure of it ; so I put it by, never to be used, and 
looked at it now and then as a great treat.' 

1 My dearest Harriet ! ' cried Emma, putting her hand 
before her face, and jumping up, i you make me more 
ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it ? Ay, 
I remember it all now ; all, except your saving this relic : I 
knew nothing of that till this moment, — but the cutting the 
finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had 
none about me. — Oh ! my sins, my sins ! — And I had plenty 
all the while in my pocket ! One of my senseless tricks. I 
deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life. 
— Well (sitting down again), go on ; what else ? ' 

' And had you really some at hand yourself ? I am sure I 
never suspected it, you did it so naturally.' 

304 






EMMA 

* And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for 
his sake,' said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and 
feeling, divided between wonder and amusement ; and secretly 
she added to herself, * Lord bless me I when should I ever 
have thought of putting by in cotton a piece of court-plaister 
that Frank Churchill had been pulling about ! I never was 
equal to this.' 

' Here,' resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, * here 
is something still more valuable, — I mean that has been more 
valuable, — because this is what did really once belong to him, 
which the court-plaister never did.' 

Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It 
was the end of an old pencil, the part without any lead. 

' This was really his,' said Harriet. * Do not you re- 
member one morning ? — no, I daresay you do not. But one 
morning — I forget exactly the day, — but perhaps it was the 
Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening y he wanted to 
make a memorandum in his pocket-book ; it was about spruce 
beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about 
brewing spruce beer, and he wanted to put it down ; but when 
he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut 
it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and 
this was left upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept 
my eye on it ; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and 
never parted with it again from that moment.* 

' I do remember it,' cried Emma ; * I perfectly remember 
it. Talking about spruce beer. Oh yes. Mr. Knightley 
and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton's seeming re- 
solved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it. — Stop ; 
Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he ? I have an 
idea he was standing just here.' 

1 Ah ! I do not know. I cannot recollect. It is very odd, 
but I cannot recollect. Mr. Elton was sitting here, I re- 
member, much about where I am now.' 

'Well, go on. 5 

' Oh ! that's all. I have nothing more to show you, or to 
say, except that I am now going to throw them both behind 
the fire, and I wish you to see me do it.' 

* My poor dear Harriet ! and have you actually found 
happiness in treasuring up these things ? ' 

* Yes, simpleton as I was ! — but I am quite ashamed of it 

x 305 



EMMA 

now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It 
was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances 
after he was married. I knew it was — but had not resolution 
enough to part with them.' 

* But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister ? I 
have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the 
court-plaister might be useful.' 

* I shall be happier to burn it,' replied Harriet. * It has 
a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of everything. 
There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven ! of Mr. 
Elton.' 

* And when,' thought Emma, * will there be a beginning of 
Mr. Churchill?' 

She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the begin- 
ning was already made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, 
though she had told no fortune, might be proved to have made 
Harriet's. About a fortnight after the alarm, they came to a 
sufficient explanation, and quite undesignedly. Emma was 
not thinking of it at the moment, which made the information 
she received more valuable. She merely said, in the course of 
some trivial chat, 'Well, Harriet, whenever you marry, I 
would advise you to do so and so ' — and thought no more of 
it, till after a minute's silence she heard Harriet say, in a very 
serious tone, * I shall never marry.' 

Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was ; 
and after a moment's debate, as to whether it should pass 
unnoticed or not, replied — 

' Never marry !— This is a new resolution.' 

* It is one that I never shall change, however.' 

After another short hesitation, * I hope it does not proceed 
from I hope it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton ?' 

'Mr. Elton, indeed!' cried Harriet indignantly. — 'Oh 
no ' — and Emma could just catch the words, ' so superior to 
Mr. Elton.' 

She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she 
proceed no further ; — should she let it pass, and seem to 
suspect nothing ? — Perhaps Harriet might think her cold or 
angry if she did ; or, perhaps, if she were totally silent, it might 
only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too much ; and 
against anything like such an unreserve as had been, such an 
open and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was 

306 






EMMA 

perfectly resolved. She believed it would be wiser for her to 
say and know at once all that she meant to say and know. 
Plain dealing was always best. She had previously determined 
how far she would proceed, on any application of the sort ; 
and it would be safer for both to have the judicious law of her 
own brain laid down with speed. She was decided, and thus 
spoke — 

' Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. 
Your resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, 
results from an idea that the person whom you might prefer 
would be too greatly your superior in situation to think of you. 
Is not it so ?' 

'Oh, Miss Woodhouse, believe me, I have not the pre- 
sumption to suppose, — indeed I am not so mad. But it is a 
pleasure to me to admire him at a distance, and to think of 
his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world, with the 
gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so proper, in me 
especially.' 

1 1 am not at all surprised at you, Harriet. The service he 
rendered you was enough to warm your heart.' 

' Service ! oh, it was such an inexpressible obligation ! 
The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time, when 
I saw him coming, — his noble look, and my wretchedness 
before. Such a change ! In one moment such a change ! 
From perfect misery to perfect happiness ! ' 

( It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable. 
Yes, honourable, I think, to choose so well and so gratefully. 
But that it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can 
promise. I do not advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I 
do not by any means engage for its being returned. Consider 
what you are about. Perhaps it will be wisest in you to check 
your feelings while you can : at any rate do not let them carry 
you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be 
observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your 
sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall never 
speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against 
all interference. Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. 
Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before ; 
we will be cautious now. He is your superior, no doubt, and 
there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious 
nature ; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken 

307 



EMMA 

place ; there have been matches of greater disparity. But 
take care of yourself. I would not have you too sanguine ; 
though, however it may end, be assured that your raising your 
thoughts to him is a mark of good taste which I shall always 
know how to value.' 

Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. 
Emma was very decided in thinking such an attachment no 
bad thing for her friend. Its tendency would be to raise and 
refine her mind — and it must be saving her from the danger of 
degradation. 



CHAPTER XLI 

In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June 
opened upon Hartfield. To Highbury, in general, it brought 
no material change. The Eltons were still talking of a visit 
from the Sucklings, and of the use to be made of their 
barouche-landau ; and Jane Fairfax was still at her grand- 
mother's ; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland 
was again delayed, and August, instead of midsummer, fixed 
for it, she was likely to remain there full two months longer, 
provided at least she were able to defeat Mrs. Elton's activity 
in her service, s and save herself from being hurried into a 
delightful situation against her will. 

Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, 
had certainly taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was 
only growing to dislike him more. He began to suspect him 
of some double dealing in his pursuit of Emma. That Emma 
was his object appeared indisputable. Everything declared it ; 
his own attentions, his father's hints, his mother-in-law's 
guarded silence, it was all in unison ; words, conduct, discretion, 
and indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many 
were devoting him to Emma, and Emma herself making him 
over to Harriet, Mr. Knightley began to suspect him of some 
inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He could not under- 
stand it ; but there were symptoms of intelligence between 
them—he thought so at least — symptoms of admiration on his 
side, which, having once observed, he could not persuade him- 
self to think entirely void of meaning, however he might wish 

308 



EMMA 

to escape any of Emma's errors of imagination. She was not 
present when the suspicion first arose. He was dining with 
the Randalls family and Jane at the Elton s' ; and he had seen 
a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from 
the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of 
place. When he was again in their company, he could not 
help remembering what he had seen ; nor could he avoid 
observations which, unless it were like Cowper and his fire at 
twilight, 

Myself creating what I saw, 

brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something 
of private liking, of private understanding even, between Frank 
Churchill and Jane. 

He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often 
did, to spend his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet 
were going to walk ; he joined them ; and, on returning, they 
fell in with a larger party, who, like themselves, judged it 
wisest to take their exercise early, as the weather threatened 
rain ; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates and 
her niece, who had accidentally met. They all united ; and, 
on reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly 
the sort of visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed 
them all to go in and drink tea with him. The Randalls 
party agreed to it immediately ; and after a pretty long speech 
from Miss Bates, which few persons listened to, she also found 
it possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse's most obliging 
invitation. 

As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed 
by on horseback. The gentlemen spoke of his horse. 

1 By the bye,' said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston pre- 
sently, 'what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his 
carriage ? ' 

Mrs. Weston looked surprised, and said, * I did not know 
that he ever had any such plan.' 

* Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three 
months ago.' 

* Me ! impossible ! ' 

4 Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned 
it as what was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told 
somebody, and was extremely happy about it. It was owing 

309 







il/r. Perry passed ly on liorseback. 



EMMA 

to her persuasion, as she thought his being out in bad weather 
did him a great deal of harm. You must remember it now ? ' 
' Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment.' 
1 Never ! really never ! — Bless me ! how could it be ? Then 
I must have dreamt it — but I was completely persuaded — Miss 
Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You will not be sorry 
to find yourself at home. , 

* What is this ? — what is this ? ' cried Mr. Weston, * about 
Perry and a carriage ? Is Perry going to set up his carriage, 
Frank ? I am glad he can afford it. You had it from himself, 
had you ? ' 

* No, sir/ replied his son laughing, c I seem to have had it 
from nobody. Very odd ! I really was persuaded of Mrs. 
Weston's having mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, 
many weeks ago, with all these particulars — but as she declares 
she never heard a syllable of it before, of course it must have 
been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of everybody 
at Highbury when I am away ; and when I have gone through 
my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. 
Perry.' 

* It is odd though,' observed his father, * that you should 
have had such a regular connected dream about people whom 
it was not very likely you should be thinking of at Enscombe. 
Perry's setting up his carriage ! and his wife's persuading him 
to it, out of care for his health — just what will happen, I have 
no doubt, some time or other ; only a little premature. What 
an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream I And 
at others, what a heap of absurdities it is ! Well, Frank, your 
dream certainly shows that Highbury is in your thoughts when 
you are absent. Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think ? ' 

Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her 
guests to prepare her father for their appearance, and was 
beyond the reach of Mr. Weston's hint. 

' Why, to own the truth,' cried Miss Bates, who had been 
trying in vain to be heard the last two minutes, 'if I must 
speak on this subject, there is no denying that Mr. Frank 
Churchill might have — I do not mean to say that he did not 
dream it — I am sure I have sometimes the oddest dreams in 
the world — but if I am questioned about it, I must acknow- 
ledge that there was such an idea last spring : for Mrs. Perry 
herself mentioned it to my mother and the Coles knew of it as 

3** 



EMMA 

well as ourselves — but it was quite a secret, known to nobody 
else, and only thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was 
very anxious that he should have a carriage, and came to my 
mother in great spirits one morning because she thought she 
had prevailed. Jane, don't you remember grandmamma's 
telling us of it when we got home ? I forget where we had 
been walking to — very likely to Randalls ; yes, I think it was 
to Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my 
mother— indeed I do not know who is not — and she had 
mentioned it to her in confidence ; she had no objection to her 
telling us, of course, but it was not to go beyond : and, from 
that day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that I know of. 
At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having 
never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a 
thing before I am aware. I am a talker, you know ; I am 
rather a talker ; and now and then I have let a thing escape me 
which I should not. I am not like Jane ; I wish I were. I 
will answer for it she never betrayed the least thing in the 
world. Where is she ? Oh ! just behind. Perfectly remem- 
ber Mrs. Perry's coming. Extraordinary dream indeed ! ' 

They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley's eyes had 
preceded Miss Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank 
Churchill's face, where he thought he saw confusion suppressed 
or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned to hers ; but she 
was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl. Mr. Weston 
had walked in. The two ether gentlemen waited at the door 
to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill 
the determination of catching her eye — he seemed watching 
her intently — in vain, however, if it were so. Jane passed 
between them into the hall, and looked at neither. 

There was no time for further remark or explanation. The 
dream must be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his 
seat with the rest round the large modern circular table which 
Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and which none but Emma 
could have had power to place there and persuade her father 
to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke on which two of 
his daily meals had, for forty years, been crowded. Tea passed 
pleasantly, and nobody seemed in a hurry to move. 

* Miss Woodhouse,' said Frank Churchill, after examining 
a table behind him, which he could reach as he sat, 'have 
your nephews taken away their alphabets — their box of letters ? 

312 



EMMA 

It used to stand here. Where is it ? This is a sort of dull- 
looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as winter than 
summer. We had great amusement with those letters one 
morning. I want to puzzle you again.' 

Emma was pleased with the thought ; and producing the 
box, the table was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which 
no one seemed so much disposed to employ as their two selves. 
They were rapidly forming words for each other, or for any- 
body else who would be puzzled. The quietness of the game 
made it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had often 
been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston 
had occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied 
in lamenting, with tender melancholy, over the departure of the 
'poor little boys/ or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any 
stray letter near him, how beautifully Emma had written it. 

Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax. She 
gave a slight glance round the table, and applied herself to it. 
Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite to them ; and Mr. 
Knightley so placed as to see them all ; and it was his object 
to see as much as he could, with as little apparent observation. 
The word was discovered, and with a faint smile pushed away. 
If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and buried 
from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of 
looking just across, for it was not mixed ; and Harriet, eager 
after every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it 
up, and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and 
turned to him for help. The word was blunder j and as 
Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's 
cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible. Mr. 
Knightley connected it with the dream ; but how it could all 
be, was beyond his comprehension. How the delicacy, the 
discretion, of his favourite could have been so lain asleep ! 
He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disin- 
genuousness and double dealing seemed to meet him at every 
turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and 
trick. It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game 
on Frank Churchill's part. 

With great indignation did he continue to observe him ; 
with great alarm and distrust, to observe also his two 
blinded companions. He saw a short word prepared for 
Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He 

3i3 



EMMA 

saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly 
entertaining, though it was something which she judged it 
proper to appear to censure ; for she said * Nonsense ! for 
shame ! ' He heard Frank Churchill next say, with a glance 
towards Jane, ' I will give it to her, — shall I ? ' and as clearly 
heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing warmth, — * No, 
no, you must not, you shall not, indeed.' 

It was done, however. This gallant young man, who 
seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself 
without complaisance, directly handed over the word to Miss 
Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility en- 
treated her to study it. Mr. Knightley's excessive curiosity to 
know what this word might be made him seize every possible 
moment for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long 
before he saw it to be Dixon. Jane Fairfax's perception 
seemed to accompany his ; her comprehension was certainly 
more equal to the covert meaning, the superior intelligence, of 
those five letters so arranged. She was evidently displeased ; 
looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed more deeply 
than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, ' I did not 
know that proper names were allowed,' pushed away the 
letters with even an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be 
engaged by no other word that could be offered. Her face 
was averted from those who had made the attack, and turned 
towards her aunt. 

* Ay, very true, my dear,' cried the latter, though Jane had 
not spoken a word : ' I was just going to say the same thing. 
It is time for us to be going, indeed. The evening is closing 
in, and grandmamma will be looking for us. My dear sir, 
you are too obliging. We really must wish you good-night. 5 

Jane's alertness in moving proved her as ready as her aunt 
had preconceived. She was immediately up, and wanting to 
quit the table ; but so many were also moving, that she could 
not get away ; and Mr. Knightley thought he saw another 
collection of letters, anxiously pushed towards her, and 
resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was after- 
wards looking for her shawl, — Frank Churchill was looking 
also : it was growing dusk, and the room was in confusion ; 
and how they parted, Mr. Knightley could not tell. 

He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts 
full of what he had seen ; so full, that when the candles came 

3H 



EMMA 

to assist his observations, he must, — yes, he certainly must, as 
a friend — an anxious friend — give Emma some hint, ask her 
some question. He could not see her in a situation of such 
danger, without trying to preserve her. It was his duty. 

4 Pray, Emma,' said he, ' may I ask in what lay the great 
amusement, the poignant sting, of the last word given to you 
and Miss Fairfax ? I saw the word, and am curious to know 
how it could be so very entertaining to the one, and so very 
distressing to the other.' 

Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to 
give him the true explanation ; for though her suspicions were 
by no means removed, she was really ashamed of having ever 
imparted them. 

' Oh ! ' she cried, in evident embarrassment, c it all meant 
nothing : a mere joke among ourselves.' 

i The joke,' he replied gravely, ' seemed confined to you 
and Mr. Churchill.' 

He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. 
She would rather busy herself about anything, than speak. 
He sat a little while in doubt. A variety of evils crossed his 
mind. Interference — fruitless interference. Emma's confusion, 
and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to declare her affec- 
tion engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to 
risk anything that might be involved in an unwelcome inter- 
ference, rather than her welfare ; to encounter anything, rather 
than the remembrance of neglect in such a cause. 

\ My dear Emma,' said he at last, with earnest kindness, 
' do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaint- 
ance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking 
of?' 

* Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax ? Oh 
yes, perfectly. Why do you make a doubt of it ? ' 

1 Have you never at any time had reason to think that he 
admired her, or that she admired him ? ' 

' Never, never ! ' she cried with a most open eagerness. 
' Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea 
occur to me. And how could it possibly come into your 
head?' 

i I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment 
between them ; certain expressive looks, which I did not 
believe meant to be public' 

315 



EMMA 

* Oh ! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find 
that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander ; but it 
will not do — very sorry to check you in your first essay, but 
indeed it will not do. There is no admiration between them, 
I do assure you ; and the appearances which have caught you 
have arisen from some peculiar circumstances, — feelings rather, 
of a totally different nature : it is impossible exactly to explain ; 
there is a good deal of nonsense in it ; but the part which is 
capable of being communicated, which is sense, is, that they 
are as far from any attachment or admiration for one another 
as any two beings in the world can be. That is, I presume it 
to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being so on his. 
I will answer for the gentleman's indifference.' 

She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satis- 
faction which silenced, Mr. Knightley. She was in gay spirits, 
and would have prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear 
the particulars of his suspicions, every look described, and all 
the wheres and hows of a circumstance which highly enter- 
tained her ; but his gaiety did not meet hers. He found he 
could not be useful, and his feelings were too much irritated 
for talking. That he might not be irritated into an absolute 
fever by the fire which Mr. Woodhouse's tender habits 
required almost every evening throughout the year, he soon 
afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked home to the cool- 
ness and solitude of Donwell Abbey. 



CHAPTER XLII 

After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. 
and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to 
endure the mortification of hearing that they could not possibly 
come till the autumn. No such importation of novelties could 
enrich their intellectual stores at present. In the daily inter- 
change of news, they must be again restricted to the other 
topics, with which for a while the Sucklings' coming had been 
united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose 
health seemed every day to supply a different report, and 
the situation of Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be 

316 



EMMA 

hoped might eventually be as much increased by the arrival of 
a child, as that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it. 

Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay 
of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and 
recommendations must all wait, and every projected party be 
still only talked of. So she thought at first ; — but a little con- 
sideration convinced her that everything need not be put off. 
Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the Sucklings 
did not come ? They could go there again with them in the 
autumn. It was settled that they should go to Box Hill. 
That there was to be such a party had been long generally 
known ; it had even given the idea of another. Emma had 
never been to Box Hill ; she wished to see what everybody 
found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had 
agreed to choose some fine morning and drive thither. Two 
or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join 
them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant 
way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the 
regular eating and drinking and picnic parade, of the Eltons 
and the Sucklings. 

This was so very well understood between them, that 
Emma could not but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, 
on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing to 
Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the 
two parties should unite, and go together ; and that as Mrs. 
Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she 
had no objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her 
very great dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must 
already be perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward 
again : — it could not be done without a reproof to him, which 
would be giving pain to his wife ; and she found herself, there- 
fore, obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would 
have done a great deal to avoid ; an arrangement which would, 
probably, expose her even to the degradation of being said to 
be of Mrs. Elton's party ! Every feeling was offended ; and 
the forbearance of her outward submission left a heavy arrear 
due of secret severity in her reflections on the unmanageable 
goodwill of Mr. Weston's temper. 

f I am glad you approve of what I have done,' said he, 
very comfortably. ' But I thought you would. Such schemes 
as these are nothing without numbers. One cannot have too 

317 



EMMA 

large a party. A large party secures its own amusement. 
And she is a good-natured woman after all. One could not 
leave her out.' 

Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in 
private. 

It was now the middle of June and the weather fine ; and 
Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to name the day, and settle 
with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a 
lame carriage -horse threw everything into sad uncertainty. 
It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, before the 
horse were usable ; but no preparations could be ventured on, 
and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton's resources 
were inadequate to such an attack. 

* Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?' she cried ; * and 
such weather for exploring ! these delays and disappointments 
are quite odious. What are we to do ? The year will wear 
away at this rate, and nothing done. Before this time, last 
year, I assure you, we had a delightful exploring party from 
Maple Grove to Kings Weston.' 

' You had better explore to Donwell,' replied Mr. Knightley. 
* That may be done without horses. Come, and eat my straw- 
berries : they are ripening fast.' 

If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to 
proceed so ; for his proposal was caught at with delight ; and 
the ' Oh ! I should like it of all things/ was not plainer in 
words than manner. Donwell was famous for its strawberry 
beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation : but no plea was 
necessary ; cabbage beds would have been enough to tempt 
the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere. She pro- 
mised him again and again to come — much oftener than he 
doubted — and was extremely gratified by such a proof of inti- 
macy, such a distinguishing compliment as she chose to con- 
sider it. 

* You may depend upon me,' said she ; * I certainly will 
come. — Name your day, and I will come. — You will allow me 
to bring Jane Fairfax ? ' 

* I cannot name a day, ; said he, ' till I have spoken to some 
others, whom I would wish to meet you.' 

* Oh, leave all that to me ; only give me a carte-blanche. — 
I am lady patroness, you know. It is my party. I will 
bring friends with me.' 

318 



EMMA 

' 1 hope you will bring Elton/ said he ; ' but I will not 
trouble you to give any other invitations.' 

' Oh, now you are looking very sly ; — but consider, — you 
need not be afraid of delegating power to me. I am no young 
lady on her preferment. Married women, you know, may be 
safely authorised. It is my party. Leave it all to me. I 
will invite your guests.' 

' No,' he calmly replied, ' there is but one married woman 
in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she 
pleases to Donwell, and that one is ' 

' Mrs. Weston, I suppose,' interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather 
mortified. 

'No, — Mrs. Knightley ; and, till she is in being, I will 
manage such matters myself.' 

1 Ah, you are an odd creature 1 ' she cried, satisfied to have 
no one preferred to herself. ' You are a humourist, and may 
say what you like. Quite a humourist. Well, I shall bring 
Jane with me — Jane and her aunt. The rest I leave to you. 
I have no objections at all to meeting the Hartfield family. 
Don't scruple, I know you are attached to them.' 

' You certainly will meet them, if I can prevail ; and I 
shall call on Miss Bates in my way home.' 

' That is quite unnecessary ; I see Jane every day ; — but as 
you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley ; 
quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring 
one of my little baskets hanging on my arm. Here, — probably 
this basket with pink riband. Nothing can be more simple, 
you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be 
no form or parade — a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk 
about your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, 
and sit under trees ; and whatever else you may like to 
provide, it is to be all out of doors ; a table spread in the 
shade, you know. Everything as natural and simple as 
possible. Is not that your idea ?' 

' Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be 
to have the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and 
the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and 
furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors. 
When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there 
shall be cold meat in the house.' 

'Well, as you please; only don't have a great set-out. 

319 




1 Oh, now you are looking very sly.' 



EMMA 

And, by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to 
you with our opinion ? Pray be sincere, Knightley. If you 

wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect anything ' 

1 I have not the least wish for it, I thank you.' 
1 Well, — but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper 
is extremely clever.' 

* I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, 
and would spurn anybody's assistance.' 

* I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all 
to come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me, and my caro 
sposo walking by. I really must talk to him about purchasing 
a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to be a sort of 
necessary ; for, let a woman have ever so many resources, it is 
not possible for her to be always shut up at home ; and very 
long walks you know — in summer there is dust, and in winter 
there is dirt.' 

* You will not find either between Donwell and Highbury. 
Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. 
Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it. You can borrow 
Mrs. Cole's. I would wish everything to be as much to your 
taste as possible.' 

* That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my 
good friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, 
I know you have the warmest heart. As I tell Mr. E., 
you are a thorough humourist. Yes, believe me, Knightley, 
I am fully sensible of your attention to me in the whole 
of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please 
me.' 

Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in 
the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well 
as Emma, to join the party ; and he knew that to have any of 
them sitting down out of doors to eat would inevitably make 
him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the specious pre- 
tence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, 
be tempted away to his misery. 

He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to 
upbraid him for his easy credulity. He did consent. He 
had not been at Donwell for two years. c Some very fine 
morning, he, Emma, and Harriet, could go very well ; and he 
could sit still with Mrs. Weston while the dear girls walked 
about the gardens. He did not suppose they could be damp 
Y 321 



EMMA 

now, in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old 
house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet 
Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and any other of his neighbours. He 
could not see any objection at all to his and Emma's, and 
Harriet's, going there some very fine morning. He thought 
it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them ; very kind 
and sensible ; much cleverer than dining out. He was not 
fond of dining out.' 

Mr. Knightley was fortunate in everybody's most ready 
concurrence. The invitation was everywhere so well received, 
that it seemed as if, like Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the 
scheme as a particular compliment to themselves. Emma 
and Harriet professed very high expectations of pleasure from 
it ; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get Frank over to 
join them, if possible ; a proof of approbation and gratitude 
which could have been dispensed with. Mr. Knightley was 
then obliged to say that he should be glad to see him ; and 
Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in writing, and spare no 
arguments to induce him to come. 

In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast that 
the party to Box Hill was again under happy consideration ; 
and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and Box Hill for 
the next ; the weather appearing exactly right. 

Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost midsummer, Mr. 
Woodhouse was safely conveyed in his carriage, with one 
window down, to partake of this al fresco party ; and in one 
of the most comfortable rooms in the Abbey, especially 
prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was happily 
placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of 
what had been achieved, and advise everybody to come and 
sit down, and not to heat themselves. Mrs. Weston, who 
seemed to have walked there on purpose to be tired, and sit 
all the time with him, remained, when all the others were 
invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and sympathiser. 

It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as 
soon as she was satisfied of her father's comfort, she was glad 
to leave him, and look around her ; eager to refresh and 
correct her memory with more particular observation, more 
exact understanding of a house and grounds which must ever 
be so interesting to her and all her family. 

She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her 
322 






EMMA 

alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly 
warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and style of the 
building, its suitable, becoming characteristic situation, low 
and sheltered ; its ample gardens stretching down to meadows 
washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with all the old 
neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight, — and its abundance 
of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor 
extravagance had rooted up. The house was larger than 
Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground, 
rambling and irregular, with many comfortable and one or 
two handsome rooms. It was just what it ought to be, and it 
looked what it was ; and Emma felt an increasing respect for 
it, as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted 
in blood and understanding. Some faults of temper John 
Knightley had ; but Isabella had connected herself unexcep- 
tionably. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor 
places, that could raise a blush. These were pleasant feelings, 
and she walked about and indulged them till it was necessary 
to do as the others did, and collect round the strawberry beds. 
The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank Churchill, 
who was expected every moment from Richmond ; and Mrs. 
Elton in all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and 
her basket, was very ready to lead the way in gathering, 
accepting, or talking. Strawberries, and only strawberries, 
could now be thought or spoken of. 'The best fruit in 
England — everybody's favourite — always wholesome. These 
the finest beds and finest sorts. Delightful to gather for one's 
self — the only way of really enjoying them. Morning 
decidedly the best time — never tired — every sort good — 
hautboy infinitely superior — no comparison — the others 
hardly eatable — hautboys very scarce — Chili preferred — white 
wood finest flavour of all — price of strawberries in London — 
abundance about Bristol — Maple Grove — cultivation — beds 
when to be renewed — gardeners thinking exactly different — no 
general rule — gardeners never to be put out of their way — 
delicious fruit — only too rich to be eaten much of — inferior to 
cherries — currants more refreshing — only objection to gather- 
ing strawberries the stooping — glaring sun — tired to death — 
could bear it no longer — must go and sit in the shade.' 

Such, for half an hour, was the conversation ; interrupted 
only once by Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude 

323 



EMMA 

after her son-in-law, to inquire if he were come ; and she was 
a little uneasy. She had some fears of his horse. 

Seats tolerably in the shade were found ; and now Emma 
was obliged to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax 
were talking of. A situation, a most desirable situation, was 
in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice of it that 
morning, and was in raptures. It was not with Mrs. Suckling, 
it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and splendour it 
fell short only of them : it was with a cousin of Mrs. Bragge, 
an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple 
Grove. Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, 
lines, ranks, everything : and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the 
offer closed with immediately. On her side, all was warmth, 
energy, and triumph ; and she positively refused to take her 
friend's negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her 
that she would not at present engage in anything — repeating 
the same motives which she had been heard to urge before. 
Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to write an 
acquiescence by the morrow's post. How Jane could bear it 
at all, was astonishing to Emma. She did look vexed ; she 
did speak pointedly ; and at last, with a decision of action 
unusual to her, proposed a removal. l Should not they walk ? 
Would not Mr. Knightley show them the gardens — all the 
gardens ? She wished to see the whole extent.' The perti- 
nacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear. 

It was hot ; and after walking some time over the gardens 
in a scattered, dispersed way, scarcely any three together, 
they insensibly followed one another to the delicious shade of 
a broad short avenue of limes, which, stretching beyond the 
garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed the finish 
of the pleasure grounds. It led to nothing ; nothing but a 
view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars, 
which seemed intended, in their erection, to give the appear- 
ance of an approach to the house, which never had been 
there. Disputable, however, as might be the taste of such a 
termination, it was in itself a charming walk, and the view 
which closed it extremely pretty. The considerable slope, at 
nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a 
steeper form beyond its grounds; and at half a mile distant was 
a bank of considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed 
with wood ; and at the bottom of this bank, favourably placed 

3M 






EMMA 

and sheltered, rose the Abbey-Mill Farm, with meadows in front, 
and the river making a close and handsome curve around it. 

It was a sweet view — sweet to the eye and the mind. 
English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under 
a sun bright, without being oppressive. 

In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others 
assembled ; and towards this view she immediately perceived 
Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly 
leading the way. Mr. Knightley and Harriet ! It was an odd 
tete-d-tete j but she was glad to see it. There had been a time 
when he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned 
from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant 
conversation. There had been a time also when Emma 
would have been sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favourable 
for the Abbey-Mill Farm ; but now she feared it not. It 
might be safely viewed with all its appendages of prosperity 
and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in 
blossom, and light column of smoke ascending. She joined 
them at the wall, and found them more engaged in talking 
than in looking around. He was giving Harriet information 
as to modes of agriculture, etc. ; and Emma received a 
smile which seemed to say, ' These are my own concerns. I 
have a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected 
of introducing Robert Martin.' She did not suspect him. It 
was too old a story. Robert Martin had probably ceased to 
think of Harriet. They took a few turns together along the 
walk. The shade was most refreshing, and Emma found it 
the pleasantest part of the day. 

The next remove was to the house ; they must all go in 
and eat ; and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank 
Churchill did not come. Mrs. Weston looked, and looked in 
vain. His father would not own himself uneasy, 'and laughed 
at her fears ; but she could not be cured of wishing that he 
would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as 
to coming, with more than common certainty. 

* His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of 
getting over to them.' Mrs. Churchill's state, however, as 
many were ready to remind her, was liable to such sudden 
variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reason- 
able dependence ; and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to 
believe, or to say, that it must be by some attack of Mrs. 

325 



EMMA 

Churchill that he was prevented coming. Emma looked at 
Harriet while the point was under consideration ; she behaved 
very well and betrayed no emotion. 

The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out 
once more to see what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey 
fish-ponds ; perhaps get as far as the clover, which was to be 
begun cutting on the morrow, or, at any rate, have the plea- 
sure of being hot, and growing cool again. Mr. Woodhouse, 
who had already taken his little round in the highest part of 
the gardens, where no damps from the river were imagined 
even by him, stirred no more ; and his daughter resolved to 
remain with him, that Mrs. Weston might be persuaded away 
by her husband to the exercise and variety which her spirits 
seemed to need. 

Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Wood- 
house's entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of 
medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family collec- 
tion within his cabinets, had been prepared for his old friend, 
to while away the morning ; and the kindness had perfectly 
answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well 
amused. Mrs. Weston had been showing them all to him, 
and now he would show them all to Emma ; fortunate in 
having no other resemblance to a child, than in a total want 
of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and 
methodical. Before this second looking over was begun, 
however, Emma walked into the hall for the sake of a few 
moments' free observation of the entrance and ground-plot of 
the house, and was hardly there when Jane Fairfax appeared, 
coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape. 
Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a 
start at first ; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she 
was in quest of. 

' Will you be so kind/ said she, c when I am missed, as to 
say that I am gone home ? I am going this moment. My 
aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been 
absent ; but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am deter- 
mined to go directly. I have said nothing about it to any- 
body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some, 
are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they 
all come in I shall not be missed ; and when they do, will you 
have the goodness to say that I am gone ? ' 

326 



EMMA 

' Certainly, if you wish it ; but you are not going to walk 
to Highbury alone?' 

' Yes ; what should hurt me ? I walk fast. I shall be at 
home in twenty minutes.' 

' But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. 
Let my father's servant go with you. Let me order the 
carriage. It can be round in five minutes.' 

* Thank you, thank you ; but on no account ; I would 
rather walk. And for me to be afraid of walking alone ; I, 
who may so soon have to guard others ! ' 

She spoke with great agitation ; and Emma very feelingly 
replied, — 'That can be no reason for your being exposed to 
danger now. I must order the carriage. The heat even 
would be danger. You are fatigued already.' 

' I am,' she answered, ' I am fatigued ; but it is not the 
sort of fatigue — quick walking will refresh me. Miss Wood- 
house, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. 
Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you 
can show me will be to let me have my own way, and only 
say that I am gone when it is necessary.' 

Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all ; 
and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house 
immediately, and watched her safely off with the zeal of a 
friend. Her parting look was grateful ; and her parting 
words, 'Oh, Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being some- 
times alone ! ' seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, 
and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be 
practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her 
best 

' Such a home, indeed ! such an aunt ! ' said Emma, as she 
turned back into the hall again. ' I do pity you. And the 
more sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I 
shall like you.' 

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had 
only accomplished some views of St. Mark's Place, Venice, 
when Frank Churchill entered the room. Emma had not 
been thinking of him ; she had forgotten to think of him ; but 
she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston would be at ease. 
The black mare was blameless ; they were right who had 
named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained 
by a temporary increase of illness in her ; — a nervous seizure, 

327 



EMMA 

which had lasted some hours ; and he had quite given up 
every thought of coming till very late ; and had he known 
how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his 
hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have come at all. 
The heat was excessive ; he had never suffered anything like 
it — almost wished he had stayed at home — nothing killed him 
like heat — he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was 
intolerable ; and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance 
from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire, looking very 
deplorable. 

* You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,' said Emma. 

' As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could 
very ill be spared ; but such a point had been made of my 
coming ! You will all be going soon, I suppose ; the whole 
party breaking up. I met one as I came — Madness in such 
weather ! — absolute madness ! ' 

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank 
Churchill's state might be best defined by the expressive 
phrase of being out of humour. Some people were always 
cross when they were hot. Such might be his constitution ; 
and as she knew that eating and drinking were often the cure 
of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking 
some refreshment ; he would find abundance of everything in 
the dining-room ; and she humanely pointed out the door. 

* No ; he should not eat. He was not hungry ; it would 
only make him hotter.' In two minutes, however, he relented 
in his own favour; and muttering something about spruce 
beer, walked off. Emma returned all her attention to her 
father, saying in secret — 

* I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should 
not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. 
Harriet's sweet easy temper will not mind it.' 

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable 
meal, and came back all the better — grown quite cool, and, 
with good manners, like himself, able to draw a chair close to 
them, take an interest in their employment, and regret, in a 
reasonable way, that he should be so late. He was not in his 
best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them ; and, at last, 
made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were 
looking over views in Swisserland. 

' As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,' said he. 
328 




Able to take an interest in their employment. 



EMMA 

* I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places. 
You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at — 
or my tour to read — or my poem. I shall do something to 
expose myself.' 

* That may be — but not by sketches in Swisserland. You 
will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never 
allow you to leave England. 1 

' They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may 
be prescribed for her. I have more than half an expectation 
of our all going abroad. I assure you I have. I feel a 
strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be abroad. 
I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I want a 
change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your 
penetrating eyes may fancy — I am sick of England — and 
would leave it to-morrow, if I could.' 

* You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you 
invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay ? ' 

' 1 sick of prosperity and indulgence ! You are quite mis- 
taken. I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or 
indulged. I am thwarted in everything material. I do not 
consider myself at all a fortunate person.' 

* You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first 
came. Go, and eat and drink a little more, and you will do 
very well. Another slice of cold meat, another draught of 
Madeira and water, will make you nearly on a par with the 
rest of us.' 

'No — I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my 
best cure. 5 

' We are going to Box Hill to-morrow : you will join us. 
It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young 
man so much in want of a change. You will stay, and go 
with us ? ' 

' No, certainly not ; I shall go home in the cool of the 
evening.' 

' But you may come again in the, cool of to-morrow 
morning.' 

'No — it will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be 
cross.' 

' Then pray stay at Richmond.' 

4 But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to 
think of you all there without me.' 

33o 






EMMA 

'These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. 
Choose your own degree of crossness. I shall press you no 
more.' 

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were 
soon collected. With some there was great joy at the sight 
of Frank Churchill ; others took it very composedly ; but there 
was a very general distress and disturbance on Miss Fairfax's 
disappearance being explained. That it was time for every- 
body to go, concluded the subject ; and with a short final 
arrangement for the next day's scheme, they parted. Frank 
ChurchilPs little inclination to exclude himself increased so 
much, that his last words to Emma were — 

4 Well ; — if you wish me to stay and join the party, I will.' 

She smiled her acceptance ; and nothing less than a 
summons from Richmond was to take him back before the 
following evening. 



CHAPTER XLIII 

They had a very fine day for Box Hill ; and all the other 
outward circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and 
punctuality, were in favour of a pleasant party. Mr. Weston 
directed the whole, officiating safely between Hartfield and 
the Vicarage, and everybody was in good time. Emma and 
Harriet went together ; Miss Bates and her niece, with the 
Eltons ; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs. Weston remained 
with Mr. Woodhouse. Nothing was wanting but to be happy 
when they got there. Seven miles were travelled in ex- 
pectation of enjoyment, and everybody had a burst of admiration 
on first arriving ; but in the general amount of the day there 
was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits, a 
want of union, which could not be got over. They separated 
too much into parties. The Eltons walked together ; Mr. 
Knightley took charge of Miss Bates and Jane ; and Emma 
and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. And Mr. Weston 
tried in vain to make them harmonise better. It seemed at 
first an accidental division, but it never materially varied. 
Mr. and Mrs. Elton, indeed, showed no unwillingness to mix, 

33* 



x EMMA 

and be as agreeable as they could : but during the two whole hours 
that were spent on the hill, there seemed a principle of separation 
between the other parties, too strong for any fine prospects, 
or any cold collation, or any cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove. 

At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had 
never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said 
nothing worth hearing — looked without seeing — admired with- 
out intelligence — listened without knowing what she said. 
While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be 
dull likewise ; and they were both insufferable. 

When they all sat down it was better — to her taste a great 
deal better — for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, 
making her his first subject. Every distinguishing attention 
that could be paid, was paid to her. To amuse her, and be 
agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared for, — and 
Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered, was gay 
and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, 
the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the 
first and most animating period of their acquaintance ; but 
which now, in her own estimation, meant nothing, though in 
the judgment of most people looking on it must have had 
such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could 
very well describe. c Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse 
flirted together excessively.' They were laying themselves 
open to that very phrase — and to having it sent off in a letter 
to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not 
that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity ; it 
was rather because she felt less happy than she had expected. 
She laughed because she was disappointed ; and though she 
liked him for his attentions, and thought them all, whether in 
friendship, admiration, or playfulness, extremely judicious, they 
were not winning back her heart. She still intended him for 
her friend. 

* How much I am obliged to you, ; said he, * for telling me 
to come to-day ! — If it had not been for you, I should cer- 
tainly have lost all the happiness of this party. I had quite 
determined to go away again.' 

4 Yes, you were very cross ; and I do not know what about, 
except that you were too late for the best strawberries. I was 
a kinder friend than you deserved. But you were humble. 
You begged hard to be commanded to come.' 

332 



EMMA 

' Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat over- 
came me.' 

* It is hotter to-day.' 

' Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day.' 
' You are comfortable because you are under command.' 

* Your command ? — Yes.' 

1 Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-com- 
mand. You had, somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, 
and run away from your own management ; but to-day you are 
got back again — and as I cannot be always with you, it is best 
to believe your temper under your own command rather than 
mine.' 

' It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command 
without a motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. 
And you can be always with me. You are always with me.' 

1 Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual 
influence could not begin earlier, or you would not have been 
so much out of humour before.' 

' Three o'clock yesterday ! That is your date. I thought 
I had seen you first in February.' 

' Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But (lowering her 
voice) nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too 
much to be talking nonsense for the entertainment of seven 
silent people.' 

' I say nothing of which I am ashamed,' replied he, with 
lively impudence. c I saw you first in February. Let every- 
body on the hill hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to 
Mickleham on one side, and Dorking on the other. I saw 
you first in February.' And then whispering, — * Our com- 
panions are excessively stupid. What shall we do to rouse 
them ? Any nonsense will serve. They shall talk. Ladies 
and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, where- 
ever she is, presides,) to say, that she desires to know what 
you are all thinking of.' 

Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss 
Bates said a great deal ; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of 
Miss Woodhouse' s presiding ; Mr. Knightley's answer was the 
most distinct. 

1 Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what 
we all are thinking of? ' 

4 Oh no, no ! ' cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she 

333 



EMMA 

could, — 'upon no account in the world. It is the very last 
thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let me hear any- 
thing rather than what you are all thinking of. I will not say 
quite all. There are one or two, perhaps (glancing at Mr. 
Weston and Harriet), whose thoughts I might not be afraid 
of knowing.' 

' It is a sort of thing,' cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, 
' which / should not have thought myself privileged to inquire 
into. Though, perhaps, as the chaperon of the party — / never 
was in any circle — exploring parties — young ladies — married 
women — ' 

Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband ; and he mur- 
mured, in reply 

1 Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed — quite 
unheard of — but some ladies say anything. Better pass it off 
as a joke. Everybody knows what is due to you. 9 

1 It will not do,' whispered Frank to Emma ; < they are most 
of them affronted. I will attack them with more address. 
Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to 
say that she waives her right of knowing exactly what you may 
all be thinking of, and only requires something very enter- 
taining from each of you, in a general way. Here are seven 
of you, besides myself (who, she is pleased to say, am very 
entertaining already), and she only demands from each of you, 
either one thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or 
repeated ; or two things moderately clever ; or three things 
very dull indeed ; and she engages to laugh heartily at them 
all.' 

* Oh ! very well/ exclaimed Miss Bates ; * then I need not 
be uneasy. " Three things very dull indeed." That will just 
do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things 
as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I ? (looking round 
with the most good-humoured dependence on everybody's 
assent). Do not you all think I shall ? J 

Emma could not resist. 

' Ah ! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me, 
but you will be limited as to the number, — only three at once.' 

Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, 
did not immediately catch her meaning ; but, when it burst on 
her, it could not anger, though a slight blush showed that it 
could pain her. 

334 






EMMA 

* Ah ! well — to be sure. Yes, I see what she means (turn- 
ing to Mr. Knightley), and I will try to hold my tongue. I 
must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have 
said such a thing to an old friend. ' 

* I like your plan,' cried Mr. Weston. l Agreed, agreed. 
I will do my best. I am making a conundrum. How will a 
conundrum reckon ? ' 

* Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,' answered his son ; ' but we 
shall be indulgent, especially to any one who leads the way.' 

4 No, no,' said Emma, * it will not reckon low. A conun- 
drum of Mr. Weston's shall clear him and his next neighbour. 
Come, sir, pray let me hear it. 5 

* I doubt its being very clever myself,' said Mr. Weston. 
* It is too much a matter of fact ; but here it is. — What two 
letters of the alphabet are there that express perfection ? ' 

' What two letters ! — express perfection ! I am sure I do 
not know.' 

* Ah ! you will never guess. You (to Emma), I am certain, 
will never guess. I will tell you. M and A. Em — ma. 
Do you understand ? ' 

Understanding and gratification came together. It might 
be a very indifferent piece of wit ; but Emma found a great 
deal to laugh at and enjoy in it ; and so did Frank and 
Harriet. It did not seem to touch the rest of the party 
equally ; some looked very stupid about it ; and Mr. Knightley 
gravely said — 

* This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and 
Mr. Weston has done very well for himself ; but he must have 
knocked up everybody else. Perfection should not have come 
quite so soon.' 

* Oh ! for myself, I protest I must be excused/ said Mrs. 
Elton. c / really cannot attempt — I am not at all fond of the 
sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to me upon my 
own name, which I was not at all pleased with. I knew who 
it came from. An abominable puppy ! You know who I 
mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are 
very well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire ; but 
quite out of place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about 
the country in summer. Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. 
I am not one of those who have witty things at everybody's 
service. I do not pretend to be a wit, I have a great deal 

335 



EMMA 

of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to 
judge when to speak, and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, 
if you please, Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, 
and myself. We have nothing clever to say, — not one of 
us.' 

4 Yes, yes, pray pass me] added her husband, with a sort 
of sneering consciousness ; ' / have nothing to say that can 
entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An 
old married man — quite good for nothing. Shall we walk, 
Augusta ? ' 

* With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long 
on one spot. Come, Jane, take my other arm.' 

Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife 
walked off. f Happy couple ! ' said Frank Churchill, as soon 
as they were out of hearing ; ' how well they suit one another ! 
Very lucky — marrying as they did, upon an acquaintance 
formed only in a public place ! They only knew each other, I 
think, a few weeks in Bath ! Peculiarly lucky ! for as to any 
real knowledge of a person's disposition that Bath, or any 
public place, can give — it is all nothing; there can be no 
knowledge. It is only by seeing women in their own homes, 
among their own set, just as they always are, that you can 
form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and 
luck — and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has 
committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the 
rest of his life ! ' 

Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among 
her own confederates, spoke now. 

* Such things do occur, undoubtedly.' She was stopped by 
a cough. Frank Churchill turned towards her to listen. 

' You were speaking,' said he gravely. She recovered her 
voice. 

' 1 was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate 
circumstances do sometimes occur both to men and women, 
I cannot imagine them to be very frequent. A hasty and 
imprudent attachment may arise — but there is generally time 
to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to mean, 
that it can be only weak, irresolute characters (whose happi- 
ness must be always at the mercy of chance) who will suffer 
an unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an 
oppression, for ever.' 

33$ 






EMMA 

He made no answer ; merely looked, and bowed in sub- 
mission ; and soon afterwards said, in a lively tone — 

'Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, 
that whenever I marry, I hope somebody will choose my wife 
for me. Will you ? (turning to Emma). Will you choose a 
wife for me ? I am sure I should like anybody fixed on by 
you. You provide for the family, you know (with a smile at 
his father). Find somebody for me. I am in no hurry. 
Adopt her ; educate her.' 

' And make her like myself.' 

' By all means, if you can/ 

' Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have 
a charming wife.' 

' She must be very lively, and have hazel eyes. I care 
for nothing else. I shall go abroad for a couple of years 
— and when I return, I shall come to you for my wife. 
Remember.' 

Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commis- 
sion to touch every favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be 
the very creature described ? Hazel eyes excepted, two years 
more might make her all that he wished. He might even 
have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment ; who could say ? 
Referring the education to her seemed to imply it. 

£ Now, ma'am,' said Jane to her aunt, ' shall we join Mrs. 
Elton?' 

' If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite 
ready. I was ready to have gone with her, but this will do 
just as well. We shall soon overtake her. There she is — no, 
that's somebody else. That's one of the ladies in the Irish 
car party, not at all like her. Well, I declare ' 

They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. 
Knightley. Mr. Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet, only 
remained ; and the young man's spirits now rose to a pitch 
almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last of flattery 
and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly 
about with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite 
unattended to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views 
beneath her. The appearance of the servants looking out for 
them to give notice of the carriages was a joyful sight ; and 
even the bustle of collecting and preparing to depart, and the 
solicitude of Mrs. Elton to have her carriage first, were gladly 

z 337 



EMMA 

endured, in the prospect of the quiet drive home which was to 
close the very questionable enjoyments of this day of pleasure. 
Such another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, 
she hoped never to be betrayed into again. 

While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by 
her side. He looked around, as if to see that no one were 
near, and then said — 

* Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been 
used to do : a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps ; 
but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting wrong, with- 
out a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss 
Bates ? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman 
of her character, age, and situation ? Emma, I had not 
thought it possible.' 

Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it 
off. 

* Nay, how could I help saying what I did ? Nobody could 
have helped it. It was not so very bad. I daresay she did 
not understand me.' 

* I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She 
has talked of it since. I wish you could have heard how she 
talked of it — with what candour and generosity. I wish you 
could have heard her honouring your forbearance, in being 
able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever receiving 
from yourself and your father, when her society must be so 
irksome.' 

' Oh ! ' cried Emma, ' I know there is not a better creature 
in the world : but you must allow that what is good and what 
is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her.' 

' They are blended,' said he, * I acknowledge ; and, were 
she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional pre- 
valence of the ridiculous over the good. Were she a woman 
of fortune, I would leave her every harmless absurdity to take 
its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of 
manner. Were she your equal in situation — but, Emma, 
consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor ; 
she has sunk from the comforts she was born to ; and if she 
live to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should 
secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed ! You, 
whom she had known from an infant, whom she had seen grow 
up from a period when her notice was an honour, — to have 

338 



EMMA 

you now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, 
laugh at her, humble her — and before her niece, too — and 
before others, many of whom (certainly some) would be 
entirely guided by your treatment of her. This is not pleasant 
to you, Emma — and it is very far from pleasant to me ; but I 
must, I will, — I will tell you truths while I can ; satisfied with 
proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and 
trusting that you will some time or other do me greater 
justice than you can do now.' 

While they talked, they were advancing towards the 
carriage ; it was ready ; and, before she could speak again, he 
had handed her in. He had misinterpreted the feelings 
which had kept her face averted and her tongue motionless. 
They were combined only of anger against herself, mortifica- 
tion, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak ; 
and, on entering the carriage, sank back for a moment over- 
come ; then reproaching herself for having taken no leave, 
making no acknowledgment, parting in apparent sullenness, 
she looked out with voice and hand eager to show a dif- 
ference ; but it was just too late. He had turned away, and 
the horses were in motion. She continued to look back, 
but in vain ; and soon, with what appeared unusual speed, 
they were half-way down the hill, and everything left far 
behind. She was vexed beyond what could have been ex- 
pressed — almost beyond what she could conceal. Never 
had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circum- 
stance in her life. She was most forcibly struck. The truth 
of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at 
her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel, to 
Miss Bates ! How could she have exposed herself to such 
ill opinion in any one she valued ! And how suffer him to 
leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, 
of common kindness ! 

Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she 
seemed but to feel it more. She never had been so depressed. 
Happily it was not necessary to speak. There was only 
Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged, and very 
willing to be silent ; and Emma felt the tears running down 
her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any 
trouble to check them, extraordinary as they were. 

339 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XLIV 

The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's 
thoughts all the evening. How it might be considered by 
the rest of the party, she could not tell. They, in their 
different homes, and their different ways, might be looking 
back on it with pleasure ; but in her view it was a morning 
more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational 
satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollec- 
tion, than any she had ever passed. A whole evening of 
backgammon with her father was felicity to it. There, 
indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she was giving up the 
sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort ; and feeling 
that, unmerited as might be the degree of his fond affection and 
confiding esteem, she could not, in her general conduct, be 
open to any severe reproach. As a daughter, she hoped she 
was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have said 
to her, * How could you be so unfeeling to your father ? — I 
must, I will tell you truths while I can.' Miss Bates should 
never again — no, never ! If attention, in future, could do 
away the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been 
often remiss, her conscience told her so ; remiss, perhaps, 
more in thought than fact ; scornful, ungracious. But it 
should be so no more. In the warmth of true contrition, she 
would call upon her the very next morning, and it should be 
the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly 
intercourse. 

She was just as determined when the morrow came, and 
went early, that nothing might prevent her. It was not un- 
likely, she thought, that she might see Mr. Knightley in her 
way ; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were paying 
her visit. She had no objection. She would not be ashamed 
of the appearance of the penitence so justly and truly hers. 
Her eyes were towards Don well as she walked, but she saw 
him not. 

'The ladies were all at home.' She had never rejoiced 
at the sound before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor 
walked up the stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure, but in 

340 



EMMA 

conferring obligation, or of deriving it, except in subsequent 
ridicule. 

There was a bustle on her approach ; a good deal of mov- 
ing and talking. She heard Miss Bates's voice ; something 
was to be done in a hurry ; the maid looked frightened and 
awkward ; hoped she would be pleased to wait a moment, 
and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and niece 
seemed both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she 
had a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill ; and, before 
the door had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates saying, 
' Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down upon the bed, 
and I am sure you are ill enough.' 

Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as 
if she did not quite understand what was going on. 

' I am afraid Jane is not very well,' said she, * but I do 
not know ; they tell me she is well. I daresay my daughter 
will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a 
chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very little able — 
have you a chair, ma'am ? Do you sit where you like ? I am 
sure she will be here presently.' 

Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's 
fear of Miss Bates keeping away from her. But Miss Bates 
soon came — 'Very happy and obliged,' — but Emma's con- 
science told her that there was not the same cheerful volu- 
bility as before, — less ease of look and manner. A very 
friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead 
the way to a return of old feelings. The touch seemed 
immediate. 

* Ah, Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are ! I suppose 
you have heard — and are come to give us joy. This does 
not seem much like joy, indeed, in me (twinkling away a tear 
or two) ; but it will be very trying for us to part with her, 
after having had her so long ; and she has a dreadful head- 
ache just now, writing all the morning : such long letters, you 
know, to be written to Colonel Campbell and Mrs. Dixon. 
" My dear," said I, " you will blind yourself," for tears were 
in her eyes perpetually. One cannot wonder, one cannot 
wonder. It is a great change ; and though she is amazingly 
fortunate, — such a situation, I suppose, as no young woman 
before ever met with on first going out ; do not think us ungrate- 
ful, Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune (again 

341 



EMMA 

dispersing her tears) — but, poor dear soul ; if you were to see 
what a headache she has. When one is in great pain, you 
know one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may deserve. 
She is as low as possible. To look at her, nobody would 
think how delighted and happy she is to have secured such a 
situation. You will excuse her not coming to you, she is not 
able, she is gone into her own room. I want her to lie down 
upon the bed. " My dear," said I, " I shall say you are laid 
down upon the bed " : but, however, she is not ; she is walking 
about the room. But, now that she has written her letters, 
she says she shall soon be well. She will be extremely sorry 
to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your kindness will 
excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door ; I was quite 
ashamed ; but somehow there was a little bustle ; for it so 
happened, that we had not heard the knock ; and, till you 
were on the stairs, we did not know anybody was coming. 
"It is only Mrs. Cole," said I, " depend upon it ; nobody else 
would come so early." — "Well," said she, "it must be borne 
some time or other, and it may as well be now." But then 
Patty came in, and said it was you. " Oh ! " said I, " it is Miss 
Woodhouse, I am sure you will like to see her." — " I can see 
nobody," said she, and up she got, and would go away ; and 
that was what made us keep you waiting ; and extremely 
sorry and ashamed we were. "If you must go, my dear," said 
I, " you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the bed." ' 

Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been 
long growing kinder towards Jane ; and this picture of her 
present sufferings acted as a cure of every former ungenerous 
suspicion, and left her nothing but pity; and the remembrance 
of the less just and less gentle sensations of the past obliged 
her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve on seeing 
Mrs. Cole, or any other steady friend, when she might not 
bear to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret 
and solicitude ; sincerely wishing that the circumstances which 
she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined 
on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and com- 
fort as possible. * It must be a severe trial to them all. She 
had understood it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell's 
return.' 

1 So very kind ! ' replied Miss Bates ; ' but you are always 
kind/ 

34 2 



EMMA 

There was no bearing such an c always ' ; and, to break 
through her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct in- 
quiry of — 

£ Where, may I ask, is Miss Fairfax going ? ' 

' To a Mrs. Smallridge, — charming woman, — most superior, 
— to have the charge of her three little girls, — delightful 
children. Impossible that any situation could be more replete 
with comfort ; if we except, perhaps, Mrs. Suckling's own 
family, and Mrs. Bragge's ; but Mrs. Smallridge is intimate 
with both, and in the very same neighbourhood : — lives only 
four miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles 
from Maple Grove.' 

' Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom 
Miss Fairfax owes ' 

* Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true 
friend. She would not take a denial. She would not let Jane 
say " No " ; for when Jane first heard of it (it was the day 
before yesterday, the very morning we were at Donwell), when 
Jane first heard of it, she was quite decided against accepting 
the offer, and for the reasons you mention ; exactly as you 
say, she had made up her mind to close with nothing till 
Colonel Campbell's return, and nothing should induce her to 
enter into any engagement at present — and so she told Mrs. 
Elton over and over again — and I am sure I had no more 
idea that she would change her mind ; — but that good Mrs. 
Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw farther than I did. 
It is not everybody that would have stood out in such a kind 
way as she did, and refused to take Jane's answer ; but she 
positively declared she would not write any such denial yester- 
day as Jane wished her ; she would wait — and sure enough, 
yesterday evening, it was all settled that Jane should go. 
Quite a surprise to me ! I had not the least idea ! — Jane took 
Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that upon thinking 
over the advantages of Mrs. Suckling's situation, she had 
come to the resolution of accepting it. I did not know a word 
of it till it was all settled.' 

* You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton ? ' 

* Yes, all of us ; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was 
settled so, upon the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. 
Knightley. " You must all spend your evening with us," said 
she — " I positively must have you all come." ' 

343 



EMMA 

' Mr. Knightley was there too, was he ?' 

' No, not Mr. Knightley ; he declined it from the first ; and 
though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared 
she' would not let him off, he did not ; but my mother, and 
Jane, and I, were all there, and a very agreeable evening we 
had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one 
must always find agreeable, though everybody seemed rather 
fagged after the morning's party. Even pleasure, you know, 
is fatiguing — and I cannot say that any of them seemed very 
much to have enjoyed it. However, I shall always think it a 
very pleasant party, and- feel extremely obliged to the kind 
friends who included me in it.' 

* Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, 
had been making up her mind the whole day.' 

' I daresay she had.' 

1 Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to 
her and all her friends — but I hope her engagement will have 
every alleviation that is possible — I mean, as to the character 
and manners of the family.' 

* Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is 
everything in the world that can make her happy in it. Ex- 
cept the Sucklings and Bragges, there is not such another 
nursery establishment, so liberal and elegant, in all Mrs. 
Elton's acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most delightful 
woman ! A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove — 
and as to the children, except the little Sucklings and little 
Bragges, there are not such elegant sweet children anywhere. 
Jane will be treated with such regard and kindness ! It will 
be nothing but pleasure, a life of pleasure. And her salary — 
I really cannot venture to name her salary to you, Miss Wood- 
house. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would 
hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person 
like Jane.' 

' Ah, madam,' cried Emma, * if other children are at all 
like what I remember to have been myself, I should think five 
times the amount of what I have ever yet heard named as a 
salary on such occasions dearly earned.' 

* You are so noble in your ideas.' 

' And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you ? ' 
i Very soon, very soon indeed ; that's the worst of it. 
Within a fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My 

344 



EMMA 

poor mother does not know how to bear it. So then, I try to 
put it out of her thoughts, and say, " Come, ma'am, do not let 
us think about it any more." ' 

' Her friends must all be sorry to lose her ; and will not 
Colonel and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has 
engaged herself before their return ? ' 

' Yes ; Jane says she is sure they will ; but yet, this is such 
a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I 
was so astonished when she first told me what she had been 
saying to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. Elton at the same 
moment came congratulating me upon it. It was before tea — 
stay — no, it could not be before tea, because we were just 
going to cards — and yet it was before tea, because I remember 
thinking — oh no, now I recollect, now I have it ; something 
happened before tea, but not that. Mr. Elton was called out 
of the room before tea, old John Abdy's son wanted to speak 
with him. Poor old John, I have a great regard for him ; he 
was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years ; and now, 
poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the 
rheumatic gout in his joints — I must go and see him to-day ; 
and so will Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor 
John's son came to talk to Mr. Elton about relief from the 
parish : he is very well to do himself, you know, being head 
man at the Crown, ostler, and everything of that sort, but still 
he cannot keep his father without some help ; and so, when 
Mr. Elton came back, he told us what John ostler had been 
telling him, and then it came out about the chaise having been 
sent to Randalls to take Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. 
That was what happened before tea. It was after tea that 
Jane spoke to Mrs. Elton.' 

Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how per- 
fectly new this circumstance was to her ; but as, without 
supposing it possible that she could be ignorant of any of the 
particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill's going, she proceeded to 
give them all, it was of no consequence. 

What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the sub- 
ject, being the accumulation of the ostler's own knowledge, 
and the knowledge of the servants at Randalls, was, that a 
messenger had come over from Richmond soon after the return 
of the party from Box Hill — which messenger, however, had 
been no more than was expected ; and that Mr. Churchill had 

345 




Seen the Crown chaise pass by. 



EMMA 

sent his nephew a few lines, containing, upon the whole, a 
tolerable account of Mrs. Churchill, and only wishing him not 
to delay coming back beyond the next morning early ; but 
that Mr. Frank Churchill having resolved to go home directly, 
without waiting at all, and his horse seeming to have got a 
cold, Tom had been sent off immediately for the Crown chaise, 
and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy 
going a good pace, and driving very steady. 

There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, 
and it caught Emma's attention only as it united with the 
subject which already engaged her mind. The contrast be- 
tween Mrs. Churchill's importance in the world, and Jane 
Fairfax's, struck her ; one was everything, the other nothing — 
and she sat musing on the difference of woman's destiny, and 
quite unconscious on what her eyes were fixed, till roused by 
Miss Bates's saying — 

1 Ay, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What 
is to become of that ? Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking 
of it just now. "You must go," said she. "You and I must 
part. You will have no business here. Let it stay, however," 
said she; "give it house-room till Colonel Campbell comes 
back. I shall talk about it to him ; he will settle for me ; he 
will help me out of all my difficulties." — And to this day, I do 
believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his 
daughter's.' 

Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte ; and 
the remembrance of all her former fanciful and unfair con- 
jectures was so little pleasing, that she soon allowed herself to 
believe her visit had been long enough ; and, with a repetition 
of everything that she could venture to say of the good wishes 
which she really felt, took leave. 



CHAPTER XLV 

Emma's pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not 
interrupted ; but on entering the parlour, she found those who 
must rouse her. Mr. Knightley and Harriet had arrived 
during her absence, and were sitting with her father. Mr. 

347 



EMMA 

Knightley immediately got up, and, in a manner decidedly 
graver than usual, said — 

1 1 would not go away without seeing you, but I have no 
time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly. I am 
going to London, to spend a few days with John and Isabella. 
Have you anything to send or say, besides the " love " which 
nobody carries ? ' 

* Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme ? ' 

1 Yes — rather — I have been thinking of it some little time.' 
Emma was sure he had not forgiven her ; he looked unlike 
himself. Time, however, she thought, would tell him that 
they ought to be friends again. While he stood, as if meaning 
to go, but not going — her father began his inquiries. 

* Well, my dear, and did you get there safely ? — And how 
did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter ? — I dare- 
say they must have been very much obliged to you for coming. 
Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. and Miss Bates, Mr. 
Knightley, as I told you before. She is always so attentive to 
them.' 

Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise ; and 
with a smile and shake of the head, which spoke much, she 
looked at Mr. Knightley. It seemed as if there were an 
instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes received 
the truth from hers, and all that had passed of good in her 
feelings were at once caught and honoured. He looked at 
her with a glow of regard. She was warmly gratified — and in 
another moment still more so, by a little movement of more 
than common friendliness on his part. He took her hand ; — 
whether she had not herself made the first motion, she could 
not say — she might, perhaps, have rather offered it — but he 
took her hand, pressed it, and certainly was on the point of 
carrying it to his lips — when, from some fancy or other, he 
suddenly let it go. Why he should feel such a scruple, why 
he should change his mind when it was all but done, she could 
not perceive. He would have judged better, she thought, if 
he had not stopped. The intention, however, was indubitable ; 
and whether it was that his manners had in general so little 
gallantry, or however else it happened, but she thought nothing 
became him more. It was with him, of so simple, yet so 
dignified a nature. She could not but recall the attempt with 
great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity. He left them 

348 






EMMA 

immediately afterwards — gone in a moment. He always 
moved with the alertness of a mind which could neither be 
undecided nor dilatory, but now he seemed more sudden than 
usual in his disappearance. 

Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but 
she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier ; — it would 
have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax's situation 
with Mr. Knightley. Neither would she regret that he should 
be going to Brunswick Square, for she knew how much his 
visit would be enjoyed — but it might have happened at a better 
time — and to have had longer notice of it would have been 
pleasanter. They parted thorough friends, however ; she could 
not be deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his 
unfinished gallantry ; — it was all done to assure her that she 
had fully recovered his good opinion. He had been sitting 
with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity that she had 
not come back earlier. 

In the hope of diverting her father's thoughts from the 
disagreeableness of Mr. Knightley's going to London, and 
going so suddenly, and going on horseback, which she knew 
would be all very bad, Emma communicated her news of Jane 
Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was justified ; it 
supplied a very useful check, — interested, without disturbing 
him. He had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax's going 
out as governess, and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. 
Knightley's going to London had been an unexpected blow. 

1 1 am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so 
comfortably settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and 
agreeable, and I daresay her acquaintance are just what they 
ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, and that her health 
will be taken good care of. It ought to be a first object, as I 
am sure poor Miss Taylor's always was with me. You know, 
my dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor 
was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one respect, 
and not be induced to go away after it has been her home so 
long.' 

The following day brought news from Richmond to throw 
everything else into the background. An express arrived at 
Randalls to announce the death of Mrs. Churchill. Though 
her nephew had had no particular reason to hasten back on 
her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty hours after 

349 



EMMA 

his return. A sudden seizure, of a different nature from any- 
thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after 
a short struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no more. 

It was felt as such things must be felt. Everybody had a 
degree of gravity and sorrow ; tenderness towards the departed, 
solicitude for the surviving friends ; and, in a reasonable time, 
curiosity to know where she would be buried. Goldsmith tells 
us that when lovely woman stoops to folly, she has nothing to 
do but to die ; and when she stoops to be disagreeable, it is 
equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill fame. Mrs. 
Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty-five years, was 
now spoken of with compassionate allowances. In one point 
she was fully justified. She had never been admitted before 
to be seriously ill. The event acquitted her of all the fanciful- 
ness and all the selfishness of imaginary complaints. 

* Poor Mrs. Churchill ! no doubt she had been suffering a 
great deal : more than anybody had ever supposed — and con- 
tinual pain would try the temper. It was a sad event — a great 
shock — with all her faults, what would Mr. Churchill do with- 
out her ? Mr. Churchill's loss would be dreadful indeed. Mr. 
Churchill would never get over it.' Even Mr. Weston shook 
his head, and looked solemn, and said, * Ah, poor woman, who 
would have thought it ! ' and resolved that his mourning should 
be as handsome as possible ; and his wife sat sighing and 
moralising over her broad hems with a commiseration and 
good sense true and steady. How it would affect Frank was 
among the earliest thoughts of both. It was also a very early 
speculation with Emma. The character of Mrs. Churchill, the 
grief of her husband — her mind glanced over them both with 
awe and compassion — and then rested with lightened feelings 
on how Frank might be affected by the event, how benefited, 
how freed. She saw in a moment all the possible good. Now 
an attachment to Harriet Smith would have nothing to en- 
counter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared 
by nobody ; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any- 
thing by his nephew. All that remained to be wished was, 
that the nephew should form the attachment, as, with all her 
goodwill in the cause, Emma could feel no certainty of its 
being already formed. 

Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great 
self-command. Whatever she might feel of brighter hope, she 

35o 



EfMMA 

betrayed nothing. Emma was gratified to observe such a 
proof in her of strengthened character, and refrained from any 
allusion that might endanger its maintenance. They spoke, 
therefore, of Mrs. Churchill's death with mutual forbearance. 

Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, com- 
municating all that was immediately important of their state 
and plans. Mr. Churchill was better than could be expected ; 
and their first removal, on the departure of the funeral for 
Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old friend in 
Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a visit 
the last ten years. At present, there was nothing to be done 
for Harriet ; good wishes for the future were all that could yet 
be possible on Emma's side. 

It was a more pressing concern to show attention to Jane 
Fairfax, whose prospects were closing, while Harriet's opened, 
and whose engagements now allowed of no delay in any one 
at Highbury who wished to show her kindness — and with 
Emma it was grown into a first wish. She had scarcely a 
stronger regret than for her past coldness ; and the person, 
whom she had been so many months neglecting, was now the 
very one on whom she would have lavished every distinction 
of regard or sympathy. She wanted to be of use to her ; 
wanted to show a value for her society, and testify respect and 
consideration. She resolved to prevail on her to spend a day 
at Hartfield. A note was written to urge it. The invitation 
was refused, and by a verbal message. ' Miss Fairfax was not 
well enough to write' ; and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, 
the same morning, it appeared that she was so much indis- 
posed as to have been visited, though against her own consent, 
by himself, and that she was suffering under severe headaches 
and a nervous fever to a degree which made him doubt the 
possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge's at the time 
proposed. Her health seemed for the moment completely 
deranged — appetite quite gone — and though there were no 
absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touching the pulmonary 
complaint, which was the standing apprehension of the family, 
Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had under- 
taken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so 
herself, though she would not own it. Her spirits seemed 
overcome. Her present home, he could not but observe, was 
unfavourable to a nervous disorder ; — confined always to one 

35i 



EMMA 

room; — he could have wished it otherwise; — and her good 
aunt, though his very old friend, he must acknowledge to be 
not the best companion for an invalid of that description. Her 
care and attention could not be questioned ; they were, in fact, 
only too great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax 
derived more evil than good from them. Emma listened with 
the warmest concern ; grieved for her more and more, and 
looked around eager to discover some way of being useful. To 
take her — be it only an hour or two — from her aunt, to give 
her change of air and scene, and quiet rational conversation, 
even for an hour or two, might do her good ; and the following 
morning she wrote again to say, in the most feeling language 
she could command, that she would call for her in the carriage 
at any hour that Jane would name — mentioning that she had 
Mr. Perry's decided opinion in favour of such exercise for his 
patient. The answer was only in this short note : — 

' Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite un- 
equal to any exercise.' 

Emma felt that her own note had deserved something 
better ; but it was impossible to quarrel with words whose 
tremulous inequality showed indisposition so plainly, and she 
thought only of how she might best counteract this unwilling- 
ness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the answer, therefore, 
she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs. Bates's, in the 
hope that Jane would be induced to join her — but it would not 
do ; — Miss Bates came to the carriage door, all gratitude, and 
agreeing with her most earnestly in thinking an airing might 
be of the greatest service — and everything that message could 
do was tried — but all in vain. Miss Bates was obliged to re- 
turn without success ; Jane was quite unpersuadable ; the mere 
proposal of going out seemed to make her worse. Emma 
wished she could have seen her, and tried her own powers : 
but, almost before she could hint the wish, Miss Bates made it 
appear that she had promised her niece on no account to let 
Miss Woodhouse in. * Indeed, the truth was, that poor dear 
Jane could not bear to see anybody — anybody at all — Mrs. 
Elton, indeed, could not be denied — and Mrs. Cole had made 
such a point — and Mrs. Perry had said so much — but, except 
them, Jane would really see nobody.' 

Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons, the 
Mrs. Perrys, and the Mrs. Coles, who would force themselves 

35 2 




Miss Bates came to the carriage door. 



2 A 



EMMA 

anywhere ; neither could she feel any right of preference her- 
self—she submitted, therefore, and only questioned Miss Bates 
further as to her niece's appetite and diet, which she longed 
to be able to assist. On that subject poor Miss Bates was 
very unhappy, and very communicative ; Jane would hardly 
eat anything : — Mr. Perry recommended nourishing food ; but 
everything they could command (and never had anybody such 
good neighbours) was distasteful. 

Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly 
to an examination of her stores ; and some arrowroot of very 
superior quality was speedily despatched to Miss Bates with a 
most friendly note. In half an hour the arrowroot was re- 
turned, with a thousand thanks from Miss Bates, but 'dear 
Jane would not be satisfied without its being sent back : it was 
a thing she could not take — and, moreover, she insisted on 
her saying that she was not at all in want of anything.' 

When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had been 
seen wandering about the meadows, at some distance from 
Highbury, on the afternoon of the very day on which she had, 
under the plea of being unequal to any exercise, so peremptorily 
refused to go out with her in the carriage, she could have no 
doubt — putting everything together — that Jane was resolved 
to receive no kindness from her. She was sorry, very sorry. 
Her heart was grieved for a state which seemed but the more 
pitiable from this sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency of 
action, and inequality of powers ; and it mortified her that she 
was given so little credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so 
little worthy as a friend : but she had the consolation of know- 
ing that her intentions were good, and of being able to say to 
herself, that could Mr. Knightley have been privy to all her 
attempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even have seen 
into her heart, he would not, on this occasion, have found any- 
thing to reprove. 



CHAPTER XLVI 

One morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill's decease, 
Emma was called downstairs to Mr. Weston, who ' could not 
stay five minutes, and wanted particularly to speak with her.' — 

354 



EMMA 

He met her at the parlour door, and hardly asking her how 
she did, in the natural key of his voice, sank it immediately, 
to say, unheard by her father, — 

* Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning ? — 
Do, if it be possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you. She 
must see you.' 

* Is she unwell ?' 

* No, no, not at all — only a little agitated. She would have 
ordered the carriage, and come to you, but she must see you 
alone^ and that, you know (nodding towards her father) — 
Humph ! can you come ?' 

1 Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible 
to refuse what you ask in such a way, but what can be the 
matter ? is she really not ill ? ' 

* Depend upon me, but ask no more questions. You will 
know it all in time. The most unaccountable business ! But 
hush, hush ! ' 

To guess what all this meant was impossible even for 
Emma. Something really important seemed announced by 
his looks ; but, as her friend was well, she endeavoured not 
to be uneasy, and settling it with her father that she would 
take her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were soon out of the 
house together, and on their way at a quick pace for Randalls. 

* Now/ said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the 
sweep gates — 'now, Mr. Weston, do let me know what has 
happened.' 

* No, no,' he gravely replied. * Don't ask me. I promised 
my wife to leave it all to her. She will break it to you better 
than I can. Do not be impatient, Emma ; it will all come 
out too soon.' 

* Break it to me!' cried Emma, standing still with terror. 
' Good God ! Mr. Weston, tell me at once. Something has 
happened in Brunswick Square. I know it has. Tell me, I 
charge you, tell me this moment what it is.' 

1 No, indeed, you are mistaken.' 

1 Mr. Weston, do not trifle with me. Consider how many 
of my dearest friends are now in Brunswick Square. Which 
of them is it ? I charge you by all that is sacred not to 
attempt concealment.' 

* Upon my word, Emma.' 

' Your word ! why not your honour ! why not say upon 

355 



EMMA 

your honour, that it has nothing to do with any of them? 
Good heavens ! What can be to be broke to me, that does 
relate to one of that family ? ' 

6 Upon my honour,' said he very seriously, ' it does not. 
It is not in the smallest degree connected with any human 
being of the name of Knightley.' 

Emma's courage returned, and she walked on. 

* I was wrong,' he continued, ' in talking of its being broke 
to you. I should not have used the expression. In fact, it 
does not concern you, it concerns only myself; — that is, we 
hope. Humph! — In short, my dear Emma, there is no 
occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don't say that it is not a 
disagreeable business, but things might be much worse. If 
we walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls.' 

Emma found that she must wait ; and now it required little 
effort. She asked no more questions therefore, merely em- 
ployed her own fancy, and that soon pointed out to her the 
probability of its being some money concern, — something just 
come to light, of a disagreeable nature in the circumstances of 
the family ; something which the late event at Richmond had 
brought forward. Her fancy was very active. Half a dozen 
natural children, perhaps, and poor Frank cut off! This, 
though very undesirable, would be no matter of agony to her. 
It inspired little more than an animating curiosity. 

' Who is that gentleman on horseback ? ' said she, as they 
proceeded ; speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in keeping 
his secret, than with any other view. 

' I do not know. One of the Otways. — Not Frank ; it is 
not Frank, I assure you. You will not see him. He is half- 
way to Windsor by this time.' 

1 Has your son been with you, then ? ' 

1 Oh yes ; did not you know ? Well, well, never mind.' 

For a moment he was silent ; and then added, in a tone 
much more guarded and demure — 

* Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how 
we did.' 

They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls. — ' Well, 
my dear,' said he, as they entered the room, — c I have brought 
her, and now I hope you will soon be better : I shall leave you 
together. There is no use in delay. I shall not be far off, if 
you want me.' — And Emma distinctly heard him add, in a 

35&* 






EMMA 

lower tone, before he quitted the room, — * I have been as good 
as my word. She has not the least idea.' 

Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much 
perturbation, that Emma's uneasiness increased ; and the 
moment they were alone, she eagerly said — 

' What is it, my dear friend ? Something of a very unplea- 
sant nature, I find, has occurred; — do let me know directly 
what it is. I have been walking all this way in complete 
suspense. We both abhor suspense. Do not let mine con- 
tinue longer. It will do you good to speak of your distress, 
whatever it may be. 1 

* Have you, indeed, no idea ? ' said Mrs. Weston in a 
trembling voice. * Cannot you, my dear Emma — cannot you 
form a guess as to what you are to hear ? ' 

' So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do 
guess.' 

* You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell you 
directly' (resuming her work, and seeming resolved against 
looking up). ' He has been here this very morning, on a 
most extraordinary errand. It is impossible to express our 
surprise. He came to speak to his father on a subject, — to 
announce an attachment ' 

She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself, 
and then of Harriet. 

* More than an attachment, indeed,' resumed Mrs. Weston : 
1 an engagement — a positive engagement. What will you say, 
Emma — what will anybody say — when it is known that Frank 
Churchill and Miss Fairfax are engaged ; nay, that they have 
been long engaged ? ' 

Emma even jumped with surprise ; and, horror-struck, ex- 
claimed — 

' Jane Fairfax ! Good God ! You are not serious ? You 
do not mean it ? ' 

'You may well be amazed,' returned Mrs. Weston, still 
averting her eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that Emma 
might have time to recover — ' you may well be amazed. But 
it is even so. There has been a solemn engagement between 
them ever since October, — formed at Weymouth, and kept a 
secret from everybody. Not a creature knowing it but them- 
selves — neither the Campbells, nor her family, nor his. It is 
so wonderful, that, though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is 

357 



EMMA 

yet almost incredible to myself. I can hardly believe it. I 
thought I knew him.' 

Emma scarcely heard what was said. Her mind was 
divided between two ideas : her own former conversations with 
him about Miss Fairfax ; and poor Harriet : and for some 
time she could only exclaim, and require confirmation, repeated 
confirmation. 

' Well ! ' said she at last, trying to recover herself ; * this is 
a circumstance which I must think of at least half a day, before 
I can at all comprehend it. What ! — engaged to her all the 
winter — before either of them came to Highbury ? ' 

' Engaged since October, — secretly engaged. It has hurt 
me, Emma, very much. It has hurt his father equally. Some 
part of his conduct we cannot excuse.' 

Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, — c I will not 
pretend not to understand you ; and to give you all the relief 
in my power, be assured that no such effect has followed his 
attentions to me, as you are apprehensive of.' 

Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe ; but Emma's 
countenance was as steady as her words. 

' That you may have less difficulty in believing this boast 
of my present perfect indifference,' she continued, ' I will 
further tell you that there was a period in the early part of 
our acquaintance when I did like him — when I was very much 
disposed to be attached to him ; nay, was attached — and how 
it came to cease, is perhaps the wonder. Fortunately, how- 
ever, it did cease. I have really for some time past, for at 
least these three months, cared nothing about him. You may 
believe me, Mrs. Weston. This is the simple truth.' 

Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy ; and when she 
could find utterance, assured her, that this protestation had 
done her more good than anything else in the world could do. 

' Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself/ 
said she. ' On this point we have been wretched. It was our 
darling wish that you might be attached to each other, and we 
were persuaded that it was so. Imagine what we have been 
feeling on your account.' 

1 I have escaped ; and that I should escape, may be a 
matter of grateful wonder to you and myself. But this does 
not acquit hint) Mrs. Weston ; and I must say that I think 
him greatly to blame. What right had he to come among us 

358 






EMMA 

with affection and faith engaged, and with manners so very 
disengaged? What right had he to endeavour to please, as 
he certainly did — to distinguish any one young woman with 
persevering attention, as he certainly did, while he really be- 
longed to another ? How could he tell what mischief he might 
be doing ? — How could he tell that he might not be making 
me in love with him? Very wrong, very wrong indeed.' 

* From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather 
imagine ' 

* And how could she bear such behaviour ? Composure with 
a witness ! to look on, while repeated attentions were offering 
to another woman before her face, and not resent it. That is 
a degree of placidity which I can neither comprehend nor 
respect.' 

' There were misunderstandings between them, Emma ; he 
said so expressly. He had not time to enter into much ex- 
planation. He was here only a quarter of an hour, and in a 
state of agitation which did not allow the full use even of the 
time he could stay — but that there had been misunderstandings 
he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed, seemed to be 
brought on by them ; and those misunderstandings might very 
possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct.' 

' Impropriety ! Oh, Mrs. Weston, it is too calm a censure. 
Much, much beyond impropriety ! It has sunk him — I cannot 
say how it has sunk him in my opinion. So unlike what a 
man should be ! None of that upright integrity, that strict 
adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of trick and 
littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of 
his life.' 

' Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part ; for though 
he has been wrong in this instance, I have known him long 
enough to answer for his having many, very many good 
qualities ; and ' 

* Good God ! ' cried Emma, not attending to her. — ' Mrs. 
Smallridge, too ! Jane actually on the point of going as 
governess! What could he mean by such horrible indelicacy? 
To suffer her to engage herself — to suffer her even to think of 
such a measure ! ' 

* He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I can 
fully acquit him. It was a private resolution of hers, not com- 
municated to him, or at least not communicated in a way to 

359 



EMMA 

carry conviction. Till yesterday, I know, he said he was in 
the dark as to her plans. They burst on him, I do not know 
how, but by some letter or message — and it was the discovery 
of what she was doing, of this very project of hers, which 
determined him to come forward at once, own it all to his 
uncle, throw himself on his kindness, and, in short, put an end 
to the miserable state of concealment that had been carrying 
on so long.' 

Emma began to listen better. 

' I am to hear from him soon,' continued Mrs. Weston. 
1 He told me at parting that he should soon write ; and he 
spoke in a manner which seemed to promise me many particu- 
lars that could not be given now. Let us wait, therefore, for 
this letter. It may bring many extenuations. It may make 
many things intelligible and excusable which now are not to 
be understood. Don't let us be severe ; don't let us be in a 
hurry to condemn him. Let us have patience. I must love 
him ; and now that I am satisfied on one point, the one 
material point, I am sincerely anxious for its all turning out 
well, and ready to hope that it may. They must both have 
suffered a great deal under such a system of secrecy and 
concealment/ 

{ His sufferings,' replied Emma drily, c do not appear to 
have done him much harm. Well, and how did Mr. Churchill 
take it ? ' 

' Most favourably for his nephew — gave his consent with 
scarcely a difficulty. Conceive what the events of a week 
have done in that family ! While poor Mrs. Churchill lived, 
I suppose there could not have been a hope, a chance, a 
possibility ; but scarcely are her remains at rest in the family 
vault, than her husband is persuaded to act exactly opposite to 
what she would have required. What a blessing it is when 
undue influence does not survive the grave! — He gave his 
consent with very little persuasion.' 

' Ah ! ' thought Emma, ' he would have done as much for 
Harriet.' 

'This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the 
light this morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the Bates's, 
I fancy, some time, and then came on hither ; but was in such 
a hurry to get back to his uncle, to whom he is just now more 
necessary than ever, that, as I tell you, he could stay with us 

360 



EMMA 

but a quarter of an hour. He was very much agitated — very 
much indeed — to a degree that made him appear quite a 
different creature from anything I had ever seen him before. 
In addition to all the rest, there had been the shock of finding 
her so very unwell, which he had had no previous suspicion of, 
and there was every appearance of his having been feeling a 
great deal.' 

1 And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying 
on with such perfect secrecy ? — The Campbells, the Dixons — 
did none of them know of the engagement ? ' 

Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little 
blush. 

' None ; not one. He positively said that it had been 
known to no being in the world but their two selves.' 

c Well,' said Emma, 1 1 suppose we shall gradually grow 
reconciled to the idea, and I wish them very happy. But I 
shall always think it a very abominable sort of proceeding. 
What has it been but a system of hypocrisy and deceit, — 
espionage and treachery ? — To come among us with pro- 
fessions of openness and simplicity ; and such a league in 
secret to judge us all ! — Here have we been the whole winter 
and spring completely duped, fancying ourselves all on an 
equal footing of truth and honour, with two people in the 
midst of us who may have been carrying round, comparing 
and sitting in judgment on sentiments and words that were 
never meant for both to hear. — They must take the conse- 
quence, if they have heard each other spoken of in a way not 
perfectly agreeable ! ' 

' I am quite easy on that head,' replied Mrs. Weston. c I 
am very sure that I never said anything of either to the other, 
which both might not have heard.' 

i You are in luck. — Your only blunder was confined to my 
ear, when you imagined a certain friend of ours in love with 
the lady.' 

'True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good 
opinion of Miss Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, 
have spoken ill of her ; and as to speaking ill of him, there I 
must have been safe.' 

At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance 
from the window, evidently on the watch. His wife gave him 
a look which invited him in ; and, while he was coming round, 

361 



EMMA 

added, — i Now, dearest Emma, let me entreat you to say and 
look everything that may set his heart at ease and incline him 
to be satisfied with the match. Let us make the best of it — 
and, indeed, almost everything may be fairly said in hex favour. 
It is not a connection to gratify ; but if Mr. Churchill does 
not feel that, why should we ? and it may be a very fortunate 
circumstance for him, — for Frank, I mean, — that he should 
have attached himself to a girl of such steadiness of character 
and good judgment as I have always given her credit for — 
and still am disposed to give her credit for, in spite of this one 
great deviation from the strict rule of right. And how much 
may be said in her situation for even that error ! ' 

c Much, indeed ! ' cried Emma feelingly. ' If a woman 
can ever be excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a 
situation like Jane Fairfax's. — Of such, one may almost say 
that " the world is not theirs, nor the world's law." ' 

She met Mr. Weston on his entrance with a smiling 
countenance, exclaiming — 

* A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my 
word ! This was a device, I suppose, to sport with my 
curiosity, and exercise my talent of guessing. But you really 
frightened me. I thought you had lost half your property, at 
least. And here, instead of its being a matter of condolence, 
it turns out to be one of congratulation. — I congratulate you, 
Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect of having one 
of the most lovely and accomplished young women in England 
for your daughter.' 

A glance or two between him and his wife convinced him 
that all was as right as this speech proclaimed ; and its happy 
effect on his spirits was immediate. His air and voice re- 
covered their usual briskness ; he shook her heartily and 
gratefully by the hand, and entered on the subject in a manner 
to prove that he now only wanted time and persuasion to think 
the engagement no very bad thing. His companions suggested 
only what could palliate imprudence or smooth objections ; 
and by the time they had talked it all over together, and he 
had talked it all over again with Emma, in their walk back to 
Hartfield, he was become perfectly reconciled, and not far 
from thinking it the very best thing that Frank could possibly 
have done. 

362 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XLVII 

' HARRIET, poor Harriet ! ' — Those were the words ; in them 
lay the tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, 
and which constituted the real misery of the business to her. 
Frank Churchill had behaved very ill by herself — very ill in 
many ways, — but it was not so much his behaviour as her own^ 
which made her so angry with him. It was the scrape which 
he had drawn her into on Harriet's account, that gave the 
deepest hue to his offence. — Poor Harriet ! to be a second 
time the dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. 
Knightley had spoken prophetically, when he once said, 
'Emma, you have been no friend to Harriet Smith.' — She 
was afraid she had done her nothing but disservice. — It was 
true that she had not to charge herself in this instance, as in 
the former, with being the sole and original author of the 
mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might 
otherwise never have entered Harriet's imagination ; for 
Harriet had acknowledged her admiration and preference of 
Frank Churchill before she had ever given her a hint on the 
subject ; but she felt completely guilty of having encouraged 
what she might have repressed. She might have prevented 
the indulgence and increase of such sentiments. Her influence 
would have been enough. And now she was very conscious 
that she ought to have prevented them. — She felt that she had 
been risking her friend's happiness on most insufficient grounds. 
Common sense would have directed her to tell Harriet that 
she must not allow herself to think of him, and that there were 
five hundred chances to one against his ever caring for her. 
— c But with common sense,' she added, ' I am afraid I have 
had little to do.' 

She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not 
have been angry with Frank Churchill too, it would have been 
dreadful. — As for Jane Fairfax, she might at least relieve her 
feelings from any present solicitude on her account. Harriet 
would be anxiety enough ; she need no longer be unhappy 
about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill health having, of 
course, the same origin, must be equally under cure. — Her 

363 



EMMA 

days of insignificance and evil were over. — She would soon be 
well, and happy, and prosperous. — Emma could now imagine 
why her own attentions had been slighted. This discovery 
laid many smaller matters open. No doubt it had been from 
jealousy. — In Jane's eyes she had been a rival; and well 
might anything she could offer of assistance or regard be 
repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have 
been the rack, and arrowroot from the Hartfield store-room 
must have been poison. She understood it all ; and as far as 
her mind could disengage itself from the injustice and selfish- 
ness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that Jane Fairfax 
would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her desert. 
But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge ! There was 
little sympathy to be spared for anybody else. Emma was 
sadly fearful that this second disappointment would be more 
severe than the first. Considering the very superior claims of 
the object, it ought ; and judging by its apparently stronger 
effect on Harriet's mind, it would produce reserve and self- 
command. — She must communicate the painful truth, however, 
and as soon as possible. An injunction of secrecy had been 
among Mr. Weston's parting words. £ For the present the 
whole affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill 
had made a point of it, as a token of respect to the wife he 
had so very recently lost ; and everybody admitted it to be 
no more than due decorum.' — Emma had promised ; but still 
Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty. 

In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost 
ridiculous that she should have the very same distressing and 
delicate office to perform by Harriet which Mrs. Weston had 
just gone through by herself. The intelligence, which had 
been so anxiously announced to her, she was now to be anxiously 
announcing to another. Her heart beat quick on hearing 
Harriet's footstep and voice ; so, she supposed, had poor 
Mrs. Weston felt when she was approaching Randalls. Could 
the event of the disclosure bear an equal resemblance ? — But 
of that, unfortunately, there could be no chance. 

'Well, Miss Woodhouse, 3 cried Harriet, coming eagerly 
into the room, * is not this the oddest news that ever was ? ' 

4 What news do you mean,* replied Emma, unable to guess, 
by look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received 
any hint. 

3^4 



EMMA 

'About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear anything so 
strange ? Oh — you need not be afraid of owning it to me, 
for Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him just now. 
He told me it was to be a great secret ; and, therefore, I 
should not think of mentioning it to anybody but you, but 
he said you knew it.' 

'What did Mr. Weston tell you?' said Emma, still per- 
plexed. 

' Oh, he told me all about it ; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. 
Frank Churchill are to be married, and that they have been 
privately engaged to one another this long while. How very 
odd!' 

It was, indeed, so odd, Harriet's behaviour was so extremely 
odd, that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her 
character appeared absolutely changed. She seemed to pro- 
pose showing no agitation, or disappointment, or peculiar 
concern in the discovery. Emma looked at her, quite unable 
to speak. 

' Had you any idea,' cried Harriet, ' of his being in love 
with her? — You, perhaps, might. — You (blushing as she 
spoke) who can see into everybody's heart ; but nobody 
else ' 

4 Upon my word,' said Emma, ' I begin to doubt my hav- 
ing any such talent. Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, 
whether I imagined him attached to another woman at the 
very time that I was — tacitly, if not openly — encouraging you 
to give way to your own feelings ? — I never had the slightest 
suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank Churchill's 
having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very 
sure that, if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.' 

' Me ! ' cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. ' Why 
should you caution me ? — You do not think I care about Mr. 
Frank Churchill.' 

' I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the 
subject,' replied Emma, smiling ; ' but you do not mean to 
deny that there was a time — and not very distant either — 
when you gave me reason to understand that you did care 
about him ? ' 

1 Him ! — never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could 
you so mistake me ? ' (turning away distressed). 

1 Harriet,' cried Emma, after a moment's pause, ' what do 

365 



EMMA 

you mean ? — Good Heaven ! what do you mean ? — Mistake 
you ! — Am I to suppose then ? ' 

She could not speak another word. — Her voice was lost ; 
and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should 
answer. 

Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face 
turned from her, did not immediately say anything ; and 
when she did speak, it was in a voice nearly as agitated as 
Emma's. 

* I should not have thought it possible,' she began, * that 
you could have misunderstood me ! I know we agreed never 
to name him — but considering how infinitely superior he is 
to everybody else, I should not have thought it possible that 
I could be supposed to mean any other person. Mr. Frank 
Churchill, indeed ! I do not know who would ever look at 
him in the company of the other. I hope I have a better 
taste than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like 
nobody by his side. And that you should have been so 
mistaken is amazing! — I am sure, but for believing that 
you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my 
attachment, I should have considered it at first too great a 
presumption almost to dare to think of him. At first, if you 
had not told me that more wonderful things had happened ; 
that there had been matches of greater disparity (those were 
your very words) ; — I should not have dared to give way to 

1 should not have thought it possible But if you^ 

who had always been acquainted with him- 



c Harriet, 3 cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely, * let 
us understand each other now, without the possibility of 
further mistake. Are you speaking of — Mr. Knightley ? ' 

1 To, be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any- 
body else, — and so I thought you knew. When we talked 
about him, it was clear as possible.' 

1 Not quite,' returned Emma, with forced calmness ; ' for 
all that you then said appeared to me to relate to a different 
person. I could almost assert that you had named Mr. 
Frank Churchill. I am sure the service Mr. Frank Churchill 
had rendered you, in protecting you from the gipsies, was 
spoken of.' 

1 Oh, Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget ! ' 

' My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of 

366 



EMMA 

what I said on the occasion. I told you that I did not 
wonder at your attachment ; that, considering the service he 
had rendered you, it was extremely natural : — and you agreed 
to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to your sense of that 
service, and mentioning even what your sensations had been in 
seeing him come forward to your rescue. The impression of it 
is strong on my memory.' 

' Oh dear,' cried Harriet, ' now I recollect what you mean ; 
but I was thinking of something very different at the time. 
It was not the gipsies — it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I 
meant. No ! (with some elevation) I was thinking of a much 
more precious circumstance, — of Mr. Knightley's coming and 
asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not stand up with 
me, and when there was no other partner in the room. That 
was the kind action ; that was the noble benevolence and 
generosity ; that was the service which made me begin to feel 
how superior he was to every other being upon earth. 

' Good God ! ' cried Emma, ' this has been a most unfor- 
tunate — most deplorable mistake ! What is to be done ? 

'You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had 
understood me. At least, however, I cannot be worse off 
than I should have been, if the other had been the person ; 
and now — it is possible ' 

She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak. 

' I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse,' she resumed, 6 that 
you should feel a great difference between the two, as to me 
or as to anybody. You must think one five hundred million 
times more above me than the other. But I hope, Miss 
Woodhouse, that supposing — that if — strange as it may 

appear But you know they were your own words, that 

more wonderful things had happened ; matches of greater 
disparity had taken place than between Mr. Frank Churchill 
and me ; and, therefore, it seems as if such a thing even as 
this may have occurred before ; — and if I should be so for- 
tunate, beyond expression, as to if Mr. Knightley should 

really if he does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss 

Woodhouse, you will not set yourself against it, and try and 
put difficulties in the way. But you are too good for that, I 
am sure.* 

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma 
turned round to look at her in consternation, and hastily said — 

367 






EMMA 

' Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your 
affection ? ' 

'Yes,' replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully ; i I must 
say that I have.' 

Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn ; and she sat 
silently meditating, in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. 
A few minutes were sufficient for making her acquainted with 
her own heart. A mind like hers, once opening to suspicion, 
made rapid progress : she touched — she admitted — she 
acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse 
that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley than with 
Frank Churchill ? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased 
by Harriet's having some hope of a return ? It darted through 
her with the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry 
no one but herself! 

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her 
in the same few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness 
which had never blessed her before. How improperly had 
she been acting by Harriet ! How inconsiderate, how indeli- 
cate, how irrational, how unfeeling, had been her conduct ! 
What blindness, what madness, had led her on ! It struck 
her with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every 
bad name in the world. Some portion of respect for herself, 
however, in spite of all these demerits — some concern for 
her own appearance, and a strong sense of justice by Harriet 
(there would be no need of compassion to the girl who be- 
lieved herself loved by Mr. Knightley — but justice required 
that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now) — 
gave Emma the resolution to sit and endure further with 
calmness, with even apparent kindness. For her own advan- 
tage, indeed, it was fit that the utmost extent of Harriet's 
hopes should be inquired into ; and Harriet had done nothing 
to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily 
formed and maintained — or to deserve to be slighted by the 
person whose counsels had never led her right. Rousing 
from reflection, therefore, and subduing her emotion, she 
turned to Harriet again, and, in a more inviting accent, 
renewed the conversation ; for as to the subject which had first 
introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was 
quite sunk and lost. Neither of them thought but of Mr. 
Knightley and themselves. 

368 



EMMA 

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, 
was yet very glad to be called from it by the now encouraging 
manner of such a judge, and such a friend, as Miss Wood- 
house ; and only wanted invitation to give the history of her 
hopes with great though trembling delight. Emma's trem- 
blings, as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed 
than Harriet's, but they were not less. Her voice was not 
unsteady ; but her mind was in all the perturbation that such 
a development of self, such a burst of threatening evil, such a 
confusion of sudden and perplexing emotions, must create. 
She listened with much inward suffering, but with great 
outward patience, to Harriet's detail. Methodical, or well 
arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to 
be ; but it contained, when separated from all the feebleness 
and tautology of the narration, a substance to sink her spirit ; 
especially with the corroborating circumstances which her own 
memory brought in favour of Mr. Knightley's most improved 
opinion of Harriet. 

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour 
ever since those two decisive dances. Emma knew that he 
had, on that occasion, found her much superior to his expecta- 
tion. From that evening, or at least from the time of Miss 
Woodhouse's encouraging her to think of him, Harriet had 
begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than 
he had been used to do, and of his having, indeed, quite a 
different manner towards her ; — a manner of kindness and 
sweetness. Latterly, she had been more and more aware of 
it. When they had been all walking together, he had so 
often come and walked by her, and talked so very delightfully ! 
— He seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma 
knew it to have been very much the case : she had often 
observed the change, to almost the same extent. Harriet 
repeated expressions of approbation and praise from him, — and 
Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement with what she 
had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for 
being without art or affectation ; for having simple, honest, 
generous feelings. She knew that he saw such recommenda- 
tions in Harriet; he had dwelt on them to her more than 
once. Much that lived in Harriet's memory; many little 
particulars of the notice she had received from him ; a look, a 
speech, a removal from one chair to another; a compliment 
2 b 369 



EMMA 

implied, a preference inferred ; had been unnoticed, because 
unsuspected, by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to 
half an hour's relation, and contained multiplied proofs to her 
who had seen them, had passed undiscerned by her who now 
heard them ; but the two latest occurrences to be mentioned — 
the two of strongest promise to Harriet — were not without 
some degree of witness from Emma herself. The first was 
his walking with her apart from the others in the lime walk at 
Don well, where they had been walking some time before 
Emma came, and he had taken pains (as she was convinced) 
to draw her from the rest to himself; and at first he had 
talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever done 
before, — in a very particular way indeed ! — (Harriet could not 
recall it without a blush). He seemed to be almost asking 
her whether her affections were engaged. But as soon as she 
(Miss Woodhouse) appeared likely to join them, he changed 
the subject, and began talking about farming. The second 
was his having sat talking with her nearly half an hour before 
Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of his 
being at Hartfield, — though, when he first came in, he had 
said that he could not stay five minutes, — and his having told 
her, during their conversation, that though he must go to 
London, it was very much against his inclination that he left 
home at all, which was much more (as Emma felt) than he 
had acknowledged to her. The superior degree of confidence 
towards Harriet which this one article marked gave her 
severe pain. 

On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she 
did, after a little reflection, venture the following question : 
— l Might he not ? — Is not it possible, that when inquiring, as 
you thought, into the state of your affections, he might be 
alluding to Mr. Martin, — he might have Mr. Martin's interest 
in view ? ' But Harriet rejected the suspicion with spirit. 

I Mr. Martin ! No, indeed ! — there was not a hint of Mr. 
Martin. I hope I know better now, than to care for Mr. 
Martin, or to be suspected of it.' 

When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her 
dear Miss Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good 
ground for hope. 

I I never should have presumed to think of it at first,' said 
she, 'but for you. You told me to observe him carefully, 

37o 



EMMA 

and let his behaviour be the rule of mine — and so I have. 
But now I seem to feel that I may deserve him ; and that if 
he does choose me, it will not be anything so very wonderful. ' 

The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many 
bitter feelings, made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's 
side, to enable her to say in reply — 

' Harriet, I will only venture to declare that Mr. Knightley 
is the last man in the world who would intentionally give any 
woman the idea of his feeling for her more than he really 
does.' 

Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence 
so satisfactory ; and Emma was only saved from raptures and 
fondness, which at that moment would have been dreadful 
penance, by the sound of her father's footsteps. He was 
coming through the hall. Harriet was too much agitated to 
encounter him. ' She could not compose herself — Mr. Wood- 
house would be alarmed — she had better go ' ; — with most 
ready encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed 
off through another door — and the moment she was gone, this 
was the spontaneous burst of Emma's feelings : * O God ! that 
I had never seen her ! ' 

The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough 
for her thoughts. She was bewildered amidst the confusion 
of all that had rushed on her within the last few hours. Every 
moment had brought a fresh surprise ; and every surprise 
must be matter of humiliation to her. — How to understand it 
all ! How to understand the deceptions she had been thus 
practising on herself, and living under ! — The blunders, the 
blindness of her own head and heart 1 — She sat still, she 
walked about, she tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery 
— in every place, every posture, she perceived that she had 
acted most weakly ; that she had been imposed on by others 
in a most mortifying degree ; that she had been imposing on 
herself in a degree yet more mortifying ; that she was wretched, 
and should probably find this day but the beginning of 
wretchedness. 

To understand, thoroughly understand, her own heart, was 
the first endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment 
which her father's claims on her allowed, and every moment 
of involuntary absence of mind. 

How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every 

371 



EMMA 

feeling declared him now to be ? When had his influence, 
such influence begun ? When had he succeeded to that place 
in her affection which Frank Churchill had once for a short 
period occupied ? — She looked back ; she compared the two 
— compared them, as they had always stood in her estimation, 
from the time of the latter's becoming known to her — and as 
they must at any time have been compared by her, had it — 
oh ! had it, by any blessed felicity, occurred to her to institute 
the comparison. She saw that there never had been a time 
when she did not consider Mr. Knightley as infinitely the 
superior, or when his regard for her had not been infinitely 
the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancy- 
ing, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a 
delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart — and, in short, that 
she had never really cared for Frank Churchill at all ! 

This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. 
This was the knowledge of herself, on the first question of 
inquiry, which she reached ; and without being long in 
reaching it. She was most sorrowfully indignant ; ashamed 
of every sensation but the one revealed to her — her affection 
for Mr. Knightley. Every other part of her mind was dis- 
gusting. 

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the 
secret of everybody's feelings ; with unpardonable arrogance 
proposed to arrange everybody's destiny. She was proved to 
have been universally mistaken ; and she had not quite done 
nothing — for she had done mischief. She had brought evil 
on Harriet, on herself, and, she too much feared, on Mr. 
Knightley. Were this most unequal of all connections to take 
place, on her must rest all the reproach of having given it a 
beginning ; for his attachment she must believe to be produced 
only by a consciousness of Harriet's ; — and even were this not 
the case, he would never have known Harriet at all but for 
her folly. 

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith ! — It was an union to 
distance every wonder of the kind. The attachment of Frank 
Churchill and Jane Fairfax became commonplace, threadbare, 
stale in the comparison, exciting no surprise, presenting no 
disparity, affording nothing to be said or thought. Mr. 
Knightley and Harriet Smith ! Such an elevation on her side 1 
Such a debasement on his ! It was horrible to Emma to 

372 



EMMA 

think how it must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee 
the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it would prompt at his 
expense; the mortification and disdain of his brother, the 
thousand inconveniences to himself. Could it be ? No ; it 
was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible. 
— Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities 
to be captivated by very inferior powers ? Was it new for 
one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who 
would seek him ? Was it new for anything in this world to 
be unequal, inconsistent, incongruous — or for chance and 
circumstance (as second causes) to direct the human fate ? 

Oh ! had she never brought Harriet forward ! Had she 
left her where she ought, and where he had told her she 
ought ! Had she not, with a folly which no tongue could 
express, prevented her marrying the unexceptionable young 
man who would have made her happy and respectable in the 
line of life to which she ought to belong, all would have been 
safe ; none of this dreadful sequel would have been. 

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise 
her thoughts to Mr. Knightley ! — How she could dare to fancy 
herself the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it ! 
But Harriet was less humble, had fewer scruples than formerly. 
Her inferiority, whether of mind or situation, seemed little felt. 
She had seemed more sensible of Mr. Elton's being to stoop 
in marrying her, than she now seemed of Mr. Knightley's. 
Alas I was not that her own doing too ? Who had been at 
pains to give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself ? 
Who but herself had taught her that she was to elevate 
herself if possible, and that her claims were great to a high 
worldly establishment ? If Harriet, from being humble, were 
grown vain, it was her doing too. 



CHAPTER XLVIII 

Till now that she was threatened with its loss Emma had 
never known how much of her happiness depended on being 
first with Mr. Knightley, first in interest and affection. 
Satisfied that it was so, and feeling it her due, she had en- 

373 



EMMA 

joyed it without reflection ; and only in the dread of being 
supplanted, found how inexpressibly important it had been. 
Long, very long, she felt she had been first; for, having no 
female connections of his own, there had been only Isabella 
whose claims could be compared with hers, and she had al- 
ways known exactly how far he loved and esteemed Isabella. 
She had herself been first with him for many years past. She 
had not deserved it ; she had often been negligent or perverse, 
slighting his advice, or even wilfully opposing him, insensible 
of half his merits, and quarrelling with him because he would 
not acknowledge her false and insolent estimate of her own — 
but still, from family attachment and habit, and thorough 
excellence of mind, he had loved her, and watched over her 
from a girl, with an endeavour to improve her, and an anxiety 
for her doing right, which no other creature had at all shared. 
In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear to him ; 
might she not say, very dear ? When the suggestions of hope, 
however, which must follow here, presented themselves, she 
could not presume to indulge them. Harriet Smith might 
think herself not unworthy of being peculiarly, exclusively, 
passionately loved by Mr. Knightley. She could not. She 
could not flatter herself with any idea of blindness in his 
attachment to her. She had received a very recent proof of 
its impartiality. How shocked had he been by her behaviour 
to Miss Bates ! How directly, how strongly, had he expressed 
himself to her on the subject ! Not too strongly for the 
offence — but far, far too strongly to issue from any feeling 
softer than upright justice and clear-sighted goodwill. She 
had no hope, nothing to deserve the name of hope, that he 
could have that sort of affection for herself which was now in 
question ; but there was a hope (at times a slight one, at 
times much stronger) that Harriet might have deceived 
herself, and be over-rating his regard for her. Wish it she 
must, for his sake — be the consequence nothing to herself, but 
his remaining single all his life. Could she be secure of that, 
indeed, of his never marrying at all, she believed she should 
be perfectly satisfied. Let him but continue the same Mr. 
Knightley to her and her father, the same Mr. Knightley to 
all the world ; let Donwell and Hartfield lose none of their 
precious intercourse of friendship and confidence, and her 
peace would be fully secured. Marriage, in fact, would not 

374 



EMMA 

do for her. It would be incompatible with what she owed to 
her father, and with what she felt for him. Nothing should 
separate her from her father. She would not marry, even if 
she were asked by Mr. Knightley. 

It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be disap- 
pointed ; and she hoped that when able to see them together 
again she might at least be able to ascertain what the 
chances for it were. She should see them henceforward with 
the closest observance ; and, wretchedly as she had hitherto 
misunderstood even those she was watching, she did not know 
how to admit that she could be blinded here. He was 
expected back every day. The power of observation would be 
soon given — frightfully soon it appeared when her thoughts 
were in one course. In the meanwhile, she resolved against 
seeing Harriet. It would do neither of them good, it would 
do the subject no good, to be talking of it further. She was 
resolved not to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and 
yet had no authority for opposing Harriet's confidence. To 
talk would be only to irritate. She wrote to her, therefore, 
kindly, but decisively, to beg that she would not, at present, 
come to Hartfield ; acknowledging it to be her conviction that 
all further confidential discussion of one topic had better be 
avoided ; and hoping, that if a few days were allowed to pass 
before they met again, except in the company of others — she 
objected only to a tete-&-tete — they might be able to act as 
if they had forgotten the conversation of yesterday. Harriet 
submitted, and approved, and was grateful. 

This point was just arranged, when a visitor arrived to tear 
Emma's thoughts a little from the one subject which had 
engrossed them, sleeping or waking, the last twenty -four 
hours — Mrs. Weston, who had been calling on her daughter- 
in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her way home, almost as 
much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to herself, to relate all 
the particulars of so interesting an interview. 

Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates, and gone 
through his share of this essential attention most handsomely ; 
but she having then induced Miss Fairfax to join her in an 
airing, was now returned with much more to say, and much 
more to say with satisfaction, than a quarter of an hour spent 
in Mrs. Bates's parlour, with all the incumbrance of awkward 
feelings, could have afforded. 

375 



EMMA 

A little curiosity Emma had ; and she made the most of it 
while her friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to pay the 
visit in a good deal of agitation herself ; and in the first place 
had wished not to go at all at present, to be allowed merely to 
write to Miss Fairfax instead, and to defer this ceremonious 
call till a little time had passed, and Mr. Churchill could be 
reconciled to the engagement's becoming known ; as, consider- 
ing everything, she thought such a visit could not be paid 
without leading to reports : but Mr. Weston had thought 
differently ; he was extremely anxious to show his approbation 
to Miss Fairfax and her family, and did not conceive that any 
suspicion could be excited by it ; or if it were, that it would be 
of any consequence ; for £ such things,' he observed, ' always 
got about.' Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston had very 
good reason for saying so. They had gone, in short ; and 
very great had been the evident distress and confusion of the 
lady. She had hardly been able to speak a word, and every 
look and action had shown how deeply she was suffering from 
consciousness. The quiet, heartfelt satisfaction of the old lady, 
and the rapturous delight of her daughter, who proved even 
too joyous to talk as usual, had been a gratifying, yet almost 
an affecting, scene. They were both so truly respectable in 
their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation ; thought 
so much of Jane ; so much of everybody, and so little of 
themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work for them. 
Miss Fairfax's recent illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. 
Weston to invite her to an airing ; she had drawn back and 
declined at first, but, on being pressed, had yielded ; and, in 
the course of their drive, Mrs. Weston had, by gentle 
encouragement, overcome so much of her embarrassment as 
to bring her to converse on the important subject. Apologies 
for her seemingly ungracious silence in their first reception, 
and the warmest expressions of the gratitude she was always 
feeling towards herself and Mr. Weston, must necessarily open 
the cause ; but when these effusions were put by, they had 
talked a good deal of the present and of the future state of the 
engagement. Mrs. Weston was convinced that such conver- 
sation must be the greatest relief to her companion, pent up 
within her own mind as everything had so long been, and was 
very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject. 

1 On the misery of what she had suffered, during the 

376 



EMMA 

concealment of so many months,' continued Mrs. Weston, ' she 
was energetic. This was one of her expressions. " I will not 
say, that since I entered into the engagement I have not had 
some happy moments ; but I can say that I have never 
known the blessing of one tranquil hour " : — and the quivering 
lip, Emma, which uttered it, was an attestation that I felt at my 
heart.' 

* Poor girl ! ' said Emma. * She thinks herself wrong, then, 
for having consented to a private engagement ? ' 

' Wrong ! No one, I believe, can blame her more than 
she is disposed to blame herself. " The consequence," said 
she, " has been a state of perpetual suffering to me ; and so 
it ought. But after all the punishment that misconduct can 
bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is no expiation. I 
never can be blameless. I have been acting contrary to all 
my sense of right ; and the fortunate turn that everything has 
taken, and the kindness I am now receiving, is what my 
conscience tells me ought not to be. Do not imagine, 
madam," she continued, " that I was taught wrong. Do not 
let any reflection fall on the principles or the care of the 
friends who brought me up. The error has been all my own ; 
and I do assure you that, with all the excuse that present 
circumstances may appear to give, I shall yet dread making 
the story known to Colonel Campbell." ' 

* Poor girl ! ' said Emma again. ' She loves him, then, ex- 
cessively, I suppose. It must have been from attachment 
only, that she could be led to form the engagement. Her 
affection must have overpowered her judgment.' 

'Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to 
him.' 

' I am afraid,' returned Emma, sighing, ' that I must often 
have contributed to make her unhappy.' 

' On your side, my love, it was very innocently done. But 
she probably had something of that in her thoughts, when 
alluding to the misunderstandings which he had given us hints 
of before. One natural consequence of the evil she had 
involved herself in,' she said, 'was that of making her un- 
reasonable. The consciousness of having done amiss had 
exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious 
and irritable to a degree that must have been — that had been 
— hard for him to bear. " I did not make the allowances," 

377 



EMMA 

said she, " which I ought to have done, for his temper and 
spirits — his delightful spirits, and that gaiety, that playfulness 
of disposition, which, under any other circumstances, would, I 
am sure, have been as constantly bewitching to me as they 
were at first." She then began to speak of you, and of the 
great kindness you had shown her during her illness ; and, 
with a blush which showed me how it was all connected, 
desired me, whenever I had an opportunity, to thank you — 
I could not thank you too much — for every wish and every 
endeavour to do her good. She was sensible that you had 
never received any proper acknowledgment from herself.' 

' If I did not know her to be happy now, 5 said Emma, 
seriously, 'which, in spite of every little drawback from her 
scrupulous conscience, she must be, I could not bear these 
thanks ; for, oh, Mrs. Weston, if there were an account drawn 

up of the evil and the good I have done Miss Fairfax 

Well (checking herself and trying to be more lively), this is all 
to be forgotten. You are very kind to bring me these inter- 
esting particulars : they show her to the greatest advantage. 
I am sure she is very good : I hope she will be very happy. 
It is fit that the fortune should be on his side, for I think the 
merit will be all on hers.' 

Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs. 
Weston. She thought well of Frank in almost every respect ; 
and what was more, she loved him very much, and her 
defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked with a great deal 
of reason, and at least equal affection ; but she had too much 
to urge for Emma's attention : it was soon gone to Brunswick 
Square or to Don well : she forgot to attempt to listen ; and 
when Mrs. Weston ended with 'We have not yet had the 
letter we are so anxious for, you know, but I hope it will soon 
come, 5 she was obliged to pause before she answered, and at 
last obliged to answer at random, before she could at all 
recollect what letter it was which they were so anxious for. 

'Are you well, my Emma? 3 was Mrs. Weston's parting 
question. 

' Oh, perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to 
give me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible.' 

Mrs. Weston's communications furnished Emma with more 
food for unpleasant reflection, by increasing her esteem and 
compassion, and her sense of past injustice towards Miss 

378 



EMMA 

Fairfax. She bitterly regretted not having sought a closer 
acquaintance with her, and blushed for the envious feelings 
which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause. Had 
she followed Mr. Knightley's known wishes, in paying that 
attention to Miss Fairfax which was every way her due ; had 
she tried to know her better ; had she done her part towards 
intimacy ; had she endeavoured to find a friend there instead 
of in Harriet Smith ; she must, in all probability, have been 
spared from every pain which pressed on her now. Birth, 
abilities, and education had been equally marking one as an 
associate for her, to be received with gratitude ; and the other 
— what was she ? Supposing even that they had never become 
intimate friends ; that she had never been admitted into Miss 
Fairfax's confidence on this important matter, — which was 
most probable, — still, in knowing her as she ought, and as she 
might, she must have been preserved from the abominable 
suspicions of an improper attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she 
had not only so foolishly fashioned and harboured herself, but 
had so unpardonably imparted ; an idea which she greatly 
feared had been made a subject of material distress to the 
delicacy of Jane's feelings, by the levity or carelessness of 
Frank Churchill's. Of all the sources of evil surrounding the 
former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded that 
she must herself have been the worst. She must have been a 
perpetual enemy. They never could have been all three to- 
gether, without her having stabbed Jane Fairfax's peace in a 
thousand instances ; and on Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the 
agony of a mind that would bear no more. 

The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at 
Hartfield. The weather added what it could of gloom. A 
cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared but in 
the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling, and the 
length of the day, which only made such cruel sights the 
longer visible. 

The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse ; and he could only 
be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on 
his daughter's side, and by exertions which had never cost her 
half so much before. It reminded her of their first forlorn 
tite-it-tele^ on the evening of Mrs. Weston's wedding-day ; but 
Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, and dissi- 
pated every melancholy fancy. Alas ! such delightful proofs 

379 



EMMA 

of Hartfield's attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might 
shortly be over. The picture which she had then drawn of 
the privations of the approaching winter had proved erroneous ; 
no friends had deserted them, no pleasures had been lost. 
But her present forebodings she feared would experience no 
similar contradiction. The prospect before her now was 
threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled — 
that might not be even partially brightened. If all took place 
that might take place among the circle of her friends, Hart- 
field must be comparatively deserted ; and she left to cheer 
her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness. 

The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even 
dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and time would 
be occupied by it. They should lose her ; and probably, in 
great measure, her husband also. Frank Churchill would 
return among them no more ; and Miss Fairfax, it was reason- 
able to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury. 
They would be married, and settled either at or near Ens- 
combe. All that were good would be withdrawn ; and if to 
these losses the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would 
remain of cheerful or of rational society within their reach ? 
Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening 
comfort ! No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing 
to change his own home for theirs ! How was it to be endured? 
And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet's sake ; if he 
were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in Harriet's society 
all that he wanted ; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, 
the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the 
best blessings of existence ; what could be increasing Emma's 
wretchedness but the reflection, never far distant from her 
mind, that it had been all her own work ? 

When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to 
refrain from a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking 
about the room for a few seconds ; and the only source whence 
anything like consolation or composure could be drawn was 
in the resolution of her own better conduct, and the hope that, 
however inferior in spirit and gaiety might be the following 
and every future winter of her life to the past, it would yet 
find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and 
leave her less to regret when it were gone. 

380 



EMMA 



CHAPTER XLIX 

The weather continued much the same all the following morn- 
ing ; and the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, 
seemed to reign at Hartfield ; but in the afternoon it cleared ; 
the wind changed into a softer quarter ; the clouds were 
carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer again. With 
all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma resolved 
to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the ex- 
quisite sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and 
brilliant after a storm, been more attractive to her. She 
longed for the serenity they might gradually introduce ; and 
on Mr. Perry's coming in soon after dinner, with a disengaged 
hour to give her father, she lost no time in hurrying into the 
shrubbery. There, with spirits freshened, and thoughts a 
little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. 
Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming 
towards her. It was the first intimation of his being returned 
from London. She had been thinking of him the moment 
before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant. There was 
time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be 
collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. 
The * How d'ye do's ' were quiet and constrained on each side. 
She asked after their mutual friends ; they were all well. 
When had he left them ? Only that morning. He must have 
had a wet ride. Yes. He meant to walk with her, she found. 
' He had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was not 
wanted there, preferred being out of doors.' She thought he 
neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible 
cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps 
been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained 
by the manner in which they had been received. 

They walked together. He was silent. She thought he 
was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of her 
face than it suited her to give. And this belief produced 
another dread. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her of his 
attachment to Harriet ; he might be watching for encourage- 
ment to begin. She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the 

381 



EMMA 

way to any such subject. He must do it all himself. Yet she 
could not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural. 
She considered, resolved, and, trying to smile, began — 

'You have some news to hear, now you are come back, 
that will rather surprise you. 5 

' Have I ? ' said he quietly, and looking at her ; ' of what 
nature ? ' 

' Oh, the best nature in the world — a wedding.' 

After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to 
say no more, he replied — 

* If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have 
heard that already.' 

'How is it possible ? ' cried Emma, turning her glowing 
cheeks towards him ; for while she spoke, it occurred to her 
that he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in his way. 

' I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this 
morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief account 
of what had happened.' 

Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a 
little more composure — 

' You probably have been less surprised than any of us, for 
you have had your suspicions. I have not forgotten that you 
once tried to give me a caution. I wish I had attended to it 
— but (with a sinking voice and a heavy sigh) I seem to have 
been doomed to blindness.' 

For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was un- 
suspicious of having excited any particular interest, till she 
found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against his heart, 
and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great sensibility, 
speaking low — 

'Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound. 
Your own excellent sense ; your exertions for your father's 

sake ; I know you will not allow yourself ' Her arm was 

pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued 
accent, 'The feelings of the warmest friendship — indignation 
— abominable scoundrel ! ' And in a louder, steadier tone, he 
concluded with, ' He will soon be gone. They will soon be in 
Yorkshire. I am sorry for her. She deserves a better fate.' 

Emma understood him ; and as soon as she could recover 
from the flutter of pleasure excited by such tender consider- 
ation, replied — 

382 



EMMA 

* You are very kind, but you are mistaken, and I must set 
you right. I am not in want of that sort of compassion. My 
blindness to what was going on led me to act by them in a 
way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly 
tempted to say and do many things which may well lay me 
open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other reason to 
regret that I was not in the secret earlier.' 

* Emma,' cried he, looking eagerly at her, ' are you, 
indeed ? ' — but checking himself — ' No, no, I understand you 
— forgive me — I am pleased that you can say even so much. 
He is no object of regret, indeed ! and it will not be very 
long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment of 
more than your reason. Fortunate that your affections were 
not further entangled ! — I could never, I confess, from your 
manners, assure myself as to the degree of what you felt — 
I could only be certain that there was a preference — and a 
preference which I never believed him to deserve. He is a 
disgrace to the name of man. And is he to be rewarded with 
that sweet young woman ? — Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable 
creature.' 

4 Mr. Knightley,' said Emma, trying to be lively, but really 
confused, — c I am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot 
let you continue in your error; and yQt, perhaps, since my 
manners gave such an impression, I have as much reason to 
be ashamed of confessing that I never have been at all attached 
to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a 
woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse. But I never 
have.' 

He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, 
but he would not. She supposed she must say more before 
she were entitled to his clemency ; but it was a hard case to 
be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion. She went on, 
however — 

* I have very little to say for my own conduct. I was 
tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear 
pleased. An old story, probably, — a common case, — and no 
more than has happened to hundreds of my sex before ; and 
yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up as 
I do for understanding. Many circumstances assisted the 
temptation. He was the son of Mr. Weston — he was continu- 
ally here — I always found him very pleasant — and, in short, 

383 



EMMA 

for (with a sigh) let me swell out the causes ever so ingeniously, 
they all centre in this at last — my vanity was flattered, and I 
allowed his attentions. Latterly, however, for some time 
indeed, I have had no idea of their meaning anything. I 
thought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for serious- 
ness on my side. He has imposed on me, but he has not 
injured me. I have never been attached to him. And now I 
can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He never wished to 
attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real situation 
with another. It was his object to blind all about him ; and 
no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded than my- 
self — except that I was not blinded — that it was my good 
fortune — that, in short, I was somehow or other safe from 
him/ 

She had hoped for an answer here — for a few words to say 
that her conduct was at least intelligible ; but he was silent ; 
and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought. At last, and 
tolerably in his usual tone, he said — 

'I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill. I 
can suppose, however, that I may have under-rated him. My 
acquaintance with him has been but trifling. And even if I 
have not under-rated him hitherto, he may yet turn out well. 
With such a woman he has a chance. I have no motive for 
wishing him ill — and for her sake, whose happiness will be 
involved in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly 
wish him well. 5 

* I have no doubt of their being happy together,' said 
Emma ; * I believe them to be very mutually and very sin- 
cerely attached/ 

' He is a most fortunate man, 7 returned Mr. Knightley, with 
energy. * So early in life — at three-and-twenty — a period 
when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses ill. At 
three-and-twenty to have drawn such a prize ! What years of 
felicity that man, in all human calculation, has before him ! 
Assured of the love of such a woman — the disinterested love, 
for Jane Fairfax's character vouches for her disinterestedness ; 
everything in his favour, — equality of situation — I mean, as 
far as regards society, and all the habits and manners that are 
important ; equality in every point but one — and that one, 
since the purity of her heart is not to be doubted, such as 
must increase his felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only 

384 



EMMA 

advantages she wants. A man would always wish to give a 
woman a better home than the one he takes her from ; and he 
who can do it, where there is no doubt of her regard, must, 
I think, be the happiest of mortals. Frank Churchill is, 
indeed, the favourite of fortune. Everything turns out for his 
good. He meets with a young woman at a watering-place, 
gains her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treat- 
ment — and had he and all his family sought round the world 
for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found her 
superior. His aunt is in the way. His aunt dies. He has 
only to speak. His friends are eager to promote his happi- 
ness. He has used everybody ill — and they are all delighted 
to forgive him. He is a fortunate man, indeed 1 ' 

* You speak as if you envied him.* 

'And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the 
object of my envy.' 

Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within 
half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to 
avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan ; she would 
speak of something totally different — the children in Brunswick 
Square ; and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr. 
Knightley startled her by saying — 

' You will not ask me what is the point of envy. You are 
determined, I see, to have no curiosity. You are wise — but 
I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell what you will not ask, 
though I may wish it unsaid the next moment.' 

' Oh then, don't speak it, don't speak it,' she eagerly cried. 
* Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself.' 

'Thank you,' said he, in an accent of deep mortification, 
and not another syllable followed. 

Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing 
to confide in her — perhaps to consult her ; — cost her what it 
would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or 
reconcile him to it ; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, 
by representing to him his own independence, relieve him from 
that state of indecision which must be more intolerable than 
any alternative to such a mind as his. They had reached the 
house. 

' You are going in, I suppose,' said he. 

'No,' replied Emma, quite confirmed by the depressed 
manner in which he still spoke, ' I should like to take another 
2C 385 



EMMA 

turn. Mr. Perry is not gone. 5 And, after proceeding a few 
steps, she added, — * I stopped you ungraciously just now, Mr. 
Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain. But if you have 
any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my 
opinion of anything that you may have in contemplation — as 
a friend, indeed, you may command me. I will hear whatever 
you like. I will tell you exactly what I think.' 

* As a friend ! ' repeated Mr. Knightley. ' Emma, that I 
fear is a word — No, I have no wish. Stay, yes, why should 
I hesitate ? I have gone too far already for concealment. 
Emma, I accept your offer, extraordinary as it may seem, I 
accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend. Tell me, then, 
have I no chance of ever succeeding ? ' 

He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and 
the expression of his eyes overpowered her. 

' My dearest Emma,' said he, ' for dearest you will always 
be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, 
most beloved Emma — tell me at once. Say " No " if it is to 
be said.' She could really say nothing. * You are silent,' he 
cried, with great animation ; ( absolutely silent ! at present I 
ask no more.' 

Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this 
moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest 
dream was perhaps the most prominent feeling. 

' I cannot make speeches, Emma ' : — he soon resumed, and 
in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as 
was tolerably convincing. i If I loved you less, I might be 
able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You 
hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and 
lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in 
England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would 
tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with 
them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recom- 
mend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent 
lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you under- 
stand my feelings — and will return them if you can. At 
present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.' 

While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and, with 
all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been able — and yet 
without losing a word — to catch and comprehend the exact 
truth of the whole ; to see that Harriet's hopes had been 

386 




He stopped to look the question. 



EMMA 

entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion 
as any of her own — that Harriet was nothing ; that she was 
everything herself; that what she had been saying relative to 
Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings ; 
and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her dis- 
couragement, had been all received as discouragement from 
herself. And not only was there time for these convictions, 
with all their glow of attendant happiness ; there was time 
also to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and 
to resolve that it need not and should not. It was all the 
service she could now render her poor friend ; for as to any 
of that heroism of sentiment which might have prompted her 
to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet, 
as infinitely the most worthy of the two — or even the more 
simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and for 
ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not 
marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet with 
pain and with contrition ; but no flight of generosity run mad, 
opposing all that could be probable or reasonable, entered her 
brain. She had led her friend astray, and it would be a 
reproach to her for ever ; but her judgment was as strong as 
her feelings, and as strong as it had ever been before, in 
reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal and 
degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth. 
She spoke then, on being so entreated. What did she say ? 
Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does. She 
said enough to show there need not be despair — and to invite 
him to say more himself. He had despaired at one period ; 
he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as 
for the time crushed every hope ; — she had begun by refusing 
to hear him. The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden ; 
— her proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the con- 
versation which she had just put an end to, might be a little 
extraordinary. She felt its inconsistency ; but Mr. Knightley 
was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no further 
explanation. 

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any 
human disclosure ; seldom can it happen that something is 
not a little disguised, or a little mistaken ; but where, as in 
this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not, 
it may not be very material. Mr. Knightley could not impute 

388 



EMMA 

to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart 
more disposed to accept of his. 

He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own 
influence. He had followed her into the shrubbery with no 
idea of trying it. He had come, in his anxiety to see how 
she bore Frank Churchill's engagement, with no selfish view, 
no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an 
opening, to soothe or to counsel her. The rest had been 
the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what he 
heard, on his feelings. The delightful assurance of her total 
indifference towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart 
completely disengaged from him, had given birth to the hope 
that, in time, he might gain her affection himself; — but it 
had been no present hope — he had only, in the momentary 
conquest of eagerness over judgment, aspired to be told that 
she did not forbid his attempt to attach her. The superior 
hopes which gradually opened were so much the more en- 
chanting. The affection which he had been asking to be 
allowed to create if he could, was already his. Within half 
an hour he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of 
mind, to something so like perfect happiness, that it could 
bear no other name. 

Her change was equal. This one half-hour had given to 
each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared 
from each the same,degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust. 
On his side, there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as 
the arrival, or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill He 
had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, 
from about the same period, one sentiment having probably 
enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of 
Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country. The 
Box Hill party had decided him on going away. He would 
save himself from witnessing again such permitted, encouraged 
attentions. He had gone to learn to be indifferent. But he 
had gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic happi- 
ness in his brother's house ; women wore too amiable a form 
in it ; Isabella was too much like Emma — differing only in 
those striking inferiorities which always brought the other in 
brilliancy before him, for much to have been done, even had 
his time been longer. He had stayed on, however, vigorously, 
day after day — till this very morning's post had conveyed the 

389 



EMMA 

history of Jane Fairfax. Then, with the gladness which must 
be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never 
believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was 
there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, 
that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through 
the rain ; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how 
this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all 
her faults, bore the discovery. 

He had found her agitated and low. Frank Churchill was 
a villain. He heard her declare that she had never loved 
him. Frank Churchill's character was not desperate. She 
was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned 
into the house ; and if he could have thought of Frank 
Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort 
of fellow. 



CHAPTER L 

What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the 
house from what she had brought out ! — she had then been 
only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering ; — she was 
now in an exquisite flutter of happiness, and such happiness, 
moreover, as she believed must still be greater when the 
flutter should have passed away. 

They sat down to tea — the same party round the same 
table — how often it had been collected ! and how often had 
her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed 
the same beautiful effect of the western sun ! But never in 
such a state of spirits, never in anything like it ; and it was 
with difficulty that she could summon enough of her usual 
self to be the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive 
daughter. 

Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting 
against him in the breast of that man whom he was so cordially 
welcoming, and so anxiously hoping might not have taken cold 
from his ride. Could he have seen the heart, he would have 
cared very little for the lungs ; but without the most distant 
imagination of the impending evil, without the slightest per- 
ception of anything extraordinary, in the looks or ways of 

39° 






EMMA 

either, he repeated to them very comfortably all the articles of 
news he had received from Mr. Perry, and talked on with 
much self-contentment, totally unsuspicious of what they could 
have told him in return. 

As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma's 
fever continued ; but when he was gone, she began to be a 
little tranquillised and subdued, and in the course of the sleep- 
less night, which was the tax for such an evening, she found 
one or two such very serious points to consider, as made her 
feel that even her happiness must have some alloy. Her 
father — and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling 
the full weight of their separate claims ; and how to guard the 
comfort of both to the utmost, was the question. With respect 
to her father, it was a question soon answered. She hardly 
knew yet what Mr. Knightley would ask ; but a very short 
parley with her own heart produced the most solemn resolution 
of never quitting her father. She even wept over the idea of 
it, as a sin of thought. While he lived, it must be only an 
engagement ; but she flattered herself, that if divested of the 
danger of drawing her away, it might become an increase of 
comfort to him. How to do her best by Harriet was of more 
difficult decision; how to spare her from any unnecessary 
pain ; how to make her any possible atonement ; how to 
appear least her enemy. On these subjects her perplexity 
and distress were very great — and her mind had to pass again 
and again through every bitter reproach and sorrowful regret 
that had ever surrounded it. She could only resolve at last 
that she would still avoid a meeting with her, and communi- 
cate all that need be told by letter ; that it would be inexpress- 
ibly desirable to have her removed just now for a time from 
Highbury, and — indulging in one scheme more — nearly 
resolve that it might be practicable to get an invitation for 
her to Brunswick Square. Isabella had been pleased with 
Harriet; and a few weeks spent in London must give her 
some amusement. She did not think it in Harriet's nature to 
escape being benefited by novelty and variety, by the streets, 
the shops, and the children. At any rate, it would be a proof 
of attention and kindness in herself, from whom everything 
was due ; a separation for the present ; an averting of the evil 
day, when they must all be together again. 

She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet ; an employ- 

39i 



EMMA 

ment which left her so very serious, so nearly sad, that Mr. 
Knightley, in walking up to Hartfield to breakfast, did not 
arrive at all too soon ; and half an hour stolen afterwards to 
go over the same ground again with him, literally and figura- 
tively, was quite necessary to reinstate her in a proper share of 
the happiness of the evening before. 

He had not left her long, by no means long enough for her 
to have the slightest inclination for thinking of anybody else, 
when a letter was brought her from Randalls — a very thick 
letter ; she guessed what it must contain, and deprecated the 
necessity of reading it. She was now in perfect charity with 
Frank Churchill ; she wanted no explanations, she wanted 
only to have her thoughts to herself — and as for understanding 
anything he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it. It 
must be waded through, however. She opened the packet ; it 
was too surely so ; — a note from Mrs. Weston to herself 
ushered in the letter from Frank to Mrs. Weston. 

* 1 have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forward- 
ing to you the enclosed. I know what thorough justice you 
will do it, and have scarcely a doubt of its happy effect. I 
think we shall never materially disagree about the writer 
again ; but I will not delay you by a long preface. We are 
quite well. This letter has been the cure of all the little 
nervousness I have been feeling lately. I did not quite like 
your looks on Tuesday, but it was an ungenial morning ; and 
though you will never own being affected by weather, I think 
everybody feels a north-east wind. I felt for your dear father 
very much in the storm of Tuesday afternoon and yesterday 
morning, but had the comfort of hearing last night, by Mr. 
Perry, that it had not made him ill. — Yours ever, 

* A. W.' 
[To Mrs. Weston.] 

' Windsor, July. 

1 My dear Madam — If I made myself intelligible yester- 
day, this letter will be expected ; but, expected or not, I know it 
will be read with candour and indulgence. You are all good- 
ness, and I believe there will be need of even all your good- 
ness to allow for some parts of my past conduct. But I have 
been forgiven by one who had still more to resent. My 
courage rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosper- 

392 



EMMA 

ous to be humble. I have already met with such success in 
two applications for pardon, that I may be in danger of think- 
ing myself too sure of yours, and of those among your friends 
who have had any ground of offence. You must all endeavour 
to comprehend the exact nature of my situation when I first 
arrived at Randalls ; you must consider me as having a secret 
which was to be kept at all hazards. This was the fact. My 
right to place myself in a situation requiring such concealment 
is another question. I shall not discuss it here. For my 
temptation to think it a right, I refer every caviller to a 
brick house, sashed windows below, and casements above, in 
Highbury. I dared not address her openly; my difficulties 
in the then state of Enscombe must be too well known to 
require definition ; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, 
before we parted at Weymouth, and to induce the most 
upright female mind in the creation to stoop in charity to a 
secret engagement. Had she refused, I should have gone 
mad. But you will be ready to say, What was your hope in 
doing this ? What did you look forward to ? To anything, 
everything — to time, chance, circumstance, slow effects, 
sudden bursts, perseverance and weariness, health and sick- 
ness. Every possibility of good was before me, and the 
first of blessings secured, in obtaining her promises of faith 
and correspondence. If you need further explanation, I 
have the honour, my dear madam, of being your husband's 
son, and the advantage of inheriting a disposition to hope 
for good, which no inheritance of houses or lands can ever 
equal the value of. See me, then, under these circumstances, 
arriving on my first visit to Randalls ; and here I am con- 
scious of wrong, for that visit might have been sooner paid. 
You will look back, and see that I did not come till Miss 
Fairfax was in Highbury ; and as yon were the person slighted, 
you will forgive me instantly : but I must work on my father's 
compassion, by reminding him, that so long as I absented 
myself from his house, so long I lost the blessing of knowing 
you. My behaviour, during the very happy fortnight which 
I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to reprehen- 
sion, excepting on one point. And now I come to the 
principal, the only important part of my conduct, while 
belonging to you, which excites my own anxiety, or requires 
very solicitous explanation. With the greatest respect, and 

393 



EMMA 

the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss Woodhouse ; my 
father, perhaps, will think I ought to add, with the deepest 
humiliation. A few words which dropped from him yester- 
day spoke his opinion, and some censure I acknowledge 
myself liable to. My behaviour to Miss Woodhouse indi- 
cated, I believe, more than it ought. In order to assist a 
concealment so essential to me, I was led on to make more 
than an allowable use of the sort of intimacy into which we 
were immediately thrown. I cannot deny that Miss Wood- 
house was my ostensible object ; but I am sure you will 
believe the declaration, that had I not been convinced of 
her indifference, I would not have been induced by any 
selfish views to go on. Amiable and delightful as Miss 
Woodhouse is, she never gave me the idea of a young woman 
likely to be attached ; and that she was perfectly free from 
any tendency to being attached to me, was as much my con- 
viction as my wish. She received my attentions with an 
easy, friendly, good-humoured playfulness, which exactly 
suited me. We seemed to understand each other. From 
our relative situation, those attentions were her due, and were 
felt to be so. Whether Miss Woodhouse began really to 
understand me before the expiration of that fortnight, I 
cannot say : when I called to take leave of her, I remember 
that I was within a moment of confessing the truth, and I 
then fancied she was not without suspicion ; but I have no 
doubt of her having since detected me, — at least,- in some 
degree. She may not have surmised the whole, but her 
quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt it. 
You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed from its 
present restraints, that it did not take her wholly by surprise. 
She frequently gave me hints of it. I remember her telling 
me at the ball that I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude for her atten- 
tions to Miss Fairfax. I hope this history of my conduct 
towards her will be admitted by you and my father as great 
extenuation of what you saw amiss. While you considered 
me as having sinned against Emma Woodhouse, I could 
deserve nothing from either. Acquit me here, and procure 
for me, when it is allowable, the acquittal and good wishes 
of that said Emma Woodhouse, whom I regard with so much 
brotherly affection as to long to have her as deeply and as 
happily in love as myself. Whatever strange things I said 

394 



EMMA 

or did during that fortnight, you have now a key to. My 
heart was in Highbury, and my business was to get my body 
thither as often as might be, and with the least suspicion. 
If you remember any queerness, set them all to the right 
account. Of the pianoforte so much talked of, I feel it 
only necessary to say, that its being ordered was absolutely 
unknown to Miss F., who would never have allowed me 
to send it, had any choice been given her. The delicacy 
of her mind throughout the whole engagement, my dear 
madam, is much beyond my power of doing justice to. You 
will soon, I earnestly hope, know her thoroughly yourself. 
No description can describe her. She must tell you herself 
what she is ; yet not by word, for never was there a human 
creature who would so designedly suppress her own merit. 
Since I began this letter, which will be longer than I foresaw, 
I have heard from her. She gives a good account of her 
own health ; but, as she never complains, I dare not depend. 
I want to have your opinion of her looks. I know you will 
soon call on her ; she is living in dread of the visit. Perhaps 
it is paid already. Let me hear from you without delay ! I 
am impatient for a thousand particulars. Remember how 
few minutes I was at Randalls, and in how bewildered, how 
mad a state : and I am not much better yet ; still insane 
either from happiness or misery. When I think of the kind- 
ness and favour I have met with, of her excellence and 
patience, and my uncle's generosity, I am mad with joy : 
but when I recollect all the uneasiness I occasioned her, 
and how little I deserve to be forgiven, I am mad with anger. 
If I could but see her again ! But I must not propose it yet : 
my uncle has been too good for me to encroach. I must 
still add to this long letter. You have not heard all that you 
ought to hear. I could not give any connected detail yester- 
day ; but the suddenness and, in one light, the unseasonable- 
ness with which the affair burst out, needs explanation ; for 
though the event of the 26th ult., as you will conclude, 
immediately opened to me the happiest prospects, I should 
not have presumed on such early measures, but from the 
very particular circumstances which left me not an hour to 
lose. I should myself have shrunk from anything so hasty, 
and she would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied 
strength and refinement : but I had no choice. The hasty 

395 



EMMA 

engagement she had entered into with that woman 

Here, my dear madam, I was obliged to leave off abruptly, 
to recollect and compose myself. I have been walking over 
the country, and am now, I hope, rational enough to make 
the rest of my letter what it ought to be. It is, in fact, a 
most mortifying retrospect for me. I behaved shamefully. 
And here I can admit that my manners to Miss W., in being 
unpleasant to Miss F., were highly blamable. She disap- 
proved them, which ought to have been enough. My plea 
of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient. She was 
displeased ; I thought unreasonably so : I thought her, on a 
thousand occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cautious : 
I thought her even cold. But she was always right. If I 
had followed her judgment, and subdued my spirits to the 
level of what she deemed proper, I should have escaped the 
greatest unhappiness I have ever known. We quarrelled. 
Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell ? There 
every little dissatisfaction that had occurred before came to 
a crisis. I was late ; I met her walking home by herself, and 
wanted to walk with her, but she would not suffer it. She 
absolutely refused to allow me, which I then thought most 
unreasonable. Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very 
natural and consistent degree of discretion. While I, to 
blind the world to our engagement, was behaving one hour 
with objectionable particularity to another woman, was she 
to be consenting the next to a proposal which might have 
made every previous caution useless ? Had we been met 
walking together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth 
must have been suspected. I was mad enough, however, to 
resent. I doubted her affection. I doubted it more the 
next day on Box Hill ; when, provoked by such conduct on 
my side, such shameful, insolent neglect of her, and such 
apparent devotion to Miss W. as it would have been impos- 
sible for any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resent- 
ment in a form of words perfectly intelligible to me. In 
short, my dear madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her 
side, abominable on mine ; and I returned the same evening 
to Richmond, though I might have stayed with you till the 
next morning, merely because I would be as angry with her 
as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not to 
mean to be reconciled in time ; but I was the injured person, 

39<5 



EMMA 

injured by her coldness, and I went away, determined that 
she should make the first advances. I shall always congratu- 
late myself that you were not of the Box Hill party. Had 
you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly suppose you 
would ever have thought well of me again. Its effect upon 
her appears in the immediate resolution it produced : as 
soon as she found I was really gone from Randalls, she 
closed with the offer of that officious Mrs. Elton ; the whole 
system of whose treatment of her, by the bye, has ever filled 
me with indignation and hatred. I must not quarrel with 
the spirit of forbearance which has been so richly extended 
towards myself; but, otherwise, I should loudly protest 
against the share of it which that woman has known. " Jane," 
indeed ! You will observe that I have not yet indulged 
myself in calling her by that name, even to you. Think, 
then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between 
the Eltons, with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and 
all the insolence of imaginary superiority. Have patience 
with me, I shall soon have done. She closed with this offer, 
resolving to break with me entirely, and wrote the next day 
to tell me that we never were to meet again. She felt the 
engagement to be a source of repentance and misery to each: she 
dissolved it. This letter reached me on the very morning of my 
poor aunt's death. I answered it within an hour ; but from 
the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity of business 
falling on me at once, my answer, instead of being sent with 
all the many other letters of that day, was locked up in my 
writing-desk ; and I, trusting that I had written enough, though 
but a few lines, to satisfy her, remained without any uneasiness. 
I was rather disappointed that I did not hear from her again 
speedily ; but I made excuses for her, and was too busy, and 
— may I add ? — too cheerful in my views to be captious. 
We removed to Windsor ; and two days afterwards I received 
a parcel from her — my own letters all returned ! — and a few 
lines at the same time by the post, stating her extreme sur- 
prise at not having had the smallest reply to her last ; and 
adding, that as silence on such a point could not be miscon- 
strued, and as it must be equally desirable to both to have 
every subordinate arrangement concluded as soon as possible, 
she now sent me, by a safe conveyance, all my letters, and re- 
quested, that if I could not directly command hers, so as to 

397 



EMMA 

send them to Highbury within a week, I would forward 
them after that period to her at : in short, the full direc- 
tion to Mr. Smallridge's, near Bristol, stared me in the face. 
I knew the name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly 
saw what she had been doing. It was perfectly accordant 
with that resolution of character which I knew her to possess ; 
and the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design 
in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious 
delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to 
threaten me. Imagine the shock ; imagine how, till I had 
actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders 
of the post. What was to be done ? One thing only. I 
must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction I could not 
hope to be listened to again. I spoke ; circumstances were 
in my favour ; the late event had softened away his pride, 
and he was, earlier than .1 could have anticipated, wholly re- 
conciled and complying ; and could say at last, poor man ! 
with a deep sigh, that he wished I might find as much happi- 
ness in the marriage state as he had done. I felt that it 
would be of a different sort. Are you disposed to pity me 
for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, 
for my suspense while all was at stake ? No ; do not pity 
me till I reached Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. 
Do not pity me till I saw her wan, sick looks. I reached 
Highbury at the time of day when, from my knowledge of 
their late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance of 
finding her alone. I was not disappointed ; and at last I 
was not disappointed either in the object of my journey. A 
great deal of very reasonable, very just displeasure I had to 
persuade away. But it is done ; we are reconciled, dearer, 
much dearer, than ever, and no moment's uneasiness can 
ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will 
release you ; but I could not conclude before. A thousand 
and a thousand thanks for all the kindness you have ever 
shown me, and ten thousand for the attentions your heart will 
dictate towards her. If you think me in a way to be happier 
than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion. Miss W. calls 
me the child of good fortune. I hope she is right. In one 
respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to 
subscribe myself your obliged and affectionate Son, 

* F. C. Weston Churchill.' 

398 



EMMA 



CHAPTER LI 

This letter must make its way to Emma's feelings. She was 
obliged, in spite of her previous determination to the contrary, 
to do it all the justice that Mrs. Weston foretold. As soon as 
she came to her own name, it was irresistible : every line 
relating to herself was interesting, and almost every line 
agreeable ; and when this charm ceased, the subject could 
still maintain itself, by the natural return of her former regard 
for the writer, and the very strong attraction which any picture 
of love must have for her at that moment. She never stopped 
till she had gone through the whole ; and though it was 
impossible not to feel that he had been wrong, yet he had 
been less wrong than she had supposed ; and he had suffered 
and was very sorry ; and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, 
and so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy 
herself, that there was no being severe ; and could he have 
entered the room, she must have shaken hands with him as 
heartily as ever. 

She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley 
came again, she desired him to read it. She was sure of 
Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated ; especially to 
one who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to blame in 
his conduct. 

1 1 shall be very glad to look it over,' said he, * but it seems 
long. I will take it home with me at night.' 

But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the 
evening and she must return it by him. 

1 1 would rather be talking to you,' he replied ; * but as it 
seems a matter of justice, it shall be done.' 

He began — stopping, however, almost directly to say, 
* Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's letters 
to his mother-in-law a few months ago, Emma, it would not 
have been taken with such indifference.' 

He proceeded a little further, reading to himself; and then, 
with a smile, observed, * Humph ! — a fine complimentary open- 
ing ; but it is his way. One man's style must not be the rule 
of another's. We will not be severe.' 

399 



EMMA 

* It will be natural for me, 5 he added, shortly afterwards, 
i to speak my opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall 
feel that I am near you. It will not be so great a loss of 
time ; but if you dislike it ' 

' Not at all. I should wish it.' 

Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity. 

* He trifles here/ said he, * as to the temptation. He 
knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge. Bad. 
He ought not to have formed the engagement. " His father's 
disposition " : — he is unjust, however, to his father. Mr. 
Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright 
and honourable exertions ; but Mr. Weston earned every 
present comfort before he endeavoured to gain it. Very true ; 
he did not come till Miss Fairfax was here.' 

'And I have not forgotten,' said Emma, 'how sure you 
were that he might have come sooner if he would. You pass 
it over very handsomely ; — but you were perfectly right.' 

' 1 was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma ; but 
yet, I think, had^<?« not been in the case, I should still have 
distrusted him. J 

When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read 
the whole of it aloud — all that related to her, with a smile, 
a look, a shake of the head, a word or two of assent, or dis- 
approbation, or merely of love, as the subject required ; 
concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady reflection, 
thus — 

' Very bad — though it might have been worse. Playing a 
most dangerous game. Too much indebted to the event for 
his acquittal. No judge of his own manners by you. Always 
deceived, in fact, by his own wishes, and regardless of little 
besides his own convenience. Fancying you to have fathomed 
his secret ! Natural enough ! his own mind full of intrigue, 
that he should suspect it in others. Mystery — finesse — how 
they pervert the understanding ! My Emma, does not every- 
thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and 
sincerity in all our dealings with each other ? ' 

Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on 
Harriet's account, which she could not give any sincere 
explanation of. 

' You had better go on,' said she. 

He did so, but very soon stopped again to say, ' The piano- 
400 



EMMA 

forte ! Ah ! — that was the act of a very, very young man, 
one too young to consider whether the inconvenience of it 
might not very much exceed the pleasure. A boyish scheme, 
indeed ! I cannot comprehend a man's wishing to give a 
woman any proof of affection which he knows she would 
rather dispense with ; and he did know that she would have 
prevented the instrument's coming if she could.' 

After this, he made some progress without any pause. 
Frank Churchill's confession of having behaved shamefully 
was the first thing to call for more than a word in passing. 

* I perfectly agree with you, sir,' was then his remark. 
* You did behave very shamefully. You never wrote a truer 
line.' And having gone through what immediately followed 
of the basis of their disagreement, and his persisting to act in 
direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense of right, he made a 
fuller pause to say, { This is very bad. He had induced her 
to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty 
and uneasiness, and it should have been his first object to 
prevent her from suffering unnecessarily. She must have had 
much more to contend with in carrying on the correspondence 
than he could. He should have respected even unreasonable 
scruples, had there been such ; but hers were all reasonable. 
We must look to her one fault, and remember that she had 
done a wrong thing in consenting to the 'engagement, to bear 
that she should have been in such a state of punishment.' 

Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party 
and grew uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so 
very improper ! She was deeply ashamed, and a little afraid 
of his next look. It was all read, however, steadily, atten- 
tively, and without the smallest remark ; and, excepting one 
momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear of 
giving pain — no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist. 

* There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good 
friends, the Eltons,' was his next observation. * His feelings 
are natural. What ! actually resolve to break with him 
entirely ! She felt the engagement to be a source of repent- 
ance and misery to each — she dissolved it. What a view this 
gives of her sense of his behaviour ! Well, he must be a 
most extraordinary ' 

' Nay, nay, read on. You will find how very much he 
suffers.' 

2 D 401 



EMMA 

( I hope he does,' replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and 
resuming the letter — ' " Smallridge ! " — What does this mean ? 
What is all this ? ' 

1 She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's 
children — a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's — a neighbour of 
Maple Grove ; and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton 
bears the disappointment.' 

< Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read 
— not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall 
soon have done. What a letter the man writes ! ' 

' 1 wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards 
him.' 

<Well, there is feeling here. He does seem to have 
suffered in finding her ill. Certainly, I can have no doubt of 
his being fond of her. " Dearer, much dearer than ever." 
I hope he may long continue to feel all the value of such a 
reconciliation. He is a very liberal thanker, with his thou- 
sands and tens of thousands. — " Happier than I deserve." 
Come, he knows himself there. " Miss Woodhouse calls me 
the child of good fortune." Those were Miss Woodhouse's 
words, were they ? And a fine ending — and there is a letter. 
" The child of good fortune ! " That was your name for him, 
was it ? ' 

( You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I 
am ; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the 
better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with 
you.' 

' Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, — faults 
of inconsideration and thoughtlessness ; and I am very much 
of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he 
deserves : but still as he is, beyond a doubt, really attached 
to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the 
advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to 
believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the 
steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, 
let me talk to you of something else. I have another per- 
son's interest at present so much at heart, that I cannot 
think any longer about Frank Churchill. Ever since I left 
you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work 
on one subject.' 

The subject followed ; it was in plain, unaffected, gentle- 
402 



EMMA 

man -like English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the 
woman he was in love with, how to be able to ask her to 
marry him, without attacking the happiness of her father. 
Emma's answer was ready at the first word. * While her 
dear father lived, any change of condition must be impos- 
sible for her. She could never quit him.' Part only of this 
answer, however, was admitted. The impossibility of her 
quitting her father, Mr. Knightley felt as strong as herself; 
but the inadmissibility of any other change he could not 
agree to. He had been thinking it over most deeply, most 
intently ; he had at first hoped to induce Mr. Woodhouse to 
remove with her to Donwell ; he had wanted to believe it 
feasible, but his knowledge of Mr. Woodhouse would not 
suffer him to deceive himself long ; and now he confessed his 
persuasion that such a transplantation would be a risk of her 
father's comfort, perhaps even of his life, which must not be 
hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield ! — No, he 
felt that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which 
had arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest 
Emma would not find in any respect objectionable ; it was, 
that he should be received at Hartfield ! that so long as her 
father's happiness — in other words his life — required Hart- 
field to continue her home, it should be his likewise. 

Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had 
her own passing thoughts. Like him, she had tried the 
scheme and rejected it ; but such an alternative as this had 
not occurred to her. She was sensible of all the affection it 
evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he must be 
sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits ; 
that in living constantly with her father, and in no house of 
his own, there would be much, very much, to be borne with. 
She promised to think of it, and advised him to think of it 
more ; but he was fully convinced that no reflection could 
alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject. He had given 
it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration ; he 
had been walking away from William Larkins the whole 
morning to have his thoughts to himself. 

' Ah ! there is one difficulty unprovided for,' cried Emma. 
* I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You must get 
his consent before you ask mine.' 

She promised, however, to think of it ; and pretty nearly 

403 




Walking azvayfrom William Larki7is. 



EMMA 

promised, moreover, to think of it, with the intention of find- 
ing it a very good scheme. 

It is remarkable that Emma, in the many, very many, 
points of view in which she was now beginning to consider 
Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of injury 
to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir -expectant had 
formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must of 
the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet she 
only gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and found 
amusement in detecting the real cause of that violent dislike 
of Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax, or anybody else, 
which at the time she had wholly imputed to the amiable 
solicitude of the sister and the aunt. 

This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing 
at Hartfield — the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing 
it became. His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages 
to increase, their mutual good to outweigh every drawback. 
Such a companion for herself in the periods of anxiety 
and cheerlessness before her ! Such a partner in all those 
duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of 
melancholy ! 

She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet ; but 
every blessing of her own seemed to involve and advance the 
sufferings of her friend, who must now be even excluded from 
Hartfield. The delightful family- party which Emma was 
securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere charitable 
caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser 
in every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence 
as any deduction from her own enjoyment. In such a party, 
Harriet would be rather a dead weight than otherwise ; but 
for the poor girl herself, it seemed a peculiarly cruel necessity 
that was to be placing her in such a state of unmerited 
punishment. 

In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that 
is, supplanted ; but this could not be expected to happen 
very early. Mr. Knightley himself would be doing nothing 
to assist the cure ; not like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, 
always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for everybody, 
would never deserve to be less worshipped than now ; and it 
really was too much to hope, even of Harriet, that she could 
be in love with more than three men in one year. 

405 



EMMA 



CHAPTER LII 

It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desir- 
ous as herself to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse was 
painful enough by letter. How much worse had they been 
obliged to meet ! 

Harriet expressed herself very much, as might be supposed, 
without reproaches, or apparent sense of ill usage ; and yet 
Emma fancied there was a something of resentment, a some- 
thing bordering on it in her style, which increased the desir- 
ableness of their being separate. It might be only her own 
consciousness ; but it seemed as if an angel only could have 
been quite without resentment under such a stroke. 

She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation ; 
and she was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking 
it, without resorting to invention. There was a tooth amiss. 
Harriet really wished, and had wished some time, to consult 
a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was delighted to be of use : 
anything of ill -health was a recommendation to her — and 
though not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she 
was quite eager to have Harriet under her care. When it 
was thus settled on her sister's side, Emma proposed it to 
her friend, and found her very persuadable. Harriet was to 
go ; she was invited for at least a fortnight ; she was to be 
conveyed in Mr. Woodhouse's carriage. It was all arranged, 
it was all completed, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick 
Square. 

Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley's visits ; 
now she could talk, and she could listen with true happiness, 
unchecked by that sense of injustice, of guilt, of something 
most painful, which had haunted her when remembering 
how disappointed a heart was near her, how much might at 
that moment, and at a little distance, be enduring by the 
feelings which she had led astray herself. 

The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard's, or in London, 
made perhaps an unreasonable difference in Emma's sensa- 
tions ; but she could not think of her in London without 
objects of curiosity and employment, which must be averting 
the past, and carrying her out of herself. 

406 



EMMA 

She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly 
to the place in her mind which Harriet had occupied There 
was a communication before her, one which she only could be 
competent to make — the confession of her engagement to her 
father ; but she would have nothing to do with it at present. 
She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston was 
safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at 
this period among those she loved — and the evil should not 
act on herself by anticipation before the appointed time. A 
fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace of mind, to crown every 
warmer, but more agitating, delight, should be hers. 

She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to 
employ half an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on 
Miss Fairfax. She ought to go — and she was longing to see 
her ; the resemblance of their present situations increasing 
every other motive of goodwill. It would be a secret satis- 
faction ; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect 
would certainly add to the interest with which she should 
attend to anything Jane might communicate. 

She went — she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door, 
but had not been into the house since the morning after Box 
Hill, when poor Jane had been in such distress as had filled 
her with compassion, though all the worst of her sufferings 
had been unsuspected. The fear of being still unwelcome 
determined her, though assured of their being at home, to wait 
in the passage, and send up her name. She heard Patty 
announcing it ; but no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss 
Bates had before made so happily intelligible. No ; she heard 
nothing but the instant reply of ' Beg her to walk up ' ; and a 
moment afterwards she was met on the stairs by Jane herself, 
coming eagerly forward as if no other reception of her were 
felt sufficient. Emma had never seen her look so well, so 
lovely, so engaging. There was consciousness, animation, and 
warmth ; there was everything which her countenance or 
manner could ever have wanted. She came forward with an 
offered hand ; and said, in a low, but very feeling tone — 

' This is most kind, indeed ! Miss Woodhouse, it is im- 
possible for me to express 1 hope you will believe 

Excuse me for being so entirely without words.' 

Emma was gratified, and would soon have shown no want 
of words if the sound of Mrs. Elton's voice from the sitting- 

407 



EMMA 

room had not checked her, and made it expedient to compress 
all her friendly and all her congratulatory sensations into a 
very, very earnest shake of the hand. 

Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates 
was out, which accounted for the previous tranquillity. Emma 
could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere ; but she was in a 
humour to have patience with everybody ; and as Mrs. Elton 
met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the rencontre 
would do them no harm. 

She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's thoughts, 
and understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits ; it 
was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself 
acquainted with what was still a secret to other people. Emma 
saw symptoms of it immediately in the expression of her face ; 
and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. Bates, and 
appearing to attend to the good old lady's replies, she saw her 
with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which 
she had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and 
return it into the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, 
with significant nods — 

* We can finish this some other time, you know. You and 
I shall not want opportunities ; and, in fact, you have heard 
all the essential already. I only wanted to prove to you that 
Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not offended. You see 
how delightfully she writes. Oh, she is a sweet creature ! 
You would have doated on her, had you gone. — But not a 
word more. Let us be discreet — quite on our good behaviour. 
— Hush ! — You remember those lines — I forget the poem at 
this moment : — 

For when a lady's in the case, 

You know, all other things give place. 

Now I say, my dear, in our case, for lady, read mum ! a 

word to the wise. I am in a fine flow of spirits, ain't I ? But 
I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs. S. My representa- 
tion, you see, has quite appeased her.' 

And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look at 
Mrs. Bates's knitting, she added, in a half whisper — 

1 1 mentioned no names, you will observe. Oh no ! cautious 
as a minister of state. I managed it extremely well.' 

Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, re- 
408 



EMMA 

peated on every possible occasion. When they had all talked 
a little while in harmony of the weather and Mrs. Weston, she 
found herself abruptly addressed with — 

' Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend 
here is charmingly recovered ? Do not you think her cure 
does Perry the highest credit ? (here was a side glance of 
great meaning at Jane). Upon my word, Perry has restored 
her in a wonderful short time ! Oh, if you had seen her, as I 
did, when she was at the worst ! ' And when Mrs. Bates was 
saying something to Emma, whispered further, 'We do not 
say a word of any assistance that Perry might have ; not a 
word of a certain young physician from Windsor. Oh no, 
Perry shall have all the credit. 

' I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Wood- 
house,' she shortly afterwards began, ' since the party to Box 
Hill. Very pleasant party. But yet I think there was some- 
thing wanting. Things did not seem — that is, there seemed a 
little cloud upon the spirits of some. So it appeared to me, at 
least, but I might be mistaken. However, I think it answered 
so far as to tempt one to go again. What say you both to our 
collecting the same party and exploring to Box Hill again, 
while the fine weather lasts ? It must be the same party, you 
know, quite the same party, not one exception.' 

Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could not 
help being diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to 
herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of what might be 
said, and impatience to say everything. 

* Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness. 
It is impossible to say — Yes, indeed, I quite understand — 
dearest Jane's prospects — that is, I do not mean. But she is 
charmingly recovered. How is Mr. Woodhouse ? I am so 
glad. — Quite out of my power. — Such a happy little circle as 
you find us here. — Yes, indeed. — Charming young man ! — that 
is — so very friendly ; I mean good Mr. Perry ! — such attention 
to Jane ! ' And from her great, her more than commonly 
thankful delight towards Mrs. Elton for being there, Emma 
guessed that there had been a little show of resentment towards 
Jane, from the Vicarage quarter, which was now graciously 
overcome. — After a few whispers, indeed, which placed it 
beyond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said — 

' Yes, here I am, my good friend \ and here I have been 
409 



EMMA 

so long, that anywhere else I should think it necessary to 
apologise : but, the truth is, that I am waiting for my lord and 
master. He promised to join me here, and pay his respects 
to you.' 

' What ! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr. 
Elton ? That will be a favour indeed ! for I know gentlemen 
do not like morning visits, and Mr. Elton's time is so engaged.' 

' Upon my word it is, Miss Bates. He really is engaged 
from morning to night. There is no end of people's coming 
to him on some pretence or other. The magistrates, and 
overseers, and churchwardens, are always wanting his opinion. 
They seem not able to do anything without him. " Upon my 
word, Mr. E.," I often say, "rather you than I. I do not 
know what would become of my crayons and my instrument, 
if I had half so many applicants." Bad enough as it is, for I 
absolutely neglect them both to an unpardonable degree. I 
believe I have not played a bar this fortnight. However, he 
is coming, I assure you : yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on 
you all.' And putting up her hand to screen her words from 
Emma — C A congratulatory visit, you know. Oh yes, quite 
indispensable.' 

Miss Bates looked about her, so happily. 

* He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage 
himself from Knightley ; but he and Knightley are shut up 
together in deep consultation. Mr. E. is Knightley's right hand.' 

Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, 
i Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell ? He will have a hot 
walk.' 

* Oh no, it is a meeting at the Crown — a regular meeting. 
Weston and Cole will be there too ; but one is apt to speak 
only of those who lead. I fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have 
everything their own way.' 

1 Have not you mistaken the day ? ' said Emma. ' I am 
almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till to- 
morrow. Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday, and spoke 
of it as for Saturday.' 

* Oh no, the meeting is certainly to-day,' was the abrupt 
answer, which denoted the impossibility of any blunder on 
Mrs. Elton's side. c I do believe,' she continued, ' this is the 
most troublesome parish that ever was. We never heard of 
such things at Maple Grove.' 

410 



EMMA 

' Your parish there was small/ said Jane. 

* Upon my word, my dear, I do not" know, for I never heard 
the subject talked of.' 

* But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I 
have heard you speak of, as under the patronage of your sister 
and Mrs. Bragge ; the only school, and not more than five-and- 
twenty children.' 

c Ah ! you clever creature, that's very true. What a think- 
ing brain you have ! I say, Jane, what a perfect character you 
and I should make, if we could be shaken together. My 
liveliness and your solidity would produce perfection. Not 
that I presume to insinuate, however, that some people may 
not think you perfection already. But hush ! — not a word, if 
you please.' 

It seemed an unnecessary caution ; Jane was wanting to 
give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as 
the latter plainly saw. The wish of distinguishing her, as far 
as civility permitted, was very evident, though it could not 
often proceed beyond a look. 

Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him 
with some of her sparkling vivacity. 

' Very pretty, sir, upon my word ; to send me on here, to 
be an encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouch- 
safe to come. But you knew what a dutiful creature you had 
to deal with. You knew I should not stir till my lord and 
master appeared. Here have I been sitting this hour, giving 
these young ladies a sample of true conjugal obedience ; for 
who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted ? ' 

Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed 
thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies must be 
paid ; but his subsequent object was to lament over himself, 
for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had for 
nothing. 

* When I got to Don well,' said he, ' Knightley could not be 
found. Very odd ! very unaccountable ! after the note I sent 
him this morning, and the message he returned, that he should 
certainly be at home till one.' 

* Donwell ! ' cried his wife. ' My dear Mr. E., you have 
not been to Donwell ; you mean the Crown ; you come from 
the meeting at the Crown.' 

* No, no, that's to-morrow ; and I particularly wanted to 

411 



EMMA 

see Knightley to-day on that very account. Such a dreadful 
broiling morning ! I went over the fields too (speaking in a 
tone of great ill usage), which made it so much the worse. 
And then not to find him at home ! I assure you I am not at 
all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The 
housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected. 
Very extraordinary ! And nobody knew at all which way he 
was gone. Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, 
perhaps into his woods. Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our 
friend Knightley. Can you explain it ? ' 

Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extra- 
ordinary indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for 
him. 

' I cannot imagine,' cried Mrs. Elton (feeling the indignity 
as a wife ought to do), f I cannot imagine how he could do 
such a thing by you, of all people in the world ! The very 
last person whom one should expect to be forgotten ! My 
dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for you, I am sure 
he must. Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric ; — ■ 
and his servants forgot it. Depend upon it that was the case : 
and very likely to happen with the Donwell servants, who are 
all, I have often observed, extremely awkward and remiss. I 
am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand 
at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. 
Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed. She promised 
Wright a receipt, and never sent it.' 

1 1 met William Larkins,' continued Mr. Elton, c as I got 
near the house, and he told me I should not find his master 
at home, but I did not believe him. William seemed rather 
out of humour. He did not know what was come to his 
master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech 
of him. I have nothing to do with William's wants, but it 
really is of very great importance that / should see Knightley 
to-day ; and it becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious in- 
convenience that I should have had this hot walk to no 
purpose.' 

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home 
directly. In all probability she was at this very time waited 
for there ; and Mr. Knightley might be preserved from sinking 
deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not towards William 
Larkins. 

412 




' Such a dreadful broiling morning I s 



EMMA 

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax 
determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her even 
downstairs ; it gave her an opportunity which she immediately 
made use of, to say — 

* It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. 
Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have 
been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak 
more openly than might have been strictly correct. I feel that 
I should certainly have been impertinent.' 

* Oh ! ' cried Jane, with a blush and a hesitation which 
Emma thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the 
elegance of her usual composure — 'there would have been 
no danger. The danger would have been of my wearying 
you. You could not have gratified me more than by ex- 
pressing an interest Indeed, Miss Woodhouse (speaking 

more collectedly), with the consciousness which I have of 
misconduct, very great misconduct, it is particularly consoling 
to me to know that those of my friends, whose good opinion is 
most worth preserving, are not disgusted to such a degree as 
to — I have not time for half that I could wish to say. I long 
to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for myself. I 
feel it so very due. But, unfortunately — in short, if your com- 
passion does not stand my friend ' 

1 Oh ! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,' cried Emma 
warmly, and taking her hand. ' You owe me no apologies ; 
and everybody to whom you might be supposed to owe them 
is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even ' 

1 You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to 
you. So cold and artificial ! I had always a part to act. 
It was a life of deceit ! I know that I must have disgusted 
you.' 

' Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be 
on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We must do 
whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will 
lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant accounts from 
Windsor ? ' 

'Very. 5 

' And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose 
you — just as I begin to know you.' 

' Oh ! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of 
yet. 1 am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell/ 

414 



EMMA 

' Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,' replied 
Emma smiling, — ' but, excuse me, it must be thought of.' 

The smile was returned as Jane answered — 

4 You are very right ; it has been thought of. And I will 
own to you (I am sure it will be safe) that so far as our living 
with Mr. Churchill at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be 
three months, at least, of deep mourning ; but when they are 
over, I imagine there will be nothing more to wait for.' 

( Thank you, thank you. This is just what I wanted to be 
assured of. Oh ! if you knew how much I love everything 
that is decided and open ! — Good-bye, good-bye.' 



CHAPTER LIII 

MRS. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety, 
and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to 
Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. 
She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She 
would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a 
match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella's sons ; but 
she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and 
mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as 
he grew older — and even Mr. Weston might be growing older 
ten years hence — to have his fireside enlivened by the sports 
and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies, of a child never 
banished from home ; and Mrs. Weston — no one could doubt 
that a daughter would be most to her ; and it would be quite 
a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach should not 
have their powers in exercise again. 

' She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on 
me,' she continued — 'like La Baronne d'Almane on La 
Comtesse d'Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and 
Theodore^ and we shall now see her own little Adelaide 
educated on a more perfect plan.' 

1 That is,' replied Mr. Knightley, ' she will indulge her even 
more than she did you, and believe that she does not indulge 
her at all. It will be the only difference.' 

' Poor child ! ' cried Emma ; ' at that rate, what will become 
of her ? ' 

4i5 



EMMA 

1 Nothing very bad. The fate of thousands. She will be 
disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows 
older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoiled children, 
my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness to 
you j would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on 
them ? ' 

Emma laughed, and replied : ' But I had the assistance of 
all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other 
people. I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected 
me without it.' 

( Do you? — I have no doubt Nature gave you under- 
standing : — Miss Taylor gave you principles. You must have 
done well. My interference was quite as likely to do harm as 
good. It was very natural for you to say, what right has he 
to lecture me ? and I am afraid very natural for you to feel 
that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe 
I did you any good. The good was all to myself, by making 
you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could not 
think about you so much without doating on you, faults and 
all ; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in 
love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.' 

( I am sure you were of use to me, 3 cried Emma. ' I was 
very often influenced rightly by you — oftener than I would 
own at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if 
poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest 
humanity in you to do as much for her as you have done for 
me, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen.' 

1 How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, 
with one of your saucy looks, — u Mr. Knightley, I am going 
to do so and so ; papa says I may " ; or, li I have Miss Taylor's 
leave" — something which, you knew, I did not approve. In 
such cases my interference was giving you two bad feelings 
instead of one.' 

' What an amiable creature I was ! No wonder you should 
hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance.' 

1 " Mr. Knightley." You always called me " Mr. Knightley" ; 
and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound. And yet 
it is formal. I want you to call me something else, but I do 
not know what.' 

* I remember once calling you " George," in one of my 
amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought 

416 



EMMA 

it would offend you ; but, as you made no objection, I never 
did it again.' 

' And cannot you call me " George " now ? ' 

' Impossible ! I never can call you anything but " Mr. 
Knightley." I will not promise even to equal the elegant 
terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K. But I will 
promise,' she added presently, laughing and blushing, * I will 
promise to call you once by your Christian name. I do not 
say when, but perhaps you may guess where ; — in the building 
in which N. takes M. for better, for worse.' 

Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to 
one important service which his better sense would have 
rendered her, to the advice which would have saved her from 
the worst of all her womanly follies — her wilful intimacy with 
Harriet Smith ; but it was too tender a subject. She could 
not enter on it. Harriet was very seldom mentioned between 
them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not 
being thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute 
it to delicacy, and a suspicion, from some appearances, that 
their friendship were declining. She was aware herself that, 
parting under any other circumstances, they certainly should 
have corresponded more, and that her intelligence would not 
have rested, as it now almost wholly did, on Isabella's letters. 
He might observe that it was so. The pain of being obliged 
to practise concealment towards him was very little inferior to 
the pain of having made Harriet unhappy. 

Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as 
could be expected ; on her first arrival she had thought her 
out of spirits, which appeared perfectly natural, as there was 
a dentist to be consulted ; but, since that business had been 
over, she did not appear to find Harriet different from what 
she had known her before. Isabella, to be sure, was no very 
quick observer ; yet if Harriet had not been equal to playing 
with the children, it would not have escaped her. Emma's 
comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on, by 
Harriet's being to stay longer ; her fortnight was likely to be 
a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were to 
come down in August, and she was invited to remain till they 
could bring her back. 

'John does not even mention your friend,' said Mr. 
Knightley. ' Here is his answer if you like to see it.' 
2 E 417 



EMMA 

It was the answer to the communication of his intended 
marriage. Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with 
an impatience all alive to know what he would say about it, 
and not at all checked by hearing that her friend was un- 
mentioned. 

' John enters like a brother into my happiness,' continued 
Mr. Knightley, 'but he is no complimenter ; and though I 
well know him to have, likewise, a most brotherly affection for 
you, he is so far from making flourishes, that any other young 
woman might think him rather cool in her praise. But I am 
not afraid of your seeing what he writes.' 

' He writes like a sensible man,' replied Emma, when she 
had read the letter. ' I honour his sincerity. It is very plain 
that he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all 
on my side, but that he is not without hope of my growing, in 
time, as worthy of your affection as you think me already. 
Had he said anything to bear a different construction, I should 
not have believed him.' 

* My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means ' 

6 He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the 

two,' — interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile — 'much 
less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without 
ceremony or reserve on the subject.' 

1 Emma, my dear Emma ' 

4 Oh ! ' she cried with more thorough gaiety, * if you fancy 
your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear 
father is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon 
it, he will be much farther from doing you justice. He will 
think all the happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the 
question ; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into 
"poor Emma" with him at once. His tender compassion 
towards oppressed worth can go no farther.' 

* Ah ! ' he cried, « I wish your father might be half as easily 
convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal 
worth can give, to be happy together. I am amused by one 
part of John's letter — did you notice it ? — where he says that 
my information did not take him wholly by surprise, that he 
was rather in expectation of hearing something of the kind.' 

* If I understand your brother, he only means so far as 
your having some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of 
me. He seems perfectly unprepared for that.' 

418 



EMMA 

* Yes, yes — but I am amused that he should have seen so 
far into my feelings. What has he been judging by ? I am 
not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation 
that could prepare him at this time for my marrying any more 
than at another. But it was so, I suppose. I daresay there 
was a difference when I was staying with them the other day. 
I believe I did not play with the children quite so much as 
usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, " Uncle 
seems always tired now." ' 

The time was coming when the news must spread farther, 
and other persons' reception of it be tried. As soon as Mrs. 
Weston was sufficiently recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse's 
visits, Emma having it in view that her gentle reasonings 
should be employed in the cause, resolved first to announce it 
at home, and then at Randalls. But how to break it to her 
father at last ! She had bound herself to do it, in such an 
hour of Mr. Knightley's absence, or when it came to the point 
her heart would have failed her, and she must have put it off ; 
but Mr. Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow up 
the beginning she was to make. She was forced to speak, 
and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more 
decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. 
She must not appear to think it a misfortune. With all the 
spirits she could command, she prepared him first for some- 
thing strange, and then, in few words, said, that if his consent 
and approbation could be obtained — which, she trusted, would 
be attended with no difficulty, since it was a plan to promote 
the happiness of all — she and Mr. Knightley meant to marry ; 
by which means Hartfield would receive the constant addition 
of that person's company, whom she knew he loved, next to 
his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world. 

Poor man ! — it was at first a considerable shock to him, 
and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was re- 
minded, more than once, of her having always said she would 
never marry, and assured that it would be a great deal better 
for her to remain single ; and told of poor Isabella, and poor 
Miss Taylor. But it would not do. Emma hung about him 
affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so ; and that 
he must not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose 
marriages taking them from Hartfield had, indeed, made a 
melancholy change ; but she was not going from Hartfield ; 

419 




Emma hung about him affectionately. 



EMMA 

she should be always there ; she was introducing no change in 
their numbers or their comforts but for the better ; and she 
was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for 
having Mr. Knightley always at hand, when he were once got 
used to the idea. Did not he love Mr. Knightley very much ? 
He would not deny that he did, she was sure. Whom did he 
ever want to consult on business but Mr. Knightley ? Who 
was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so 
glad to assist him ? Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached 
to him ? Would not he like to have him always on the spot ? 
Yes. That was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be 
there too often ; he should be glad to see him every day : but 
they did see him every day as it was. Why could not they 
go on as they had done ? 

Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled ; but the 
worst was overcome, the idea was given ; time and continual 
repetition must do the rest. To Emma's entreaties and 
assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley's, whose fond praise of 
her gave the subject even a kind of welcome ; and he was 
soon used to be talked to by each on every fair occasion. 
They had all the assistance which Isabella could give, by 
letters of the strongest approbation ; and Mrs. Weston was 
ready, on the first meeting, to consider the subject in the 
most serviceable light ; first, as a settled, and, secondly, as a 
good one — well aware of the nearly equal importance of the 
two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse's mind. It was 
agreed upon, as what was to be ; and everybody by whom 
he was used to be guided assuring him that it would be for 
his happiness, and having some feelings himself which almost 
admitted it, he began to think that some time or other, in 
another year or two, perhaps, it might not be so very bad if 
the marriage did take place. v 

Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all 
that she said to him in favour of the event. She had been 
extremely surprised, never more so, than when Emma first 
opened the affair to her ; but she saw in it only increase of 
happiness to all, and had no scruple in urging him to the 
utmost. She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as to 
think he deserved even her dearest Emma ; and it was in 
every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a 
connection, and in one respect, one point of the highest 

421 



EMMA 

importance, so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that 
now it seemed as if Emma could not safely have attached 
herself to any other creature, and that she had herself been 
the stupidest of beings in not having thought of it and wished 
it long ago. How very few of those men in a rank of life to 
address Emma would have renounced their own home for 
Hartfield ! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and 
bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrange- 
ment desirable ! The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. 
Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband's plans and 
her own, for a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to 
settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had been a 
continual impediment — less acknowledged by Mr. Weston 
than by herself — but even he had never been able to finish 
the subject better than by saying, — ' Those matters will take 
care of themselves ; the young people will find a way.' But 
here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation 
on the future. It was all right, all open, all equal. No 
sacrifice on any side worth the name. It was a union of 
the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without one real, 
rational difficulty to oppose or delay it. 

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in 
such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in 
the world. If anything could increase her delight, it was 
perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first 
set of caps. 

The news was universally a surprise wherever it spread; and 
Mr. Weston had his five minutes' share of it ; but five minutes 
were enough to familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind. 
He saw the advantages of the match, and rejoiced in them with 
all the constancy of his wife ; but the wonder of it was very 
soon nothing ; and by the end of an hour he was not far from 
believing that he had always foreseen it. 

c It is to be a secret, I conclude,' said he. £ These matters 
are always a secret, till it is found out that everybody knows 
them. Only let me be told when I may speak out. I wonder 
whether Jane has any suspicion.' 

He went to Highbury the next morning and satisfied him- 
self on that point. He told her the news. Was not she like 
a daughter, his eldest daughter ? — he must tell her ; and Miss 
Bates being present, it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. 

422 




Jt passed to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton. 



EMMA 

Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately afterwards. It was no more 
than the principals were prepared for; they. had calculated, 
from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it 
would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, 
as the evening wonder in many a family circle, with great 
sagacity. 

In general, it was a very well approved match. Some 
might think him, and others might think her, the most in 
luck. One set might recommend their all removing to Don- 
well, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys ; and 
another might predict disagreements among their servants ; 
but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, 
except in one habitation — the Vicarage. There, the surprise 
was not softened by any satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little 
about it, compared with his wife ; he only hoped * the young 
lady's pride would now be contented ' ; and supposed ' she had 
always meant to catch Knightley if she could ' ; and, on the 
point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, * Rather he 
than I ! ' But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed. 
' Poor Knightley ! poor fellow ! — sad business for him. She 
was extremely concerned ; for, though very eccentric, he had 
a thousand good qualities. How could he be so taken in ? 
Did not think him at all in love — not in the least. Poor 
Knightley ! There would be an end of all pleasant intercourse 
with him. How happy he had been to come and dine with 
them whenever they asked him ! But that would be all over 
now. Poor fellow ! No more exploring parties to Donwell 
made for her. Oh no ; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to 
throw cold water on everything. Extremely disagreeable ! 
But she was not at all sorry that she had abused the house- 
keeper the other day. Shocking plan, living together. It 
would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who 
had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of 
the first quarter.' 



CHAPTER LIV 

Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party 
from London would be arriving. It was an alarming change ; 

424 



EMMA 

and Emma was thinking of it one morning, as what must 
bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when Mr. 
Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. 
After the first chat of pleasure, he was silent ; and then, in a 
graver tone, began with — 

1 1 have something to tell you, Emma ; some news.' 

* Good or bad ? ' said she quickly, looking up in his face. 

* I do not know which it ought to be called.' 

* Oh, good, I am sure. I see it in your countenance. You 
are trying not to smile.' 

' 1 am afraid,' said he, composing his features, * I am very 
much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you 
hear it.' 

'Indeed! but why so? — I can hardly imagine that any- 
thing which pleases or amuses you should not please and 
amuse me too.' 

' There is one subject,' he replied, ( I hope but one, on 
which we do not think alike.' He paused a moment, again 
smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face. ' Does nothing occur 
to you ? Do not you recollect ? Harriet Smith,' 

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of 
something, though she knew not what. 

' Have you heard from her yourself this morning ? ' cried 
he. ' You have, I believe, and know the whole.' 

{ No, I have not : I know nothing ; pray tell me.' 

* You are prepared for the worst, I see ; and very bad it is. 
Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin.' 

Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared ; 
and her eyes, in eager gaze, said, c No, this is impossible ! ' 
but her lips were closed. 

'It is so, indeed ! ' continued Mr. Knightley ; ' I have 
it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an hour 
ago.' 

She was still looking at him with the most speaking 
amazement. 

i You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared — I wish our 
opinions were the same. But in time they will. Time, you 
may be very sure, will make one or the other of us think 
differently ; and, in the meanwhile, we need not talk much on 
the subject.' 

' You mistake me, you quite mistake me,' she replied, 

425 



EMMA 

exerting herself. ' It is not that such a circumstance would 
now make me unhappy, but I cannot believe it. It seems an 
impossibility ! You cannot mean to say that Harriet Smith 
has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot mean that he has 
even proposed to her again — yet. You only mean that he 
intends it.' 

* I mean that he has done it,' answered Mr. Knightley, 
with smiling but determined decision, * and been accepted.' 

£ Good God ! ' she cried. * Well ! ' — Then having recourse 
to her work-basket, in excuse for leaning down her face, and 
concealing all the exquisite feelings of delight and entertain- 
ment which she knew she must be expressing, she added, 
1 Well, now tell me everything ; make this intelligible to me. 
How, where, when ? Let me know it all. I never was more 
surprised — but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you. 
How — how has it been possible ?' 

* It is a very simple story. He went to town on business 
three days ago, and I got him to take charge of some papers 
which I was wanting to send to John. He delivered these 
papers to John, at his chambers, and was asked by him to join 
their party the same evening to Astley's. They were going to 
take the two eldest boys to Astley's. The party was to be our 

brother and sister, Henry, John , and Miss Smith. My 

friend Robert could not resist. They called for him in their 
way ; were all extremely amused ; and my brother asked him 
to dine with them the next day, which he did, and in the course 
of that visit (as I understand) he found an opportunity of 
speaking to Harriet ; and certainly did not speak in vain. She 
made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is deserv- 
ing. He came down by yesterdays coach, and was with me 
this morning, immediately after breakfast, to report his pro- 
ceedings, first on my affairs, and then on his own. This is all 
that I can relate of the how, where, and when. Your friend 
Harriet will make a much longer history when you see her. 
She will give you all the minute particulars, which only 
woman's language can make interesting. In our communica- 
tions we deal only in the great. However, I must say that 
Robert Martin's heart seemed for him, and to me, very over- 
flowing ; and that he did mention, without its being much to 
the purpose, that on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother 
took charge of Mrs. John Knightley and little John, and he 

426 



EMMA 

followed, with Miss Smith and Henry ; and that at one time 
they were in such a crowd as to make Miss Smith rather 
uneasy.' 

He stopped. Emma dared not attempt any immediate 
reply. To speak, she was sure would be to betray a most 
unreasonable degree of happiness. She must wait a moment, 
or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed him ; and 
after observing her a little while, he added — 

* Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not 
now make you unhappy ; but I am afraid it gives you more 
pain than you expected. His situation is an evil ; but you 
must consider it as what satisfies your friend : and I will answer 
for your thinking better and better of him as you know him 
more : his good sense and good principles would delight you. 
As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend 
in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could ; 
which is saying a great deal, I assure you, Emma. You laugh 
at me about William Larkins ; but I could quite as ill spare 
Robert Martin.' 

He wanted her to look up and smile ; and having now 
brought herself not to smile too broadly, she did, cheerfully 
answering — 

* You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. 
I think Harriet is doing extremely well. Her connections may 
be worse than his : in respectability of character, there can be 
no doubt that they are. I have been silent from surprise 
merely, excessive surprise. You cannot imagine how suddenly 
it has come on me ! how peculiarly unprepared I was ! for I 
had reason to believe her very lately more determined against 
him, much more than she was before.' 

' You ought to know your friend best,' replied Mr. Knight- 
ley ; 'but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted 
girl, not likely to be very, very determined against any young 
man who told her he loved her.' 

Emma could not help laughing as she answered, ' Upon 
my word, I believe you know her quite as well as I do. But, 
Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure that she has absolutely 
and downright accepted him ? I could suppose she might in 
time, but can she already ? Did not you misunderstand him ? 
You were both talking of other things ; of business, shows of 
cattle, or new drills ; and might not you, in the confusion of 

427 



EMMA 

so many subjects, mistake him ? It was not Harriet's hand 
that he was certain of — it was the dimensions of some famous 
ox.' 

The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. 
Knightley and Robert Martin was, at this moment, so strong 
to Emma's feelings, and so strong was the recollection of 
all that had so recently passed on Harriet's side, so fresh 
the sound of those words spoken with such emphasis, * No, 
I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin,' that 
she was really expecting the intelligence to prove, in some 
measure, premature. It could not be otherwise. 

I Do you dare say this ? ' cried Mr. Knightley. ' Do you 
dare to suppose me so great a blockhead as not to know 
what a man is talking of? What do you deserve?' 

* Oh ! I always deserve the best treatment, because I 
never put up with any other ; and, therefore, you must give 
me a plain, direct answer. Are you quite sure that you 
understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and Harriet 
now are ? ' 

* I am quite sure,' he replied, speaking very distinctly, 
* that he told me she had accepted him ; and that there 
was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used ; 
and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so. He 
asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew 
of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for 
information of her relations or friends. Could I mention any- 
thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard ? I 
assured him that I could not. Then, he said, he would en- 
deavour to see her in the course of this day.' 

I I am perfectly satisfied,' replied Emma, with the brightest 
smiles, 'and most sincerely wish them happy.' 

'You are materially changed since we talked on this sub- 
ject before.' 

' 1 hope so — for at that time I was a fool.' 

' And I am changed also ; for I am now very willing to 
grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some 
pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake (whom I 
have always had reason to believe as much in love with her 
as ever), to get acquainted with her. I have often talked to 
her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Some- 
times, indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me 

428 



EMMA 

of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was never the case ; 
but, from all my observations, I am convinced of her being 
an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, very seriously 
good principles, and placing her happiness in the affections 
and utility of domestic life. Much of this, I have no doubt, 
she may thank you for.' 

' Me !' cried Emma, shaking her head. * Ah, poor Harriet V 
She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a 
little more praise than she deserved. 

Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the 
entrance of her father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be 
alone. Her mind was in a state of flutter and wonder, 
which made it impossible for her to be collected. She was 
in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits ; and till she had 
moved about and talked to herself, and laughed and re- 
flected, she could be fit for nothing rational. 

Her father's business was to announce James's being gone 
out to put the horses to, preparatory to their now daily 
drive to Randalls ; and she had, therefore, an immediate 
excuse for disappearing. 

The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensa- 
tions may be imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus 
removed in the prospect of Harriet's welfare, she was really in 
danger of becoming too happy for security. What had she to 
wish for ? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of him whose 
intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own. 
Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her 
humility and circumspection in future. 

Serious she was, very serious, in her thankfulness and in 
her resolutions ; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, 
sometimes in the very midst of them. She must laugh at such 
a close — such an end of the doleful disappointment of five 
weeks back — such a heart — such a Harriet ! 

Now there would be pleasure in her returning ; everything 
would be a pleasure : it would be a great pleasure to know 
Robert Martin. 

High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities 
was the reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr. 
Knightley would soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, 
mystery, so hateful to her to practise, might soon be over. 
She could now look forward to giving him that full and perfect 

429 



EMMA 

confidence which her disposition was most ready to welcome 
as a duty. 

In the gayest and happiest spirits she set forward with her 
father, not always listening, but always agreeing, to what he 
said ; and, whether in speech or silence, conniving at the 
comfortable persuasion of his being obliged to go to Randalls 
every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be disappointed. 

They arrived. Mrs. Weston was alone in the drawing- 
room. But hardly had they been told of the baby, and Mr. 
Woodhouse received the thanks for coming, which he asked 
for, when a glimpse was caught through the blind of two 
figures passing near the window. 

' It is Frank and Miss Fairfax,' said Mrs. Weston. 1 1 was 
just going to tell you of our agreeable surprise in seeing him 
arrive this morning. He stays till to-morrow, and Miss 
Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the day with us. They 
are coming in, I hope.' 

In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was 
extremely glad to see him ; but there was a degree of confusion, 
a number of embarrassing recollections, on each side. They 
met readily and smiling, but with a consciousness which at 
first allowed little to be said ; and having all sat down again, 
there was for some time such a blank in the circle that Emma 
began to doubt whether the wish now indulged, which she had 
long felt, of seeing Frank Churchill once more, and of seeing 
him with Jane, would yield its proportion of pleasure. When 
Mr. Weston joined the party, however, and when the baby was 
fetched, there was no longer a want of subject or animation, or 
of courage and opportunity for Frank Churchill to draw near 
her and say — 

4 1 have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind, 
forgiving message, in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope 
time has not made you less willing to pardon : I hope you do 
not retract what you then said. 5 

* No, indeed, 7 cried Emma, most happy to begin ; ' not in 
the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with 
you, and to give you joy in person.' 

He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some 
time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happi- 
ness. 

* Is not she looking well ?' said he, turning his eyes towards 

43° 



EMMA 

Jane, — c better than she ever used to do ? You see how my 
father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her.' 

But his spirits were soon rising again ; and, with laughing 
eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, 
he named the name of Dixon. Emma blushed, and forbade 
its being pronounced in her hearing. 

* I can never think of it,' she cried, i without extreme 
shame.' 

'The shame,' he answered, 'is all mine, or ought to be. 
But is it possible that you had no suspicion ? I mean of late : 
early, I know, you had none.' 

' I never had the smallest, I assure you.' 

' That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near, — 
and I wish I had ; it would have been better. But though I 
was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong 
things, and such as did me no service. It would have been a 
much better transgression, had I broken the bond of secrecy 
and told you everything.' 

' It is now not worth a regret,' said Emma. 

' I have some hope,' resumed he, ' of my uncle's being 
persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls ; he wants to be in- 
troduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we 
shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, till 
we may carry her northward ; but now, 1 am at such a dis- 
tance from her — is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse ? Till this 
morning, we have not once met since the day of reconcilia- 
tion. Do not you pity me ? ' 

Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that, with a sudden 
accession of gay thought, he cried — 

'Ah! by the bye,' — then sinking his voice, and looking 
demure for the moment, — ' I hope Mr. Knightley is well ? ' 
He paused. She coloured and laughed. ' I know you 
saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in 
your favour. Let me return your congratulations. I assure 
you that I have heard the news with the warmest interest 
and satisfaction. He is a man whom I cannot presume to 
praise.' 

Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in 
the same style ; but his mind was the next moment in his 
own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words 
were — 

431 



EMMA 

* Did you ever see such a skin ? such smoothness, such 
delicacy, and yet without being actually fair. One cannot 
call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her 
dark eyelashes and hair — a most distinguishing complexion ! 
So peculiarly the lady in it. Just colour enough for beauty.' 

( I have always admired her complexion,' replied Emma, 
archly ; ( but do not I remember the time when you found 
fault with her for being so pale ? When we first began to 
talk of her. Have you quite forgotten ? ' 

* Oh no ! — what an impudent dog I was ! — how could I 
dare ' 

But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma 
could not help saying — 

' I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at 
that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all. 
I am sure you had. I am sure it was a consolation to you.' 

'Oh no, no, no! — how can you suspect me of such a 
thing ? I was the most miserable wretch.' 

* Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I 
am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you to 
feel that you were taking us all in. Perhaps I am the readier 
to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might 
have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. 
I think there is a little likeness between us.' 

He bowed. 

* If not in our dispositions,' she presently added, with a 
look of true sensibility, i there is a likeness in our destiny ; 
the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters 
so much superior to our own.' 

1 True, true,' he answered warmly. ' No, not true on 
your side. You can have no superior, but most true on 
mine. She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not 
she an angel in every gesture ? Observe the turn of her 
throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my 
father. You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and 
whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all my 
aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved 
to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be 
beautiful in her dark hair ? ' 

( Very beautiful indeed,' replied Emma ; and she spoke 
so kindly, that he gratefully burst out — 

43 2 



EMMA 

1 How delighted I am to see you again ! and to see you 
in such excellent looks ! I would not have missed this 
meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at 
Hartfield had you failed to come.' 

The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston 
giving an account of a little alarm she had been under the 
evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well. 
She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, 
and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. 
Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston 
had been almost as uneasy as herself. In ten minutes, how- 
ever, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her 
history ; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, 
who commended her very much for thinking of sending for 
Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. 'She 
should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the 
slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She 
could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. 
It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night ; for, 
though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it 
would probably have been better if Perry had seen it.' 

Frank Churchill caught the name. 

c Perry 1 ' said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to 
catch Miss Fairfax's eye. ( My friend Mr. Perry ! What 
are they saying about Mr. Perry ? Has he been here this 
morning? And how does he travel now? Has he set up 
his carriage ?' 

Emma soon recollected, and understood him ; and while she 
joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance 
that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. 

' Such an extraordinary dream of mine ! ' he cried. ' I can 
never think of it without laughing. She hears us, she hears 
us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her 
vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, 
at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent 
me the report, is passing under her eye ; that the whole 
blunder is spread before her ; that she can attend to nothing 
else, though pretending to listen to the others ? ' 

Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment ; and 
the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and 
said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice — 
2 F 433 



EMMA 

1 How you can bear such recollections is astonishing to 
me ! They will sometimes obtrude : but how can you court 
them ? ' 

He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertain- 
ingly ; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane in the 
argument : and on leaving Randalls, and falling naturally 
into a comparison of the two men, she felt that, pleased as 
she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really regarding 
him as she did with friendship, she had never been more 
sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. 
The happiness of this most happy day received its comple- 
tion in the animated contemplation of his worth which this 
comparison produced. 



CHAPTER LV 

If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, 
a momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really 
cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able 
to accept another man from unbiassed inclination, it was not 
long that she had to suffer from the recurrence of any such 
uncertainty. A very few days brought the party from London ; 
and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour 
alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied, 
unaccountable as it was, that Robert Martin had thoroughly 
supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was now forming all her views 
of happiness. 

Harriet was a little distressed — did look a little foolish at 
first ; but having once owned that she had been presump- 
tuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confu- 
sion seemed to die away with the words, and leave her with- 
out a care for the past, and with the fullest exultation in the 
present and future ; for, as to her friend's approbation, Emma 
had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting 
her with the most unqualified congratulations. Harriet was 
most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley's, 
and the dinner the next day ; she could dwell on it all with 
the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain ? 

434 



EMMA 

The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet 
had always liked Robert Martin ; and that his continuing to 
love her had been irresistible. Beyond this, it must ever be 
unintelligible to Emma. 

The event, however, was most joyful ; and every day was 
giving her fresh reason for thinking so. Harriet's parentage 
became known. She proved to be the daughter of a trades- 
man, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance 
which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always 
wished for concealment. Such was the blood of gentility 
which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for ! It 
was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of 
many a gentleman ; but what a connection had she been 
preparing for Mr. Knightley, or for the Churchills, or even 
for Mr. Elton ! The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by 
nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. 

No objection was raised on the father's side ; the young 
man was treated liberally ; it was all as it should be : and 
as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who was 
now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged in him all 
the appearance of sense and worth which could bid fairest for 
her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness 
with any good-tempered man ; but with him, and in the home 
he offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, 
stability, and improvement. She would be placed in the midst 
of those who loved her, and who had better sense than her- 
self; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough for 
cheerfulness. She would never be led into temptation, nor 
left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and 
happy ; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in 
the world, to have created so steady and persevering an 
affection in such a man ; or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield 
only to herself. 

Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with 
the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield, which was not to 
be regretted. The intimacy between her and Emma must 
sink ; their friendship must change into a calmer sort of 
goodwill ; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, 
seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural 
manner. 

Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to 

435 



EMMA 

church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with 
so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even con- 
nected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair. 
Perhaps, indeed, at that time, she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but 
as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall 
on herself. Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest 
couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married. 

Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was re- 
stored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells. 
The Mr. Churchills were also in town ; and they were only 
waiting for November. 

The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as 
they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley. They had deter- 
mined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John 
and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fort- 
night's absence in a tour to the sea-side, which was the plan. 
John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in 
approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse — how was Mr. Woodhouse 
to be induced to consent ? — he, who had never yet alluded to 
their marriage but as a distant event. 

When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, 
that they were almost hopeless. A second allusion, indeed, 
gave less pain. He began to think it was to be, and that he 
could not prevent it — a very promising step of the mind on 
its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. 
Nay, he appeared so much otherwise that his daughter's 
courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to 
know him fancying himself neglected ; and though her 
understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the 
Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his 
distress would be soon over too, she hesitated — s"he could not 
proceed. 

In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any 
sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonder- 
ful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the 
same system in another way. Mrs. Weston's poultry-house 
was robbed one nfght of all her turkeys, — evidently by the 
ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood 
also suffered. Pilfering was house-breaking to Mr. Wood- 
house's fears. He was very uneasy ; and but for the sense of 
his son-in-law's protection, would have been under wretched 

436 



EMMA 

alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and 
presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys commanded his fullest 
dependence. While either of them protected him and his, 
Hartfield was safe. But Mr. John Knightley must be in London 
again by the end of the first week in November. 

The result of this distress was that, with a much more 
voluntary, cheerful consent, than his daughter had ever 
presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her 
wedding-day ; and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month 
from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the 
hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. 

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where 
the parties have no taste for finery or parade ; and Mrs. Elton, 
from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all 
extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. l Very little 
white satin, very few lace veils ; a most pitiful business 1 
Selina would stare when she heard of it.' But, in spite of 
these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the 
predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the 
ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the 
union. 



THE END 





INTRODUCTION. 



xiii 



have, perhaps, contributed more to the intellectual enlightenment 
of mankind than any other three writers who could be named, 
and yet the history of all three has given rise to a boundless ocean 
of discussion, which has left us little save the option of choosing 
which theory or theories we will follow. The personality of 
Shakespere is, perhaps, the only thing in which critics will allow 
us to believe without controversy; but upon everything else, 
even down to the authorship of plays, there is more or less of 
doubt and uncertainty. Of Socrates we know as little as the 
contradictions of Plato and Xenophon will allow us to know. He 
was one of the dramatis personae in two dramas as unlike in 
principles as in style. He appears as the enunciator of opinions 
as different in their tone as those of the writers who have handed 
them down. When we have read Plato or Xenophon, we think 
we know something of Socrates; when we have fairly read and 
examined both, we feel convinced that we are something worse 
than ignorant. 

It has been an easy, and a popular expedient, of late years, to 
deny the personal or real existence of men and things whose life 
and condition were too much for our belief. This system — which 
has often comforted the religious sceptic, and substituted the 
consolations of Strauss for those of the New Testament — has 
been of incalculable value to the historical theorists of the last 
and present centuries. To question the existence of Alexander 
the Great, would be a more excusable act, than to believe in 
that of Romulus. To deny a fact related in Herodotus, because 
it is inconsistent with a theory developed from an Assyrian 
inscription which no two scholars read in the same way, is more 
pardonable, than to believe in the good-natured old king whom 
the elegant pen of Florian has idealized — Numa Pompilius. 

Scepticism has attained its culminating point with respect 
to Homer, and the state of our Homeric knowledge may be 
described as a free permission to believe any theory, provided 
we throw overboard all written tradition, concerning the author [xi] 



xiv 



The Iliad of Homer 



or authors of the Iliad and Odyssey. What few authorities exist 
on the subject, are summarily dismissed, although the arguments 
appear to run in a circle. "This cannot be true, because it is not 
true; and, that is not true, because it cannot be true." Such seems 
to be the style, in which testimony upon testimony, statement 
upon statement, is consigned to denial and oblivion. 

It is, however, unfortunate that the professed biographies 
of Homer are partly forgeries, partly freaks of ingenuity and 
imagination, in which truth is the requisite most wanting. Before 
taking a brief review of the Homeric theory in its present 
conditions, some notice must be taken of the treatise on the Life 
of Homer which has been attributed to Herodotus. 

According to this document, the city of Cumae in iEolia, was, 
at an early period, the seat of frequent immigrations from various 
parts of Greece. Among the immigrants was Menapolus, the son 
of Ithagenes. Although poor, he married, and the result of the 
union was a girl named Critheis. The girl was left an orphan at 
an early age, under the guardianship of Cleanax, of Argos. It 
is to the indiscretion of this maiden that we "are indebted for 
so much happiness." Homer was the first fruit of her juvenile 
frailty, and received the name of Melesigenes, from having been 
born near the river Meles, in Boeotia, whither Critheis had been 
transported in order to save her reputation. 

"At this time," continues our narrative, "there lived at Smyrna 
a man named Phemius, a teacher of literature and music, who, 
not being married, engaged Critheis to manage his household, 
and spin the flax he received as the price of his scholastic 
labours. So satisfactory was her performance of this task, and 
so modest her conduct, that he made proposals of marriage, 
declaring himself, as a further inducement, willing to adopt her 
son, who, he asserted, would become a clever man, if he were 
carefully brought up. " 

They were married; careful cultivation ripened the talents 
which nature had bestowed, and Melesigenes soon surpassed 



INTRODUCTION. 



xv 



his schoolfellows in every attainment, and, when older, rivalled 
his preceptor in wisdom. Phemius died, leaving him sole heir 
to his property, and his mother soon followed. Melesigenes 
carried on his adopted father's school with great success, exciting 
the admiration not only of the inhabitants of Smyrna, but also 
of the strangers whom the trade carried on there, especially in 
the exportation of corn, attracted to that city. Among these 
visitors, one Mentes, from Leucadia, the modern Santa Maura, 
who evinced a knowledge and intelligence rarely found in those 
times, persuaded Melesigenes to close his school, and accompany 
him on his travels. He promised not only to pay his expenses, but 
to furnish him with a further stipend, urging, that, "While he was 
yet young, it was fitting that he should see with his own eyes the 
countries and cities which might hereafter be the subjects of his 
discourses." Melesigenes consented, and set out with his patron, 
"examining all the curiosities of the countries they visited, and 
informing himself of everything by interrogating those whom he 
met." We may also suppose, that he wrote memoirs of all that he [xii] 
deemed worthy of preservation 2 Having set sail from Tyrrhenia 
and Iberia, they reached Ithaca. Here Melesigenes, who had 
already suffered in his eyes, became much worse, and Mentes, 
who was about to leave for Leucadia, left him to the medical 
superintendence of a friend of his, named Mentor, the son of 
Alcinor. Under his hospitable and intelligent host, Melesigenes 
rapidly became acquainted with the legends respecting Ulysses, 
which afterwards formed the subject of the Odyssey. The 
inhabitants of Ithaca assert, that it was here that Melesigenes 
became blind, but the Colophomans make their city the seat of 



2 Eikos de min aen kai mnaemoruna panton grapherthai. Vit. Horn, in 
Schweigh Herodot t. iv. p. 299, sq. Section 6. I may observe that this 
Life has been paraphrased in English by my learned young friend Kenneth 
R. H. Mackenzie, and appended to my prose translation of the Odyssey. The 
present abridgement however, will contain all that is of use to the reader, for 
the biographical value of the treatise is most insignificant. 



xvi 



The Iliad of Homer 



that misfortune. He then returned to Smyrna, where he applied 
himself to the study of poetry. 3 

But poverty soon drove him to Cumae. Having passed over 
the Hermaean plain, he arrived at Neon Teichos, the New Wall, 
a colony of Cumae. Here his misfortunes and poetical talent 
gained him the friendship of one Tychias, an armourer. "And up 
to my time," continued the author, "the inhabitants showed the 
place where he used to sit when giving a recitation of his verses, 
and they greatly honoured the spot. Here also a poplar grew, 
which they said had sprung up ever since Melesigenes arrived". 4 

But poverty still drove him on, and he went by way of Larissa, 
as being the most convenient road. Here, the Cumans say, 
he composed an epitaph on Gordius, king of Phrygia, which 
has however, and with greater probability, been attributed to 



3 — I.e. both of composing and reciting verses for as Blair observes, "The 
first poets sang their own verses." Sextus Empir. adv. Mus. p. 360 ed. Fabric. 
Ou hamelei ge toi kai oi poiaetai melopoioi legontai, kai ta Omaerou epae to 
palai pros lyran aedeto. 

"The voice," observes Heeren, "was always accompanied by some 
instrument. The bard was provided with a harp on which he played a 
prelude, to elevate and inspire his mind, and with which he accompanied the 
song when begun. His voice probably preserved a medium between singing 
and recitation; the words, and not the melody were regarded by the listeners, 
hence it was necessary for him to remain intelligible to all. In countries where 
nothing similar is found, it is difficult to represent such scenes to the mind; but 
whoever has had an opportunity of listening to the improvisation of Italy, can 
easily form an idea of Demodocus and Phemius." — Ancient Greece, p. 94. 

4 "Should it not be, since my arrival? asks Mackenzie, observing that "poplars 
can hardly live so long". But setting aside the fact that we must not expect 
consistency in a mere romance, the ancients had a superstitious belief in the 
great age of trees which grew near places consecrated by the presence of gods 
and great men. See Cicero de Legg II I, sub init., where he speaks of the plane 
tree under which Socrates used to walk and of the tree at Delos, where Latona 
gave birth to Apollo. This passage is referred to by Stephanus of Byzantium, 

v. N. T. p. 490, ed. de Pinedo. I omit quoting any of the dull epigrams ascribed 



INTRODUCTION. 



xvii 



Cleobulus of Lindus. 5 

Arrived at Cumae, he frequented the converzationes 6 of the old 
men, and delighted all by the charms of his poetry. Encouraged 
by this favourable reception, he declared that, if they would 
allow him a public maintenance, he would render their city most 
gloriously renowned. They avowed their willingness to support [xiii] 
him in the measure he proposed, and procured him an audience 
in the council. Having made the speech, with the purport of 
which our author has forgotten to acquaint us, he retired, and left 
them to debate respecting the answer to be given to his proposal. 

The greater part of the assembly seemed favourable to the 
poet's demand, but one man observed that "if they were to feed 
Homers, they would be encumbered with a multitude of useless 
people." "From this circumstance," says the writer, "Melesigenes 
acquired the name of Homer, for the Cumans call blind men 
Homers. " 7 With a love of economy, which shows how similar 
the world has always been in its treatment of literary men, the 
pension was denied, and the poet vented his disappointment in a 
wish that Cumoea might never produce a poet capable of giving 
it renown and glory. 

At Phocoea, Homer was destined to experience another literary 
distress. One Thestorides, who aimed at the reputation of poetical 
genius, kept Homer in his own house, and allowed him a pittance, 
on condition of the verses of the poet passing in his name. Having 

to Homer for, as Mr. Justice Talfourd rightly observes, "The authenticity of 
these fragments depends upon that of the pseudo Herodotean Life of Homer, 
from which they are taken." Lit of Greece, pp. 38 in Encycl. Metrop. Cf. 
Coleridge, Classic Poets, p. 317. 

5 It is quoted as the work of Cleobulus, by Diogenes Laert. Vit. Cleob. p. 62, 
ed. Casaub. 

6 1 trust I am justified in employing this as an equivalent for the Greek leschai. 

7 Os ei tous, Homerous doxei trephein autois, omilon pollon te kai achreoin 
exousin. enteuthen de kai tounoma Homeros epekrataese to Melaesigenei apo 
taes symphoraes oi gar Kumaioi tous tuphlous Homerous legousin. Vit. Horn. 
/. c. p. 311. The etymology has been condemned by recent scholars. See 
Welcker, Epische Cyclus, p. 127, and Mackenzie's note, p. xiv. 



xviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



collected sufficient poetry to be profitable, Thestorides, like some 
would-be-literary publishers, neglected the man whose brains he 
had sucked, and left him. At his departure, Homer is said to 
have observed: "O Thestorides, of the many things hidden from 
the knowledge of man, nothing is more unintelligible than the 
human heart." 8 

Homer continued his career of difficulty and distress, until 
some Chian merchants, struck by the similarity of the verses they 
heard him recite, acquainted him with the fact that Thestorides 
was pursuing a profitable livelihood by the recital of the very 
same poems. This at once determined him to set out for Chios. 
No vessel happened then to be setting sail thither, but he found 
one ready to Start for Erythrae, a town of Ionia, which faces 
that island, and he prevailed upon the seamen to allow him to 
accompany them. Having embarked, he invoked a favourable 
wind, and prayed that he might be able to expose the imposture 
of Thestorides, who, by his breach of hospitality, had drawn 
down the wrath of Jove the Hospitable. 

At Erythrae, Homer fortunately met with a person who had 
known him in Phocoea, by whose assistance he at length, after 
some difficulty, reached the little hamlet of Pithys. Here he met 
with an adventure, which we will continue in the words of our 
author. "Having set out from Pithys, Homer went on, attracted 
by the cries of some goats that were pasturing. The dogs barked 
on his approach, and he cried out. Glaucus (for that was the 
name of the goat-herd) heard his voice, ran up quickly, called off 
his dogs, and drove them away from Homer. For or some time 
[xiv] he stood wondering how a blind man should have reached such 

a place alone, and what could be his design in coming. He then 

8 Thestorides, thnetoisin anoiston poleon per, ouden aphrastoteron peletai 
noou anthropoisin. Ibid. p. 315. During his stay at Phocoea, Homer is said to 
have composed the Little Iliad, and the Phocoeid. See Muller's Hist, of Lit., vi. 
Section 3. Welcker, /. c. pp. 132, 272, 358, sqq., and Mure, Gr. Lit. vol. ii. p. 
284, sq. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xix 



went up to him, and inquired who he was, and how he had come 
to desolate places and untrodden spots, and of what he stood 
in need. Homer, by recounting to him the whole history of his 
misfortunes, moved him with compassion; and he took him, and 
led him to his cot, and having lit a fire, bade him sup. 9 

"The dogs, instead of eating, kept barking at the stranger, 
according to their usual habit. Whereupon Homer addressed 
Glaucus thus: O Glaucus, my friend, pry thee attend to my 
behest. First give the dogs their supper at the doors of the hut: for 
so it is better, since, whilst they watch, nor thief nor wild beast 
will approach the fold. 

Glaucus was pleased with the advice, and marvelled at its 
author. Having finished supper, they banqueted 10 afresh on 
conversation, Homer narrating his wanderings, and telling of the 
cities he had visited. 

At length they retired to rest; but on the following morning, 
Glaucus resolved to go to his master, and acquaint him with 
his meeting with Homer. Having left the goats in charge of 
a fellow-servant, he left Homer at home, promising to return 
quickly. Having arrived at Bolissus, a place near the farm, and 
finding his mate, he told him the whole story respecting Homer 
and his journey. He paid little attention to what he said, and 
blamed Glaucus for his stupidity in taking in and feeding maimed 
and enfeebled persons. However, he bade him bring the stranger 
to him. 

9 This is so pretty a picture of early manners and hospitality, that it is almost 
a pity to find that it is obviously a copy from the Odyssey. See the fourteenth 
book. In fact, whoever was the author of this fictitious biography, he showed 
some tact in identifying Homer with certain events described in his poems, and 
in eliciting from them the germs of something like a personal narrative. 

10 Dia logon estionto. A common metaphor. So Plato calls the parties 
conversing daitumones, or estiatores. Tim. i. p. 522 A. Cf. Themist. Orat. vi. 
p. 168, and xvi. p. 374, ed. Petav So diaegaemasi sophois omou kai terpnois 
aedio taen Thoinaen tois hestiomenois epoiei, Choricius in Fabric. Bibl. Gr. T. 
viii. P. 851. logois gar estia, Athenaeus vii p 275, A 



XX 



The Iliad of Homer 



Glaucus told Homer what had taken place, and bade him 
follow him, assuring him that good fortune would be the result. 
Conversation soon showed that the stranger was a man of much 
cleverness and general knowledge, and the Chian persuaded him 
to remain, and to undertake the charge of his children. 1 1 

Besides the satisfaction of driving the impostor Thestorides 
from the island, Homer enjoyed considerable success as a teacher. 
In the town of Chios he established a school where he taught the 
precepts of poetry. "To this day," says Chandler, 12 "the most 
curious remain is that which has been named, without reason, 
the School of Homer. It is on the coast, at some distance from 
the city, northward, and appears to have been an open temple of 
Cybele, formed on the top of a rock. The shape is oval, and in the 
[xv] centre is the image of the goddess, the head and an arm wanting. 

She is represented, as usual, sitting. The chair has a lion carved 
on each side, and on the back. The area is bounded by a low rim, 
or seat, and about five yards over. The whole is hewn out of the 
mountain, is rude, indistinct, and probably of the most remote 
antiquity." 

So successful was this school, that Homer realised a 
considerable fortune. He married, and had two daughters, one of 
whom died single, the other married a Chian. 

The following passage betrays the same tendency to connect 
the personages of the poems with the history of the poet, which 
has already been mentioned: — 

"In his poetical compositions Homer displays great gratitude 

11 It was at Bolissus, and in the house of this Chian citizen, that Homer is said 
to have written the Batrachomyomachia, or Battle of the Frogs and Mice, the 
Epicichlidia, and some other minor works. 

12 Chandler, Travels, vol. i. p. 61, referred to in the Voyage Pittoresque dans 
la Grece, vol. i. P. 92, where a view of the spot is given of which the author 
candidly says, — "Je ne puis repondre d'une exactitude scrupuleuse dans la 
vue generale que j'en donne, car etant alle seul pour r examiner je perdis mon 
crayon, et je fus oblige de m'en fier a ma memoire. Je ne crois cependant pas 
avoir trop a me plaindre d'elle en cette occasion." 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxi 



towards Mentor of Ithaca, in the Odyssey, whose name he has 
inserted in his poem as the companion of Ulysses, 13 in return 
for the care taken of him when afflicted with blindness. He 
also testifies his gratitude to Phemius, who had given him both 
sustenance and instruction." 

His celebrity continued to increase, and many persons advised 
him to visit Greece, whither his reputation had now extended. 
Having, it is said, made some additions to his poems calculated 
to please the vanity of the Athenians, of whose city he had 
hitherto made no mention, 14 he sent out for Samos. Here being 
recognized by a Samian, who had met with him in Chios, he 
was handsomely received, and invited to join in celebrating the 
Apaturian festival. He recited some verses, which gave great 
satisfaction, and by singing the Eiresione at the New Moon 
festivals, he earned a subsistence, visiting the houses of the rich, 
with whose children he was very popular. 

In the spring he sailed for Athens, and arrived at the island of 
Ios, now Ino, where he fell extremely ill, and died. It is said that 
his death arose from vexation, at not having been able to unravel 
an enigma proposed by some fishermen's children. 15 

Such is, in brief, the substance of the earliest life of Homer 
we possess, and so broad are the evidences of its historical 
worthlessness, that it is scarcely necessary to point them out 
in detail. Let us now consider some of the opinions to 
which a persevering, patient, and learned — but by no means 
consistent — series of investigations has led. In doing so, I profess 
to bring forward statements, not to vouch for their reasonableness 

13 A more probable reason for this companionship, and for the character of 
Mentor itself, is given by the allegorists, viz.: the assumption of Mentor's form 
by the guardian deity of the wise Ulysses, Minerva. The classical reader may 
compare Plutarch, Opp. t. ii. p. 880; Xyland. Heraclid. Pont. Alleg. Horn. p. 
531-5, of Gale's Opusc. Mythol. Dionys. Halic. de Horn. Poes. c. 15; Apul. de 
Deo Socrat. s. f. 

14 Vit. Horn. Section 28. 

15 The riddle is given in Section 35. Compare Mackenzie's note, p. xxx. 



xxii 



The Iliad of Homer 



or probability. 

"Homer appeared. The history of this poet and his works is 
lost in doubtful obscurity, as is the history of many of the first 
minds who have done honour to humanity, because they rose 
amidst darkness. The majestic stream of his song, blessing and 
fertilizing, flows like the Nile, through many lands and nations; 
and, like the sources of the Nile, its fountains will ever remain 
[xvi] concealed." 

Such are the words in which one of the most judicious 
German critics has eloquently described the uncertainty in which 
the whole of the Homeric question is involved. With no less truth 
and feeling he proceeds: — 

"It seems here of chief importance to expect no more than 
the nature of things makes possible. If the period of tradition 
in history is the region of twilight, we should not expect in it 
perfect light. The creations of genius always seem like miracles, 
because they are, for the most part, created far out of the reach 
of observation. If we were in possession of all the historical 
testimonies, we never could wholly explain the origin of the Iliad 
and the Odyssey; for their origin, in all essential points, must 
have remained the secret of the poet." 16 

From this criticism, which shows as much insight into the 
depths of human nature as into the minute wire-drawings of 
scholastic investigation, let us pass on to the main question at 
issue. Was Homer an individual? 17 or were the Iliad and Odyssey 
the result of an ingenious arrangement of fragments by earlier 
poets? 

Well has Landor remarked: "Some tell us there were twenty 
Homers; some deny that there was ever one. It were idle and 
foolish to shake the contents of a vase, in order to let them settle 
at last. We are perpetually labouring to destroy our delights, our 
composure, our devotion to superior power. Of all the animals 



Heeren's Ancient Greece, p. 96. 

Compare Sir E. L. Bulwer's Caxtons v. i. p. 4. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxiii 



on earth we least know what is good for us. My opinion is, that 
what is best for us is our admiration of good. No man living 
venerates Homer more than I do." 18 

But, greatly as we admire the generous enthusiasm which 
rests contented with the poetry on which its best impulses 
had been nurtured and fostered, without seeking to destroy the 
vividness of first impressions by minute analysis — our editorial 
office compels us to give some attention to the doubts and 
difficulties with which the Homeric question is beset, and to 
entreat our reader, for a brief period, to prefer his judgment to 
his imagination, and to condescend to dry details. 

Before, however, entering into particulars respecting the 
question of this unity of the Homeric poems, (at least of the Iliad,) 
I must express my sympathy with the sentiments expressed in 
the following remarks: — 

"We cannot but think the universal admiration of its unity by 
the better, the poetic age of Greece, almost conclusive testimony 
to its original composition. It was not till the age of the 
grammarians that its primitive integrity was called in question; 
nor is it injustice to assert, that the minute and analytical spirit 
of a grammarian is not the best qualification for the profound 
feeling, the comprehensive conception of an harmonious whole. 
The most exquisite anatomist may be no judge of the symmetry 
of the human frame: and we would take the opinion of Chantrey 
or Westmacott on the proportions and general beauty of a form, 
rather than that of Mr. Brodie or Sir Astley Cooper. [xvii] 

"There is some truth, though some malicious exaggeration, in 
the lines of Pope. — 

'"The critic eye — that microscope of wit 
Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit, 
How parts relate to parts, or they to whole 
The body's harmony, the beaming soul, 



Pericles and Aspasia, Letter lxxxiv., Works, vol ii. p. 387. 



xxiv 



The Iliad of Homer 



Are things which Kuster, Burmann, Wasse, shall see, 
When man's whole frame is obvious to a flea.'" 19 

Long was the time which elapsed before any one dreamt of 
questioning the unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. 
The grave and cautious Thucydides quoted without hesitation 
the Hymn to Apollo, 20 the authenticity of which has been 
already disclaimed by modern critics. Longinus, in an oft quoted 
passage, merely expressed an opinion touching the comparative 
inferiority of the Odyssey to the Iliad, 21 and, among a mass 
of ancient authors, whose very names 22 it would be tedious to 
detail, no suspicion of the personal non-existence of Homer ever 
arose. So far, the voice of antiquity seems to be in favour of our 
early ideas on the subject; let us now see what are the discoveries 
to which more modern investigations lay claim. 

At the end of the seventeenth century, doubts had begun 
to awaken on the subject, and we find Bentley remarking that 

19 Quarterly Review, No. lxxxvii., p. 147. 

20 Viz., the following beautiful passage, for the translation of which I am 
indebted to Coleridge, Classic Poets, p. 286. 

"Origias, farewell! and oh! remember me 
Hereafter, when some stranger from the sea, 
A hapless wanderer, may your isle explore, 
And ask you, maid, of all the bards you boast, 
Who sings the sweetest, and delights you most 
Oh! answer all, — A blind old man and poor 
Sweetest he sings — and dwells on Chios' rocky shore.'" 

See Thucyd. iii, 104. 

21 Longin., de Sublim., ix. Section 26. Othen en tae Odysseia pareikasai tis 
an kataduomeno ton Omaeron haelio, oo dixa taes sphodrotaetos paramenei to 
megethos 

22 See Tatian, quoted in Fabric. Bibl. Gr. v. II t. ii. Mr. Mackenzie has given 
three brief but elaborate papers on the different writers on the subject, which 
deserve to be consulted. See Notes and Queries, vol. v. pp. 99, 171, and 221. 
His own views are moderate, and perhaps as satisfactory, on the whole, as any 
of the hypotheses hitherto put forth. In fact, they consist in an attempt to blend 
those hypotheses into something like consistency, rather than in advocating 



INTRODUCTION. 



XXV 



"Homer wrote a sequel of songs and rhapsodies, to be sung 
by himself, for small comings and good cheer, at festivals and 
other days of merriment. These loose songs were not collected 
together, in the form of an epic poem, till about Peisistratus' time, 
about five hundred years after." 23 

Two French writers — Hedelin and Perrault — avowed a similar 
scepticism on the subject; but it is in the "Scienza Nuova" of 
Battista Vico, that we first meet with the germ of the theory, 
subsequently defended by Wolf with so much learning and 
acuteness. Indeed, it is with the Wolfian theory that we have 
chiefly to deal, and with the following bold hypothesis, which 
we will detail in the words of Grote 24 — 

"Half a century ago, the acute and valuable Prolegomena of F. 
A. Wolf, turning to account the Venetian Scholia, which had then 
been recently published, first opened philosophical discussion [xviii] 
as to the history of the Homeric text. A considerable part of 
that dissertation (though by no means the whole) is employed 
in vindicating the position, previously announced by Bentley, 
amongst others, that the separate constituent portions of the Iliad 
and Odyssey had not been cemented together into any compact 
body and unchangeable order, until the days of Peisistratus, in the 
sixth century before Christ. As a step towards that conclusion, 
Wolf maintained that no written copies of either poem could 
be shown to have existed during the earlier times, to which 
their composition is referred; and that without writing, neither 
the perfect symmetry of so complicated a work could have 
been originally conceived by any poet, nor, if realized by him, 
transmitted with assurance to posterity. The absence of easy and 
convenient writing, such as must be indispensably supposed for 
long manuscripts, among the early Greeks, was thus one of the 
points in Wolfs case against the primitive integrity of the Iliad and 

any individual theory. 

23 Letters to Phileleuth; Lips. 

24 Hist, of Greece, vol. ii. p. 191, sqq. 



xx vi 



The Iliad of Homer 



Odyssey. By Nitzsch, and other leading opponents of Wolf, the 
connection of the one with the other seems to have been accepted 
as he originally put it; and it has been considered incumbent on 
those who defended the ancient aggregate character of the Iliad 
and Odyssey, to maintain that they were written poems from the 
beginning. 

"To me it appears, that the architectonic functions ascribed 
by Wolf to Peisistratus and his associates, in reference to the 
Homeric poems, are nowise admissible. But much would 
undoubtedly be gained towards that view of the question, if 
it could be shown, that, in order to controvert it, we were driven 
to the necessity of admitting long written poems, in the ninth 
century before the Christian aera. Few things, in my opinion, 
can be more improbable; and Mr. Payne Knight, opposed as 
he is to the Wolfian hypothesis, admits this no less than Wolf 
himself. The traces of writing in Greece, even in the seventh 
century before the Christian aera, are exceedingly trifling. We 
have no remaining inscription earlier than the fortieth Olympiad, 
and the early inscriptions are rude and unskilfully executed; nor 
can we even assure ourselves whether Archilochus, Simonides 
of Amorgus, Kallinus, Tyrtaeus, Xanthus, and the other early 
elegiac and lyric poets, committed their compositions to writing, 
or at what time the practice of doing so became familiar. The first 
positive ground which authorizes us to presume the existence of 
a manuscript of Homer, is in the famous ordinance of Solon, with 
regard to the rhapsodies at the Panathenaea: but for what length 
of time previously manuscripts had existed, we are unable to say. 

"Those who maintain the Homeric poems to have been written 
from the beginning, rest their case, not upon positive proofs, 
nor yet upon the existing habits of society with regard to 
poetry — for they admit generally that the Iliad and Odyssey 
were not read, but recited and heard, — but upon the supposed 
necessity that there must have been manuscripts to ensure the 
preservation of the poems — the unassisted memory of reciters 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxvii 



being neither sufficient nor trustworthy. But here we only escape 
a smaller difficulty by running into a greater; for the existence 
of trained bards, gifted with extraordinary memory, 25 is far less [xix] 
astonishing than that of long manuscripts, in an age essentially 
non-reading and non-writing, and when even suitable instruments 
and materials for the process are not obvious. Moreover, there is 
a strong positive reason for believing that the bard was under no 
necessity of refreshing his memory by consulting a manuscript; 
for if such had been the fact, blindness would have been a 
disqualification for the profession, which we know that it was 
not, as well from the example of Demodokus, in the Odyssey, 
as from that of the blind bard of Chios, in the Hymn to the 
Delian Apollo, whom Thucydides, as well as the general tenor 
of Grecian legend, identifies with Homer himself. The author 
of that hymn, be he who he may, could never have described a 
blind man as attaining the utmost perfection in his art, if he had 



It is, indeed not easy to calculate the height to which the memory may be 
cultivated. To take an ordinary case, we might refer to that of any first rate 
actor, who must be prepared, at a very short warning, to 'rhapsodize,' night after 
night, parts which when laid together, would amount to an immense number 
of lines. But all this is nothing to two instances of our own day. Visiting 
at Naples a gentleman of the highest intellectual attainments, and who held a 
distinguished rank among the men of letters in the last century, he informed us 
that the day before he had passed much time in examining a man, not highly 
educated, who had learned to repeat the whole Gierusalemme of Tasso, not 
only to recite it consecutively, but also to repeat those stanzas in utter defiance 
of the sense, either forwards or backwards, or from the eighth line to the first, 
alternately the odd and even lines — in short, whatever the passage required; 
the memory, which seemed to cling to the words much more than to the sense, 
had it at such perfect command, that it could produce it under any form. Our 
informant went on to state that this singular being was proceeding to learn the 
Orlando Furioso in the same manner. But even this instance is less wonderful 
than one as to which we may appeal to any of our readers that happened some 
twenty years ago to visit the town of Stirling, in Scotland. No such person 
can have forgotten the poor, uneducated man Blind Jamie who could actually 
repeat, after a few minutes consideration any verse required from any part 
of the Bible — even the obscurest and most unimportant enumeration of mere 



xxviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



been conscious that the memory of the bard was only maintained 
by constant reference to the manuscript in his chest." 

The loss of the digamma, that crux of critics, that quicksand 
upon which even the acumen of Bentley was shipwrecked, seems 
to prove beyond a doubt, that the pronunciation of the Greek 
language had undergone a considerable change. Now it is 
certainly difficult to suppose that the Homeric poems could have 
suffered by this change, had written copies been preserved. If 
Chaucer's poetry, for instance, had not been written, it could 
only have come down to us in a softened form, more like the 
effeminate version of Dryden, than the rough, quaint, noble 
original. 

"At what period," continues Grote, "these poems, or indeed 
any other Greek poems, first began to be written, must be matter 
of conjecture, though there is ground for assurance that it was 
before the time of Solon. If, in the absence of evidence, we 
[xx] may venture upon naming any more determinate period, the 

question a once suggests itself, What were the purposes which, 
in that state of society, a manuscript at its first commencement 
must have been intended to answer? For whom was a written 
Iliad necessary? Not for the rhapsodes; for with them it was 
not only planted in the memory, but also interwoven with the 
feelings, and conceived in conjunction with all those flexions and 

proper names not excepted. We do not mention these facts as touching the 
more difficult part of the question before us, but facts they are; and if we find 
so much difficulty in calculating the extent to which the mere memory may 
be cultivated, are we, in these days of multifarious reading, and of countless 
distracting affairs, fair judges of the perfection to which the invention and 
the memory combined may attain in a simpler age, and among a more single 
minded people? — Quarterly Review, /. c, p. 143, sqq. 

Heeren steers between the two opinions, observing that, "The Dschungariade 
of the Calmucks is said to surpass the poems of Homer in length, as much as it 
stands beneath them in merit, and yet it exists only in the memory of a people 
which is not unacquainted with writing. But the songs of a nation are probably 
the last things which are committed to writing, for the very reason that they are 
remembered." — Ancient Greece, p. 100. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxix 



intonations of voice, pauses, and other oral artifices which were 
required for emphatic delivery, and which the naked manuscript 
could never reproduce. Not for the general public — they were 
accustomed to receive it with its rhapsodic delivery, and with 
its accompaniments of a solemn and crowded festival. The only 
persons for whom the written Iliad would be suitable would 
be a select few; studious and curious men; a class of readers 
capable of analyzing the complicated emotions which they had 
experienced as hearers in the crowd, and who would, on perusing 
the written words, realize in their imaginations a sensible portion 
of the impression communicated by the reciter. Incredible as 
the statement may seem in an age like the present, there is in 
all early societies, and there was in early Greece, a time when 
no such reading class existed. If we could discover at what 
time such a class first began to be formed, we should be able 
to make a guess at the time when the old epic poems were 
first committed to writing. Now the period which may with the 
greatest probability be fixed upon as having first witnessed the 
formation even of the narrowest reading class in Greece, is the 
middle of the seventh century before the Christian aera (B.C. 
660 to B.C. 630), the age of Terpander, Kallinus, Archilochus, 
Simonides of Amorgus, &c. I ground this supposition on the 
change then operated in the character and tendencies of Grecian 
poetry and music — the elegiac and the iambic measures having 
been introduced as rivals to the primitive hexameter, and poetical 
compositions having been transferred from the epical past to the 
affairs of present and real life. Such a change was important 
at a time when poetry was the only known mode of publication 
(to use a modern phrase not altogether suitable, yet the nearest 
approaching to the sense). It argued a new way of looking at 
the old epical treasures of the people as well as a thirst for new 
poetical effect; and the men who stood forward in it, may well 
be considered as desirous to study, and competent to criticize, 
from their own individual point of view, the written words of the 



XXX 



The Iliad of Homer 



Homeric rhapsodies, just as we are told that Kallinus both noticed 
and eulogized the Thebais as the production of Homer. There 
seems, therefore, ground for conjecturing that (for the use of this 
newly-formed and important, but very narrow class), manuscripts 
of the Homeric poems and other old epics, — the Thebais and the 
Cypria, as well as the Iliad and the Odyssey, — began to be 
compiled towards the middle of the seventh century (B.C. 1); 
and the opening of Egypt to Grecian commerce, which took 
place about the same period, would furnish increased facilities 
for obtaining the requisite papyrus to write upon. A reading 
class, when once formed, would doubtless slowly increase, and 
the number of manuscripts along with it; so that before the time 
of Solon, fifty years afterwards, both readers and manuscripts, 
[xxi] though still comparatively few, might have attained a certain 

recognized authority, and formed a tribunal of reference against 
the carelessness of individual rhapsodes." 26 

But even Peisistratus has not been suffered to remain in 
possession of the credit, and we cannot help feeling the force of 
the following observations — 

"There are several incidental circumstances which, in our 
opinion, throw some suspicion over the whole history of 
the Peisistratid compilation, at least over the theory, that 
the Iliad was cast into its present stately and harmonious 
form by the directions of the Athenian ruler. If the great 
poets, who flourished at the bright period of Grecian song, 
of which, alas! we have inherited little more than the fame, 
and the faint echo, if Stesichorus, Anacreon, and Simonides 
were employed in the noble task of compiling the Iliad 
and Odyssey, so much must have been done to arrange, to 
connect, to harmonize, that it is almost incredible, that stronger 
marks of Athenian manufacture should not remain. Whatever 
occasional anomalies may be detected, anomalies which no 
doubt arise out of our own ignorance of the language of the 



Vol. Hp. 198, sqq. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxxi 



Homeric age, however the irregular use of the digamma may 
have perplexed our Bentleys, to whom the name of Helen is 
said to have caused as much disquiet and distress as the fair one 
herself among the heroes of her age, however Mr. Knight may 
have failed in reducing the Homeric language to its primitive 
form; however, finally, the Attic dialect may not have assumed 
all its more marked and distinguishing characteristics — still 
it is difficult to suppose that the language, particularly in 
the joinings and transitions, and connecting parts, should not 
more clearly betray the incongruity between the more ancient 
and modern forms of expression. It is not quite in character 
with such a period to imitate an antique style, in order to piece 
out an imperfect poem in the character of the original, as Sir 
Walter Scott has done in his continuation of Sir Tristram. 

"If, however, not even such faint and indistinct traces of 
Athenian compilation are discoverable in the language of 
the poems, the total absence of Athenian national feeling 
is perhaps no less worthy of observation. In later, and it 
may fairly be suspected in earlier times, the Athenians were 
more than ordinarily jealous of the fame of their ancestors. 
But, amid all the traditions of the glories of early Greece 
embodied in the Iliad, the Athenians play a most subordinate 
and insignificant part. Even the few passages which relate to 
their ancestors, Mr. Knight suspects to be interpolations. It 
is possible, indeed, that in its leading outline, the Iliad may 
be true to historic fact, that in the great maritime expedition 
of western Greece against the rival and half-kindred empire 
of the Laomedontiadae, the chieftain of Thessaly, from his 
valour and the number of his forces, may have been the most 
important ally of the Peloponnesian sovereign; the preeminent 
value of the ancient poetry on the Trojan war may thus have 
forced the national feeling of the Athenians to yield to their 
taste. The songs which spoke of their own great ancestor 
were, no doubt, of far inferior sublimity and popularity, or, 
at first sight, a Theseid would have been much more likely 
to have emanated from an Athenian synod of compilers of [xxii] 



xxxii 



The Iliad of Homer 



ancient song, than an Achilleid or an Olysseid. Could France 
have given birth to a Tasso, Tancred would have been the hero 
of the Jerusalem. If, however, the Homeric ballads, as they 
are sometimes called, which related the wrath of Achilles, 
with all its direful consequences, were so far superior to 
the rest of the poetic cycle, as to admit no rivalry, — it is 
still surprising, that throughout the whole poem the callida 
junctura should never betray the workmanship of an Athenian 
hand, and that the national spirit of a race, who have at a 
later period not inaptly been compared to our self admiring 
neighbours, the French, should submit with lofty self denial 
to the almost total exclusion of their own ancestors — or, at 
least, to the questionable dignity of only having produced a 
leader tolerably skilled in the military tactics of his age." 27 

To return to the Wolfian theory. While it is to be confessed, 
that Wolfs objections to the primitive integrity of the Iliad 
and Odyssey have never been wholly got over, we cannot help 
discovering that they have failed to enlighten us as to any 
substantial point, and that the difficulties with which the whole 
subject is beset, are rather augmented than otherwise, if we 
admit his hypothesis. Nor is Lachmann's 28 modification of his 
theory any better. He divides the first twenty-two books of the 
Iliad into sixteen different songs, and treats as ridiculous the 
belief that their amalgamation into one regular poem belongs 
to a period earlier than the age of Peisistratus. This, as Grote 
observes, "explains the gaps and contradictions in the narrative, 
but it explains nothing else." Moreover, we find no contradictions 
warranting this belief, and the so-called sixteen poets concur in 
getting rid of the following leading men in the first battle after 
the secession of Achilles: Elphenor, chief of the Euboeans; 
Tlepolemus, of the Rhodians; Pandarus, of the Lycians; Odius, 



27 Quarterly Review, I. c, p. 131 sq. 



28 Betrachtungen uber die Ilias. Berol. 1841. See Grote, p. 204. Notes and 
Queries, vol. v. p. 221. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxxiii 



of the Halizonians; Pirous and Acamas, of the Thracians. None 
of these heroes again make their appearance, and we can but 
agree with Colonel Mure, that "it seems strange that any number 
of independent poets should have so harmoniously dispensed 
with the services of all six in the sequel." The discrepancy, by 
which Pylaemenes, who is represented as dead in the fifth book, 
weeps at his son's funeral in the thirteenth, can only be regarded 
as the result of an interpolation. 

Grote, although not very distinct in stating his own opinions 
on the subject, has done much to clearly show the incongruity 
of the Wolfian theory, and of Lachmann's modifications with 
the character of Peisistratus. But he has also shown, and we 
think with equal success, that the two questions relative to the 
primitive unity of these poems, or, supposing that impossible, the 
unison of these parts by Peisistratus, and not before his time, are 
essentially distinct. In short, "a man may believe the Iliad to have 
been put together out of pre-existing songs, without recognising 
the age of Peisistratus as the period of its first compilation." The 
friends or literary employes of Peisistratus must have found an 
Iliad that was already ancient, and the silence of the Alexandrine 
critics respecting the Peisistratic "recension," goes far to prove, [xxiii] 
that, among the numerous manuscripts they examined, this was 
either wanting, or thought unworthy of attention. 

"Moreover," he continues, "the whole tenor of the poems 
themselves confirms what is here remarked. There is nothing, 
either in the Iliad or Odyssey, which savours of modernism, 
applying that term to the age of Peisistratus — nothing which 
brings to our view the alterations brought about by two 
centuries, in the Greek language, the coined money, the habits of 
writing and reading, the despotisms and republican governments, 
the close military array, the improved construction of ships, 
the Amphiktyonic convocations, the mutual frequentation of 
religious festivals, the Oriental and Egyptian veins of religion, 
&c, familiar to the latter epoch. These alterations Onomakritus, 



xxxiv 



The Iliad of Homer 



and the other literary friends of Peisistratus, could hardly have 
failed to notice, even without design, had they then, for the first 
time, undertaken the task of piecing together many self existent 
epics into one large aggregate. Everything in the two great 
Homeric poems, both in substance and in language, belongs to 
an age two or three centuries earlier than Peisistratus. Indeed, 
even the interpolations (or those passages which, on the best 
grounds, are pronounced to be such) betray no trace of the 
sixth century before Christ, and may well have been heard by 
Archilochus and Kallinus — in some cases even by Arktinus and 
Hesiod — as genuine Homeric matter 29 As far as the evidences 
on the case, as well internal as external, enable us to judge, we 
seem warranted in believing that the Iliad and Odyssey were 
recited substantially as they now stand (always allowing for 
paitial divergences of text and interpolations) in 776 B.C., our 
first trustworthy mark of Grecian time; and this ancient date, let 
it be added, as it is the best-authenticated fact, so it is also the 
most important attribute of the Homeric poems, considered in 
reference to Grecian history; for they thus afford us an insight into 
the anti-historical character of the Greeks, enabling us to trace the 
subsequent forward march of the nation, and to seize instructive 
contrasts between their former and their later condition." 30 

On the whole, I am inclined to believe, that the labours of 
Peisistratus were wholly of an editorial character, although, I 
must confess, that I can lay down nothing respecting the extent 
of his labours. At the same time, so far from believing that 
the composition or primary arrangement of these poems, in their 
present form, was the work of Peisistratus, I am rather persuaded 
that the fine taste and elegant mind of that Athenian 31 would lead 



Prolegg. pp. xxxii., xxxvi., &c. 

30 Vol. ii. p. 214 sqq. 

31 "Who," says Cicero, de Orat. iii. 34, "was more learned in that age, or 
whose eloquence is reported to have been more perfected by literature than that 
of Peisistratus, who is said first to have disposed the books of Homer in the 



INTRODUCTION. 



XXXV 



him to preserve an ancient and traditional order of the poems, 
rather than to patch and re-construct them according to a fanciful 
hypothesis. I will not repeat the many discussions respecting 
whether the poems were written or not, or whether the art of 
writing was known in the time of their reputed author. Suffice 
it to say, that the more we read, the less satisfied we are upon 
either subject. 

I cannot, however, help thinking, that the story which attributes 
the preservation of these poems to Lycurgus, is little else than 
a version of the same story as that of Peisistratus, while its 
historical probability must be measured by that of many others 
relating to the Spartan Confucius. 

I will conclude this sketch of the Homeric theories, with 
an attempt, made by an ingenious friend, to unite them into 
something like consistency. It is as follows: — 

"No doubt the common soldiers of that age had, like the 
common sailors of some fifty years ago, some one qualified 
to 'discourse in excellent music' among them. Many of 
these, like those of the negroes in the United States, were 
extemporaneous, and allusive to events passing around them. 
But what was passing around them? The grand events of a 
spirit-stirring war; occurrences likely to impress themselves, 
as the mystical legends of former times had done, upon their 
memory; besides which, a retentive memory was deemed 
a virtue of the first water, and was cultivated accordingly 
in those ancient times. Ballads at first, and down to the 
beginning of the war with Troy, were merely recitations, with 
an intonation. Then followed a species of recitative, probably 
with an intoned burden. Tune next followed, as it aided the 
memory considerably. 

"It was at this period, about four hundred years after the 
war, that a poet flourished of the name of Melesigenes, or 
Moeonides, but most probably the former. He saw that these 



order in which we now have them?" Compare Wolfs Prolegomena, Section 33 



xxxvi 



The Iliad of Homer 



ballads might be made of great utility to his purpose of writing 
a poem on the social position of Hellas, and, as a collection, 
he published these lays, connecting them by a tale of his own. 
This poem now exists, under the title of the 'Odyssea.' The 
author, however, did not affix his own name to the poem, 
which, in fact, was, great part of it, remodelled from the 
archaic dialect of Crete, in which tongue the ballads were 
found by him. He therefore called it the poem of Homeros, 
or the Collector; but this is rather a proof of his modesty 
and talent, than of his mere drudging arrangement of other 
people's ideas; for, as Grote has finely observed, arguing 
for the unity of authorship, 'a great poet might have re-cast 
pre-existing separate songs into one comprehensive whole; 
but no mere arrangers or compilers would be competent to do 
so.' 

"While employed on the wild legend of Odysseus, he 
met with a ballad, recording the quarrel of Achilles and 
Agamemnon. His noble mind seized the hint that there 
presented itself, and the Achilleis 32 grew under his hand. 
Unity of design, however, caused him to publish the poem 
under the same pseudonyme as his former work: and the 
disjointed lays of the ancient bards were joined together, like 
those relating to the Cid, into a chronicle history, named the 
Iliad. Melesigenes knew that the poem was destined to be a 
lasting one, and so it has proved; but, first, the poems were 
destined to undergo many vicissitudes and corruptions, by the 
people who took to singing them in the streets, assemblies, 
[xxv] and agoras. However, Solon first, and then Peisistratus, and 

afterwards Aristoteles and others, revised the poems, and 
restored the works of Melesigenes Homeros to their original 
integrity in a great measure." 33 



"The first book, together with the eighth, and the books from the eleventh 
to the twenty-second inclusive, seems to form the primary organization of the 
poem, then properly an Achilleis." — Grote, vol. ii. p. 235 
33 K. R. H. Mackenzie, Notes and Queries, p. 222 sqq. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxx vii 



Having thus given some general notion of the strange theories 
which have developed themselves respecting this most interesting 
subject, I must still express my conviction as to the unity of the 
authorship of the Homeric poems. To deny that many corruptions 
and interpolations disfigure them, and that the intrusive hand of 
the poetasters may here and there have inflicted a wound more 
serious than the negligence of the copyist, would be an absurd and 
captious assumption, but it is to a higher criticism that we must 
appeal, if we would either understand or enjoy these poems. In 
maintaining the authenticity and personality of their one author, 
be he Homer or Melesigenes, quocunque nomine vocari eum 
jus fas que sit, I feel conscious that, while the whole weight of 
historical evidence is against the hypothesis which would assign 
these great works to a plurality of authors, the most powerful 
internal evidence, and that which springs from the deepest and 
most immediate impulse of the soul, also speaks eloquently to 
the contrary. 

The minutiae of verbal criticism I am far from seeking to 
despise. Indeed, considering the character of some of my own 
books, such an attempt would be gross inconsistency. But, 
while I appreciate its importance in a philological view, I am 
inclined to set little store on its aesthetic value, especially in 
poetry. Three parts of the emendations made upon poets are 
mere alterations, some of which, had they been suggested to 
the author by his Maecenas or Africanus, he would probably 
have adopted. Moreover, those who are most exact in laying 
down rules of verbal criticism and interpretation, are often least 
competent to carry out their own precepts. Grammarians are not 
poets by profession, but may be so per accidens. I do not at 
this moment remember two emendations on Homer, calculated 
to substantially improve the poetry of a passage, although a mass 
of remarks, from Herodotus down to Loewe, have given us the 
history of a thousand minute points, without which our Greek 
knowledge would be gloomy and jejune. 



xxxviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



But it is not on words only that grammarians, mere 
grammarians, will exercise their elaborate and often tiresome 
ingenuity. Binding down an heroic or dramatic poet to the 
block upon which they have previously dissected his words and 
sentences, they proceed to use the axe and the pruning knife 
by wholesale, and inconsistent in everything but their wish to 
make out a case of unlawful affiliation, they cut out book after 
book, passage after passage, till the author is reduced to a 
collection of fragments, or till those, who fancied they possessed 
the works of some great man, find that they have been put off 
with a vile counterfeit got up at second hand. If we compare 
the theories of Knight, Wolf, Lachmann, and others, we shall 
feel better satisfied of the utter uncertainty of criticism than of 
the apocryphal position of Homer. One rejects what another 
[xxvi] considers the turning-point of his theory. One cuts a supposed 

knot by expunging what another would explain by omitting 
something else. 

Nor is this morbid species of sagacity by any means to be 
looked upon as a literary novelty. Justus Lipsius, a scholar of 
no ordinary skill, seems to revel in the imaginary discovery, that 
the tragedies attributed to Seneca are by four different authors. 34 
Now, I will venture to assert, that these tragedies are so uniform, 
not only in their borrowed phraseology — a phraseology with 
which writers like Boethius and Saxo Grammaticus were more 
charmed than ourselves — in their freedom from real poetry, and 
last, but not least, in an ultra-refined and consistent abandonment 
of good taste, that few writers of the present day would question 
the capabilities of the same gentleman, be he Seneca or not, to 
produce not only these, but a great many more equally bad. With 
equal sagacity, Father Hardouin astonished the world with the 
startling announcement that the ^Eneid of Virgil, and the satires 
of Horace, were literary deceptions. Now, without wishing to say 



See his Epistle to Raphelingius, in Schroeder's edition, 4to., Delphis, 1728. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xxxix 



one word of disrespect against the industry and learning — nay, 
the refined acuteness — which scholars, like Wolf, have bestowed 
upon this subject, I must express my fears, that many of our 
modern Homeric theories will become matter for the surprise 
and entertainment, rather than the instruction, of posterity. Nor 
can I help thinking, that the literary history of more recent times 
will account for many points of difficulty in the transmission of 
the Iliad and Odyssey to a period so remote from that of their 
first creation. 

I have already expressed my belief that the labours of 
Peisistratus were of a purely editorial character; and there seems 
no more reason why corrupt and imperfect editions of Homer 
may not have been abroad in his day, than that the poems of 
Valerius Flaccus and Tibullus should have given so much trouble 
to Poggio, Scaliger, and others. But, after all, the main fault in 
all the Homeric theories is, that they demand too great a sacrifice 
of those feelings to which poetry most powerfully appeals, and 
which are its most fitting judges. The ingenuity which has sought 
to rob us of the name and existence of Homer, does too much 
violence to that inward emotion, which makes our whole soul 
yearn with love and admiration for the blind bard of Chios. To 
believe the author of the Iliad a mere compiler, is to degrade 
the powers of human invention; to elevate analytical judgment 
at the expense of the most ennobling impulses of the soul; and 
to forget the ocean in the contemplation of a polypus. There is a 
catholicity, so to speak, in the very name of Homer. Our faith in 
the author of the Iliad may be a mistaken one, but as yet nobody 
has taught us a better. 

While, however, I look upon the belief in Homer as one that 
has nature herself for its mainspring; while I can join with old 
Ennius in believing in Homer as the ghost, who, like some patron 
saint, hovers round the bed of the poet, and even bestows rare 
gifts from that wealth of imagination which a host of imitators 
could not exhaust, — still I am far from wishing to deny that the 



xl 



The Iliad of Homer 



author of these great poems found a rich fund of tradition, a 
[xxvii] well-stocked mythical storehouse from whence he might derive 

both subject and embellishment. But it is one thing to use existing 
romances in the embellishment of a poem, another to patch up 
the poem itself from such materials. What consistency of style 
and execution can be hoped for from such an attempt? or, rather, 
what bad taste and tedium will not be the infallible result? 

A blending of popular legends, and a free use of the 
songs of other bards, are features perfectly consistent with 
poetical originality. In fact, the most original writer is still 
drawing upon outward impressions — nay, even his own thoughts 
are a kind of secondary agents which support and feed the 
impulses of imagination. But unless there be some grand 
pervading principle — some invisible, yet most distinctly stamped 
archetypus of the great whole, a poem like the Iliad can never 
come to the birth. Traditions the most picturesque, episodes the 
most pathetic, local associations teeming with the thoughts of 
gods and great men, may crowd in one mighty vision, or reveal 
themselves in more substantial forms to the mind of the poet; but, 
except the power to create a grand whole, to which these shall 
be but as details and embellishments, be present, we shall have 
nought but a scrap-book, a parterre filled with flowers and weeds 
strangling each other in their wild redundancy: we shall have a 
cento of rags and tatters, which will require little acuteness to 
detect. 

Sensible as I am of the difficulty of disproving a negative, and 
aware as I must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing 
my belief, it still seems to me that the Homeric question is one 
that is reserved for a higher criticism than it has often obtained. 
We are not by nature intended to know all things; still less, 
to compass the powers by which the greatest blessings of life 
have been placed at our disposal. Were faith no virtue, then 
we might indeed wonder why God willed our ignorance on any 
matter. But we are too well taught the contrary lesson; and it 



INTRODUCTION. 



xli 



seems as though our faith should be especially tried touching the 
men and the events which have wrought most influence upon the 
condition of humanity. And there is a kind of sacredness attached 
to the memory of the great and the good, which seems to bid 
us repulse the scepticism which would allegorize their existence 
into a pleasing apologue, and measure the giants of intellect by 
an homeopathic dynameter. 

Long and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize 
our thoughts even to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in 
a right spirit and with a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much 
dazzled, too deeply wrapped in admiration of the whole, to dwell 
upon the minute spots which mere analysis can discover. In 
reading an heroic poem we must transform ourselves into heroes 
of the time being, we in imagination must fight over the same 
battles, woo the same loves, burn with the same sense of injury, 
as an Achilles or a Hector. And if we can but attain this degree 
of enthusiasm (and less enthusiasm will scarcely suffice for the 
reading of Homer), we shall feel that the poems of Homer are 
not only the work of one writer, but of the greatest writer that 
ever touched the hearts of men by the power of song. 

And it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these 
poems their powerful influence over the minds of the men of 
old. Heeren, who is evidently little disposed in favour of modern [xxviii] 
theories, finely observes: — 

"It was Homer who formed the character of the Greek nation. 
No poet has ever, as a poet, exercised a similar influence over 
his countrymen. Prophets, lawgivers, and sages have formed 
the character of other nations; it was reserved to a poet to form 
that of the Greeks. This is a feature in their character which 
was not wholly erased even in the period of their degeneracy. 
When lawgivers and sages appeared in Greece, the work of the 
poet had already been accomplished; and they paid homage to 
his superior genius. He held up before his nation the mirror, 
in which they were to behold the world of gods and heroes no 



xlii 



The Iliad of Homer 



less than of feeble mortals, and to behold them reflected with 
purity and truth. His poems are founded on the first feeling 
of human nature; on the love of children, wife, and country; 
on that passion which outweighs all others, the love of glory. 
His songs were poured forth from a breast which sympathized 
with all the feelings of man; and therefore they enter, and 
will continue to enter, every breast which cherishes the same 
sympathies. If it is granted to his immortal spirit, from another 
heaven than any of which he dreamed on earth, to look down 
on his race, to see the nations from the fields of Asia to the 
forests of Hercynia, performing pilgrimages to the fountain 
which his magic wand caused to flow; if it is permitted to him 
to view the vast assemblage of grand, of elevated, of glorious 
productions, which had been called into being by means of 
his songs; wherever his immortal spirit may reside, this alone 
would suffice to complete his happiness." 35 

Can we contemplate that ancient monument, on which the 
"Apotheosis of Homer" 36 is depictured, and not feel how much 
of pleasing association, how much that appeals most forcibly and 
most distinctly to our minds, is lost by the admittance of any 
theory but our old tradition? The more we read, and the more 
we think — think as becomes the readers of Homer, — the more 
rooted becomes the conviction that the Father of Poetry gave us 
this rich inheritance, whole and entire. Whatever were the means 
of its preservation, let us rather be thankful for the treasury of 
taste and eloquence thus laid open to our use, than seek to make 
it a mere centre around which to drive a series of theories, whose 
wildness is only equalled by their inconsistency with each other. 

As the hymns, and some other poems usually ascribed to 
Homer, are not included in Pope's translation, I will content 

35 Ancient Greece, p. 101. 

36 The best description of this monument will be found in Vaux's "Antiquities 
of the British Museum," p. 198 sq. The monument itself (Towneley Sculptures, 
No. 123) is well known. 



INTRODUCTION. 



xliii 



myself with a brief account of the Battle of the Frogs and Mice, 
from the pen of a writer who has done it full justice 37 : — 

"This poem," says Coleridge, "is a short mock-heroic of 

ancient date. The text varies in different editions, and is 

obviously disturbed and corrupt to a great degree; it is 

commonly said to have been a juvenile essay of Homer's 

genius; others have attributed it to the same Pigrees, [xxix] 

mentioned above, and whose reputation for humour seems to 

have invited the appropriation of any piece of ancient wit, the 

author of which was uncertain; so little did the Greeks, before 

the age of the Ptolemies, know or care about that department of 

criticism employed in determining the genuineness of ancient 

writings. As to this little poem being a youthful prolusion 

of Homer, it seems sufficient to say that from the beginning 

to the end it is a plain and palpable parody, not only of the 

general spirit, but of the numerous passages of the Iliad itself; 

and even, if no such intention to parody were discernible in 

it, the objection would still remain, that to suppose a work 

of mere burlesque to be the primary effort of poetry in a 

simple age, seems to reverse that order in the development 

of national taste, which the history of every other people in 

Europe, and of many in Asia, has almost ascertained to be 

a law of the human mind; it is in a state of society much 

more refined and permanent than that described in the Iliad, 

that any popularity would attend such a ridicule of war and 

the gods as is contained in this poem; and the fact of there 

having existed three other poems of the same kind attributed, 

for aught we can see, with as much reason to Homer, is 

a strong inducement to believe that none of them were of 

the Homeric age. Knight infers from the usage of the word 

deltos, "writing tablet," instead of diphthera, "skin," which, 

according to Herod. 5, 58, was the material employed by the 

Asiatic Greeks for that purpose, that this poem was another 



Coleridge, Classic Poets, p. 276. 



xliv 



The Iliad of Homer 



offspring of Attic ingenuity; and generally that the familiar 
mention of the cock (v. 191) is a strong argument against so 
ancient a date for its composition." 

Having thus given a brief account of the poems comprised in 
Pope's design, I will now proceed to make a few remarks on his 
translation, and on my own purpose in the present edition. 

Pope was not a Grecian. His whole education had been 
irregular, and his earliest acquaintance with the poet was through 
the version of Ogilby. It is not too much to say that his whole work 
bears the impress of a disposition to be satisfied with the general 
sense, rather than to dive deeply into the minute and delicate 
features of language. Hence his whole work is to be looked 
upon rather as an elegant paraphrase than a translation. There 
are, to be sure, certain conventional anecdotes, which prove 
that Pope consulted various friends, whose classical attainments 
were sounder than his own, during the undertaking; but it is 
probable that these examinations were the result rather of the 
contradictory versions already existing, than of a desire to make 
a perfect transcript of the original. And in those days, what is 
called literal translation was less cultivated than at present. If 
something like the general sense could be decorated with the 
easy gracefulness of a practised poet; if the charms of metrical 
cadence and a pleasing fluency could be made consistent with 
a fair interpretation of the poet's meaning, his words were less 
jealously sought for, and those who could read so good a poem 
as Pope's Iliad had fair reason to be satisfied. 

It would be absurd, therefore, to test Pope's translation by 
our own advancing knowledge of the original text. We must be 
[xxx] content to look at it as a most delightful work in itself, — a work 

which is as much a part of English literature as Homer himself is 
of Greek. We must not be torn from our kindly associations with 
the old Iliad, that once was our most cherished companion, or our 
most looked-for prize, merely because Buttmann, Loewe, and 



INTRODUCTION. 



xlv 



Liddell have made us so much more accurate as to amphikupellon 
being an adjective, and not a substantive. Far be it from us to 
defend the faults of Pope, especially when we think of Chapman's 
fine, bold, rough old English; — far be it from, us to hold up his 
translation as what a translation of Homer might be. But we can 
still dismiss Pope's Iliad to the hands of our readers, with the 
consciousness that they must have read a very great number of 
books before they have read its fellow. 

As to the Notes accompanying the present volume, they are 
drawn up without pretension, and mainly with the view of helping 
the general reader. Having some little time since translated all 
the works of Homer for another publisher, I might have brought 
a large amount of accumulated matter, sometimes of a critical 
character, to bear upon the text. But Pope's version was no 
field for such a display; and my purpose was to touch briefly 
on antiquarian or mythological allusions, to notice occasionally 
some departures from the original, and to give a few parallel 
passages from our English Homer, Milton. In the latter task I 
cannot pretend to novelty, but I trust that my other annotations, 
while utterly disclaiming high scholastic views, will be found to 
convey as much as is wanted; at least, as far as the necessary 
limits of these volumes could be expected to admit. To write 
a commentary on Homer is not my present aim; but if I have 
made Pope's translation a little more entertaining and instructive 
to a mass of miscellaneous readers, I shall consider my wishes 
satisfactorily accomplished. 

THEODORE ALOIS BUCKLEY. 

Christ Church. 



[xxxi] 

POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD 
OF HOMER 

Homer is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention 
of any writer whatever. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly 
contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to 
particular excellences; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. 
Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest 
of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of 
poetry. It is the invention that, in different degrees, distinguishes 
all great geniuses: the utmost stretch of human study, learning, 
and industry, which masters everything besides, can never attain 
to this. It furnishes art with all her materials, and without it 
judgment itself can at best but "steal wisely:" for art is only like 
a prudent steward that lives on managing the riches of nature. 
Whatever praises may be given to works of judgment, there is 
not even a single beauty in them to which the invention must not 
contribute: as in the most regular gardens, art can only reduce 
beauties of nature to more regularity, and such a figure, which 
the common eye may better take in, and is, therefore, more 
entertained with. And, perhaps, the reason why common critics 
are inclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great 
and fruitful one, is, because they find it easier for themselves to 
pursue their observations through a uniform and bounded walk 
of art, than to comprehend the vast and various extent of nature. 

Our author's work is a wild paradise, where, if we cannot see 
all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only 
because the number of them is infinitely greater. It is like a 



xlviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



copious nursery, which contains the seeds and first productions 
of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but 
selected some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to 
cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant it is 
owing to the richness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to 
perfection or maturity, it is only because they are overrun and 
oppressed by those of a stronger nature. 

It is to the strength of this amazing invention we are to attribute 
that unequalled fire and rapture which is so forcible in Homer, 
that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while 
he reads him. What he writes is of the most animated nature 
imaginable; every thing moves, every thing lives, and is put in 
action. If a council be called, or a battle fought, you are not 
[xxxii] coldly informed of what was said or done as from a third person; 

the reader is hurried out of himself by the force of the poet's 
imagination, and turns in one place to a hearer, in another to a 
spectator. The course of his verses resembles that of the army he 
describes, 

Hoid' ar' isan hosei te puri chthon pasa nemoito. 

"They pour along like a fire that sweeps the whole earth 
before it." It is, however, remarkable, that his fancy, which 
is everywhere vigorous, is not discovered immediately at the 
beginning of his poem in its fullest splendour: it grows in the 
progress both upon himself and others, and becomes on fire, 
like a chariot-wheel, by its own rapidity. Exact disposition, just 
thought, correct elocution, polished numbers, may have been 
found in a thousand; but this poetic fire, this "vivida vis animi," 
in a very few. Even in works where all those are imperfect or 
neglected, this can overpower criticism, and make us admire even 
while we disapprove. Nay, where this appears, though attended 
with absurdities, it brightens all the rubbish about it, till we see 
nothing but its own splendour. This fire is discerned in Virgil, 
but discerned as through a glass, reflected from Homer, more 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



xlix 



shining than fierce, but everywhere equal and constant: in Lucan 
and Statius it bursts out in sudden, short, and interrupted flashes: 
In Milton it glows like a furnace kept up to an uncommon ardour 
by the force of art: in Shakspeare it strikes before we are aware, 
like an accidental fire from heaven: but in Homer, and in him 
only, it burns everywhere clearly and everywhere irresistibly. 

I shall here endeavour to show how this vast invention exerts 
itself in a manner superior to that of any poet through all the 
main constituent parts of his work: as it is the great and peculiar 
characteristic which distinguishes him from all other authors. 

This strong and ruling faculty was like a powerful star, which, 
in the violence of its course, drew all things within its vortex. 
It seemed not enough to have taken in the whole circle of arts, 
and the whole compass of nature, to supply his maxims and 
reflections; all the inward passions and affections of mankind, 
to furnish his characters: and all the outward forms and images 
of things for his descriptions: but wanting yet an ampler sphere 
to expatiate in, he opened a new and boundless walk for his 
imagination, and created a world for himself in the invention of 
fable. That which Aristotle calls "the soul of poetry," was first 
breathed into it by Homer, I shall begin with considering him in 
his part, as it is naturally the first; and I speak of it both as it 
means the design of a poem, and as it is taken for fiction. 

Fable may be divided into the probable, the allegorical, and 
the marvellous. The probable fable is the recital of such actions 
as, though they did not happen, yet might, in the common course 
of nature; or of such as, though they did, became fables by the 
additional episodes and manner of telling them. Of this sort 
is the main story of an epic poem, "The return of Ulysses, the 
settlement of the Trojans in Italy," or the like. That of the Iliad 
is the "anger of Achilles," the most short and single subject that 
ever was chosen by any poet. Yet this he has supplied with a 
vaster variety of incidents and events, and crowded with a greater [xxxiii] 
number of councils, speeches, battles, and episodes of all kinds, 



1 



The Iliad of Homer 



than are to be found even in those poems whose schemes are of 
the utmost latitude and irregularity. The action is hurried on with 
the most vehement spirit, and its whole duration employs not so 
much as fifty days. Virgil, for want of so warm a genius, aided 
himself by taking in a more extensive subject, as well as a greater 
length of time, and contracting the design of both Homer's poems 
into one, which is yet but a fourth part as large as his. The other 
epic poets have used the same practice, but generally carried it 
so far as to superinduce a multiplicity of fables, destroy the unity 
of action, and lose their readers in an unreasonable length of 
time. Nor is it only in the main design that they have been unable 
to add to his invention, but they have followed him in every 
episode and part of story. If he has given a regular catalogue of 
an army, they all draw up their forces in the same order. If he has 
funeral games for Patroclus, Virgil has the same for Anchises, 
and Statius (rather than omit them) destroys the unity of his 
actions for those of Archemorus. If Ulysses visit the shades, the 
JEneas of Virgil and Scipio of Silius are sent after him. If he 
be detained from his return by the allurements of Calypso, so is 
JEneas by Dido, and Rinaldo by Armida. If Achilles be absent 
from the army on the score of a quarrel through half the poem, 
Rinaldo must absent himself just as long on the like account. If he 
gives his hero a suit of celestial armour, Virgil and Tasso make 
the same present to theirs. Virgil has not only observed this close 
imitation of Homer, but, where he had not led the way, supplied 
the want from other Greek authors. Thus the story of Sinon, and 
the taking of Troy, was copied (says Macrobius) almost word for 
word from Pisander, as the loves of Dido and ^Eneas are taken 
from those of Medea and Jason in Apollonius, and several others 
in the same manner. 

To proceed to the allegorical fable — If we reflect upon those 
innumerable knowledges, those secrets of nature and physical 
philosophy which Homer is generally supposed to have wrapped 
up in his allegories, what a new and ample scene of wonder may 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



li 



this consideration afford us! How fertile will that imagination 
appear, which as able to clothe all the properties of elements, 
the qualifications of the mind, the virtues and vices, in forms 
and persons, and to introduce them into actions agreeable to the 
nature of the things they shadowed! This is a field in which 
no succeeding poets could dispute with Homer, and whatever 
commendations have been allowed them on this head, are by no 
means for their invention in having enlarged his circle, but for 
their judgment in having contracted it. For when the mode of 
learning changed in the following ages, and science was delivered 
in a plainer manner, it then became as reasonable in the more 
modern poets to lay it aside, as it was in Homer to make use of 
it. And perhaps it was no unhappy circumstance for Virgil, that 
there was not in his time that demand upon him of so great an 
invention as might be capable of furnishing all those allegorical 
parts of a poem. 

The marvellous fable includes whatever is supernatural, and 
especially the machines of the gods. If Homer was not the 
first who introduced the deities (as Herodotus imagines) into the 
religion of Greece, he seems the first who brought them into a [xxxiv] 
system of machinery for poetry, and such a one as makes its 
greatest importance and dignity: for we find those authors who 
have been offended at the literal notion of the gods, constantly 
laying their accusation against Homer as the chief support of 
it. But whatever cause there might be to blame his machines 
in a philosophical or religious view, they are so perfect in the 
poetic, that mankind have been ever since contented to follow 
them: none have been able to enlarge the sphere of poetry beyond 
the limits he has set: every attempt of this nature has proved 
unsuccessful; and after all the various changes of times and 
religions, his gods continue to this day the gods of poetry. 

We come now to the characters of his persons; and here we 
shall find no author has ever drawn so many, with so visible 
and surprising a variety, or given us such lively and affecting 



lii 



The Iliad of Homer 



impressions of them. Every one has something so singularly his 
own, that no painter could have distinguished them more by their 
features, than the poet has by their manners. Nothing can be 
more exact than the distinctions he has observed in the different 
degrees of virtues and vices. The single quality of courage is 
wonderfully diversified in the several characters of the Iliad. 
That of Achilles is furious and intractable; that of Diomede 
forward, yet listening to advice, and subject to command; that of 
Ajax is heavy and self-confiding; of Hector, active and vigilant: 
the courage of Agamemnon is inspirited by love of empire and 
ambition; that of Menelaus mixed with softness and tenderness 
for his people: we find in Idomeneus a plain direct soldier; in 
Sarpedon a gallant and generous one. Nor is this judicious and 
astonishing diversity to be found only in the principal quality 
which constitutes the main of each character, but even in the 
under parts of it, to which he takes care to give a tincture of 
that principal one. For example: the main characters of Ulysses 
and Nestor consist in wisdom; and they are distinct in this, 
that the wisdom of one is artificial and various, of the other 
natural, open, and regular. But they have, besides, characters of 
courage; and this quality also takes a different turn in each from 
the difference of his prudence; for one in the war depends still 
upon caution, the other upon experience. It would be endless 
to produce instances of these kinds. The characters of Virgil 
are far from striking us in this open manner; they lie, in a great 
degree, hidden and undistinguished; and, where they are marked 
most evidently affect us not in proportion to those of Homer. 
His characters of valour are much alike; even that of Turnus 
seems no way peculiar, but, as it is, in a superior degree; and 
we see nothing that differences the courage of Mnestheus from 
that of Sergestus, Cloanthus, or the rest, In like manner it may 
be remarked of Statius's heroes, that an air of impetuosity runs 
through them all; the same horrid and savage courage appears 
in his Capaneus, Tydeus, Hippomedon, &c. They have a parity 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



liii 



of character, which makes them seem brothers of one family. 
I believe when the reader is led into this tract of reflection, if 
he will pursue it through the epic and tragic writers, he will be 
convinced how infinitely superior, in this point, the invention of 
Homer was to that of all others. 

The speeches are to be considered as they flow from the 
characters; being perfect or defective as they agree or disagree 
with the manners, of those who utter them. As there is more 
variety of characters in the Iliad, so there is of speeches, than 
in any other poem. "Everything in it has manner" (as Aristotle 
expresses it), that is, everything is acted or spoken. It is hardly 
credible, in a work of such length, how small a number of lines 
are employed in narration. In Virgil the dramatic part is less 
in proportion to the narrative, and the speeches often consist of 
general reflections or thoughts, which might be equally just in 
any person's mouth upon the same occasion. As many of his 
persons have no apparent characters, so many of his speeches 
escape being applied and judged by the rule of propriety. We 
oftener think of the author himself when we read Virgil, than 
when we are engaged in Homer, all which are the effects of a 
colder invention, that interests us less in the action described. 
Homer makes us hearers, and Virgil leaves us readers. 

If, in the next place, we take a view of the sentiments, the 
same presiding faculty is eminent in the sublimity and spirit of 
his thoughts. Longinus has given his opinion, that it was in this 
part Homer principally excelled. What were alone sufficient to 
prove the grandeur and excellence of his sentiments in general, is, 
that they have so remarkable a parity with those of the Scripture. 
Duport, in his Gnomologia Homerica, has collected innumerable 
instances of this sort. And it is with justice an excellent modern 
writer allows, that if Virgil has not so many thoughts that are 
low and vulgar, he has not so many that are sublime and noble; 
and that the Roman author seldom rises into very astonishing 
sentiments where he is not fired by the Iliad. 



liv 



The Iliad of Homer 



If we observe his descriptions, images, and similes, we shall 
find the invention still predominant. To what else can we ascribe 
that vast comprehension of images of every sort, where we see 
each circumstance of art, and individual of nature, summoned 
together by the extent and fecundity of his imagination to which 
all things, in their various views presented themselves in an 
instant, and had their impressions taken off to perfection at a 
heat? Nay, he not only gives us the full prospects of things, 
but several unexpected peculiarities and side views, unobserved 
by any painter but Homer. Nothing is so surprising as the 
descriptions of his battles, which take up no less than half the 
Iliad, and are supplied with so vast a variety of incidents, that no 
one bears a likeness to another; such different kinds of deaths, 
that no two heroes are wounded in the same manner, and such 
a profusion of noble ideas, that every battle rises above the last 
in greatness, horror, and confusion. It is certain there is not 
near that number of images and descriptions in any epic poet, 
though every one has assisted himself with a great quantity out 
of him; and it is evident of Virgil especially, that he has scarce 
any comparisons which are not drawn from his master. 

If we descend from hence to the expression, we see the bright 
imagination of Homer shining out in the most enlivened forms 
of it. We acknowledge him the father of poetical diction; the first 
who taught that "language of the gods" to men. His expression is 
[xxxvi] like the colouring of some great masters, which discovers itself 

to be laid on boldly, and executed with rapidity. It is, indeed, 
the strongest and most glowing imaginable, and touched with 
the greatest spirit. Aristotle had reason to say, he was the only 
poet who had found out "living words;" there are in him more 
daring figures and metaphors than in any good author whatever. 
An arrow is "impatient" to be on the wing, a weapon "thirsts" 
to drink the blood of an enemy, and the like, yet his expression 
is never too big for the sense, but justly great in proportion to 
it. It is the sentiment that swells and fills out the diction, which 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lv 



rises with it, and forms itself about it, for in the same degree 
that a thought is warmer, an expression will be brighter, as that 
is more strong, this will become more perspicuous; like glass in 
the furnace, which grows to a greater magnitude, and refines to 
a greater clearness, only as the breath within is more powerful, 
and the heat more intense. 

To throw his language more out of prose, Homer seems to have 
affected the compound epithets. This was a sort of composition 
peculiarly proper to poetry, not only as it heightened the diction, 
but as it assisted and filled the numbers with greater sound and 
pomp, and likewise conduced in some measure to thicken the 
images. On this last consideration I cannot but attribute these 
also to the fruitfulness of his invention, since (as he has managed 
them) they are a sort of supernumerary pictures of the persons 
or things to which they were joined. We see the motion of 
Hector's plumes in the epithet Korythaiolos, the landscape of 
Mount Neritus in that of Einosiphyllos, and so of others, which 
particular images could not have been insisted upon so long as 
to express them in a description (though but of a single line) 
without diverting the reader too much from the principal action 
or figure. As a metaphor is a short simile, one of these epithets 
is a short description. 

Lastly, if we consider his versification, we shall be sensible 
what a share of praise is due to his invention in that also. He 
was not satisfied with his language as he found it settled in any 
one part of Greece, but searched through its different dialects 
with this particular view, to beautify and perfect his numbers 
he considered these as they had a greater mixture of vowels 
or consonants, and accordingly employed them as the verse 
required either a greater smoothness or strength. What he most 
affected was the Ionic, which has a peculiar sweetness, from its 
never using contractions, and from its custom of resolving the 
diphthongs into two syllables, so as to make the words open 
themselves with a more spreading and sonorous fluency. With 



Ivi 



The Iliad of Homer 



this he mingled the Attic contractions, the broader Doric, and 
the feebler ^Eolic, which often rejects its aspirate, or takes off its 
accent, and completed this variety by altering some letters with 
the licence of poetry. Thus his measures, instead of being fetters 
to his sense, were always in readiness to run along with the 
warmth of his rapture, and even to give a further representation 
of his notions, in the correspondence of their sounds to what they 
signified. Out of all these he has derived that harmony which 
makes us confess he had not only the richest head, but the finest 
[xxxvii] ear in the world. This is so great a truth, that whoever will but 

consult the tune of his verses, even without understanding them 
(with the same sort of diligence as we daily see practised in the 
case of Italian operas), will find more sweetness, variety, and 
majesty of sound, than in any other language of poetry. The 
beauty of his numbers is allowed by the critics to be copied but 
faintly by Virgil himself, though they are so just as to ascribe 
it to the nature of the Latin tongue: indeed the Greek has some 
advantages both from the natural sound of its words, and the 
turn and cadence of its verse, which agree with the genius of 
no other language. Virgil was very sensible of this, and used 
the utmost diligence in working up a more intractable language 
to whatsoever graces it was capable of, and, in particular, never 
failed to bring the sound of his line to a beautiful agreement 
with its sense. If the Grecian poet has not been so frequently 
celebrated on this account as the Roman, the only reason is, 
that fewer critics have understood one language than the other. 
Dionysius of Halicarnassus has pointed out many of our author's 
beauties in this kind, in his treatise of the Composition of Words. 
It suffices at present to observe of his numbers, that they flow 
with so much ease, as to make one imagine Homer had no other 
care than to transcribe as fast as the Muses dictated, and, at the 
same time, with so much force and inspiriting vigour, that they 
awaken and raise us like the sound of a trumpet. They roll along 
as a plentiful river, always in motion, and always full; while we 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lvii 



are borne away by a tide of verse, the most rapid, and yet the 
most smooth imaginable. 

Thus on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what 
principally strikes us is his invention. It is that which forms 
the character of each part of his work; and accordingly we find 
it to have made his fable more extensive and copious than any 
other, his manners more lively and strongly marked, his speeches 
more affecting and transported, his sentiments more warm and 
sublime, his images and descriptions more full and animated, his 
expression more raised and daring, and his numbers more rapid 
and various. I hope, in what has been said of Virgil, with regard 
to any of these heads, I have no way derogated from his character. 
Nothing is more absurd or endless, than the common method 
of comparing eminent writers by an opposition of particular 
passages in them, and forming a judgment from thence of their 
merit upon the whole. We ought to have a certain knowledge of 
the principal character and distinguishing excellence of each: it 
is in that we are to consider him, and in proportion to his degree 
in that we are to admire him. No author or man ever excelled 
all the world in more than one faculty; and as Homer has done 
this in invention, Virgil has in judgment. Not that we are to think 
that Homer wanted judgment, because Virgil had it in a more 
eminent degree; or that Virgil wanted invention, because Homer 
possessed a larger share of it; each of these great authors had 
more of both than perhaps any man besides, and are only said 
to have less in comparison with one another. Homer was the 
greater genius, Virgil the better artist. In one we most admire 
the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries and transports 
us with a commanding impetuosity; Virgil leads us with an 
attractive majesty; Homer scatters with a generous profusion; [xxxviii] 
Virgil bestows with a careful magnificence; Homer, like the 
Nile, pours out his riches with a boundless overflow; Virgil, like 
a river in its banks, with a gentle and constant stream. When we 
behold their battles, methinks the two poets resemble the heroes 



Iviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



they celebrate. Homer, boundless and resistless as Achilles, bears 
all before him, and shines more and more as the tumult increases; 
Virgil, calmly daring, like ^Eneas, appears undisturbed in the 
midst of the action; disposes all about him, and conquers with 
tranquillity. And when we look upon their machines, Homer 
seems like his own Jupiter in his terrors, shaking Olympus, 
scattering the lightnings, and firing the heavens: Virgil, like the 
same power in his benevolence, counselling with the gods, laying 
plans for empires, and regularly ordering his whole creation. 

But after all, it is with great parts, as with great virtues, they 
naturally border on some imperfection; and it is often hard to 
distinguish exactly where the virtue ends, or the fault begins. 
As prudence may sometimes sink to suspicion, so may a great 
judgment decline to coldness; and as magnanimity may run 
up to profusion or extravagance, so may a great invention to 
redundancy or wildness. If we look upon Homer in this view, we 
shall perceive the chief objections against him to proceed from 
so noble a cause as the excess of this faculty. 

Among these we may reckon some of his marvellous fictions, 
upon which so much criticism has been spent, as surpassing 
all the bounds of probability. Perhaps it may be with great 
and superior souls, as with gigantic bodies, which, exerting 
themselves with unusual strength, exceed what is commonly 
thought the due proportion of parts, to become miracles in the 
whole; and, like the old heroes of that make, commit something 
near extravagance, amidst a series of glorious and inimitable 
performances. Thus Homer has his "speaking horses;" and Virgil 
his "myrtles distilling blood;" where the latter has not so much as 
contrived the easy intervention of a deity to save the probability. 

It is owing to the same vast invention, that his similes have 
been thought too exuberant and full of circumstances. The force 
of this faculty is seen in nothing more, than in its inability 
to confine itself to that single circumstance upon which the 
comparison is grounded: it runs out into embellishments of 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lix 



additional images, which, however, are so managed as not to 
overpower the main one. His similes are like pictures, where 
the principal figure has not only its proportion given agreeable 
to the original, but is also set off with occasional ornaments and 
prospects. The same will account for his manner of heaping a 
number of comparisons together in one breath, when his fancy 
suggested to him at once so many various and correspondent 
images. The reader will easily extend this observation to more 
objections of the same kind. 

If there are others which seem rather to charge him with 
a defect or narrowness of genius, than an excess of it, those 
seeming defects will be found upon examination to proceed 
wholly from the nature of the times he lived in. Such are his 
grosser representations of the gods; and the vicious and imperfect 
manners of his heroes; but I must here speak a word of the latter, [xxxix] 
as it is a point generally carried into extremes, both by the 
censurers and defenders of Homer. It must be a strange partiality 
to antiquity, to think with Madame Dacier, "that those times 
and manners are so much the more excellent, as they are more 
contrary to ours." Who can be so prejudiced in their favour as to 
magnify the felicity of those ages, when a spirit of revenge and 
cruelty, joined with the practice of rapine and robbery, reigned 
through the world: when no mercy was shown but for the sake 
of lucre; when the greatest princes were put to the sword, and 
their wives and daughters made slaves and concubines? On the 
other side, I would not be so delicate as those modern critics, 
who are shocked at the servile offices and mean employments in 
which we sometimes see the heroes of Homer engaged. There 
is a pleasure in taking a view of that simplicity, in opposition to 
the luxury of succeeding ages: in beholding monarchs without 
their guards; princes tending their flocks, and princesses drawing 
water from the springs. When we read Homer, we ought to 



Preface to her Homer. 



lx 



The Iliad of Homer 



reflect that we are reading the most ancient author in the heathen 
world; and those who consider him in this light, will double 
their pleasure in the perusal of him. Let them think they are 
growing acquainted with nations and people that are now no 
more; that they are stepping almost three thousand years back 
into the remotest antiquity, and entertaining themselves with a 
clear and surprising vision of things nowhere else to be found, 
the only true mirror of that ancient world. By this means alone 
their greatest obstacles will vanish; and what usually creates their 
dislike, will become a satisfaction. 

This consideration may further serve to answer for the constant 
use of the same epithets to his gods and heroes; such as the 
"far-darting Phoebus," the "blue-eyed Pallas," the "swift-footed 
Achilles," &c, which some have censured as impertinent, and 
tediously repeated. Those of the gods depended upon the powers 
and offices then believed to belong to them; and had contracted 
a weight and veneration from the rites and solemn devotions in 
which they were used: they were a sort of attributes with which 
it was a matter of religion to salute them on all occasions, and 
which it was an irreverence to omit. As for the epithets of great 
men, Mons. Boileau is of opinion, that they were in the nature 
of surnames, and repeated as such; for the Greeks having no 
names derived from their fathers, were obliged to add some other 
distinction of each person; either naming his parents expressly, 
or his place of birth, profession, or the like: as Alexander the 
son of Philip, Herodotus of Halicarnassus, Diogenes the Cynic, 
&c. Homer, therefore, complying with the custom of his country, 
used such distinctive additions as better agreed with poetry. And, 
indeed, we have something parallel to these in modern times, 
such as the names of Harold Harefoot, Edmund Ironside, Edward 
Longshanks, Edward the Black Prince, &c. If yet this be thought 
to account better for the propriety than for the repetition, I shall 
add a further conjecture. Hesiod, dividing the world into its 
different ages, has placed a fourth age, between the brazen and 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxi 



the iron one, of "heroes distinct from other men; a divine race 
who fought at Thebes and Troy, are called demi-gods, and live 
by the care of Jupiter in the islands of the blessed." Now among 
the divine honours which were paid them, they might have this 
also in common with the gods, not to be mentioned without the 
solemnity of an epithet, and such as might be acceptable to them 
by celebrating their families, actions or qualities. 

What other cavils have been raised against Homer, are such 
as hardly deserve a reply, but will yet be taken notice of as they 
occur in the course of the work. Many have been occasioned by 
an injudicious endeavour to exalt Virgil; which is much the same, 
as if one should think to raise the superstructure by undermining 
the foundation: one would imagine, by the whole course of their 
parallels, that these critics never so much as heard of Homer's 
having written first; a consideration which whoever compares 
these two poets ought to have always in his eye. Some accuse 
him for the same things which they overlook or praise in the 
other; as when they prefer the fable and moral of the iEneis 
to those of the Iliad, for the same reasons which might set the 
Odyssey above the ^Eneis; as that the hero is a wiser man, and 
the action of the one more beneficial to his country than that 
of the other; or else they blame him for not doing what he 
never designed; as because Achilles is not as good and perfect 
a prince as ^Eneas, when the very moral of his poem required a 
contrary character: it is thus that Rapin judges in his comparison 
of Homer and Virgil. Others select those particular passages of 
Homer which are not so laboured as some that Virgil drew out 
of them: this is the whole management of Scaliger in his Poetics. 
Others quarrel with what they take for low and mean expressions, 
sometimes through a false delicacy and refinement, oftener from 
an ignorance of the graces of the original, and then triumph in 
the awkwardness of their own translations: this is the conduct of 
Perrault in his Parallels. Lastly, there are others, who, pretending 
to a fairer proceeding, distinguish between the personal merit of 



Ixii 



The Iliad of Homer 



Homer, and that of his work; but when they come to assign the 
causes of the great reputation of the Iliad, they found it upon the 
ignorance of his times, and the prejudice of those that followed: 
and in pursuance of this principle, they make those accidents 
(such as the contention of the cities, &c.) to be the causes of his 
fame, which were in reality the consequences of his merit. The 
same might as well be said of Virgil, or any great author whose 
general character will infallibly raise many casual additions to 
their reputation. This is the method of Mons. de la Mott; who 
yet confesses upon the whole that in whatever age Homer had 
lived, he must have been the greatest poet of his nation, and that 
he may be said in his sense to be the master even of those who 
surpassed him. 39 

In all these objections we see nothing that contradicts his title 
to the honour of the chief invention: and as long as this (which 
is indeed the characteristic of poetry itself) remains unequalled 
by his followers, he still continues superior to them. A cooler 
judgment may commit fewer faults, and be more approved in the 
eyes of one sort of critics: but that warmth of fancy will carry 
the loudest and most universal applauses which holds the heart 
of a reader under the strongest enchantment. Homer not only 
appears the inventor of poetry, but excels all the inventors of 
other arts, in this, that he has swallowed up the honour of those 
who succeeded him. What he has done admitted no increase, it 
only left room for contraction or regulation. He showed all the 
stretch of fancy at once; and if he has failed in some of his flights, 
it was but because he attempted everything. A work of this kind 
seems like a mighty tree, which rises from the most vigorous 
seed, is improved with industry, flourishes, and produces the 
finest fruit: nature and art conspire to raise it; pleasure and profit 
join to make it valuable: and they who find the justest faults, 
have only said that a few branches which run luxuriant through 



Hesiod. Opp. et Dier. Lib. I. vers. 155, &c. 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxiii 



a richness of nature, might be lopped into form to give it a more 
regular appearance. 

Having now spoken of the beauties and defects of the original, 
it remains to treat of the translation, with the same view to the 
chief characteristic. As far as that is seen in the main parts of the 
poem, such as the fable, manners, and sentiments, no translator 
can prejudice it but by wilful omissions or contractions. As it 
also breaks out in every particular image, description, and simile, 
whoever lessens or too much softens those, takes off from this 
chief character. It is the first grand duty of an interpreter to give 
his author entire and unmaimed; and for the rest, the diction and 
versification only are his proper province, since these must be 
his own, but the others he is to take as he finds them. 

It should then be considered what methods may afford some 
equivalent in our language for the graces of these in the Greek. It 
is certain no literal translation can be just to an excellent original 
in a superior language: but it is a great mistake to imagine 
(as many have done) that a rash paraphrase can make amends 
for this general defect; which is no less in danger to lose the 
spirit of an ancient, by deviating into the modern manners of 
expression. If there be sometimes a darkness, there is often a 
light in antiquity, which nothing better preserves than a version 
almost literal. I know no liberties one ought to take, but those 
which are necessary to transfusing the spirit of the original, and 
supporting the poetical style of the translation: and I will venture 
to say, there have not been more men misled in former times by 
a servile, dull adherence to the letter, than have been deluded in 
ours by a chimerical, insolent hope of raising and improving their 
author. It is not to be doubted, that the fire of the poem is what a 
translator should principally regard, as it is most likely to expire 
in his managing: however, it is his safest way to be content with 
preserving this to his utmost in the whole, without endeavouring 
to be more than he finds his author is, in any particular place. 
It is a great secret in writing, to know when to be plain, and 



Ixiv 



The Iliad of Homer 



when poetical and figurative; and it is what Homer will teach 
us, if we will but follow modestly in his footsteps. Where his 
diction is bold and lofty, let us raise ours as high as we can; 
but where his is plain and humble, we ought not to be deterred 
from imitating him by the fear of incurring the censure of a mere 
[xlii] English critic. Nothing that belongs to Homer seems to have 

been more commonly mistaken than the just pitch of his style: 
some of his translators having swelled into fustian in a proud 
confidence of the sublime; others sunk into flatness, in a cold 
and timorous notion of simplicity. Methinks I see these different 
followers of Homer, some sweating and straining after him by 
violent leaps and bounds (the certain signs of false mettle), others 
slowly and servilely creeping in his train, while the poet himself 
is all the time proceeding with an unaffected and equal majesty 
before them. However, of the two extremes one could sooner 
pardon frenzy than frigidity; no author is to be envied for such 
commendations, as he may gain by that character of style, which 
his friends must agree together to call simplicity, and the rest 
of the world will call dulness. There is a graceful and dignified 
simplicity, as well as a bold and sordid one; which differ as much 
from each other as the air of a plain man from that of a sloven: it 
is one thing to be tricked up, and another not to be dressed at all. 
Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity. 

This pure and noble simplicity is nowhere in such perfection 
as in the Scripture and our author. One may affirm, with all 
respect to the inspired writings, that the Divine Spirit made 
use of no other words but what were intelligible and common 
to men at that time, and in that part of the world; and, as 
Homer is the author nearest to those, his style must of course 
bear a greater resemblance to the sacred books than that of any 
other writer. This consideration (together with what has been 
observed of the parity of some of his thoughts) may, methinks, 
induce a translator, on the one hand, to give in to several of 
those general phrases and manners of expression, which have 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxv 



attained a veneration even in our language from being used in 
the Old Testament; as, on the other, to avoid those which have 
been appropriated to the Divinity, and in a manner consigned to 
mystery and religion. 

For a further preservation of this air of simplicity, a particular 
care should be taken to express with all plainness those moral 
sentences and proverbial speeches which are so numerous in this 
poet. They have something venerable, and as I may say, oracular, 
in that unadorned gravity and shortness with which they are 
delivered: a grace which would be utterly lost by endeavouring 
to give them what we call a more ingenious (that is, a more 
modern) turn in the paraphrase. 

Perhaps the mixture of some Graecisms and old words after the 
manner of Milton, if done without too much affectation, might 
not have an ill effect in a version of this particular work, which 
most of any other seems to require a venerable, antique cast. 
But certainly the use of modern terms of war and government, 
such as "platoon, campaign, junto," or the like, (into which some 
of his translators have fallen) cannot be allowable; those only 
excepted without which it is impossible to treat the subjects in 
any living language. 

There are two peculiarities in Homer's diction, which are a 
sort of marks or moles by which every common eye distinguishes 
him at first sight; those who are not his greatest admirers look 
upon them as defects, and those who are, seemed pleased with 
them as beauties. I speak of his compound epithets, and of his 
repetitions. Many of the former cannot be done literally into [xiiii] 
English without destroying the purity of our language. I believe 
such should be retained as slide easily of themselves into an 
English compound, without violence to the ear or to the received 
rules of composition, as well as those which have received a 
sanction from the authority of our best poets, and are become 
familiar through their use of them; such as "the cloud-compelling 
Jove," &c. As for the rest, whenever any can be as fully and 



Ixvi 



The Iliad of Homer 



significantly expressed in a single word as in a compounded one, 
the course to be taken is obvious. 

Some that cannot be so turned, as to preserve their full image by 
one or two words, may have justice done them by circumlocution; 
as the epithet einosiphyllos to a mountain, would appear little 
or ridiculous translated literally "leaf-shaking," but affords a 
majestic idea in the periphrasis: "the lofty mountain shakes his 
waving woods." Others that admit of different significations, 
may receive an advantage from a judicious variation, according 
to the occasions on which they are introduced. For example, 
the epithet of Apollo, hekaebolos or "far- shooting," is capable of 
two explications; one literal, in respect of the darts and bow, the 
ensigns of that god; the other allegorical, with regard to the rays 
of the sun; therefore, in such places where Apollo is represented 
as a god in person, I would use the former interpretation; and 
where the effects of the sun are described, I would make choice 
of the latter. Upon the whole, it will be necessary to avoid 
that perpetual repetition of the same epithets which we find in 
Homer, and which, though it might be accommodated (as has 
been already shown) to the ear of those times, is by no means 
so to ours: but one may wait for opportunities of placing them, 
where they derive an additional beauty from the occasions on 
which they are employed; and in doing this properly, a translator 
may at once show his fancy and his judgment. 

As for Homer's repetitions, we may divide them into three 
sorts: of whole narrations and speeches, of single sentences, and 
of one verse or hemistitch. I hope it is not impossible to have 
such a regard to these, as neither to lose so known a mark of the 
author on the one hand, nor to offend the reader too much on the 
other. The repetition is not ungraceful in those speeches, where 
the dignity of the speaker renders it a sort of insolence to alter 
his words; as in the messages from gods to men, or from higher 
powers to inferiors in concerns of state, or where the ceremonial 
of religion seems to require it, in the solemn forms of prayers, 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxvii 



oaths, or the like. In other cases, I believe the best rule is, to be 
guided by the nearness, or distance, at which the repetitions are 
placed in the original: when they follow too close, one may vary 
the expression; but it is a question, whether a professed translator 
be authorized to omit any: if they be tedious, the author is to 
answer for it. 

It only remains to speak of the versification. Homer (as has 
been said) is perpetually applying the sound to the sense, and 
varying it on every new subject. This is indeed one of the 
most exquisite beauties of poetry, and attainable by very few: I 
only know of Homer eminent for it in the Greek, and Virgil in 
the Latin. I am sensible it is what may sometimes happen by 
chance, when a writer is warm, and fully possessed of his image: [xiiv] 
however, it may reasonably be believed they designed this, in 
whose verse it so manifestly appears in a superior degree to all 
others. Few readers have the ear to be judges of it: but those who 
have, will see I have endeavoured at this beauty. 

Upon the whole, I must confess myself utterly incapable of 
doing justice to Homer. I attempt him in no other hope but that 
which one may entertain without much vanity, of giving a more 
tolerable copy of him than any entire translation in verse has yet 
done. We have only those of Chapman, Hobbes, and Ogilby. 
Chapman has taken the advantage of an immeasurable length 
of verse, notwithstanding which, there is scarce any paraphrase 
more loose and rambling than his. He has frequent interpolations 
of four or six lines; and I remember one in the thirteenth book of 
the Odyssey, ver. 312, where he has spun twenty verses out of 
two. He is often mistaken in so bold a manner, that one might 
think he deviated on purpose, if he did not in other places of his 
notes insist so much upon verbal trifles. He appears to have had a 
strong affectation of extracting new meanings out of his author; 
insomuch as to promise, in his rhyming preface, a poem of the 
mysteries he had revealed in Homer; and perhaps he endeavoured 
to strain the obvious sense to this end. His expression is involved 



lxviii 



The Iliad of Homer 



in fustian; a fault for which he was remarkable in his original 
writings, as in the tragedy of Bussy d'Amboise, &c. In a word, 
the nature of the man may account for his whole performance; 
for he appears, from his preface and remarks, to have been of 
an arrogant turn, and an enthusiast in poetry. His own boast, of 
having finished half the Iliad in less than fifteen weeks, shows 
with what negligence his version was performed. But that which 
is to be allowed him, and which very much contributed to cover 
his defects, is a daring fiery spirit that animates his translation, 
which is something like what one might imagine Homer himself 
would have writ before he arrived at years of discretion. 

Hobbes has given us a correct explanation of the sense in 
general; but for particulars and circumstances he continually 
lops them, and often omits the most beautiful. As for its being 
esteemed a close translation, I doubt not many have been led 
into that error by the shortness of it, which proceeds not from his 
following the original line by line, but from the contractions above 
mentioned. He sometimes omits whole similes and sentences; 
and is now and then guilty of mistakes, into which no writer 
of his learning could have fallen, but through carelessness. His 
poetry, as well as Ogilby's, is too mean for criticism. 

It is a great loss to the poetical world that Mr. Dryden did not 
live to translate the Iliad. He has left us only the first book, and a 
small part of the sixth; in which if he has in some places not truly 
interpreted the sense, or preserved the antiquities, it ought to be 
excused on account of the haste he was obliged to write in. He 
seems to have had too much regard to Chapman, whose words he 
sometimes copies, and has unhappily followed him in passages 
where he wanders from the original. However, had he translated 
the whole work, I would no more have attempted Homer after 
him than Virgil: his version of whom (notwithstanding some 
human errors) is the most noble and spirited translation I know 
[xiv] in any language. But the fate of great geniuses is like that 

of great ministers: though they are confessedly the first in the 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxix 



commonwealth of letters, they must be envied and calumniated 
only for being at the head of it. 

That which, in my opinion, ought to be the endeavour of 
any one who translates Homer, is above all things to keep 
alive that spirit and fire which makes his chief character: in 
particular places, where the sense can bear any doubt, to follow 
the strongest and most poetical, as most agreeing with that 
character; to copy him in all the variations of his style, and 
the different modulations of his numbers; to preserve, in the 
more active or descriptive parts, a warmth and elevation; in 
the more sedate or narrative, a plainness and solemnity; in the 
speeches, a fulness and perspicuity; in the sentences, a shortness 
and gravity; not to neglect even the little figures and turns on 
the words, nor sometimes the very cast of the periods; neither 
to omit nor confound any rites or customs of antiquity: perhaps 
too he ought to include the whole in a shorter compass than has 
hitherto been done by any translator who has tolerably preserved 
either the sense or poetry. What I would further recommend 
to him is, to study his author rather from his own text, than 
from any commentaries, how learned soever, or whatever figure 
they may make in the estimation of the world; to consider him 
attentively in comparison with Virgil above all the ancients, and 
with Milton above all the moderns. Next these, the Archbishop 
of Cambray's Telemachus may give him the truest idea of the 
spirit and turn of our author; and Bossu's admirable Treatise of 
the Epic Poem the justest notion of his design and conduct. But 
after all, with whatever judgment and study a man may proceed, 
or with whatever happiness he may perform such a work, he must 
hope to please but a few; those only who have at once a taste of 
poetry, and competent learning. For to satisfy such a want either, 
is not in the nature of this undertaking; since a mere modern wit 
can like nothing that is not modern, and a pedant nothing that is 
not Greek. 

What I have done is submitted to the public; from whose 



Ixx 



The Iliad of Homer 



opinions I am prepared to learn; though I fear no judges so little 
as our best poets, who are most sensible of the weight of this task. 
As for the worst, whatever they shall please to say, they may give 
me some concern as they are unhappy men, but none as they are 
malignant writers. I was guided in this translation by judgments 
very different from theirs, and by persons for whom they can 
have no kindness, if an old observation be true, that the strongest 
antipathy in the world is that of fools to men of wit. Mr. Addison 
was the first whose advice determined me to undertake this task; 
who was pleased to write to me upon that occasion in such terms 
as I cannot repeat without vanity. I was obliged to Sir Richard 
Steele for a very early recommendation of my undertaking to 
the public. Dr. Swift promoted my interest with that warmth 
with which he always serves his friend. The humanity and 
frankness of Sir Samuel Garth are what I never knew wanting on 
any occasion. I must also acknowledge, with infinite pleasure, 
the many friendly offices, as well as sincere criticisms, of Mr. 
Congreve, who had led me the way in translating some parts of 
Homer. I must add the names of Mr. Rowe, and Dr. Parnell, 
though I shall take a further opportunity of doing justice to the 
[xivi] last, whose good nature (to give it a great panegyric), is no less 

extensive than his learning. The favour of these gentlemen is not 
entirely undeserved by one who bears them so true an affection. 
But what can I say of the honour so many of the great have done 
me; while the first names of the age appear as my subscribers, 
and the most distinguished patrons and ornaments of learning as 
my chief encouragers? Among these it is a particular pleasure 
to me to find, that my highest obligations are to such who have 
done most honour to the name of poet: that his grace the Duke of 
Buckingham was not displeased I should undertake the author to 
whom he has given (in his excellent Essay), so complete a praise: 

"Read Homer once, and you can read no more; 
For all books else appear so mean, so poor, 
Verse will seem prose: but still persist to read, 



POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER 



lxxi 



And Homer will be all the books you need. " 

That the Earl of Halifax was one of the first to favour me; of 
whom it is hard to say whether the advancement of the polite 
arts is more owing to his generosity or his example: that such a 
genius as my Lord Bolingbroke, not more distinguished in the 
great scenes of business, than in all the useful and entertaining 
parts of learning, has not refused to be the critic of these sheets, 
and the patron of their writer: and that the noble author of the 
tragedy of "Heroic Love" has continued his partiality to me, from 
my writing pastorals to my attempting the Iliad. I cannot deny 
myself the pride of confessing, that I have had the advantage 
not only of their advice for the conduct in general, but their 
correction of several particulars of this translation. 

I could say a great deal of the pleasure of being distinguished 
by the Earl of Carnarvon; but it is almost absurd to particularize 
any one generous action in a person whose whole life is a 
continued series of them. Mr. Stanhope, the present secretary 
of state, will pardon my desire of having it known that he was 
pleased to promote this affair. The particular zeal of Mr. Harcourt 
(the son of the late Lord Chancellor) gave me a proof how much 
I am honoured in a share of his friendship. I must attribute to the 
same motive that of several others of my friends: to whom all 
acknowledgments are rendered unnecessary by the privileges of 
a familiar correspondence; and I am satisfied I can no way better 
oblige men of their turn than by my silence. 

In short, I have found more patrons than ever Homer wanted. 
He would have thought himself happy to have met the same 
favour at Athens that has been shown me by its learned rival, the 
University of Oxford. And I can hardly envy him those pompous 
honours he received after death, when I reflect on the enjoyment 
of so many agreeable obligations, and easy friendships, which 
make the satisfaction of life. This distinction is the more to 
be acknowledged, as it is shown to one whose pen has never 
gratified the prejudices of particular parties, or the vanities of 



lxxii 



The Iliad of Homer 



particular men. Whatever the success may prove, I shall never 
repent of an undertaking in which I have experienced the candour 
and friendship of so many persons of merit; and in which I hope 
to pass some of those years of youth that are generally lost in a 
circle of follies, after a manner neither wholly unuseful to others, 
nor disagreeable to myself. 



[001] 



THE ILIAD. 



BOOK I. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON. 

In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of 
the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful 
captives, Chryseis and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, 
and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseis, and priest 
of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom her; with which 
the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the siege. The 
priest being refused, and insolently dismissed by Agamemnon, 
entreats for vengeance from his god; who inflicts a pestilence on 
the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Chalcas to 

40 The following argument of the Iliad, corrected in a few particulars, is 
translated from Bitaube, and is, perhaps, the neatest summary that has ever 
been drawn up: — "A hero, injured by his general, and animated with a noble 
resentment, retires to his tent; and for a season withdraws himself and his troops 
from the war. During this interval, victory abandons the army, which for nine 
years has been occupied in a great enterprise, upon the successful termination 
of which the honour of their country depends. The general, at length opening 
his eyes to the fault which he had committed, deputes the principal officers of 
his army to the incensed hero, with commission to make compensation for the 
injury, and to tender magnificent presents. The hero, according to the proud 
obstinacy of his character, persists in his animosity; the army is again defeated, 
and is on the verge of entire destruction. This inexorable man has a friend; this 
friend weeps before him, and asks for the hero's arms, and for permission to 
go to the war in his stead. The eloquence of friendship prevails more than the 
intercession of the ambassadors or the gifts of the general. He lends his armour 
to his friend, but commands him not to engage with the chief of the enemy's 
army, because he reserves to himself the honour of that combat, and because 
he also fears for his friend's life. The prohibition is forgotten; the friend listens 
to nothing but his courage; his corpse is brought back to the hero, and the 
hero's arms become the prize of the conqueror. Then the hero, given up to the 
most lively despair, prepares to fight; he receives from a divinity new armour, 



4 



The Iliad of Homer 



declare the cause of it; who attributes it to the refusal of Chryseis. 
The king, being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a 
furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies; however, 
as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on Briseis 
in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his 
forces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, 
she supplicates Jupiter to render them sensible of the wrong done 
to her son, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter, granting her 
suit, incenses Juno: between whom the debate runs high, till they 
are reconciled by the address of Vulcan. 

The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book: nine 
during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the princes, 
and twelve for Jupiter's stay with the Ethiopians, at whose return 
Thetis prefers her petition. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, 
then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus. 

Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring 
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing! 
That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign 
[002] The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain; 

Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore, 

Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore. 41 

Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, 

Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove! 42 



is reconciled with his general and, thirsting for glory and revenge, enacts 
prodigies of valour, recovers the victory, slays the enemy's chief, honours his 
friend with superb funeral rites, and exercises a cruel vengeance on the body 
of his destroyer; but finally appeased by the tears and prayers of the father of 
the slain warrior, restores to the old man the corpse of his son, which he buries 
with due solemnities.' — Coleridge, p. 177, sqq. 

41 Vultures: Pope is more accurate than the poet he translates, for Homer 
writes "a prey to dogs and to all kinds of birds. But all kinds of birds are not 
carnivorous. 

42 — i.e. during the whole time of their striving the will of Jove was being 
gradually accomplished. 



BOOK I. 



5 



Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour 

Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power 

Latona's son a dire contagion spread, 44 

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead; 

The king of men his reverent priest defied, 

And for the king's offence the people died. 

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain 
His captive daughter from the victor's chain. 
Suppliant the venerable father stands; 
Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands 
By these he begs; and lowly bending down, 
Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown 
He sued to all, but chief implored for grace 
The brother-kings, of Atreus' royal race 46 

"Ye kings and warriors ! may your vows be crown'd, 
And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground. 
May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er 
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore. 
But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain, 
And give Chryseis to these arms again; 
If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, 
And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove." 



Compare Milton's "Paradise Lost" i. 6 

"Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top 
Of Horeb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
That shepherd." 

44 — Latona's son: i.e. Apollo. 

45 — King of men: Agamemnon. 

46 — Brother kings: Menelaus and Agamemnon. 



6 



The Iliad of Homer 



The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare, 
The priest to reverence, and release the fair. 
Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride, 
Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied: 

"Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, 
Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains 
Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, 
[003] Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god. 

Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain; 

And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; 

Till time shall rifle every youthful grace, 

And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, 

In daily labours of the loom employ'd, 

Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy'd 

Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire, 

Far from her native soil and weeping sire." 




HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE. 



BOOK I. 



7 



The trembling priest along the shore return'd, 
And in the anguish of a father mourn'd. 
Disconsolate, not daring to complain, 
Silent he wander'd by the sounding main; 
Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays, 
The god who darts around the world his rays. 



"O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line, 7 
Thou guardian power of Cilia the divine, 48 
Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores, 

And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores. [004] 
If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane, 49 
Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain; 
God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ, 
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy." 



— Smintheus an epithet taken from sminthos, the Phrygian name for a 
mouse, was applied to Apollo for having put an end to a plague of mice which 
had harassed that territory. Strabo, however, says, that when the Teucri were 
migrating from Crete, they were told by an oracle to settle in that place, where 
they should not be attacked by the original inhabitants of the land, and that, 
having halted for the night, a number of field-mice came and gnawed away the 
leathern straps of their baggage, and thongs of their armour. In fulfilment of 
the oracle, they settled on the spot, and raised a temple to Sminthean Apollo. 
Grote, "History of Greece," i. p. 68, remarks that the "worship of Sminthean 
Apollo, in various parts of the Troad and its neighboring territory, dates before 
the earliest period of Aeolian colonization." 

48 — Cilia, a town of Troas near Thebe, so called from Cillus, a sister of 
Hippodamia, slain by OEnomaus. 

49 A mistake. It should be, 

"If e'er I roofed thy graceful fane," 
for the custom of decorating temples with garlands was of later date. 



8 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thus Chryses pray'd. — the favouring power attends, 

And from Olympus' lofty tops descends. 

Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound; 50 

Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound. 

Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread, 

And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head. 

The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow, 

And hissing fly the feather'd fates below. 

On mules and dogs the infection first began; 51 

And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man. 

For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, 

The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare. 

But ere the tenth revolving day was run, 

Inspired by Juno, Thetis' godlike son 

Convened to council all the Grecian train; 

For much the goddess mourn'd her heroes slain. 52 



— Bent was his bow "The Apollo of Homer, it must be borne in mind, is 
a different character from the deity of the same name in the later classical 
pantheon. Throughout both poems, all deaths from unforeseen or invisible 
causes, the ravages of pestilence, the fate of the young child or promising adult, 
cut off in the germ of infancy or flower of youth, of the old man dropping 
peacefully into the grave, or of the reckless sinner suddenly checked in his 
career of crime, are ascribed to the arrows of Apollo or Diana. The oracular 
functions of the god rose naturally out of the above fundamental attributes, 
for who could more appropriately impart to mortals what little foreknowledge 
Fate permitted of her decrees than the agent of her most awful dispensations? 
The close union of the arts of prophecy and song explains his additional office 
of god of music, while the arrows with which he and his sister were armed, 
symbols of sudden death in every age, no less naturally procured him that of 
god of archery. Of any connection between Apollo and the Sun, whatever may 
have existed in the more esoteric doctrine of the Greek sanctuaries, there is no 
trace in either Iliad or Odyssey." — Mure, "History of Greek Literature," vol. i. 
p. 478, sq. 

51 It has frequently been observed, that most pestilences begin with animals, 
and that Homer had this fact in mind. 

52 — Convened to council. The public assembly in the heroic times is 
well characterized by Grote, vol. ii. p 92. "It is an assembly for talk. 



BOOK I. 



9 



The assembly seated, rising o'er the rest, 
Achilles thus the king of men address'd: 



"Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, 

And measure back the seas we cross'd before? 

The plague destroying whom the sword would spare, 

'Tis time to save the few remains of war. 

But let some prophet, or some sacred sage, 

Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage; 

Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove 

By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove. 53 [005] 

If broken vows this heavy curse have laid, 

Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid. 

So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore, 

And Phoebus dart his burning shafts no more." 



He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied; 
Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide, 
That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view, 
The past, the present, and the future knew: 
Uprising slow, the venerable sage 
Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age: 



Communication and discussion to a certain extent by the chiefs in person, of 
the people as listeners and sympathizers — often for eloquence, and sometimes 
for quarrel — but here its ostensible purposes end." 

53 Old Jacob Duport, whose "Gnomologia Homerica" is full of curious and 
useful things, quotes several passages of the ancients, in which reference is 
made to these words of Homer, in maintenance of the belief that dreams had a 
divine origin and an import in which men were interested. 



10 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Beloved of Jove, Achilles! would'st thou know 

Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow? 

First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word 

Of sure protection, by thy power and sword: 

For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, 

And truths, invidious to the great, reveal, 

Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise, 

Instruct a monarch where his error lies; 

For though we deem the short-lived fury past, 

'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last." 

To whom Pelides: — "From thy inmost soul 

Speak what thou know'st, and speak without control. 

E'en by that god I swear who rules the day, 

To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey. 

And whose bless'd oracles thy lips declare; 

Long as Achilles breathes this vital air, 

No daring Greek, of all the numerous band, 

Against his priest shall lift an impious hand; 

Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led, 

The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head." 

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies: 

"Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice, 

But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest, 

Apollo's vengeance for his injured priest. 

Nor will the god's awaken'd fury cease, 

But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, 

Till the great king, without a ransom paid, 

To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. 54 

Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, 

The priest may pardon, and the god may spare." 



Rather, "bright-eyed." See the German critics quoted by Arnold. 



BOOK I. 



The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown 

The monarch started from his shining throne; 

Black choler fill'd his breast that boil'd with ire, 

And from his eye-balls flash'd the living fire: 

"Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still, 

Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill! 

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, 

And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king? 

For this are Phoebus' oracles explored, 

To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord? 

For this with falsehood is my honour stain'd, 

Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned; 

Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, 

And heavenly charms prefer to proffer'd gold? 

A maid, unmatch'd in manners as in face, 

Skill'd in each art, and crown'd with every grace; 

Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra's charms, 

When first her blooming beauties bless'd my arms. 

Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail; 

Our cares are only for the public weal: 

Let me be deem'd the hateful cause of all, 

And suffer, rather than my people fall. 

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, 

So dearly valued, and so justly mine. 

But since for common good I yield the fair, 

My private loss let grateful Greece repair; 

Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, 

That he alone has fought and bled in vain. " 

"Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies), 

Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize ! 

Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, 

The due reward of many a well-fought field? 



12 



The Iliad of Homer 



The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain, 
We share with justice, as with toil we gain; 
But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves 
(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves. 
Yet if our chief for plunder only fight, 
The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, 
Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers 
Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers." 

Then thus the king: "Shall I my prize resign 
With tame content, and thou possess'd of thine? 
Great as thou art, and like a god in fight, 
Think not to rob me of a soldier's right. 
At thy demand shall I restore the maid? 
First let the just equivalent be paid; 
Such as a king might ask; and let it be 
A treasure worthy her, and worthy me. 
Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim 
This hand shall seize some other captive dame. 
The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign; 55 
Ulysses' spoils, or even thy own, be mine. 
The man who suffers, loudly may complain; 
And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. 
But this when time requires. — It now remains 
[007] We launch a bark to plough the watery plains, 

And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores, 
With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars. 
Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend, 
And some deputed prince the charge attend: 
This Creta's king, or Ajax shall fulfil, 
Or wise Ulysses see perform'd our will; 
Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, 



The prize given to Ajax was Tecmessa, while Ulysses received Laodice, 
the daughter of Cycnus. 



BOOK I. 



13 



Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main; 
Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, 
The god propitiate, and the pest assuage." 




MARS. 



At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: 

"O tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride! 

Inglorious slave to interest, ever join'd 

With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind! 

What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, 

Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword? 

What cause have I to war at thy decree? 

The distant Trojans never injured me; 

To Phthia's realms no hostile troops they led: 

Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed; 

Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, 

And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, 

Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, 

Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race. 

Hither we sail'd, a voluntary throng, 

To avenge a private, not a public wrong: 

What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, 



14 



The Iliad of Homer 



But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause? 
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; 
Disgraced and injured by the man we serve? 
And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, 
Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day? 
A prize as small, O tyrant! match'd with thine, 
As thy own actions if compared to mine. 
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, 
Though mine the sweat and danger of the day. 
Some trivial present to my ships I bear: 
[008] Or barren praises pay the wounds of war. 

But know, proud monarch, I'm thy slave no more; 
My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia's shore: 
Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain, 
What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?" 

To this the king: "Fly, mighty warrior! fly; 

Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy. 

There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, 

And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right. 

Of all the kings (the god's distinguish'd care) 

To power superior none such hatred bear: 

Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, 

And wars and horrors are thy savage joy, 

If thou hast strength, 'twas Heaven that strength bestow'd; 

For know, vain man! thy valour is from God. 

Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away; 

Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway; 

I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate 

Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate. 

Go, threat thy eard>born Myrmidons: — but here 56 

56 The Myrmidons dwelt on the southern borders of Thessaly, and took their 
origin from Myrmido, son of Jupiter and Eurymedusa. It is fancifully supposed 
that the name was derived from myrmaex, an ant, "because they imitated the 



BOOK I. 



15 



Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear. 

Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand, 

My bark shall waft her to her native land; 

But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare, 

Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair: 

Even in thy tent I'll seize the blooming prize, 

Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes. 

Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour 

Thou stood'st a rival of imperial power; 

And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known, 

That kings are subject to the gods alone." 

Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress'd, 
His heart swell'd high, and labour'd in his breast; 
Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled; 
Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool'd: 
That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, 
Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord; 
This whispers soft his vengeance to control, 
And calm the rising tempest of his soul. 
Just as in anguish of suspense he stay'd, 

While half unsheathed appear'd the glittering blade, 57 [009] 

diligence of the ants, and like them were indefatigable, continually employed 
in cultivating the earth; the change from ants to men is founded merely on 
the equivocation of their name, which resembles that of the ant: they bore a 
further resemblance to these little animals, in that instead of inhabiting towns 
or villages, at first they commonly resided in the open fields, having no other 
retreats but dens and the cavities of trees, until Ithacus brought them together, 
and settled them in more secure and comfortable habitations." — Anthon's 
"Lempriere." 

57 Eustathius, after Heraclides Ponticus and others, allegorizes this apparition, 
as if the appearance of Minerva to Achilles, unseen by the rest, was intended 
to point out the sudden recollection that he would gain nothing by intemperate 
wrath, and that it were best to restrain his anger, and only gratify it by 
withdrawing his services. The same idea is rather cleverly worked out by 
Apuleius, "De Deo Socratis." 



16 



The Iliad of Homer 



Minerva swift descended from above, 
Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove 
(For both the princes claim'd her equal care); 
Behind she stood, and by the golden hair 
Achilles seized; to him alone confess'd; 
A sable cloud conceal'd her from the rest. 
He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries, 
Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes: 




MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES. 



"Descends Minerva, in her guardian care, 
A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear 
From Atreus' son? — Then let those eyes that view 
The daring crime, behold the vengeance too." 



BOOK I. 



"Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies) 

To calm thy fury I forsake the skies: 

Let great Achilles, to the gods resign'd, 

To reason yield the empire o'er his mind. 

By awful Juno this command is given; 

The king and you are both the care of heaven. 

The force of keen reproaches let him feel; 

But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel. 

For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) 

Thy injured honour has its fated hour, 

When the proud monarch shall thy arms implores 

And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. 

Then let revenge no longer bear the sway; 

Command thy passions, and the gods obey." 

To her Pelides: — "With regardful ear, 
'Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear. 
Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress: 
Those who revere the gods the gods will bless." 
He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid; 
Then in the sheath return'd the shining blade. 
The goddess swift to high Olympus flies, 
And joins the sacred senate of the skies. 

Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook, 

Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke: 

"O monster! mix'd of insolence and fear, 

Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer! 

When wert thou known in ambush'd fights to dare, 

Or nobly face the horrid front of war? 

'Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try; 

Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die: 

So much 'tis safer through the camp to go, 

And rob a subject, than despoil a foe. 



18 



The Iliad of Homer 



Scourge of thy people, violent and base! 

Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race; 

Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past, 

Are tamed to wrongs; — or this had been thy last. 

Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear, 

Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, 

Which sever'd from the trunk (as I from thee) 

On the bare mountains left its parent tree; 

This sceptre, form'd by temper'd steel to prove 

An ensign of the delegates of Jove, 

From whom the power of laws and justice springs 

(Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings); 

By this I swear: — when bleeding Greece again 

Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain. 

When, flush'd with slaughter, Hector comes to spread 

The purpled shore with mountains of the dead, 

Then shall thou mourn the affront thy madness gave, 

Forced to deplore when impotent to save: 

Then rage in bitterness of soul to know 

This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe." 

He spoke; and furious hurl'd against the ground 
His sceptre starr'd with golden studs around: 
Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain 
The raging king return'd his frowns again. 

To calm their passion with the words of age, 
Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, 
Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill'd; 
Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distill'd: 58 

' Compare Milton, "Paradise Lost," bk. ii: 

"Though his tongue 
Dropp'd manna." 

So Proverbs v. 3, "For the lips of a strange woman drop as an honey-comb." 



BOOK I. 

Two generations now had pass'd away, 
Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; 
Two ages o'er his native realm he reign'd, 
And now the example of the third remain'd. 
All view'd with awe the venerable man; 
Who thus with mild benevolence began: — 

"What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy 
To Troy's proud monarch, and the friends of Troy ! 
That adverse gods commit to stern debate 
The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state. 
Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain, 
Nor think your Nestor's years and wisdom vain. 
A godlike race of heroes once I knew, 
Such as no more these aged eyes shall view! 
Lives there a chief to match Pirithous' fame, 
Dryas the bold, or Ceneus' deathless name; 
Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, 
Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight? 
With these of old, to toils of battle bred, 
In early youth my hardy days I led; 
Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, 
And smit with love of honourable deeds, 
Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar, 
Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters' gore, 
And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore: 
Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway'd; 
When Nestor spoke, they listen'd and obey'd. 
If in my youth, even these esteem'd me wise; 
Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise. 
Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; 
That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave: 
Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride; 
Let kings be just, and sovereign power preside. 



20 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thee, the first honours of the war adorn, 
Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born; 
Him, awful majesty exalts above 
The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove. 
Let both unite with well-consenting mind, 
So shall authority with strength be join'd. 
Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles' rage; 
Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age. 
Forbid it, gods ! Achilles should be lost, 
The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host. " 

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies: 

"Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. 

But that imperious, that unconquer'd soul, 

No laws can limit, no respect control. 

Before his pride must his superiors fall; 

His word the law, and he the lord of all? 

Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey? 

What king can bear a rival in his sway? 

Grant that the gods his matchless force have given; 

Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?" 

[012] 

Here on the monarch's speech Achilles broke, 
And furious, thus, and interrupting spoke: 
"Tyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain, 
To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain, 
Should I submit to each unjust decree: — 
Command thy vassals, but command not me. 
Seize on Briseis, whom the Grecians doom'd 
My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed; 
And seize secure; no more Achilles draws 
His conquering sword in any woman's cause. 
The gods command me to forgive the past: 
But let this first invasion be the last: 



BOOK I. 



21 



For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade, 
Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade." 

At this they ceased: the stern debate expired: 
The chiefs in sullen majesty retired. 

Achilles with Patroclus took his way 
Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay. 
Meantime Atrides launch'd with numerous oars 
A well-rigg'd ship for Chrysa's sacred shores: 
High on the deck was fair Chryseis placed, 
And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced: 
Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow'd, 
Then swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road. 

The host to expiate next the king prepares, 
With pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers. 
Wash'd by the briny wave, the pious train 59 
Are cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main. 
Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid, 
And bulls and goats to Phoebus' altars paid; 
The sable fumes in curling spires arise, 
And waft their grateful odours to the skies. 

The army thus in sacred rites engaged, 
Atrides still with deep resentment raged. 
To wait his will two sacred heralds stood, 
Talthybius and Eurybates the good. 
"Haste to the fierce Achilles' tent (he cries), 
Thence bear Briseis as our royal prize: 
Submit he must; or if they will not part, 
Ourself in arms shall tear her from his heart." 

59 Salt water was chiefly used in lustrations, from its being supposed to possess 
certain fiery particles. Hence, if sea- water could not be obtained, salt was 
thrown into the fresh water to be used for the lustration. Menander, in Clem. 
Alex. vii. p.713, hydati perriranai, embalon alas, phakois. 



22 



The Iliad of Homer 



The unwilling heralds act their lord's commands; 
Pensive they walk along the barren sands: 
Arrived, the hero in his tent they find, 
With gloomy aspect on his arm reclined. 
At awful distance long they silent stand, 
[013] Loth to advance, and speak their hard command; 

Decent confusion! This the godlike man 
Perceived, and thus with accent mild began: 



"With leave and honour enter our abodes, 
Ye sacred ministers of men and gods! 60 
I know your message; by constraint you came; 
Not you, but your imperious lord I blame. 
Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseis bring; 
Conduct my captive to the haughty king. 
But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow, 
Witness to gods above, and men below! 
But first, and loudest, to your prince declare 
(That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear), 
Unmoved as death Achilles shall remain, 
Though prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein: 
The raging chief in frantic passion lost, 
Blind to himself, and useless to his host, 
Unskill'd to judge the future by the past, 
In blood and slaughter shall repent at last. " 



The persons of heralds were held inviolable, and they were at liberty to 
travel whither they would without fear of molestation. Pollux, Onom. viii. p. 
159. The office was generally given to old men, and they were believed to be 
under the especial protection of Jove and Mercury. 



BOOK I. 



23 




THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF 
ACHILLES. 



Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought; 
She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought, 
Pass'd silent, as the heralds held her hand, 
And of look'd back, slow-moving o'er the strand. 
Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore; 

But sad, retiring to the sounding shore, [014] 

O'er the wild margin of the deep he hung, 

That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung: 61 

There bathed in tears of anger and disdain, 

Thus loud lamented to the stormy main: 



His mother, Thetis, the daughter of Nereus and Doris, who was courted by 
Neptune and Jupiter. When, however, it was known that the son to whom she 
would give birth must prove greater than his father, it was determined to wed 
her to a mortal, and Peleus, with great difficulty, succeeded in obtaining her 
hand, as she eluded him by assuming various forms. Her children were all 
destroyed by fire through her attempts to see whether they were immortal, and 
Achilles would have shared the same fate had not his father rescued him. She 
afterwards rendered him invulnerable by plunging him into the waters of the 
Styx, with the exception of that part of the heel by which she held him. Hygin. 
Fab. 54 



24 



The Iliad of Homer 



"O parent goddess! since in early bloom 
Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom; 
Sure to so short a race of glory born, 
Great Jove injustice should this span adorn: 
Honour and fame at least the thunderer owed; 
And ill he pays the promise of a god, 
If yon proud monarch thus thy son defies, 
Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize." 

Far from the deep recesses of the main, 
Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign, 
The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; 
And like a mist she rose above the tide; 
Beheld him mourning on the naked shores, 
And thus the sorrows of his soul explores. 
"Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share; 
Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care." 

He deeply sighing said: "To tell my woe 
Is but to mention what too well you know. 
From Thebe, sacred to Apollo's name 62 
(Aetion's realm), our conquering army came, 
With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils, 
Whose just division crown'd the soldier's toils; 
But bright Chryseis, heavenly prize! was led, 
By vote selected, to the general's bed. 
The priest of Phoebus sought by gifts to gain 
His beauteous daughter from the victor's chain; 
The fleet he reach'd, and, lowly bending down, 
Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown, 
Intreating all; but chief implored for grace 
The brother-kings of Atreus' royal race: 
The generous Greeks their joint consent declare, 



Thebe was a city of Mysia, north of Adramyttium. 



BOOK I. 



The priest to reverence, and release the fair; 

Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride, 

The sire insulted, and his gifts denied: 

The insulted sire (his god's peculiar care) 

To Phoebus pray'd, and Phoebus heard the prayer: 

A dreadful plague ensues: the avenging darts 

Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts. 

A prophet then, inspired by heaven, arose, 

And points the crime, and thence derives the woes: 

Myself the first the assembled chiefs incline 

To avert the vengeance of the power divine; 

Then rising in his wrath, the monarch storm'd; 

Incensed he threaten'd, and his threats perform'd: 

The fair Chryseis to her sire was sent, 

With offer'd gifts to make the god relent; 

But now he seized Briseis 1 heavenly charms, 

And of my valour's prize defrauds my arms, 

Defrauds the votes of all the Grecian train; 63 

And service, faith, and justice, plead in vain. 

But, goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend. 

To high Olympus' shining court ascend, 

Urge all the ties to former service owed, 

And sue for vengeance to the thundering god. 

Oft hast thou triumph'd in the glorious boast, 

That thou stood'st forth of all the ethereal host, 

When bold rebellion shook the realms above, 

The undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove: 

When the bright partner of his awful reign, 

The warlike maid, and monarch of the main, 

The traitor-gods, by mad ambition driven, 

Durst threat with chains the omnipotence of Heaven. 

Then, call'd by thee, the monster Titan came 



That is, defrauds me of the prize allotted me by their votes. 



26 



The Iliad of Homer 



[016] (Whom gods Briareus, men ^Egeon name), 

Through wondering skies enormous stalk'd along; 
Not he that shakes the solid earth so strong: 
With giant-pride at Jove's high throne he stands, 
And brandish'd round him all his hundred hands: 
The affrighted gods confess'd their awful lord, 
They dropp'd the fetters, trembled, and adored. 64 
This, goddess, this to his remembrance call, 
Embrace his knees, at his tribunal fall; 
Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train, 
To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main, 
To heap the shores with copious death, and bring 
The Greeks to know the curse of such a king. 
Let Agamemnon lift his haughty head 
O'er all his wide dominion of the dead, 
And mourn in blood that e'er he durst disgrace 
The boldest warrior of the Grecian race." 



"Unhappy son! (fair Thetis thus replies, 
While tears celestial trickle from her eyes) 
Why have I borne thee with a mother's throes, 
To Fates averse, and nursed for future woes? 65 
So short a space the light of heaven to view ! 
So short a space! and fill'd with sorrow too! 

64 Quintus Calaber goes still further in his account of the service rendered to 
Jove by Thetis: 

"Nay more, the fetters of Almighty Jove 
She loosed" — Dyce's "Calaber," s. 58. 

65 — To Fates averse. Of the gloomy destiny reigning throughout the Homeric 
poems, and from which even the gods are not exempt, Schlegel well observes, 
"This power extends also to the world of gods — for the Grecian gods 
are mere powers of nature — and although immeasurably higher than mortal 
man, yet, compared with infinitude, they are on an equal footing with 
himself." — 'Lectures on the Drama' v. p. 67. 



BOOK I. 



27 




THETIS CALLING BRIAREUS TO THE ASSISTANCE OF 

JUPITER. 

O might a parent's careful wish prevail, 
Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail, 
And thou, from camps remote, the danger shun 
Which now, alas! too nearly threats my son. 
Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I'll go 
To great Olympus crown'd with fleecy snow. 
Meantime, secure within thy ships, from far 
Behold the field, not mingle in the war. 
The sire of gods and all the ethereal train, 
On the warm limits of the farthest main, 
Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace 

The feasts of ^Ethiopia's blameless race, 66 [017] 

66 It has been observed that the annual procession of the sacred ship so often 
represented on Egyptian monuments, and the return of the deity from Ethiopia 
after some days' absence, serves to show the Ethiopian origin of Thebes, and 
of the worship of Jupiter Ammon. "I think," says Heeren, after quoting a 
passage from Diodorus about the holy ship, "that this procession is represented 
in one of the great sculptured reliefs on the temple of Karnak. The sacred ship 



28 



The Iliad of Homer 



Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite, 
Returning with the twelfth revolving light. 
Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move 
The high tribunal of immortal Jove. " 

The goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose; 

Then down the steep she plunged from whence she rose, 

And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast, 

In wild resentment for the fair he lost. 

In Chrysa's port now sage Ulysses rode; 
Beneath the deck the destined victims stow'd: 
The sails they furl'd, they lash the mast aside, 
And dropp'd their anchors, and the pinnace tied. 
Next on the shore their hecatomb they land; 
Chryseis last descending on the strand. 
Her, thus returning from the furrow'd main, 
Ulysses led to Phoebus' sacred fane; 
Where at his solemn altar, as the maid 
He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said: 

"Hail, reverend priest! to Phoebus' awful dome 
A suppliant I from great Atrides come: 
Unransom'd, here receive the spotless fair; 
Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare; 
And may thy god who scatters darts around, 
Atoned by sacrifice, desist to wound." 67 

of Ammon is on the shore with its whole equipment, and is towed along by 
another boat. It is therefore on its voyage. This must have been one of the most 
celebrated festivals, since, even according to the interpretation of antiquity, 
Homer alludes to it when he speaks of Jupiter's visit to the Ethiopians, and his 
twelve days' absence." — Long, "Egyptian Antiquities" vol. 1 p. 96. Eustathius, 
vol. 1 p. 98, sq. (ed. Basil) gives this interpretation, and likewise an allegorical 
one, which we will spare the reader. 

67 — Atoned, i.e. reconciled. This is the proper and most natural meaning of 
the word, as may be seen from Taylor's remarks in Calmet's Dictionary, p.l 10, 
of my edition. 



BOOK I. 



29 



At this, the sire embraced the maid again, 
So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain. 
Then near the altar of the darting king, 
Disposed in rank their hecatomb they bring; 
With water purify their hands, and take 
The sacred offering of the salted cake; 
While thus with arms devoutly raised in air, 
And solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer: 

"God of the silver bow, thy ear incline, 
Whose power incircles Cilia the divine; 
Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys, 
And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish'd rays ! 
If, fired to vengeance at thy priest's request, 
Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest: 
Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe, 
And smile propitious, and unbend thy bow." 

So Chryses pray'd. Apollo heard his prayer: 
And now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare; 
Between their horns the salted barley threw, 

And, with their heads to heaven, the victims slew: 68 [018] 

68 That is, drawing back their necks while they cut their throats. "If the 
sacrifice was in honour of the celestial gods, the throat was bent upwards 
towards heaven; but if made to the heroes, or infernal deities, it was killed with 
its throat toward the ground." — "Elgin Marbles," vol i. p.81. 

"The jolly crew, unmindful of the past, 

The quarry share, their plenteous dinner haste, 

Some strip the skin; some portion out the spoil; 

The limbs yet trembling, in the caldrons boil; 

Some on the fire the reeking entrails broil. 

Stretch'd on the grassy turf, at ease they dine, 

Restore their strength with meat, and cheer their souls with wine." 

Dryden's "Virgil," i. 293. 



30 



The Iliad of Homer 



The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide; 
The thighs, selected to the gods, divide: 
On these, in double cauls involved with art, 
The choicest morsels lay from every part. 
The priest himself before his altar stands, 
And burns the offering with his holy hands. 
Pours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire; 
The youth with instruments surround the fire: 
The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress'd, 
The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest: 
Then spread the tables, the repast prepare; 
Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. 
When now the rage of hunger was repress'd, 
With pure libations they conclude the feast; 
The youths with wine the copious goblets crown'd, 
And, pleased, dispense the flowing bowls around; 6 ' 
With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends, 
The paeans lengthen'd till the sun descends: 
The Greeks, restored, the grateful notes prolong; 
Apollo listens, and approves the song. 

'Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie, 
Till rosy morn had purpled o'er the sky: 
Then launch, and hoist the mast: indulgent gales, 
Supplied by Phoebus, fill the swelling sails; 
The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow, 
The parted ocean foams and roars below: 
Above the bounding billows swift they flew, 
Till now the Grecian camp appear'd in view. 
Far on the beach they haul their bark to land, 
(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,) 
Then part, where stretch'd along the winding bay, 



— Crown'd, i.e. filled to the brim. The custom of adorning goblets with 
flowers was of later date. 



BOOK I. 



The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay. 

But raging still, amidst his navy sat 

The stern Achilles, stedfast in his hate; 

Nor mix'd in combat, nor in council join'd; 

But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind: 

In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll, 

And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul. 



Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light 
The gods had summon'd to the Olympian height: 
Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers, 
Leads the long order of ethereal powers. 
When, like the morning-mist in early day, 
Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea: 
And to the seats divine her flight address'd. 
There, far apart, and high above the rest, 
The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds 
His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds. 
Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed 
Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced. 
"If e'er, O father of the gods ! (she said) 
My words could please thee, or my actions aid, 
Some marks of honour on my son bestow, 
And pay in glory what in life you owe. 
Fame is at least by heavenly promise due 
To life so short, and now dishonour'd too. 
Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise! 
Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise; 
Till the proud king and all the Achaian race 
Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace." 



32 



The Iliad of Homer 




Thus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held 
The sacred counsels of his breast conceal'd. 
Not so repulsed, the goddess closer press'd, 
Still grasp'd his knees, and urged the dear request. 
"O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear; 
Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear? 
Or oh! declare, of all the powers above, 
Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?" 



She said; and, sighing, thus the god replies, 
Who rolls the thunder o'er the vaulted skies: 



BOOK I. 



33 



"What hast thou ask'd? ah, why should Jove engage 

In foreign contests and domestic rage, 

The gods' complaints, and Juno's fierce alarms, 

While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms? 

Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway 

With jealous eyes thy close access survey; 

But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped: 

Witness the sacred honours of our head, 

The nod that ratifies the will divine, 

The faithful, fix'd, irrevocable sign; 

This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows — " 

He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows, 70 

Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, 

The stamp of fate and sanction of the god: 

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, 

And all Olympus to the centre shook. 71 

Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies, 
Jove to his starry mansions in the skies. 
The shining synod of the immortals wait 
The coming god, and from their thrones of state 
Arising silent, wrapp'd in holy fear, 

70 — He spoke, &c. "When a friend inquired of Phidias what pattern he had 
formed his Olympian Jupiter, he is said to have answered by repeating the lines 
of the first Iliad in which the poet represents the majesty of the god in the most 
sublime terms; thereby signifying that the genius of Homer had inspired him 
with it. Those who beheld this statue are said to have been so struck with it as 
to have asked whether Jupiter had descended from heaven to show himself to 
Phidias, or whether Phidias had been carried thither to contemplate the god." — 
"Elgin Marbles," vol. xii p. 124. 

71 

"So was his will 

Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath, 

That shook heav'n's whole circumference, confirm'd." 



"Paradise Lost" ii. 351. 



34 



The Iliad of Homer 



Before the majesty of heaven appear. 

Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne, 

All, but the god's imperious queen alone: 

Late had she view'd the silver-footed dame, 

And all her passions kindled into flame. 

"Say, artful manager of heaven (she cries), 

Who now partakes the secrets of the skies? 

Thy Juno knows not the decrees of fate, 

In vain the partner of imperial state. 

What favourite goddess then those cares divides, 

Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?" 

To this the thunderer: "Seek not thou to find 
The sacred counsels of almighty mind: 
Involved in darkness likes the great decree, 
Nor can the depths of fate be pierced by thee. 
What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know; 
The first of gods above, and men below; 
But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll 
Deep in the close recesses of my soul." 

Full on the sire the goddess of the skies 
Roll'd the large orbs of her majestic eyes, 
And thus return'd: — "Austere Saturnius, say, 
[021] From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway? 

Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force, 
And all thy counsels take the destined course. 
But 'tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen, 
In close consult, the silver-footed queen. 
Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny, 
Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky. 
What fatal favour has the goddess won, 
To grace her fierce, inexorable son? 
Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain, 
And glut his vengeance with my people slain." 



BOOK I. 



Then thus the god: "O restless fate of pride, 
That strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide; 
Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr'd, 
Anxious to thee, and odious to thy lord. 
Let this suffice: the immutable decree 
No force can shake: what is, that ought to be. 
Goddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand, 
But dread the power of this avenging hand: 
The united strength of all the gods above 
In vain resists the omnipotence of Jove. " 




VULCAN. 



36 



The Iliad of Homer 



The thunderer spoke, nor durst the queen reply; 

A reverent horror silenced all the sky. 

The feast disturb'd, with sorrow Vulcan saw 

His mother menaced, and the gods in awe; 

Peace at his heart, and pleasure his design, 

Thus interposed the architect divine: 

"The wretched quarrels of the mortal state 

Are far unworthy, gods! of your debate: 

Let men their days in senseless strife employ, 

We, in eternal peace and constant joy. 

Thou, goddess-mother, with our sire comply, 

Nor break the sacred union of the sky: 

Lest, roused to rage, he shake the bless'd abodes, 

Launch the red lightning, and dethrone the gods. 

If you submit, the thunderer stands appeased; 

The gracious power is willing to be pleased. " 

Thus Vulcan spoke: and rising with a bound, 
The double bowl with sparkling nectar crown'd, 72 
Which held to Juno in a cheerful way, 
"Goddess (he cried), be patient and obey. 
Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend, 
I can but grieve, unable to defend 
What god so daring in your aid to move, 
Or lift his hand against the force of Jove? 
Once in your cause I felt his matchless might, 
Hurl'd headlong down from the ethereal height; 73 

72 — A double bowl, i.e. a vessel with a cup at both ends, something like the 
measures by which a halfpenny or pennyworth of nuts is sold. See Buttmann, 
Lexic. p. 93 sq. 

73 "Paradise Lost," i. 44. 

"Him th' Almighty power 
Hurl'd headlong flaming from th ethereal sky, 
With hideous ruin and combustion" 



BOOK I. 



37 



Toss'd all the day in rapid circles round, 

Nor till the sun descended touch'd the ground. 

Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost; 

The Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast; 74 

He said, and to her hands the goblet heaved, 
Which, with a smile, the white-arm'd queen received 
Then, to the rest he fill'd; and in his turn, 
Each to his lips applied the nectar'd urn, 
Vulcan with awkward grace his office plies, 
And unextinguish'd laughter shakes the skies. 

Thus the blest gods the genial day prolong, 
In feasts ambrosial, and celestial song. 75 
Apollo tuned the lyre; the Muses round 
With voice alternate aid the silver sound. 

of ranks and duties, its contentions for power and occasional revolutions, its 
public meetings in the agora of Olympus, and its multitudinous banquets or 
festivals." 

74 The occasion on which Vulcan incurred Jove's displeasure was this — After 
Hercules, had taken and pillaged Troy, Juno raised a storm, which drove him 
to the island of Cos, having previously cast Jove into a sleep, to prevent him 
aiding his son. Jove, in revenge, fastened iron anvils to her feet, and hung her 
from the sky, and Vulcan, attempting to relieve her, was kicked down from 
Olympus in the manner described. The allegorists have gone mad in finding 
deep explanations for this amusing fiction. See Heraclides, Ponticus," p. 463 
sq., ed Gale. The story is told by Homer himself in Book xv. The Sinthians 
were a race of robbers, the ancient inhabitants of Lemnos which island was 
ever after sacred to Vulcan. 

"Nor was his name unheard or unadored 
In ancient Greece, and in Ausonian land 
Men call'd him Mulciber, and how he fell 
From heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove 
Sheer o'er the crystal battlements from morn 
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 
A summer's day and with the setting sun 
Dropp'd from the zenith like a falling star 



38 



The Iliad of Homer 



Meantime the radiant sun to mortal sight 
Descending swift, roll'd down the rapid light: 
Then to their starry domes the gods depart, 
The shining monuments of Vulcan's art: 
Jove on his couch reclined his awful head, 
And Juno slumber'd on the golden bed. 




JUPITER. 

[024] 



On Lemnos, th' Aegean isle thus they relate." 

"Paradise Lost," i. 738 

75 It is ingeniously observed by Grote, vol i p. 463, that "The gods formed a 
sort of political community of their own which had its hierarchy, its distribution 




THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMER. 



[025] 



BOOK II. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE TRIAL OF THE ARMY, AND CATALOGUE OF THE 
FORCES. 

Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful 
vision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle, 
in order to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. 
The general, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy 
without his assistance, but fears the army was discouraged by 
his absence, and the late plague, as well as by the length of time, 
contrives to make trial of their disposition by a stratagem. He first 
communicates his design to the princes in council, that he would 
propose a return to the soldiers, and that they should put a stop to 
them if the proposal was embraced. Then he assembles the whole 
host, and upon moving for a return to Greece, they unanimously 
agree to it, and run to prepare the ships. They are detained 
by the management of Ulysses, who chastises the insolence of 
Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches made on 
the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed, which 
was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them 
into their several nations, before they proceeded to battle. This 
gives occasion to the poet to enumerate all the forces of the 
Greeks and Trojans, and in a large catalogue. 

The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one 
day. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, and upon the sea-shore; 
towards the end it removes to Troy. 



42 



The Iliad of Homer 



Now pleasing sleep had seal'd each mortal eye, 
Stretch'd in the tents the Grecian leaders lie: 
The immortals slumber'd on their thrones above; 
All, but the ever-wakeful eyes of Jove. 76 
To honour Thetis' son he bends his care, 
And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war: 
Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight, 
And thus commands the vision of the night. 



"Fly hence, deluding Dream! and light as air, 
[026] To Agamemnon's ample tent repair. 

Bid him in arms draw forth the embattled train, 
Lead all his Grecians to the dusty plain. 
Declare, e'en now 'tis given him to destroy 
The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy. 
For now no more the gods with fate contend, 
At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end. 
Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall, 
And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall." 



Plato, Rep. iii. p. 437, was so scandalized at this deception of Jupiter's, and 
at his other attacks on the character of the gods, that he would fain sentence him 
to an honourable banishment. (See Minucius Felix, Section 22.) Coleridge, 
Introd. p. 154, well observes, that the supreme father of gods and men had 
a full right to employ a lying spirit to work out his ultimate will. Compare 
"Paradise Lost," v. 646: 

"And roseate dews disposed 
All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest." 

77 — Dream ought to be spelt with a capital letter, being, I think, evidently 
personified as the god of dreams. See Anthon and others. 

"When, by Minerva sent, afraudful Dream 
Rush'd from the skies, the bane of her and Troy." 

Dyce's "Select Translations from Quintus Calaber," p. 10. 



BOOK II. 



43 



Swift as the word the vain illusion fled, 
Descends, and hovers o'er Atrides' head; 
Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage, 
Renown'd for wisdom, and revered for age: 
Around his temples spreads his golden wing, 
And thus the flattering dream deceives the king. 




"Canst thou, with all a monarch's cares oppress'd, 
O Atreus' son! canst thou indulge the rest? 78 
Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides, 
Directs in council, and in war presides, 
To whom its safety a whole people owes, 



"Sleep'st thou, companion dear, what sleep can close 
Thy eye-lids?" 



—"Paradise Lost," v. 673. 



44 



The Iliad of Homer 



To waste long nights in indolent repose. 
Monarch, awake! 'tis Jove's command I bear; 
Thou, and thy glory, claim his heavenly care. 
In just array draw forth the embattled train, 
[027] Lead all thy Grecians to the dusty plain; 

E'en now, O king! 'tis given thee to destroy 
The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy. 
For now no more the gods with fate contend, 
At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end. 
Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall, 
And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall. 
Awake, but waking this advice approve, 
And trust the vision that descends from Jove." 

The phantom said; then vanish'd from his sight, 

Resolves to air, and mixes with the night. 

A thousand schemes the monarch's mind employ; 

Elate in thought he sacks untaken Troy: 

Vain as he was, and to the future blind, 

Nor saw what Jove and secret fate design'd, 

What mighty toils to either host remain, 

What scenes of grief, and numbers of the slain! 

Eager he rises, and in fancy hears 

The voice celestial murmuring in his ears. 

First on his limbs a slender vest he drew, 

Around him next the regal mantle threw, 

The embroider'd sandals on his feet were tied; 

The starry falchion glitter 'd at his side; 

And last, his arm the massy sceptre loads, 

79 This truly military sentiment has been echoed by the approving voice of 
many a general and statesman of antiquity. See Pliny's Panegyric on Trajan. 
Silius neatly translates it, 



"Turpe duci totam somno consumere noctem." 



BOOK II. 



45 



Unstain'd, immortal, and the gift of gods. 



Now rosy Morn ascends the court of Jove, 

Lifts up her light, and opens day above. 

The king despatch'd his heralds with commands 

To range the camp and summon all the bands: 

The gathering hosts the monarch's word obey; 

While to the fleet Atrides bends his way. 

In his black ship the Pylian prince he found; 

There calls a senate of the peers around: 

The assembly placed, the king of men express'd 

The counsels labouring in his artful breast. 



"Friends and confederates ! with attentive ear 
Receive my words, and credit what you hear. 
Late as I slumber'd in the shades of night, 
A dream divine appear'd before my sight; 
Whose visionary form like Nestor came, 
The same in habit, and in mien the same. 80 
The heavenly phantom hover'd o'er my head, 
And, dost thou sleep, O Atreus' son? (he said) 
111 fits a chief who mighty nations guides, 
Directs in council, and in war presides; 
To whom its safety a whole people owes, 

To waste long nights in indolent repose. [028] 
' — The same in habit, &c. 

"To whom once more the winged god appears; 
His former youthful mien and shape he wears." 



Dryden's Virgil, iv. 803. 



46 



The Iliad of Homer 



Monarch, awake ! 'tis Jove's command I bear, 
Thou and thy glory claim his heavenly care. 
In just array draw forth the embattled train, 
And lead the Grecians to the dusty plain; 
E'en now, O king! 'tis given thee to destroy 
The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy. 
For now no more the gods with fate contend, 
At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end. 
Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall, 
And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall. 



This hear observant, and the gods obey!' 
The vision spoke, and pass'd in air away. 
Now, valiant chiefs! since heaven itself alarms, 
Unite, and rouse the sons of Greece to arms. 
But first, with caution, try what yet they dare, 
Worn with nine years of unsuccessful war. 
To move the troops to measure back the main, 
Be mine; and yours the province to detain." 



He spoke, and sat: when Nestor, rising said, 
(Nestor, whom Pylos' sandy realms obey'd,) 
"Princes of Greece, your faithful ears incline, 
Nor doubt the vision of the powers divine; 
Sent by great Jove to him who rules the host, 
Forbid it, heaven! this warning should be lost! 
Then let us haste, obey the god's alarms, 
And join to rouse the sons of Greece to arms." 



BOOK II. 



47 



Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay 
Dissolve the council, and their chief obey: 
The sceptred rulers lead; the following host, 
Pour'd forth by thousands, darkens all the coast. 
As from some rocky cleft the shepherd sees 
Clustering in heaps on heaps the driving bees, 
Rolling and blackening, swarms succeeding swarms, 
With deeper murmurs and more hoarse alarms; 
Dusky they spread, a close embodied crowd, 
And o'er the vale descends the living cloud. 81 
So, from the tents and ships, a lengthen'd train 
Spreads all the beach, and wide o'ershades the plain: 
Along the region runs a deafening sound; 
Beneath their footsteps groans the trembling ground. 
Fame flies before the messenger of Jove, 

And shining soars, and claps her wings above. [029] 

Nine sacred heralds now, proclaiming loud 82 

The monarch's will, suspend the listening crowd. 

Soon as the throngs in order ranged appear, 

And fainter murmurs died upon the ear, 

The king of kings his awful figure raised: 



"As bees in spring-time, when 

The sun with Taurus rides, 

Pour forth their populous youth about the hive 

In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers 

Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, 

The suburb of this straw-built citadel, 

New-nibb'd with balm, expatiate and confer 

Their state affairs. So thick the very crowd 

Swarm'd and were straiten'd." — "Paradise Lost" i. 768. 

82 It was the herald's duty to make the people sit down. "A standing agora 
is a symptom of manifest terror (II. Xviii. 246) an evening agora, to which 
men came elevated by wine, is also the forerunner of mischief ('Odyssey,' iii. 
138)."— Grote, ii. p. 91, note. 



48 



The Iliad of Homer 



High in his hand the golden sceptre blazed; 
The golden sceptre, of celestial flame, 
By Vulcan form'd, from Jove to Hermes came. 
To Pelops he the immortal gift resign'd; 
The immortal gift great Pelops left behind, 
In Atreus' hand, which not with Atreus ends, 
To rich Thyestes next the prize descends; 
And now the mark of Agamemnon's reign, 
Subjects all Argos, and controls the main. 83 

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined, 
And artful thus pronounced the speech design'd: 
"Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader's care, 
Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war! 
Of partial Jove with justice I complain, 
And heavenly oracles believed in vain 
A safe return was promised to our toils, 
Renown'd, triumphant, and enrich'd with spoils. 
Now shameful flight alone can save the host, 
Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost. 

83 This sceptre, like that of Judah (Genesis xlix. 10), is a type of the supreme 
and far-spread dominion of the house of the Atrides. See Thucydides i. 9. "It 
is traced through the hands of Hermes, he being the wealth giving god, whose 
blessing is most efficacious in furthering the process of acquisition." — Grote, 
i. p. 212. Compare Quintus Calaber (Dyce's Selections, p. 43). 

"Thus the monarch spoke, 
Then pledged the chief in a capacious cup, 
Golden, and framed by art divine (a gift 
Which to Almighty Jove lame Vulcan brought 
Upon his nuptial day, when he espoused 
The Queen of Love), the sire of gods bestow'd 
The cup on Dardanus, who gave it next 
To Ericthonius Tros received it then, 
And left it, with his wealth, to be possess'd 
By Ilus he to great Laomedon 
Gave it, and last to Priam's lot it fell." 



BOOK II. 



49 



So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all! 

At whose command whole empires rise or fall: 

He shakes the feeble props of human trust, 

And towns and armies humbles to the dust 

What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage, 

Oh, lasting shame in every future age! 

Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow, 

Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe. 

So small their number, that if wars were ceased, 

And Greece triumphant held a general feast, [030] 

All rank'd by tens, whole decades when they dine 

Must want a Trojan slave to pour the wine. 84 

But other forces have our hopes o'erthrown, 

And Troy prevails by armies not her own. 

Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run, 

Since first the labours of this war begun: 

Our cordage torn, decay'd our vessels lie, 

And scarce insure the wretched power to fly. 

Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall! 

Our weeping wives, our tender children call: 

Love, duty, safety, summon us away, 

'Tis nature's voice, and nature we obey, 

Our shatter'd barks may yet transport us o'er, 

Safe and inglorious, to our native shore. 

Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ, 

And dream no more of heaven-defended Troy. " 

His deep design unknown, the hosts approve 
Atrides' speech. The mighty numbers move. 
So roll the billows to the Icarian shore, 
From east and south when winds begin to roar, 
Burst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep 



Grote, i, p. 393, states the number of the Grecian forces at upwards of 
100,000 men. Nichols makes a total of 135,000. 



50 



The Iliad of Homer 



The whitening surface of the ruffled deep. 
And as on corn when western gusts descend, 85 
Before the blast the lofty harvests bend: 
Thus o'er the field the moving host appears, 
With nodding plumes and groves of waving spears. 
The gathering murmur spreads, their trampling feet 
Beat the loose sands, and thicken to the fleet; 
With long-resounding cries they urge the train 
To fit the ships, and launch into the main. 
They toil, they sweat, thick clouds of dust arise, 
The doubling clamours echo to the skies. 
E'en then the Greeks had left the hostile plain, 
And fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain; 
But Jove's imperial queen their flight survey'd, 
And sighing thus bespoke the blue-eyed maid: 



"Shall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace! 
And leave unpunish'd this perfidious race? 
Shall Troy, shall Priam, and the adulterous spouse, 
In peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows? 
And bravest chiefs, in Helen's quarrel slain, 
Lie unrevenged on yon detested plain? 
No: let my Greeks, unmoved by vain alarms, 
[031] Once more refulgent shine in brazen arms. 

Haste, goddess, haste ! the flying host detain, 
Nor let one sail be hoisted on the main." 



85 



"As thick as when a field 

Of Ceres, ripe for harvest, waving bends 

His bearded grove of ears, which way the wind 

Sways them." — Paradise Lost," iv. 980, sqq. 



BOOK II. 



Pallas obeys, and from Olympus' height 
Swift to the ships precipitates her flight. 
Ulysses, first in public cares, she found, 
For prudent counsel like the gods renown'd: 
Oppress'd with generous grief the hero stood, 
Nor drew his sable vessels to the flood. 
"And is it thus, divine Laertes' son, 
Thus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun), 
Thus to their country bear their own disgrace, 
And fame eternal leave to Priam's race? 
Shall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed, 
Still unrevenged, a thousand heroes bleed! 
Haste, generous Ithacus ! prevent the shame, 
Recall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim. 
Your own resistless eloquence employ, 
And to the immortals trust the fall of Troy. " 

The voice divine confess'd the warlike maid, 
Ulysses heard, nor uninspired obey'd: 
Then meeting first Atrides, from his hand 
Received the imperial sceptre of command. 
Thus graced, attention and respect to gain, 
He runs, he flies through all the Grecian train; 
Each prince of name, or chief in arms approved, 
He fired with praise, or with persuasion moved. 

"Warriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless'd, 

By brave examples should confirm the rest. 

The monarch's will not yet reveal'd appears; 

He tries our courage, but resents our fears. 

The unwary Greeks his fury may provoke; 

Not thus the king in secret council spoke. 

Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs, 

Beware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings." 



52 



The Iliad of Homer 



But if a clamorous vile plebeian rose, 

Him with reproof he check'd or tamed with blows. 

"Be still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield; 

Unknown alike in council and in field! 

Ye gods, what dastards would our host command! 

Swept to the war, the lumber of a land. 

Be silent, wretch, and think not here allow'd 

That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd. 

To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway; 

His are the laws, and him let all obey." 86 

With words like these the troops Ulysses ruled, 
[032] The loudest silenced, and the fiercest cool'd. 

Back to the assembly roll the thronging train, 
Desert the ships, and pour upon the plain. 
Murmuring they move, as when old ocean roars, 
And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores; 
The groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound, 
The rocks remurmur and the deeps rebound. 
At length the tumult sinks, the noises cease, 
And a still silence lulls the camp to peace. 
Thersites only clamour'd in the throng, 
Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue: 
Awed by no shame, by no respect controll'd, 
In scandal busy, in reproaches bold: 
With witty malice studious to defame, 
Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim: — 
But chief he gloried with licentious style 
To lash the great, and monarchs to revile. 

86 This sentiment used to be a popular one with some of the greatest tyrants, 
who abused it into a pretext for unlimited usurpation of power. Dion, Caligula, 
and Domitian were particularly fond of it, and, in an extended form, we find 
the maxim propounded by Creon in the Antigone of Sophocles. See some 
important remarks of Heeren, "Ancient Greece," ch. vi. p. 105. 



BOOK II. 



His figure such as might his soul proclaim; 
One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame: 
His mountain shoulders half his breast o'erspread, 
Thin hairs bestrew'd his long misshapen head. 
Spleen to mankind his envious heart possess'd, 
And much he hated all, but most the best: 
Ulysses or Achilles still his theme; 
But royal scandal his delight supreme, 
Long had he lived the scorn of every Greek, 
Vex'd when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak. 
Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone, 
Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne. 

'Amidst the glories of so bright a reign, 
What moves the great Atrides to complain? 
'Tis thine whate'er the warrior's breast inflames, 
The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames. 
With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow, 
Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o'erflow. 
Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll'd, 
What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold? 
Say, shall we march with our unconquer'd powers 
(The Greeks and I) to Ilion's hostile towers, 
And bring the race of royal bastards here, 
For Troy to ransom at a price too dear? 
But safer plunder thy own host supplies; 
Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader's prize? 
Or, if thy heart to generous love be led, 
Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed? 
Whate'er our master craves submit we must, 
Plagued with his pride, or punish'd for his lust. 
Oh women of Achaia; men no more! 
Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store 
In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore. 



54 



The Iliad of Homer 



[033] We may be wanted on some busy day, 

When Hector comes: so great Achilles may: 
From him he forced the prize we jointly gave, 
From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave: 
And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong, 
This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long." 

Fierce from his seat at this Ulysses springs, 87 
In generous vengeance of the king of kings. 
With indignation sparkling in his eyes, 
He views the wretch, and sternly thus replies: 

"Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state, 
With wrangling talents form'd for foul debate: 
Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain, 
And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign. 
Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host, 
The man who acts the least, upbraids the most? 
Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring, 

87 It may be remarked, that the character of Thersites, revolting and 
contemptible as it is, serves admirably to develop the disposition of Ulysses 
in a new light, in which mere cunning is less prominent. Of the gradual 
and individual development of Homer's heroes, Schlegel well observes, "In 
bas-relief the figures are usually in profile, and in the epos all are characterized 
in the simplest manner in relief; they are not grouped together, but follow one 
another; so Homer's heroes advance, one by one, in succession before us. It 
has been remarked that the Iliad is not definitively closed, but that we are left 
to suppose something both to precede and to follow it. The bas-relief is equally 
without limit, and may be continued ad infinitum, either from before or behind, 
on which account the ancients preferred for it such subjects as admitted of an 
indefinite extension, sacrificial processions, dances, and lines of combatants, 
and hence they also exhibit bas-reliefs on curved surfaces, such as vases, or 
the frieze of a rotunda, where, by the curvature, the two ends are withdrawn 
from our sight, and where, while we advance, one object appears as another 
disappears. Reading Homer is very much like such a circuit; the present 
object alone arresting our attention, we lose sight of what precedes, and do not 
concern ourselves about what is to follow." — "Dramatic Literature," p. 75. 



BOOK II. 



55 



Nor let those lips profane the name of king. 

For our return we trust the heavenly powers; 

Be that their care; to fight like men be ours. 

But grant the host with wealth the general load, 

Except detraction, what hast thou bestow'd? 

Suppose some hero should his spoils resign, 

Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine? 

Gods ! let me perish on this hateful shore, 

And let these eyes behold my son no more; 

If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear 

To strip those arms thou ill deserv'st to wear, 

Expel the council where our princes meet, 

And send thee scourged and howling through the fleet." 



He said, and cowering as the dastard bends, 

The weighty sceptre on his bank descends. 88 [034] 

On the round bunch the bloody tumours rise: 

The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes; 

Trembling he sat, and shrunk in abject fears, 

From his vile visage wiped the scalding tears; 

While to his neighbour each express'd his thought: 



"There cannot be a clearer indication than this description — so graphic in 
the original poem — of the true character of the Homeric agora. The multitude 
who compose it are listening and acquiescent, not often hesitating, and never 
refractory to the chief. The fate which awaits a presumptuous critic, even 
where his virulent reproaches are substantially well-founded, is plainly set 
forth in the treatment of Thersites; while the unpopularity of such a character 
is attested even more by the excessive pains which Homer takes to heap upon 
him repulsive personal deformities, than by the chastisement of Odysseus he is 
lame, bald, crook-backed, of misshapen head, and squinting vision." — Grote, 
vol. i. p. 97. 



56 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Ye gods! what wonders has Ulysses wrought! 
What fruits his conduct and his courage yield! 
Great in the council, glorious in the field. 
Generous he rises in the crown's defence, 
To curb the factious tongue of insolence, 
Such just examples on offenders shown, 
Sedition silence, and assert the throne." 

'Twas thus the general voice the hero praised, 
Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised: 
The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend, 
(In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend. 
The expecting crowds in still attention hung, 
To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue. 
Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke, 
His silence thus the prudent hero broke: 

"Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race 
With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace. 
Not such at Argos was their generous vow: 
Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now: 
Ne'er to return, was then the common cry, 
Till Troy's proud structures should in ashes lie. 
Behold them weeping for their native shore; 
What could their wives or helpless children more? 
What heart but melts to leave the tender train, 
And, one short month, endure the wintry main? 
Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat, 
When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat: 
Then well may this long stay provoke their tears, 
The tedious length of nine revolving years. 
Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame; 
But vanquish'd! baffled! oh, eternal shame! 
Expect the time to Troy's destruction given. 



BOOK II. 



57 



And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven. 
What pass'd at Aulis, Greece can witness bear, 89 
And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air. 
Beside a fountain's sacred brink we raised 
Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed: 
'Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around, 
The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground 
A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent; 

From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent. [035] 

Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll'd, 

And curl'd around in many a winding fold; 

The topmost branch a mother-bird possess'd; 

Eight callow infants fill'd the mossy nest; 

Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung, 

Stretch'd his black jaws and crush'd the crying young; 

While hovering near, with miserable moan, 

The drooping mother wail'd her children gone. 

The mother last, as round the nest she flew, 

Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew; 

Nor long survived: to marble turn'd, he stands 

A lasting prodigy on Aulis' sands. 

Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare 

Trust in his omen, and support the war. 

For while around we gazed with wondering eyes, 

And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice, 

Full of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried, 90 

'Ye Grecian warriors ! lay your fears aside. 

This wondrous signal Jove himself displays, 

89 According to Pausanias, both the sprig and the remains of the tree were 
exhibited in his time. The tragedians, Lucretius and others, adopted a different 
fable to account for the stoppage at Aulis, and seem to have found the sacrifice 
of Iphigena better suited to form the subject of a tragedy. Compare Dryden's 
"jEneid," vol. iii. sqq. 

90 — Full of his god, i.e., Apollo, filled with the prophetic spirit. "The god" 
would be more simple and emphatic. 



58 



The Iliad of Homer 



Of long, long labours, but eternal praise. 
As many birds as by the snake were slain, 
So many years the toils of Greece remain; 
But wait the tenth, for Ilion's fall decreed:' 
Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed. 
Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait, 
Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate." 
He said: the shores with loud applauses sound, 
The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound. 
Then Nestor thus — "These vain debates forbear, 
Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare. 
Where now are all your high resolves at last? 
Your leagues concluded, your engagements past? 
Vow'd with libations and with victims then, 
Now vanish'd like their smoke: the faith of men! 
While useless words consume the unactive hours, 
No wonder Troy so long resists our powers. 
Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway; 
We march to war, if thou direct the way. 
But leave the few that dare resist thy laws, 
The mean deserters of the Grecian cause, 
To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares, 
And view with envy our successful wars. 
On that great day, when first the martial train, 
Big with the fate of Ilion, plough'd the main, 
Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent, 
And thunder rolling shook the firmament. 
Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife, 
[036] Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife, 

Till Helen's woes at full revenged appear, 
And Troy's proud matrons render tear for tear. 
Before that day, if any Greek invite 
His country's troops to base, inglorious flight, 
Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly, 



BOOK II. 



59 



And die the dastard first, who dreads to die. 
But now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise: 91 
Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise. 
Among those counsels, let not mine be vain; 
In tribes and nations to divide thy train: 
His separate troops let every leader call, 
Each strengthen each, and all encourage all. 
What chief, or soldier, of the numerous band, 
Or bravely fights, or ill obeys command, 
When thus distinct they war, shall soon be known 
And what the cause of Ilion not o'erthrown; 
If fate resists, or if our arms are slow, 
If gods above prevent, or men below." 

To him the king: "How much thy years excel 
In arts of counsel, and in speaking well! 
O would the gods, in love to Greece, decree 
But ten such sages as they grant in thee; 
Such wisdom soon should Priam's force destroy, 
And soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy ! 
But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates 
In fierce contention and in vain debates: 
Now great Achilles from our aid withdraws, 
By me provoked; a captive maid the cause: 
If e'er as friends we join, the Trojan wall 
Must shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall! 
But now, ye warriors, take a short repast; 
And, well refresh'd, to bloody conflict haste. 
His sharpen'd spear let every Grecian wield, 
And every Grecian fix his brazen shield, 
Let all excite the fiery steeds of war, 



Those critics who have maintained that the "Catalogue of Ships" is an 
interpolation, should have paid more attention to these lines, which form a 
most natural introduction to their enumeration. 



60 



The Iliad of Homer 



And all for combat fit the rattling car. 
This day, this dreadful day, let each contend; 
No rest, no respite, till the shades descend; 
Till darkness, or till death, shall cover all: 
Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall; 
Till bathed in sweat be every manly breast, 
With the huge shield each brawny arm depress'd, 
Each aching nerve refuse the lance to throw, 
And each spent courser at the chariot blow. 
Who dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay, 
Who dares to tremble on this signal day; 
That wretch, too mean to fall by martial power, 
The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour." 

[037] 

The monarch spoke; and straight a murmur rose, 
Loud as the surges when the tempest blows, 
That dash'd on broken rocks tumultuous roar, 
And foam and thunder on the stony shore. 
Straight to the tents the troops dispersing bend, 
The fires are kindled, and the smokes ascend; 
With hasty feasts they sacrifice, and pray, 
To avert the dangers of the doubtful day. 
A steer of five years' age, large limb'd, and fed, 92 
To Jove's high altars Agamemnon led: 
There bade the noblest of the Grecian peers; 

92 The following observation will be useful to Homeric readers: "Particular 
animals were, at a later time, consecrated to particular deities. To Jupiter, 
Ceres, Juno, Apollo, and Bacchus victims of advanced age might be offered. 
An ox of five years old was considered especially acceptable to Jupiter. A 
black bull, a ram, or a boar pig, were offerings for Neptune. A heifer, or a 
sheep, for Minerva. To Ceres a sow was sacrificed, as an enemy to corn. The 
goat to Bacchus, because he fed on vines. Diana was propitiated with a stag; 
and to Venus the dove was consecrated. The infernal and evil deities were to 
be appeased with black victims. The most acceptable of all sacrifices was the 
heifer of a year old, which had never borne the yoke. It was to be perfect in 
every limb, healthy, and without blemish." — "Elgin Marbles," vol. i. p. 78. 



BOOK II. 



61 



And Nestor first, as most advanced in years. 

Next came Idomeneus, 93 

and Tydeus' son, 94 

Ajax the less, and Ajax Telamon; 95 

Then wise Ulysses in his rank was placed; 

And Menelaus came, unhid, the last. 96 

The chiefs surround the destined beast, and take 

The sacred offering of the salted cake: 

When thus the king prefers his solemn prayer; 

"O thou! whose thunder rends the clouded air, 

Who in the heaven of heavens hast fixed thy throne, 

Supreme of gods! unbounded, and alone! 

Hear! and before the burning sun descends, 

Before the night her gloomy veil extends, 

Low in the dust be laid yon hostile spires, 

Be Priam's palace sunk in Grecian fires. 

In Hector's breast be plunged this shining sword, 

And slaughter'd heroes groan around their lord!" 

Thus prayed the chief: his unavailing prayer 
Great Jove refused, and toss'd in empty air: 
The God averse, while yet the fumes arose, 
Prepared new toils, and doubled woes on woes. 
Their prayers perform'd the chiefs the rite pursue, 

93 — Idomeneus, son of Deucalion, was king of Crete. Having vowed, during 
a tempest, on his return from Troy, to sacrifice to Neptune the first creature 
that should present itself to his eye on the Cretan shore, his son fell a victim to 
his rash vow. 

94 — Tydeus' son, i.e. Diomed. 

95 That is, Ajax, the son of Oileus, a Locrian. He must be distinguished from 
the other, who was king of Salamis. 

96 A great deal of nonsense has been written to account for the word unbid, 
in this line. Even Plato, "Sympos." p. 315, has found some curious meaning 
in what, to us, appears to need no explanation. Was there any heroic rule of 
etiquette which prevented one brother-king visiting another without a formal 
invitation? 



62 



The Iliad of Homer 



[038] The barley sprinkled, and the victim slew. 

The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide, 
The thighs, selected to the gods, divide. 
On these, in double cauls involved with art, 
The choicest morsels lie from every part, 
From the cleft wood the crackling flames aspire 
While the fat victims feed the sacred fire. 
The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress'd 
The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest; 
Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, 
Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. 
Soon as the rage of hunger was suppress'd, 
The generous Nestor thus the prince address'd. 

"Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms, 
And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms; 
Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey, 
And lead to war when heaven directs the way." 

He said; the monarch issued his commands; 
Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands 
The chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide, 
In tribes and nations rank'd on either side. 
High in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies; 
From rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes; 
The dreadful aegis, Jove's immortal shield, 
Blazed on her arm, and lighten'd all the field: 
Round the vast orb a hundred serpents roll'd, 
Form'd the bright fringe, and seem'd to burn in gold, 
With this each Grecian's manly breast she warms, 
Swells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms, 
No more they sigh, inglorious, to return, 
But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn. 



BOOK II. 



63 



As on some mountain, through the lofty grove, 

The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above; 

The fires expanding, as the winds arise, 

Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies: 

So from the polish'd arms, and brazen shields, 

A gleamy splendour flash'd along the fields. 

Not less their number than the embodied cranes, 

Or milk-white swans in Asius' watery plains. 

That, o'er the windings of Cayster's springs, 97 

Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings, 

Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds, 

Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds. 

Thus numerous and confused, extending wide, 

The legions crowd Scamander's flowery side; 98 [039] 

With rushing troops the plains are cover'd o'er, 

And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore. 

Along the river's level meads they stand, 



Fresh water fowl, especially swans, were found in great numbers about the 
Asian Marsh, a fenny tract of country in Lydia, formed by the river Cayster, 
near its mouth. See Virgil, "Georgics," vol. i. 383, sq. 

98 — Scamander, or Scamandros, was a river of Troas, rising, according to 
Strabo, on the highest part of Mount Ida, in the same hill with the Granicus and 
the OEdipus, and falling into the sea at Sigaeum; everything tends to identify it 
with Mendere, as Wood, Rennell, and others maintain; the Mendere is 40 miles 
long, 300 feet broad, deep in the time of flood, nearly dry in the summer. Dr. 
Clarke successfully combats the opinion of those who make the Scamander to 
have arisen from the springs of Bounabarshy, and traces the source of the river 
to the highest mountain in the chain of Ida, now Kusdaghy; receives the Simois 
in its course; towards its mouth it is very muddy, and flows through marshes. 
Between the Scamander and Simois, Homer's Troy is supposed to have stood: 
this river, according to Homer, was called Xanthus by the gods, Scamander 
by men. The waters of the Scamander had the singular property of giving a 
beautiful colour to the hair or wool of such animals as bathed in them; hence the 
three goddesses, Minerva, Juno, and Venus, bathed there before they appeared 
before Paris to obtain the golden apple: the name Xanthus, "yellow," was given 
to the Scamander, from the peculiar colour of its waters, still applicable to the 
Mendere, the yellow colour of whose waters attracts the attention of travellers. 



64 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land, 

Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play, 

The wandering nation of a summer's day: 

That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours, 

In gather'd swarms surround the rural bowers; 

From pail to pail with busy murmur run 

The gilded legions, glittering in the sun. 

So throng'd, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood 

In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood. 

Each leader now his scatter'd force conjoins 

In close array, and forms the deepening lines. 

Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain 

Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain. 

The king of kings, majestically tall, 

Towers o'er his armies, and outshines them all; 

Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads 

His subject herds, the monarch of the meads, 

Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen, 

His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien; 99 

Jove o'er his eyes celestial glories spread, 

And dawning conquest played around his head. 

Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine, 
All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine! 100 

99 It should be "his chest like Neptune." The torso of Neptune, in the "Elgin 
Marbles," No. 103, (vol. ii. p. 26,) is remarkable for its breadth and 
massiveness of development. 

100 

"Say first, for heav'n hides nothing from thy view." 

— "Paradise Lost," i. 27. 

"Ma di' tu, Musa, come i primi danni 
Mandassero a Cristiani, e di quai parti: 
Tu '1 sai; ma di tant' opra a noi si lunge 
Debil aura di fama appena giunge." 



— "Gier. Lib." iv. 19. 



BOOK II. 



65 



Since earth's wide regions, heaven's umneasur'd height, 

And hell's abyss, hide nothing from your sight, 

(We, wretched mortals ! lost in doubts below, 

But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,) 

O say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame, 

Or urged by wrongs, to Troy's destruction came. 

To count them all, demands a thousand tongues, 

A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs. 

Daughters of Jove, assist! inspired by you 

The mighty labour dauntless I pursue; [040] 
What crowded armies, from what climes they bring, 
Their names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing. 

THE CATALOGUE OF THE SHIPS. 101 



The hardy warriors whom Boeotia bred, 
Penelius, Leitus, Prothoenor, led: 

101 "The Catalogue is, perhaps, the portion of the poem in favour of which 
a claim to separate authorship has been most plausibly urged. Although the 
example of Homer has since rendered some such formal enumeration of the 
forces engaged, a common practice in epic poems descriptive of great warlike 
adventures, still so minute a statistical detail can neither be considered as 
imperatively required, nor perhaps such as would, in ordinary cases, suggest 
itself to the mind of a poet. Yet there is scarcely any portion of the Iliad where 
both historical and internal evidence are more clearly in favour of a connection 
from the remotest period, with the remainder of the work. The composition 
of the Catalogue, whensoever it may have taken place, necessarily presumes 
its author's acquaintance with a previously existing Iliad. It were impossible 
otherwise to account for the harmony observable in the recurrence of so vast 
a number of proper names, most of them historically unimportant, and not a 
few altogether fictitious: or of so many geographical and genealogical details 
as are condensed in these few hundred lines, and incidentally scattered over 
the thousands which follow: equally inexplicable were the pointed allusions 
occurring in this episode to events narrated in the previous and subsequent 
text, several of which could hardly be of traditional notoriety, but through the 
medium of the Iliad." — Mure, "Language and Literature of Greece," vol. i. p. 
263. 



66 



The Iliad of Homer 




NEPTUNE. 



BOOK II. 



67 



With these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand, 
Equal in arms, and equal in command. 
These head the troops that rocky Aulis yields, 
And Eteon's hills, and Hyde's watery fields, 
And Schoenos, Scholos, Graea near the main, 
And Mycalessia's ample piny plain; 
Those who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell, 
Or Harma where Apollo's prophet fell; 
Heleon and Hyle, which the springs o'erflow; 
And Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low; 
Or in the meads of Haliartus stray, 
Or Thespia sacred to the god of day: 
Onchestus, Neptune's celebrated groves; 

Copae, and Thisbe, famed for silver doves; [041] 

For flocks Erythrae, Glissa for the vine; 

Platea green, and Nysa the divine; 

And they whom Thebe's well-built walls inclose, 

Where Myde, Eutresis, Corone, rose; 

And Arne rich, with purple harvests crown'd; 

And Anthedon, Boeotia's utmost bound. 

Full fifty ships they send, and each conveys 

Twice sixty warriors through the foaming seas. 102 



— Twice Sixty: "Thucydides observes that the Boeotian vessels, which 
carried one hundred and twenty men each, were probably meant to be the 
largest in the fleet, and those of Philoctetes, carrying fifty each, the smallest. 
The average would be eighty-five, and Thucydides supposes the troops to have 
rowed and navigated themselves; and that very few, besides the chiefs, went 
as mere passengers or landsmen. In short, we have in the Homeric descriptions 
the complete picture of an Indian or African war canoe, many of which are 
considerably larger than the largest scale assigned to those of the Greeks. If 
the total number of the Greek ships be taken at twelve hundred, according to 
Thucydides, although in point of fact there are only eleven hundred and eighty- 
six in the Catalogue, the amount of the army, upon the foregoing average, will 
be about a hundred and two thousand men. The historian considers this a small 
force as representing all Greece. Bryant, comparing it with the allied army at 
Platae, thinks it so large as to prove the entire falsehood of the whole story; 



68 



The Iliad of Homer 



To these succeed Aspledon's martial train, 

Who plough the spacious Orchomenian plain. 

Two valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng, 

Ialmen and Ascalaphus the strong: 

Sons of Astyoche, the heavenly fair, 

Whose virgin charms subdued the god of war: 

(In Actor's court as she retired to rest, 

The strength of Mars the blushing maid compress'd) 

Their troops in thirty sable vessels sweep, 

With equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep. 

The Phocians next in forty barks repair; 
Epistrophus and Schedius head the war: 
From those rich regions where Cephisus leads 
His silver current through the flowery meads; 
From Panopea, Chrysa the divine, 
Where Anemoria's stately turrets shine, 
Where Pytho, Daulis, Cyparissus stood, 
And fair Lilaea views the rising flood. 
These, ranged in order on the floating tide, 
Close, on the left, the bold Boeotians' side. 

Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on, 

Ajax the less, Oileus' valiant son; 

Skill'd to direct the flying dart aright; 

Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight. 

Him, as their chief, the chosen troops attend, 

Which Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send; 

Opus, Calliarus, and Scarphe's bands; 

And those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands, 

And where Boagrius floats the lowly lands, 

Or in fair Tarphe's sylvan seats reside: 

In forty vessels cut the yielding tide. 



BOOK II. 



69 



Euboea next her martial sons prepares, 
And sends the brave Abantes to the wars: 
Breathing revenge, in arms they take their way 
From Chalcis' walls, and strong Eretria; 
The Isteian fields for generous vines renown'd, 
The fair Caristos, and the Styrian ground; 
Where Dios from her towers o'erlooks the plain, 
And high Cerinthus views the neighbouring main. 
Down their broad shoulders falls a length of hair; 
Their hands dismiss not the long lance in air; 
But with protended spears in fighting fields 
Pierce the tough corslets and the brazen shields. 
Twice twenty ships transport the warlike bands, 
Which bold Elphenor, fierce in arms, commands. 

Full fifty more from Athens stem the main, 
Led by Menestheus through the liquid plain. 
(Athens the fair, where great Erectheus sway'd, 
That owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid, 
But from the teeming furrow took his birth, 
The mighty offspring of the foodful earth. 
Him Pallas placed amidst her wealthy fane, 
Adored with sacrifice and oxen slain; 
Where, as the years revolve, her altars blaze, 
And all the tribes resound the goddess' praise.) 
No chief like thee, Menestheus ! Greece could yield, 
To marshal armies in the dusty field, 
The extended wings of battle to display, 
Or close the embodied host in firm array. 
Nestor alone, improved by length of days, 
For martial conduct bore an equal praise. 



and his reasonings and calculations are, for their curiosity, well worth a careful 
perusal." — Coleridge, p. 211, sq. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



With these appear the Salaminian bands, 

Whom the gigantic Telamon commands; 

In twelve black ships to Troy they steer their course, 

And with the great Athenians join their force. 

Next move to war the generous Argive train, 
From high Troezene, and Maseta's plain, 
And fair ^Egina circled by the main: 
Whom strong Tyrinthe's lofty walls surround, 
And Epidaure with viny harvests crown'd: 
And where fair Asinen and Hermoin show 
Their cliffs above, and ample bay below. 
These by the brave Euryalus were led, 
Great Sthenelus, and greater Diomed; 
But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway: 
In fourscore barks they plough the watery way. 

The proud Mycene arms her martial powers, 
[043] Cleone, Corinth, with imperial towers, 103 

Fair Araethyrea, Ornia's fruitful plain, 
And iEgion, and Adrastus' ancient reign; 
And those who dwell along the sandy shore, 
And where Pellene yields her fleecy store, 
Where Helice and Hyperesia lie, 
And Gonoessa's spires salute the sky. 
Great Agamemnon rules the numerous band, 
A hundred vessels in long order stand, 
And crowded nations wait his dread command. 
High on the deck the king of men appears, 
And his refulgent arms in triumph wears; 
Proud of his host, unrivall'd in his reign, 

103 The mention of Corinth is an anachronism, as that city was called Ephyre 
before its capture by the Dorians. But Velleius, vol. i. p. 3, well observes, that 
the poet would naturally speak of various towns and cities by the names by 
which they were known in his own time. 



BOOK II. 



In silent pomp he moves along the main. 

His brother follows, and to vengeance warms 
The hardy Spartans, exercised in arms: 
Phares and Brysia's valiant troops, and those 
Whom Lacedaemon's lofty hills inclose; 
Or Messe's towers for silver doves renown'd, 
Amyclae, Laas, Augia's happy ground, 
And those whom OEtylos' low walls contain, 
And Helos, on the margin of the main: 
These, o'er the bending ocean, Helen's cause, 
In sixty ships with Menelaus draws: 
Eager and loud from man to man he flies, 
Revenge and fury flaming in his eyes; 
While vainly fond, in fancy oft he hears 
The fair one's grief, and sees her falling tears. 

In ninety sail, from Pylos' sandy coast, 
Nestor the sage conducts his chosen host: 
From Amphigenia's ever-fruitful land, 
Where JEpy high, and little Pteleon stand; 
Where beauteous Arene her structures shows, 
And Thryon's walls Alpheus' streams inclose: 
And Dorion, famed for Thamyris' disgrace, 
Superior once of all the tuneful race, 
Till, vain of mortals' empty praise, he strove 
To match the seed of cloud-compelling Jove! 
Too daring bard! whose unsuccessful pride 
The immortal Muses in their art defied. 
The avenging Muses of the light of day 
Deprived his eyes, and snatch'd his voice away; 
No more his heavenly voice was heard to sing, 
His hand no more awaked the silver string. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Where under high Cyllene, crown'd with wood, 
The shaded tomb of old iEpytus stood; 
From Ripe, Stratie, Tegea's bordering towns, 
The Phenean fields, and Orchomenian downs, 
Where the fat herds in plenteous pasture rove; 
And Stymphelus with her surrounding grove; 
[044] Parrhasia, on her snowy cliffs reclined, 

And high Enispe shook by wintry wind, 
And fair Mantinea's ever-pleasing site; 
In sixty sail the Arcadian bands unite. 
Bold Agapenor, glorious at their head, 
(Ancaeus' son) the mighty squadron led. 
Their ships, supplied by Agamemnon's care, 
Through roaring seas the wondering warriors bear; 
The first to battle on the appointed plain, 
But new to all the dangers of the main. 



Those, where fair Elis and Buprasium join; 
Whom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine, 
And bounded there, where o'er the valleys rose 
The Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows; 
Beneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came: 
The strength and glory of the Epean name. 
In separate squadrons these their train divide, 
Each leads ten vessels through the yielding tide. 
One was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one; 
(Eurytus' this, and that Teatus' son;) 
Diores sprung from Amarynceus' line; 
And great Polyxenus, of force divine. 



BOOK II. 



But those who view fair Elis o'er the seas 
From the blest islands of the Echinades, 
In forty vessels under Meges move, 
Begot by Phyleus, the beloved of Jove: 
To strong Dulichium from his sire he fled, 
And thence to Troy his hardy warriors led. 



Ulysses follow'd through the watery road, 

A chief, in wisdom equal to a god. 

With those whom Cephalenia's line inclosed, 

Or till their fields along the coast opposed; 

Or where fair Ithaca o'erlooks the floods, 

Where high Neritos shakes his waving woods, 

Where ^Egilipa's rugged sides are seen, 

Crocylia rocky, and Zacynthus green. 

These in twelve galleys with vermilion prores, 

Beneath his conduct sought the Phrygian shores. 



Thoas came next, Andraemon's valiant son, 
From Pleuron's walls, and chalky Calydon, 
And rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep, 
And Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep. 
He led the warriors from the ^Etolian shore, 
For now the sons of OEneus were no more! 
The glories of the mighty race were fled! 
OEneus himself, and Meleager dead! 
To Thoas' care now trust the martial train, 
His forty vessels follow through the main. 



74 



The Iliad of Homer 



Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands, 
Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna's bands; 

And those who dwell where Rhytion's domes arise, [045] 

Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies, 

Or where by Phaestus silver Jardan runs; 

Crete's hundred cities pour forth all her sons. 

These march'd, Idomeneus, beneath thy care, 

And Merion, dreadful as the god of war. 



Tlepolemus, the sun of Hercules, 
Led nine swift vessels through the foamy seas, 
From Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright, 
Jalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white. 
His captive mother fierce Alcides bore 
From Ephyr's walls and Selle's winding shore, 
Where mighty towns in ruins spread the plain, 
And saw their blooming warriors early slain. 
The hero, when to manly years he grew, 
Alcides' uncle, old Licymnius, slew; 
For this, constrain'd to quit his native place, 
And shun the vengeance of the Herculean race, 
A fleet he built, and with a numerous train 
Of willing exiles wander'd o'er the main; 
Where, many seas and many sufferings past, 
On happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last: 
There in three tribes divides his native band, 
And rules them peaceful in a foreign land; 
Increased and prosper'd in their new abodes 
By mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods; 
With joy they saw the growing empire rise, 
And showers of wealth descending from the skies. 



BOOK II. 



75 



Three ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore, 
Nireus, whom Aglae to Charopus bore, 
Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace, 
The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race; 104 
Pelides only match'd his early charms; 
But few his troops, and small his strength in arms. 

Next thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain, 
Of those Calydnae's sea-girt isles contain; 
With them the youth of Nisyrus repair, 
Casus the strong, and Crapathus the fair; 
Cos, where Eurypylus possess'd the sway, 
Till great Alcides made the realms obey: 
These Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring, 
Sprung from the god by Thessalus the king. 

Now, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos' powers, 
From Alos, Alope, and Trechin's towers: 
From Phthia's spacious vales; and Hella, bless'd 
With female beauty far beyond the rest. 
Full fifty ships beneath Achilles' care, 
The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear; 

Thessalians all, though various in their name; [046] 

The same their nation, and their chief the same. 

But now inglorious, stretch'd along the shore, 

They hear the brazen voice of war no more; 

No more the foe they face in dire array: 

Close in his fleet the angry leader lay; 

Since fair Briseis from his arms was torn, 

The noblest spoil from sack'd Lyrnessus borne, 



"Adam, the goodliest man of men since born, 
His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.' 

—"Paradise Lost," iv. 323. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Then, when the chief the Theban walls o'erthrew, 
And the bold sons of great Evenus slew. 
There mourn'd Achilles, plunged in depth of care, 
But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war. 



To these the youth of Phylace succeed, 

Itona, famous for her fleecy breed, 

And grassy Pteleon deck'd with cheerful greens, 

The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes. 

Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown'd, 

And Antron's watery dens, and cavern'd ground. 

These own'd, as chief, Protesilas the brave, 

Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave: 

The first who boldly touch'd the Trojan shore, 

And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore; 

There lies, far distant from his native plain; 

Unfinish'd his proud palaces remain, 

And his sad consort beats her breast in vain. 

His troops in forty ships Podarces led, 

Iphiclus' son, and brother to the dead; 

Nor he unworthy to command the host; 

Yet still they mourn'd their ancient leader lost. 



The men who Glaphyra's fair soil partake, 

Where hills incircle Boebe's lowly lake, 

Where Phaere hears the neighbouring waters fall, 

Or proud Iolcus lifts her airy wall, 

In ten black ships embark'd for Ilion's shore, 

With bold Eumelus, whom Alceste bore: 

All Pelias' race Alceste far outshined, 

The grace and glory of the beauteous kind, 



BOOK II. 



The troops Methone or Thaumacia yields, 
Olizon's rocks, or Meliboea's fields, 
With Philoctetes sail'd whose matchless art 
From the tough bow directs the feather'd dart. 
Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row, 
Skill'd in his science of the dart and bow. 
But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground, 
A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound; 
There groan'd the chief in agonizing pain, 
Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain. 
His forces Medon led from Lemnos' shore, 
Oileus' son, whom beauteous Rhena bore. 

The (Echalian race, in those high towers contain'd 
Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign'd, 
Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears, 
Or where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears, 
In thirty sail the sparkling waves divide, 
Which Podalirius and Machaon guide. 
To these his skill their parent-god imparts, 
Divine professors of the healing arts. 

The bold Ormenian and Asterian bands 

In forty barks Eurypylus commands. 

Where Titan hides his hoary head in snow, 

And where Hyperia's silver fountains flow. 

Thy troops, Argissa, Polypoetes leads, 

And Eleon, shelter'd by Olympus' shades, 

Gyrtone's warriors; and where Orthe lies, 

And Oloosson's chalky cliffs arise. 

Sprung from Pirithous of immortal race, 

The fruit of fair Hippodame's embrace, 

(That day, when hurl'd from Pelion's cloudy head, 

To distant dens the shaggy Centaurs fled) 



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With Polypoetes join'd in equal sway 
Leonteus leads, and forty ships obey. 

In twenty sail the bold Perrhaebians came 

From Cyphus, Guneus was their leader's name. 

With these the Enians join'd, and those who freeze 

Where cold Dodona lifts her holy trees; 

Or where the pleasing Titaresius glides, 

And into Peneus rolls his easy tides; 

Yet o'er the silvery surface pure they flow, 

The sacred stream unmix'd with streams below, 

Sacred and awful! from the dark abodes 

Styx pours them forth, the dreadful oath of gods ! 

Last, under Prothous the Magnesians stood, 
(Prothous the swift, of old Tenthredon's blood;) 
Who dwell where Pelion, crown'd with piny boughs, 
Obscures the glade, and nods his shaggy brows; 
Or where through flowery Tempe Peneus stray'd: 
(The region stretch'd beneath his mighty shade:) 
In forty sable barks they stemm'd the main; 
Such were the chiefs, and such the Grecian train. 

Say next, O Muse! of all Achaia breeds, 
Who bravest fought, or rein'd the noblest steeds? 
Eumelus' mares were foremost in the chase, 
As eagles fleet, and of Pheretian race; 
Bred where Pieria's fruitful fountains flow, 
And train'd by him who bears the silver bow. 
Fierce in the fight their nostrils breathed a flame, 
Their height, their colour, and their age the same; 
O'er fields of death they whirl the rapid car, 
And break the ranks, and thunder through the war. 
Ajax in arms the first renown acquired, 
[048] While stern Achilles in his wrath retired: 



BOOK II. 



79 



(His was the strength that mortal might exceeds, 
And his the unrivall'd race of heavenly steeds:) 
But Thetis' son now shines in arms no more; 
His troops, neglected on the sandy shore. 
In empty air their sportive javelins throw, 
Or whirl the disk, or bend an idle bow: 
Unstain'd with blood his cover'd chariots stand; 
The immortal coursers graze along the strand; 
But the brave chiefs the inglorious life deplored, 
And, wandering o'er the camp, required their lord. 

Now, like a deluge, covering all around, 
The shining armies sweep along the ground; 
Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise, 
Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies. 
Earth groan'd beneath them; as when angry Jove 
Hurls down the forky lightning from above, 
On Arime when he the thunder throws, 
And fires Typhoeus with redoubled blows, 
Where Typhon, press'd beneath the burning load, 
Still feels the fury of the avenging god. 

But various Iris, Jove's commands to bear, 
Speeds on the wings of winds through liquid air; 
In Priam's porch the Trojan chiefs she found, 
The old consulting, and the youths around. 
Polites' shape, the monarch's son, she chose, 
Who from ^Esetes' tomb observed the foes, 105 
High on the mound; from whence in prospect lay 
The fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay. 
In this dissembled form, she hastes to bring 

105 — Msetes' tomb. Monuments were often built on the sea-coast, and of a 
considerable height, so as to serve as watch-towers or land marks. See my 
notes to my prose translations of the "Odyssey," ii. p. 21, or on Eur. "Alcest." 
vol. i. p. 240. 



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The unwelcome message to the Phrygian king. 

"Cease to consult, the time for action calls; 

War, horrid war, approaches to your walls ! 

Assembled armies oft have I beheld; 

But ne'er till now such numbers charged a field: 

Thick as autumnal leaves or driving sand, 

The moving squadrons blacken all the strand. 

Thou, godlike Hector! all thy force employ, 

Assemble all the united bands of Troy; 

In just array let every leader call 

The foreign troops: this day demands them all!" 

The voice divine the mighty chief alarms; 

The council breaks, the warriors rush to arms. 

The gates unfolding pour forth all their train, 

Nations on nations fill the dusky plain, 

Men, steeds, and chariots, shake the trembling ground: 

The tumult thickens, and the skies resound. 

[049] Amidst the plain, in sight of Ilion, stands 

A rising mount, the work of human hands; 
(This for Myrinne's tomb the immortals know, 
Though call'd Bateia in the world below;) 
Beneath their chiefs in martial order here, 
The auxiliar troops and Trojan hosts appear. 

The godlike Hector, high above the rest, 
Shakes his huge spear, and nods his plumy crest: 
In throngs around his native bands repair, 
And groves of lances glitter in the air. 



BOOK II. 



81 



Divine ^Eneas brings the Dardan race, 
Anchises' son, by Venus' stolen embrace, 
Born in the shades of Ida's secret grove; 
(A mortal mixing with the queen of love;) 
Archilochus and Acamas divide 
The warrior's toils, and combat by his side. 

Who fair Zeleia's wealthy valleys till, 106 
Fast by the foot of Ida's sacred hill, 
Or drink, iEsepus, of thy sable flood, 
Were led by Pandarus, of royal blood; 
To whom his art Apollo deign'd to show, 
Graced with the presents of his shafts and bow. 

From rich Apaesus and Adrestia's towers, 
High Teree's summits, and Pityea's bowers; 
From these the congregated troops obey 
Young Amphius and Adrastus' equal sway; 
Old Merops' sons; whom, skill'd in fates to come, 
The sire forewarn'd, and prophesied their doom: 
Fate urged them on! the sire forewarn'd in vain, 
They rush'd to war, and perish'd on the plain. 

From Practius' stream, Percote's pasture lands, 
And Sestos and Abydos' neighbouring strands, 
From great Arisba's walls and Selle's coast, 
Asius Hyrtacides conducts his host: 
High on his car he shakes the flowing reins, 
His fiery coursers thunder o'er the plains. 



— Zeleia, another name for Lycia. The inhabitants were greatly devoted to 
the worship of Apollo. See Muller, "Dorians," vol. i. p. 248. 



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The fierce Pelasgi next, in war renown'd, 
March from Larissa's ever-fertile ground: 
In equal arms their brother leaders shine, 
Hippothous bold, and Pyleus the divine. 

Next Acamas and Pyrous lead their hosts, 
In dread array, from Thracia's wintry coasts; 
Round the bleak realms where Hellespontus roars, 
And Boreas beats the hoarse-resounding shores. 

With great Euphemus the Ciconians move, 
Sprung from Troezenian Ceus, loved by Jove. 

Pyraechmes the Paeonian troops attend, 
Skill'd in the fight their crooked bows to bend; 
[050] From Axius' ample bed he leads them on, 

Axius, that laves the distant Amydon, 
Axius, that swells with all his neighbouring rills, 
And wide around the floating region fills. 

The Paphlagonians Pylaemenes rules, 

Where rich Henetia breeds her savage mules, 

Where Erythinus' rising cliffs are seen, 

Thy groves of box, Cytorus ! ever green, 

And where ^Egialus and Cromna lie, 

And lofty Sesamus invades the sky, 

And where Parthenius, roll'd through banks of flowers, 

Reflects her bordering palaces and bowers. 

Here march'd in arms the Halizonian band, 
Whom Odius and Epistrophus command, 
From those far regions where the sun refines 
The ripening silver in Alybean mines. 



BOOK II. 



83 



There mighty Chromis led the Mysian train, 
And augur Ennomus, inspired in vain; 
For stern Achilles lopp'd his sacred head, 
Roll'd down Scamander with the vulgar dead. 

Phorcys and brave Ascanius here unite 
The Ascanian Phrygians, eager for the fight. 

Of those who round Maeonia's realms reside, 

Or whom the vales in shades of Tmolus hide, 

Mestles and Antiphus the charge partake, 

Born on the banks of Gyges' silent lake. 

There, from the fields where wild Maeander flows, 

High Mycale, and Latmos' shady brows, 

And proud Miletus, came the Carian throngs, 

With mingled clamours and with barbarous tongues. 

Amphimachus and Naustes guide the train, 

Naustes the bold, Amphimachus the vain, 

Who, trick'd with gold, and glittering on his car, 

Rode like a woman to the field of war. 

Fool that he was ! by fierce Achilles slain, 

The river swept him to the briny main: 

There whelm'd with waves the gaudy warrior lies 

The valiant victor seized the golden prize. 

The forces last in fair array succeed, 
Which blameless Glaucus and Sarpedon lead 
The warlike bands that distant Lycia yields, 
Where gulfy Xanthus foams along the fields. 



— Barbarous tongues. "Various as were the dialects of the Greeks — and 
these differences existed not only between the several tribes, but even between 
neighbouring cities — they yet acknowledged in their language that they formed 
but one nation were but branches of the same family. Homer has 'men of other 
tongues:' and yet Homer had no general name for the Greek nation." — Heeren, 
"Ancient Greece," Section vii. p. 107, sq. 



[051] 



BOOK III. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE DUEL OF MENELAUS AND PARIS. 

The armies being ready to engage, a single combat is agreed 
upon between Menelaus and Paris (by the intervention of Hector) 
for the determination of the war. Iris is sent to call Helen to 
behold the fight. She leads her to the walls of Troy, where Priam 
sat with his counsellers observing the Grecian leaders on the plain 
below, to whom Helen gives an account of the chief of them. 
The kings on either part take the solemn oath for the conditions 
of the combat. The duel ensues; wherein Paris being overcome, 
he is snatched away in a cloud by Venus, and transported to 
his apartment. She then calls Helen from the walls, and brings 
the lovers together. Agamemnon, on the part of the Grecians, 
demands the restoration of Helen, and the performance of the 
articles. 

The three-and-twentieth day still continues throughout this 
book. The scene is sometimes in the fields before Troy, and 
sometimes in Troy itself. 

Thus by their leaders' care each martial band 
Moves into ranks, and stretches o'er the land. 
With shouts the Trojans, rushing from afar, 
Proclaim their motions, and provoke the war 
So when inclement winters vex the plain 
With piercing frosts, or thick-descending rain, 
To warmer seas the cranes embodied fly, 108 



108 



86 



The Iliad of Homer 



With noise, and order, through the midway sky; 
To pigmy nations wounds and death they bring, 
And all the war descends upon the wing, 
But silent, breathing rage, resolved and skill'd 109 
[052] By mutual aids to fix a doubtful field, 

Swift march the Greeks: the rapid dust around 
Darkening arises from the labour'd ground. 
Thus from his flaggy wings when Notus sheds 
A night of vapours round the mountain heads, 
Swift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade, 
To thieves more grateful than the midnight shade; 
While scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey, 
Lost and confused amidst the thicken'd day: 
So wrapp'd in gathering dust, the Grecian train, 
A moving cloud, swept on, and hid the plain. 

Now front to front the hostile armies stand, 
Eager of fight, and only wait command; 
When, to the van, before the sons of fame 
Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came: 
In form a god! the panther's speckled hide 
Flow'd o'er his armour with an easy pride: 

The cranes. 

"Marking the tracts of air, the clamorous cranes 
Wheel their due flight in varied ranks descried: 
And each with outstretch'd neck his rank maintains, 
In marshall'd order through th' ethereal void." 

Lorenzo de Medici, in Roscoe's Life, Appendix. 
See Cary's Dante: "Hell," canto v. 

109 

Silent, breathing rage. 

"Thus they, 
Breathing united force with fixed thought, 
Moved on in silence." 

"Paradise Lost," book i. 559. 



BOOK III. 



87 



His bended bow across his shoulders flung, 
His sword beside him negligently hung; 
Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace, 
And dared the bravest of the Grecian race. 



As thus, with glorious air and proud disdain, 

He boldly stalk'd, the foremost on the plain, 

Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies, 

With heart elated, and with joyful eyes: 

So joys a lion, if the branching deer, 

Or mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear; 

Eager he seizes and devours the slain, 

Press'd by bold youths and baying dogs in vain. 

Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound, 

In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground 

From his high chariot: him, approaching near, 

The beauteous champion views with marks of fear, 

Smit with a conscious sense, retires behind, 

And shuns the fate he well deserved to find. 

As when some shepherd, from the rustling trees 110 

Shot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees, 

Trembling and pale, he starts with wild affright 

And all confused precipitates his flight: 

So from the king the shining warrior flies, 

And plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies. 



no 



"As when some peasant in a bushy brake 
Has with unwary footing press'd a snake; 
He starts aside, astonish'd, when he spies 
His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes" 



Dryden's Virgil, ii. 510. 



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As godlike Hector sees the prince retreat, 
He thus upbraids him with a generous heat: 
"Unhappy Paris! but to women brave! 111 
[053] So fairly form'd, and only to deceive ! 

Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw'st the light, 

Or died at least before thy nuptial rite ! 

A better fate than vainly thus to boast, 

And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host. 

Gods ! how the scornful Greeks exult to see 

Their fears of danger undeceived in thee! 

Thy figure promised with a martial air, 

But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair. 

In former days, in all thy gallant pride, 

When thy tall ships triumphant stemm'd the tide, 

When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow, 

And crowds stood wondering at the passing show, 

Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien, 

You met the approaches of the Spartan queen, 

Thus from her realm convey'd the beauteous prize, 

And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen's eyes? 

This deed, thy foes' delight, thy own disgrace, 

Thy father's grief, and ruin of thy race; 

This deed recalls thee to the proffer'd fight; 

Or hast thou injured whom thou dar'st not right? 

Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know 

Thou keep'st the consort of a braver foe. 

Thy graceful form instilling soft desire, 

Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre, 

Beauty and youth; in vain to these you trust, 

When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust: 

Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow 



111 Dysparis, i.e. unlucky, ill fated, Paris. This alludes to the evils which 
resulted from his having been brought up, despite the omens which attended 
his birth. 



BOOK III. 



Crush the dire author of his country's woe." 

His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks: 

"Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks: 

But who like thee can boast a soul sedate, 

So firmly proof to all the shocks of fate? 

Thy force, like steel, a temper'd hardness shows, 

Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows, 

Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain, 

With falling woods to strew the wasted plain. 

Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms 

With which a lover golden Venus arms; 

Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show, 

No wish can gain them, but the gods bestow. 

Yet, would'st thou have the proffer'd combat stand, 

The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand; 

Then let a midway space our hosts divide, 

And, on that stage of war, the cause be tried: 

By Paris there the Spartan king be fought, 

For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought; 

And who his rival can in arms subdue, 

His be the fair, and his the treasure too. 

Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease, 

And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace; 

Thus may the Greeks review their native shore, 

Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more." 

He said. The challenge Hector heard with joy, 
Then with his spear restrain'd the youth of Troy, 
Held by the midst, athwart; and near the foe 
Advanced with steps majestically slow: 
While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour 
Their stones and arrows in a mingled shower. 



90 



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Then thus the monarch, great Atrides, cried: 
"Forbear, ye warriors! lay the darts aside: 
A parley Hector asks, a message bears; 
We know him by the various plume he wears." 
Awed by his high command the Greeks attend, 
The tumult silence, and the fight suspend. 

While from the centre Hector rolls his eyes 
On either host, and thus to both applies: 
"Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, 
What Paris, author of the war, demands. 
Your shining swords within the sheath restrain, 
And pitch your lances in the yielding plain. 
Here in the midst, in either army's sight, 
He dares the Spartan king to single fight; 
And wills that Helen and the ravish'd spoil, 
That caused the contest, shall reward the toil. 
Let these the brave triumphant victor grace, 
And different nations part in leagues of peace." 

He spoke: in still suspense on either side 
Each army stood: the Spartan chief replied: 

"Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right 
A world engages in the toils of fight. 
To me the labour of the field resign; 
Me Paris injured; all the war be mine. 
Fall he that must, beneath his rival's arms; 
And live the rest, secure of future harms. 
Two lambs, devoted by your country's rite, 
To earth a sable, to the sun a white, 
Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring 
Select to Jove, the inviolable king. 
Let reverend Priam in the truce engage, 
And add the sanction of considerate age; 



BOOK III. 



91 



His sons are faithless, headlong in debate, 
And youth itself an empty wavering state; 
Cool age advances, venerably wise, 
Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes; 
Sees what befell, and what may yet befall, 
Concludes from both, and best provides for all. 

The nations hear with rising hopes possess'd, 

And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast. 

Within the lines they drew their steeds around, 

And from their chariots issued on the ground; [055] 

Next, all unbuckling the rich mail they wore, 

Laid their bright arms along the sable shore. 

On either side the meeting hosts are seen 

With lances fix'd, and close the space between. 

Two heralds now, despatch'd to Troy, invite 

The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite. 

Talthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring 
The lamb for Jove, the inviolable king. 

Meantime to beauteous Helen, from the skies 

The various goddess of the rainbow flies: 

(Like fair Laodice in form and face, 

The loveliest nymph of Priam's royal race:) 

Her in the palace, at her loom she found; 

The golden web her own sad story crown'd, 

The Trojan wars she weaved (herself the prize) 

And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes. 

To whom the goddess of the painted bow: 

'Approach, and view the wondrous scene below! 112 

112 The following scene, in which Homer has contrived to introduce so brilliant 
a sketch of the Grecian warriors, has been imitated by Euripides, who in his 
"Phoenissae" represents Antigone surveying the opposing champions from a 
high tower, while the paedagogus describes their insignia and details their 
histories. 



92 



The Iliad of Homer 



Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight, 
So dreadful late, and furious for the fight, 
Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields; 
Ceased is the war, and silent all the fields. 
Paris alone and Sparta's king advance, 
In single fight to toss the beamy lance; 
Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries, 
Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize." 



This said, the many-coloured maid inspires 
Her husband's love, and wakes her former fires; 
Her country, parents, all that once were dear, 
Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear, 
O'er her fair face a snowy veil she threw, 
And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew. 
Her handmaids, Clymene and iEfhra, wait 
Her silent footsteps to the Scaean gate. 



There sat the seniors of the Trojan race: 
(Old Priam's chiefs, and most in Priam's grace,) 
The king the first; Thymoetes at his side; 
Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried; 
Panthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong; 
And next, the wisest of the reverend throng, 
Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon, 
Lean'd on the walls and bask'd before the sun: 
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage, 
But wise through time, and narrative with age, 
In summer days, like grasshoppers rejoice, 
[056] A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice. 



BOOK III. 



93 



These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tower, 
In secret own'd resistless beauty's power: 
They cried, "No wonder such celestial charms 113 
For nine long years have set the world in arms; 
What winning graces! what majestic mien! 
She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen! 
Yet hence, O Heaven, convey that fatal face, 
And from destruction save the Trojan race." 



The good old Priam welcomed her, and cried, 
"Approach, my child, and grace thy father's side. 
See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears, 
The friends and kindred of thy former years. 
No crime of thine our present sufferings draws, 
Not thou, but Heaven's disposing will, the cause 
The gods these armies and this force employ, 
The hostile gods conspire the fate of Troy. 
But lift thy eyes, and say, what Greek is he 
(Far as from hence these aged orbs can see) 
Around whose brow such martial graces shine, 
So tall, so awful, and almost divine! 
Though some of larger stature tread the green, 
None match his grandeur and exalted mien: 
He seems a monarch, and his country's pride." 
Thus ceased the king, and thus the fair replied: 



— No wonder, &c. Zeuxis, the celebrated artist, is said to have appended 
these lines to his picture of Helen, as a motto. Valer Max. iii. 7. 



94 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Before thy presence, father, I appear, 
With conscious shame and reverential fear. 
Ah! had I died, ere to these walk I fled, 
False to my country, and my nuptial bed; 
My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind, 
False to them all, to Paris only kind! 
For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease 
Shall waste the form whose fault it was to please! 
The king of kings, Atrides, you survey, 
Great in the war, and great in arts of sway: 
My brother once, before my days of shame! 
And oh! that still he bore a brother's name!" 

With wonder Priam view'd the godlike man, 
Extoll'd the happy prince, and thus began: 
"O bless'd Atrides! born to prosperous fate, 
Successful monarch of a mighty state! 
How vast thy empire! Of your matchless train 
What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain! 
In Phrygia once were gallant armies known, 
In ancient time, when Otreus fill'd the throne, 
When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse, 
And I, to join them, raised the Trojan force: 
[057] Against the manlike Amazons we stood, 114 

114 The early epic was largely occupied with the exploits and sufferings of 
women, or heroines, the wives and daughters of the Grecian heroes. A nation of 
courageous, hardy, indefatigable women, dwelling apart from men, permitting 
only a short temporary intercourse, for the purpose of renovating their numbers, 
burning out their right breast with a view of enabling themselves to draw the 
bow freely; this was at once a general type, stimulating to the fancy of the 
poet, and a theme eminently popular with his hearers. We find these warlike 
females constantly reappearing in the ancient poems, and universally accepted 
as past realities in the Iliad. When Priam wishes to illustrate emphatically the 
most numerous host in which he ever found himself included, he tells us that 
it was assembled in Phrygia, on the banks of the Sangarius, for the purpose of 
resisting the formidable Amazons. When Bellerophon is to be employed in a 



BOOK III. 



95 



And Sangar's stream ran purple with their blood. 

But far inferior those, in martial grace, 

And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race." 

This said, once more he view'd the warrior train; 
"What's he, whose arms lie scatter'd on the plain? 
Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread, 
Though great Atrides overtops his head. 
Nor yet appear his care and conduct small; 
From rank to rank he moves, and orders all. 
The stately ram thus measures o'er the ground, 
And, master of the flock, surveys them round. " 

Then Helen thus: "Whom your discerning eyes 
Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise; 
A barren island boasts his glorious birth; 
His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth." 

Antenor took the word, and thus began: 115 
"Myself, O king ! have seen that wondrous man 
When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws, 
To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause; 
(Great Menelaus urged the same request;) 
My house was honour'd with each royal guest: 
I knew their persons, and admired their parts, 
Both brave in arms, and both approved in arts. 
Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view; 
Ulysses seated, greater reverence drew. 
When Atreus' son harangued the listening train, 
Just was his sense, and his expression plain, 
His words succinct, yet full, without a fault; 

deadly and perilous undertaking, by those who prudently wished to procure his 
death, he is despatched against the Amazons. — Grote, vol. i p. 289. 
115 — Antenor, like ^Eneas, had always been favourable to the restoration of 
Helen. Liv 1. 2. 



96 



The Iliad of Homer 



He spoke no more than just the thing he ought. 
But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound, 116 
His modest eyes he fix'd upon the ground; 
[058] As one unskill'd or dumb, he seem'd to stand, 

Nor raised his head, nor stretch'd his sceptred hand; 
But, when he speaks, what elocution flows! 
Soft as the fleeces of descending snows, 117 
The copious accents fall, with easy art; 
Melting they fall, and sink into the heart! 
Wondering we hear, and fix'd in deep surprise, 
Our ears refute the censure of our eyes." 

The king then ask'd (as yet the camp he view'd) 
"What chief is that, with giant strength endued, 
Whose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest, 
And lofty stature, far exceed the rest? 
"Ajax the great, (the beauteous queen replied,) 
Himself a host: the Grecian strength and pride. 
See! bold Idomeneus superior towers 
Amid yon circle of his Cretan powers, 



"His lab'ring heart with sudden rapture seized 
He paus'd, and on the ground in silence gazed. 
Unskill'd and uninspired he seems to stand, 
Nor lifts the eye, nor graceful moves the hand: 
Then, while the chiefs in still attention hung, 
Pours the full tide of eloquence along; 
While from his lips the melting torrent flows, 
Soft as the fleeces of descending snows. 
Now stronger notes engage the listening crowd, 
Louder the accents rise, and yet more loud, 
Like thunders rolling from a distant cloud." 

Merrick's "Tryphiodorus," 148, 99. 
117 Duport, "Gnomol. Homer," p. 20, well observes that this comparison may 
also be sarcastically applied to the frigid style of oratory. It, of course, here 
merely denotes the ready fluency of Ulysses. 



BOOK III. 



97 



Great as a god! I saw him once before, 

With Menelaus on the Spartan shore. 

The rest I know, and could in order name; 

All valiant chiefs, and men of mighty fame. 

Yet two are wanting of the numerous train, 

Whom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain: 

Castor and Pollux, first in martial force, 

One bold on foot, and one renown'd for horse. 

My brothers these; the same our native shore, 

One house contain'd us, as one mother bore. 

Perhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease, 

For distant Troy refused to sail the seas; 

Perhaps their swords some nobler quarrel draws, 

Ashamed to combat in their sister's cause. " 

So spoke the fair, nor knew her brothers' doom; 118 
Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb; 
Adorn'd with honours in their native shore, 
Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more. 

Meantime the heralds, through the crowded town. 
Bring the rich wine and destined victims down. 
Idaeus' arms the golden goblets press'd, 119 
Who thus the venerable king address'd: 
"Arise, O father of the Trojan state! 
The nations call, thy joyful people wait 
To seal the truce, and end the dire debate. 
Paris, thy son, and Sparta's king advance, 
In measured lists to toss the weighty lance; 
And who his rival shall in arms subdue, 

118 — Her brothers' doom. They perished in combat with Lynceus and Idas, 
whilst besieging Sparta. See Hygin. Poet Astr. 32, 22. Virgil and others, 
however, make them share immortality by turns. 

119 Idreus was the arm-bearer and charioteer of king Priam, slain during this 
war. Cf. JEn, vi. 487. 



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[059] His be the dame, and his the treasure too. 

Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease, 
And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace: 
So shall the Greeks review their native shore, 
Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more." 

With grief he heard, and bade the chiefs prepare 

To join his milk-white coursers to the car; 

He mounts the seat, Antenor at his side; 

The gentle steeds through Scaea's gates they guide: 

Next from the car descending on the plain, 

Amid the Grecian host and Trojan train, 

Slow they proceed: the sage Ulysses then 

Arose, and with him rose the king of men. 

On either side a sacred herald stands, 

The wine they mix, and on each monarch's hands 

Pour the full urn; then draws the Grecian lord 

His cutlass sheathed beside his ponderous sword; 

From the sign'd victims crops the curling hair; 121 

The heralds part it, and the princes share; 

Then loudly thus before the attentive bands 

He calls the gods, and spreads his lifted hands: 

"O first and greatest power! whom all obey, 
Who high on Ida's holy mountain sway, 
Eternal Jove ! and you bright orb that roll 
From east to west, and view from pole to pole! 
Thou mother Earth! and all ye living floods! 
Infernal furies, and Tartarean gods, 
Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare 
For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear! 



— Scaea's gates, rather Scaean gates, i.e. the left-hand gates. 
121 This was customary in all sacrifices. Hence we find Iras descending to cut 
off the hair of Dido, before which she could not expire. 



BOOK III. 



99 



Hear, and be witness. If, by Paris slain, 

Great Menelaus press the fatal plain; 

The dame and treasures let the Trojan keep, 

And Greece returning plough the watery deep. 

If by my brother's lance the Trojan bleed, 

Be his the wealth and beauteous dame decreed: 

The appointed fine let Ilion justly pay, 

And every age record the signal day. 

This if the Phrygians shall refuse to yield, 

Arms must revenge, and Mars decide the field." 

With that the chief the tender victims slew, 

And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw; 

The vital spirit issued at the wound, 

And left the members quivering on the ground. 

From the same urn they drink the mingled wine, 

And add libations to the powers divine. 

While thus their prayers united mount the sky, 

"Hear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye gods on high! 

And may their blood, who first the league confound, [060] 

Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground; 

May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust, 

And all their lust be scatter'd as the dust!" 

Thus either host their imprecations join'd, 

Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind. 

The rites now finish'd, reverend Priam rose, 

And thus express'd a heart o'ercharged with woes: 

"Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the chiefs engage, 

But spare the weakness of my feeble age: 

In yonder walls that object let me shun, 

Nor view the danger of so dear a son. 

Whose arms shall conquer and what prince shall fall, 

Heaven only knows; for heaven disposes all." 



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This said, the hoary king no longer stay'd, 
But on his car the slaughter'd victims laid: 
Then seized the reins his gentle steeds to guide, 
And drove to Troy, Antenor at his side. 

Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose 

The lists of combat, and the ground inclose: 

Next to decide, by sacred lots prepare, 

Who first shall launch his pointed spear in air. 

The people pray with elevated hands, 

And words like these are heard through all the bands: 

"Immortal Jove, high Heaven's superior lord, 

On lofty Ida's holy mount adored! 

Whoe'er involved us in this dire debate, 

O give that author of the war to fate 

And shades eternal! let division cease, 

And joyful nations join in leagues of peace." 

With eyes averted Hector hastes to turn 
The lots of fight and shakes the brazen urn. 
Then, Paris, thine leap'd forth; by fatal chance 
Ordain'd the first to whirl the weighty lance. 
Both armies sat the combat to survey. 
Beside each chief his azure armour lay, 
And round the lists the generous coursers neigh. 
The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight, 
In gilded arms magnificently bright: 
The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around, 
With flowers adorn'd, with silver buckles bound: 
Lycaon's corslet his fair body dress'd, 
Braced in and fitted to his softer breast; 
A radiant baldric, o'er his shoulder tied, 
Sustain'd the sword that glitter'd at his side: 
His youthful face a polish'd helm o'erspread; 



BOOK III. 



101 



The waving horse-hair nodded on his head: 
His figured shield, a shining orb, he takes, 
And in his hand a pointed javelin shakes. 
With equal speed and fired by equal charms, 
The Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms. 

[061] 

Now round the lists the admiring armies stand, 

With javelins fix'd, the Greek and Trojan band. 

Amidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance, 

All pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance. 

The Trojan first his shining javelin threw; 

Full on Atrides' ringing shield it flew, 

Nor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound 122 

Leap'd from the buckler, blunted, on the ground. 

Atrides then his massy lance prepares, 

In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers: 

"Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust, 

And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust: 

Destroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause, 

Avenge the breach of hospitable laws ! 

Let this example future times reclaim, 

And guard from wrong fair friendship's holy name." 

Be said, and poised in air the javelin sent, 

Through Paris' shield the forceful weapon went, 

His corslet pierces, and his garment rends, 

And glancing downward, near his flank descends. 

The wary Trojan, bending from the blow, 

1 — Nor pierced. 

"This said, his feeble hand a jav'lin threw, 
Which, flutt'ring, seemed to loiter as it flew, 
Just, and but barely, to the mark it held, 
And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield." 

Dryden's Virgil, ii. 742. 



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Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe: 
But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook 
Full on his casque: the crested helmet shook; 
The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand, 
Broke short: the fragments glitter'd on the sand. 
The raging warrior to the spacious skies 
Raised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes: 
"Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust? 
And is it thus the gods assist the just? 
When crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies; 
The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies." 
Furious he said, and towards the Grecian crew 
(Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew; 
Struggling he followed, while the embroider'd thong 
That tied his helmet, dragg'd the chief along. 
Then had his ruin crown'd Atrides' joy, 
But Venus trembled for the prince of Troy: 
Unseen she came, and burst the golden band; 
And left an empty helmet in his hand. 
The casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw; 
The Greeks with smiles the polish'd trophy view. 
Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart, 
In thirst of vengeance, at his rival's heart; 
[062] The queen of love her favour'd champion shrouds 

(For gods can all things) in a veil of clouds. 
Raised from the field the panting youth she led, 
And gently laid him on the bridal bed, 
With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews, 
And all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews. 
Meantime the brightest of the female kind, 
The matchless Helen, o'er the walls reclined; 
To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came, 
In borrow'd form, the laughter-loving dame. 
(She seem'd an ancient maid, well-skill'd to cull 



BOOK III. 



103 



The snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool.) 

The goddess softly shook her silken vest, 

That shed perfumes, and whispering thus address'd: 




VENUS, DISGUISED, INVITING HELEN TO THE 
CHAMBER OF PARIS. 



"Haste, happy nymph! for thee thy Paris calls, 
Safe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls, 
Fair as a god; with odours round him spread, 
He lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed; 
Not like a warrior parted from the foe, 
But some gay dancer in the public show." 



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She spoke, and Helen's secret soul was moved; 
She scorn'd the champion, but the man she loved. 
Fair Venus' neck, her eyes that sparkled fire, 

And breast, reveal'd the queen of soft desire. 123 [063] 

Struck with her presence, straight the lively red 

Forsook her cheek; and trembling, thus she said: 

"Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive? 

And woman's frailty always to believe! 

Say, to new nations must I cross the main, 

Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain? 

For whom must Helen break her second vow? 

What other Paris is thy darling now? 

Left to Atrides, (victor in the strife,) 

An odious conquest and a captive wife, 

Hence let me sail; and if thy Paris bear 

My absence ill, let Venus ease his care. 

A handmaid goddess at his side to wait, 

Renounce the glories of thy heavenly state, 

Be fix'd for ever to the Trojan shore, 

His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more. 

For me, to lawless love no longer led, 

I scorn the coward, and detest his bed; 

Else should I merit everlasting shame, 

And keen reproach, from every Phrygian dame: 

111 suits it now the joys of love to know, 

Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe." 



Reveal'd the queen. 

"Thus having said, she tum'd and made appear 

Her neck refulgent and dishevell'd hair, 

Which, flowing from her shoulders, reach'd the ground, 

And widely spread ambrosial scents around. 

In length of train descends her sweeping gown; 

And, by her graceful walk, the queen of love is known." 



Dryden's Virgil, i. 556. 



BOOK III. 




VENUS PRESENTING HELEN TO PARIS. 



Then thus incensed, the Paphian queen replies: 
"Obey the power from whom thy glories rise: 
Should Venus leave thee, every charm must fly, 
Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye. 
Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more 
The world's aversion, than their love before; 
Now the bright prize for which mankind engage, 
Than, the sad victim, of the public rage." 



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[064] 

At this, the fairest of her sex obey'd, 
And veil'd her blushes in a silken shade; 
Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves, 
Led by the goddess of the Smiles and Loves. 
Arrived, and enter'd at the palace gate, 
The maids officious round their mistress wait; 
Then, all dispersing, various tasks attend; 
The queen and goddess to the prince ascend. 
Full in her Paris' sight, the queen of love 
Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove; 
Where, as he view'd her charms, she turn'd away 
Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say: 

"Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame, 
Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? 
O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword 
Of that brave man whom once I call'd my lord! 
The boaster Paris oft desired the day 
With Sparta's king to meet in single fray: 
Go now, once more thy rival's rage excite, 
Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: 
Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill'd 
Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field." 

The prince replies: "Ah cease, divinely fair, 
Nor add reproaches to the wounds I bear; 
This day the foe prevail'd by Pallas' power: 
We yet may vanquish in a happier hour: 
There want not gods to favour us above; 
But let the business of our life be love: 
These softer moments let delights employ, 
And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy. 
Not thus I loved thee, when from Sparta's shore 



BOOK III. 



107 



My forced, my willing heavenly prize I bore, 
When first entranced in Cranae's isle I lay, 124 
Mix'd with thy soul, and all dissolved away!" 
Thus having spoke, the enamour'd Phrygian boy 
Rush'd to the bed, impatient for the joy. 
Him Helen follow'd slow with bashful charms, 
And clasp'd the blooming hero in her arms. 

While these to love's delicious rapture yield, 
The stern Atrides rages round the field: 
So some fell lion whom the woods obey, 
Roars through the desert, and demands his prey. 
Paris he seeks, impatient to destroy, 
But seeks in vain along the troops of Troy; 
Even those had yielded to a foe so brave 
The recreant warrior, hateful as the grave. 
Then speaking thus, the king of kings arose, 

"Ye Trojans, Dardans, all our generous foes! [065] 

Hear and attest! from Heaven with conquest crown'd, 

Our brother's arms the just success have found: 

Be therefore now the Spartan wealth restor'd, 

Let Argive Helen own her lawful lord; 

The appointed fine let Ilion justly pay, 

And age to age record this signal day." 

He ceased; his army's loud applauses rise, 

And the long shout runs echoing through the skies. 

[066] 



— Cranae's isle, i.e. Athens. See the "Schol." and Alberti's "Hesychius," 
vol. ii. p. 338. This name was derived from one of its early kings, Cranaus. 



The Iliad of Homer 




VENUS. 




Map, titled "Graeciae Antiquae". 



[067] 



BOOK IV. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE BREACH OF THE TRUCE, AND THE FIRST 
BATTLE. 

The gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: 
they agree upon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down 
Minerva to break the truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an 
arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded, but cured by Machaon. 
In the meantime some of the Trojan troops attack the Greeks. 
Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts of a good general; 
he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some by praises 
and others by reproof. Nestor is particularly celebrated for his 
military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain 
on both sides. 

The same day continues through this as through the last book 
(as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end 
of the seventh book). The scene is wholly in the field before 
Troy. 

And now Olympus' shining gates unfold; 

The gods, with Jove, assume their thrones of gold: 

Immortal Hebe, fresh with bloom divine, 

The golden goblet crowns with purple wine: 

While the full bowls flow round, the powers employ 

Their careful eyes on long-contended Troy. 



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When Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia's spleen, 
Thus waked the fury of his partial queen, 
"Two powers divine the son of Atreus aid, 
Imperial Juno, and the martial maid; 125 
But high in heaven they sit, and gaze from far, 
The tame spectators of his deeds of war. 
Not thus fair Venus helps her favour'd knight, 
The queen of pleasures shares the toils of fight, 
Each danger wards, and constant in her care, 
Saves in the moment of the last despair. 
Her act has rescued Paris' forfeit life, 
Though great Atrides gain'd the glorious strife. 
Then say, ye powers! what signal issue waits 
[068] To crown this deed, and finish all the fates ! 

Shall Heaven by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare, 
Or rouse the furies, and awake the war? 
Yet, would the gods for human good provide, 
Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride, 
Still Priam's walls in peaceful honours grow, 
And through his gates the crowding nations flow." 



Thus while he spoke, the queen of heaven, enraged, 
And queen of war, in close consult engaged: 
Apart they sit, their deep designs employ, 
And meditate the future woes of Troy. 
Though secret anger swell'd Minerva's breast, 
The prudent goddess yet her wrath suppress'd; 
But Juno, impotent of passion, broke 
Her sullen silence, and with fury spoke: 




"Shall then, O tyrant of the ethereal reign! 
My schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain? 
Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms, 
Assembled nations, set two worlds in arms? 
To spread the war, I flew from shore to shore; 
The immortal coursers scarce the labour bore. 
At length ripe vengeance o'er their heads impends, 
But Jove himself the faithless race defends. 
Loth as thou art to punish lawless lust, 
Not all the gods are partial and unjust." 



The sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies, 

Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies: 

"Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate 

To Phrygia's monarch, and the Phrygian state! 

What high offence has fired the wife of Jove? 

Can wretched mortals harm the powers above, [069] 



— The martial maid. In the original, "Minerva Alalcomeneis," i.e. the 
defender, so called from her temple at Alalcomene in Boeotia. 



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That Troy, and Troy's whole race thou wouldst confound, 

And yon fair structures level with the ground! 

Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire, 

Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire! 

Let Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more, 

Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore: 

To boundless vengeance the wide realm be given, 

Till vast destruction glut the queen of heaven! 

So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy, 126 

When heaven no longer hears the name of Troy. 

But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate 

On thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate; 

Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay, 

Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way. 

For know, of all the numerous towns that rise 

Beneath the rolling sun and starry skies, 

Which gods have raised, or earth-born men enjoy, 

None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy. 

No mortals merit more distinguish'd grace 

Than godlike Priam, or than Priam's race. 

Still to our name their hecatombs expire, 

And altars blaze with unextinguish'd fire." 



At this the goddess rolled her radiant eyes, 
Then on the Thunderer fix'd them, and replies: 
"Three towns are Juno's on the Grecian plains, 
More dear than all the extended earth contains, 
Mycenae, Argos, and the Spartan wall; 127 



"Anything for a quiet life!" 
127 — Argos. The worship of Juno at Argos was very celebrated in ancient 
times, and she was regarded as the patron deity of that city. Apul. Met., vi. p. 
453; Servius on Virg. JEn., i. 28. 



BOOK IV. 



115 



These thou mayst raze, nor I forbid their fall: 
Tis not in me the vengeance to remove; 
The crime's sufficient that they share my love. 
Of power superior why should I complain? 
Resent I may, but must resent in vain. 
Yet some distinction Juno might require, 
Sprung with thyself from one celestial sire, 
A goddess born, to share the realms above, 
And styled the consort of the thundering Jove; 
Nor thou a wife and sister's right deny; 128 
Let both consent, and both by terms comply; 
So shall the gods our joint decrees obey, 
And heaven shall act as we direct the way. 
See ready Pallas waits thy high commands 
To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands; 
Their sudden friendship by her arts may cease, 
And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace." 

The sire of men and monarch of the sky 

The advice approved, and bade Minerva fly, 

Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ 

To make the breach the faithless act of Troy. 

Fired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight, 

And shot like lightning from Olympus' height. 

As the red comet, from Saturnius sent 

To fright the nations with a dire portent, 

(A fatal sign to armies on the plain, 

Or trembling sailors on the wintry main,) 

128 — A wife and sister. 

"But I, who walk in awful state above 

The majesty of heav'n, the sister-wife of Jove." 

Dryden's "Virgil," i. 70 

So Apuleius, /. c. speaks of her as " Jovis germana et conjux, and so Horace 
Od. iii. 3, 64, "conjuge me Jovis et sorore." 



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With sweeping glories glides along in air, 

And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair: 129 

Between both armies thus, in open sight 

Shot the bright goddess in a trail of light, 

With eyes erect the gazing hosts admire 

The power descending, and the heavens on fire! 

"The gods (they cried), the gods this signal sent, 

And fate now labours with some vast event: 

Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares; 

Jove, the great arbiter of peace and wars." 

They said, while Pallas through the Trojan throng, 

(In shape a mortal,) pass'd disguised along. 

Like bold Laodocus, her course she bent, 

Who from Antenor traced his high descent. 

Amidst the ranks Lycaon's son she found, 

The warlike Pandarus, for strength renown'd; 

Whose squadrons, led from black ^Esepus' flood, 130 

With flaming shields in martial circle stood. 

To him the goddess: "Phrygian! canst thou hear 

A well-timed counsel with a willing ear? 

What praise were thine, couldst thou direct thy dart, 

Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan's heart? 

What gifts from Troy, from Paris wouldst thou gain, 

Thy country's foe, the Grecian glory slain? 



"Thither came Uriel, gleaming through the even 
On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star 
In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired 
Impress the air, and shows the mariner 
From what point of his compass to beware 
Impetuous winds." 

— "Paradise Lost," iv. 555. 
130 — /Esepus' flood. A river of Mysia, rising from Mount Cotyius, in the 
southern part of the chain of Ida. 



BOOK IV. 



Then seize the occasion, dare the mighty deed, 
Aim at his breast, and may that aim succeed! 
But first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow 
To Lycian Phoebus with the silver bow, 
And swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay, 
On Zelia's altars, to the god of day." 131 

He heard, and madly at the motion pleased, 
His polish'd bow with hasty rashness seized. 
'Twas form'd of horn, and smooth'd with artful toil: 
A mountain goat resign'd the shining spoil. 
Who pierced long since beneath his arrows bled; 
The stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead, 
And sixteen palms his brow's large honours spread: 
The workmen join'd, and shaped the bended horns, 
And beaten gold each taper point adorns. 
This, by the Greeks unseen, the warrior bends, 
Screen'd by the shields of his surrounding friends: 
There meditates the mark; and couching low, 
Fits the sharp arrow to the well-strung bow. 
One from a hundred feather'd deaths he chose, 
Fated to wound, and cause of future woes; 
Then offers vows with hecatombs to crown 
Apollo's altars in his native town. 

Now with full force the yielding horn he bends, 
Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends; 
Close to his breast he strains the nerve below, 
Till the barb'd points approach the circling bow; 
The impatient weapon whizzes on the wing; 
Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quivering string. 



— Zelia, a town of Troas, at the foot of Ida. 



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But thee, Atrides! in that dangerous hour 

The gods forget not, nor thy guardian power, 

Pallas assists, and (weakened in its force) 

Diverts the weapon from its destined course: 

So from her babe, when slumber seals his eye, 

The watchful mother wafts the envenom'd fly. 

Just where his belt with golden buckles join'd, 

Where linen folds the double corslet lined, 

She turn'd the shaft, which, hissing from above, 

Pass'd the broad belt, and through the corslet drove; 

The folds it pierced, the plaited linen tore, 

And razed the skin, and drew the purple gore. 

As when some stately trappings are decreed 

To grace a monarch on his bounding steed, 

A nymph in Caria or Maeonia bred, 

Stains the pure ivory with a lively red; 

With equal lustre various colours vie, 

The shining whiteness, and the Tyrian dye: 

So great Atrides ! show'd thy sacred blood, 

As down thy snowy thigh distill'd the streaming flood. 

With horror seized, the king of men descried 

The shaft infix'd, and saw the gushing tide: 

Nor less the Spartan fear'd, before he found 

The shining barb appear above the wound, 

Then, with a sigh, that heaved his manly breast, 

The royal brother thus his grief express'd, 

And grasp'd his hand; while all the Greeks around 

With answering sighs return'd the plaintive sound. 

[072] 

"Oh, dear as life! did I for this agree 
The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee! 
Wert thou exposed to all the hostile train, 
To fight for Greece, and conquer, to be slain! 
The race of Trojans in thy ruin join, 



BOOK IV. 



And faith is scorn'd by all the perjured line. 

Not thus our vows, confirm'd with wine and gore, 

Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore, 

Shall all be vain: when Heaven's revenge is slow, 

Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow. 

The day shall come, that great avenging day, 

When Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay, 

When Priam's powers and Priam's self shall fall, 

And one prodigious ruin swallow all. 

I see the god, already, from the pole 

Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll; 

I see the Eternal all his fury shed, 

And shake his aegis o'er their guilty head. 

Such mighty woes on perjured princes wait; 

But thou, alas! deserv'st a happier fate. 

Still must I mourn the period of thy days, 

And only mourn, without my share of praise? 

Deprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more 

Shall dream of conquests on the hostile shore; 

Troy seized of Helen, and our glory lost, 

Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast; 

While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries, 

(And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,) 

'Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings, 

And such the conquest of her king of kings ! 

Lo his proud vessels scatter'd o'er the main, 

And unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.' 

Oh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, 

O'erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch's shame." 

He said: a leader's and a brother's fears 
Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers: 
"Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate; 
The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate: 



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Stiff with the rich embroider'd work around, 
My varied belt repell'd the flying wound." 

To whom the king: "My brother and my friend, 
Thus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend! 
Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art 
May stanch the effusion, and extract the dart. 
Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring 
His speedy succour to the Spartan king; 
Pierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy), 
The Grecian's sorrow, and the Dardan's joy." 

With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies; 
Through the thick files he darts his searching eyes, 
And finds Machaon, where sublime he stands 132 
In arms incircled with his native bands. 
Then thus: "Machaon, to the king repair, 
His wounded brother claims thy timely care; 
Pierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow, 
A grief to us, a triumph to the foe. " 



— Podaleirius and Machaon are the leeches of the Grecian army, highly 
prized and consulted by all the wounded chiefs. Their medical renown was 
further prolonged in the subsequent poem of Arktinus, the Iliou Persis, wherein 
the one was represented as unrivalled in surgical operations, the other as 
sagacious in detecting and appreciating morbid symptoms. It was Podaleirius 
who first noticed the glaring eyes and disturbed deportment which preceded 
the suicide of Ajax. 

"Galen appears uncertain whether Asklepius (as well as Dionysus) was 
originally a god, or whether he was first a man and then became afterwards 
a god; but Apollodorus professed to fix the exact date of his apotheosis. 
Throughout all the historical ages the descendants of Asklepius were numerous 
and widely diffused. The many families or gentes, called Asklepiads, who 
devoted themselves to the study and practice of medicine, and who principally 
dwelt near the temples of Asklepius, whither sick and suffering men came to 
obtain relief — all recognized the god not merely as the object of their common 
worship, but also as their actual progenitor." — Grote vol. i. p. 248. 



BOOK IV. 



121 



The heavy tidings grieved the godlike man 
Swift to his succour through the ranks he ran. 
The dauntless king yet standing firm he found, 
And all the chiefs in deep concern around. 
Where to the steely point the reed was join'd, 
The shaft he drew, but left the head behind. 
Straight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced, 
He loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced; 
Then suck'd the blood, and sovereign balm infused, 13 
Which Chiron gave, and ^Esculapius used. 

While round the prince the Greeks employ their care, 

The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war; 

Once more they glitter in refulgent arms, 

Once more the fields are fill'd with dire alarms. 

Nor had you seen the king of men appear 

Confused, unactive, or surprised with fear; 

But fond of glory, with severe delight, 

His beating bosom claim'd the rising fight. 

No longer with his warlike steeds he stay'd, 

Or press'd the car with polish'd brass inlaid 

But left Eurymedon the reins to guide; 

The fiery coursers snorted at his side. 

On foot through all the martial ranks he moves 

And these encourages, and those reproves. 

"Brave men!" he cries, (to such who boldly dare 



"The plant she bruises with a stone, and stands 
Tempering the juice between her ivory hands 
This o'er her breast she sheds with sovereign art 
And bathes with gentle touch the wounded part 
The wound such virtue from the juice derives, 
At once the blood is stanch'd, the youth revives." 

"Orlando Furioso," book 1. 



122 



The Iliad of Homer 



Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war), 
"Your ancient valour on the foes approve; 
[074] Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove. 

Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread, 
Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head; 
Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains, 
And her dead warriors strew the mournful plains." 

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires; 
Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires: 
"Shame to your country, scandal of your kind; 
Born to the fate ye well deserve to find! 
Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain, 
Prepared for flight, but doom'd to fly in vain? 
Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer 
Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear. 
Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire, 
Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire? 
Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase, 
To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?" 

This said, he stalk'd with ample strides along, 
To Crete's brave monarch and his martial throng; 
High at their head he saw the chief appear, 
And bold Meriones excite the rear. 
At this the king his generous joy express'd, 
And clasp'd the warrior to his armed breast. 
"Divine Idomeneus ! what thanks we owe 
To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow? 
To thee the foremost honours are decreed, 
First in the fight and every graceful deed. 
For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls 
Restore our blood, and raise the warriors' souls, 
Though all the rest with stated rules we bound, 



BOOK IV. 



Unmix'd, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown'd. 
Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name; 
Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame." 
To whom the Cretan thus his speech address'd: 
"Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest. 
Fix'd to thy side, in every toil I share, 
Thy firm associate in the day of war. 
But let the signal be this moment given; 
To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven. 
The field shall prove how perjuries succeed, 
And chains or death avenge the impious deed." 



Charm'd with this heat, the king his course pursues, 

And next the troops of either Ajax views: 

In one firm orb the bands were ranged around, 

A cloud of heroes blacken'd all the ground. 

Thus from the lofty promontory's brow 

A swain surveys the gathering storm below; 

Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise, 

Spread in dim streams, and sail along the skies, 

Till black as night the swelling tempest shows, 

The cloud condensing as the west- wind blows: 

He dreads the impending storm, and drives his flock 

To the close covert of an arching rock. 



Such, and so thick, the embattled squadrons stood, 
With spears erect, a moving iron wood: 
A shady light was shot from glimmering shields, 
And their brown arms obscured the dusky fields. 



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"O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train, 
Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain, 
(Exclaim'd the king), who raise your eager bands 
With great examples, more than loud commands. 
Ah! would the gods but breathe in all the rest 
Such souls as burn in your exalted breast, 
Soon should our arms with just success be crown'd, 
And Troy's proud walls lie smoking on the ground." 

Then to the next the general bends his course; 
(His heart exults, and glories in his force); 
There reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands, 
And with inspiring eloquence commands; 
With strictest order sets his train in arms, 
The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms. 
Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait, 
Bias the good, and Pelagon the great. 
The horse and chariots to the front assign'd, 
The foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind; 
The middle space suspected troops supply, 
Inclosed by both, nor left the power to fly; 
He gives command to "curb the fiery steed, 
Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed: 
Before the rest let none too rashly ride; 
No strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried: 
The charge once made, no warrior turn the rein, 
But fight, or fall; a firm embodied train. 
He whom the fortune of the field shall cast 
From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste; 
Nor seek unpractised to direct the car, 
Content with javelins to provoke the war. 
Our great forefathers held this prudent course, 
Thus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force; 
By laws like these immortal conquests made, 



BOOK IV. 



125 



And earth's proud tyrants low in ashes laid." 

So spoke the master of the martial art, 
And touch'd with transport great Atrides' heart. 
"Oh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires, 
And nerves to second what thy soul inspires ! 
But wasting years, that wither human race, 
Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace. 
What once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be! 
And age the lot of any chief but thee." 

Thus to the experienced prince Atrides cried; 

He shook his hoary locks, and thus replied: [076] 

"Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew 134 

That strength which once in boiling youth I knew; 

Such as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain 

Beneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain. 

But heaven its gifts not all at once bestows, 

These years with wisdom crowns, with action those: 

The field of combat fits the young and bold, 

The solemn council best becomes the old: 

To you the glorious conflict I resign, 

Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine." 



— Well might I wish. 

"Would heav'n (said he) my strength and youth recall, 
Such as I was beneath Praeneste's wall — 
Then when I made the foremost foes retire, 
And set whole heaps of conquer'd shields on fire; 
When Herilus in single fight I slew, 
Whom with three lives Feronia did endue." 



Dryden's Virgil, viii. 742. 



126 



The Iliad of Homer 



He said. With joy the monarch march'd before, 

And found Menestheus on the dusty shore, 

With whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands; 

And next Ulysses, with his subject bands. 

Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far 

The peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war; 

The tumult late begun, they stood intent 

To watch the motion, dubious of the event. 

The king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved, 

With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved: 

"Can Peleus' son forget a warrior's part. 
And fears Ulysses, skill'd in every art? 
Why stand you distant, and the rest expect 
To mix in combat which yourselves neglect? 
From you 'twas hoped among the first to dare 
The shock of armies, and commence the war; 
For this your names are call'd before the rest, 
To share the pleasures of the genial feast: 
And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey 
Whole troops before you labouring in the fray? 
Say, is it thus those honours you requite? 
The first in banquets, but the last in fight." 

Ulysses heard: the hero's warmth o'erspread 
His cheek with blushes: and severe, he said: 
"Take back the unjust reproach! Behold we stand 
Sheathed in bright arms, and but expect command. 
If glorious deeds afford thy soul delight, 
Behold me plunging in the thickest fight. 
Then give thy warrior-chief a warrior's due, 
Who dares to act whate'er thou dar'st to view." 
Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies: 



BOOK IV. 



127 



"O great in action, and in council wise! 

With ours, thy care and ardour are the same, 

Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame. 

Sage as thou art, and learn'd in human kind, 

Forgive the transport of a martial mind. 

Haste to the fight, secure of just amends; 

The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends." 

He said, and pass'd where great Tydides lay, 
His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array; 
(The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;) 135 
To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried: 
"O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame 
The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name) 
Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry, 
With hands unactive, and a careless eye? 
Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear'd; 
Still first in front the matchless prince appear'd: 
What glorious toils, what wonders they recite, 
Who view'd him labouring through the ranks of fight? 
I saw him once, when gathering martial powers, 
A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenae's towers; 
Armies he ask'd, and armies had been given, 
Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven; 
While dreadful comets glaring from afar, 
Forewarn'd the horrors of the Theban war. 136 
Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows, 
A fearless envoy, he approach'd the foes; 
Thebes' hostile walls unguarded and alone, 

135 — Sthenelus, a son of Capaneus, one of the Epigoni. He was one of the 
suitors of Helen, and is said to have been one of those who entered Troy inside 
the wooden horse. 

136 — Forwarn'd the horrors. The same portent has already been mentioned. 
To this day, modern nations are not wholly free from this superstition. 



128 



The Iliad of Homer 



Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne. 
The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found, 
And dared to combat all those chiefs around: 
Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord; 
For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword. 
Stung with the shame, within the winding way, 
To bar his passage fifty warriors lay; 
Two heroes led the secret squadron on, 
Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon; 
Those fifty slaughter'd in the gloomy vale. 
He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale, 
Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire; 
Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!" 



No words the godlike Diomed return'd, 
But heard respectful, and in secret burn'd: 
Not so fierce Capaneus' undaunted son; 
Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun: 



"What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise, 
Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise? 
[078] Dare to be just, Atrides ! and confess 

Our value equal, though our fury less. 
With fewer troops we storm'd the Theban wall, 
And happier saw the sevenfold city fall, 137 
In impious acts the guilty father died; 
The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side. 
Far more than heirs of all our parents' fame, 
Our glories darken their diminish'd name. " 



— Sevenfold city, Boeotian Thebes, which had seven gates. 



BOOK IV. 



129 



To him Tydides thus: "My friend, forbear; 
Suppress thy passion, and the king revere: 
His high concern may well excuse this rage, 
Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage: 
His the first praise, were Ilion's towers o'erthrown, 
And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own. 
Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite, 
'Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight. " 

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground 

Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound. 

Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar, 

Of arm'd Tydides rushing to the war. 

As when the winds, ascending by degrees, 138 

First move the whitening surface of the seas, 

The billows float in order to the shore, 

The wave behind rolls on the wave before; 

Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise, 

Foam o'er the rocks, and thunder to the skies. 

So to the fight the thick battalions throng, 

Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along 

Sedate and silent move the numerous bands; 

No sound, no whisper, but the chiefs commands, 

Those only heard; with awe the rest obey, 

As if some god had snatch'd their voice away. 

Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends 

A general shout that all the region rends. 

i — As when the winds. 

"Thus, when a black-brow'd gust begins to rise, 
White foam at first on the curl'd ocean fries; 
Then roars the main, the billows mount the skies, 
Till, by the fury of the storm full blown, 
The muddy billow o'er the clouds is thrown." 

Dryden's Virgil, vii. 736. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



As when the fleecy flocks unnumber'd stand 
In wealthy folds, and wait the milker's hand, 
The hollow vales incessant bleating fills, 
The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills: 
Such clamours rose from various nations round, 
Mix'd was the murmur, and confused the sound. 
Each host now joins, and each a god inspires, 
These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires, 
Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign; 
[079] And discord raging bathes the purple plain; 

Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power, 
Small at her birth, but rising every hour, 
While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound, 
She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around; 1 
The nations bleed, where'er her steps she turns, 
The groan still deepens, and the combat burns. 



Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed, 
To armour armour, lance to lance opposed, 
Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew, 
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew, 
Victors and vanquish'd join'd promiscuous cries, 
And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise; 
With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, 
And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide. 



139 



"Stood 

Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved; 
His stature reach'd the sky." 



— "Paradise Lost," iv. 986. 



BOOK IV. 



As torrents roll, increased by numerous rills, 
With rage impetuous, down their echoing hills 
Rush to the vales, and pour'd along the plain. 
Roar through a thousand channels to the main: 
The distant shepherd trembling hears the sound; 
So mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound. 

The bold Antilochus the slaughter led, 
The first who struck a valiant Trojan dead: 
At great Echepolus the lance arrives, 
Razed his high crest, and through his helmet drives; 
Warm'd in the brain the brazen weapon lies, 
And shades eternal settle o'er his eyes. 
So sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood 
Of force and fire, its walls besmear'd with blood. 
Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng, 140 
Seized to despoil, and dragg'd the corpse along: 
But while he strove to tug the inserted dart, 
Agenor's javelin reach'd the hero's heart. 
His flank, unguarded by his ample shield, 
Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field; 
The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more; 
The soul comes floating in a tide of gore. 
Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain; 
The war renews, the warriors bleed again: 
As o'er their prey rapacious wolves engage, 
Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage. 

In blooming youth fair Simoisius fell, 
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell; 
Fair Simoisius, whom his mother bore 
Amid the flocks on silver Simois' shore: 
The nymph descending from the hills of Ide, 
To seek her parents on his flowery side, 



The Abantes seem to have been of Thracian origin. 



132 



The Iliad of Homer 



Brought forth the babe, their common care and joy, 

And thence from Simois named the lovely boy. 

Short was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain, 

He falls, and renders all their cares in vain! 

So falls a poplar, that in watery ground 

Raised high the head, with stately branches crown'd, 

(Fell'd by some artist with his shining steel, 

To shape the circle of the bending wheel,) 

Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread, 

With all its beauteous honours on its head 

There, left a subject to the wind and rain, 

And scorch'd by suns, it withers on the plain 

Thus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies 

Stretch'd on the shore, and thus neglected dies. 

At Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw; 

The pointed lance with erring fury flew, 

And Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew. 

He drops the corpse of Simoisius slain, 

And sinks a breathless carcase on the plain. 

This saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged, 

Strode where the foremost of the foes engaged; 

Arm'd with his spear, he meditates the wound, 

In act to throw; but cautious look'd around, 

Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew, 

And trembling heard the javelin as it flew. 

A chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came, 

Old Priam's son, Democoon was his name. 

The weapon entered close above his ear, 

Cold through his temples glides the whizzing spear; 1 

With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath, 

His eye-balls darken with the shades of death; 



I may, once for all, remark that Homer is most anatomically correct as to 
the parts of the body in which a wound would be immediately mortal. 



BOOK IV. 



Ponderous he falls; his clanging arms resound, 
And his broad buckler rings against the ground. 

Seized with affright the boldest foes appear; 
E'en godlike Hector seems himself to fear; 
Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled; 
The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead: 
But Phoebus now from Ilion's towering height 
Shines forth reveal'd, and animates the fight. 
"Trojans, be bold, and force with force oppose; 
Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes ! 
Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb'd with steel; 
Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel. 
Have ye forgot what seem'd your dread before? 
The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more." 

Apollo thus from Ilion's lofty towers, 
Array'd in terrors, roused the Trojan powers: 
While war's fierce goddess fires the Grecian foe, 
And shouts and thunders in the fields below. 
Then great Diores fell, by doom divine, 
In vain his valour and illustrious line. 
A broken rock the force of Pyrus threw, 
(Who from cold jEnus led the Thracian crew,) 142 
Full on his ankle dropp'd the ponderous stone, 
Burst the strong nerves, and crash'd the solid bone. 
Supine he tumbles on the crimson sands, 
Before his helpless friends, and native bands, 
And spreads for aid his unavailing hands. 
The foe rush'd furious as he pants for breath, 
And through his navel drove the pointed death: 
His gushing entrails smoked upon the ground, 
And the warm life came issuing from the wound. 



— Mnus, a fountain almost proverbial for its coldness. 



134 



The Iliad of Homer 



His lance bold Thoas at the conqueror sent, 
Deep in his breast above the pap it went, 
Amid the lungs was fix'd the winged wood, 
And quivering in his heaving bosom stood: 
Till from the dying chief, approaching near, 
The iEtolian warrior tugg'd his weighty spear: 
Then sudden waved his flaming falchion round, 
And gash'd his belly with a ghastly wound; 
The corpse now breathless on the bloody plain, 
To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain; 
The Thracian bands against the victor press'd, 
A grove of lances glitter'd at his breast. 
Stern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes, 
In sullen fury slowly quits the prize. 

Thus fell two heroes; one the pride of Thrace, 
And one the leader of the Epeian race; 
Death's sable shade at once o'ercast their eyes, 
In dust the vanquish'd and the victor lies. 
With copious slaughter all the fields are red, 
And heap'd with growing mountains of the dead. 

Had some brave chief this martial scene beheld, 
By Pallas guarded through the dreadful field; 
Might darts be bid to turn their points away, 
And swords around him innocently play; 
The war's whole art with wonder had he seen, 
And counted heroes where he counted men. 

So fought each host, with thirst of glory fired, 
And crowds on crowds triumphantly expired. 

[082] 




Map of the Plain of Troy. 



[083] 



BOOKV. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE ACTS OF DIOMED. 

Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day's 
battle. Pandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures 
him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits 
him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. 
iEneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and 
iEneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as 
she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand 
by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length 
carries off ^Eneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of 
Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a 
stand. In the meantime ^Eneas is restored to the field, and they 
overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is 
slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the 
latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and 
sends him groaning to heaven. 

The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the 
same as in the former. 

But Pallas now Tydides' soul inspires, 143 

Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires, 

143 Compare Tasso, Gier. Lib., xx. 7: 

"Nuovo favor del cielo in lui niluce 
E '1 fa grande, et angusto oltre il costume. 
Gl' empie d' honor la faccia, e vi riduce 
Di giovinezza il bel purpureo lume." 



138 



The Iliad of Homer 



Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise, 
And crown her hero with distinguish'd praise. 
High on his helm celestial lightnings play, 
His beamy shield emits a living ray; 
The unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies, 
Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies, 
When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight, 
And, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light. 
Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow'd, 
Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow'd: 
Onward she drives him, furious to engage, 
Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage. 

The sons of Dares first the combat sought, 
[084] A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault; 

In Vulcan's fane the father's days were led, 

The sons to toils of glorious battle bred; 

These singled from their troops the fight maintain, 

These, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain. 

Fierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near, 

And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear, 

Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course, 

And spent in empty air its erring force. 

Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain, 

But pierced his breast, and stretch'd him on the plain. 

Seized with unusual fear, Idaeus fled, 

Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead. 

And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid, 

He too had sunk to death's eternal shade; 

But in a smoky cloud the god of fire 

Preserved the son, in pity to the sire. 

The steeds and chariot, to the navy led, 

Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed. 



BOOK V. 



Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew, 
Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view; 
When by the blood-stain'd hand Minerva press'd 
The god of battles, and this speech address'd: 

"Stern power of war! by whom the mighty fall, 
Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall! 
Let the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide; 
And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide: 
While we from interdicted fields retire, 
Nor tempt the wrath of heaven's avenging sire." 

Her words allay the impetuous warrior's heat, 
The god of arms and martial maid retreat; 
Removed from fight, on Xanthus' flowery bounds 
They sat, and listen'd to the dying sounds. 

Meantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue, 
And some bold chieftain every leader slew: 
First Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand, 
His death ennobled by Atrides' hand: 

As he to flight his wheeling car address'd, 
The speedy javelin drove from back to breast. 
In dust the mighty Halizonian lay, 
His arms resound, the spirit wings its way. 

Thy fate was next, O Phaestus! doom'd to feel 
The great Idomeneus' protended steel; 
Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy) 
From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy. 
The Cretan javelin reach'd him from afar, 
And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car; 
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground, 
And everlasting shades his eyes surround. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase, 

In woods and wilds to wound the savage race; [085] 

Diana taught him all her sylvan arts, 

To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts: 

But vainly here Diana's arts he tries, 

The fatal lance arrests him as he flies; 

From Menelaus' arm the weapon sent, 

Through his broad back and heaving bosom went: 

Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound, 

His brazen armour rings against the ground. 

Next artful Phereclus untimely fell; 
Bold Merion sent him to the realms of hell. 
Thy father's skill, O Phereclus! was thine, 
The graceful fabric and the fair design; 
For loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart 
To him the shipwright's and the builder's art. 
Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose, 
The fatal cause of all his country's woes; 
But he, the mystic will of heaven unknown, 
Nor saw his country's peril, nor his own. 
The hapless artist, while confused he fled, 
The spear of Merion mingled with the dead. 
Through his right hip, with forceful fury cast, 
Between the bladder and the bone it pass'd; 
Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries, 
And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes. 

From Meges' force the swift Pedaeus fled, 
Antenor's offspring from a foreign bed, 
Whose generous spouse, Theanor, heavenly fair, 
Nursed the young stranger with a mother's care. 
How vain those cares ! when Meges in the rear 
Full in his nape infix'd the fatal spear; 



BOOK V. 



141 



Swift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides, 
And the cold tongue and grinning teeth divides. 

Then died Hypsenor, generous and divine, 
Sprung from the brave Dolopion's mighty line, 
Who near adored Scamander made abode, 
Priest of the stream, and honoured as a god. 
On him, amidst the flying numbers found, 
Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound; 
On his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand, 
Thence glancing downwards, lopp'd his holy hand, 
Which stain'd with sacred blood the blushing sand. 
Down sunk the priest: the purple hand of death 
Closed his dim eye, and fate suppress'd his breath. 

Thus toil'd the chiefs, in different parts engaged. 

In every quarter fierce Tydides raged; 

Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train, 

Rapt through the ranks he thunders o'er the plain; 

Now here, now there, he darts from place to place, 

Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face. 

Thus from high hills the torrents swift and strong [086] 

Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along, 

Through ruin'd moles the rushing wave resounds, 

O'erwhelm's the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds; 

The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year, 

And flatted vineyards, one sad waste appear! 144 



"Or deluges, descending on the plains, 
Sweep o'er the yellow year, destroy the pains 
Of lab'ring oxen, and the peasant's gains; 
Uproot the forest oaks, and bear away 
Flocks, folds, and trees, an undistinguish'd prey." 

Dryden's Virgil ii. 408. 



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While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain, 
And all the labours of mankind are vain. 

So raged Tydides, boundless in his ire, 
Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire. 
With grief the leader of the Lycian band 
Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand: 
His bended bow against the chief he drew; 
Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew, 
Whose forky point the hollow breastplate tore, 
Deep in his shoulder pierced, and drank the gore: 
The rushing stream his brazen armour dyed, 
While the proud archer thus exulting cried: 

"Hither, ye Trojans, hither drive your steeds! 
Lo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds, 
Not long the deathful dart he can sustain; 
Or Phoebus urged me to these fields in vain." 
So spoke he, boastful: but the winged dart 
Stopp'd short of life, and mock'd the shooter's art. 
The wounded chief, behind his car retired, 
The helping hand of Sthenelus required; 
Swift from his seat he leap'd upon the ground, 
And tugg'd the weapon from the gushing wound; 
When thus the king his guardian power address'd, 
The purple current wandering o'er his vest: 

"O progeny of Jove! unconquer'd maid! 

If e'er my godlike sire deserved thy aid, 

If e'er I felt thee in the fighting field; 

Now, goddess, now, thy sacred succour yield. 

O give my lance to reach the Trojan knight, 

Whose arrow wounds the chief thou guard'st in fight; 

And lay the boaster grovelling on the shore, 

That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more. " 



BOOK V. 



143 



Thus pray'd Tydides, and Minerva heard, 
His nerves confirm'd, his languid spirits cheer'd; 
He feels each limb with wonted vigour light; 
His beating bosom claim'd the promised fight. 
"Be bold, (she cried), in every combat shine, 
War be thy province, thy protection mine; 
Rush to the fight, and every foe control; 

Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul: [087] 

Strength swells thy boiling breast, infused by me, 

And all thy godlike father breathes in thee; 

Yet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes, 145 

And set to view the warring deities. 

These see thou shun, through all the embattled plain; 

Nor rashly strive where human force is vain. 

If Venus mingle in the martial band, 

Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command." 

With that, the blue-eyed virgin wing'd her flight; 

The hero rush'd impetuous to the fight; 

With tenfold ardour now invades the plain, 

Wild with delay, and more enraged by pain. 

As on the fleecy flocks when hunger calls, 

Amidst the field a brindled lion falls; 

If chance some shepherd with a distant dart 

The savage wound, he rouses at the smart, 

He foams, he roars; the shepherd dares not stay, 

But trembling leaves the scattering flocks a prey; 

Heaps fall on heaps; he bathes with blood the ground, 

Then leaps victorious o'er the lofty mound. 

Not with less fury stern Tydides flew; 

' — From mortal mists. 

"But to nobler sights 
Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed." 

"Paradise Lost," xi. 411. 



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And two brave leaders at an instant slew; 
Astynous breathless fell, and by his side, 
His people's pastor, good Hypenor, died; 
Astynous' breast the deadly lance receives, 
Hypenor's shoulder his broad falchion cleaves. 
Those slain he left, and sprung with noble rage 
Abas and Polyidus to engage; 
Sons of Eurydamus, who, wise and old, 
Could fate foresee, and mystic dreams unfold; 
The youths return'd not from the doubtful plain, 
And the sad father tried his arts in vain; 
No mystic dream could make their fates appear, 
Though now determined by Tydides' spear. 



Young Xanthus next, and Thoon felt his rage; 
The joy and hope of Phaenops' feeble age: 
Vast was his wealth, and these the only heirs 
Of all his labours and a life of cares. 
Cold death o'ertakes them in their blooming years, 
And leaves the father unavailing tears: 
To strangers now descends his heapy store, 
The race forgotten, and the name no more. 



Two sons of Priam in one chariot ride, 
Glittering in arms, and combat side by side. 
As when the lordly lion seeks his food 
[088] Where grazing heifers range the lonely wood, 

He leaps amidst them with a furious bound, 
Bends their strong necks, and tears them to the ground: 
So from their seats the brother chiefs are torn, 
Their steeds and chariot to the navy borne. 



BOOK V. 



With deep concern divine ^Eneas view'd 
The foe prevailing, and his friends pursued; 
Through the thick storm of singing spears he flies, 
Exploring Pandarus with careful eyes. 
At length he found Lycaon's mighty son; 
To whom the chief of Venus' race begun: 

"Where, Pandarus, are all thy honours now, 
Thy winged arrows and unerring bow, 
Thy matchless skill, thy yet unrivall'd fame, 
And boasted glory of the Lycian name? 

pierce that mortal! if we mortal call 

That wondrous force by which whole armies fall; 
Or god incensed, who quits the distant skies 
To punish Troy for slighted sacrifice; 
(Which, oh avert from our unhappy state! 
For what so dreadful as celestial hate)? 
Whoe'er he be, propitiate Jove with prayer; 
If man, destroy; if god, entreat to spare." 

To him the Lycian: "Whom your eyes behold, 
If right I judge, is Diomed the bold: 
Such coursers whirl him o'er the dusty field, 
So towers his helmet, and so flames his shield. 
If 'tis a god, he wears that chiefs disguise: 
Or if that chief, some guardian of the skies, 
Involved in clouds, protects him in the fray, 
And turns unseen the frustrate dart away. 

1 wing'd an arrow, which not idly fell, 

The stroke had fix'd him to the gates of hell; 
And, but some god, some angry god withstands, 
His fate was due to these unerring hands. 
Skill'd in the bow, on foot I sought the war, 
Nor join'd swift horses to the rapid car. 



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Ten polish'd chariots I possess'd at home, 

And still they grace Lycaon's princely dome: 

There veil'd in spacious coverlets they stand; 

And twice ten coursers wait their lord's command. 

The good old warrior bade me trust to these, 

When first for Troy I sail'd the sacred seas; 

In fields, aloft, the whirling car to guide, 

And through the ranks of death triumphant ride. 

But vain with youth, and yet to thrift inclined, 

I heard his counsels with unheedful mind, 

And thought the steeds (your large supplies unknown) 

Might fail of forage in the straiten'd town; 

So took my bow and pointed darts in hand 

And left the chariots in my native land. 

[089] 

"Too late, O friend! my rashness I deplore; 
These shafts, once fatal, carry death no more. 
Tydeus' and Atreus' sons their points have found, 
And undissembled gore pursued the wound. 
In vain they bleed: this unavailing bow 
Serves, not to slaughter, but provoke the foe. 
In evil hour these bended horns I strung, 
And seized the quiver where it idly hung. 
Cursed be the fate that sent me to the field 
Without a warrior's arms, the spear and shield! 
If e'er with life I quit the Trojan plain, 
If e'er I see my spouse and sire again, 
This bow, unfaithful to my glorious aims, 
Broke by my hand, shall feed the blazing flames." 



BOOK V. 



To whom the leader of the Dardan race: 

"Be calm, nor Phoebus' honour'd gift disgrace. 

The distant dart be praised, though here we need 

The rushing chariot and the bounding steed. 

Against yon hero let us bend our course, 

And, hand to hand, encounter force with force. 

Now mount my seat, and from the chariot's height 

Observe my father's steeds, renown'd in fight; 

Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase, 

To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race; 

Secure with these, through fighting fields we go; 

Or safe to Troy, if Jove assist the foe. 

Haste, seize the whip, and snatch the guiding rein; 

The warrior's fury let this arm sustain; 

Or, if to combat thy bold heart incline, 

Take thou the spear, the chariot's care be mine. " 

"O prince! (Lycaon's valiant son replied) 
As thine the steeds, be thine the task to guide. 
The horses, practised to their lord's command, 
Shall bear the rein, and answer to thy hand; 
But, if, unhappy, we desert the fight, 
Thy voice alone can animate their flight; 
Else shall our fates be number'd with the dead, 
And these, the victor's prize, in triumph led. 
Thine be the guidance, then: with spear and shield 
Myself will charge this terror of the field. " 

And now both heroes mount the glittering car; 
The bounding coursers rush amidst the war; 
Their fierce approach bold Sthenelus espied, 
Who thus, alarm'd, to great Tydides cried: 



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"O friend! two chiefs of force immense I see, 
Dreadful they come, and bend their rage on thee: 
Lo the brave heir of old Lycaon's line, 
And great JEneas, sprung from race divine! 
Enough is given to fame. Ascend thy car! 
And save a life, the bulwark of our war." 

[090] 

At this the hero cast a gloomy look, 

Fix'd on the chief with scorn; and thus he spoke: 

"Me dost thou bid to shun the coming fight? 

Me wouldst thou move to base, inglorious flight? 

Know, 'tis not honest in my soul to fear, 

Nor was Tydides born to tremble here. 

I hate the cumbrous chariot's slow advance, 

And the long distance of the flying lance; 

But while my nerves are strong, my force entire, 

Thus front the foe, and emulate my sire. 

Nor shall yon steeds, that fierce to fight convey 

Those threatening heroes, bear them both away; 

One chief at least beneath this arm shall die; 

So Pallas tells me, and forbids to fly. 

But if she dooms, and if no god withstand, 

That both shall fall by one victorious hand, 

Then heed my words: my horses here detain, 

Fix'd to the chariot by the straiten'd rein; 

Swift to ^Eneas' empty seat proceed, 

And seize the coursers of ethereal breed; 

The race of those, which once the thundering god 

146 — The race of those. 

"A pair of coursers, born of heav'nly breed, 
Who from their nostrils breathed ethereal fire; 
Whom Circe stole from her celestial sire, 
By substituting mares produced on earth, 
Whose wombs conceived a more than mortal birth. 



BOOK V. 



For ravish'd Ganymede on Tros bestow'd, 

The best that e'er on earth's broad surface run, 

Beneath the rising or the setting sun. 

Hence great Anchises stole a breed unknown, 

By mortal mares, from fierce Laomedon: 

Four of this race his ample stalls contain, 

And two transport JEneas o'er the plain. 

These, were the rich immortal prize our own, 

Through the wide world should make our glory known. " 



Thus while they spoke, the foe came furious on, 
And stern Lycaon's warlike race begun: 



"Prince, thou art met. Though late in vain assail'd, 
The spear may enter where the arrow fail'd." 



He said, then shook the ponderous lance, and flung; 
On his broad shield the sounding weapon rung, 
Pierced the tough orb, and in his cuirass hung, 
"He bleeds! the pride of Greece! (the boaster cries,) 
Our triumph now, the mighty warrior lies ! " 
"Mistaken vaunter! (Diomed replied;) 
Thy dart has erred, and now my spear be tried; 
Ye 'scape not both; one, headlong from his car, 
With hostile blood shall glut the god of war." 



150 



The Iliad of Homer 



He spoke, and rising hurl'd his forceful dart, [091] 

Which, driven by Pallas, pierced a vital part; 

Full in his face it enter'd, and betwixt 

The nose and eye -ball the proud Lycian fix'd; 

Crash'd all his jaws, and cleft the tongue within, 

Till the bright point look'd out beneath the chin. 

Headlong he falls, his helmet knocks the ground: 

Earth groans beneath him, and his arms resound; 

The starting coursers tremble with affright; 

The soul indignant seeks the realms of night. 

To guard his slaughter'd friend, JEneas flies, 

His spear extending where the carcase lies; 

Watchful he wheels, protects it every way, 

As the grim lion stalks around his prey. 

O'er the fall'n trunk his ample shield display'd, 

He hides the hero with his mighty shade, 

And threats aloud! the Greeks with longing eyes 

Behold at distance, but forbear the prize. 

Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields 

Heaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields. 

Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, 

Such men as live in these degenerate days: 147 

He swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw, 

Discharged the ponderous ruin at the foe. 

Where to the hip the inserted thigh unites, 

Full on the bone the pointed marble lights; 

Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone, 

And stripp'd the skin, and crack'd the solid bone. 

Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains, 

His falling bulk his bended arm sustains; 

Dryden's Virgil, vii. 386, sqq. 
147 The belief in the existence of men of larger stature in earlier times, is by no 
means confined to Homer. 



BOOK V. 



Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies; 
A sudden cloud comes swimming o'er his eyes. 
There the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway'd, 
Oppress'd had sunk to death's eternal shade, 
But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love 
She bore Anchises in the Idaean grove, 
His danger views with anguish and despair, 
And guards her offspring with a mother's care. 
About her much-loved son her arms she throws, 
Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows. 
Screen'd from the foe behind her shining veil, 
The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail; 
Safe through the rushing horse, and feather'd flight 
Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight. 

Nor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands, 

Remain'd unheedful of his lord's commands: 

His panting steeds, removed from out the war, 

He fix'd with straiten'd traces to the car, 

Next, rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains 

The heavenly coursers with the flowing manes: 

These in proud triumph to the fleet convey'd, 

No longer now a Trojan lord obey'd. 

That charge to bold Deipylus he gave, 

(Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,) 

Then mounting on his car, resumed the rein, 

And follow'd where Tydides swept the plain. 

Meanwhile (his conquest ravished from his eyes) 
The raging chief in chase of Venus flies: 
No goddess she, commission'd to the field, 
Like Pallas dreadful with her sable shield, 
Or fierce Bellona thundering at the wall, 
While flames ascend, and mighty ruins fall; 



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He knew soft combats suit the tender dame, 
New to the field, and still a foe to fame. 
Through breaking ranks his furious course he bends, 
And at the goddess his broad lance extends; 
Through her bright veil the daring weapon drove, 
The ambrosial veil which all the Graces wove; 
Her snowy hand the razing steel profaned, 
And the transparent skin with crimson stain'd, 
From the clear vein a stream immortal flow'd, 
Such stream as issues from a wounded god; 148 
Pure emanation! uncorrupted flood! 
Unlike our gross, diseased, terrestrial blood: 
(For not the bread of man their life sustains, 
Nor wine's inflaming juice supplies their veins:) 
With tender shrieks the goddess fill'd the place, 
And dropp'd her offspring from her weak embrace. 
Him Phoebus took: he casts a cloud around 
The fainting chief, and wards the mortal wound. 

Then with a voice that shook the vaulted skies, 
The king insults the goddess as she flies: 
"111 with Jove's daughter bloody fights agree, 
The field of combat is no scene for thee: 
Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care, 
Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair. 
Taught by this stroke renounce the war's alarms, 
And learn to tremble at the name of arms." 



' — Such stream, i.e. the ichor, or blood of the gods. 

"A stream of nect'rous humour issuing flow'd, 
Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed." 



"Paradise Lost," vi. 339. 



BOOK V. 



Tydides thus. The goddess, seized with dread, 
Confused, distracted, from the conflict fled. 
To aid her, swift the winged Iris flew, 
Wrapt in a mist above the warring crew. 
The queen of love with faded charms she found. 
Pale was her cheek, and livid look'd the wound. 
To Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way: 
Far, on the left, with clouds involved he lay; 
Beside him stood his lance, distain'd with gore, 
And, rein'd with gold, his foaming steeds before. 
Low at his knee, she begg'd with streaming eyes 
Her brother's car, to mount the distant skies, 
And show'd the wound by fierce Tydides given, 
A mortal man, who dares encounter heaven. 
Stern Mars attentive hears the queen complain, 
And to her hand commits the golden rein; 
She mounts the seat, oppress'd with silent woe, 
Driven by the goddess of the painted bow. 
The lash resounds, the rapid chariot flies, 
And in a moment scales the lofty skies: 
They stopp'd the car, and there the coursers stood, 
Fed by fair Iris with ambrosial food; 
Before her mother, love's bright queen appears, 
O'erwhelmed with anguish, and dissolved in tears: 
She raised her in her arms, beheld her bleed, 
And ask'd what god had wrought this guilty deed? 

Then she: "This insult from no god I found, 
An impious mortal gave the daring wound! 
Behold the deed of haughty Diomed! 
'Twas in the son's defence the mother bled. 
The war with Troy no more the Grecians wage; 
But with the gods (the immortal gods) engage." 



154 



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VENUS, WOUNDED IN THE HAND, CONDUCTED BY 
IRIS TO MARS. 



Dione then: "Thy wrongs with patience bear, 
And share those griefs inferior powers must share: 
Unnumber'd woes mankind from us sustain, 
And men with woes afflict the gods again. 
The mighty Mars in mortal fetters bound, 149 
And lodged in brazen dungeons underground, 
Full thirteen moons imprison'd roar'd in vain; 
Otus and Ephialtes held the chain: 
Perhaps had perish'd had not Hermes' care 
Restored the groaning god to upper air. 
Great Juno's self has borne her weight of pain, 
The imperial partner of the heavenly reign; 
Amphitryon's son infix'd the deadly dart, 150 
And fill'd with anguish her immortal heart. 



This was during the wars with the Titans. 
150 — Amphitryon's son, Hercules, born to Jove by Alcmena, the wife of 
Amphitryon. 



BOOK V. 



155 



E'en hell's grim king Alcides' power confess'd, 
The shaft found entrance in his iron breast; 
To Jove's high palace for a cure he fled, 
Pierced in his own dominions of the dead; 
Where Paeon, sprinkling heavenly balm around, 
Assuaged the glowing pangs, and closed the wound. 
Rash, impious man! to stain the bless'd abodes, 
And drench his arrows in the blood of gods ! 




OTUS AND EPHIALTES HOLDING MARS CAPTIVE. 



"But thou (though Pallas urged thy frantic deed), 

Whose spear ill-fated makes a goddess bleed, 

Know thou, whoe'er with heavenly power contends, 

Short is his date, and soon his glory ends; 

From fields of death when late he shall retire, 

No infant on his knees shall call him sire. [095] 



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Strong as thou art, some god may yet be found, 
To stretch thee pale and gasping on the ground; 
Thy distant wife, iEgiale the fair, 151 
Starting from sleep with a distracted air, 
Shall rouse thy slaves, and her lost lord deplore, 
The brave, the great, the glorious now no more!" 



This said, she wiped from Venus' wounded palm 
The sacred ichor, and infused the balm. 
Juno and Pallas with a smile survey'd, 
And thus to Jove began the blue-eyed maid: 

"Permit thy daughter, gracious Jove! to tell 
How this mischance the Cyprian queen befell, 
As late she tried with passion to inflame 
The tender bosom of a Grecian dame; 
Allured the fair, with moving thoughts of joy, 
To quit her country for some youth of Troy; 
The clasping zone, with golden buckles bound, 
Razed her soft hand with this lamented wound. " 



The sire of gods and men superior smiled, 
And, calling Venus, thus address'd his child: 
"Not these, O daughter are thy proper cares, 
Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars; 
Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms; 
To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms." 



— JEgiale daughter of Adrastus. The Cyclic poets (See Anthon's Lempriere, 
s. v.) assert Venus incited her to infidelity, in revenge for the wound she had 
received from her husband. 



BOOK V. 



157 



Thus they in heaven: while on the plain below 
The fierce Tydides charged his Dardan foe, 
Flush'd with celestial blood pursued his way, 
And fearless dared the threatening god of day; 
Already in his hopes he saw him kill'd, 
Though screen'd behind Apollo's mighty shield. 
Thrice rushing furious, at the chief he strook; 
His blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook: 
He tried the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud, 
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud. 

"O son of Tydeus, cease! be wise and see 
How vast the difference of the gods and thee; 
Distance immense! between the powers that shine 
Above, eternal, deathless, and divine, 
And mortal man! a wretch of humble birth, 
A short-lived reptile in the dust of earth." 

So spoke the god who darts celestial fires: 

He dreads his fury, and some steps retires. 

Then Phoebus bore the chief of Venus' race 

To Troy's high fane, and to his holy place; 

Latona there and Phoebe heal'd the wound, 

With vigour arm'd him, and with glory crown'd. 

This done, the patron of the silver bow [096] 

A phantom raised, the same in shape and show 

With great ^Eneas; such the form he bore, 

And such in fight the radiant arms he wore. 

Around the spectre bloody wars are waged, 

And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged. 

Meantime on Ilion's tower Apollo stood, 

And calling Mars, thus urged the raging god: 



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"Stern power of arms, by whom the mighty fall; 
Who bathest in blood, and shakest the embattled wall, 
Rise in thy wrath! to hell's abhorr'd abodes 
Despatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods. 
First rosy Venus felt his brutal rage; 
Me next he charged, and dares all heaven engage: 
The wretch would brave high heaven's immortal sire, 
His triple thunder, and his bolts of fire." 

The god of battle issues on the plain, 
Stirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train; 
In form like Acamas, the Thracian guide, 
Enraged to Troy's retiring chiefs he cried: 

"How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly, 

And unrevenged see Priam's people die? 

Still unresisted shall the foe destroy, 

And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy? 

Lo, brave ^Eneas sinks beneath his wound, 

Not godlike Hector more in arms renown'd: 

Haste all, and take the generous warrior's part. 

He said; — new courage swell'd each hero's heart. 

Sarpedon first his ardent soul express'd, 

And, turn'd to Hector, these bold words address'd: 

"Say, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost? 
Where are thy threats, and where thy glorious boast, 
That propp'd alone by Priam's race should stand 
Troy's sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand? 
Now, now thy country calls her wonted friends, 
And the proud vaunt in just derision ends. 
Remote they stand while alien troops engage, 
Like trembling hounds before the lion's rage. 
Far distant hence I held my wide command, 
Where foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land; 



BOOK V. 



With ample wealth (the wish of mortals) bless'd, 
A beauteous wife, and infant at her breast; 
With those I left whatever dear could be: 
Greece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me; 
Yet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer, 
And long to meet this mighty man ye fear; 
While Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave 
Their wives, their infants, and their altars save. 
Haste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten'd state, 
Or one vast burst of all-involving fate 
Full o'er your towers shall fall, and sweep away 
Sons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish'd prey. 
Rouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight; 
These claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by night 
With force incessant the brave Greeks oppose; 
Such cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes." 

Stung to the heart the generous Hector hears, 
But just reproof with decent silence bears. 
From his proud car the prince impetuous springs, 
On earth he leaps, his brazen armour rings. 
Two shining spears are brandish'd in his hands; 
Thus arm'd, he animates his drooping bands, 
Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight, 
And wakes anew the dying flames of fight. 
They turn, they stand; the Greeks their fury dare, 
Condense their powers, and wait the growing war. 

As when, on Ceres' sacred floor, the swain 
Spreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain, 
And the light chaff, before the breezes borne, 
Ascends in clouds from off the heapy corn; 
The grey dust, rising with collected winds, 
Drives o'er the barn, and whitens all the hinds: 



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So white with dust the Grecian host appears. 
From trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers; 
The dusky clouds from labour'd earth arise, 
And roll in smoking volumes to the skies. 
Mars hovers o'er them with his sable shield, 
And adds new horrors to the darken'd field: 
Pleased with his charge, and ardent to fulfil, 
In Troy's defence, Apollo's heavenly will: 
Soon as from fight the blue-eyed maid retires, 
Each Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires. 
And now the god, from forth his sacred fane, 
Produced ^Eneas to the shouting train; 
Alive, unharm'd, with all his peers around, 
Erect he stood, and vigorous from his wound: 
Inquiries none they made; the dreadful day 
No pause of words admits, no dull delay; 
Fierce Discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims, 
Fame calls, Mars thunders, and the field's in flames. 

Stern Diomed with either Ajax stood, 
And great Ulysses, bathed in hostile blood. 
Embodied close, the labouring Grecian train 
The fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain. 
Unmoved and silent, the whole war they wait 
Serenely dreadful, and as fix'd as fate. 
So when the embattled clouds in dark array, 
Along the skies their gloomy lines display; 
When now the North his boisterous rage has spent, 
And peaceful sleeps the liquid element: 
[098] The low-hung vapours, motionless and still, 

Rest on the summits of the shaded hill; 
Till the mass scatters as the winds arise, 
Dispersed and broken through the ruffled skies. 



BOOK V. 



Nor was the general wanting to his train; 
From troop to troop he toils through all the plain, 
"Ye Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear; 
Your brave associates and yourselves revere! 
Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire, 
And catch from breast to breast the noble fire! 
On valour's side the odds of combat lie, 
The brave live glorious, or lamented die; 
The wretch who trembles in the field of fame, 
Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame!" 

These words he seconds with his flying lance, 

To meet whose point was strong Deicoon's chance: 

Eneas' friend, and in his native place 

Honour'd and loved like Priam's royal race: 

Long had he fought the foremost in the field, 

But now the monarch's lance transpierced his shield: 

His shield too weak the furious dart to stay, 

Through his broad belt the weapon forced its way: 

The grisly wound dismiss'd his soul to hell, 

His arms around him rattled as he fell. 

Then fierce JEneas, brandishing his blade, 

In dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid, 

Whose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great, 

In well-built Pherae held his lofty seat: 152 

Sprung from Alpheus' plenteous stream, that yields 

Increase of harvests to the Pylian fields. 

He got Orsilochus, Diocleus he, 

And these descended in the third degree. 

Too early expert in the martial toil, 

In sable ships they left their native soil, 

To avenge Atrides: now, untimely slain, 



— Pherae, a town of Pelasgiotis, in Thessaly. 



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They fell with glory on the Phrygian plain. 
So two young mountain lions, nursed with blood 
In deep recesses of the gloomy wood, 
Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll'd 
Depopulate the stalls and waste the fold: 
Till pierced at distance from their native den, 
O'erpowered they fall beneath the force of men. 
Prostrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay, 
Like mountain firs, as tall and straight as they. 
Great Menelaus views with pitying eyes, 
Lifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies; 
Mars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate, 
The god but urged him to provoke his fate. 
He thus advancing, Nestor's valiant son 
[099] Shakes for his danger, and neglects his own; 

Struck with the thought, should Helen's lord be slain, 

And all his country's glorious labours vain. 

Already met, the threatening heroes stand; 

The spears already tremble in their hand: 

In rush'd Antilochus, his aid to bring, 

And fall or conquer by the Spartan king. 

These seen, the Dardan backward turn'd his course, 

Brave as he was, and shunn'd unequal force. 

The breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew, 

Then mix in combat, and their toils renew. 

First, Pylaemenes, great in battle, bled, 
Who sheathed in brass the Paphlagonians led. 
Atrides mark'd him where sublime he stood; 
Fix'd in his throat the javelin drank his blood. 
The faithful Mydon, as he turn'd from fight 
His flying coursers, sunk to endless night; 
A broken rock by Nestor's son was thrown: 
His bended arm received the falling stone; 



BOOK V. 



From his numb'd hand the ivory-studded reins, 
Dropp'd in the dust, are trail'd along the plains: 
Meanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound; 
He groans in death, and ponderous sinks to ground: 
Deep drove his helmet in the sands, and there 
The head stood fix'd, the quivering legs in air, 
Till trampled flat beneath the coursers' feet: 
The youthful victor mounts his empty seat, 
And bears the prize in triumph to the fleet. 



Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view, 
Pours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue: 
He fires his host with animating cries, 
And brings along the furies of the skies, 
Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread, 
Flame in the front, and thunder at their head: 
This swells the tumult and the rage of fight; 
That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light. 
Where Hector march'd, the god of battles shined, 
Now storm'd before him, and now raged behind. 



Tydides paused amidst his full career; 
Then first the hero's manly breast knew fear. 
As when some simple swain his cot forsakes, 
And wide through fens an unknown journey takes: 
If chance a swelling brook his passage stay, 
And foam impervious 'cross the wanderer's way, 
Confused he stops, a length of country pass'd, 
Eyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last. 
Amazed no less the great Tydides stands: 
He stay'd, and turning thus address'd his bands: 



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"No wonder, Greeks ! that all to Hector yield; 
Secure of favouring gods, he takes the field; 

His strokes they second, and avert our spears. [ioo] 

Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears ! 

Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow; 

Retire, but with your faces to the foe. 

Trust not too much your unavailing might; 

'Tis not with Troy, but with the gods ye fight." 

Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew; 
And first two leaders valiant Hector slew: 
His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found, 
In every art of glorious war renown'd; 
In the same car the chiefs to combat ride, 
And fought united, and united died. 
Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows 
With thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes. 
His massy spear with matchless fury sent, 
Through Amphius' belt and heaving belly went; 
Amphius Apaesus' happy soil possess'd, 
With herds abounding, and with treasure bless'd; 
But fate resistless from his country led 
The chief, to perish at his people's head. 
Shook with his fall his brazen armour rung, 
And fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung; 
Around his head an iron tempest rain'd; 
A wood of spears his ample shield sustain'd: 
Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press'd, 
And drew his javelin from the bleeding breast: 
He could no more; the showering darts denied 
To spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride. 
Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields, 
With bristling lances, and compacted shields; 
Till in the steely circle straiten'd round, 



BOOK V. 



165 



Forced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground. 

While thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great, 153 
Urged by the force of unresisted fate, 
Burns with desire Sarpedon's strength to prove; 
Alcides' offspring meets the son of Jove. 
Sheathed in bright arms each adverse chief came on. 
Jove's great descendant, and his greater son. 
Prepared for combat, ere the lance he toss'd, 
The daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast: 

"What brings this Lycian counsellor so far, 
To tremble at our arms, not mix in war! 
Know thy vain self, nor let their flattery move, 
Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove. 
How far unlike those chiefs of race divine, 

How vast the difference of their deeds and thine! [lot] 

Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul 

No fear could daunt, nor earth nor hell control. 

Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand 

Raised on the ruins of his vengeful hand: 

With six small ships, and but a slender train, 

He left the town a wide-deserted plain. 

But what art thou, who deedless look'st around, 

While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground! 

Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be; 

But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me. 

Pierced by my spear, to endless darkness go ! 

I make this present to the shades below." 



— Tlepolemus, son of Hercules and Astyochia. Having left his native 
country, Argos, in consequence of the accidental murder of Liscymnius, he 
was commanded by an oracle to retire to Rhodes. Here he was chosen king, 
and accompanied the Trojan expedition. After his death, certain games were 
instituted at Rhodes in his honour, the victors being rewarded with crowns of 
poplar. 



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The son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide, 
Thus haughty spoke. The Lycian king replied: 

"Thy sire, O prince! o'erturn'd the Trojan state, 
Whose perjured monarch well deserved his fate; 
Those heavenly steeds the hero sought so far, 
False he detain'd, the just reward of war. 
Nor so content, the generous chief defied, 
With base reproaches and unmanly pride. 
But you, unworthy the high race you boast, 
Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost: 
Now meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain, 
Add one more ghost to Pluto's gloomy reign." 

He said: both javelins at an instant flew; 
Both struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon's slew: 
Full in the boaster's neck the weapon stood, 
Transfix'd his throat, and drank the vital blood; 
The soul disdainful seeks the caves of night, 
And his seal'd eyes for ever lose the light. 

Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown 
Thy angry lance; which piercing to the bone 
Sarpedon's thigh, had robb'd the chief of breath; 
But Jove was present, and forbade the death. 
Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng, 
The wounded hero dragg'd the lance along. 
(His friends, each busied in his several part, 
Through haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.) 
The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired; 
Whose fall Ulysses view'd, with fury fired; 
Doubtful if Jove's great son he should pursue, 
Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew. 
But heaven and fate the first design withstand, 
Nor this great death must grace Ulysses' hand. 



BOOK V. 



167 



Minerva drives him on the Lycian train; 
Alastor, Cronius, Halius, strew'd the plain, 
Alcander, Prytanis, Noemon fell: 154 

And numbers more his sword had sent to hell, [102] 
But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight, 
Rush'd terrible amidst the ranks of fight. 
With joy Sarpedon view'd the wish'd relief, 
And, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief: 

"O suffer not the foe to bear away 

My helpless corpse, an unassisted prey; 

If I, unbless'd, must see my son no more, 

My much-loved consort, and my native shore, 

Yet let me die in Ilion's sacred wall; 

Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall." 

He said, nor Hector to the chief replies, 
But shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies; 
Swift as a whirlwind, drives the scattering foes; 
And dyes the ground with purple as he goes. 

Beneath a beech, Jove's consecrated shade, 
His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid: 
Brave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh, 
Who wrench'd the javelin from his sinewy thigh. 
The fainting soul stood ready wing'd for flight, 
And o'er his eye -balls swam the shades of night; 
But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath, 
Recall'd his spirit from the gates of death. 



These heroes' names have since passed into a kind of proverb, designating 
the oi polloi or mob. 



168 



The Iliad of Homer 



The generous Greeks recede with tardy pace, 

Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face; 

None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight, 

Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight. 

Who first, who last, by Mars' and Hector's hand, 

Stretch'd in their blood, lay gasping on the sand? 

Tenthras the great, Orestes the renown'd 

For managed steeds, and Trechus press'd the ground;, 

Next OEnomaus and OEnops' offspring died; 

Oresbius last fell groaning at their side: 

Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay, 

In fat Boeotia held his wealthy sway, 

Where lakes surround low Hyle's watery plain; 

A prince and people studious of their gain. 



The carnage Juno from the skies survey'd, 

And touch'd with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid: 

"Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail, 

And shall our promise to our people fail? 

How vain the word to Menelaus given 

By Jove's great daughter and the queen of heaven, 

Beneath his arms that Priam's towers should fall, 

If warring gods for ever guard the wall! 

Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes: 

Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!" 



She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war: 
And now heaven's empress calls her blazing car. 
At her command rush forth the steeds divine; 
[103] Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine. 



BOOK V. 



Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young, 

The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung. 

On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel 

Of sounding brass; the polished axle steel. 

Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame; 

The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame, 

Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold 

Two brazen rings of work divine were roll'd. 

The bossy naves of sold silver shone; 

Braces of gold suspend the moving throne: 

The car, behind, an arching figure bore; 

The bending concave form'd an arch before. 

Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold, 

And golden reins the immortal coursers hold. 

Herself, impatient, to the ready car, 

The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war. 

Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied, 
With flowers adorn'd, with art diversified, 
(The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,) 
Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove. 
Now heaven's dread arms her mighty limbs invest, 
Jove's cuirass blazes on her ample breast; 
Deck'd in sad triumph for the mournful field, 
O'er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield, 
Dire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll'd, 
A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold: 
Here all the terrors of grim War appear, 
Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, 
Here storm'd Contention, and here Fury frown'd, 
And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown'd. 
The massy golden helm she next assumes, 
That dreadful nods with four o'ershading plumes; 
So vast, the broad circumference contains 



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The Iliad of Homer 



A hundred armies on a hundred plains. 
The goddess thus the imperial car ascends; 
Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends, 
Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns, 
Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o'erturns. 

Swift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly, 
While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky. 
Heaven's gates spontaneous open to the powers, 15 -' 
[104] Heaven's golden gates, kept by the winged Hours; 

Commission'd in alternate watch they stand, 

The sun's bright portals and the skies command, 

Involve in clouds the eternal gates of day, 

Or the dark barrier roll with ease away. 

The sounding hinges ring on either side 

The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide. 

The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies, 

Confused, Olympus' hundred heads arise; 

Where far apart the Thunderer fills his throne, 

O'er all the gods superior and alone. 

There with her snowy hand the queen restrains 

The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains: 



— Spontaneous open. 

"Veil'd with his gorgeous wings, upspringing light 
Flew through the midst of heaven; th' angelic quires, 
On each hand parting, to his speed gave way 
Through all th' empyreal road; till at the gate 
Of heaven arrived, the gate self-open'd wide, 
On golden hinges turning." 

—"Paradise Lost," v. 250. 

156 

"Till Morn, 

Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand 
Unbarr'd the gates of light." 

— "Paradise Lost," vi, 2. 



BOOK V. 



171 



"O sire! can no resentment touch thy soul? 
Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll? 
What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain, 
What rash destruction! and what heroes slain! 
Venus, and Phoebus with the dreadful bow, 
Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe. 
Mad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind 
No god can govern, and no justice bind. 
Say, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride, 
And drive from fight the impetuous homicide?" 

To whom assenting, thus the Thunderer said: 
"Go ! and the great Minerva be thy aid. 
To tame the monster-god Minerva knows, 
And oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes." 

He said; Saturnia, ardent to obey, 

Lash'd her white steeds along the aerial way 

Swift down the steep of heaven the chariot rolls, 

Between the expanded earth and starry poles 

Far as a shepherd, from some point on high, 157 

O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye, 

Through such a space of air, with thundering sound, 

At every leap the immortal coursers bound 

Troy now they reach'd and touch'd those banks divine, 

Where silver Simois and Scamander join 

There Juno stopp'd, and (her fair steeds unloosed) 

Of air condensed a vapour circumfused 

For these, impregnate with celestial dew, 

On Simois, brink ambrosial herbage grew. 

157 — Far as a shepherd. "With what majesty and pomp does Homer exalt his 
deities! He here measures the leap of the horses by the extent of the world. 
And who is there, that, considering the exceeding greatness of the space would 
not with reason cry out that 'If the steeds of the deity were to take a second 
leap, the world would want room for it'?" — Longinus, Section 8. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Thence to relieve the fainting Argive throng, 
Smooth as the sailing doves they glide along. 



The best and bravest of the Grecian band 
(A warlike circle) round Tydides stand. 
Such was their look as lions bathed in blood, 
[105] Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood 

Heaven's empress mingles with the mortal crowd, 
And shouts, in Stentor's sounding voice, aloud; 
Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs, 158 
Whose throats surpass'd the force of fifty tongues. 



"Inglorious Argives! to your race a shame, 
And only men in figure and in name! 
Once from the walls your timorous foes engaged, 
While fierce in war divine Achilles raged; 
Now issuing fearless they possess the plain, 
Now win the shores, and scarce the seas remain." 



"No trumpets, or any other instruments of sound, are used in the Homeric 
action itself; but the trumpet was known, and is introduced for the purpose 
of illustration as employed in war. Hence arose the value of a loud voice 
in a commander; Stentor was an indispensable officer... In the early Saracen 
campaigns frequent mention is made of the service rendered by men of 
uncommonly strong voices; the battle of Honain was restored by the shouts 
and menaces of Abbas, the uncle of Mohammed," &c. — Coleridge, p. 213. 



BOOK V. 



Her speech new fury to their hearts convey'd; 
While near Tydides stood the Athenian maid; 
The king beside his panting steeds she found, 
O'erspent with toil reposing on the ground; 
To cool his glowing wound he sat apart, 
(The wound inflicted by the Lycian dart.) 
Large drops of sweat from all his limbs descend, 
Beneath his ponderous shield his sinews bend, 
Whose ample belt, that o'er his shoulder lay, 
He eased; and wash'd the clotted gore away. 
The goddess leaning o'er the bending yoke, 
Beside his coursers, thus her silence broke: 

"Degenerate prince! and not of Tydeus' kind, 
Whose little body lodged a mighty mind; 
Foremost he press'd in glorious toils to share, 
And scarce refrain'd when I forbade the war. 
Alone, unguarded, once he dared to go, 
And feast, incircled by the Theban foe; 
There braved, and vanquish'd, many a hardy knight; 
Such nerves I gave him, and such force in fight. 
Thou too no less hast been my constant care; 
Thy hands I arm'd, and sent thee forth to war: 
But thee or fear deters, or sloth detains; 
No drop of all thy father warms thy veins. " 

The chief thus answered mild: "Immortal maid! 

I own thy presence, and confess thy aid. 

Not fear, thou know'st, withholds me from the plains, 

Nor sloth hath seized me, but thy word restrains: 

From warring gods thou bad'st me turn my spear, 

And Venus only found resistance here. 

Hence, goddess! heedful of thy high commands, 

Loth I gave way, and warn'd our Argive bands: 



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The Iliad of Homer 



For Mars, the homicide, these eyes beheld, 
With slaughter red, and raging round the field." 



[106] Then thus Minerva: — "Brave Tydides, hear! 

Not Mars himself, nor aught immortal, fear. 

Full on the god impel thy foaming horse: 

Pallas commands, and Pallas lends thee force. 

Rash, furious, blind, from these to those he flies, 

And every side of wavering combat tries; 

Large promise makes, and breaks the promise made: 

Now gives the Grecians, now the Trojans aid." 159 



She said, and to the steeds approaching near, 

Drew from his seat the martial charioteer. 

The vigorous power the trembling car ascends, 

Fierce for revenge; and Diomed attends: 

The groaning axle bent beneath the load; 

So great a hero, and so great a god. 

She snatch'd the reins, she lash'd with all her force, 

And full on Mars impelled the foaming horse: 

But first, to hide her heavenly visage, spread 

Black Orcus' helmet o'er her radiant head. 



159 



"Long had the wav'ring god the war delay'd, 
While Greece and Troy alternate own'd his aid." 



Merrick's "Tryphiodorus," vi. 761, sq. 



BOOK V. 



175 




DIOMED CASTING HIS SPEAR AT MARS. 



Just then gigantic Periphas lay slain, 

The strongest warrior of the ^Etolian train; 

The god, who slew him, leaves his prostrate prize 

Stretch'd where he fell, and at Tydides flies. 

Now rushing fierce, in equal arms appear 

The daring Greek, the dreadful god of war! 

Full at the chief, above his courser's head, 

From Mars's arm the enormous weapon fled: 

Pallas opposed her hand, and caused to glance 

Far from the car the strong immortal lance. [107] 

Then threw the force of Tydeus' warlike son; 

The javelin hiss'd; the goddess urged it on: 

Where the broad cincture girt his armour round, 

It pierced the god: his groin received the wound. 

From the rent skin the warrior tugs again 

The smoking steel. Mars bellows with the pain: 

Loud as the roar encountering armies yield, 

When shouting millions shake the thundering field. 

Both armies start, and trembling gaze around; 

And earth and heaven re-bellow to the sound. 

As vapours blown by Auster's sultry breath, 

Pregnant with plagues, and shedding seeds of death, 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Beneath the rage of burning Sirius rise, 
Choke the parch'd earth, and blacken all the skies; 
In such a cloud the god from combat driven, 
High o'er the dusky whirlwind scales the heaven. 
Wild with his pain, he sought the bright abodes, 
There sullen sat beneath the sire of gods, 
Show'd the celestial blood, and with a groan 
Thus pour'd his plaints before the immortal throne: 

"Can Jove, supine, flagitious facts survey, 
And brook the furies of this daring day? 
For mortal men celestial powers engage, 
And gods on gods exert eternal rage: 
From thee, O father! all these ills we bear, 
And thy fell daughter with the shield and spear; 
Thou gavest that fury to the realms of light, 
Pernicious, wild, regardless of the right. 
All heaven beside reveres thy sovereign sway, 
Thy voice we hear, and thy behests obey: 
'Tis hers to offend, and even offending share 
Thy breast, thy counsels, thy distinguish'd care: 
So boundless she, and thou so partial grown, 
Well may we deem the wondrous birth thy own. 
Now frantic Diomed, at her command, 
Against the immortals lifts his raging hand: 
The heavenly Venus first his fury found, 
Me next encountering, me he dared to wound; 
Vanquish'd I fled; even I, the god of fight, 
From mortal madness scarce was saved by flight. 
Else hadst thou seen me sink on yonder plain, 
Heap'd round, and heaving under loads of slain! 
Or pierced with Grecian darts, for ages lie, 
Condemn'd to pain, though fated not to die." 



BOOK V. 



177 



Him thus upbraiding, with a wrathful look 
The lord of thunders view'd, and stern bespoke: 
"To me, perfidious ! this lamenting strain? 
Of lawless force shall lawless Mars complain? 
Of all the gods who tread the spangled skies, 

Thou most unjust, most odious in our eyes! [108] 

Inhuman discord is thy dire delight, 

The waste of slaughter, and the rage of fight. 

No bounds, no law, thy fiery temper quells, 

And all thy mother in thy soul rebels. 

In vain our threats, in vain our power we use; 

She gives the example, and her son pursues. 

Yet long the inflicted pangs thou shall not mourn, 

Sprung since thou art from Jove, and heavenly-born. 

Else, singed with lightning, hadst thou hence been thrown, 

Where chain'd on burning rocks the Titans groan." 



Thus he who shakes Olympus with his nod; 

Then gave to Paeon's care the bleeding god. 160 

With gentle hand the balm he pour'd around, 

And heal'd the immortal flesh, and closed the wound. 

As when the fig's press'd juice, infused in cream, 

To curds coagulates the liquid stream, 

Sudden the fluids fix the parts combined; 

Such, and so soon, the ethereal texture join'd. 

Cleansed from the dust and gore, fair Hebe dress'd 

His mighty limbs in an immortal vest. 

Glorious he sat, in majesty restored, 

Fast by the throne of heaven's superior lord. 

Juno and Pallas mount the bless'd abodes, 

Their task perform'd, and mix among the gods. 



178 



The Iliad of Homer 




JUNO. 



BOOK V. 



179 



— Paeon seems to have been to the gods, what Podaleirius and Machaon 
were to the Grecian heroes. 



[109] 



BOOK VI. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE EPISODES OF GLAUCUS AND DIOMED, AND OF 
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 

The gods having left the field, the Grecians prevail. Helenus, 
the chief augur of Troy, commands Hector to return to the city, 
in order to appoint a solemn procession of the queen and the 
Trojan matrons to the temple of Minerva, to entreat her to remove 
Diomed from the fight. The battle relaxing during the absence of 
Hector, Glaucus and Diomed have an interview between the two 
armies; where, coming to the knowledge, of the friendship and 
hospitality passed between their ancestors, they make exchange 
of their arms. Hector, having performed the orders of Helenus, 
prevails upon Paris to return to the battle, and, taking a tender 
leave of his wife Andromache, hastens again to the field. 

The scene is first in the field of battle, between the rivers 
Simois and Scamander, and then changes to Troy. 

Now heaven forsakes the fight: the immortals yield 

To human force and human skill the field: 

Dark showers of javelins fly from foes to foes; 

Now here, now there, the tide of combat flows; 

While Troy's famed streams, that bound the deathful plain 

On either side, run purple to the main. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Great Ajax first to conquest led the way, 
Broke the thick ranks, and turn'd the doubtful day. 
The Thracian Acamas his falchion found, 
And hew'd the enormous giant to the ground; 
His thundering arm a deadly stroke impress'd 
Where the black horse-hair nodded o'er his crest; 
Fix'd in his front the brazen weapon lies, 
And seals in endless shades his swimming eyes. 
Next Teuthras' son distain'd the sands with blood, 
Axylus, hospitable, rich, and good: 
In fair Arisbe's walls (his native place) 161 
He held his seat! a friend to human race. 
Fast by the road, his ever-open door 
Obliged the wealthy, and relieved the poor. 
To stern Tydides now he falls a prey, 
[no] No friend to guard him in the dreadful day! 

Breathless the good man fell, and by his side 
His faithful servant, old Calesius died. 



By great Euryalus was Dresus slain, 

And next he laid Opheltius on the plain. 

Two twins were near, bold, beautiful, and young, 

From a fair naiad and Bucolion sprung: 

(Laomedon's white flocks Bucolion fed, 

That monarch's first-born by a foreign bed; 

In secret woods he won the naiad's grace, 

And two fair infants crown'd his strong embrace:) 

Here dead they lay in all their youthful charms; 

The ruthless victor stripp'd their shining arms. 



— Arisbe, a colony of the Mitylenaeans in Troas. 



BOOK VI. 



183 



Astyalus by Polypoetes fell; 
Ulysses' spear Pidytes sent to hell; 
By Teucer's shaft brave Aretaon bled, 
And Nestor's son laid stern Ablerus dead; 
Great Agamemnon, leader of the brave, 
The mortal wound of rich Elatus gave, 
Who held in Pedasus his proud abode, 162 
And till'd the banks where silver Satnio flow'd. 
Melanthius by Eurypylus was slain; 
And Phylacus from Leitus flies in vain. 

Unbless'd Adrastus next at mercy lies 
Beneath the Spartan spear, a living prize. 
Scared with the din and tumult of the fight, 
His headlong steeds, precipitate in flight, 
Rush'd on a tamarisk's strong trunk, and broke 
The shatter'd chariot from the crooked yoke; 
Wide o'er the field, resistless as the wind, 
For Troy they fly, and leave their lord behind. 
Prone on his face he sinks beside the wheel: 
Atrides o'er him shakes his vengeful steel; 
The fallen chief in suppliant posture press'd 
The victor's knees, and thus his prayer address'd: 

"O spare my youth, and for the life I owe 
Large gifts of price my father shall bestow. 
When fame shall tell, that, not in battle slain, 
Thy hollow ships his captive son detain: 
Rich heaps of brass shall in thy tent be told, 163 

162 — Pedasus, a town near Pylos. 

163 — Rich heaps of brass. "The halls of Alkinous and Menelaus glitter with 
gold, copper, and electrum; while large stocks of yet unemployed metal — gold, 
copper, and iron are stored up in the treasure-chamber of Odysseus and other 
chiefs. Coined money is unknown in the Homeric age — the trade carried on 
being one of barter. In reference also to the metals, it deserves to be remarked, 



184 



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And steel well-temper'd, and persuasive gold. " 

He said: compassion touch'd the hero's heart 
He stood, suspended with the lifted dart: 
[in] As pity pleaded for his vanquish'd prize, 

Stern Agamemnon swift to vengeance flies, 

And, furious, thus: "Oh impotent of mind! 164 

Shall these, shall these Atrides' mercy find? 

Well hast thou known proud Troy's perfidious land, 

And well her natives merit at thy hand! 

Not one of all the race, nor sex, nor age, 

Shall save a Trojan from our boundless rage: 

Ilion shall perish whole, and bury all; 

Her babes, her infants at the breast, shall fall; 165 

A dreadful lesson of exampled fate, 

To warn the nations, and to curb the great!" 



that the Homeric descriptions universally suppose copper, and not iron, to be 
employed for arms, both offensive and defensive. By what process the copper 
was tempered and hardened, so as to serve the purpose of the warrior, we do 
not know; but the use of iron for these objects belongs to a later age." — Grote, 
vol. ii. p. 142. 

164 — Oh impotent, &c. "In battle, quarter seems never to have been given, 
except with a view to the ransom of the prisoner. Agamemnon reproaches 
Menelaus with unmanly softness, when he is on the point of sparing a fallen 
enemy, and himself puts the suppliant to the sword." — Thirlwall, vol. i. p. 181 

165 

"The ruthless steel, impatient of delay, 
Forbade the sire to linger out the day. 
It struck the bending father to the earth, 
And cropt the wailing infant at the birth. 
Can innocents the rage of parties know, 
And they who ne'er offended find a foe?" 



Rowe's Lucan, bk. ii. 



BOOK VI. 



The monarch spoke; the words, with warmth address'd, 
To rigid justice steel'd his brother's breast 
Fierce from his knees the hapless chief he thrust; 
The monarch's javelin stretch'd him in the dust, 
Then pressing with his foot his panting heart, 
Forth from the slain he tugg'd the reeking dart. 
Old Nestor saw, and roused the warrior's rage; 
"Thus, heroes! thus the vigorous combat wage; 
No son of Mars descend, for servile gains, 
To touch the booty, while a foe remains. 
Behold yon glittering host, your future spoil! 
First gain the conquest, then reward the toil. " 

And now had Greece eternal fame acquired, 
And frighted Troy within her walls, retired, 
Had not sage Helenus her state redress'd, 
Taught by the gods that moved his sacred breast. 
Where Hector stood, with great ^Eneas join'd, 
The seer reveal'd the counsels of his mind: 

"Ye generous chiefs ! on whom the immortals lay 

The cares and glories of this doubtful day; 

On whom your aids, your country's hopes depend; 

Wise to consult, and active to defend! 

Here, at our gates, your brave efforts unite, 

Turn back the routed, and forbid the flight, 

Ere yet their wives' soft arms the cowards gain, 

The sport and insult of the hostile train. 

When your commands have hearten'd every band, 

Ourselves, here fix'd, will make the dangerous stand; 

Press'd as we are, and sore of former fight, 

These straits demand our last remains of might. 

Meanwhile thou, Hector, to the town retire, 



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And teach our mother what the gods require: 
Direct the queen to lead the assembled train 
Of Troy's chief matrons to Minerva's fane; 166 
Unbar the sacred gates, and seek the power, 
With offer'd vows, in Ilion's topmost tower. 
The largest mantle her rich wardrobes hold, 
Most prized for art, and labour'd o'er with gold, 
Before the goddess' honour'd knees be spread, 
And twelve young heifers to her altars led: 
If so the power, atoned by fervent prayer, 
Our wives, our infants, and our city spare, 
And far avert Tydides' wasteful ire, 
That mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire; 
Not thus Achilles taught our hosts to dread, 
Sprung though he was from more than mortal bed; 
Not thus resistless ruled the stream of fight, 
In rage unbounded, and unmatch'd in might." 

Hector obedient heard: and, with a bound, 
Leap'd from his trembling chariot to the ground; 
Through all his host inspiring force he flies, 
And bids the thunder of the battle rise. 
With rage recruited the bold Trojans glow, 
And turn the tide of conflict on the foe: 
Fierce in the front he shakes two dazzling spears; 
All Greece recedes, and 'midst her triumphs fears; 
Some god, they thought, who ruled the fate of wars, 



"Meantime the Trojan dames, oppress'd with woe, 

To Pallas' fane in long procession go, 

In hopes to reconcile their heav'nly foe: 

They weep; they beat their breasts; they rend their hair, 

And rich embroider'd vests for presents bear." 

Dryden's Virgil, i. 670 



BOOK VI. 



187 



Shot down avenging from the vault of stars. 

Then thus aloud: "Ye dauntless Dardans, hear! 
And you whom distant nations send to war! 
Be mindful of the strength your fathers bore; 
Be still yourselves, and Hector asks no more. 
One hour demands me in the Trojan wall, 
To bid our altars flame, and victims fall: 
Nor shall, I trust, the matrons' holy train, 
And reverend elders, seek the gods in vain." 



This said, with ample strides the hero pass'd; 
The shield's large orb behind his shoulder cast, 
His neck o'ershading, to his ankle hung; 
And as he march'd the brazen buckler rung. 



Now paused the battle (godlike Hector gone), 
Where daring Glaucus and great Tydeus' son 
Between both armies met: the chiefs from far 
Observed each other, and had mark'd for war. 
Near as they drew, Tydides thus began: 



The manner in which this episode is introduced, is well illustrated by the 
following remarks of Mure, vol. i. p.298: "The poet's method of introducing his 
episode, also, illustrates in a curious manner his tact in the dramatic department 
of his art. Where, for example, one or more heroes are despatched on some 
commission, to be executed at a certain distance of time or place, the fulfilment 
of this task is not, as a general rule, immediately described. A certain interval 
is allowed them for reaching the appointed scene of action, which interval 
is dramatised, as it were, either by a temporary continuation of the previous 
narrative, or by fixing attention for a while on some new transaction, at the 
close of which the further account of the mission is resumed." 



188 



The Iliad of Homer 



"What art thou, boldest of the race of man? 
Our eyes till now that aspect ne'er beheld, 
Where fame is reap'd amid the embattled field; 
Yet far before the troops thou dar'st appear, 
And meet a lance the fiercest heroes fear. 
Unhappy they, and born of luckless sires, 
Who tempt our fury when Minerva fires! 
But if from heaven, celestial, thou descend, 
Know with immortals we no more contend. 
Not long Lycurgus view'd the golden light, 
That daring man who mix'd with gods in fight. 
Bacchus, and Bacchus' votaries, he drove, 
With brandish'd steel, from Nyssa's sacred grove: 
Their consecrated spears lay scatter'd round, 
With curling vines and twisted ivy bound; 
While Bacchus headlong sought the briny flood, 
And Thetis' arms received the trembling god. 
Nor fail'd the crime the immortals' wrath to move; 
(The immortals bless'd with endless ease above;) 
Deprived of sight by their avenging doom, 
Cheerless he breathed, and wander'd in the gloom, 
Then sunk unpitied to the dire abodes, 
A wretch accursed, and hated by the gods ! 
I brave not heaven: but if the fruits of earth 
Sustain thy life, and human be thy birth, 
Bold as thou art, too prodigal of breath, 
Approach, and enter the dark gates of death. " 

"What, or from whence I am, or who my sire, 
(Replied the chief,) can Tydeus' son inquire? 
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; 
Another race the following spring supplies; 
They fall successive, and successive rise: 



BOOK VI. 



189 



So generations in their course decay; 
So flourish these, when those are pass'd away. 
But if thou still persist to search my birth, 
Then hear a tale that fills the spacious earth. 

"A city stands on Argos' utmost bound, 
(Argos the fair, for warlike steeds renown'd,) 
Aeolian Sisyphus, with wisdom bless'd, 
In ancient time the happy wall possess'd, 
Then call'd Ephyre: Glaucus was his son; 
Great Glaucus, father of Bellerophon, 

Who o'er the sons of men in beauty shined, [114] 

Loved for that valour which preserves mankind. 

Then mighty Praetus Argos' sceptre sway'd, 

Whose hard commands Bellerophon obey'd. 

With direful jealousy the monarch raged, 

And the brave prince in numerous toils engaged. 

For him Antaea burn'd with lawless flame, 

And strove to tempt him from the paths of fame: 

In vain she tempted the relentless youth, 

Endued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth. 

Fired at his scorn the queen to Praetus fled, 

And begg'd revenge for her insulted bed: 

Incensed he heard, resolving on his fate; 

But hospitable laws restrain'd his hate: 

To Lycia the devoted youth he sent, 

With tablets seal'd, that told his dire intent. 168 

Now bless'd by every power who guards the good, 

The chief arrived at Xanthus' silver flood: 

There Lycia's monarch paid him honours due, 

Nine days he feasted, and nine bulls he slew. 



— With tablets sealed. These probably were only devices of a hieroglyphical 
character. Whether writing was known in the Homeric times is utterly uncertain. 
See Grote, vol ii. p. 192, sqq. 



190 



The Iliad of Homer 



But when the tenth bright morning orient glow'd, 
The faithful youth his monarch's mandate show'd: 
The fatal tablets, till that instant seal'd, 
The deathful secret to the king reveal'd. 
First, dire Chimaera's conquest was enjoin'd; 
A mingled monster of no mortal kind! 
Behind, a dragon's fiery tail was spread; 
A goat's rough body bore a lion's head; 
Her pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire; 
Her gaping throat emits infernal fire. 

"This pest he slaughter'd, (for he read the skies, 
And trusted heaven's informing prodigies,) 
Then met in arms the Solymaean crew, 169 
(Fiercest of men,) and those the warrior slew; 
Next the bold Amazons' whole force defied; 
And conquer'd still, for heaven was on his side. 

"Nor ended here his toils: his Lycian foes, 
At his return, a treacherous ambush rose, 
With levell'd spears along the winding shore: 
There fell they breathless, and return'd no more. 

"At length the monarch, with repentant grief, 
Confess'd the gods, and god-descended chief; 
His daughter gave, the stranger to detain, 
With half the honours of his ample reign: 
The Lycians grant a chosen space of ground, 
With woods, with vineyards, and with harvests crown'd. 
There long the chief his happy lot possess'd, 
[115] With two brave sons and one fair daughter bless'd; 



— Solymaean crew, a people of Lycia. 



BOOK VI. 



191 



(Fair e'en in heavenly eyes: her fruitful love 

Crown'd with Sarpedon's birth the embrace of Jove;) 

But when at last, distracted in his mind, 

Forsook by heaven, forsaking humankind, 

Wide o'er the Aleian field he chose to stray, 

A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way! 170 

Woes heap'd on woes consumed his wasted heart: 

His beauteous daughter fell by Phoebe's dart; 

His eldest born by raging Mars was slain, 

In combat on the Solymaean plain. 

Hippolochus survived: from him I came, 

The honour'd author of my birth and name; 

By his decree I sought the Trojan town; 

By his instructions learn to win renown, 

To stand the first in worth as in command, 

To add new honours to my native land, 

Before my eyes my mighty sires to place, 

And emulate the glories of our race." 

He spoke, and transport fill'd Tydides' heart; 

In earth the generous warrior fix'd his dart, 

Then friendly, thus the Lycian prince address'd: 

"Welcome, my brave hereditary guest! 

Thus ever let us meet, with kind embrace, 

Nor stain the sacred friendship of our race. 

Know, chief, our grandsires have been guests of old; 

OEneus the strong, Bellerophon the bold: 

Our ancient seat his honour'd presence graced, 

Where twenty days in genial rites he pass'd. 

The parting heroes mutual presents left; 

170 From this "melancholy madness" of Bellerophon, hypochondria received 
the name of "Morbus Bellerophonteus." See my notes in my prose translation, 
p. 112. The "Aleian field," i.e. "the plain of wandering," was situated between 
the rivers Pyramus and Pinarus, in Cilicia. 



192 



The Iliad of Homer 



A golden goblet was thy grandsire's gift; 

OEneus a belt of matchless work bestowed, 

That rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow'd. 

(This from his pledge I learn'd, which, safely stored 

Among my treasures, still adorns my board: 

For Tydeus left me young, when Thebe's wall 

Beheld the sons of Greece untimely fall.) 

Mindful of this, in friendship let us join; 

If heaven our steps to foreign lands incline, 

My guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine. 

Enough of Trojans to this lance shall yield, 

In the full harvest of yon ample field; 

Enough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore; 

But thou and Diomed be foes no more. 

Now change we arms, and prove to either host 

We guard the friendship of the line we boast." 



Thus having said, the gallant chiefs alight, 
[116] Their hands they join, their mutual faith they plight; 

Brave Glaucus then each narrow thought resign'd, 
(Jove warm'd his bosom, and enlarged his mind,) 
For Diomed's brass arms, of mean device, 
For which nine oxen paid, (a vulgar price,) 
He gave his own, of gold divinely wrought, 171 
A hundred beeves the shining purchase bought. 



— His own, of gold. This bad bargain has passed into a common proverb. 
See Aulus Gellius, ii, 23. 



BOOK VI. 



193 



Meantime the guardian of the Trojan state, 

Great Hector, enter'd at the Scaean gate. 172 

Beneath the beech-tree's consecrated shades, 

The Trojan matrons and the Trojan maids 

Around him flock'd, all press'd with pious care 

For husbands, brothers, sons, engaged in war. 

He bids the train in long procession go, 

And seek the gods, to avert the impending woe. 

And now to Priam's stately courts he came, 

Rais'd on arch'd columns of stupendous frame; 

O'er these a range of marble structure runs, 

The rich pavilions of his fifty sons, 

In fifty chambers lodged: and rooms of state, 173 

Opposed to those, where Priam's daughters sate. 

Twelve domes for them and their loved spouses shone, 

Of equal beauty, and of polish'd stone. 

Hither great Hector pass'd, nor pass'd unseen 

Of royal Hecuba, his mother-queen. 

(With her Laodice, whose beauteous face 

Surpass'd the nymphs of Troy's illustrious race.) 

Long in a strict embrace she held her son, 

And press'd his hand, and tender thus begun: 

"O Hector! say, what great occasion calls 

My son from fight, when Greece surrounds our walls; 

Com'st thou to supplicate the almighty power 

With lifted hands, from Ilion's lofty tower? 

Stay, till I bring the cup with Bacchus crown'd, 

1 — Scaean, i e. left hand. 
! — In fifty chambers. 

"The fifty nuptial beds, (such hopes had he, 

So large a promise of a progeny,) 

The ports of plated gold, and hung with spoils." 

Dryden's Virgil, ii.658 



194 



The Iliad of Homer 



In Jove's high name, to sprinkle on the ground, 
And pay due vows to all the gods around. 
Then with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul, 
And draw new spirits from the generous bowl; 
Spent as thou art with long laborious fight, 
The brave defender of thy country's right." 

"Far hence be Bacchus' gifts; (the chief rejoin'd;) 
Inflaming wine, pernicious to mankind, 
Unnerves the limbs, and dulls the noble mind. 
Let chiefs abstain, and spare the sacred juice 
[in] To sprinkle to the gods, its better use. 

By me that holy office were profaned; 

111 fits it me, with human gore distain'd, 

To the pure skies these horrid hands to raise, 

Or offer heaven's great Sire polluted praise. 

You, with your matrons, go! a spotless train, 

And burn rich odours in Minerva's fane. 

The largest mantle your full wardrobes hold, 

Most prized for art, and labour'd o'er with gold, 

Before the goddess' honour'd knees be spread, 

And twelve young heifers to her altar led. 

So may the power, atoned by fervent prayer, 

Our wives, our infants, and our city spare; 

And far avert Tydides' wasteful ire, 

Who mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire. 

Be this, O mother, your religious care: 

I go to rouse soft Paris to the war; 

If yet not lost to all the sense of shame, 

The recreant warrior hear the voice of fame. 

Oh, would kind earth the hateful wretch embrace, 

That pest of Troy, that ruin of our race! 174 



— O would kind earth, &c. "It is apparently a sudden, irregular burst of 
popular indignation to which Hector alludes, when he regrets that the Trojans 



BOOK VI. 



195 



Deep to the dark abyss might he descend, 
Troy yet should flourish, and my sorrows end." 

This heard, she gave command: and summon'd came 

Each noble matron and illustrious dame. 

The Phrygian queen to her rich wardrobe went, 

Where treasured odours breathed a costly scent. 

There lay the vestures of no vulgar art, 

Sidonian maids embroider'd every part, 

Whom from soft Sidon youthful Paris bore, 

With Helen touching on the Tyrian shore. 

Here, as the queen revolved with careful eyes 

The various textures and the various dyes, 

She chose a veil that shone superior far, 

And glow'd refulgent as the morning star. 

Herself with this the long procession leads; 

The train majestically slow proceeds. 

Soon as to Ilion's topmost tower they come, 

And awful reach the high Palladian dome, 

Antenor's consort, fair Theano, waits 

As Pallas' priestess, and unbars the gates. 

With hands uplifted and imploring eyes, 

They fill the dome with supplicating cries. [H8] 
The priestess then the shining veil displays, 
Placed on Minerva's knees, and thus she prays: 



had not spirit enough to cover Paris with a mantle of stones. This, however, 
was also one of the ordinary formal modes of punishment for great public 
offences. It may have been originally connected with the same feeling — the 
desire of avoiding the pollution of bloodshed — which seems to have suggested 
the practice of burying prisoners alive, with a scantling of food by their side. 
Though Homer makes no mention of this horrible usage, the example of the 
Roman Vestals affords reasons for believing that, in ascribing it to the heroic 
ages, Sophocles followed an authentic tradition." — Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i. 
p. 171, sq. 



196 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Oh awful goddess! ever-dreadful maid, 
Troy's strong defence, unconquer'd Pallas, aid! 
Break thou Tydides' spear, and let him fall 
Prone on the dust before the Trojan wall! 
So twelve young heifers, guiltless of the yoke, 
Shall fill thy temple with a grateful smoke. 
But thou, atoned by penitence and prayer, 
Ourselves, our infants, and our city spare!" 
So pray'd the priestess in her holy fane; 
So vow'd the matrons, but they vow'd in vain. 

While these appear before the power with prayers, 
Hector to Paris' lofty dome repairs. 175 
Himself the mansion raised, from every part 
Assembling architects of matchless art. 
Near Priam's court and Hector's palace stands 
The pompous structure, and the town commands. 
A spear the hero bore of wondrous strength, 
Of full ten cubits was the lance's length, 
The steely point with golden ringlets join'd, 
Before him brandish'd, at each motion shined 
Thus entering, in the glittering rooms he found 
His brother-chief, whose useless arms lay round, 
His eyes delighting with their splendid show, 
Brightening the shield, and polishing the bow. 
Beside him Helen with her virgins stands, 

175 — Paris' lofty dome. "With respect to the private dwellings, which are 
oftenest described, the poet's language barely enables us to form a general 
notion of their ordinary plan, and affords no conception of the style which 
prevailed in them or of their effect on the eye. It seems indeed probable, from 
the manner in which he dwells on their metallic ornaments that the higher 
beauty of proportion was but little required or understood, and it is, perhaps, 
strength and convenience, rather than elegance, that he means to commend, in 
speaking of the fair house which Paris had built for himself with the aid of the 
most skilful masons of Troy." — Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i. p. 231. 



BOOK VI. 



Guides their rich labours, and instructs their hands. 

Him thus inactive, with an ardent look 
The prince beheld, and high-resenting spoke. 
"Thy hate to Troy, is this the time to show? 
(O wretch ill-fated, and thy country's foe!) 
Paris and Greece against us both conspire, 
Thy close resentment, and their vengeful ire. 
For thee great Ilion's guardian heroes fall, 
Till heaps of dead alone defend her wall, 
For thee the soldier bleeds, the matron mourns, 
And wasteful war in all its fury burns. 
Ungrateful man! deserves not this thy care, 
Our troops to hearten, and our toils to share? 
Rise, or behold the conquering flames ascend, 
And all the Phrygian glories at an end." 

"Brother, 'tis just, (replied the beauteous youth,) 
Thy free remonstrance proves thy worth and truth: 
Yet charge my absence less, O generous chief! 
On hate to Troy, than conscious shame and grief: 
Here, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate, 
And mourn'd, in secret, his and Ilion's fate. 
'Tis now enough; now glory spreads her charms, 
And beauteous Helen calls her chief to arms. 
Conquest to-day my happier sword may bless, 
'Tis man's to fight, but heaven's to give success. 
But while I arm, contain thy ardent mind; 
Or go, and Paris shall not lag behind." 



He said, nor answer'd Priam's warlike son; 
When Helen thus with lowly grace begun: 



198 



The Iliad of Homer 




HECTOR CHIDING PARIS. 



"Oh, generous brother! (if the guilty dame 
That caused these woes deserve a sister's name!) 
Would heaven, ere all these dreadful deeds were done, 
The day that show'd me to the golden sun 
Had seen my death! why did not whirlwinds bear 
The fatal infant to the fowls of air? 
Why sunk I not beneath the whelming tide, 
And midst the roarings of the waters died? 
Heaven fill'd up all my ills, and I accursed 
Bore all, and Paris of those ills the worst. 
Helen at least a braver spouse might claim, 
Warm'd with some virtue, some regard of fame! 
Now tired with toils, thy fainting limbs recline, 
With toils, sustain'd for Paris' sake and mine 
The gods have link'd our miserable doom, 
[120] Our present woe, and infamy to come: 

Wide shall it spread, and last through ages long, 
Example sad! and theme of future song." 



BOOK VI. 



The chief replied: "This time forbids to rest; 

The Trojan bands, by hostile fury press'd, 

Demand their Hector, and his arm require; 

The combat urges, and my soul's on fire. 

Urge thou thy knight to march where glory calls, 

And timely join me, ere I leave the walls. 

Ere yet I mingle in the direful fray, 

My wife, my infant, claim a moment's stay; 

This day (perhaps the last that sees me here) 

Demands a parting word, a tender tear: 

This day, some god who hates our Trojan land 

May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand." 

He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart 
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part; 
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain; 
She, with one maid of all her menial train, 
Had hence retired; and with her second joy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, 
Pensive she stood on Ilion's towery height, 
Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight; 
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, 
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore. 

But he who found not whom his soul desired, 
Whose virtue charm'd him as her beauty fired, 
Stood in the gates, and ask'd "what way she bent 
Her parting step? If to the fane she went, 
Where late the mourning matrons made resort; 
Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court?" 
"Not to the court, (replied the attendant train,) 
Nor mix'd with matrons to Minerva's fane: 
To Ilion's steepy tower she bent her way, 
To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword; 
She heard, and trembled for her absent lord: 
Distracted with surprise, she seem'd to fly, 
Fear on her cheek, and sorrow m her eye. 
The nurse attended with her infant boy, 
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy. " 



Hector this heard, return'd without delay; 
Swift through the town he trod his former way, 
Through streets of palaces, and walks of state; 
And met the mourner at the Scaean gate. 
With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair. 
His blameless wife, Aetion's wealthy heir: 
(Cilician Thebe great Aetion sway'd, 
And Hippoplacus' wide extended shade:) 
The nurse stood near, in whose embraces press'd, 
[121] His only hope hung smiling at her breast, 

Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, 
Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn. 
To this loved infant Hector gave the name 
Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream; 
Astyanax the Trojans call'd the boy, 
From his great father, the defence of Troy. 
Silent the warrior smiled, and pleased resign'd 
To tender passions all his mighty mind; 
His beauteous princess cast a mournful look, 
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke; 
Her bosom laboured with a boding sigh, 
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. 



BOOK VI. 



201 




"Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? 

Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son! 

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be, 

A widow I, a helpless orphan he? 

For sure such courage length of life denies, 

And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 

Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; 

Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain. 

O grant me, gods, ere Hector meets his doom, 

All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb ! 

So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 

And end with sorrows as they first begun. 

No parent now remains my griefs to share, 

No father's aid, no mother's tender care. 

The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire, 

Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire! [122] 
His fate compassion in the victor bred; 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead, 

His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, 

And laid him decent on the funeral pile; 

Then raised a mountain where his bones were burn'd, 

The mountain-nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd, 

Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow 

A barren shade, and in his honour grow. 

"By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell; 
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell; 
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed, 
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled! 
My mother lived to wear the victor's bands, 
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands: 
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again 
Her pleasing empire and her native plain, 
When ah! oppress'd by life-consuming woe, 
She fell a victim to Diana's bow. 

"Yet while my Hector still survives, I see 
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee: 
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all 
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall, 
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share: 
Oh, prove a husband's and a father's care ! 
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, 
Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy; 
Thou, from this tower defend the important post; 
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host, 
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, 
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, 
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven. 
Let others in the field their arms employ, 
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy." 



BOOK VI. 



203 



The chief replied: "That post shall be my care, 

Not that alone, but all the works of war. 

How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd, 

And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground 

Attaint the lustre of my former name, 

Should Hector basely quit the field of fame? 

My early youth was bred to martial pains, 

My soul impels me to the embattled plains ! 

Let me be foremost to defend the throne, 

And guard my father's glories, and my own. 

"Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates ! 

(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) 

The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, 

And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 

And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, 

My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, [123] 

Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 

Not all my brothers gasping on the shore; 

As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread: 

I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! 

In Argive looms our battles to design, 

And woes, of which so large a part was thine! 

To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring 

The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 

There while you groan beneath the load of life, 

They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife!' 

Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, 

Imbitters all thy woes, by naming me. 

The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 

A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! 

May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 

Press'd with a load of monumental clay ! 

Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 



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Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep." 

Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy 
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, 
Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest. 
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, 
And Hector hasted to relieve his child, 
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, 
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground; 
Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air, 
Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer: 

"O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne, 
And all ye deathless powers! protect my son! 
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, 
Against his country's foes the war to wage, 
And rise the Hector of the future age! 
So when triumphant from successful toils 
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, 
Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim, 
And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame:' 
While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy, 
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy." 

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, 
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms; 
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, 
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. 
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
She mingled with a smile a tender tear. 
The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd, 
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued: 



BOOK VI. 



205 



"Andromache! my soul's far better part, 

Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? [124] 

No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 

Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. 

Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth; 

And such the hard condition of our birth: 

No force can then resist, no flight can save, 

All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 

No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home, 

There guide the spindle, and direct the loom: 

Me glory summons to the martial scene, 

The field of combat is the sphere for men. 

Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, 

The first in danger as the first in fame." 



Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes 
His towery helmet, black with shading plumes. 
His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, 
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye 
That stream'd at every look; then, moving slow, 
Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe. 
There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, 
Through all her train the soft infection ran; 
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, 
And mourn the living Hector, as the dead. 



But now, no longer deaf to honour's call, 

Forth issues Paris from the palace wall. 

In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray, 

Swift through the town the warrior bends his way. 



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The wanton courser thus with reins unbound 

Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground; 

Pamper'd and proud, he seeks the wonted tides, 

And laves, in height of blood his shining sides; 

His head now freed, he tosses to the skies; 

His mane dishevell'd o'er his shoulders flies; 

He snuffs the females in the distant plain, 

And springs, exulting, to his fields again. 

With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay, 

In arms refulgent as the god of day, 

The son of Priam, glorying in his might, 

Rush'd forth with Hector to the fields of fight. 

And now, the warriors passing on the way, 
The graceful Paris first excused his stay. 
To whom the noble Hector thus replied: 
"O chief! in blood, and now in arms, allied! 
Thy power in war with justice none contest; 
Known is thy courage, and thy strength confess'd. 
[125] What pity sloth should seize a soul so brave, 

Or godlike Paris live a woman's slave ! 
My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say, 
And hopes thy deeds shall wipe the stain away. 
Haste then, in all their glorious labours share, 
For much they suffer, for thy sake, in war. 
These ills shall cease, whene'er by Jove's decree 
We crown the bowl to heaven and liberty: 
While the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns, 

176 — The wanton courser. 

"Come destrier, che da le regie stalle 

Ove a l'usa de l'arme si riserba, 
Fugge, e libera al fiu per largo calle 

Va tragi' armenti, o al fiume usato, o a l'herba." 

Gier, Lib. ix. 75. 



BOOK VI. 



207 




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IRIS. 



[127] 



BOOK VII. 



ARGUMENT 

THE SINGLE COMBAT OF HECTOR AND AJAX. 

The battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of 
Hector, Minerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, 
seeing her descend from Olympus, joins her near the Scaean gate. 
They agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and 
incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a single combat. Nine of 
the princes accepting the challenge, the lot is cast and falls upon 
Ajax. These heroes, after several attacks, are parted by the night. 
The Trojans calling a council, Antenor purposes the delivery of 
Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not consent, but offers 
to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this 
offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead, the last of 
which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are 
performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a 
fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, 
and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his 
jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. 
Both armies pass the night in feasting but Jupiter disheartens the 
Trojans with thunder, and other signs of his wrath. 

The three and twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and 
Ajax, the next day the truce is agreed; another is taken up in the 
funeral rites of the slain and one more in building the fortification 
before the ships. So that somewhat about three days is employed 
in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field. 



210 



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So spoke the guardian of the Trojan state, 
Then rush'd impetuous through the Scaean gate. 
Him Paris follow'd to the dire alarms; 
Both breathing slaughter, both resolved in arms. 
As when to sailors labouring through the main, 
That long have heaved the weary oar in vain, 
Jove bids at length the expected gales arise; 
The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies. 
So welcome these to Troy's desiring train, 
The bands are cheer'd, the war awakes again. 

Bold Paris first the work of death begun 
On great Menestheus, Areithous' son, 
Sprung from the fair Philomeda's embrace, 
The pleasing Arne was his native place. 
Then sunk Eioneus to the shades below, 
[128] Beneath his steely casque he felt the blow 177 

Full on his neck, from Hector's weighty hand; 
And roll'd, with limbs relax'd, along the land. 
By Glaucus' spear the bold Iphmous bleeds, 
Fix'd in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; 
Headlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound, 
Drop the cold useless members on the ground. 

When now Minerva saw her Argives slain, 
From vast Olympus to the gleaming plain 
Fierce she descends: Apollo marked her flight, 
Nor shot less swift from Ilion's towery height. 
Radiant they met, beneath the beechen shade; 
When thus Apollo to the blue-eyed maid: 



— Casque. The original word is stephanae, about the meaning of which 
there is some little doubt. Some take it for a different kind of cap or helmet, 
others for the rim, others for the cone, of the helmet. 



BOOK VII. 



211 



"What cause, O daughter of Almighty Jove ! 
Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? 
Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, 
To give to Greece the long divided day? 
Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, 
Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate; 
This day, the business of the field suspend; 
War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend; 
Since vengeful goddesses confederate join 
To raze her walls, though built by hands divine." 

To whom the progeny of Jove replies: 

"I left, for this, the council of the skies: 

But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear, 

What art shall calm the furious sons of war?" 

To her the god: "Great Hector's soul incite 

To dare the boldest Greek to single fight, 

Till Greece, provoked, from all her numbers show 

A warrior worthy to be Hector's foe. " 

At this agreed, the heavenly powers withdrew; 
Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew; 
Hector, inspired, he sought: to him address'd, 
Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: 
"O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear 
Receive my words: thy friend and brother hear! 
Go forth persuasive, and a while engage 
The warring nations to suspend their rage; 
Then dare the boldest of the hostile train 
To mortal combat on the listed plain. 
For not this day shall end thy glorious date; 
The gods have spoke it, and their voice is fate." 



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He said: the warrior heard the word with joy; 
Then with his spear restrain'd the youth of Troy, 
Held by the midst athwart. On either hand 
The squadrons part; the expecting Trojans stand; 
Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear: 
They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war. 
[129] The Athenian maid, and glorious god of day, 178 

With silent joy the settling hosts survey: 
In form of vultures, on the beech's height 
They sit conceal'd, and wait the future fight. 

The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields, 

Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields. 

As when a general darkness veils the main, 

(Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat'ry plain,) 

The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps, 

And a still horror saddens all the deeps; 

Thus in thick orders settling wide around, 

At length composed they sit, and shade the ground. 

Great Hector first amidst both armies broke 

The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke: 

"Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, 

What my soul prompts, and what some god commands. 

Great Jove, averse our warfare to compose, 

O'erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes; 

War with a fiercer tide once more returns, 

Till Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns. 

You then, O princes of the Greeks ! appear; 

'Tis Hector speaks, and calls the gods to hear: 

From all your troops select the boldest knight, 

And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight. 

Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain, 



— Athenian maid: Minerva. 



BOOK VII. 



213 



Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain; 

But let my body, to my friends return'd, 

By Trojan hands and Trojan flames be burn'd. 

And if Apollo, in whose aid I trust, 

Shall stretch your daring champion in the dust; 

If mine the glory to despoil the foe; 

On Phoebus' temple I'll his arms bestow: 

The breathless carcase to your navy sent, 

Greece on the shore shall raise a monument; 

Which when some future mariner surveys, 

Wash'd by broad Hellespont's resounding seas, 

Thus shall he say, A valiant Greek lies there, 

By Hector slain, the mighty man of war,' 

The stone shall tell your vanquish'd hero's name. 

And distant ages learn the victor's fame." 



This fierce defiance Greece astonish'd heard, 
Blush'd to refuse, and to accept it fear'd. 
Stern Menelaus first the silence broke, 
And, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke: 



"Women of Greece ! O scandal of your race, 
Whose coward souls your manly form disgrace, 
How great the shame, when every age shall know 
That not a Grecian met this noble foe! 
Go then! resolve to earth, from whence ye grew, 
A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew! 

Be what ye seem, unanimated clay, [130] 

Myself will dare the danger of the day; 

'Tis man's bold task the generous strife to try, 

But in the hands of God is victory." 



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These words scarce spoke, with generous ardour press'd, 

His manly limbs in azure arms he dress'd. 

That day, Atrides! a superior hand 

Had stretch'd thee breathless on the hostile strand; 

But all at once, thy fury to compose, 

The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose; 

Even he their chief, great Agamemnon, press'd 

Thy daring hand, and this advice address'd: 

"Whither, O Menelaus ! wouldst thou run, 

And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun? 

Grieved though thou art, forbear the rash design; 

Great Hectors arm is mightier far than thine: 

Even fierce Achilles learn'd its force to fear, 

And trembling met this dreadful son of war. 

Sit thou secure, amidst thy social band; 

Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand. 

The mightiest warrior of the Achaian name, 

Though bold and burning with desire of fame, 

Content the doubtful honour might forego, 

So great the danger, and so brave the foe." 

He said, and turn'd his brother's vengeful mind; 
He stoop'd to reason, and his rage resign'd, 
No longer bent to rush on certain harms; 
His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms. 

He from whose lips divine persuasion flows, 
Grave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose; 
Thus to the kings he spoke: "What grief, what shame 
Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name! 
How shall, alas ! her hoary heroes mourn 
Their sons degenerate, and their race a scorn! 
What tears shall down thy silvery beard be roll'd, 
O Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old! 



BOOK VII. 



215 



Once with what joy the generous prince would hear 
Of every chief who fought this glorious war, 
Participate their fame, and pleased inquire 
Each name, each action, and each hero's sire! 
Gods ! should he see our warriors trembling stand, 
And trembling all before one hostile hand; 
How would he lift his aged arms on high, 
Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die! 
Oh! would to all the immortal powers above, 
Minerva, Phoebus, and almighty Jove! 
Years might again roll back, my youth renew, 
And give this arm the spring which once it knew 
When fierce in war, where Jardan's waters fall, 
I led my troops to Phea's trembling wall, 

And with the Arcadian spears my prowess tried, [131] 

Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide. 179 

There Ereuthalion braved us in the field, 

Proud Areithous' dreadful arms to wield; 

Great Areithous, known from shore to shore 

By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore; 

No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow, 

But broke, with this, the battle of the foe. 

Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew, 

Whose guileful javelin from the thicket flew, 

Deep in a winding way his breast assailed, 

Nor aught the warrior's thundering mace avail'd. 

Supine he fell: those arms which Mars before 

Had given the vanquish'd, now the victor bore: 

But when old age had dimm'd Lycurgus' eyes, 

To Ereuthalion he consign'd the prize. 

Furious with this he crush'd our levell'd bands, 

And dared the trial of the strongest hands; 



— Celadon, a river of Elis. 



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Nor could the strongest hands his fury stay: 
All saw, and fear'd, his huge tempestuous sway 
Till I, the youngest of the host, appear'd, 
And, youngest, met whom all our army fear'd. 
I fought the chief: my arms Minerva crown'd: 
Prone fell the giant o'er a length of ground. 
What then I was, O were your Nestor now! 
Not Hector's self should want an equal foe. 
But, warriors, you that youthful vigour boast, 
The flower of Greece, the examples of our host, 
Sprung from such fathers, who such numbers sway, 
Can you stand trembling, and desert the day?" 



His warm reproofs the listening kings inflame; 
And nine, the noblest of the Grecian name, 
Up-started fierce: but far before the rest 
The king of men advanced his dauntless breast: 
Then bold Tydides, great in arms, appear'd; 
And next his bulk gigantic Ajax rear'd; 
Oileus follow'd; Idomen was there, 180 
And Merion, dreadful as the god of war: 
With these Eurypylus and Thoas stand, 
And wise Ulysses closed the daring band. 
All these, alike inspired with noble rage, 
Demand the fight. To whom the Pylian sage: 



"Lest thirst of glory your brave souls divide, 
What chief shall combat, let the gods decide. 
Whom heaven shall choose, be his the chance to raise 
His country's fame, his own immortal praise." 



BOOK VII. 



The lots produced, each hero signs his own: 
Then in the general's helm the fates are thrown, 181 
The people pray, with lifted eyes and hands, 
And vows like these ascend from all the bands: 
"Grant, thou Almighty ! in whose hand is fate, 
A worthy champion for the Grecian state: 
This task let Ajax or Tydides prove, 
Or he, the king of kings, beloved by Jove." 
Old Nestor shook the casque. By heaven inspired, 
Leap'd forth the lot, of every Greek desired. 
This from the right to left the herald bears, 
Held out in order to the Grecian peers; 
Each to his rival yields the mark unknown, 
Till godlike Ajax finds the lot his own; 
Surveys the inscription with rejoicing eyes, 
Then casts before him, and with transport cries: 

"Warriors! I claim the lot, and arm with joy; 
Be mine the conquest of this chief of Troy. 
Now while my brightest arms my limbs invest, 
To Saturn's son be all your vows address'd: 
But pray in secret, lest the foes should hear, 
And deem your prayers the mean effect of fear. 
Said I in secret? No, your vows declare 
In such a voice as fills the earth and air, 
Lives there a chief whom Ajax ought to dread? 
Ajax, in all the toils of battle bred! 
From warlike Salamis I drew my birth, 
And, born to combats, fear no force on earth." 



180 — oileus, i.e. Ajax, the son of Oileus, in contradistinction to Ajax, son 
Telamon. 

181 — In the general's helm. It was customary to put the lots into a helmet, 
which they were well shaken up; each man then took his choice. 



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He said. The troops with elevated eyes, 

Implore the god whose thunder rends the skies: 

"O father of mankind, superior lord! 

On lofty Ida's holy hill adored: 

Who in the highest heaven hast fix'd thy throne, 

Supreme of gods! unbounded and alone: 

Grant thou, that Telamon may bear away 

The praise and conquest of this doubtful day; 

Or, if illustrious Hector be thy care, 

That both may claim it, and that both may share." 

Now Ajax braced his dazzling armour on; 
Sheathed in bright steel the giant-warrior shone: 
He moves to combat with majestic pace; 
So stalks in arms the grisly god of Thrace, 182 
When Jove to punish faithless men prepares, 
And gives whole nations to the waste of wars, 
Thus march'd the chief, tremendous as a god; 
Grimly he smiled; earth trembled as he strode: 183 
His massy javelin quivering in his hand, 
He stood, the bulwark of the Grecian band. 
Through every Argive heart new transport ran; 
All Troy stood trembling at the mighty man: 
Even Hector paused; and with new doubt oppress'd, 
Felt his great heart suspended in his breast: 

182 — God of Thrace. Mars, or Mavors, according to his Thracian epithet. 
Hence "Mavortia Moenia." 

183 — Grimly he smiled. 

"And death 
Grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile." 

— "Paradise Lost," ii. 845. 

"There Mavors stands 
Grinning with ghastly feature." 

— Carey's Dante: Hell, v. 



BOOK VII. 



219 



'Twas vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear; 
Himself had challenged, and the foe drew near. 

Stern Telamon behind his ample shield, 
As from a brazen tower, o'erlook'd the field. 
Huge was its orb, with seven thick folds o'ercast, 
Of tough bull-hides; of solid brass the last, 
(The work of Tychius, who in Hyle dwell'd 
And in all arts of armoury excell'd,) 
This Ajax bore before his manly breast, 
And, threatening, thus his adverse chief address'd: 

"Hector! approach my arm, and singly know 
What strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe. 
Achilles shuns the fight; yet some there are, 
Not void of soul, and not unskill'd in war: 
Let him, unactive on the sea-beat shore, 
Indulge his wrath, and aid our arms no more; 
Whole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast, 
And sends thee one, a sample of her host, 
Such as I am, I come to prove thy might; 
No more — be sudden, and begin the fight." 

"O son of Telamon, thy country's pride ! 
(To Ajax thus the Trojan prince replied) 
Me, as a boy, or woman, wouldst thou fright, 
New to the field, and trembling at the fight? 
Thou meet'st a chief deserving of thy arms, 
To combat born, and bred amidst alarms: 
I know to shift my ground, remount the car, 
Turn, charge, and answer every call of war; 
To right, to left, the dexterous lance I wield, 
And bear thick battle on my sounding shield 
But open be our fight, and bold each blow; 
I steal no conquest from a noble foe. " 



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He said, and rising, high above the field 
Whirl'd the long lance against the sevenfold shield. 
Full on the brass descending from above 
Through six bull-hides the furious weapon drove, 
Till in the seventh it fix'd. Then Ajax threw; 
Through Hector's shield the forceful javelin flew, 
His corslet enters, and his garment rends, 
And glancing downwards, near his flank descends. 
The wary Trojan shrinks, and bending low 
Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow. 
From their bored shields the chiefs their javelins drew, 
[134] Then close impetuous, and the charge renew; 

Fierce as the mountain-lions bathed in blood, 

Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. 

At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends; 

The blunted point against the buckler bends; 

But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near, 

Drove through the Trojan targe the knotty spear; 

It reach'd his neck, with matchless strength impell'd! 

Spouts the black gore, and dims his shining shield. 

Yet ceased not Hector thus; but stooping down, 

In his strong hand up-heaved a flinty stone, 

Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends; 

Full on the brazen boss the stone descends; 

The hollow brass resounded with the shock: 

Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock, 

Applied each nerve, and swinging round on high, 

With force tempestuous, let the ruin fly; 

The huge stone thundering through his buckler broke: 

His slacken'd knees received the numbing stroke; 

Great Hector falls extended on the field, 

His bulk supporting on the shatter'd shield: 

Nor wanted heavenly aid: Apollo's might 

Confirm'd his sinews, and restored to fight. 



BOOK VII. 



221 



And now both heroes their broad falchions drew 

In flaming circles round their heads they flew; 

But then by heralds' voice the word was given. 

The sacred ministers of earth and heaven: 

Divine Talthybius, whom the Greeks employ. 

And sage Idaeus on the part of Troy, [135] 

Between the swords their peaceful sceptres rear'd; 

And first Idaeus' awful voice was heard: 




HECTOR AND AJAX SEPARATED BY THE HERALDS. 



"Forbear, my sons ! your further force to prove, 
Both dear to men, and both beloved of Jove. 
To either host your matchless worth is known, 
Each sounds your praise, and war is all your own. 
But now the Night extends her awful shade; 
The goddess parts you; be the night obey'd." 184 



184 



"Sete o guerrieri, incomincio Pindoro, 
Con pari honor di pari ambo possenti, 



222 



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To whom great Ajax his high soul express'd: 

"O sage! to Hector be these words address'd. 

Let him, who first provoked our chiefs to fight, 

Let him demand the sanction of the night; 

If first he ask'd it, I content obey, 

And cease the strife when Hector shows the way." 

"O first of Greeks! (his noble foe rejoin'd) 
Whom heaven adorns, superior to thy kind, 
With strength of body, and with worth of mind! 
Now martial law commands us to forbear; 
Hereafter we shall meet in glorious war, 
Some future day shall lengthen out the strife, 
And let the gods decide of death or life! 
Since, then, the night extends her gloomy shade, 
And heaven enjoins it, be the night obey'd. 
Return, brave Ajax, to thy Grecian friends, 
And joy the nations whom thy arm defends; 
As I shall glad each chief, and Trojan wife, 
Who wearies heaven with vows for Hector's life. 
But let us, on this memorable day, 
Exchange some gift: that Greece and Troy may say, 
'Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend; 
And each brave foe was in his soul a friend.'" 

With that, a sword with stars of silver graced, 
The baldric studded, and the sheath enchased, 
He gave the Greek. The generous Greek bestow'd 
A radiant belt that rich with purple glow'd. 
Then with majestic grace they quit the plain; 
This seeks the Grecian, that the Phrygian train. 



Dunque cessi la pugna, e non sian rotte 
Le ragioni, e '1 riposo, e de la notte." 



— Gier. Lib. vi. 51. 



BOOK VII. 



223 



The Trojan bands returning Hector wait, 
And hail with joy the Champion of their state; 
Escaped great Ajax, they survey him round, 
Alive, unarm'd, and vigorous from his wound; 
To Troy's high gates the godlike man they bear 
Their present triumph, as their late despair. 

But Ajax, glorying in his hardy deed, 

The well-arm'd Greeks to Agamemnon lead. 

A steer for sacrifice the king design'd, 

Of full five years, and of the nobler kind. 

The victim falls; they strip the smoking hide, 

The beast they quarter, and the joints divide; 

Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, 

Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. 

The king himself (an honorary sign) 

Before great Ajax placed the mighty chine. 185 

When now the rage of hunger was removed, 

Nestor, in each persuasive art approved, 

The sage whose counsels long had sway'd the rest, 

In words like these his prudent thought express'd: 

"How dear, O kings ! this fatal day has cost, 
What Greeks are perish'd! what a people lost! 
What tides of blood have drench'd Scamander's shore! 
What crowds of heroes sunk to rise no more! 
Then hear me, chief! nor let the morrow's light 
Awake thy squadrons to new toils of fight: 
Some space at least permit the war to breathe, 
While we to flames our slaughter'd friends bequeath, 
From the red field their scatter'd bodies bear, 

185 It was an ancient style of compliment to give a larger portion of food to the 
conqueror, or person to whom respect was to be shown. See Virg. JEn. viii. 
181. Thus Benjamin was honoured with a "double portion." Gen. xliii. 34. 



224 



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And nigh the fleet a funeral structure rear; 

So decent urns their snowy bones may keep, 

And pious children o'er their ashes weep. 

Here, where on one promiscuous pile they blazed, 

High o'er them all a general tomb be raised; 

Next, to secure our camp and naval powers, 

Raise an embattled wall, with lofty towers; 

From space to space be ample gates around, 

For passing chariots; and a trench profound. 

So Greece to combat shall in safety go, 

Nor fear the fierce incursions of the foe." 

'Twas thus the sage his wholesome counsel moved; 

The sceptred kings of Greece his words approved. 



Meanwhile, convened at Priam's palace-gate, 

The Trojan peers in nightly council sate; 

A senate void of order, as of choice: 

Their hearts were fearful, and confused their voice. 

Antenor, rising, thus demands their ear: 

"Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliars, hear! 

'Tis heaven the counsel of my breast inspires, 

And I but move what every god requires: 

Let Sparta's treasures be this hour restored, 

And Argive Helen own her ancient lord. 

The ties of faith, the sworn alliance, broke, 

Our impious battles the just gods provoke. 

As this advice ye practise, or reject, 

So hope success, or dread the dire effect." 



BOOK VII. 



225 



The senior spoke and sate. To whom replied 
The graceful husband of the Spartan bride: 
"Cold counsels, Trojan, may become thy years 
But sound ungrateful in a warrior's ears: 
Old man, if void of fallacy or art, 
Thy words express the purpose of thy heart, 
Thou, in thy time, more sound advice hast given; 
But wisdom has its date, assign'd by heaven. 
Then hear me, princes of the Trojan name! 
Their treasures I'll restore, but not the dame; 
My treasures too, for peace, I will resign; 
But be this bright possession ever mine." 



'Twas then, the growing discord to compose, 
Slow from his seat the reverend Priam rose: 
His godlike aspect deep attention drew: 
He paused, and these pacific words ensue: 



"Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar bands! 
Now take refreshment as the hour demands; 
Guard well the walls, relieve the watch of night. 
Till the new sun restores the cheerful light. 
Then shall our herald, to the Atrides sent, 
Before their ships proclaim my son's intent. 
Next let a truce be ask'd, that Troy may burn 
Her slaughter'd heroes, and their bones inurn; 
That done, once more the fate of war be tried, 
And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide!" 



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The monarch spoke: the warriors snatch'd with haste 

(Each at his post in arms) a short repast. 

Soon as the rosy morn had waked the day, 

To the black ships Idaeus bent his way; 

There, to the sons of Mars, in council found, 

He raised his voice: the host stood listening round. 



"Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Greeks, give ear! 

The words of Troy, and Troy's great monarch, hear. 

Pleased may ye hear (so heaven succeed my prayers) 

What Paris, author of the war, declares. 

The spoils and treasures he to Ilion bore 

(Oh had he perish'd ere they touch'd our shore!) 

He proffers injured Greece: with large increase 

Of added Trojan wealth to buy the peace. 

But to restore the beauteous bride again, 

This Greece demands, and Troy requests in vain. 

Next, O ye chiefs ! we ask a truce to burn 

Our slaughter'd heroes, and their bones inurn. 

That done, once more the fate of war be tried, 

And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide ! " 



The Greeks gave ear, but none the silence broke; 
At length Tydides rose, and rising spoke: 
"Oh, take not, friends! defrauded of your fame, 
[138] Their proffer'd wealth, nor even the Spartan dame. 

Let conquest make them ours: fate shakes their wall, 
And Troy already totters to her fall." 



BOOK VII. 



227 



The admiring chiefs, and all the Grecian name, 
With general shouts return'd him loud acclaim. 
Then thus the king of kings rejects the peace: 
"Herald! in him thou hear'st the voice of Greece 
For what remains; let funeral flames be fed 
With heroes' corps: I war not with the dead: 
Go search your slaughtered chiefs on yonder plain, 
And gratify the manes of the slain. 
Be witness, Jove, whose thunder rolls on high!" 
He said, and rear'd his sceptre to the sky. 

To sacred Troy, where all her princes lay 

To wait the event, the herald bent his way. 

He came, and standing in the midst, explain'd 

The peace rejected, but the truce obtain'd. 

Straight to their several cares the Trojans move, 

Some search the plains, some fell the sounding grove: 

Nor less the Greeks, descending on the shore, 

Hew'd the green forests, and the bodies bore. 

And now from forth the chambers of the main, 

To shed his sacred light on earth again, 

Arose the golden chariot of the day, 

And tipp'd the mountains with a purple ray. 

In mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train 

Through heaps of carnage search'd the mournful plain. 

Scarce could the friend his slaughter'd friend explore, 

With dust dishonour'd, and deformed with gore. 

The wounds they wash'd, their pious tears they shed, 

And, laid along their cars, deplored the dead. 

Sage Priam check'd their grief: with silent haste 

The bodies decent on the piles were placed: 

With melting hearts the cold remains they burn'd, 

And, sadly slow, to sacred Troy return'd. 

Nor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed, 



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And decent on the pile dispose the dead; 
The cold remains consume with equal care; 
And slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair. 
Now, ere the morn had streak'd with reddening light 
The doubtful confines of the day and night, 
About the dying flames the Greeks appear'd, 
And round the pile a general tomb they rear'd. 
Then, to secure the camp and naval powers, 
[139] They raised embattled walls with lofty towers: 186 

From space to space were ample gates around, 
For passing chariots, and a trench profound 
Of large extent; and deep in earth below, 
Strong piles infix'd stood adverse to the foe. 



So toil'd the Greeks: meanwhile the gods above, 
In shining circle round their father Jove, 
Amazed beheld the wondrous works of man: 
Then he, whose trident shakes the earth, began: 



— Embattled walls. "Another essential basis of mechanical unity in the 
poem is the construction of the rampart. This takes place in the seventh book. 
The reason ascribed for the glaring improbability that the Greeks should have 
left their camp and fleet unfortified during nine years, in the midst of a hostile 
country, is a purely poetical one: 'So long as Achilles fought, the terror of his 
name sufficed to keep every foe at a distance.' The disasters consequent on his 
secession first led to the necessity of other means of protection. Accordingly, 
in the battles previous to the eighth book, no allusion occurs to a rampart; in all 
those which follow it forms a prominent feature. Here, then, in the anomaly as 
in the propriety of the Iliad, the destiny of Achilles, or rather this peculiar crisis 
of it, forms the pervading bond of connexion to the whole poem." — Mure, vol. 
L, p. 257. 



BOOK VII. 



229 



"What mortals henceforth shall our power adore, 

Our fanes frequent, our oracles implore, 

If the proud Grecians thus successful boast 

Their rising bulwarks on the sea-beat coast? 

See the long walls extending to the main, 

No god consulted, and no victim slain! 

Their fame shall fill the world's remotest ends, 

Wide as the morn her golden beam extends; 

While old Laomedon's divine abodes, 

Those radiant structures raised by labouring gods, 

Shall, razed and lost, in long oblivion sleep." 

Thus spoke the hoary monarch of the deep. 

The almighty Thunderer with a frown replies, 

That clouds the world, and blackens half the skies: 

"Strong god of ocean! thou, whose rage can make 

The solid earth's eternal basis shake ! 

What cause of fear from mortal works could move 187 

The meanest subject of our realms above? 

Where'er the sun's refulgent rays are cast, 

Thy power is honour'd, and thy fame shall last. 

But yon proud work no future age shall view, 

No trace remain where once the glory grew. 

The sapp'd foundations by thy force shall fall, 

And, whelm'd beneath the waves, drop the huge wall: 

Vast drifts of sand shall change the former shore: 

The ruin vanish'd, and the name no more." 



— What cause of fear, &c. 

"Seest thou not this? Or do we fear in vain 

Thy boasted thunders, and thy thoughtless reign?" 



Dryden's Virgil, iv. 304. 



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Thus they in heaven: while, o'er the Grecian train, 
The rolling sun descending to the main 
Beheld the finish'd work. Their bulls they slew; 
Back from the tents the savoury vapour flew. 
And now the fleet, arrived from Lemnos' strands, 
With Bacchus' blessings cheered the generous bands. 
Of fragrant wines the rich Eunaeus sent 
A thousant measures to the royal tent. 
(Eunaeus, whom Hypsipyle of yore 
To Jason, shepherd of his people, bore,) 
The rest they purchased at their proper cost, 
And well the plenteous freight supplied the host: 
Each, in exchange, proportion'd treasures gave; 188 
Some, brass or iron; some, an ox, or slave. 
All night they feast, the Greek and Trojan powers: 
Those on the fields, and these within their towers. 
But Jove averse the signs of wrath display'd, 
And shot red lightnings through the gloomy shade: 
Humbled they stood; pale horror seized on all, 
While the deep thunder shook the aerial hall. 
Each pour'd to Jove before the bowl was crown'd; 
And large libations drench'd the thirsty ground: 
Then late, refresh'd with sleep from toils of fight, 
Enjoy'd the balmy blessings of the night. 



— In exchange. These lines are referred to by Theophilus, the Roman 
lawyer, iii. tit. xxiii. Section 1, as exhibiting the most ancient mention of 
barter. 




GREEK AMPHORA— WINE VESSELS. 



[141] 



BOOK VIII. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE SECOND BATTLE, AND THE DISTRESS OF THE 
GREEKS. 

Jupiter assembles a council of the deities, and threatens them 
with the pains of Tartarus if they assist either side: Minerva only 
obtains of him that she may direct the Greeks by her counsels. 189 
his balances the fates of both, and affrights the Greeks with his 
thunders and lightnings. Nestor alone continues in the field in 
great danger: Diomed relieves him; whose exploits, and those of 
Hector, are excellently described. Juno endeavours to animate 
Neptune to the assistance of the Greeks, but in vain. The acts 
of Teucer, who is at length wounded by Hector, and carried off. 
Juno and Minerva prepare to aid the Grecians, but are restrained 
by Iris, sent from Jupiter. The night puts an end to the battle. 
Hector continues in the field, (the Greeks being driven to their 
fortifications before the ships,) and gives orders to keep the watch 

189 "A similar bond of connexion, in the military details of the narrative, is the 
decree issued by Jupiter, at the commencement of the eighth book, against any 
further interference of the gods in the battles. In the opening of the twentieth 
book this interdict is withdrawn. During the twelve intermediate books it is 
kept steadily in view. No interposition takes place but on the part of the 
specially authorised agents of Jove, or on that of one or two contumacious 
deities, described as boldly setting his commands at defiance, but checked and 
reprimanded for their disobedience; while the other divine warriors, who in 
the previous and subsequent cantos are so active in support of their favourite 
heroes, repeatedly allude to the supreme edict as the cause of their present 
inactivity." — Mure, vol. i. p 257. See however, Muller, "Greek Literature," ch. 
v. Section 6, and Grote, vol. ii. p. 252. 



234 



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all night in the camp, to prevent the enemy from re-embarking 
and escaping by flight. They kindle fires through all the fields, 
and pass the night under arms. 

The time of seven and twenty days is employed from the 
opening of the poem to the end of this book. The scene here 
(except of the celestial machines) lies in the field towards the 
seashore. 

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, 
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn; 
When Jove convened the senate of the skies, 
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise, 
The sire of gods his awful silence broke; 
The heavens attentive trembled as he spoke: 

"Celestial states ! immortal gods ! give ear, 
Hear our decree, and reverence what ye hear; 
The fix'd decree which not all heaven can move; 
[142] Thou, fate! fulfil it! and, ye powers, approve! 

What god but enters yon forbidden field, 
Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield, 
Back to the skies with shame he shall be driven, 
Gash'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven; 
Or far, oh far, from steep Olympus thrown, 
Low in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan, 
With burning chains fix'd to the brazen floors, 
And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors; 
As deep beneath the infernal centre hurl'd, 190 

190 

"As far removed from God and light of heaven, 
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole." 

— "Paradise Lost." 

"E quanta e da le stelle al basso inferno, 
Tanto e piu in su de la stellata spera" 



BOOK VIII. 



235 



As from that centre to the ethereal world. 

Let him who tempts me, dread those dire abodes: 

And know, the Almighty is the god of gods. 

League all your forces, then, ye powers above, 

Join all, and try the omnipotence of Jove. 

Let down our golden everlasting chain 191 

Whose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth, and main 

Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth, 

To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth 

Ye strive in vain! if I but stretch this hand, 

I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land; 

I fix the chain to great Olympus' height, 

And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight! 

For such I reign, unbounded and above; 

And such are men, and gods, compared to Jove." 

The all-mighty spoke, nor durst the powers reply: 
A reverend horror silenced all the sky; 

— Gier. Lib. i. 7. 

"Some of the epithets which Homer applies to the heavens seem to imply 
that he considered it as a solid vault of metal. But it is not necessary to 
construe these epithets so literally, nor to draw any such inference from his 
description of Atlas, who holds the lofty pillars which keep earth and heaven 
asunder. Yet it would seem, from the manner in which the height of heaven 
is compared with the depth of Tartarus, that the region of light was thought 
to have certain bounds. The summit of the Thessalian Olympus was regarded 
as the highest point on the earth, and it is not always carefully distinguished 
from the aerian regions above The idea of a seat of the gods — perhaps derived 
from a more ancient tradition, in which it was not attached to any geographical 
site — seems to be indistinctly blended in the poet's mind with that of the real 
mountain." — Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i. p. 217, sq. 

191 

"Now lately heav'n, earth, another world 
Hung e'er my realm, link'd in a golden chain 
To that side heav'n." 

— "Paradise Lost," ii. 1004. 



236 



The Iliad of Homer 



Trembling they stood before their sovereign's look; 

At length his best-beloved, the power of wisdom, spoke: 

"O first and greatest! God, by gods adored 
We own thy might, our father and our lord! 
But, ah! permit to pity human state: 
If not to help, at least lament their fate. 
From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, 
With arms unaiding mourn our Argives slain; 
Yet grant my counsels still their breasts may move, 
Or all must perish in the wrath of Jove." 

[143] 

The cloud-compelling god her suit approved, 
And smiled superior on his best beloved; 
Then call'd his coursers, and his chariot took; 
The stedfast firmament beneath them shook: 
Rapt by the ethereal steeds the chariot roll'd; 
Brass were their hoofs, their curling manes of gold: 
Of heaven's undrossy gold the gods array, 
Refulgent, flash'd intolerable day. 
High on the throne he shines: his coursers fly 
Between the extended earth and starry sky. 
But when to Ida's topmost height he came, 
(Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game,) 
Where o'er her pointed summits proudly raised, 
His fane breathed odours, and his altar blazed: 
There, from his radiant car, the sacred sire 
Of gods and men released the steeds of fire: 
Blue ambient mists the immortal steeds embraced; 
High on the cloudy point his seat he placed; 
Thence his broad eye the subject world surveys, 
The town, and tents, and navigable seas. 



BOOK VIII. 



237 



Now had the Grecians snatch'd a short repast, 

And buckled on their shining arms with haste. 

Troy roused as soon; for on this dreadful day 

The fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay. 

The gates unfolding pour forth all their train; 

Squadrons on squadrons cloud the dusky plain: 

Men, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground, 

The tumult thickens, and the skies resound; 

And now with shouts the shocking armies closed, 

To lances lances, shields to shields opposed, 

Host against host with shadowy legends drew, 

The sounding darts in iron tempests flew; 

Victors and vanquish'd join promiscuous cries, 

Triumphant shouts and dying groans arise; 

With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, 

And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide. 

Long as the morning beams, increasing bright, 

O'er heaven's clear azure spread the sacred light, 

Commutual death the fate of war confounds, 

Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds. 

But when the sun the height of heaven ascends, 

The sire of gods his golden scales suspends, 192 [144] 

! — His golden scales. 

"Jove now, sole arbiter of peace and war, 
Held forth the fatal balance from afar: 
Each host he weighs; by turns they both prevail, 
Till Troy descending fix'd the doubtful scale." 

Merrick's Tryphiodorus, v 687, sqq. 

"Th' Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, 
Hung forth in heav'n his golden scales, 
Wherein all things created first he weighed; 
The pendulous round earth, with balanced air 
In counterpoise; now ponders all events, 
Battles and realms. In these he puts two weights, 
The sequel each of parting and of fight: 



238 



The Iliad of Homer 



With equal hand: in these explored the fate 
Of Greece and Troy, and poised the mighty weight: 
Press'd with its load, the Grecian balance lies 
Low sunk on earth, the Trojan strikes the skies. 
Then Jove from Ida's top his horrors spreads; 
The clouds burst dreadful o'er the Grecian heads; 
Thick lightnings flash; the muttering thunder rolls; 
Their strength he withers, and unmans their souls. 
Before his wrath the trembling hosts retire; 
The gods in terrors, and the skies on fire. 
Nor great Idomeneus that sight could bear, 
Nor each stern Ajax, thunderbolts of war: 
Nor he, the king of war, the alarm sustain'd 
Nestor alone, amidst the storm remain'd. 
Unwilling he remain'd, for Paris' dart 
Had pierced his courser in a mortal part; 
Fix'd in the forehead, where the springing man 
Curl'd o'er the brow, it stung him to the brain; 
Mad with his anguish, he begins to rear, 
Paw with his hoofs aloft, and lash the air. 
Scarce had his falchion cut the reins, and freed 
The encumber'd chariot from the dying steed, 
When dreadful Hector, thundering through the war, 
Pour'd to the tumult on his whirling car. 
That day had stretch'd beneath his matchless hand 
The hoary monarch of the Pylian band, 
But Diomed beheld; from forth the crowd 
He rush'd, and on Ulysses call'd aloud: 

"Whither, oh whither does Ulysses run? 
Oh, flight unworthy great Laertes' son! 



The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam." 

"Paradise Lost," iv. 496. 



BOOK VIII. 



239 



Mix'd with the vulgar shall thy fate be found, 
Pierced in the back, a vile, dishonest wound? 
Oh turn and save from Hector's direful rage 
The glory of the Greeks, the Pylian sage." 
His fruitless words are lost unheard in air, 
Ulysses seeks the ships, and shelters there. 
But bold Tydides to the rescue goes, 
A single warrior midst a host of foes; 
Before the coursers with a sudden spring 
He leap'd, and anxious thus bespoke the king: 

"Great perils, father! wait the unequal fight; 

These younger champions will oppress thy might. 

Thy veins no more with ancient vigour glow, 

Weak is thy servant, and thy coursers slow. 

Then haste, ascend my seat, and from the car 

Observe the steeds of Tros, renown'd in war. [145] 

Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase, 

To dare the fight, or urge the rapid race: 

These late obey'd Eneas' guiding rein; 

Leave thou thy chariot to our faithful train; 

With these against yon Trojans will we go, 

Nor shall great Hector want an equal foe; 

Fierce as he is, even he may learn to fear 

The thirsty fury of my flying spear." 

Thus said the chief; and Nestor, skill'd in war, 
Approves his counsel, and ascends the car: 
The steeds he left, their trusty servants hold; 
Eurymedon, and Sthenelus the bold: 
The reverend charioteer directs the course, 
And strains his aged arm to lash the horse. 
Hector they face; unknowing how to fear, 
Fierce he drove on; Tydides whirl'd his spear. 



240 



The Iliad of Homer 



The spear with erring haste mistook its way, 

But plunged in Eniopeus' bosom lay. 

His opening hand in death forsakes the rein; 

The steeds fly back: he falls, and spurns the plain. 

Great Hector sorrows for his servant kill'd, 

Yet unrevenged permits to press the field; 

Till, to supply his place and rule the car, 

Rose Archeptolemus, the fierce in war. 

And now had death and horror cover'd all; 193 

Like timorous flocks the Trojans in their wall 

Inclosed had bled: but Jove with awful sound 

Roll'd the big thunder o'er the vast profound: 

Full in Tydides' face the lightning flew; 

The ground before him flamed with sulphur blue; 

The quivering steeds fell prostrate at the sight; 

And Nestor's trembling hand confess'd his fright: 

He dropp'd the reins: and, shook with sacred dread, 

Thus, turning, warn'd the intrepid Diomed: 

"O chief! too daring in thy friend's defence 
Retire advised, and urge the chariot hence. 
This day, averse, the sovereign of the skies 
Assists great Hector, and our palm denies. 
Some other sun may see the happier hour, 
When Greece shall conquer by his heavenly power. 
'Tis not in man his fix'd decree to move: 
The great will glory to submit to Jove. " 



— And now, &c. 

"And now all heaven 
Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread; 
Had not th' Almighty Father, where he sits 
... foreseen." 

— "Paradise Lost," vi. 669. 



BOOK VIII. 



241 



"O reverend prince! (Tydides thus replies) 

Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. 

But ah, what grief! should haughty Hector boast 

I fled inglorious to the guarded coast. 

Before that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, 

O'erwhelm me, earth; and hide a warrior's shame!" 

To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied: 194 

"Gods! can thy courage fear the Phrygian's pride? 

Hector may vaunt, but who shall heed the boast? 

Not those who felt thy arm, the Dardan host, 

Nor Troy, yet bleeding in her heroes lost; 

Not even a Phrygian dame, who dreads the sword 

That laid in dust her loved, lamented lord. " 

He said, and, hasty, o'er the gasping throng 

Drives the swift steeds: the chariot smokes along; 

The shouts of Trojans thicken in the wind; 

The storm of hissing javelins pours behind. 

Then with a voice that shakes the solid skies, 

Pleased, Hector braves the warrior as he flies. 

"Go, mighty hero! graced above the rest 

In seats of council and the sumptuous feast: 

Now hope no more those honours from thy train; 

Go less than woman, in the form of man! 

To scale our walls, to wrap our towers in flames, 

To lead in exile the fair Phrygian dames, 

Thy once proud hopes, presumptuous prince! are fled; 

This arm shall reach thy heart, and stretch thee dead." 

Now fears dissuade him, and now hopes invite. 
To stop his coursers, and to stand the fight; 
Thrice turn'd the chief, and thrice imperial Jove 



— Gerenian Nestor. The epithet Gerenian either refers to the name of a 
place in which Nestor was educated, or merely signifies honoured, revered. 
See Schol. Venet. in II. B. 336; Strabo, viii. p. 340. 



242 



The Iliad of Homer 



On Ida's summits thunder'd from above. 
Great Hector heard; he saw the flashing light, 
(The sign of conquest,) and thus urged the fight: 

"Hear, every Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band, 

All famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand. 

Be mindful of the wreaths your arms have won, 

Your great forefathers' glories, and your own. 

Heard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame 

Await on Troy, on Greece eternal shame. 

In vain they skulk behind their boasted wall, 

Weak bulwarks; destined by this arm to fall. 

High o'er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound, 

And pass victorious o'er the levell'd mound. 

Soon as before yon hollow ships we stand, 

Fight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand; 

Till, their proud navy wrapt in smoke and fires, 

All Greece, encompass'd, in one blaze expires." 

Furious he said; then bending o'er the yoke, 
Encouraged his proud steeds, while thus he spoke: 

"Now, Xanthus, ^Ethon, Lampus, urge the chase, 
[147] And thou, Podargus! prove thy generous race; 

Be fleet, be fearless, this important day, 
And all your master's well-spent care repay. 
For this, high-fed, in plenteous stalls ye stand, 
Served with pure wheat, and by a princess' hand; 
For this my spouse, of great Aetion's line, 
So oft has steep'd the strengthening grain in wine. 
Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll'd: 
Give me to seize rich Nestor's shield of gold; 
From Tydeus' shoulders strip the costly load, 
Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god: 
These if we gain, then victory, ye powers! 



BOOK VIII. 



243 



This night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours!" 

That heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia's soul; 
She shook her throne, that shook the starry pole: 
And thus to Neptune: "Thou, whose force can make 
The stedfast earth from her foundations shake, 
Seest thou the Greeks by fates unjust oppress'd, 
Nor swells thy heart in that immortal breast? 
Yet iEgae, Helice, thy power obey, 195 
And gifts unceasing on thine altars lay. 
Would all the deities of Greece combine, 
In vain the gloomy Thunderer might repine: 
Sole should he sit, with scarce a god to friend, 
And see his Trojans to the shades descend: 
Such be the scene from his Idaean bower; 
Ungrateful prospect to the sullen power!" 

Neptune with wrath rejects the rash design: 
"What rage, what madness, furious queen! is thine? 
I war not with the highest. All above 
Submit and tremble at the hand of Jove. " 

Now godlike Hector, to whose matchless might 
Jove gave the glory of the destined fight, 
Squadrons on squadrons drives, and fills the fields 
With close -ranged chariots, and with thicken'd shields. 
Where the deep trench in length extended lay, 
Compacted troops stand wedged in firm array, 
A dreadful front! they shake the brands, and threat 
With long-destroying flames the hostile fleet. 
The king of men, by Juno's self inspired, 
Toil'd through the tents, and all his army fired. 



— Aigae, Helice. Both these towns were conspicuous for their worship of 
Neptune. 



244 



The Iliad of Homer 



Swift as he moved, he lifted in his hand 
His purple robe, bright ensign of command. 
High on the midmost bark the king appear'd: 
There, from Ulysses' deck, his voice was heard: 
To Ajax and Achilles reach'd the sound, 
Whose distant ships the guarded navy bound. 
"O Argives! shame of human race! (he cried: 
The hollow vessels to his voice replied,) 
[148] Where now are all your glorious boasts of yore, 

Your hasty triumphs on the Lemnian shore? 
Each fearless hero dares a hundred foes, 
While the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows; 
But who to meet one martial man is found, 
When the fight rages, and the flames surround? 
O mighty Jove! O sire of the distress'd! 
Was ever king like me, like me oppress'd? 
With power immense, with justice arm'd in vain; 
My glory ravish'd, and my people slain! 
To thee my vows were breathed from every shore; 
What altar smoked not with our victims' gore? 
With fat of bulls I fed the constant flame, 
And ask'd destruction to the Trojan name. 
Now, gracious god! far humbler our demand; 
Give these at least to 'scape from Hector's hand, 
And save the relics of the Grecian land!" 

Thus pray'd the king, and heaven's great father heard 
His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr'd: 
The wrath appeased, by happy signs declares, 
And gives the people to their monarch's prayers. 
His eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent, 
A fawn his talons truss'd, (divine portent!) 
High o'er the wondering hosts he soar'd above, 
Who paid their vows to Panomphaean Jove; 



BOOK VIII. 



245 



Then let the prey before his altar fall; 

The Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all: 

Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive, 

And fierce on Troy with doubled fury drive. 

Tydides first, of all the Grecian force, 

O'er the broad ditch impell'd his foaming horse, 

Pierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore, 

And dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore. 

Young Agelaus (Phradmon was his sire) 

With flying coursers shunn'd his dreadful ire; 

Struck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress'd; 

The dart drove on, and issued at his breast: 

Headlong he quits the car: his arms resound; 

His ponderous buckler thunders on the ground. 

Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed; 

The Atridae first, the Ajaces next succeed: 

Meriones, like Mars in arms renown'd, 

And godlike Idomen, now passed the mound; 

Evaemon's son next issues to the foe, 

And last young Teucer with his bended bow. 

Secure behind the Telamonian shield 

The skilful archer wide survey'd the field, 

With every shaft some hostile victim slew, 

Then close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew: 

The conscious infant so, when fear alarms, 

Retires for safety to the mother's arms. [149] 

Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field, 

Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield. 

Who first by Teucer's mortal arrows bled? 

Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead: 

The godlike Lycophon next press'd the plain, 

With Chromius, Daetor, Ophelestes slain: 

Bold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground; 

The bloody pile great Melanippus crown'd. 



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Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art, 
A Trojan ghost attending every dart. 
Great Agamemnon views with joyful eye 
The ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly: 
"O youth forever dear! (the monarch cried) 
Thus, always thus, thy early worth be tried; 
Thy brave example shall retrieve our host, 
Thy country's saviour, and thy father's boast! 
Sprung from an alien's bed thy sire to grace, 
The vigorous offspring of a stolen embrace: 
Proud of his boy, he own'd the generous flame, 
And the brave son repays his cares with fame. 
Now hear a monarch's vow: If heaven's high powers 
Give me to raze Troy's long-defended towers; 
Whatever treasures Greece for me design, 
The next rich honorary gift be thine: 
Some golden tripod, or distinguished car, 
With coursers dreadful in the ranks of war: 
Or some fair captive, whom thy eyes approve, 
Shall recompense the warrior's toils with love." 



To this the chief: "With praise the rest inspire, 
Nor urge a soul already fill'd with fire. 
What strength I have, be now in battle tried, 
Till every shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed. 
Since rallying from our wall we forced the foe, 
Still aim'd at Hector have I bent my bow: 
Eight forky arrows from this hand have fled, 
And eight bold heroes by their points lie dead: 
But sure some god denies me to destroy 
This fury of the field, this dog of Troy." 



BOOK VIII. 



247 



He said, and twang'd the string. The weapon flies 

At Hector's breast, and sings along the skies: 

He miss'd the mark; but pierced Gorgythio's heart, 

And drench'd in royal blood the thirsty dart. 

(Fair Castianira, nymph of form divine, 

This offspring added to king Priam's line.) 

As fullblown poppies, overcharged with rain, 196 

Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain; [150] 

So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress'd 

Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast. 

Another shaft the raging archer drew, 

That other shaft with erring fury flew, 

(From Hector, Phoebus turn'd the flying wound,) 

Yet fell not dry or guiltless to the ground: 

Thy breast, brave Archeptolemus ! it tore, 

And dipp'd its feathers in no vulgar gore. 

Headlong he falls: his sudden fall alarms 

The steeds, that startle at his sounding arms. 

Hector with grief his charioteer beheld 

All pale and breathless on the sanguine field: 

Then bids Cebriones direct the rein, 

Quits his bright car, and issues on the plain. 

Dreadful he shouts: from earth a stone he took, 

And rush'd on Teucer with the lifted rock. 

The youth already strain'd the forceful yew; 

The shaft already to his shoulder drew; 

The feather in his hand, just wing'd for flight, 

Touch'd where the neck and hollow chest unite; 

There, where the juncture knits the channel bone, 

' — As full blown, &c. 

"II suo Lesbia quasi bel fior succiso, 

E in atto si gentil languir tremanti 

Gl' occhi, e cader siu '1 tergo il collo mira." 

Gier. Lib. ix. 85. 



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The furious chief discharged the craggy stone: 
The bow-string burst beneath the ponderous blow, 
And his numb'd hand dismiss'd his useless bow. 
He fell: but Ajax his broad shield display'd, 
And screen'd his brother with the mighty shade; 
Till great Alaster, and Mecistheus, bore 
The batter'd archer groaning to the shore. 



Troy yet found grace before the Olympian sire, 
He arm'd their hands, and fill'd their breasts with fire. 
The Greeks repulsed, retreat behind their wall, 
Or in the trench on heaps confusedly fall. 
First of the foe, great Hector march'd along, 
With terror clothed, and more than mortal strong. 
As the bold hound, that gives the lion chase, 
With beating bosom, and with eager pace, 
Hangs on his haunch, or fastens on his heels, 
Guards as he turns, and circles as he wheels; 
Thus oft the Grecians turn'd, but still they flew; 
Thus following, Hector still the hindmost slew. 
When flying they had pass'd the trench profound, 
And many a chief lay gasping on the ground; 
Before the ships a desperate stand they made, 
And fired the troops, and called the gods to aid. 
Fierce on his rattling chariot Hector came: 
His eyes like Gorgon shot a sanguine flame 
That wither'd all their host: like Mars he stood: 
Dire as the monster, dreadful as the god! 
Their strong distress the wife of Jove survey'd; 
Then pensive thus, to war's triumphant maid: 



BOOK VIII. 



249 



"O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield 
The avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield! 
Now, in this moment of her last despair, 
Shall wretched Greece no more confess our care, 
Condemn'd to suffer the full force of fate, 
And drain the dregs of heaven's relentless hate? 
Gods ! shall one raging hand thus level all? 
What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall! 
What power divine shall Hector's wrath assuage? 
Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!" 

So spake the imperial regent of the skies; 
To whom the goddess with the azure eyes: 

"Long since had Hector stain'd these fields with gore, 

Stretch'd by some Argive on his native shore: 

But he above, the sire of heaven, withstands, 

Mocks our attempts, and slights our just demands; 

The stubborn god, inflexible and hard, 

Forgets my service and deserved reward: 

Saved I, for this, his favourite son distress'd, 

By stern Eurystheus with long labours press'd? 

He begg'd, with tears he begg'd, in deep dismay; 

I shot from heaven, and gave his arm the day. 

Oh had my wisdom known this dire event, 

When to grim Pluto's gloomy gates he went; 

The triple dog had never felt his chain, 

Nor Styx been cross'd, nor hell explored in vain. 

Averse to me of all his heaven of gods, 

At Thetis' suit the partial Thunderer nods; 

To grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son, 

My hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone. 

Some future day, perhaps, he may be moved 



250 



The Iliad of Homer 



To call his blue-eyed maid his best beloved. 

Haste, launch thy chariot, through yon ranks to ride; 

Myself will arm, and thunder at thy side. 

Then, goddess! say, shall Hector glory then? 

(That terror of the Greeks, that man of men) 

When Juno's self, and Pallas shall appear, 

All dreadful in the crimson walks of war! 

What mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore, 

Expiring, pale, and terrible no more, 

Shall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?" 

She ceased, and Juno rein'd the steeds with care: 
(Heaven's awful empress, Saturn's other heir:) 
Pallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound, 
With flowers adorn'd, with art immortal crown'd; 
The radiant robe her sacred fingers wove 
Floats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove. 
Her father's arms her mighty limbs invest, 
His cuirass blazes on her ample breast. 
[152] The vigorous power the trembling car ascends: 

Shook by her arm, the massy javelin bends: 
Huge, ponderous, strong ! that when her fury burns 
Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o'erturns. 

Saturnia lends the lash; the coursers fly; 

Smooth glides the chariot through the liquid sky. 

Heaven's gates spontaneous open to the powers, 

Heaven's golden gates, kept by the winged Hours. 

Commission'd in alternate watch they stand, 

The sun's bright portals and the skies command; 

Close, or unfold, the eternal gates of day 

Bar heaven with clouds, or roll those clouds away. 

The sounding hinges ring, the clouds divide. 

Prone down the steep of heaven their course they guide. 



BOOK VIII. 



251 



But Jove, incensed, from Ida's top survey'd, 
And thus enjoin'd the many-colour'd maid. 




JUNO AND MINERVA GOING TO ASSIST THE GREEKS. 



"Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car; 
Against the highest who shall wage the war? 
If furious yet they dare the vain debate, 
Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate: 
Their coursers crush'd beneath the wheels shall lie, 
Their car in fragments, scatter'd o'er the sky: 
My lightning these rebellious shall confound, 
And hurl them flaming, headlong, to the ground, 
Condemn'd for ten revolving years to weep 
The wounds impress'd by burning thunder deep. 
So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire, 

Nor dare to combat hers and nature's sire. [153] 
For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, 
She claims some title to transgress our will. " 



252 



The Iliad of Homer 



Swift as the wind, the various-colour'd maid 
From Ida's top her golden wings display'd; 
To great Olympus' shining gate she flies, 
There meets the chariot rushing down the skies, 
Restrains their progress from the bright abodes, 
And speaks the mandate of the sire of gods. 

"What frenzy goddesses ! what rage can move 
Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove? 
Desist, obedient to his high command: 
This is his word; and know his word shall stand: 
His lightning your rebellion shall confound, 
And hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground; 
Your horses crush'd beneath the wheels shall lie, 
Your car in fragments scatter'd o'er the sky; 
Yourselves condemn'd ten rolling years to weep 
The wounds impress'd by burning thunder deep. 
So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire, 
Nor dare to combat hers and nature's sire. 
For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, 
She claims some title to transgress his will: 
But thee, what desperate insolence has driven 
To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?" 

Then, mounting on the pinions of the wind, 
She flew; and Juno thus her rage resign'd: 

"O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield 
The avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield 
No more let beings of superior birth 
Contend with Jove for this low race of earth; 
Triumphant now, now miserably slain, 
They breathe or perish as the fates ordain: 
But Jove's high counsels full effect shall find; 
And, ever constant, ever rule mankind. " 



BOOK VIII. 



253 



She spoke, and backward turn'd her steeds of light, 
Adorn'd with manes of gold, and heavenly bright. 
The Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood, 
And heap'd their mangers with ambrosial food. 
There tied, they rest in high celestial stalls; 
The chariot propp'd against the crystal walls, 
The pensive goddesses, abash'd, controll'd, 
Mix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold. 




And now the Thunderer meditates his flight 

From Ida's summits to the Olympian height. 

Swifter than thought, the wheels instinctive fly, 

Flame through the vast of air, and reach the sky. 

'Twas Neptune's charge his coursers to unbrace, 

And fix the car on its immortal base; 

There stood the chariot, beaming forth its rays, 

Till with a snowy veil he screen'd the blaze. [154] 



254 



The Iliad of Homer 



He, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold, 
The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold. 
High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes, 
And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes. 
Trembling afar the offending powers appear'd, 
Confused and silent, for his frown they fear'd. 
He saw their soul, and thus his word imparts: 
"Pallas and Juno! say, why heave your hearts? 
Soon was your battle o'er: proud Troy retired 
Before your face, and in your wrath expired. 
But know, whoe'er almighty power withstand! 
Unmatch'd our force, unconquer'd is our hand: 
Who shall the sovereign of the skies control? 
Not all the gods that crown the starry pole. 
Your hearts shall tremble, if our arms we take, 
And each immortal nerve with horror shake. 
For thus I speak, and what I speak shall stand; 
What power soe'er provokes our lifted hand, 
On this our hill no more shall hold his place; 
Cut off, and exiled from the ethereal race. " 

Juno and Pallas grieving hear the doom, 
But feast their souls on Ilion's woes to come. 
Though secret anger swell'd Minerva's breast, 
The prudent goddess yet her wrath repress'd; 
But Juno, impotent of rage, replies: 
"What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies! 
Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne; 
'Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone. 
For Greece we grieve, abandon'd by her fate 
[155] To drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate. 

From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, 
With arms unaiding see our Argives slain; 
Yet grant our counsels still their breasts may move, 



BOOK VIII. 



Lest all should perish in the rage of Jove." 



The goddess thus; and thus the god replies, 
Who swells the clouds, and blackens all the skies: 



"The morning sun, awaked by loud alarms, 
Shall see the almighty Thunderer in arms. 
What heaps of Argives then shall load the plain, 
Those radiant eyes shall view, and view in vain. 
Nor shall great Hector cease the rage of fight, 
The navy flaming, and thy Greeks in flight, 
Even till the day when certain fates ordain 
That stern Achilles (his Patroclus slain) 
Shall rise in vengeance, and lay waste the plain. 
For such is fate, nor canst thou turn its course 
With all thy rage, with all thy rebel force. 
Fly, if thy wilt, to earth's remotest bound, 
Where on her utmost verge the seas resound; 
Where cursed Iapetus and Saturn dwell, 
Fast by the brink, within the streams of hell; 
No sun e'er gilds the gloomy horrors there; 
No cheerful gales refresh the lazy air: 
There arm once more the bold Titanian band; 
And arm in vain; for what I will, shall stand." 



Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light, 
And drew behind the cloudy veil of night: 
The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decay'd; 
The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade. 



256 



The Iliad of Homer 



The victors keep the field; and Hector calls 
A martial council near the navy walls; 
These to Scamander's bank apart he led, 
Where thinly scatter'd lay the heaps of dead. 
The assembled chiefs, descending on the ground, 
Attend his order, and their prince surround. 
A massy spear he bore of mighty strength, 
Of full ten cubits was the lance's length; 
The point was brass, refulgent to behold, 
Fix'd to the wood with circling rings of gold: 
The noble Hector on his lance reclined, 
And, bending forward, thus reveal'd his mind: 

"Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear! 
Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear! 
This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame 
Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame. 
But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls, 
And guards them trembling in their wooden walls. 
Obey the night, and use her peaceful hours 
Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers. 
[156] Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought, 

And strengthening bread and generous wine be brought 

Wide o'er the field, high blazing to the sky, 

Let numerous fires the absent sun supply, 

The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise, 

Till the bright morn her purple beam displays; 

Lest, in the silence and the shades of night, 

Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight. 

Not unmolested let the wretches gain 

Their lofty decks, or safely cleave the main; 

Some hostile wound let every dart bestow, 

Some lasting token of the Phrygian foe, 

Wounds, that long hence may ask their spouses' care. 



BOOK VIII. 



257 



And warn their children from a Trojan war. 
Now through the circuit of our Ilion wall, 
Let sacred heralds sound the solemn call; 
To bid the sires with hoary honours crown'd, 
And beardless youths, our battlements surround. 
Firm be the guard, while distant lie our powers, 
And let the matrons hang with lights the towers; 
Lest, under covert of the midnight shade, 
The insidious foe the naked town invade. 
Suffice, to-night, these orders to obey; 
A nobler charge shall rouse the dawning day. 
The gods, I trust, shall give to Hector's hand 
From these detested foes to free the land, 
Who plough'd, with fates averse, the watery way: 
For Trojan vultures a predestined prey. 
Our common safety must be now the care; 
But soon as morning paints the fields of air, 
Sheathed in bright arms let every troop engage, 
And the fired fleet behold the battle rage. 
Then, then shall Hector and Tydides prove 
Whose fates are heaviest in the scales of Jove. 
To-morrow's light (O haste the glorious morn!) 
Shall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne, 
With this keen javelin shall his breast be gored, 
And prostrate heroes bleed around their lord. 
Certain as this, oh! might my days endure, 
From age inglorious, and black death secure; 
So might my life and glory know no bound, 
Like Pallas worshipp'd, like the sun renown'd! 
As the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy, 
Shall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Troy." 

The leader spoke. From all his host around 
Shouts of applause along the shores resound. 



258 



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Each from the yoke the smoking steeds untied, 
And fix'd their headstalls to his chariot-side. 
Fat sheep and oxen from the town are led, 
With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread, 
Full hecatombs lay burning on the shore: 
The winds to heaven the curling vapours bore. 
Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers! 197 
Whose wrath hung heavy o'er the Trojan towers: 
Nor Priam nor his sons obtain'd their grace; 
Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race. 

The troops exulting sat in order round, 
And beaming fires illumined all the ground. 
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, 198 
O'er heaven's pure azure spreads her sacred light, 
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, 
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene, 
Around her throne the vivid planets roll, 
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, 
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, 

197 — Ungrateful, because the cause in which they were engaged was unjust. 

"Struck by the lab'ring priests' uplifted hands 
The victims fall: to heav'n they make their pray'r, 
The curling vapours load the ambient air. 
But vain their toil: the pow'rs who rule the skies 
Averse beheld the ungrateful sacrifice." 

Merrick's Tryphiodorus, vi. 527, sqq. 

198 

"As when about the silver moon, when aire is free from winde, 

And stars shine cleare, to whose sweet beams high prospects on the brows 

Of all steepe hills and pinnacles thrust up themselves for shows, 

And even the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight; 

When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light, 

And all the signs in heaven are seene, that glad the shepherd's heart." 

Chapman. 



BOOK VIII. 



259 



And tip with silver every mountain's head: 
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies: 
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, 
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. 
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, 
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays. 
The long reflections of the distant fires 
Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. 
A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, 
And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field. 
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend, 
Whose umber'd arms, by fits, thick flashes send, 
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, 
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn. 

[158] 



260 



The Iliad of Homer 




THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 



[159] 



BOOK IX. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES. 

Agamemnon, after the last day's defeat, proposes to the Greeks 
to quit the siege, and return to their country. Diomed opposes this, 
and Nestor seconds him, praising his wisdom and resolution. He 
orders the guard to be strengthened, and a council summoned to 
deliberate what measures are to be followed in this emergency. 
Agamemnon pursues this advice, and Nestor further prevails 
upon him to send ambassadors to Achilles, in order to move him 
to a reconciliation. Ulysses and Ajax are made choice of, who 
are accompanied by old Phoenix. They make, each of them, very 
moving and pressing speeches, but are rejected with roughness 
by Achilles, who notwithstanding retains Phoenix in his tent. The 
ambassadors return unsuccessfully to the camp, and the troops 
betake themselves to sleep. 

This book, and the next following, take up the space of one 
night, which is the twenty-seventh from the beginning of the 
poem. The scene lies on the sea-shore, the station of the Grecian 
ships. 

Thus joyful Troy maintain'd the watch of night; 
While fear, pale comrade of inglorious flight, 199 
And heaven-bred horror, on the Grecian part, 
Sat on each face, and sadden'd every heart. 



This flight of the Greeks, according to Buttmann, Lexil. p. 358, was not a 
supernatural flight caused by the gods, but "a great and general one, caused by 
Hector and the Trojans, but with the approval of Jove." 



262 



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As from its cloudy dungeon issuing forth, 
A double tempest of the west and north 
Swells o'er the sea, from Thracia's frozen shore, 
Heaps waves on waves, and bids the JEgean roar: 
This way and that the boiling deeps are toss'd: 
Such various passions urged the troubled host, 
Great Agamemnon grieved above the rest; 
Superior sorrows swell'd his royal breast; 
Himself his orders to the heralds bears, 
To bid to council all the Grecian peers, 
But bid in whispers: these surround their chief, 
In solemn sadness and majestic grief. 
The king amidst the mournful circle rose: 
[160] Down his wan cheek a briny torrent flows. 

So silent fountains, from a rock's tall head, 
In sable streams soft-trickling waters shed. 
With more than vulgar grief he stood oppress'd; 
Words, mix'd with sighs, thus bursting from his breast: 

"Ye sons of Greece! partake your leader's care; 

Fellows in arms and princes of the war! 

Of partial Jove too justly we complain, 

And heavenly oracles believed in vain. 

A safe return was promised to our toils, 

With conquest honour'd and enrich'd with spoils: 

Now shameful flight alone can save the host; 

Our wealth, our people, and our glory lost. 

So Jove decrees, almighty lord of all! 

Jove, at whose nod whole empires rise or fall, 

Who shakes the feeble props of human trust, 

And towers and armies humbles to the dust. 

Haste then, for ever quit these fatal fields, 

Haste to the joys our native country yields; 

Spread all your canvas, all your oars employ, 



BOOK IX. 



263 



Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy." 



He said: deep silence held the Grecian band; 
Silent, unmov'd in dire dismay they stand; 
A pensive scene! till Tydeus' warlike son 
Roll'd on the king his eyes, and thus begun: 
"When kings advise us to renounce our fame, 
First let him speak who first has suffer'd shame. 
If I oppose thee, prince! thy wrath withhold, 
The laws of council bid my tongue be bold. 
Thou first, and thou alone, in fields of fight, 
Durst brand my courage, and defame my might: 
Nor from a friend the unkind reproach appear'd, 
The Greeks stood witness, all our army heard. 
The gods, O chief! from whom our honours spring, 
The gods have made thee but by halves a king: 
They gave thee sceptres, and a wide command; 
They gave dominion o'er the seas and land; 
The noblest power that might the world control 
They gave thee not — a brave and virtuous soul. 
Is this a general's voice, that would suggest 
Fears like his own to every Grecian breast? 
Confiding in our want of worth, he stands; 
And if we fly, 'tis what our king commands. 
Go thou, inglorious! from the embattled plain; 
Ships thou hast store, and nearest to the main; 
A noble care the Grecians shall employ, 
To combat, conquer, and extirpate Troy. 
Here Greece shall stay; or, if all Greece retire, 
Myself shall stay, till Troy or I expire; 
Myself, and Sthenelus, will fight for fame; 
God bade us fight, and 'twas with God we came." 



264 



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[161] 

He ceased; the Greeks loud acclamations raise, 
And voice to voice resounds Tydides' praise. 
Wise Nestor then his reverend figure rear'd; 
He spoke: the host in still attention heard: 200 

"O truly great! in whom the gods have join'd 

Such strength of body with such force of mind: 

In conduct, as in courage, you excel, 

Still first to act what you advise so well. 

These wholesome counsels which thy wisdom moves, 

Applauding Greece with common voice approves. 

Kings thou canst blame; a bold but prudent youth: 

And blame even kings with praise, because with truth. 

And yet those years that since thy birth have run 

Would hardly style thee Nestor's youngest son. 

Then let me add what yet remains behind, 

A thought unfinish'd in that generous mind; 

Age bids me speak! nor shall the advice I bring 

Distaste the people, or offend the king: 

"Cursed is the man, and void of law and right, 
Unworthy property, unworthy light, 
Unfit for public rule, or private care, 
That wretch, that monster, who delights in war; 
Whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy, 
To tear his country, and his kind destroy! 
This night, refresh and fortify thy train; 
Between the trench and wall let guards remain: 

200 Grote, vol. ii. p. 91, after noticing the modest calmness and respect 
with which Nestor addresses Agamemnon, observes, "The Homeric Council 
is a purely consultative body, assembled not with any power of peremptorily 
arresting mischievous resolves of the king, but solely for his information and 
guidance." 



BOOK IX. 



265 



Be that the duty of the young and bold; 
But thou, O king, to council call the old; 
Great is thy sway, and weighty are thy cares; 
Thy high commands must spirit all our wars. 
With Thracian wines recruit thy honour'd guests, 
For happy counsels flow from sober feasts. 
Wise, weighty counsels aid a state distress'd, 
And such a monarch as can choose the best. 
See what a blaze from hostile tents aspires, 
How near our fleet approach the Trojan fires! 
Who can, unmoved, behold the dreadful light? 
What eye beholds them, and can close to-night? 
This dreadful interval determines all; 
To-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece must fall." 

Thus spoke the hoary sage: the rest obey; 
Swift through the gates the guards direct their way. 
His son was first to pass the lofty mound, 
The generous Thrasymed, in arms renown'd: 
Next him, Ascalaphus, Ialmen, stood, 

The double offspring of the warrior-god: [162] 

Deipyrus, Aphareus, Merion join, 

And Lycomed of Creon's noble line. 

Seven were the leaders of the nightly bands, 

And each bold chief a hundred spears commands. 

The fires they light, to short repasts they fall, 

Some line the trench, and others man the wall. 

The king of men, on public counsels bent, 

Convened the princes in his ample tent, 

Each seized a portion of the kingly feast, 

But stay'd his hand when thirst and hunger ceased. 

Then Nestor spoke, for wisdom long approved, 

And slowly rising, thus the council moved. 



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"Monarch of nations! whose superior sway 
Assembled states, and lords of earth obey, 
The laws and sceptres to thy hand are given, 
And millions own the care of thee and Heaven. 

king ! the counsels of my age attend; 

With thee my cares begin, with thee must end. 
Thee, prince! it fits alike to speak and hear, 
Pronounce with judgment, with regard give ear, 
To see no wholesome motion be withstood, 
And ratify the best for public good. 
Nor, though a meaner give advice, repine, 
But follow it, and make the wisdom thine. 
Hear then a thought, not now conceived in haste, 
At once my present judgment and my past. 
When from Pelides' tent you forced the maid, 

1 first opposed, and faithful, durst dissuade; 
But bold of soul, when headlong fury fired, 

You wronged the man, by men and gods admired: 
Now seek some means his fatal wrath to end, 
With prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend. " 

To whom the king. "With justice hast thou shown 
A prince's faults, and I with reason own. 
That happy man, whom Jove still honours most, 
Is more than armies, and himself a host. 
Bless'd in his love, this wondrous hero stands; 
Heaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands. 
Fain would my heart, which err'd through frantic rage, 
The wrathful chief and angry gods assuage. 
If gifts immense his mighty soul can bow, 
[163] Hear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow. 

201 In the heroic times, it is not unfrequent for the king to receive presents to 
purchase freedom from his wrath, or immunity from his exactions. Such gifts 
gradually became regular, and formed the income of the German, (Tacit. Germ. 



BOOK IX. 



267 



Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, 
And twice ten vases of refulgent mould: 
Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame 
Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; 
Twelve steeds unmatch'd in fleetness and in force, 
And still victorious in the dusty course; 
(Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed 
The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) 
Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, 
Skill'd in each art, unmatch'd in form divine, 
The same I chose for more than vulgar charms, 
When Lesbos sank beneath the hero's arms: 
All these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid, 
And join'd with these the long-contested maid; 
With all her charms, Briseis I resign, 
And solemn swear those charms were never mine; 
Untouch'd she stay'd, uninjured she removes, 
Pure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves, 202 
These instant shall be his; and if the powers 
Give to our arms proud Ilion's hostile towers, 
Then shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides) 
With gold and brass his loaded navy's sides: 
Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race 



Section 15) Persian, (Herodot. iii.89), and other kings. So, too, in the middle 
ages, 'The feudal aids are the beginning of taxation, of which they for a long 

time answered the purpose.' (Hallam, Middle Ages, ch. x. pt. 1, p. 189) This 

fact frees Achilles from the apparent charge of sordidness. Plato, however, 

(De Rep. vi. 4), says, "We cannot commend Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, 

as if he spoke correctly, when counselling him to accept of presents and assist 

the Greeks, but, without presents, not to desist from his wrath, nor again, 

should we commend Achilles himself, or approve of his being so covetous as 

to receive presents from Agamemnon," &c. 

202 It may be observed, that, brief as is the mention of Briseis in the Iliad, 
and small the part she plays — what little is said is pre-eminently calculated to 
enhance her fitness to be the bride of Achilles. Purity, and retiring delicacy, 
are features well contrasted with the rough, but tender disposition of the hero. 



268 



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With copious love shall crown his warm embrace, 
Such as himself will choose; who yield to none, 
Or yield to Helen's heavenly charms alone. 
Yet hear me further: when our wars are o'er, 
If safe we land on Argos' fruitful shore, 
There shall he live my son, our honours share, 
And with Orestes' self divide my care. 
Yet more — three daughters in my court are bred, 
And each well worthy of a royal bed; 
Laodice and Iphigenia fair, 203 
And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair; 
Her let him choose whom most his eyes approve, 
I ask no presents, no reward for love: 
Myself will give the dower; so vast a store 
As never father gave a child before. 
Seven ample cities shall confess his sway, 
Him Enope, and Pherae him obey, 
Cardamyle with ample turrets crown'd, 
And sacred Pedasus for vines renown'd; 
JEpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, 
[164] And rich Antheia with her flowery fields: 204 

The whole extent to Pylos' sandy plain, 
Along the verdant margin of the main 
There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil; 
Bold are the men, and generous is the soil; 
There shall he reign, with power and justice crown'd, 
And rule the tributary realms around. 

203 — Laodice. Iphianassa, or Iphigenia, is not mentioned by Homer, among 
the daughters of Agamemnon. 

204 "Agamemnon, when he offers to transfer to Achilles seven towns inhabited 
by wealthy husbandmen, who would enrich their lord by presents and tribute, 
seems likewise to assume rather a property in them, than an authority over 
them. And the same thing may be intimated when it is said that Peleus bestowed 
a great people, the Dolopes of Phthia, on Phoenix." — Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i 
Section 6, p. 162, note. 



BOOK IX. 



269 



All this I give, his vengeance to control, 

And sure all this may move his mighty soul. 

Pluto, the grisly god, who never spares, 

Who feels no mercy, and who hears no prayers, 

Lives dark and dreadful in deep hell's abodes, 

And mortals hate him, as the worst of gods 

Great though he be, it fits him to obey, 

Since more than his my years, and more my sway." 



The monarch thus. The reverend Nestor then: 
"Great Agamemnon! glorious king of men! 
Such are thy offers as a prince may take, 
And such as fits a generous king to make. 
Let chosen delegates this hour be sent 
(Myself will name them) to Pelides' tent. 
Let Phoenix lead, revered for hoary age, 
Great Ajax next, and Ithacus the sage. 
Yet more to sanctify the word you send, 

Let Hodius and Eurybates attend. [165] 
Now pray to Jove to grant what Greece demands; 
Pray in deep silence, 205 and with purest hands." 206 



— Pray in deep silence. Rather: "use well-omened words;" or, as Kennedy 
has explained it, "Abstain from expressions unsuitable to the solemnity of 
the occasion, which, by offending the god, might defeat the object of their 
supplications." 

206 — Purest hands. This is one of the most ancient superstitions respecting 
prayer, and one founded as much in nature as in tradition. 



270 



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PLUTO. 



BOOK IX. 



271 




THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES. 



He said; and all approved. The heralds bring 
The cleansing water from the living spring. 
The youth with wine the sacred goblets crown'd, 
And large libations drench'd the sands around. 
The rite perform'd, the chiefs their thirst allay, 
Then from the royal tent they take their way; 
Wise Nestor turns on each his careful eye, 
Forbids to offend, instructs them to apply; 
Much he advised them all, Ulysses most, 
To deprecate the chief, and save the host. 
Through the still night they march, and hear the roar 
Of murmuring billows on the sounding shore. 
To Neptune, ruler of the seas profound, 
Whose liquid arms the mighty globe surround, 
They pour forth vows, their embassy to bless, 
And calm the rage of stern jEacides. 
And now, arrived, where on the sandy bay 
The Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay; 
Amused at ease, the godlike man they found, 
Pleased with the solemn harp's harmonious sound. 



272 



The Iliad of Homer 



(The well wrought harp from conquered Thebae came; 
[166] Of polish'd silver was its costly frame.) 

With this he soothes his angry soul, and sings 
The immortal deeds of heroes and of kings. 
Patroclus only of the royal train, 
Placed in his tent, attends the lofty strain: 
Full opposite he sat, and listen'd long, 
In silence waiting till he ceased the song. 
Unseen the Grecian embassy proceeds 
To his high tent; the great Ulysses leads. 
Achilles starting, as the chiefs he spied, 
Leap'd from his seat, and laid the harp aside. 
With like surprise arose Menoetius' son: 
Pelides grasp'd their hands, and thus begun: 



"Princes, all hail! whatever brought you here. 
Or strong necessity, or urgent fear; 
Welcome, though Greeks! for not as foes ye came; 
To me more dear than all that bear the name." 



With that, the chiefs beneath his roof he led, 

And placed in seats with purple carpets spread. 

Then thus — "Patroclus, crown a larger bowl, 

Mix purer wine, and open every soul. 

Of all the warriors yonder host can send, 

Thy friend most honours these, and these thy friend." 



BOOK IX. 



273 



He said: Patroclus o'er the blazing fire 
Heaps in a brazen vase three chines entire: 
The brazen vase Automedon sustains, 
Which flesh of porker, sheep, and goat contains. 
Achilles at the genial feast presides, 
The parts transfixes, and with skill divides. 
Meanwhile Patroclus sweats, the fire to raise; 
The tent is brighten'd with the rising blaze: 
Then, when the languid flames at length subside, 
He straws a bed of glowing embers wide, 
Above the coals the smoking fragments turns 
And sprinkles sacred salt from lifted urns; 
With bread the glittering canisters they load, 
Which round the board Menoetius' son bestow'd; 
Himself, opposed to Ulysses full in sight, 
Each portion parts, and orders every rite. 
The first fat offering to the immortals due, 
Amidst the greedy flames Patroclus threw; 
Then each, indulging in the social feast, 
His thirst and hunger soberly repress'd. 
That done, to Phoenix Ajax gave the sign: 
Not unperceived; Ulysses crown'd with wine 
The foaming bowl, and instant thus began, 
His speech addressing to the godlike man. 

"Health to Achilles ! happy are thy guests ! 

Not those more honour'd whom Atrides feasts: 

Though generous plenty crown thy loaded boards, 

That, Agamemnon's regal tent affords; [167] 

But greater cares sit heavy on our souls, 

Nor eased by banquets or by flowing bowls. 

What scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear! 

The dead we mourn, and for the living fear; 

Greece on the brink of fate all doubtful stands, 



274 



The Iliad of Homer 



And owns no help but from thy saving hands: 

Troy and her aids for ready vengeance call; 

Their threatening tents already shade our wall: 

Hear how with shouts their conquest they proclaim, 

And point at every ship their vengeful flame! 

For them the father of the gods declares, 

Theirs are his omens, and his thunder theirs. 

See, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise ! 

See! heaven and earth the raging chief defies; 

What fury in his breast, what lightning in his eyes! 

He waits but for the morn, to sink in flame 

The ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name. 

Heavens! how my country's woes distract my mind, 

Lest Fate accomplish all his rage design'd! 

And must we, gods ! our heads inglorious lay 

In Trojan dust, and this the fatal day? 

Return, Achilles: oh return, though late, 

To save thy Greeks, and stop the course of Fate; 

If in that heart or grief or courage lies, 

Rise to redeem; ah, yet to conquer, rise! 

The day may come, when, all our warriors slain, 

That heart shall melt, that courage rise in vain: 

Regard in time, O prince divinely brave! 

Those wholesome counsels which thy father gave. 

When Peleus in his aged arms embraced 

His parting son, these accents were his last: 

'"My child! with strength, with glory, and success, 

Thy arms may Juno and Minerva bless ! 

Trust that to Heaven: but thou, thy cares engage 

To calm thy passions, and subdue thy rage: 

From gentler manners let thy glory grow, 

And shun contention, the sure source of woe; 

That young and old may in thy praise combine, 



BOOK IX. 



275 



The virtues of humanity be thine — ' 
This now-despised advice thy father gave; 
Ah! check thy anger; and be truly brave. 
If thou wilt yield to great Atrides' prayers, 
Gifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares; 
If not — but hear me, while I number o'er 
The proffer'd presents, an exhaustless store. 
Ten weighty talents of the purest gold, 
And twice ten vases of refulgent mould; 
Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame 
Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame; 

Twelve steeds unmatched in fleetness and in force, [168] 

And still victorious in the dusty course; 

(Rich were the man, whose ample stores exceed 

The prizes purchased by their winged speed;) 

Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line, 

Skill'd in each art, unmatch'd in form divine, 

The same he chose for more than vulgar charms, 

When Lesbos sank beneath thy conquering arms. 

All these, to buy thy friendship shall be paid, 

And, join'd with these, the long-contested maid; 

With all her charms, Briseis he'll resign, 

And solemn swear those charms were only thine; 

Untouch'd she stay'd, uninjured she removes, 

Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. 

These instant shall be thine; and if the powers 

Give to our arms proud Ilion's hostile towers, 

Then shalt thou store (when Greece the spoil divides) 

With gold and brass thy loaded navy's sides. 

Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race 

With copious love shall crown thy warm embrace; 

Such as thyself shall chose; who yield to none, 

Or yield to Helen's heavenly charms alone. 

Yet hear me further: when our wars are o'er, 



276 



The Iliad of Homer 



If safe we land on Argos' fruitful shore, 
There shalt thou live his son, his honour share, 
And with Orestes' self divide his care. 
Yet more — three daughters in his court are bred, 
And each well worthy of a royal bed: 
Laodice and Iphigenia fair, 
And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair: 
Her shalt thou wed whom most thy eyes approve; 
He asks no presents, no reward for love: 
Himself will give the dower; so vast a store 
As never father gave a child before. 
Seven ample cities shall confess thy sway, 
The Enope and Pherae thee obey, 
Cardamyle with ample turrets crown'd, 
And sacred Pedasus, for vines renown'd: 
JEpea fair, the pastures Hira yields, 
And rich Antheia with her flowery fields; 
The whole extent to Pylos' sandy plain, 
Along the verdant margin of the main. 
There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil; 
Bold are the men, and generous is the soil. 
There shalt thou reign, with power and justice crown'd, 
And rule the tributary realms around. 
Such are the proffers which this day we bring, 
Such the repentance of a suppliant king. 
But if all this, relentless, thou disdain, 
If honour and if interest plead in vain, 
[169] Yet some redress to suppliant Greece afford, 

And be, amongst her guardian gods, adored. 
If no regard thy suffering country claim, 
Hear thy own glory, and the voice of fame: 
For now that chief, whose unresisted ire 
Made nations tremble, and whole hosts retire, 
Proud Hector, now, the unequal fight demands, 



BOOK IX. 



277 



And only triumphs to deserve thy hands." 

Then thus the goddess-born: "Ulysses, hear 
A faithful speech, that knows nor art nor fear; 
What in my secret soul is understood, 
My tongue shall utter, and my deeds make good. 
Let Greece then know, my purpose I retain: 
Nor with new treaties vex my peace in vain. 
Who dares think one thing, and another tell, 
My heart detests him as the gates of hell. 

"Then thus in short my fix'd resolves attend, 

Which nor Atrides nor his Greeks can bend; 

Long toils, long perils in their cause I bore, 

But now the unfruitful glories charm no more. 

Fight or not fight, a like reward we claim, 

The wretch and hero find their prize the same. 

Alike regretted in the dust he lies, 

Who yields ignobly, or who bravely dies. 

Of all my dangers, all my glorious pains, 

A life of labours, lo! what fruit remains? 

As the bold bird her helpless young attends, 

From danger guards them, and from want defends; 

In search of prey she wings the spacious air, 

And with the untasted food supplies her care: 

For thankless Greece such hardships have I braved, 

Her wives, her infants, by my labours saved; 

Long sleepless nights in heavy arms I stood, 

And sweat laborious days in dust and blood. 

I sack'd twelve ample cities on the main, 207 

207 It must be recollected, that the war at Troy was not a settled siege, and 
that many of the chieftains busied themselves in piratical expeditions about 
its neighborhood. Such a one was that of which Achilles now speaks. From 
the following verses, it is evident that fruits of these maraudings went to the 
common support of the expedition, and not to the successful plunderer. 



278 



The Iliad of Homer 



And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain: 
Then at Atrides' haughty feet were laid 
The wealth I gathered, and the spoils I made. 
Your mighty monarch these in peace possess'd; 
Some few my soldiers had, himself the rest. 
Some present, too, to every prince was paid; 
And every prince enjoys the gift he made: 
I only must refund, of all his train; 
See what pre-eminence our merits gain! 
My spoil alone his greedy soul delights: 
My spouse alone must bless his lustful nights: 
[170] The woman, let him (as he may) enjoy; 

But what's the quarrel, then, of Greece to Troy? 
What to these shores the assembled nations draws, 
What calls for vengeance but a woman's cause? 
Are fair endowments and a beauteous face 
Beloved by none but those of Atreus' race? 
The wife whom choice and passion doth approve, 
Sure every wise and worthy man will love. 
Nor did my fair one less distinction claim; 
Slave as she was, my soul adored the dame. 
Wrong'd in my love, all proffers I disdain; 
Deceived for once, I trust not kings again. 
Ye have my answer — what remains to do, 
Your king, Ulysses, may consult with you. 
What needs he the defence this arm can make? 
Has he not walls no human force can shake? 
Has he not fenced his guarded navy round 
With piles, with ramparts, and a trench profound? 
And will not these (the wonders he has done) 
Repel the rage of Priam's single son? 
There was a time ('twas when for Greece I fought) 
When Hector's prowess no such wonders wrought; 
He kept the verge of Troy, nor dared to wait 



BOOK IX. 



279 



Achilles' fury at the Scaean gate; 
He tried it once, and scarce was saved by fate. 
But now those ancient enmities are o'er; 
To-morrow we the favouring gods implore; 
Then shall you see our parting vessels crown'd, 
And hear with oars the Hellespont resound. 
The third day hence shall Pthia greet our sails, 208 
If mighty Neptune send propitious gales; 

Pthia to her Achilles shall restore [171] 

The wealth he left for this detested shore: 

Thither the spoils of this long war shall pass, 

The ruddy gold, the steel, and shining brass: 

My beauteous captives thither I'll convey, 

And all that rests of my unravish'd prey. 

One only valued gift your tyrant gave, 

And that resumed — the fair Lyrnessian slave. 

Then tell him: loud, that all the Greeks may hear, 

And learn to scorn the wretch they basely fear; 

(For arm'd in impudence, mankind he braves, 

And meditates new cheats on all his slaves; 

Though shameless as he is, to face these eyes 

Is what he dares not: if he dares he dies;) 

Tell him, all terms, all commerce I decline, 

Nor share his council, nor his battle join; 

For once deceiv'd, was his; but twice were mine, 

No — let the stupid prince, whom Jove deprives 

Of sense and justice, run where frenzy drives; 

His gifts are hateful: kings of such a kind 

Stand but as slaves before a noble mind, 

Not though he proffer'd all himself possess'd, 

And all his rapine could from others wrest: 

Not all the golden tides of wealth that crown 



— Pthia, the capital of Achilles' Thessalian domains. 



280 



The Iliad of Homer 



The many-peopled Orchomenian town; 
Not all proud Thebes' unrivall'd walls contain, 
The world's great empress on the Egyptian plain 
(That spreads her conquests o'er a thousand states, 
And pours her heroes through a hundred gates, 
Two hundred horsemen and two hundred cars 
From each wide portal issuing to the wars); 210 
Though bribes were heap'd on bribes, in number more 
Than dust in fields, or sands along the shore; 
Should all these offers for my friendship call, 
'Tis he that offers, and I scorn them all. 
Atrides' daughter never shall be led 
(An ill-match'd consort) to Achilles' bed; 
Like golden Venus though she charm'd the heart, 
And vied with Pallas in the works of art; 
Some greater Greek let those high nuptials grace, 
I hate alliance with a tyrant's race. 
[172] If heaven restore me to my realms with life, 

The reverend Peleus shall elect my wife; 
Thessalian nymphs there are of form divine, 
And kings that sue to mix their blood with mine. 
Bless'd in kind love, my years shall glide away, 
Content with just hereditary sway; 

209 — Orchomenian town. The topography of Orchomenus, in Boeotia, 
"situated," as it was, "on the northern bank of the lake ^Epais, which receives 
not only the river Cephisus from the valleys of Phocis, but also other rivers 
from Parnassus and Helicon" (Grote, vol. p. 181), was a sufficient reason for its 
prosperity and decay. "As long as the channels of these waters were diligently 
watched and kept clear, a large portion of the lake was in the condition of 
alluvial land, pre-eminently rich and fertile. But when the channels came to be 
either neglected, or designedly choked up by an enemy, the water accumulated 
in such a degree as to occupy the soil of more than one ancient islet, and to 
occasion the change of the site of Orchomenus itself from the plain to the 
declivity of Mount Hyphanteion." (Ibid.) 

210 The phrase "hundred gates," &c, seems to be merely expressive of a great 
number. See notes to my prose translation, p. 162. 



BOOK IX. 



There, deaf for ever to the martial strife, 

Enjoy the dear prerogative of life. 

Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold. 

Not all Apollo's Pythian treasures hold, 

Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway, 

Can bribe the poor possession of a day! 

Lost herds and treasures we by arms regain, 

And steeds unrivall'd on the dusty plain: 

But from our lips the vital spirit fled, 

Returns no more to wake the silent dead. 

My fates long since by Thetis were disclosed, 

And each alternate, life or fame, proposed; 

Here, if I stay, before the Trojan town, 

Short is my date, but deathless my renown: 

If I return, I quit immortal praise 

For years on years, and long-extended days. 

Convinced, though late, I find my fond mistake, 

And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make; 

To quit these shores, their native seats enjoy, 

Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy. 

Jove's arm display'd asserts her from the skies ! 

Her hearts are strengthen'd, and her glories rise. 

Go then to Greece, report our fix'd design; 

Bid all your counsels, all your armies join, 

Let all your forces, all your arts conspire, 

To save the ships, the troops, the chiefs, from fire. 

One stratagem has fail'd, and others will: 

Ye find, Achilles is unconquer'd still. 

Go then — digest my message as ye may — 

But here this night let reverend Phoenix stay: 

His tedious toils and hoary hairs demand 

A peaceful death in Pthia's friendly land. 

But whether he remain or sail with me, 

His age be sacred, and his will be free. " 



282 



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GREEK GALLEY. 



The son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs around 
In silence wrapt, in consternation drown'd, 
Attend the stern reply. Then Phoenix rose; 
(Down his white beard a stream of sorrow flows;) 
And while the fate of suffering Greece he mourn'd, 
With accent weak these tender words return'd. 



BOOK IX. 



283 




PROSERPINE. 



284 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Divine Achilles ! wilt thou then retire, 
And leave our hosts in blood, our fleets on fire? 
If wrath so dreadful fill thy ruthless mind, 
How shall thy friend, thy Phoenix, stay behind? 
[173] The royal Peleus, when from Pthia's coast 

He sent thee early to the Achaian host; 
Thy youth as then in sage debates unskili'd, 
And new to perils of the direful field: 
He bade me teach thee all the ways of war, 
To shine in councils, and in camps to dare. 
Never, ah, never let me leave thy side! 
No time shall part us, and no fate divide, 
Not though the god, that breathed my life, restore 
The bloom I boasted, and the port I bore, 
When Greece of old beheld my youthful flames 
(Delightful Greece, the land of lovely dames), 
My father faithless to my mother's arms, 
Old as he was, adored a stranger's charms. 
I tried what youth could do (at her desire) 
To win the damsel, and prevent my sire. 
My sire with curses loads my hated head, 
And cries, 'Ye furies! barren be his bed.' 
Infernal Jove, the vengeful fiends below, 
And ruthless Proserpine, confirm'd his vow. 
Despair and grief distract my labouring mind! 
Gods! what a crime my impious heart design'd! 
I thought (but some kind god that thought suppress'd) 
To plunge the poniard in my father's breast; 
Then meditate my flight: my friends in vain 
With prayers entreat me, and with force detain. 
On fat of rams, black bulls, and brawny swine, 
They daily feast, with draughts of fragrant wine; 
Strong guards they placed, and watch'd nine nights entire; 



BOOK IX. 



285 



The roofs and porches flamed with constant fire. 
The tenth, I forced the gates, unseen of all: 
And, favour'd by the night, o'erleap'd the wall, 
My travels thence through spacious Greece extend; 
In Phthia's court at last my labours end. 
Your sire received me, as his son caress'd, 
With gifts enrich'd, and with possessions bless'd. 
The strong Dolopians thenceforth own'd my reign, 
And all the coast that runs along the main. 
By love to thee his bounties I repaid, 

And early wisdom to thy soul convey'd: [174] 

Great as thou art, my lessons made thee brave: 

A child I took thee, but a hero gave. 

Thy infant breast a like affection show'd; 

Still in my arms (an ever-pleasing load) 

Or at my knee, by Phoenix wouldst thou stand; 

No food was grateful but from Phoenix' hand. 211 

211 Compare the following pretty lines of Quintus Calaber (Dyce's Select 
Translations, p 88). — 

"Many gifts he gave, and o'er 
Dolopia bade me rule; thee in his arms 
He brought an infant, on my bosom laid 
The precious charge, and anxiously enjoin'd 
That I should rear thee as my own with all 
A parent's love. I fail'd not in my trust 
And oft, while round my neck thy hands were lock'd, 
From thy sweet lips the half articulate sound 
Of Father came; and oft, as children use, 
Mewling and puking didst thou drench my tunic." 

"This description," observes my learned friend (notes, p. 121) "is taken from 
the passage of Homer, II ix, in translating which, Pope, with that squeamish, 
artificial taste, which distinguished the age of Anne, omits the natural (and, let 
me add, affecting) circumstance." 

"And the wine 
Held to thy lips, and many a time in fits 
Of infant frowardness the purple juice 



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I pass my watchings o'er thy helpless years, 
The tender labours, the compliant cares, 
The gods (I thought) reversed their hard decree, 
And Phoenix felt a father's joys in thee: 
Thy growing virtues justified my cares, 
And promised comfort to my silver hairs. 
Now be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign'd; 
A cruel heart ill suits a manly mind: 
The gods (the only great, and only wise) 
Are moved by offerings, vows, and sacrifice; 
Offending man their high compassion wins, 
And daily prayers atone for daily sins. 
Prayers are Jove's daughters, of celestial race, 
Lame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face; 
With humble mien, and with dejected eyes, 
Constant they follow, where injustice flies. 
Injustice swift, erect, and unconfined, 
Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind, 
While Prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind. 
Who hears these daughters of almighty Jove, 
For him they mediate to the throne above 
When man rejects the humble suit they make, 
The sire revenges for the daughters' sake; 
From Jove commission'd, fierce injustice then 
Descends to punish unrelenting men. 
O let not headlong passion bear the sway 
These reconciling goddesses obey 
Due honours to the seed of Jove belong, 
[175] Due honours calm the fierce, and bend the strong. 

Were these not paid thee by the terms we bring, 
Were rage still harbour'd in the haughty king; 

Rejecting thou hast deluged all my vest, 
And fill'd my bosom." 



— Cowper. 



BOOK IX. 



287 



Nor Greece nor all her fortunes should engage 

Thy friend to plead against so just a rage. 

But since what honour asks the general sends, 

And sends by those whom most thy heart commends; 

The best and noblest of the Grecian train; 

Permit not these to sue, and sue in vain! 

Let me (my son) an ancient fact unfold, 

A great example drawn from times of old; 

Hear what our fathers were, and what their praise, 

Who conquer'd their revenge in former days. 



"Where Calydon on rocky mountains stands 
Once fought the ^Etolian and Curetian bands; 
To guard it those; to conquer, these advance; 
And mutual deaths were dealt with mutual chance. 
The silver Cynthia bade contention rise, 
In vengeance of neglected sacrifice; 
On OEneus fields she sent a monstrous boar, 
That levell'd harvests, and whole forests tore: 
This beast (when many a chief his tusks had slain) 
Great Meleager stretch'd along the plain, 
Then, for his spoils, a new debate arose, 
The neighbour nations thence commencing foes. 
Strong as they were, the bold Curetes fail'd, 
While Meleager's thundering arm prevail'd: 
Till rage at length inflamed his lofty breast 
(For rage invades the wisest and the best). 



— Where Calydon. For a good sketch of the story of Meleager, too long to 
be inserted here, see Grote, vol. i. p. 195, sqq.; and for the authorities, see my 
notes to the prose translation, p. 166. 



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"Cursed by Althaea, to his wrath he yields, 
And in his wife's embrace forgets the fields. 
(She from Marpessa sprung, divinely fair, 
And matchless Idas, more than man in war: 
The god of day adored the mother's charms; 
Against the god the father bent his arms: 
The afflicted pair, their sorrows to proclaim, 
From Cleopatra changed their daughter's name, 
And call'd Alcyone; a name to show 
The father's grief, the mourning mother's woe.) 
To her the chief retired from stern debate, 
But found no peace from fierce Althaea's hate: 
Althaea's hate the unhappy warrior drew, 
Whose luckless hand his royal uncle slew; 
She beat the ground, and call'd the powers beneath 
On her own son to wreak her brother's death; 
Hell heard her curses from the realms profound, 
And the red fiends that walk the nightly round. 
[176] In vain iEtolia her deliverer waits, 

War shakes her walls, and thunders at her gates. 

She sent ambassadors, a chosen band, 

Priests of the gods, and elders of the land; 

Besought the chief to save the sinking state: 

Their prayers were urgent, and their proffers great: 

(Full fifty acres of the richest ground, 

Half pasture green, and half with vineyards crown'd:) 

His suppliant father, aged OEneus, came; 

His sisters follow'd; even the vengeful dame, 

Althaea, sues; his friends before him fall: 

He stands relentless, and rejects them all. 

Meanwhile the victor's shouts ascend the skies; 

The walls are scaled; the rolling flames arise; 

At length his wife (a form divine) appears, 

With piercing cries, and supplicating tears; 



BOOK IX. 



289 



She paints the horrors of a conquer'd town, 
The heroes slain, the palaces o'erthrown, 
The matrons ravish'd, the whole race enslaved: 
The warrior heard, he vanquish'd, and he saved. 
The iEtolians, long disdain'd, now took their turn, 
And left the chief their broken faith to mourn. 
Learn hence, betimes to curb pernicious ire, 
Nor stay till yonder fleets ascend in fire; 
Accept the presents; draw thy conquering sword; 
And be amongst our guardian gods adored. " 



Thus he: the stern Achilles thus replied: 
"My second father, and my reverend guide: 
Thy friend, believe me, no such gifts demands, 
And asks no honours from a mortal's hands; 
Jove honours me, and favours my designs; 
His pleasure guides me, and his will confines; 
And here I stay (if such his high behest) 
While life's warm spirit beats within my breast. 
Yet hear one word, and lodge it in thy heart: 
No more molest me on Atrides' part: 
Is it for him these tears are taught to flow, 
For him these sorrows? for my mortal foe? 
A generous friendship no cold medium knows, 
Burns with one love, with one resentment glows; 
One should our interests and our passions be; 
My friend must hate the man that injures me. 
Do this, my Phoenix, 'tis a generous part; 
And share my realms, my honours, and my heart. 
Let these return: our voyage, or our stay, 
Rest undetermined till the dawning day." 



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He ceased; then order'd for the sage's bed 
A warmer couch with numerous carpets spread. 
With that, stern Ajax his long silence broke, 
And thus, impatient, to Ulysses spoke: 



[177] "Hence let us go — why waste we time in vain? 

See what effect our low submissions gain! 
Liked or not liked, his words we must relate, 
The Greeks expect them, and our heroes wait. 
Proud as he is, that iron heart retains 
Its stubborn purpose, and his friends disdains. 
Stern and unpitying! if a brother bleed, 
On just atonement, we remit the deed; 
A sire the slaughter of his son forgives; 
The price of blood discharged, the murderer lives: 
The haughtiest hearts at length their rage resign, 
And gifts can conquer every soul but thine. 213 
The gods that unrelenting breast have steel'd, 
And cursed thee with a mind that cannot yield. 
One woman-slave was ravish'd from thy arms: 
Lo, seven are offer'd, and of equal charms. 
Then hear, Achilles ! be of better mind; 
Revere thy roof, and to thy guests be kind; 
And know the men of all the Grecian host, 
Who honour worth, and prize thy valour most." 



"Gifts can conquer" — It is well observed by Bishop Thirlwall, "Greece," 
vol. i. p, 180, that the law of honour among the Greeks did not compel them to 
treasure up in their memory the offensive language which might be addressed 
to them by a passionate adversary, nor to conceive that it left a stain which 
could only be washed away by blood. Even for real and deep injuries they were 
commonly willing to accept a pecuniary compensation." 



BOOK IX. 



"O soul of battles, and thy people's guide! 
(To Ajax thus the first of Greeks replied) 
Well hast thou spoke; but at the tyrant's name 
My rage rekindles, and my soul's on flame: 
'Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave: 
Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the vilest slave! 
Return, then, heroes ! and our answer bear, 
The glorious combat is no more my care; 
Not till, amidst yon sinking navy slain, 
The blood of Greeks shall dye the sable main; 
Not till the flames, by Hector's fury thrown, 
Consume your vessels, and approach my own; 
Just there, the impetuous homicide shall stand, 
There cease his battle, and there feel our hand. " 



This said, each prince a double goblet crown'd, 
And cast a large libation on the ground; 
Then to their vessels, through the gloomy shades, 
The chiefs return; divine Ulysses leads. 
Meantime Achilles' slaves prepared a bed, 
With fleeces, carpets, and soft linen spread: 
There, till the sacred morn restored the day, 
In slumber sweet the reverend Phoenix lay. 
But in his inner tent, an ampler space, 
Achilles slept; and in his warm embrace 
Fair Diomede of the Lesbian race. 
Last, for Patroclus was the couch prepared, 
Whose nightly joys the beauteous Iphis shared; 
Achilles to his friend consign'd her charms 
When Scyros fell before his conquering arms. 



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And now the elected chiefs whom Greece had sent, 
Pass'd through the hosts, and reach'd the royal tent. 
Then rising all, with goblets in their hands, 
The peers and leaders of the Achaian bands 
Hail'd their return: Atrides first begun: 



"Say what success? divine Laertes' son! 
Achilles' high resolves declare to all: 
"Returns the chief, or must our navy fall?" 



"Great king of nations! (Ithacus replied) 

Fix'd is his wrath, unconquer'd is his pride; 

He slights thy friendship, thy proposals scorns, 

And, thus implored, with fiercer fury burns. 

To save our army, and our fleets to free, 

Is not his care; but left to Greece and thee. 

Your eyes shall view, when morning paints the sky, 

Beneath his oars the whitening billows fly; 

Us too he bids our oars and sails employ, 

Nor hope the fall of heaven-protected Troy; 

For Jove o'ershades her with his arm divine, 

Inspires her war, and bids her glory shine. 

Such was his word: what further he declared, 

These sacred heralds and great Ajax heard. 

But Phoenix in his tent the chief retains, 

Safe to transport him to his native plains 

When morning dawns; if other he decree, 

His age is sacred, and his choice is free." 



BOOK IX. 



293 



Ulysses ceased: the great Achaian host, 

With sorrow seized, in consternation lost, 

Attend the stern reply. Tydides broke 

The general silence, and undaunted spoke. 

"Why should we gifts to proud Achilles send, 

Or strive with prayers his haughty soul to bend? 

His country's woes he glories to deride, 

And prayers will burst that swelling heart with pride. 

Be the fierce impulse of his rage obey'd, 

Our battles let him or desert or aid; 

Then let him arm when Jove or he think fit: 

That, to his madness, or to Heaven commit: 

What for ourselves we can, is always ours; 

This night, let due repast refresh our powers; 

(For strength consists in spirits and in blood, 

And those are owed to generous wine and food;) 

But when the rosy messenger of day 

Strikes the blue mountains with her golden ray, 

Ranged at the ships, let all our squadrons shine 

In flaming arms, a long-extended line: 

In the dread front let great Atrides stand, 

The first in danger, as in high command." 

[179] 

Shouts of acclaim the listening heroes raise, 
Then each to Heaven the due libations pays; 
Till sleep, descending o'er the tents, bestows 
The grateful blessings of desired repose." 214 



"The boon of sleep." — Milton 



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The Iliad of Homer 




[180] 



BOOK X. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE NIGHT-ADVENTURE OF DIOMED AND ULYSSES. 

Upon the refusal of Achilles to return to the army, the distress 
of Agamemnon is described in the most lively manner. He 
takes no rest that night, but passes through the camp, awaking 
the leaders, and contriving all possible methods for the public 
safety. Menelaus, Nestor, Ulysses, and Diomed are employed 
in raising the rest of the captains. They call a council of war, 
and determine to send scouts into the enemies' camp, to learn 
their posture, and discover their intentions. Diomed undertakes 
this hazardous enterprise, and makes choice of Ulysses for his 
companion. In their passage they surprise Dolon, whom Hector 
had sent on a like design to the camp of the Grecians. From him 
they are informed of the situation of the Trojan and auxiliary 
forces, and particularly of Rhesus, and the Thracians who were 
lately arrived. They pass on with success; kill Rhesus, with 
several of his officers, and seize the famous horses of that prince, 
with which they return in triumph to the camp. 

The same night continues; the scene lies in the two camps. 

All night the chiefs before their vessels lay, 

And lost in sleep the labours of the day: 

All but the king: with various thoughts oppress'd, 215 

215 

"All else of nature's common gift partake: 
Unhappy Dido was alone awake." 

— Dryden's Virgil, iv. 767. 



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His country's cares lay rolling in his breast. 
As when by lightnings Jove's ethereal power 
Foretels the rattling hail, or weighty shower, 
Or sends soft snows to whiten all the shore, 
Or bids the brazen throat of war to roar; 
By fits one flash succeeds as one expires, 
And heaven flames thick with momentary fires: 
So bursting frequent from Atrides' breast, 
Sighs following sighs his inward fears confess'd. 
Now o'er the fields, dejected, he surveys 
From thousand Trojan fires the mounting blaze; 
Hears in the passing wind their music blow, 
[181] And marks distinct the voices of the foe. 

Now looking backwards to the fleet and coast, 
Anxious he sorrows for the endangered host. 
He rends his hair, in sacrifice to Jove, 
And sues to him that ever lives above: 
Inly he groans; while glory and despair 
Divide his heart, and wage a double war. 

A thousand cares his labouring breast revolves; 
To seek sage Nestor now the chief resolves, 
With him, in wholesome counsels, to debate 
What yet remains to save the afflicted state. 
He rose, and first he cast his mantle round, 
Next on his feet the shining sandals bound; 
A lion's yellow spoils his back conceal'd; 
His warlike hand a pointed javelin held. 
Meanwhile his brother, press'd with equal woes, 
Alike denied the gifts of soft repose, 
Laments for Greece, that in his cause before 
So much had suffer'd and must suffer more. 
A leopard's spotted hide his shoulders spread: 
A brazen helmet glitter'd on his head: 



BOOK X. 



297 



Thus (with a javelin in his hand) he went 
To wake Atrides in the royal tent. 
Already waked, Atrides he descried, 
His armour buckling at his vessel's side. 
Joyful they met; the Spartan thus begun: 
"Why puts my brother his bright armour on? 
Sends he some spy, amidst these silent hours, 
To try yon camp, and watch the Trojan powers? 
But say, what hero shall sustain that task? 
Such bold exploits uncommon courage ask; 
Guideless, alone, through night's dark shade to go, 
And midst a hostile camp explore the foe. " 



To whom the king: "In such distress we stand, 
No vulgar counsel our affairs demand; 
Greece to preserve, is now no easy part, 
But asks high wisdom, deep design, and art. 
For Jove, averse, our humble prayer denies, 
And bows his head to Hector's sacrifice. 
What eye has witness'd, or what ear believed, 
In one great day, by one great arm achieved, 
Such wondrous deeds as Hector's hand has done, 
And we beheld, the last revolving sun 
What honours the beloved of Jove adorn! 
Sprung from no god, and of no goddess born; 
Yet such his acts, as Greeks unborn shall tell, 
And curse the battle where their fathers fell. 



"Now speed thy hasty course along the fleet, 
There call great Ajax, and the prince of Crete; 
Ourself to hoary Nestor will repair; 

To keep the guards on duty be his care, [182] 



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(For Nestor's influence best that quarter guides, 
Whose son with Merion, o'er the watch presides.") 
To whom the Spartan: "These thy orders borne, 
Say, shall I stay, or with despatch return?" 
"There shall thou stay, (the king of men replied,) 
Else may we miss to meet, without a guide, 
The paths so many, and the camp so wide. 
Still, with your voice the slothful soldiers raise, 
Urge by their fathers' fame their future praise. 
Forget we now our state and lofty birth; 
Not titles here, but works, must prove our worth. 
To labour is the lot of man below; 
And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe." 



This said, each parted to his several cares: 
The king to Nestor's sable ship repairs; 
The sage protector of the Greeks he found 
Stretch'd in his bed with all his arms around 
The various-colour'd scarf, the shield he rears, 
The shining helmet, and the pointed spears; 
The dreadful weapons of the warrior's rage, 
That, old in arms, disdain'd the peace of age. 
Then, leaning on his hand his watchful head, 
The hoary monarch raised his eyes and said: 



"What art thou, speak, that on designs unknown, 
While others sleep, thus range the camp alone; 
Seek'st thou some friend or nightly sentinel? 
Stand off, approach not, but thy purpose tell. " 



BOOK X. 



299 



"O son of Neleus, (thus the king rejoin'd,) 
Pride of the Greeks, and glory of thy kind! 
Lo, here the wretched Agamemnon stands, 
The unhappy general of the Grecian bands, 
Whom Jove decrees with daily cares to bend, 
And woes, that only with his life shall end! 
Scarce can my knees these trembling limbs sustain, 
And scarce my heart support its load of pain. 
No taste of sleep these heavy eyes have known, 
Confused, and sad, I wander thus alone, 
With fears distracted, with no fix'd design; 
And all my people's miseries are mine. 
If aught of use thy waking thoughts suggest, 
(Since cares, like mine, deprive thy soul of rest,) 
Impart thy counsel, and assist thy friend; 
Now let us jointly to the trench descend, 
At every gate the fainting guard excite, 
Tired with the toils of day and watch of night; 
Else may the sudden foe our works invade, 
So near, and favour'd by the gloomy shade." 

To him thus Nestor: "Trust the powers above, 

Nor think proud Hector's hopes confirm'd by Jove: 

How ill agree the views of vain mankind, [183] 

And the wise counsels of the eternal mind! 

Audacious Hector, if the gods ordain 

That great Achilles rise and rage again, 

What toils attend thee, and what woes remain! 

Lo, faithful Nestor thy command obeys; 

The care is next our other chiefs to raise: 

Ulysses, Diomed, we chiefly need; 

Meges for strength, Oileus famed for speed. 

Some other be despatch'd of nimbler feet, 

To those tall ships, remotest of the fleet, 



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Where lie great Ajax and the king of Crete. 
To rouse the Spartan I myself decree; 
Dear as he is to us, and dear to thee, 
Yet must I tax his sloth, that claims no share 
With his great brother in his martial care: 
Him it behoved to every chief to sue, 
Preventing every part perform'd by you; 
For strong necessity our toils demands, 
Claims all our hearts, and urges all our hands." 

To whom the king: "With reverence we allow 
Thy just rebukes, yet learn to spare them now: 
My generous brother is of gentle kind, 
He seems remiss, but bears a valiant mind; 
Through too much deference to our sovereign sway, 
Content to follow when we lead the way: 
But now, our ills industrious to prevent, 
Long ere the rest he rose, and sought my tent. 
The chiefs you named, already at his call, 
Prepare to meet us near the navy-wall; 
Assembling there, between the trench and gates, 
Near the night-guards, our chosen council waits." 

"Then none (said Nestor) shall his rule withstand, 

For great examples justify command." 

With that, the venerable warrior rose; 

The shining greaves his manly legs enclose; 

His purple mantle golden buckles join'd, 

Warm with the softest wool, and doubly lined. 

Then rushing from his tent, he snatch'd in haste 

His steely lance, that lighten'd as he pass'd. 

The camp he traversed through the sleeping crowd, 

Stopp'd at Ulysses' tent, and call'd aloud. 



— The king of Crete: Idomeneus. 



BOOK X. 



Ulysses, sudden as the voice was sent, 

Awakes, starts up, and issues from his tent. 

"What new distress, what sudden cause of fright, 

Thus leads you wandering in the silent night?" 

"O prudent chief! (the Pylian sage replied) 

Wise as thou art, be now thy wisdom tried: 

Whatever means of safety can be sought, 

Whatever counsels can inspire our thought, 

Whatever methods, or to fly or fight; 

All, all depend on this important night!" 

He heard, return'd, and took his painted shield; 

Then join'd the chiefs, and follow'd through the field. 

Without his tent, bold Diomed they found, 

All sheathed in arms, his brave companions round: 

Each sunk in sleep, extended on the field, 

His head reclining on his bossy shield. 

A wood of spears stood by, that, fix'd upright, 

Shot from their flashing points a quivering light. 

A bull's black hide composed the hero's bed; 

A splendid carpet roll'd beneath his head. 

Then, with his foot, old Nestor gently shakes 

The slumbering chief, and in these words awakes: 

"Rise, son of Tydeus! to the brave and strong 
Rest seems inglorious, and the night too long. 
But sleep'st thou now, when from yon hill the foe 
Hangs o'er the fleet, and shades our walls below?" 

At this, soft slumber from his eyelids fled; 
The warrior saw the hoary chief, and said: 
"Wondrous old man! whose soul no respite knows, 
Though years and honours bid thee seek repose, 
Let younger Greeks our sleeping warriors wake; 
111 fits thy age these toils to undertake. " 



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"My friend, (he answered,) generous is thy care; 
These toils, my subjects and my sons might bear; 
Their loyal thoughts and pious love conspire 
To ease a sovereign and relieve a sire: 
But now the last despair surrounds our host; 
No hour must pass, no moment must be lost; 
Each single Greek, in this conclusive strife, 
Stands on the sharpest edge of death or life: 
Yet, if my years thy kind regard engage, 
Employ thy youth as I employ my age; 
Succeed to these my cares, and rouse the rest; 
He serves me most, who serves his country best." 

This said, the hero o'er his shoulders flung 

A lion's spoils, that to his ankles hung; 

Then seized his ponderous lance, and strode along. 

Meges the bold, with Ajax famed for speed, 

The warrior roused, and to the entrenchments lead. 

And now the chiefs approach the nightly guard; 
A wakeful squadron, each in arms prepared: 
The unwearied watch their listening leaders keep, 
And, couching close, repel invading sleep. 
So faithful dogs their fleecy charge maintain, 
With toil protected from the prowling train; 
When the gaunt lioness, with hunger bold, 
Springs from the mountains toward the guarded fold: 
[185] Through breaking woods her rustling course they hear; 

Loud, and more loud, the clamours strike their ear 
Of hounds and men: they start, they gaze around, 
Watch every side, and turn to every sound. 
Thus watch'd the Grecians, cautious of surprise, 
Each voice, each motion, drew their ears and eyes: 
Each step of passing feet increased the affright; 



BOOK X. 



303 



And hostile Troy was ever full in sight. 
Nestor with joy the wakeful band survey'd, 
And thus accosted through the gloomy shade. 
"Tis well, my sons! your nightly cares employ; 
Else must our host become the scorn of Troy. 
Watch thus, and Greece shall live." The hero said; 
Then o'er the trench the following chieftains led. 
His son, and godlike Merion, march'd behind 
(For these the princes to their council join'd). 
The trenches pass'd, the assembled kings around 
In silent state the consistory crown'd. 
A place there was, yet undefiled with gore, 
The spot where Hector stopp'd his rage before; 
When night descending, from his vengeful hand 
Reprieved the relics of the Grecian band: 
(The plain beside with mangled corps was spread, 
And all his progress mark'd by heaps of dead:) 
There sat the mournful kings: when Neleus' son, 
The council opening, in these words begun: 

"Is there (said he) a chief so greatly brave, 

His life to hazard, and his country save? 

Lives there a man, who singly dares to go 

To yonder camp, or seize some straggling foe? 

Or favour'd by the night approach so near, 

Their speech, their counsels, and designs to hear? 

If to besiege our navies they prepare, 

Or Troy once more must be the seat of war? 

This could he learn, and to our peers recite, 

And pass unharm'd the dangers of the night; 

What fame were his through all succeeding days, 

While Phoebus shines, or men have tongues to praise! 

What gifts his grateful country would bestow ! 

What must not Greece to her deliverer owe? 



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A sable ewe each leader should provide, 
With each a sable lambkin by her side; 
At every rite his share should be increased, 
And his the foremost honours of the feast. " 



Fear held them mute: alone, untaught to fear, 
Tydides spoke — "The man you seek is here. 
Through yon black camps to bend my dangerous way, 
Some god within commands, and I obey. 
But let some other chosen warrior join, 
To raise my hopes, and second my design. 
[186] By mutual confidence and mutual aid, 

Great deeds are done, and great discoveries made; 
The wise new prudence from the wise acquire, 
And one brave hero fans another's fire." 



Contending leaders at the word arose; 

Each generous breast with emulation glows; 

So brave a task each Ajax strove to share, 

Bold Merion strove, and Nestor's valiant heir; 

The Spartan wish'd the second place to gain, 

And great Ulysses wish'd, nor wish'd in vain. 

Then thus the king of men the contest ends: 

"Thou first of warriors, and thou best of friends, 

Undaunted Diomed! what chief to join 

In this great enterprise, is only thine. 

Just be thy choice, without affection made; 

To birth, or office, no respect be paid; 

Let worth determine here." The monarch spake, 

And inly trembled for his brother's sake. 



BOOK X. 



305 



"Then thus (the godlike Diomed rejoin'd) 

My choice declares the impulse of my mind. 

How can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands 

To lend his counsels and assist our hands? 

A chief, whose safety is Minerva's care; 

So famed, so dreadful, in the works of war: 

Bless'd in his conduct, I no aid require; 

Wisdom like his might pass through flames of fire." 

"It fits thee not, before these chiefs of fame, 
(Replied the sage,) to praise me, or to blame: 
Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, 
Are lost on hearers that our merits know. 
But let us haste — Night rolls the hours away, 
The reddening orient shows the coming day, 
The stars shine fainter on the ethereal plains, 
And of night's empire but a third remains." 

Thus having spoke, with generous ardour press'd, 

In arms terrific their huge limbs they dress'd. 

A two-edged falchion Thrasymed the brave, 

And ample buckler, to Tydides gave: 

Then in a leathern helm he cased his head, 

Short of its crest, and with no plume o'erspread: 

(Such as by youths unused to arms are worn:) 

No spoils enrich it, and no studs adorn. 

Next him Ulysses took a shining sword, 

A bow and quiver, with bright arrows stored: 

A well-proved casque, with leather braces bound, 

(Thy gift, Meriones,) his temples crown'd; 

Soft wool within; without, in order spread, 217 

A boar's white teeth grinn'd horrid o'er his head. 

This from Amyntor, rich Ormenus' son, [187] 



— Soft wool within, i e. a kind of woollen stuffing, pressed in between the 
straps, to protect the head, and make the helmet fit close. 



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Autolycus by fraudful rapine won, 

And gave Amphidamas; from him the prize 

Molus received, the pledge of social ties; 

The helmet next by Merion was possess'd, 

And now Ulysses' thoughtful temples press'd. 

Thus sheathed in arms, the council they forsake, 

And dark through paths oblique their progress take. 

Just then, in sign she favour'd their intent, 

A long-wing'd heron great Minerva sent: 

This, though surrounding shades obscured their view. 

By the shrill clang and whistling wings they knew. 

As from the right she soar'd, Ulysses pray'd, 

Hail'd the glad omen, and address'd the maid: 

"O daughter of that god whose arm can wield 
The avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield! 
O thou ! for ever present in my way, 
Who all my motions, all my toils survey ! 
Safe may we pass beneath the gloomy shade, 
Safe by thy succour to our ships convey'd, 
And let some deed this signal night adorn, 
To claim the tears of Trojans yet unborn." 

Then godlike Diomed preferr'd his prayer: 

"Daughter of Jove, unconquer'd Pallas ! hear. 

Great queen of arms, whose favour Tydeus won, 

As thou defend'st the sire, defend the son. 

When on iEsopus' banks the banded powers 

Of Greece he left, and sought the Theban towers, 

Peace was his charge; received with peaceful show, 

He went a legate, but return'd a foe: 

Then help'd by thee, and cover'd by thy shield, 

He fought with numbers, and made numbers yield. 

So now be present, O celestial maid! 



BOOK X. 



307 



So still continue to the race thine aid! 

A youthful steer shall fall beneath the stroke, 

Untamed, unconscious of the galling yoke, 

With ample forehead, and with spreading horns, 

Whose taper tops refulgent gold adorns." 

The heroes pray'd, and Pallas from the skies 

Accords their vow, succeeds their enterprise. 

Now, like two lions panting for the prey, 

With dreadful thoughts they trace the dreary way, 

Through the black horrors of the ensanguined plain, 

Through dust, through blood, o'er arms, and hills of slain. 



Nor less bold Hector, and the sons of Troy, 
On high designs the wakeful hours employ; 
The assembled peers their lofty chief enclosed; 
Who thus the counsels of his breast proposed: 



"What glorious man, for high attempts prepared, 
Dares greatly venture for a rich reward? 

Of yonder fleet a bold discovery make, [188] 

What watch they keep, and what resolves they take? 

If now subdued they meditate their flight, 

And, spent with toil, neglect the watch of night? 

His be the chariot that shall please him most, 

Of all the plunder of the vanquish'd host; 

His the fair steeds that all the rest excel, 

And his the glory to have served so well." 



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A youth there was among the tribes of Troy, 
Dolon his name, Eumedes' only boy, 
(Five girls beside the reverend herald told.) 
Rich was the son in brass, and rich in gold; 
Not bless'd by nature with the charms of face, 
But swift of foot, and matchless in the race. 
"Hector! (he said) my courage bids me meet 
This high achievement, and explore the fleet: 
But first exalt thy sceptre to the skies, 
And swear to grant me the demanded prize; 
The immortal coursers, and the glittering car, 
That bear Pelides through the ranks of war. 
Encouraged thus, no idle scout I go, 
Fulfil thy wish, their whole intention know, 
Even to the royal tent pursue my way, 
And all their counsels, all their aims betray." 

The chief then heaved the golden sceptre high, 
Attesting thus the monarch of the sky: 
"Be witness thou! immortal lord of all! 
Whose thunder shakes the dark aerial hall: 
By none but Dolon shall this prize be borne, 
And him alone the immortal steeds adorn. " 

Thus Hector swore: the gods were call'd in vain, 
But the rash youth prepares to scour the plain: 
Across his back the bended bow he flung, 
A wolfs grey hide around his shoulders hung, 
A ferret's downy fur his helmet lined, 
And in his hand a pointed javelin shined. 
Then (never to return) he sought the shore, 
And trod the path his feet must tread no more. 
Scarce had he pass'd the steeds and Trojan throng, 
(Still bending forward as he coursed along,) 



BOOK X. 



309 



When, on the hollow way, the approaching tread 
Ulysses mark'd, and thus to Diomed; 

"O friend! I hear some step of hostile feet, 
Moving this way, or hastening to the fleet; 
Some spy, perhaps, to lurk beside the main; 
Or nightly pillager that strips the slain. 
Yet let him pass, and win a little space; 
Then rush behind him, and prevent his pace. 
But if too swift of foot he flies before, 

Confine his course along the fleet and shore, [189] 
Betwixt the camp and him our spears employ, 
And intercept his hoped return to Troy." 

With that they stepp'd aside, and stoop'd their head, 

(As Dolon pass'd,) behind a heap of dead: 

Along the path the spy unwary flew; 

Soft, at just distance, both the chiefs pursue. 

So distant they, and such the space between, 

As when two teams of mules divide the green, 

(To whom the hind like shares of land allows,) 

When now new furrows part the approaching ploughs. 

Now Dolon, listening, heard them as they pass'd; 

Hector (he thought) had sent, and check'd his haste, 

Till scarce at distance of a javelin's throw, 

No voice succeeding, he perceived the foe. 

As when two skilful hounds the leveret wind; 

Or chase through woods obscure the trembling hind; 

Now lost, now seen, they intercept his way, 

And from the herd still turn the flying prey: 

So fast, and with such fears, the Trojan flew; 

So close, so constant, the bold Greeks pursue. 

Now almost on the fleet the dastard falls, 

And mingles with the guards that watch the walls; 



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When brave Tydides stopp'd; a gen'rous thought 
(Inspired by Pallas) in his bosom wrought, 
Lest on the foe some forward Greek advance, 
And snatch the glory from his lifted lance. 
Then thus aloud: "Whoe'er thou art, remain; 
This javelin else shall fix thee to the plain." 
He said, and high in air the weapon cast, 
Which wilful err'd, and o'er his shoulder pass'd; 
Then fix'd in earth. Against the trembling wood 
The wretch stood propp'd, and quiver'd as he stood; 
A sudden palsy seized his turning head; 
His loose teeth chatter'd, and his colour fled; 
The panting warriors seize him as he stands, 
And with unmanly tears his life demands. 



"O spare my youth, and for the breath I owe, 
Large gifts of price my father shall bestow: 
Vast heaps of brass shall in your ships be told, 
And steel well-temper'd and refulgent gold. " 



To whom Ulysses made this wise reply: 

"Whoe'er thou art, be bold, nor fear to die. 

What moves thee, say, when sleep has closed the sight, 

To roam the silent fields in dead of night? 

Cam'st thou the secrets of our camp to find, 

By Hector prompted, or thy daring mind? 

Or art some wretch by hopes of plunder led, 

Through heaps of carnage, to despoil the dead?" 



BOOK X. 



Then thus pale Dolon, with a fearful look: 
(Still, as he spoke, his limbs with horror shook:) 
"Hither I came, by Hector's words deceived; 
Much did he promise, rashly I believed: 
No less a bribe than great Achilles' car, 
And those swift steeds that sweep the ranks of war, 
Urged me, unwilling, this attempt to make; 
To learn what counsels, what resolves you take: 
If now subdued, you fix your hopes on flight, 
And, tired with toils, neglect the watch of night." 

"Bold was thy aim, and glorious was the prize, 
(Ulysses, with a scornful smile, replies,) 
Far other rulers those proud steeds demand, 
And scorn the guidance of a vulgar hand; 
Even great Achilles scarce their rage can tame, 
Achilles sprung from an immortal dame. 
But say, be faithful, and the truth recite! 
Where lies encamp'd the Trojan chief to-night? 
Where stand his coursers? in what quarter sleep 
Their other princes? tell what watch they keep: 
Say, since this conquest, what their counsels are; 
Or here to combat, from their city far, 
Or back to Ilion's walls transfer the war?" 

Ulysses thus, and thus Eumedes' son: 

"What Dolon knows, his faithful tongue shall own. 

Hector, the peers assembling in his tent, 

A council holds at Ilus' monument. 

No certain guards the nightly watch partake; 

Where'er yon fires ascend, the Trojans wake: 

Anxious for Troy, the guard the natives keep; 

Safe in their cares, the auxiliar forces sleep, 

Whose wives and infants, from the danger far, 

Discharge their souls of half the fears of war." 



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"Then sleep those aids among the Trojan train, 
(Inquired the chief,) or scattered o'er the plain?" 
To whom the spy: "Their powers they thus dispose 
The Paeons, dreadful with their bended bows, 
The Carians, Caucons, the Pelasgian host, 
And Leleges, encamp along the coast. 
Not distant far, lie higher on the land 
The Lycian, Mysian, and Maeonian band, 
And Phrygia's horse, by Thymbras' ancient wall; 
The Thracians utmost, and apart from all. 
These Troy but lately to her succour won, 
Led on by Rhesus, great Eioneus' son: 
I saw his coursers in proud triumph go, 
Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow; 
Rich silver plates his shining car infold; 
His solid arms, refulgent, flame with gold; 
No mortal shoulders suit the glorious load, 
Celestial panoply, to grace a god! 
[191] Let me, unhappy, to your fleet be borne, 

Or leave me here, a captive's fate to mourn, 
In cruel chains, till your return reveal 
The truth or falsehood of the news I tell." 



To this Tydides, with a gloomy frown: 
"Think not to live, though all the truth be shown: 
Shall we dismiss thee, in some future strife 
To risk more bravely thy now forfeit life? 
Or that again our camps thou may'st explore? 
No — once a traitor, thou betray 'st no more." 



BOOK X. 



313 



Sternly he spoke, and as the wretch prepared 
With humble blandishment to stroke his beard, 
Like lightning swift the wrathful falchion flew, 
Divides the neck, and cuts the nerves in two; 
One instant snatch'd his trembling soul to hell, 
The head, yet speaking, mutter'd as it fell. 
The furry helmet from his brow they tear, 
The wolfs grey hide, the unbended bow and spear; 
These great Ulysses lifting to the skies, 
To favouring Pallas dedicates the prize: 

"Great queen of arms, receive this hostile spoil, 

And let the Thracian steeds reward our toil; 

Thee, first of all the heavenly host, we praise; 

O speed our labours, and direct our ways!" 

This said, the spoils, with dropping gore defaced, 

High on a spreading tamarisk he placed; 

Then heap'd with reeds and gathered boughs the plain, 

To guide their footsteps to the place again. 

Through the still night they cross the devious fields, 
Slippery with blood, o'er arms and heaps of shields, 
Arriving where the Thracian squadrons lay, 
And eased in sleep the labours of the day. 
Ranged in three lines they view the prostrate band: 
The horses yoked beside each warrior stand. 
Their arms in order on the ground reclined, 
Through the brown shade the fulgid weapons shined: 
Amidst lay Rhesus, stretch'd in sleep profound, 
And the white steeds behind his chariot bound. 
The welcome sight Ulysses first descries, 
And points to Diomed the tempting prize. 
"The man, the coursers, and the car behold! 
Described by Dolon, with the arms of gold. 



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Now, brave Tydides! now thy courage try, 
Approach the chariot, and the steeds untie; 
Or if thy soul aspire to fiercer deeds, 
Urge thou the slaughter, while I seize the steeds. " 

Pallas (this said) her hero's bosom warms, 
Breathed in his heart, and strung his nervous arms; 
Where'er he pass'd, a purple stream pursued 
His thirsty falchion, fat with hostile blood, 
[192] Bathed all his footsteps, dyed the fields with gore, 

And a low groan remurmur'd through the shore. 
So the grim lion, from his nightly den, 
O'erleaps the fences, and invades the pen, 
On sheep or goats, resistless in his way, 
He falls, and foaming rends the guardless prey; 
Nor stopp'd the fury of his vengeful hand, 
Till twelve lay breathless of the Thracian band. 
Ulysses following, as his partner slew, 
Back by the foot each slaughter'd warrior drew; 
The milk-white coursers studious to convey 
Safe to the ships, he wisely cleared the way: 
Lest the fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred, 
Should start, and tremble at the heaps of dead. 
Now twelve despatch'd, the monarch last they found; 
Tydides' falchion fix'd him to the ground. 
Just then a deathful dream Minerva sent, 
A warlike form appear'd before his tent, 
Whose visionary steel his bosom tore: 
So dream'd the monarch, and awaked no more. 218 

218 "All the circumstances of this action — the night, Rhesus buried in a profound 
sleep, and Diomede with the sword in his hand hanging over the head of that 
prince — furnished Homer with the idea of this fiction, which represents Rhesus 
lying fast asleep, and, as it were, beholding his enemy in a dream, plunging the 
sword into his bosom. This image is very natural; for a man in his condition 
awakes no farther than to see confusedly what environs him, and to think it not 



BOOK X. 



315 



Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains, 
And leads them, fasten'd by the silver reins; 
These, with his bow unbent, he lash'd along; 
(The scourge forgot, on Rhesus' chariot hung;) 
Then gave his friend the signal to retire; 
But him, new dangers, new achievements fire; 
Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade 
To send more heroes to the infernal shade, 
Drag off the car where Rhesus' armour lay, 
Or heave with manly force, and lift away. 
While unresolved the son of Tydeus stands, 
Pallas appears, and thus her chief commands: 

"Enough, my son; from further slaughter cease, 
Regard thy safety, and depart in peace; 
Haste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy, 
Nor tempt too far the hostile gods of Troy." 

The voice divine confess'd the martial maid; 
In haste he mounted, and her word obey'd; 
The coursers fly before Ulysses' bow, 
Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow. 

Not unobserved they pass'd: the god of light 
Had watch'd his Troy, and mark'd Minerva's flight, 
Saw Tydeus' son with heavenly succour bless'd, 
And vengeful anger fill'd his sacred breast. 

Swift to the Trojan camp descends the power, [193] 

a reality but a dream." — Pope. 

"There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cry'd murder; 
They wak'd each other." 



— Macbeth. 



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And wakes Hippocoon in the morning-hour; 
(On Rhesus' side accustom'd to attend, 
A faithful kinsman, and instructive friend;) 
He rose, and saw the field deform'd with blood, 
An empty space where late the coursers stood, 
The yet-warm Thracians panting on the coast; 
For each he wept, but for his Rhesus most: 
Now while on Rhesus' name he calls in vain, 
The gathering tumult spreads o'er all the plain; 
On heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright, 
And wondering view the slaughters of the night. 

Meanwhile the chiefs, arriving at the shade 
Where late the spoils of Hector's spy were laid, 
Ulysses stopp'd; to him Tydides bore 
The trophy, dropping yet with Dolon's gore: 
Then mounts again; again their nimbler feet 
The coursers ply, and thunder towards the fleet. 




DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE SPOILS 

OF RHESUS. 



BOOK X. 



317 



Old Nestor first perceived the approaching sound, 
Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around: 
"Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear, 
Thickening this way, and gathering on my ear; 
Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed 
(So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed) 
The great Tydides and Ulysses bear, 
Return'd triumphant with this prize of war. 
Yet much I fear (ah, may that fear be vain!) 
The chiefs outnumber'd by the Trojan train; 
Perhaps, even now pursued, they seek the shore; 
Or, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more." 

[194] 

Scarce had he spoke, when, lo! the chiefs appear, 
And spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear: 
With words of friendship and extended hands 
They greet the kings; and Nestor first demands: 

"Say thou, whose praises all our host proclaim, 

Thou living glory of the Grecian name! 

Say whence these coursers? by what chance bestow'd, 

The spoil of foes, or present of a god? 

Not those fair steeds, so radiant and so gay, 

That draw the burning chariot of the day. 

Old as I am, to age I scorn to yield, 

And daily mingle in the martial field; 

But sure till now no coursers struck my sight 

Like these, conspicuous through the ranks of fight. 

Some god, I deem, conferred the glorious prize, 

Bless'd as ye are, and favourites of the skies; 

The care of him who bids the thunder roar, 

And her, whose fury bathes the world with gore." 



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"Father! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin'd,) 
The gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind. 
Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view, 
Whose hostile king the brave Tydides slew; 
Sleeping he died, with all his guards around, 
And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground. 
These other spoils from conquer'd Dolon came, 
A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame; 
By Hector sent our forces to explore, 
He now lies headless on the sandy shore. " 

Then o'er the trench the bounding coursers flew; 
The joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue. 
Straight to Tydides' high pavilion borne, 
The matchless steeds his ample stalls adorn: 
The neighing coursers their new fellows greet, 
And the full racks are heap'd with generous wheat. 
But Dolon's armour, to his ships convey'd, 
High on the painted stern Ulysses laid, 
A trophy destin'd to the blue-eyed maid. 

Now from nocturnal sweat and sanguine stain 

They cleanse their bodies in the neighb'ring main: 

Then in the polished bath, refresh'd from toil, 

Their joints they supple with dissolving oil, 

In due repast indulge the genial hour, 

And first to Pallas the libations pour: 

They sit, rejoicing in her aid divine, 

And the crown'd goblet foams with floods of wine. 



[195] 



BOOK XL 

ARGUMENT 

THE THIRD BATTLE, AND THE ACTS OF 
AGAMEMNON. 

Agamemnon, having armed himself, leads the Grecians to 
battle; Hector prepares the Trojans to receive them, while Jupiter, 
Juno, and Minerva give the signals of war. Agamemnon bears 
all before him and Hector is commanded by Jupiter (who sends 
Iris for that purpose) to decline the engagement, till the king 
shall be wounded and retire from the field. He then makes 
a great slaughter of the enemy. Ulysses and Diomed put a 
stop to him for a time but the latter, being wounded by Paris, 
is obliged to desert his companion, who is encompassed by 
the Trojans, wounded, and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus 
and Ajax rescue him. Hector comes against Ajax, but that 
hero alone opposes multitudes, and rallies the Greeks. In the 
meantime Machaon, in the other wing of the army, is pierced 
with an arrow by Paris, and carried from the fight in Nestor's 
chariot. Achilles (who overlooked the action from his ship) sent 
Patroclus to inquire which of the Greeks was wounded in that 
manner; Nestor entertains him in his tent with an account of the 
accidents of the day, and a long recital of some former wars 
which he remembered, tending to put Patroclus upon persuading 
Achilles to fight for his countrymen, or at least to permit him to 
do it, clad in Achilles' armour. Patroclus, on his return, meets 
Eurypylus also wounded, and assists him in that distress. 

This book opens with the eight and-twentieth day of the poem, 
and the same day, with its various actions and adventures is 



320 



The Iliad of Homer 



extended through the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, 
sixteenth, seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth books. The 
scene lies in the field near the monument of Ilus. 

The saffron morn, with early blushes spread, 219 
Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed; 
With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, 
And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light: 
When baleful Eris, sent by Jove's command, 
The torch of discord blazing in her hand, 
Through the red skies her bloody sign extends, 
And, wrapt in tempests, o'er the fleet descends. 
High on Ulysses' bark her horrid stand 
She took, and thunder'd through the seas and land. 

[196] 

Even Ajax and Achilles heard the sound, 
Whose ships, remote, the guarded navy bound, 
Thence the black fury through the Grecian throng 
With horror sounds the loud Orthian song: 
The navy shakes, and at the dire alarms 
Each bosom boils, each warrior starts to arms. 
No more they sigh, inglorious to return, 
But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn. 



219 



"Aurora now had left her saffron bed, 

And beams of early light the heavens o'erspread." 



Dryden's Virgil, iv. 639 



BOOK XI. 



321 




THE DESCENT OF DISCORD. 



The king of men his hardy host inspires 
With loud command, with great example fires ! 
Himself first rose, himself before the rest 
His mighty limbs in radiant armour dress'd, 
And first he cased his manly legs around 
In shining greaves with silver buckles bound; 
The beaming cuirass next adorn'd his breast, 
The same which once king Cinyras possess'd: 
(The fame of Greece and her assembled host 
Had reach'd that monarch on the Cyprian coast; 
'Twas then, the friendship of the chief to gain, 
This glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain:) 
Ten rows of azure steel the work infold, 
Twice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold; 
Three glittering dragons to the gorget rise, 
Whose imitated scales against the skies 
Reflected various light, and arching bow'd, 
Like colour'd rainbows o'er a showery cloud 



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(Jove's wondrous bow, of three celestial dies, 
[197] Placed as a sign to man amidst the skies). 

A radiant baldric, o'er his shoulder tied, 
Sustain'd the sword that glitter'd at his side: 
Gold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased 
The shining blade, and golden hangers graced. 
His buckler's mighty orb was next display'd, 
That round the warrior cast a dreadful shade; 
Ten zones of brass its ample brim surround, 
And twice ten bosses the bright convex crown'd: 
Tremendous Gorgon frown'd upon its field, 
And circling terrors fill'd the expressive shield: 
Within its concave hung a silver thong, 
On which a mimic serpent creeps along, 
His azure length in easy waves extends, 
Till in three heads the embroider'd monster ends. 
Last o'er his brows his fourfold helm he placed, 
With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; 
And in his hands two steely javelins wields, 
That blaze to heaven, and lighten all the fields. 

That instant Juno, and the martial maid, 
In happy thunders promised Greece their aid; 
High o'er the chief they clash'd their arms in air, 
And, leaning from the clouds, expect the war. 

Close to the limits of the trench and mound, 

The fiery coursers to their chariots bound 

The squires restrain'd: the foot, with those who wield 

The lighter arms, rush forward to the field. 

To second these, in close array combined, 

The squadrons spread their sable wings behind. 

Now shouts and tumults wake the tardy sun, 

As with the light the warriors' toils begun. 



BOOK XI. 



323 



Even Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, distill'd 
Red drops of blood o'er all the fatal field; 220 
The woes of men unwilling to survey, 
And all the slaughters that must stain the day. 

Near Ilus' tomb, in order ranged around, 
The Trojan lines possess'd the rising ground: 
There wise Polydamas and Hector stood; 
JEneas, honour'd as a guardian god; 
Bold Polybus, Agenor the divine; 
The brother-warriors of Antenor's line: 
With youthful Acamas, whose beauteous face 
And fair proportion match'd the ethereal race. 
Great Hector, cover'd with his spacious shield, 
Plies all the troops, and orders all the field. 
As the red star now shows his sanguine fires 

Through the dark clouds, and now in night retires, [198] 

Thus through the ranks appear'd the godlike man, 

Plunged in the rear, or blazing in the van; 

While streamy sparkles, restless as he flies, 

Flash from his arms, as lightning from the skies. 

As sweating reapers in some wealthy field, 

Ranged in two bands, their crooked weapons wield, 

Bear down the furrows, till their labours meet; 

Thick fall the heapy harvests at their feet: 

So Greece and Troy the field of war divide, 

And falling ranks are strow'd on every side. 

None stoop'd a thought to base inglorious flight; 221 

220 — Red drops of blood. "This phenomenon, if a mere fruit of the poet's 
imagination, might seem arbitrary or far-fetched. It is one, however, 
of ascertained reality, and of no uncommon occurrence in the climate of 
Greece." — Mure, i p. 493. Cf. Tasso, Gier. Lib. ix. 15: 

"La terra in vece del notturno gelo 
Bagnan rugiade tepide, e sanguigne." 

221 



324 



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But horse to horse, and man to man they fight, 
Not rabid wolves more fierce contest their prey; 
Each wounds, each bleeds, but none resign the day. 
Discord with joy the scene of death descries, 
And drinks large slaughter at her sanguine eyes: 
Discord alone, of all the immortal train, 
Swells the red horrors of this direful plain: 
The gods in peace their golden mansions fill, 
Ranged in bright order on the Olympian hill: 
But general murmurs told their griefs above, 
And each accused the partial will of Jove. 
Meanwhile apart, superior, and alone, 
The eternal Monarch, on his awful throne, 
Wrapt in the blaze of boundless glory sate; 
And fix'd, fulfill'd the just decrees of fate. 
On earth he turn'd his all-considering eyes, 
And mark'd the spot where Ilion's towers arise; 
The sea with ships, the fields with armies spread, 
The victor's rage, the dying, and the dead. 

Thus while the morning-beams, increasing bright, 
O'er heaven's pure azure spread the glowing light, 
Commutual death the fate of war confounds, 
Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds. 
But now (what time in some sequester'd vale 
The weary woodman spreads his sparing meal, 
When his tired arms refuse the axe to rear, 
And claim a respite from the sylvan war; 
But not till half the prostrate forests lay 
Stretch'd in long ruin, and exposed to day) 

"No thought of flight, 

None of retreat, no unbecoming deed 

That argued fear." 

— "Paradise Lost," vi. 236. 



BOOK XI. 



325 



Then, nor till then, the Greeks' impulsive might 
Pierced the black phalanx, and let in the light. 
Great Agamemnon then the slaughter led, 
And slew Bienor at his people's head: 
Whose squire Oileus, with a sudden spring, 
Leap'd from the chariot to revenge his king; 

But in his front he felt the fatal wound, [199] 

Which pierced his brain, and stretch'd him on the ground. 

Atrides spoil'd, and left them on the plain: 

Vain was their youth, their glittering armour vain: 

Now soil'd with dust, and naked to the sky, 

Their snowy limbs and beauteous bodies lie. 

Two sons of Priam next to battle move, 
The product, one of marriage, one of love: 222 
In the same car the brother-warriors ride; 
This took the charge to combat, that to guide: 
Far other task, than when they wont to keep, 
On Ida's tops, their father's fleecy sheep. 
These on the mountains once Achilles found, 
And captive led, with pliant osiers bound; 
Then to their sire for ample sums restored; 
But now to perish by Atrides' sword: 
Pierced in the breast the base-born Isus bleeds: 
Cleft through the head his brother's fate succeeds, 
Swift to the spoil the hasty victor falls, 
And, stript, their features to his mind recalls. 
The Trojans see the youths untimely die, 
But helpless tremble for themselves, and fly. 
So when a lion ranging o'er the lawns. 

222 — One of love. Although a bastard brother received only a small portion of 
the inheritance, he was commonly very well treated. Priam appears to be the 
only one of whom polygamy is directly asserted in the Iliad. Grote, vol. ii. p. 
1 14, note. 



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Finds, on some grassy lair, the couching fawns, 
Their bones he cracks, their reeking vitals draws, 
And grinds the quivering flesh with bloody jaws; 
The frighted hind beholds, and dares not stay, 
But swift through rustling thickets bursts her way; 
All drown'd in sweat, the panting mother flies, 
And the big tears roll trickling from her eyes. 

Amidst the tumult of the routed train, 
The sons of false Antimachus were slain; 
He who for bribes his faithless counsels sold, 
And voted Helen's stay for Paris' gold. 
Atrides mark'd, as these their safety sought, 
And slew the children for the father's fault; 
Their headstrong horse unable to restrain, 
They shook with fear, and dropp'd the silken rein; 
Then in the chariot on their knees they fall, 
And thus with lifted hands for mercy call: 

"O spare our youth, and for the life we owe, 
Antimachus shall copious gifts bestow: 
Soon as he hears, that, not in battle slain, 
The Grecian ships his captive sons detain, 
Large heaps of brass in ransom shall be told, 
And steel well-tempered, and persuasive gold." 

These words, attended with the flood of tears, 
[200] The youths address'd to unrelenting ears: 

The vengeful monarch gave this stern reply: 

"If from Antimachus ye spring, ye die; 

The daring wretch who once in council stood 

To shed Ulysses' and my brother's blood, 

For proffer'd peace! and sues his seed for grace? 

No, die, and pay the forfeit of your race." 



BOOK XI. 



327 



This said, Pisander from the car he cast, 

And pierced his breast: supine he breathed his last. 

His brother leap'd to earth; but, as he lay, 

The trenchant falchion lopp'd his hands away; 

His sever'd head was toss'd among the throng, 

And, rolling, drew a bloody train along. 

Then, where the thickest fought, the victor flew; 

The king's example all his Greeks pursue. 

Now by the foot the flying foot were slain, 

Horse trod by horse, lay foaming on the plain. 

From the dry fields thick clouds of dust arise, 

Shade the black host, and intercept the skies. 

The brass-hoof d steeds tumultuous plunge and bound, 

And the thick thunder beats the labouring ground, 

Still slaughtering on, the king of men proceeds; 

The distanced army wonders at his deeds, 

As when the winds with raging flames conspire, 

And o'er the forests roll the flood of fire, 

In blazing heaps the grove's old honours fall, 

And one refulgent ruin levels all: 

Before Atrides' rage so sinks the foe, 

Whole squadrons vanish, and proud heads lie low. 

The steeds fly trembling from his waving sword, 

And many a car, now lighted of its lord, 

Wide o'er the field with guideless fury rolls, 

Breaking their ranks, and crushing out their souls; 

While his keen falchion drinks the warriors' lives; 

More grateful, now, to vultures than their wives! 

Perhaps great Hector then had found his fate, 
But Jove and destiny prolong'd his date. 
Safe from the darts, the care of heaven he stood, 
Amidst alarms, and death, and dust, and blood. 



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Now past the tomb where ancient Ilus lay, 
Through the mid field the routed urge their way: 
Where the wild figs the adjoining summit crown, 
The path they take, and speed to reach the town. 
As swift, Atrides with loud shouts pursued, 
Hot with his toil, and bathed in hostile blood. 
Now near the beech-tree, and the Scaean gates, 
The hero halts, and his associates waits. 
Meanwhile on every side around the plain, 
Dispersed, disorder'd, fly the Trojan train. 
So flies a herd of beeves, that hear dismay'd 
[201] The lion's roaring through the midnight shade; 

On heaps they tumble with successless haste; 
The savage seizes, draws, and rends the last. 
Not with less fury stern Atrides flew, 
Still press'd the rout, and still the hindmost slew; 
Hurl'd from their cars the bravest chiefs are kill'd, 
And rage, and death, and carnage load the field. 

Now storms the victor at the Trojan wall; 
Surveys the towers, and meditates their fall. 
But Jove descending shook the Idaean hills, 
And down their summits pour'd a hundred rills: 
The unkindled lightning in his hand he took, 
And thus the many-coloured maid bespoke: 

"Iris, with haste thy golden wings display, 
To godlike Hector this our word convey — 
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around, 
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground, 
Bid him give way; but issue forth commands, 
And trust the war to less important hands: 
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart, 
That chief shall mount his chariot, and depart, 



BOOK XI. 



329 



Then Jove shall string his arm, and fire his breast, 
Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press'd, 
Till to the main the burning sun descend, 
And sacred night her awful shade extend." 

He spoke, and Iris at his word obey'd; 
On wings of winds descends the various maid. 
The chief she found amidst the ranks of war, 
Close to the bulwarks, on his glittering car. 
The goddess then: "O son of Priam, hear! 
From Jove I come, and his high mandate bear. 
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around, 
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground, 
Abstain from fight; yet issue forth commands, 
And trust the war to less important hands: 
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart, 
The chief shall mount his chariot, and depart, 
Then Jove shall string thy arm, and fire thy breast, 
Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press'd, 
Till to the main the burning sun descend, 
And sacred night her awful shade extend." 

She said, and vanish'd. Hector, with a bound, 
Springs from his chariot on the trembling ground, 
In clanging arms: he grasps in either hand 
A pointed lance, and speeds from band to band; 
Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight, 
And wakes anew the dying flames of fight. 
They stand to arms: the Greeks their onset dare, 
Condense their powers, and wait the coming war. 
New force, new spirit, to each breast returns; 

The fight renew'd with fiercer fury burns: [202] 
The king leads on: all fix on him their eye, 
And learn from him to conquer, or to die. 



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Ye sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell, 

Who faced him first, and by his prowess fell? 

The great Iphidamas, the bold and young, 

From sage Antenor and Theano sprung; 

Whom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred, 

And nursed in Thrace where snowy flocks are fed. 

Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest, 

And early honour warm his generous breast, 

When the kind sire consign'd his daughter's charms 

(Theano's sister) to his youthful arms. 

But call'd by glory to the wars of Troy, 

He leaves untasted the first fruits of joy; 

From his loved bride departs with melting eyes, 

And swift to aid his dearer country flies. 

With twelve black ships he reach'd Percope's strand, 

Thence took the long laborious march by land. 

Now fierce for fame, before the ranks he springs, 

Towering in arms, and braves the king of kings. 

Atrides first discharged the missive spear; 

The Trojan stoop'd, the javelin pass'd in air. 

Then near the corslet, at the monarch's heart, 

With all his strength, the youth directs his dart: 

But the broad belt, with plates of silver bound, 

The point rebated, and repell'd the wound. 

Encumber'd with the dart, Atrides stands, 

Till, grasp'd with force, he wrench'd it from his hands; 

At once his weighty sword discharged a wound 

Full on his neck, that fell'd him to the ground. 

Stretch'd in the dust the unhappy warrior lies, 

And sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes. 

Oh worthy better fate! oh early slain! 

Thy country's friend; and virtuous, though in vain! 

No more the youth shall join his consort's side, 

At once a virgin, and at once a bride! 



BOOK XI. 



No more with presents her embraces meet, 
Or lay the spoils of conquest at her feet, 
On whom his passion, lavish of his store, 
Bestow'd so much, and vainly promised more! 
Unwept, uncover'd, on the plain he lay, 
While the proud victor bore his arms away. 

Coon, Antenor's eldest hope, was nigh: 

Tears, at the sight, came starting from his eye, 

While pierced with grief the much-loved youth he view'i 

And the pale features now deform'd with blood. 

Then, with his spear, unseen, his time he took, 

Aim'd at the king, and near his elbow strook. 

The thrilling steel transpierced the brawny part, 

And through his arm stood forth the barbed dart. 

Surprised the monarch feels, yet void of fear 

On Coon rushes with his lifted spear: 

His brother's corpse the pious Trojan draws, 

And calls his country to assert his cause; 

Defends him breathless on the sanguine field, 

And o'er the body spreads his ample shield. 

Atrides, marking an unguarded part, 

Transfix'd the warrior with his brazen dart; 

Prone on his brother's bleeding breast he lay, 

The monarch's falchion lopp'd his head away: 

The social shades the same dark journey go, 

And join each other in the realms below. 

The vengeful victor rages round the fields, 

With every weapon art or fury yields: 

By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone, 

Whole ranks are broken, and whole troops o'erthrown. 

This, while yet warm distill'd the purple flood; 

But when the wound grew stiff with clotted blood, 



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Then grinding tortures his strong bosom rend, 
Less keen those darts the fierce Ilythiae send: 
(The powers that cause the teeming matron's throes, 
Sad mothers of unutterable woes!) 
Stung with the smart, all-panting with the pain, 
He mounts the car, and gives his squire the rein; 
Then with a voice which fury made more strong, 
And pain augmented, thus exhorts the throng: 

"O friends! O Greeks! assert your honours won; 
Proceed, and finish what this arm begun: 
Lo ! angry Jove forbids your chief to stay, 
And envies half the glories of the day." 

He said: the driver whirls his lengthful thong; 
The horses fly; the chariot smokes along. 
Clouds from their nostrils the fierce coursers blow, 
And from their sides the foam descends in snow; 
Shot through the battle in a moment's space, 
The wounded monarch at his tent they place. 

No sooner Hector saw the king retired, 
But thus his Trojans and his aids he fired: 
"Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race! 
Famed in close fight, and dreadful face to face: 
Now call to mind your ancient trophies won, 
Your great forefathers' virtues, and your own. 
Behold, the general flies ! deserts his powers ! 
Lo, Jove himself declares the conquest ours ! 
Now on yon ranks impel your foaming steeds; 
And, sure of glory, dare immortal deeds." 



BOOK XI. 



333 



With words like these the fiery chief alarms 

His fainting host, and every bosom warms. 

As the bold hunter cheers his hounds to tear 

The brindled lion, or the tusky bear: 

With voice and hand provokes their doubting heart, 

And springs the foremost with his lifted dart: 

So godlike Hector prompts his troops to dare; 

Nor prompts alone, but leads himself the war. 

On the black body of the foe he pours; 

As from the cloud's deep bosom, swell'd with showers, 

A sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps, 

Drives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps. 

Say, Muse! when Jove the Trojan's glory crown'd, 

Beneath his arm what heroes bit the ground? 

Assaeus, Dolops, and Autonous died, 

Opites next was added to their side; 

Then brave Hipponous, famed in many a fight, 

Opheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night; 

iEsymnus, Agelaus; all chiefs of name; 

The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame. 

As when a western whirlwind, charged with storms, 

Dispels the gather'd clouds that Notus forms: 

The gust continued, violent and strong, 

Rolls sable clouds in heaps on heaps along; 

Now to the skies the foaming billows rears, 

Now breaks the surge, and wide the bottom bares: 

Thus, raging Hector, with resistless hands, 

O'erturns, confounds, and scatters all their bands. 

Now the last ruin the whole host appals; 

Now Greece had trembled in her wooden walls; 

But wise Ulysses call'd Tydides forth, 

His soul rekindled, and awaked his worth. 

"And stand we deedless, O eternal shame! 

Till Hector's arm involve the ships in flame? 



334 



The Iliad of Homer 



Haste, let us join, and combat side by side." 
The warrior thus, and thus the friend replied: 

"No martial toil I shun, no danger fear; 

Let Hector come; I wait his fury here. 

But Jove with conquest crowns the Trojan train: 

And, Jove our foe, all human force is vain." 

He sigh'd; but, sighing, raised his vengeful steel, 
And from his car the proud Thymbraeus fell: 
Molion, the charioteer, pursued his lord, 
His death ennobled by Ulysses' sword. 
There slain, they left them in eternal night, 
Then plunged amidst the thickest ranks of fight. 
So two wild boars outstrip the following hounds, 
Then swift revert, and wounds return for wounds. 
Stern Hector's conquests in the middle plain 
Stood check'd awhile, and Greece respired again. 

The sons of Merops shone amidst the war; 
Towering they rode in one refulgent car: 
In deep prophetic arts their father skill'd, 
[205] Had warn'd his children from the Trojan field. 

Fate urged them on: the father warn'd in vain; 
They rush'd to fight, and perish'd on the plain; 
Their breasts no more the vital spirit warms; 
The stern Tydides strips their shining arms. 
Hypirochus by great Ulysses dies, 
And rich Hippodamus becomes his prize. 
Great Jove from Ide with slaughter fills his sight, 
And level hangs the doubtful scale of fight. 
By Tydeus' lance Agastrophus was slain, 
The far-famed hero of Paeonian strain; 
Wing'd with his fears, on foot he strove to fly, 
His steeds too distant, and the foe too nigh: 



BOOK XI. 



335 



Through broken orders, swifter than the wind, 
He fled, but flying left his life behind. 
This Hector sees, as his experienced eyes 
Traverse the files, and to the rescue flies; 
Shouts, as he pass'd, the crystal regions rend, 
And moving armies on his march attend. 
Great Diomed himself was seized with fear, 
And thus bespoke his brother of the war: 

"Mark how this way yon bending squadrons yield! 

The storm rolls on, and Hector rules the field: 

Here stand his utmost force." — The warrior said; 

Swift at the word his ponderous javelin fled; 

Nor miss'd its aim, but where the plumage danced 

Razed the smooth cone, and thence obliquely glanced. 

Safe in his helm (the gift of Phoebus' hands) 

Without a wound the Trojan hero stands; 

But yet so stunn'd, that, staggering on the plain. 

His arm and knee his sinking bulk sustain; 

O'er his dim sight the misty vapours rise, 

And a short darkness shades his swimming eyes. 

Tydides followed to regain his lance; 

While Hector rose, recover'd from the trance, 

Remounts his car, and herds amidst the crowd: 

The Greek pursues him, and exults aloud: 

"Once more thank Phoebus for thy forfeit breath, 

Or thank that swiftness which outstrips the death. 

Well by Apollo are thy prayers repaid, 

And oft that partial power has lent his aid. 

Thou shall not long the death deserved withstand, 

If any god assist Tydides' hand. 

Fly then, inglorious! but thy flight, this day, 

Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay," 



336 



The Iliad of Homer 



Him, while he triumph'd, Paris eyed from far, 
(The spouse of Helen, the fair cause of war;) 
Around the fields his feather'd shafts he sent, 
From ancient Ilus' ruin'd monument: 
Behind the column placed, he bent his bow, 
[206] And wing'd an arrow at the unwary foe; 

Just as he stoop'd, Agastrophus's crest 
To seize, and drew the corslet from his breast, 
The bowstring twang'd; nor flew the shaft in vain, 
But pierced his foot, and nail'd it to the plain. 
The laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring. 
Leaps from his ambush, and insults the king. 

"He bleeds! (he cries) some god has sped my dart! 
Would the same god had fix'd it in his heart! 
So Troy, relieved from that wide-wasting hand, 
Should breathe from slaughter and in combat stand: 
Whose sons now tremble at his darted spear, 
As scatter'd lambs the rushing lion fear." 

He dauntless thus: "Thou conqueror of the fair, 

Thou woman-warrior with the curling hair; 

Vain archer! trusting to the distant dart, 

Unskill'd in arms to act a manly part! 

Thou hast but done what boys or women can; 

Such hands may wound, but not incense a man. 

Nor boast the scratch thy feeble arrow gave, 

A coward's weapon never hurts the brave. 

Not so this dart, which thou may'st one day feel; 

Fate wings its flight, and death is on the steel: 

Where this but lights, some noble life expires; 

Its touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks of sires, 

Steeps earth in purple, gluts the birds of air, 

And leaves such objects as distract the fair." 



BOOK XI. 



337 



Ulysses hastens with a trembling heart, 
Before him steps, and bending draws the dart: 
Forth flows the blood; an eager pang succeeds; 
Tydides mounts, and to the navy speeds. 



Now on the field Ulysses stands alone, 
The Greeks all fled, the Trojans pouring on; 
But stands collected in himself, and whole, 
And questions thus his own unconquer'd soul: 



"What further subterfuge, what hopes remain? 
What shame, inglorious if I quit the plain? 
What danger, singly if I stand the ground, 
My friends all scatter'd, all the foes around? 
Yet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice, 
The brave meets danger, and the coward flies. 
To die or conquer, proves a hero's heart; 
And, knowing this, I know a soldier's part." 



Such thoughts revolving in his careful breast, 
Near, and more near, the shady cohorts press'd; 
These, in the warrior, their own fate enclose; 
And round him deep the steely circle grows. 
So fares a boar whom all the troop surrounds 
Of shouting huntsmen and of clamorous hounds; 
He grinds his ivory tusks; he foams with ire; 

His sanguine eye-balls glare with living fire; [207] 



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By these, by those, on every part is plied; 
And the red slaughter spreads on every side. 
Pierced through the shoulder, first Deiopis fell; 
Next Ennomus and Thoon sank to hell; 
Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust, 
Falls prone to earth, and grasps the bloody dust. 
Charops, the son of Hippasus, was near; 
Ulysses reach'd him with the fatal spear; 
But to his aid his brother Socus flies, 
Socus the brave, the generous, and the wise. 
Near as he drew, the warrior thus began: 



"O great Ulysses! much-enduring man! 

Not deeper skill'd in every martial sleight, 

Than worn to toils, and active in the fight! 

This day two brothers shall thy conquest grace, 

And end at once the great Hippasian race, 

Or thou beneath this lance must press the field." 

He said, and forceful pierced his spacious shield: 

Through the strong brass the ringing javelin thrown, 

Plough'd half his side, and bared it to the bone. 

By Pallas' care, the spear, though deep infix'd, 

Stopp'd short of life, nor with his entrails mix'd. 



The wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew, 
Then furious thus (but first some steps withdrew): 
"Unhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace, 
Fate calls thee hence and finish'd is thy race. 
Nor longer check my conquests on the foe; 
But, pierced by this, to endless darkness go, 
And add one spectre to the realms below ! " 



BOOK XI. 



339 



He spoke, while Socus, seized with sudden fright, 
Trembling gave way, and turn'd his back to flight; 
Between his shoulders pierced the following dart, 
And held its passage through the panting heart: 
Wide in his breast appear'd the grisly wound; 
He falls; his armour rings against the ground. 
Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain: 
"Famed son of Hippasus! there press the plain; 
There ends thy narrow span assign'd by fate, 
Heaven owes Ulysses yet a longer date. 
Ah, wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose; 
Thy dying eyes no tender mother close; 
But hungry birds shall tear those balls away, 
And hovering vultures scream around their prey. 
Me Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom, 
With solemn funerals and a lasting tomb." 

Then raging with intolerable smart, 

He writhes his body, and extracts the dart. 

The dart a tide of spouting gore pursued, 

And gladden'd Troy with sight of hostile blood. 

Now troops on troops the fainting chief invade, [208] 

Forced he recedes, and loudly calls for aid. 

Thrice to its pitch his lofty voice he rears; 

The well-known voice thrice Menelaus hears: 

Alarm'd, to Ajax Telamon he cried, 

Who shares his labours, and defends his side: 

"O friend! Ulysses' shouts invade my ear; 

Distressed he seems, and no assistance near; 

Strong as he is, yet one opposed to all, 

Oppress'd by multitudes, the best may fall. 

Greece robb'd of him must bid her host despair, 

And feel a loss not ages can repair." 



340 



The Iliad of Homer 



Then, where the cry directs, his course he bends; 
Great Ajax, like the god of war, attends, 
The prudent chief in sore distress they found, 
With bands of furious Trojans compass'd round. 223 
As when some huntsman, with a flying spear, 
From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer; 
Down his cleft side, while fresh the blood distils, 
He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills, 
Till life's warm vapour issuing through the wound, 
Wild mountain-wolves the fainting beast surround: 
Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade, 
The lion rushes through the woodland shade, 
The wolves, though hungry, scour dispersed away; 
The lordly savage vindicates his prey. 
Ulysses thus, unconquer'd by his pains, 
A single warrior half a host sustains: 
But soon as Ajax leaves his tower-like shield, 
The scattered crowds fly frighted o'er the field; 
Atrides' arm the sinking hero stays, 
And, saved from numbers, to his car conveys. 

Victorious Ajax plies the routed crew; 
And first Doryclus, Priam's son, he slew, 
On strong Pandocus next inflicts a wound, 
And lays Lysander bleeding on the ground. 



"Circled with foes as when a packe of bloodie jackals cling 

About a goodly palmed hart, hurt with a hunter's bow 

Whose escape his nimble feet insure, whilst his warm blood doth flow, 

And his light knees have power to move: but (maistred by his wound) 

Embost within a shady hill, the jackals charge him round, 

And teare his flesh — when instantly fortune sends in the powers 

Of some sterne lion, with whose sighte they flie and he devours. 

So they around Ulysses prest." 

— Chapman. 



BOOK XI. 



341 



As when a torrent, swell'd with wintry rains, 
Pours from the mountains o'er the deluged plains, 
And pines and oaks, from their foundations torn, 
A country's ruins! to the seas are borne: 
Fierce Ajax thus o'erwhelms the yielding throng; 
Men, steeds, and chariots, roll in heaps along. 



But Hector, from this scene of slaughter far, 

Raged on the left, and ruled the tide of war: [209] 

Loud groans proclaim his progress through the plain, 

And deep Scamander swells with heaps of slain. 

There Nestor and Idomeneus oppose 

The warrior's fury; there the battle glows; 

There fierce on foot, or from the chariot's height, 

His sword deforms the beauteous ranks of fight. 

The spouse of Helen, dealing darts around, 

Had pierced Machaon with a distant wound: 

In his right shoulder the broad shaft appear'd, 

And trembling Greece for her physician fear'd. 

To Nestor then Idomeneus begun: 

"Glory of Greece, old Neleus' valiant son! 

Ascend thy chariot, haste with speed away, 

And great Machaon to the ships convey; 

A wise physician skill'd our wounds to heal, 

Is more than armies to the public weal." 

Old Nestor mounts the seat; beside him rode 

The wounded offspring of the healing god. 

He lends the lash; the steeds with sounding feet 

Shake the dry field, and thunder toward the fleet. 



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But now Cebriones, from Hector's car, 
Survey'd the various fortune of the war: 
"While here (he cried) the flying Greeks are slain, 
Trojans on Trojans yonder load the plain. 
Before great Ajax see the mingled throng 
Of men and chariots driven in heaps along ! 
I know him well, distinguish'd o'er the field 
By the broad glittering of the sevenfold shield. 
Thither, O Hector, thither urge thy steeds, 
There danger calls, and there the combat bleeds; 
There horse and foot in mingled deaths unite, 
And groans of slaughter mix with shouts of fight." 

Thus having spoke, the driver's lash resounds; 
Swift through the ranks the rapid chariot bounds; 
Stung by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields, 
O'er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields. 
The horses' hoofs are bathed in heroes' gore, 
And, dashing, purple all the car before; 
The groaning axle sable drops distils, 
And mangled carnage clogs the rapid wheels. 
Here Hector, plunging through the thickest fight, 
Broke the dark phalanx, and let in the light: 
(By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone. 
The ranks he scatter'd and the troops o'erthrown:) 
Ajax he shuns, through all the dire debate, 
And fears that arm whose force he felt so late. 
But partial Jove, espousing Hector's part, 
Shot heaven-bred horror through the Grecian's heart; 
Confused, unnerved in Hector's presence grown, 
[210] Amazed he stood, with terrors not his own. 

O'er his broad back his moony shield he threw, 
And, glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew. 
Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains, 



BOOK XI. 



343 



Beset with watchful dogs, and shouting swains; 
Repulsed by numbers from the nightly stalls, 
Though rage impels him, and though hunger calls, 
Long stands the showering darts, and missile fires; 
Then sourly slow the indignant beast retires: 
So turn'd stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell'd, 
While his swoln heart at every step rebell'd. 

As the slow beast, with heavy strength endued, 

In some wide field by troops of boys pursued, 

Though round his sides a wooden tempest rain, 

Crops the tall harvest, and lays waste the plain; 

Thick on his hide the hollow blows resound, 

The patient animal maintains his ground, 

Scarce from the field with all their efforts chased, 

And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last: 

On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung, 

The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung; 

Confiding now in bulky strength he stands, 

Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands; 

Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly, 

And threats his followers with retorted eye. 

Fix'd as the bar between two warring powers, 

While hissing darts descend in iron showers: 

In his broad buckler many a weapon stood, 

Its surface bristled with a quivering wood; 

And many a javelin, guiltless on the plain, 

Marks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain. 

But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts, 

And dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts; 

Whose eager javelin launch'd against the foe, 

Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow; 

From his torn liver the red current flow'd, 

And his slack knees desert their dying load. 



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The victor rushing to despoil the dead, 
From Paris' bow a vengeful arrow fled; 
Fix'd in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, 
Fix'd was the point, but broken was the wood. 
Back to the lines the wounded Greek retired, 
Yet thus retreating, his associates fired: 

"What god, O Grecians ! has your hearts dismay'd? 
Oh, turn to arms; 'tis Ajax claims your aid. 
This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage, 
And this the last brave battle he shall wage: 
Haste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave 
The warrior rescue, and your country save. " 
Thus urged the chief: a generous troop appears, 
[2ii] Who spread their bucklers, and advance their spears, 

To guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand 
With pious care, great Ajax joins the band: 
Each takes new courage at the hero's sight; 
The hero rallies, and renews the fight. 

Thus raged both armies like conflicting fires, 
While Nestor's chariot far from fight retires: 
His coursers steep'd in sweat, and stain'd with gore, 
The Greeks' preserver, great Machaon, bore. 
That hour Achilles, from the topmost height 
Of his proud fleet, o'erlook'd the fields of fight; 
His feasted eyes beheld around the plain 
The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain. 
His friend Machaon singled from the rest, 
A transient pity touch'd his vengeful breast. 
Straight to Menoetius' much-loved son he sent: 
Graceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent; 
In evil hour! Then fate decreed his doom, 
And fix'd the date of all his woes to come. 



BOOK XI. 



345 



"Why calls my friend? thy loved injunctions lay; 
Whate'er thy will, Patroclus shall obey. " 

"O first of friends! (Pelides thus replied) 

Still at my heart, and ever at my side! 

The time is come, when yon despairing host 

Shall learn the value of the man they lost: 

Now at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan, 

And proud Atrides tremble on his throne. 

Go now to Nestor, and from him be taught 

What wounded warrior late his chariot brought: 

For, seen at distance, and but seen behind, 

His form recall'd Machaon to my mind; 

Nor could I, through yon cloud, discern his face, 

The coursers pass'd me with so swift a pace. " 

The hero said. His friend obey'd with haste, 

Through intermingled ships and tents he pass'd; 

The chiefs descending from their car he found: 

The panting steeds Eurymedon unbound. 

The warriors standing on the breezy shore, 

To dry their sweat, and wash away the gore, 

Here paused a moment, while the gentle gale 

Convey'd that freshness the cool seas exhale; 

Then to consult on farther methods went, 

And took their seats beneath the shady tent. 

The draught prescribed, fair Hecamede prepares, 

Arsinous' daughter, graced with golden hairs: 

(Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave, 

Greece, as the prize of Nestor's wisdom gave:) 

A table first with azure feet she placed; 

Whose ample orb a brazen charger graced; 

Honey new-press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, 

And wholesome garlic, crown'd the savoury treat, [212] 



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Next her white hand an antique goblet brings, 
A goblet sacred to the Pylian kings 
From eldest times: emboss'd with studs of gold, 
Two feet support it, and four handles hold; 
On each bright handle, bending o'er the brink, 
In sculptured gold, two turtles seem to drink: 
A massy weight, yet heaved with ease by him, 
When the brisk nectar overlook'd the brim. 
Temper'd in this, the nymph of form divine 
Pours a large portion of the Pramnian wine; 
With goat's-milk cheese a flavourous taste bestows, 
And last with flour the smiling surface straws: 
This for the wounded prince the dame prepares: 
The cordial beverage reverend Nestor shares: 
Salubrious draughts the warriors' thirst allay, 
And pleasing conference beguiles the day. 

Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent, 
Unheard approached, and stood before the tent. 
Old Nestor, rising then, the hero led 
To his high seat: the chief refused and said: 

"Tis now no season for these kind delays; 
The great Achilles with impatience stays. 
To great Achilles this respect I owe; 
Who asks, what hero, wounded by the foe, 
Was borne from combat by thy foaming steeds? 
With grief I see the great Machaon bleeds. 
This to report, my hasty course I bend; 
Thou know'st the fiery temper of my friend." 
"Can then the sons of Greece (the sage rejoin'd) 
Excite compassion in Achilles' mind? 
Seeks he the sorrows of our host to know? 
This is not half the story of our woe. 



BOOK XI. 



347 



Tell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone, 

Our bravest heroes in the navy groan, 

Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, 

And stern Eurypylus, already bleed. 

But, ah! what flattering hopes I entertain! 

Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain: 

Even till the flames consume our fleet he stays, 

And waits the rising of the fatal blaze. 

Chief after chief the raging foe destroys; 

Calm he looks on, and every death enjoys. 

Now the slow course of all-impairing time 

Unstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime; 

Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess'd, 

When this bold arm the Epeian powers oppress'd, 

The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led, 

And stretch'd the great Itymonaeus dead! 

Then from my fury fled the trembling swains, 

And ours was all the plunder of the plains: [213] 

Fifty white flocks, full fifty herds of swine, 

As many goats, as many lowing kine: 

And thrice the number of unrivall'd steeds, 

All teeming females, and of generous breeds. 

These, as my first essay of arms, I won; 

Old Neleus gloried in his conquering son. 

Thus Elis forced, her long arrears restored, 

And shares were parted to each Pylian lord. 

The state of Pyle was sunk to last despair, 

When the proud Elians first commenced the war: 

For Neleus' sons Alcides' rage had slain; 

Of twelve bold brothers, I alone remain! 

Oppress'd, we arm'd; and now this conquest gain'd, 

My sire three hundred chosen sheep obtain'd. 

(That large reprisal he might justly claim, 

For prize defrauded, and insulted fame, 



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When Elis' monarch, at the public course, 

Detain'd his chariot, and victorious horse.) 

The rest the people shared; myself survey'd 

The just partition, and due victims paid. 

Three days were past, when Elis rose to war, 

With many a courser, and with many a car; 

The sons of Actor at their army's head 

(Young as they were) the vengeful squadrons led. 

High on the rock fair Thryoessa stands, 

Our utmost frontier on the Pylian lands: 

Not far the streams of famed Alphaeus flow: 

The stream they pass'd, and pitch'd their tents below. 

Pallas, descending in the shades of night, 

Alarms the Pylians and commands the fight. 

Each burns for fame, and swells with martial pride, 

Myself the foremost; but my sire denied; 

Fear'd for my youth, exposed to stern alarms; 

And stopp'd my chariot, and detain'd my arms. 

My sire denied in vain: on foot I fled 

Amidst our chariots; for the goddess led. 

"Along fair Arene's delightful plain 
Soft Minyas rolls his waters to the main: 
There, horse and foot, the Pylian troops unite, 
And sheathed in arms, expect the dawning light. 
Thence, ere the sun advanced his noon-day flame, 
To great Alphaeus' sacred source we came. 
There first to Jove our solemn rites were paid; 
An untamed heifer pleased the blue-eyed maid; 
A bull, Alphaeus; and a bull was slain 
To the blue monarch of the watery main. 
In arms we slept, beside the winding flood, 
While round the town the fierce Epeians stood. 
Soon as the sun, with all-revealing ray, 



BOOK XI. 



349 



Flamed in the front of Heaven, and gave the day. [214] 

Bright scenes of arms, and works of war appear; 

The nations meet; there Pylos, Elis here. 

The first who fell, beneath my javelin bled; 

King Augias' son, and spouse of Agamede: 

(She that all simples' healing virtues knew, 

And every herb that drinks the morning dew:) 

I seized his car, the van of battle led; 

The Epeians saw, they trembled, and they fled. 

The foe dispersed, their bravest warrior kill'd, 

Fierce as the whirlwind now I swept the field: 

Full fifty captive chariots graced my train; 

Two chiefs from each fell breathless to the plain. 

Then Actor's sons had died, but Neptune shrouds 

The youthful heroes in a veil of clouds. 

O'er heapy shields, and o'er the prostrate throng, 

Collecting spoils, and slaughtering all along, 

Through wide Buprasian fields we forced the foes, 

Where o'er the vales the Olenian rocks arose; 

Till Pallas stopp'd us where Alisium flows. 

Even there the hindmost of the rear I slay, 

And the same arm that led concludes the day; 

Then back to Pyle triumphant take my way. 

There to high Jove were public thanks assign'd, 

As first of gods; to Nestor, of mankind. 

Such then I was, impell'd by youthful blood; 

So proved my valour for my country's good. 

"Achilles with unactive fury glows, 
And gives to passion what to Greece he owes. 
How shall he grieve, when to the eternal shade 
Her hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid! 
friend! my memory recalls the day, 
When, gathering aids along the Grecian sea, 



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I, and Ulysses, touch'd at Phthia's port, 
And entered Peleus' hospitable court. 
A bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice, 
And pour'd libations on the flaming thighs. 
Thyself, Achilles, and thy reverend sire 
Menoetius, turn'd the fragments on the fire. 
Achilles sees us, to the feast invites; 
Social we sit, and share the genial rites. 
We then explained the cause on which we came, 
Urged you to arms, and found you fierce for fame. 
Your ancient fathers generous precepts gave; 
Peleus said only this: — 'My son! be brave.' 
Menoetius thus: 'Though great Achilles shine 
In strength superior, and of race divine, 
Yet cooler thoughts thy elder years attend; 
Let thy just counsels aid, and rule thy friend.' 
Thus spoke your father at Thessalia's court: 
[215] Words now forgot, though now of vast import. 

Ah! try the utmost that a friend can say: 
Such gentle force the fiercest minds obey; 
Some favouring god Achilles' heart may move; 
Though deaf to glory, he may yield to love. 
If some dire oracle his breast alarm, 
If aught from Heaven withhold his saving arm, 
Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, 
If thou but lead the Myrmidonian line; 
Clad in Achilles' arms, if thou appear, 
Proud Troy may tremble, and desist from war; 
Press'd by fresh forces, her o'er-labour'd train 
Shall seek their walls, and Greece respire again." 

This touch'd his generous heart, and from the tent 
Along the shore with hasty strides he went; 
Soon as he came, where, on the crowded strand, 



BOOK XI. 



The public mart and courts of justice stand, 
Where the tall fleet of great Ulysses lies, 
And altars to the guardian gods arise; 
There, sad, he met the brave Euaemon's son, 
Large painful drops from all his members run; 
An arrow's head yet rooted in his wound, 
The sable blood in circles mark'd the ground. 
As faintly reeling he confess'd the smart, 
Weak was his pace, but dauntless was his heart. 
Divine compassion touch'd Patroclus' breast, 
Who, sighing, thus his bleeding friend address'd: 

'Ah, hapless leaders of the Grecian host! 

Thus must ye perish on a barbarous coast? 

Is this your fate, to glut the dogs with gore, 

Far from your friends, and from your native shore? 

Say, great Eurypylus! shall Greece yet stand? 

Resists she yet the raging Hector's hand? 

Or are her heroes doom'd to die with shame, 

And this the period of our wars and fame?" 

Eurypylus replies: "No more, my friend; 
Greece is no more! this day her glories end; 
Even to the ships victorious Troy pursues, 
Her force increasing as her toil renews. 
Those chiefs, that used her utmost rage to meet, 
Lie pierced with wounds, and bleeding in the fleet. 
But, thou, Patroclus! act a friendly part, 
Lead to my ships, and draw this deadly dart; 
With lukewarm water wash the gore away; 
With healing balms the raging smart allay, 
Such as sage Chiron, sire of pharmacy, 
Once taught Achilles, and Achilles thee. 
Of two famed surgeons, Podalirius stands 



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This hour surrounded by the Trojan bands; 
And great Machaon, wounded in his tent, 
Now wants that succour which so oft he lent." 

To him the chief: "What then remains to do? 
The event of things the gods alone can view. 
Charged by Achilles' great command I fly, 
And bear with haste the Pylian king's reply: 
But thy distress this instant claims relief." 
He said, and in his arms upheld the chief. 
The slaves their master's slow approach survey'd, 
And hides of oxen on the floor display'd: 
There stretch'd at length the wounded hero lay; 
Patroclus cut the forky steel away: 
Then in his hands a bitter root he bruised; 
The wound he wash'd, the styptic juice infused. 
The closing flesh that instant ceased to glow, 
The wound to torture, and the blood to flow. 



BOOK XI. 



353 




HERCULES. 



[217] 



BOOK XII. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE BATTLE AT THE GRECIAN WALL. 

The Greeks having retired into their intrenchments, Hector 
attempts to force them; but it proving impossible to pass the 
ditch, Polydamas advises to quit their chariots, and manage the 
attack on foot. The Trojans follow his counsel; and having 
divided their army into five bodies of foot, begin the assault. But 
upon the signal of an eagle with a serpent in his talons, which 
appeared on the left hand of the Trojans, Polydamas endeavours 
to withdraw them again. This Hector opposes, and continues the 
attack; in which, after many actions, Sarpedon makes the first 
breach in the wall. Hector also, casting a stone of vast size, forces 
open one of the gates, and enters at the head of his troops, who 
victoriously pursue the Grecians even to their ships. 

While thus the hero's pious cares attend 
The cure and safety of his wounded friend, 
Trojans and Greeks with clashing shields engage, 
And mutual deaths are dealt with mutual rage. 
Nor long the trench or lofty walls oppose; 
With gods averse the ill-fated works arose; 
Their powers neglected, and no victim slain, 
The walls were raised, the trenches sunk in vain. 



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Without the gods, how short a period stands 
The proudest monument of mortal hands ! 
This stood while Hector and Achilles raged. 
While sacred Troy the warring hosts engaged; 
But when her sons were slain, her city burn'd, 
And what survived of Greece to Greece return'd; 
Then Neptune and Apollo shook the shore, 
Then Ida's summits pour'd their watery store; 
Rhesus and Rhodius then unite their rills, 
Caresus roaring down the stony hills, 
iEsepus, Granicus, with mingled force, 
And Xanthus foaming from his fruitful source; 
[218] And gulfy Simois, rolling to the main 224 

Helmets, and shields, and godlike heroes slain: 

These, turn'd by Phoebus from their wonted ways, 

Deluged the rampire nine continual days; 

The weight of waters saps the yielding wall, 

And to the sea the floating bulwarks fall. 

Incessant cataracts the Thunderer pours, 

And half the skies descend in sluicy showers. 

The god of ocean, marching stern before, 

With his huge trident wounds the trembling shore, 

Vast stones and piles from their foundation heaves, 

And whelms the smoky ruin in the waves. 

Now smooth'd with sand, and levell'd by the flood, 

No fragment tells where once the wonder stood; 

In their old bounds the rivers roll again, 

Shine 'twixt the hills, or wander o'er the plain. 225 

224 — Simois, railing, &c. 

"In those bloody fields 
Where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields 
Of heroes." 

— Dryden's Virgil, i. 142. 

225 



BOOK XII. 



357 



But this the gods in later times perform; 

As yet the bulwark stood, and braved the storm; 

The strokes yet echoed of contending powers; 

War thunder'd at the gates, and blood distain'd the towers. 

Smote by the arm of Jove with dire dismay, 

Close by their hollow ships the Grecians lay: 

Hector's approach in every wind they hear, 

And Hector's fury every moment fear. 

He, like a whirlwind, toss'd the scattering throng, 

Mingled the troops, and drove the field along. 

So 'midst the dogs and hunters' daring bands, 

Fierce of his might, a boar or lion stands; 

Arm'd foes around a dreadful circle form, 

And hissing javelins rain an iron storm: 

His powers untamed, their bold assault defy, 

And where he turns the rout disperse or die: 

He foams, he glares, he bounds against them all, 

And if he falls, his courage makes him fall. 

With equal rage encompass'd Hector glows; 

Exhorts his armies, and the trenches shows. 

The panting steeds impatient fury breathe, 

And snort and tremble at the gulf beneath; 

Just at the brink they neigh, and paw the ground, 

And the turf trembles, and the skies resound. 

Eager they view'd the prospect dark and deep, 

Vast was the leap, and headlong hung the steep; 

The bottom bare, (a formidable show!) 

And bristled thick with sharpen'd stakes below. 

"Where yon disorder'd heap of ruin lies, 

Stones rent from stones, — where clouds of dust arise, — 

Amid that smother, Neptune holds his place, 

Below the wall's foundation drives his mace, 

And heaves the building from the solid base." 



Dryden's Virgil, ii. 825. 



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The foot alone this strong defence could force, 
[219] And try the pass impervious to the horse. 

This saw Polydamas; who, wisely brave, 
Restrain'd great Hector, and this counsel gave: 



"O thou, bold leader of the Trojan bands! 

And you, confederate chiefs from foreign lands! 

What entrance here can cumbrous chariots find, 

The stakes beneath, the Grecian walls behind? 

No pass through those, without a thousand wounds, 

No space for combat in yon narrow bounds. 

Proud of the favours mighty Jove has shown, 

On certain dangers we too rashly run: 

If 'tis will our haughty foes to tame, 

Oh may this instant end the Grecian name! 

Here, far from Argos, let their heroes fall, 

And one great day destroy and bury all! 

But should they turn, and here oppress our train, 

What hopes, what methods of retreat remain? 

Wedged in the trench, by our own troops confused, 

In one promiscuous carnage crush'd and bruised, 

All Troy must perish, if their arms prevail, 

Nor shall a Trojan live to tell the tale. 

Hear then, ye warriors! and obey with speed; 

Back from the trenches let your steeds be led; 

Then all alighting, wedged in firm array, 

Proceed on foot, and Hector lead the way. 

So Greece shall stoop before our conquering power, 

And this (if Jove consent) her fatal hour." 



BOOK XII. 



359 




POLYDAMAS ADVISING HECTOR. 



This counsel pleased: the godlike Hector sprung 
Swift from his seat; his clanging armour rung. 
The chiefs example follow'd by his train, 
Each quits his car, and issues on the plain, 
By orders strict the charioteers enjoin'd 

Compel the coursers to their ranks behind. [220] 

The forces part in five distinguish'd bands, 

And all obey their several chiefs' commands. 

The best and bravest in the first conspire, 

Pant for the fight, and threat the fleet with fire: 

Great Hector glorious in the van of these, 

Polydamas, and brave Cebriones. 

Before the next the graceful Paris shines, 

And bold Alcathous, and Agenor joins. 

The sons of Priam with the third appear, 

Deiphobus, and Helenas the seer; 

In arms with these the mighty Asius stood, 

Who drew from Hyrtacus his noble blood, 

And whom Arisba's yellow coursers bore, 

The coursers fed on Selle's winding shore. 

Antenor's sons the fourth battalion guide, 



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And great ^Eneas, born on fountful Ide. 
Divine Sarpedon the last band obey'd, 
Whom Glaucus and Asteropaeus aid. 
Next him, the bravest, at their army's head, 
But he more brave than all the hosts he led. 



Now with compacted shields in close array, 
The moving legions speed their headlong way: 
Already in their hopes they fire the fleet, 
And see the Grecians gasping at their feet. 



While every Trojan thus, and every aid, 

The advice of wise Polydamas obey'd, 

Asius alone, confiding in his car, 

His vaunted coursers urged to meet the war. 

Unhappy hero! and advised in vain; 

Those wheels returning ne'er shall mark the plain; 

No more those coursers with triumphant joy 

Restore their master to the gates of Troy ! 

Black death attends behind the Grecian wall, 

And great Idomeneus shall boast thy fall! 

Fierce to the left he drives, where from the plain 

The flying Grecians strove their ships to gain; 

Swift through the wall their horse and chariots pass'd, 

The gates half-open'd to receive the last. 

Thither, exulting in his force, he flies: 

His following host with clamours rend the skies: 

To plunge the Grecians headlong in the main, 

Such their proud hopes; but all their hopes were vain! 



BOOK XII. 



To guard the gates, two mighty chiefs attend, 

Who from the Lapiths' warlike race descend; 

This Polypoetes, great Perithous' heir, 

And that Leonteus, like the god of war. 

As two tall oaks, before the wall they rise; 

Their roots in earth, their heads amidst the skies: 

Whose spreading arms with leafy honours crown'd, 

Forbid the tempest, and protect the ground; 

High on the hills appears their stately form, 

And their deep roots for ever brave the storm. 

So graceful these, and so the shock they stand 

Of raging Asius, and his furious band. 

Orestes, Acamas, in front appear, 

And OEnomaus and Thoon close the rear: 

In vain their clamours shake the ambient fields, 

In vain around them beat their hollow shields; 

The fearless brothers on the Grecians call, 

To guard their navies, and defend the wall. 

Even when they saw Troy's sable troops impend, 

And Greece tumultuous from her towers descend, 

Forth from the portals rush'd the intrepid pair, 

Opposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war. 

So two wild boars spring furious from their den, 

Roused with the cries of dogs and voice of men; 

On every side the crackling trees they tear, 

And root the shrubs, and lay the forest bare; 

They gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll, 

Till some wide wound lets out their mighty soul. 

Around their heads the whistling javelins sung, 

With sounding strokes their brazen targets rung; 

Fierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers 

Maintain'd the walls, and mann'd the lofty towers: 

To save their fleet their last efforts they try, 

And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly. 



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As when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and brings 
The dreary winter on his frozen wings; 
Beneath the low-hung clouds the sheets of snow 
Descend, and whiten all the fields below: 
So fast the darts on either army pour, 
So down the rampires rolls the rocky shower: 
Heavy, and thick, resound the batter'd shields, 
And the deaf echo rattles round the fields. 

With shame repulsed, with grief and fury driven, 
The frantic Asius thus accuses Heaven: 
"In powers immortal who shall now believe? 
Can those too flatter, and can Jove deceive? 
What man could doubt but Troy's victorious power 
Should humble Greece, and this her fatal hour? 
But like when wasps from hollow crannies drive, 
To guard the entrance of their common hive, 
Darkening the rock, while with unwearied wings 
They strike the assailants, and infix their stings; 
A race determined, that to death contend: 
So fierce these Greeks their last retreats defend. 
Gods! shall two warriors only guard their gates, 
Repel an army, and defraud the fates?" 

These empty accents mingled with the wind, 
[222] Nor moved great Jove's unalterable mind; 

To godlike Hector and his matchless might 

Was owed the glory of the destined fight. 

Like deeds of arms through all the forts were tried, 

And all the gates sustain'd an equal tide; 

Through the long walls the stony showers were heard, 

The blaze of flames, the flash of arms appear'd. 

The spirit of a god my breast inspire, 

To raise each act to life, and sing with fire! 



BOOK XII. 



363 



While Greece unconquer'd kept alive the war, 
Secure of death, confiding in despair; 
And all her guardian gods, in deep dismay, 
With unassisting arms deplored the day. 

Even yet the dauntless Lapithae maintain 

The dreadful pass, and round them heap the slain. 

First Damasus, by Polypoetes' steel, 

Pierced through his helmet's brazen visor, fell; 

The weapon drank the mingled brains and gore! 

The warrior sinks, tremendous now no more ! 

Next Ormenus and Pylon yield their breath: 

Nor less Leonteus strews the field with death; 

First through the belt Hippomachus he gored, 

Then sudden waved his unresisted sword: 

Antiphates, as through the ranks he broke, 

The falchion struck, and fate pursued the stroke: 

Iamenus, Orestes, Menon, bled; 

And round him rose a monument of dead. 

Meantime, the bravest of the Trojan crew, 

Bold Hector and Polydamas, pursue; 

Fierce with impatience on the works to fall, 

And wrap in rolling flames the fleet and wall. 

These on the farther bank now stood and gazed, 

By Heaven alarm'd, by prodigies amazed: 

A signal omen stopp'd the passing host, 

Their martial fury in their wonder lost. 

Jove's bird on sounding pinions beat the skies; 

A bleeding serpent of enormous size, 

His talons truss'd; alive, and curling round, 

He stung the bird, whose throat received the wound: 

Mad with the smart, he drops the fatal prey, 

In airy circles wings his painful way, 

Floats on the winds, and rends the heaven with cries: 



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Amidst the host the fallen serpent lies. 
They, pale with terror, mark its spires unroll'd, 
And Jove's portent with beating hearts behold. 
Then first Polydamas the silence broke, 
Long weigh'd the signal, and to Hector spoke: 

"How oft, my brother, thy reproach I bear, 
For words well meant, and sentiments sincere? 
True to those counsels which I judge the best, 
[223] I tell the faithful dictates of my breast. 

To speak his thoughts is every freeman's right, 
In peace, in war, in council, and in fight; 
And all I move, deferring to thy sway, 
But tends to raise that power which I obey. 
Then hear my words, nor may my words be vain! 
Seek not this day the Grecian ships to gain; 
For sure, to warn us, Jove his omen sent, 
And thus my mind explains its clear event: 
The victor eagle, whose sinister flight 
Retards our host, and fills our hearts with fright, 
Dismiss'd his conquest in the middle skies, 
Allow'd to seize, but not possess the prize; 
Thus, though we gird with fires the Grecian fleet, 
Though these proud bulwalks tumble at our feet, 
Toils unforeseen, and fiercer, are decreed; 
More woes shall follow, and more heroes bleed. 
So bodes my soul, and bids me thus advise; 
For thus a skilful seer would read the skies." 

To him then Hector with disdain return'd: 
(Fierce as he spoke, his eyes with fury burn'd:) 
"Are these the faithful counsels of thy tongue? 
Thy will is partial, not thy reason wrong: 
Or if the purpose of thy heart thou vent, 



BOOK XII. 



365 



Sure heaven resumes the little sense it lent. 

What coward counsels would thy madness move 

Against the word, the will reveal'd of Jove? 

The leading sign, the irrevocable nod, 

And happy thunders of the favouring god, 

These shall I slight, and guide my wavering mind 

By wandering birds that flit with every wind? 

Ye vagrants of the sky ! your wings extend, 

Or where the suns arise, or where descend; 

To right, to left, unheeded take your way, 

While I the dictates of high heaven obey. 

Without a sign his sword the brave man draws, 

And asks no omen but his country's cause. 

But why should'st thou suspect the war's success? 

None fears it more, as none promotes it less: 

Though all our chiefs amidst yon ships expire, 

Trust thy own cowardice to escape their fire. 

Troy and her sons may find a general grave, 

But thou canst live, for thou canst be a slave. 

Yet should the fears that wary mind suggests 

Spread their cold poison through our soldiers' breasts, 

My javelin can revenge so base a part, 

And free the soul that quivers in thy heart. " 

Furious he spoke, and, rushing to the wall, 
Calls on his host; his host obey the call; 
With ardour follow where their leader flies: 

Redoubling clamours thunder in the skies. [224] 

Jove breathes a whirlwind from the hills of Ide, 

And drifts of dust the clouded navy hide; 

He fills the Greeks with terror and dismay, 

And gives great Hector the predestined day. 

Strong in themselves, but stronger in his aid, 

Close to the works their rigid siege they laid. 



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In vain the mounds and massy beams defend, 
While these they undermine, and those they rend; 
Upheaved the piles that prop the solid wall; 
And heaps on heaps the smoky ruins fall. 
Greece on her ramparts stands the fierce alarms; 
The crowded bulwarks blaze with waving arms, 
Shield touching shield, a long refulgent row; 
Whence hissing darts, incessant, rain below. 
The bold Ajaces fly from tower to tower, 
And rouse, with flame divine, the Grecian power. 
The generous impulse every Greek obeys; 
Threats urge the fearful; and the valiant, praise. 

"Fellows in arms ! whose deeds are known to fame, 
And you, whose ardour hopes an equal name! 
Since not alike endued with force or art; 
Behold a day when each may act his part! 
A day to fire the brave, and warm the cold, 
To gain new glories, or augment the old. 
Urge those who stand, and those who faint, excite; 
Drown Hector's vaunts in loud exhorts of fight; 
Conquest, not safety, fill the thoughts of all; 
Seek not your fleet, but sally from the wall; 
So Jove once more may drive their routed train, 
And Troy lie trembling in her walls again." 

Their ardour kindles all the Grecian powers; 
And now the stones descend in heavier showers. 
As when high Jove his sharp artillery forms, 
And opes his cloudy magazine of storms; 
In winter's bleak un comfortable reign, 
A snowy inundation hides the plain; 
He stills the winds, and bids the skies to sleep; 
Then pours the silent tempest thick and deep; 



BOOK XII. 



367 



And first the mountain-tops are cover'd o'er, 
Then the green fields, and then the sandy shore; 
Bent with the weight, the nodding woods are seen, 
And one bright waste hides all the works of men: 
The circling seas, alone absorbing all, 
Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall: 
So from each side increased the stony rain, 
And the white ruin rises o'er the plain. 



Thus godlike Hector and his troops contend 

To force the ramparts, and the gates to rend: 

Nor Troy could conquer, nor the Greeks would yield, 

Till great Sarpedon tower'd amid the field; [225] 

For mighty Jove inspired with martial flame 

His matchless son, and urged him on to fame. 

In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar, 

And bears aloft his ample shield in air; 

Within whose orb the thick bull-hides were roll'd, 

Ponderous with brass, and bound with ductile gold: 

And while two pointed javelins arm his hands, 

Majestic moves along, and leads his Lycian bands. 



So press'd with hunger, from the mountain's brow 

Descends a lion on the flocks below; 

So stalks the lordly savage o'er the plain, 

In sullen majesty, and stern disdain: 

In vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar, 

And shepherds gall him with an iron war; 

Regardless, furious, he pursues his way; 

He foams, he roars, he rends the panting prey. 



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Resolved alike, divine Sarpedon glows 
With generous rage that drives him on the foes. 
He views the towers, and meditates their fall, 
To sure destruction dooms the aspiring wall; 
Then casting on his friend an ardent look, 
Fired with the thirst of glory, thus he spoke: 

"Why boast we, Glaucus ! our extended reign, 226 
Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain, 
Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field, 
And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, 
Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd, 
Our feasts enhanced with music's sprightly sound? 
Why on those shores are we with joy survey'd, 
Admired as heroes, and as gods obey'd, 
Unless great acts superior merit prove, 
And vindicate the bounteous powers above? 
'Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace; 
The first in valour, as the first in place; 
That when with wondering eyes our martial bands 
Behold our deeds transcending our commands, 
Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, 
Whom those that envy dare not imitate! 
Could all our care elude the gloomy grave, 
Which claims no less the fearful and the brave, 
For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 

' — Why boast we. 

"Wherefore do I assume 
These royalties and not refuse to reign, 
Refusing to accept as great a share 
Of hazard as of honour, due alike to him 
Who reigns, and so much to him due 
Of hazard more, as he above the rest 
High honour'd sits." 

— "Paradise Lost," ii. 450. 



BOOK XII. 



369 



In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. 

But since, alas! ignoble age must come, [226] 

Disease, and death's inexorable doom 

The life, which others pay, let us bestow, 

And give to fame what we to nature owe; 

Brave though we fall, and honour'd if we live, 

Or let us glory gain, or glory give!" 



He said; his words the listening chief inspire 

With equal warmth, and rouse the warrior's fire; 

The troops pursue their leaders with delight, 

Rush to the foe, and claim the promised fight. 

Menestheus from on high the storm beheld 

Threatening the fort, and blackening in the field: 

Around the walls he gazed, to view from far 

What aid appear'd to avert the approaching war, 

And saw where Teucer with the Ajaces stood, 

Of fight insatiate, prodigal of blood. 

In vain he calls; the din of helms and shields 

Rings to the skies, and echoes through the fields, 

The brazen hinges fly, the walls resound, 

Heaven trembles, roar the mountains, thunders all the ground 

Then thus to Thoos: "Hence with speed (he said), 

And urge the bold Ajaces to our aid; 

Their strength, united, best may help to bear 

The bloody labours of the doubtful war: 

Hither the Lycian princes bend their course, 

The best and bravest of the hostile force. 

But if too fiercely there the foes contend, 

Let Telamon, at least, our towers defend, 

And Teucer haste with his unerring bow 

To share the danger, and repel the foe. " 



370 



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Swift, at the word, the herald speeds along 
The lofty ramparts, through the martial throng, 
And finds the heroes bathed in sweat and gore, 
Opposed in combat on the dusty shore. 
"Ye valiant leaders of our warlike bands ! 
Your aid (said Thoos) Peteus' son demands; 
Your strength, united, best may help to bear 
The bloody labours of the doubtful war: 
Thither the Lycian princes bend their course, 
The best and bravest of the hostile force. 
But if too fiercely, here, the foes contend, 
At least, let Telamon those towers defend, 
And Teucer haste with his unerring bow 
To share the danger, and repel the foe." 

Straight to the fort great Ajax turn'd his care, 
And thus bespoke his brothers of the war: 
"Now, valiant Lycomede! exert your might, 
And, brave Oileus, prove your force in fight; 
To you I trust the fortune of the field, 
Till by this arm the foe shall be repell'd: 
[227] That done, expect me to complete the day 

Then with his sevenfold shield he strode away. 
With equal steps bold Teucer press'd the shore, 
Whose fatal bow the strong Pandion bore. 

High on the walls appear'd the Lycian powers, 
Like some black tempest gathering round the towers: 
The Greeks, oppress'd, their utmost force unite, 
Prepared to labour in the unequal fight: 
The war renews, mix'd shouts and groans arise; 
Tumultuous clamour mounts, and thickens in the skies. 
Fierce Ajax first the advancing host invades, 
And sends the brave Epicles to the shades, 



BOOK XII. 



Sarpedon's friend. Across the warrior's way, 
Rent from the walls, a rocky fragment lay; 
In modern ages not the strongest swain 
Could heave the unwieldy burden from the plain: 
He poised, and swung it round; then toss'd on high, 
It flew with force, and labour'd up the sky; 
Full on the Lycian's helmet thundering down, 
The ponderous ruin crush'd his batter'd crown. 
As skilful divers from some airy steep 
Headlong descend, and shoot into the deep, 
So falls Epicles; then in groans expires, 
And murmuring to the shades the soul retires. 



While to the ramparts daring Glaucus drew, 
From Teucer's hand a winged arrow flew; 
The bearded shaft the destined passage found, 
And on his naked arm inflicts a wound. 
The chief, who fear'd some foe's insulting boast 
Might stop the progress of his warlike host, 
Conceal'd the wound, and, leaping from his height 
Retired reluctant from the unfinish'd fight. 
Divine Sarpedon with regret beheld 
Disabled Glaucus slowly quit the field; 
His beating breast with generous ardour glows, 
He springs to fight, and flies upon the foes. 
Alcmaon first was doom'd his force to feel; 
Deep in his breast he plunged the pointed steel; 
Then from the yawning wound with fury tore 
The spear, pursued by gushing streams of gore: 
Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound, 
His brazen armour rings against the ground. 



372 



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Swift to the battlement the victor flies, 
Tugs with full force, and every nerve applies: 
It shakes; the ponderous stones disjointed yield; 
The rolling ruins smoke along the field. 
A mighty breach appears; the walls lie bare; 
And, like a deluge, rushes in the war. 
At once bold Teucer draws the twanging bow, 
And Ajax sends his javelin at the foe; 
[228] Fix'd in his belt the feather'd weapon stood, 

And through his buckler drove the trembling wood; 

But Jove was present in the dire debate, 

To shield his offspring, and avert his fate. 

The prince gave back, not meditating flight, 

But urging vengeance, and severer fight; 

Then raised with hope, and fired with glory's charms, 

His fainting squadrons to new fury warms. 

"O where, ye Lycians, is the strength you boast? 

Your former fame and ancient virtue lost! 

The breach lies open, but your chief in vain 

Attempts alone the guarded pass to gain: 

Unite, and soon that hostile fleet shall fall: 

The force of powerful union conquers all." 

This just rebuke inflamed the Lycian crew; 

They join, they thicken, and the assault renew: 

Unmoved the embodied Greeks their fury dare, 

And fix'd support the weight of all the war; 

Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers, 

Nor the bold Lycians force the Grecian towers. 

As on the confines of adjoining grounds, 

Two stubborn swains with blows dispute their bounds; 

They tug, they sweat; but neither gain, nor yield, 

One foot, one inch, of the contended field; 

Thus obstinate to death, they fight, they fall; 



BOOK XII. 



373 



Nor these can keep, nor those can win the wall. 
Their manly breasts are pierced with many a wound, 
Loud strokes are heard, and rattling arms resound; 
The copious slaughter covers all the shore, 
And the high ramparts drip with human gore. 

As when two scales are charged with doubtful loads, 

From side to side the trembling balance nods, 

(While some laborious matron, just and poor, 

With nice exactness weighs her woolly store,) 

Till poised aloft, the resting beam suspends 

Each equal weight; nor this, nor that, descends: 227 

So stood the war, till Hector's matchless might, 

With fates prevailing, turn'd the scale of fight. 

Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies, 

And fires his host with loud repeated cries. 

"Advance, ye Trojans! lend your valiant hands, 

Haste to the fleet, and toss the blazing brands!" 

They hear, they run; and, gathering at his call, 

Raise scaling engines, and ascend the wall: 

Around the works a wood of glittering spears 

Shoots up, and all the rising host appears. 

A ponderous stone bold Hector heaved to throw, 

Pointed above, and rough and gross below: [229] 

Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, 

Such men as live in these degenerate days: 

Yet this, as easy as a swain could bear 

The snowy fleece, he toss'd, and shook in air; 

For Jove upheld, and lighten'd of its load 

The unwieldy rock, the labour of a god. 

' — Each equal weight. 

"Long time in even scale 
The battle hung." 



—"Paradise Lost," vi. 245. 



374 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thus arm'd, before the folded gates he came, 

Of massy substance, and stupendous frame; 

With iron bars and brazen hinges strong, 

On lofty beams of solid timber hung: 

Then thundering through the planks with forceful sway, 

Drives the sharp rock; the solid beams give way, 

The folds are shatter'd; from the crackling door 

Leap the resounding bars, the flying hinges roar. 

Now rushing in, the furious chief appears, 

Gloomy as night! and shakes two shining spears: 228 

A dreadful gleam from his bright armour came, 

And from his eye -balls flash'd the living flame. 

He moves a god, resistless in his course, 

And seems a match for more than mortal force. 

Then pouring after, through the gaping space, 

A tide of Trojans flows, and fills the place; 

The Greeks behold, they tremble, and they fly; 

The shore is heap'd with death, and tumult rends the sky. 



22X 



"He on his impious foes right onward drove, 
Gloomy as night. " 



—"Paradise Lost," vi. 831 



BOOK XII. 



375 




GREEK ALTAR. 



[230] 



BOOK XIII. 



ARGUMENT. 

THE FOURTH BATTLE CONTINUED, IN WHICH 
NEPTUNE ASSISTS THE GREEKS: THE ACTS OF 
IDOMENEUS. 

Neptune, concerned for the loss of the Grecians, upon seeing 
the fortification forced by Hector, (who had entered the gate 
near the station of the Ajaces,) assumes the shape of Calchas, 
and inspires those heroes to oppose him: then, in the form 
of one of the generals, encourages the other Greeks who had 
retired to their vessels. The Ajaces form their troops in a close 
phalanx, and put a stop to Hector and the Trojans. Several 
deeds of valour are performed; Meriones, losing his spear in the 
encounter, repairs to seek another at the tent of Idomeneus: this 
occasions a conversation between those two warriors, who return 
together to the battle. Idomeneus signalizes his courage above 
the rest; he kills Othryoneus, Asius, and Alcathous: Deiphobus 
and iEneas march against him, and at length Idomeneus retires. 
Menelaus wounds Helenus, and kills Pisander. The Trojans are 
repulsed on the left wing; Hector still keeps his ground against 
the Ajaces, till, being galled by the Locrian slingers and archers, 
Polydamas advises to call a council of war: Hector approves of 
his advice, but goes first to rally the Trojans; upbraids Paris, 
rejoins Polydamas, meets Ajax again, and renews the attack. 

The eight-and-twentieth day still continues. The scene is 
between the Grecian wall and the sea-shore. 



378 



The Iliad of Homer 



When now the Thunderer on the sea-beat coast 
Had fix'd great Hector and his conquering host, 
He left them to the fates, in bloody fray 
To toil and struggle through the well-fought day. 
Then turn'd to Thracia from the field of fight 
Those eyes that shed insufferable light, 
To where the Mysians prove their martial force, 
And hardy Thracians tame the savage horse; 
And where the far-famed Hippomolgian strays, 
[231] Renown'd for justice and for length of days; 229 

Thrice happy race! that, innocent of blood, 
From milk, innoxious, seek their simple food: 
Jove sees delighted; and avoids the scene 
Of guilty Troy, of arms, and dying men: 
No aid, he deems, to either host is given, 
While his high law suspends the powers of Heaven. 

Meantime the monarch of the watery main 
Observed the Thunderer, nor observed in vain. 
In Samothracia, on a mountain's brow, 
Whose waving woods o'erhung the deeps below, 
He sat; and round him cast his azure eyes 
Where Ida's misty tops confusedly rise; 
Below, fair Ilion's glittering spires were seen; 
The crowded ships and sable seas between. 
There, from the crystal chambers of the main 

229 — Renown'd for justice and for length of days, Arrian. de Exp. Alex. iv. 
p. 239, also speaks of the independence of these people, which he regards as 
the result of their poverty and uprightness. Some authors have regarded the 
phrase "Hippomolgian," i.e. "milking their mares," as an epithet applicable to 
numerous tribes, since the oldest of the Samatian nomads made their mares' 
milk one of their chief articles of diet. The epithet abion or abion, in this 
passage, has occasioned much discussion. It may mean, according as we read 
it, either "long-lived," or "bowless," the latter epithet indicating that they did 
not depend upon archery for subsistence. 



BOOK XIII. 



379 



Emerged, he sat, and mourn'd his Argives slain. 
At Jove incensed, with grief and fury stung, 
Prone down the rocky steep he rush'd along; 
Fierce as he pass'd, the lofty mountains nod, 
The forest shakes; earth trembled as he trod, 
And felt the footsteps of the immortal god. 
From realm to realm three ample strides he took, 
And, at the fourth, the distant JEgae shook. 

Far in the bay his shining palace stands, 

Eternal frame! not raised by mortal hands: 

This having reach'd, his brass-hoof d steeds he reins, 

Fleet as the winds, and deck'd with golden manes. 

Refulgent arms his mighty limbs infold, 

Immortal arms of adamant and gold. 

He mounts the car, the golden scourge applies, 

He sits superior, and the chariot flies: 

His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep; 

The enormous monsters rolling o'er the deep 

Gambol around him on the watery way, 

And heavy whales in awkward measures play; 

The sea subsiding spreads a level plain, 

Exults, and owns the monarch of the main; 

The parting waves before his coursers fly; 

The wondering waters leave his axle dry. 

Deep in the liquid regions lies a cave, 
Between where Tenedos the surges lave, 
And rocky Imbrus breaks the rolling wave: 
There the great ruler of the azure round 
Stopp'd his swift chariot, and his steeds unbound, 
Fed with ambrosial herbage from his hand, 
And link'd their fetlocks with a golden band, 
Infrangible, immortal: there they stay: 



380 



The Iliad of Homer 



The father of the floods pursues his way: 
Where, like a tempest, darkening heaven around, 
[232] Or fiery deluge that devours the ground, 

The impatient Trojans, in a gloomy throng, 
Embattled roll'd, as Hector rush'd along: 
To the loud tumult and the barbarous cry 
The heavens re-echo, and the shores reply: 
They vow destruction to the Grecian name, 
And in their hopes the fleets already flame. 



But Neptune, rising from the seas profound, 
The god whose earthquakes rock the solid ground, 
Now wears a mortal form; like Calchas seen, 
Such his loud voice, and such his manly mien; 
His shouts incessant every Greek inspire, 
But most the Ajaces, adding fire to fire. 




NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA. 



BOOK XIII. 



"Tis yours, O warriors, all our hopes to raise: 

Oh recollect your ancient worth and praise! 

'Tis yours to save us, if you cease to fear; 

Flight, more than shameful, is destructive here. 

On other works though Troy with fury fall, 

And pour her armies o'er our batter'd wall: 

There Greece has strength: but this, this part o'erthrown, 

Her strength were vain; I dread for you alone: 

Here Hector rages like the force of fire, 

Vaunts of his gods, and calls high Jove his sire: 

If yet some heavenly power your breast excite, 

Breathe in your hearts, and string your arms to fight, 

Greece yet may live, her threaten'd fleet maintain: 

And Hector's force, and Jove's own aid, be vain. " 



Then with his sceptre, that the deep controls, 

He touch'd the chiefs, and steel'd their manly souls: 

Strength, not their own, the touch divine imparts, 

Prompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts. 

Then, as a falcon from the rocky height, 

Her quarry seen, impetuous at the sight, 

Forth-springing instant, darts herself from high, 

Shoots on the wing, and skims along the sky: 

Such, and so swift, the power of ocean flew; 

The wide horizon shut him from their view. 



The inspiring god Oileus' active son 
Perceived the first, and thus to Telamon: 



382 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Some god, my friend, some god in human form 
Favouring descends, and wills to stand the storm. 
Not Calchas this, the venerable seer; 
Short as he turned, I saw the power appear: 
I mark'd his parting, and the steps he trod; 
His own bright evidence reveals a god. 
Even now some energy divine I share, 
And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air!" 

"With equal ardour (Telamon returns) 
My soul is kindled, and my bosom burns; 
New rising spirits all my force alarm, 
Lift each impatient limb, and brace my arm. 
This ready arm, unthinking, shakes the dart; 
The blood pours back, and fortifies my heart: 
Singly, methinks, yon towering chief I meet, 
And stretch the dreadful Hector at my feet. " 

Full of the god that urged their burning breast, 
The heroes thus their mutual warmth express'd. 
Neptune meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired; 
Who, breathless, pale, with length of labours tired, 
Pant in the ships; while Troy to conquest calls, 
And swarms victorious o'er their yielding walls: 
Trembling before the impending storm they lie, 
While tears of rage stand burning in their eye. 
Greece sunk they thought, and this their fatal hour; 
But breathe new courage as they feel the power. 
Teucer and Leitus first his words excite; 
Then stern Peneleus rises to the fight; 
Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms renown'd, 
And Merion next, the impulsive fury found; 
Last Nestor's son the same bold ardour takes, 
While thus the god the martial fire awakes: 



BOOK XIII. 



383 



"Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace 
To chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly race! 
I trusted in the gods, and you, to see 
Brave Greece victorious, and her navy free: 
Ah, no — the glorious combat you disclaim, 
And one black day clouds all her former fame. 
Heavens! what a prodigy these eyes survey, 
Unseen, unthought, till this amazing day ! 

Fly we at length from Troy's oft-conquer'd bands? [234] 

And falls our fleet by such inglorious hands? 

A rout undisciplined, a straggling train, 

Not born to glories of the dusty plain; 

Like frighted fawns from hill to hill pursued, 

A prey to every savage of the wood: 

Shall these, so late who trembled at your name, 

Invade your camps, involve your ships in flame? 

A change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought? 

The soldiers' baseness, or the general's fault? 

Fools! will ye perish for your leader's vice; 

The purchase infamy, and life the price? 

'Tis not your cause, Achilles' injured fame: 

Another's is the crime, but yours the shame. 

Grant that our chief offend through rage or lust, 

Must you be cowards, if your king's unjust? 

Prevent this evil, and your country save: 

Small thought retrieves the spirits of the brave. 

Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame 

I waste no anger, for they feel no shame: 

But you, the pride, the flower of all our host, 

My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost! 

Nor deem this day, this battle, all you lose; 

A day more black, a fate more vile, ensues. 

Let each reflect, who prizes fame or breath, 

On endless infamy, on instant death: 



384 



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For, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore: 
Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar! 
Impetuous Hector thunders at the wall; 
The hour, the spot, to conquer, or to fall." 

These words the Grecians' fainting hearts inspire, 
And listening armies catch the godlike fire. 
Fix'd at his post was each bold Ajax found, 
With well-ranged squadrons strongly circled round: 
So close their order, so disposed their fight, 
As Pallas' self might view with fix'd delight; 
Or had the god of war inclined his eyes, 
The god of war had own'd a just surprise. 
A chosen phalanx, firm, resolved as fate, 
Descending Hector and his battle wait. 
An iron scene gleams dreadful o'er the fields, 
Armour in armour lock'd, and shields in shields, 
Spears lean on spears, on targets targets throng, 
Helms stuck to helms, and man drove man along. 
The floating plumes unnumber'd wave above, 
As when an earthquake stirs the nodding grove; 
And levell'd at the skies with pointing rays, 
Their brandish'd lances at each motion blaze. 

Thus breathing death, in terrible array, 
The close compacted legions urged their way: 
[235] Fierce they drove on, impatient to destroy; 

Troy charged the first, and Hector first of Troy. 
As from some mountain's craggy forehead torn, 
A rock's round fragment flies, with fury borne, 
(Which from the stubborn stone a torrent rends,) 
Precipitate the ponderous mass descends: 
From steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds; 
At every shock the crackling wood resounds; 



BOOK XIII. 



385 



Still gathering force, it smokes; and urged amain, 
Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain: 
There stops — so Hector. Their whole force he proved, 230 
Resistless when he raged, and, when he stopp'd, unmoved. 

On him the war is bent, the darts are shed, 
And all their falchions wave around his head: 
Repulsed he stands, nor from his stand retires; 
But with repeated shouts his army fires. 
"Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way 
Through yon square body, and that black array: 
Stand, and my spear shall rout their scattering power, 
Strong as they seem, embattled like a tower; 
For he that Juno's heavenly bosom warms, 
The first of gods, this day inspires our arms." 

He said; and roused the soul in every breast: 
Urged with desire of fame, beyond the rest, 
Forth march'd Deiphobus; but, marching, held 
Before his wary steps his ample shield. 
Bold Merion aim'd a stroke (nor aim'd it wide); 
The glittering javelin pierced the tough bull-hide; 
But pierced not through: unfaithful to his hand, 
The point broke short, and sparkled in the sand. 
The Trojan warrior, touch'd with timely fear, 
On the raised orb to distance bore the spear. 
The Greek, retreating, mourn'd his frustrate blow, 

' Compare Chapman's quaint, bold verses: — 

"And as a round piece of a rocke, which with a winter's flood 
Is from his top torn, when a shoure poured from a bursten cloud, 
Hath broke the naturall band it had within the roughftey rock, 
Flies jumping all adourne the woods, resounding everie shocke, 
And on, uncheckt, it headlong leaps till in a plaine it stay, 
And then (tho' never so impelled), it stirs not any way: — 
So Hector, — " 



386 



The Iliad of Homer 



And cursed the treacherous lance that spared a foe; 
Then to the ships with surly speed he went, 
To seek a surer javelin in his tent. 

Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, 
The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows. 
By Teucer's arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds, 
The son of Mentor, rich in generous steeds. 
Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led, 
In fair Pedaeus' verdant pastures bred, 
The youth had dwelt, remote from war's alarms, 
And blest in bright Medesicaste's arms: 
[236] (This nymph, the fruit of Priam's ravish'd joy, 

Allied the warrior to the house of Troy:) 
To Troy, when glory call'd his arms, he came, 
And match'd the bravest of her chiefs in fame: 
With Priam's sons, a guardian of the throne, 
He lived, beloved and honour'd as his own. 
Him Teucer pierced between the throat and ear: 
He groans beneath the Telamonian spear. 
As from some far-seen mountain's airy crown, 
Subdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down, 
And soils its verdant tresses on the ground; 
So falls the youth; his arms the fall resound. 
Then Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, 
From Hector's hand a shining javelin fled: 
He saw, and shunn'd the death; the forceful dart 
Sung on, and pierced Amphimachus's heart, 
Cteatus' son, of Neptune's forceful line; 
Vain was his courage, and his race divine ! 
Prostrate he falls; his clanging arms resound, 
And his broad buckler thunders on the ground. 
To seize his beamy helm the victor flies, 
And just had fastened on the dazzling prize, 



BOOK XIII. 



387 



When Ajax' manly arm a javelin flung; 
Full on the shield's round boss the weapon rung; 
He felt the shock, nor more was doom'd to feel, 
Secure in mail, and sheath'd in shining steel. 
Repulsed he yields; the victor Greeks obtain 
The spoils contested, and bear off the slain. 
Between the leaders of the Athenian line, 
(Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,) 
Deplored Amphimachus, sad object! lies; 
Imbrius remains the fierce Aj aces' prize. 
As two grim lions bear across the lawn, 
Snatch'd from devouring hounds, a slaughter'd fawn. 
In their fell jaws high-lifting through the wood, 
And sprinkling all the shrubs with drops of blood; 
So these, the chief: great Ajax from the dead 
Strips his bright arms; Oileus lops his head: 
Toss'd like a ball, and whirl'd in air away, 
At Hector's feet the gory visage lay. 

The god of ocean, fired with stern disdain, 
And pierced with sorrow for his grandson slain, 
Inspires the Grecian hearts, confirms their hands, 
And breathes destruction on the Trojan bands. 
Swift as a whirlwind rushing to the fleet, 
He finds the lance-famed Idomen of Crete, 
His pensive brow the generous care express'd 
With which a wounded soldier touch'd his breast, 
Whom in the chance of war a javelin tore, 
And his sad comrades from the battle bore; 

Him to the surgeons of the camp he sent: [237] 
That office paid, he issued from his tent 
Fierce for the fight: to whom the god begun, 
In Thoas' voice, Andraemon's valiant son, 
Who ruled where Calydon's white rocks arise, 



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And Pleuron's chalky cliffs emblaze the skies: 



"Where's now the imperious vaunt, the daring boast, 
Of Greece victorious, and proud Ilion lost?" 



To whom the king: "On Greece no blame be thrown; 
Arms are her trade, and war is all her own. 
Her hardy heroes from the well-fought plains 
Nor fear withholds, nor shameful sloth detains: 
'Tis heaven, alas! and Jove's all-powerful doom, 
That far, far distant from our native home 
Wills us to fall inglorious! Oh, my friend! 
Once foremost in the fight, still prone to lend 
Or arms or counsels, now perform thy best, 
And what thou canst not singly, urge the rest." 



Thus he: and thus the god whose force can make 

The solid globe's eternal basis shake: 

"Ah! never may he see his native land, 

But feed the vultures on this hateful strand, 

Who seeks ignobly in his ships to stay, 

Nor dares to combat on this signal day! 

For this, behold! in horrid arms I shine, 

And urge thy soul to rival acts with mine. 

Together let us battle on the plain; 

Two, not the worst; nor even this succour vain: 

Not vain the weakest, if their force unite; 

But ours, the bravest have confess'd in fight." 



BOOK XIII. 



389 



This said, he rushes where the combat burns; 
Swift to his tent the Cretan king returns: 
From thence, two javelins glittering in his hand, 
And clad in arms that lighten'd all the strand, 
Fierce on the foe the impetuous hero drove, 
Like lightning bursting from the arm of Jove, 
Which to pale man the wrath of heaven declares, 
Or terrifies the offending world with wars; 
In streamy sparkles, kindling all the skies, 
From pole to pole the trail of glory flies: 
Thus his bright armour o'er the dazzled throng 
Gleam'd dreadful, as the monarch flash'd along. 



Him, near his tent, Meriones attends; 

Whom thus he questions: "Ever best of friends! 

O say, in every art of battle skill'd, 

What holds thy courage from so brave a field? 

On some important message art thou bound, 

Or bleeds my friend by some unhappy wound? 

Inglorious here, my soul abhors to stay, 

And glows with prospects of th approaching day. " 



"O prince! (Meriones replies) whose care [238] 
Leads forth the embattled sons of Crete to war; 
This speaks my grief: this headless lance I wield; 
The rest lies rooted in a Trojan shield." 



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To whom the Cretan: "Enter, and receive 

The wonted weapons; those my tent can give; 

Spears I have store, (and Trojan lances all,) 

That shed a lustre round the illumined wall, 

Though I, disdainful of the distant war, 

Nor trust the dart, nor aim the uncertain spear, 

Yet hand to hand I fight, and spoil the slain; 

And thence these trophies, and these arms I gain. 

Enter, and see on heaps the helmets roll'd, 

And high-hung spears, and shields that flame with gold." 

"Nor vain (said Merion) are our martial toils; 
We too can boast of no ignoble spoils: 
But those my ship contains; whence distant far, 
I fight conspicuous in the van of war, 
What need I more? If any Greek there be 
Who knows not Merion, I appeal to thee. " 

To this, Idomeneus: "The fields of fight 
Have proved thy valour, and unconquer'd might: 
And were some ambush for the foes design'd, 
Even there thy courage would not lag behind: 
In that sharp service, singled from the rest, 
The fear of each, or valour, stands confess'd. 
No force, no firmness, the pale coward shows; 
He shifts his place: his colour comes and goes: 
A dropping sweat creeps cold on every part; 
Against his bosom beats his quivering heart; 
Terror and death in his wild eye-balls stare; 
With chattering teeth he stands, and stiffening hair, 
And looks a bloodless image of despair! 
Not so the brave — still dauntless, still the same, 
Unchanged his colour, and unmoved his frame: 
Composed his thought, determined is his eye, 



BOOK XIII. 



And fix'd his soul, to conquer or to die: 
If aught disturb the tenour of his breast, 
'Tis but the wish to strike before the rest. 

"In such assays thy blameless worth is known, 
And every art of dangerous war thy own. 
By chance of fight whatever wounds you bore, 
Those wounds were glorious all, and all before; 
Such as may teach, 'twas still thy brave delight 
T'oppose thy bosom where thy foremost fight. 
But why, like infants, cold to honour's charms, 
Stand we to talk, when glory calls to arms? 
Go — from my conquer'd spears the choicest take, 
And to their owners send them nobly back." 

Swift at the word bold Merion snatch'd a spear 
And, breathing slaughter, follow'd to the war. 
So Mars armipotent invades the plain, 
(The wide destroyer of the race of man,) 
Terror, his best-beloved son, attends his course, 
Arm'd with stern boldness, and enormous force; 
The pride of haughty warriors to confound, 
And lay the strength of tyrants on the ground: 
From Thrace they fly, call'd to the dire alarms 
Of warring Phlegyans, and Ephyrian arms; 
Invoked by both, relentless they dispose, 
To these glad conquest, murderous rout to those. 
So march'd the leaders of the Cretan train, 
And their bright arms shot horror o'er the plain. 

Then first spake Merion: "Shall we join the right, 
Or combat in the centre of the fight? 
Or to the left our wonted succour lend? 
Hazard and fame all parts alike attend." 



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"Not in the centre (Women replied:) 
Our ablest chieftains the main battle guide; 
Each godlike Ajax makes that post his care, 
And gallant Teucer deals destruction there, 
Skill'd or with shafts to gall the distant field, 
Or bear close battle on the sounding shield. 
These can the rage of haughty Hector tame: 
Safe in their arms, the navy fears no flame, 
Till Jove himself descends, his bolts to shed, 
And hurl the blazing ruin at our head. 
Great must he be, of more than human birth, 
Nor feed like mortals on the fruits of earth. 
Him neither rocks can crush, nor steel can wound, 
Whom Ajax fells not on the ensanguined ground. 
In standing fight he mates Achilles' force, 
Excell'd alone in swiftness in the course. 
Then to the left our ready arms apply, 
And live with glory, or with glory die." 

He said: and Merion to th' appointed place, 

Fierce as the god of battles, urged his pace. 

Soon as the foe the shining chiefs beheld 

Rush like a fiery torrent o'er the field, 

Their force embodied in a tide they pour; 

The rising combat sounds along the shore. 

As warring winds, in Sirius' sultry reign, 

From different quarters sweep the sandy plain; 

On every side the dusty whirlwinds rise, 

And the dry fields are lifted to the skies: 

Thus by despair, hope, rage, together driven, 

Met the black hosts, and, meeting, darken'd heaven. 

All dreadful glared the iron face of war, 

Bristled with upright spears, that flash'd afar; 

Dire was the gleam of breastplates, helms, and shields, 



BOOK XIII. 



393 



And polish'd arms emblazed the flaming fields: [240] 
Tremendous scene! that general horror gave, 
But touch'd with joy the bosoms of the brave. 

Saturn's great sons in fierce contention vied, 
And crowds of heroes in their anger died. 
The sire of earth and heaven, by Thetis won 
To crown with glory Peleus' godlike son, 
Will'd not destruction to the Grecian powers, 
But spared awhile the destined Trojan towers; 
While Neptune, rising from his azure main, 
Warr'd on the king of heaven with stern disdain, 
And breathed revenge, and fired the Grecian train. 
Gods of one source, of one ethereal race, 
Alike divine, and heaven their native place; 
But Jove the greater; first-born of the skies, 
And more than men, or gods, supremely wise. 
For this, of Jove's superior might afraid, 
Neptune in human form conceal'd his aid. 
These powers enfold the Greek and Trojan train 
In war and discord's adamantine chain, 
Indissolubly strong: the fatal tie 
Is stretch'd on both, and close compell'd they die. 

Dreadful in arms, and grown in combats grey, 
The bold Idomeneus controls the day. 
First by his hand Othryoneus was slain, 
Swell'd with false hopes, with mad ambition vain; 
Call'd by the voice of war to martial fame, 
From high Cabesus' distant walls he came; 
Cassandra's love he sought, with boasts of power, 
And promised conquest was the proffer'd dower. 
The king consented, by his vaunts abused; 
The king consented, but the fates refused. 



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Proud of himself, and of the imagined bride, 
The field he measured with a larger stride. 
Him as he stalk'd, the Cretan javelin found; 
Vain was his breastplate to repel the wound: 
His dream of glory lost, he plunged to hell; 
His arms resounded as the boaster fell. 
The great Idomeneus bestrides the dead; 
"And thus (he cries) behold thy promise sped! 
Such is the help thy arms to Ilion bring, 
And such the contract of the Phrygian king ! 
Our offers now, illustrious prince! receive; 
For such an aid what will not Argos give? 
To conquer Troy, with ours thy forces join, 
And count Atrides' fairest daughter thine. 
Meantime, on further methods to advise, 
Come, follow to the fleet thy new allies; 
There hear what Greece has on her part to say." 
He spoke, and dragg'd the gory corse away. 
This Asius view'd, unable to contain, 
[241] Before his chariot warring on the plain: 

(His crowded coursers, to his squire consign'd, 

Impatient panted on his neck behind:) 

To vengeance rising with a sudden spring, 

He hoped the conquest of the Cretan king. 

The wary Cretan, as his foe drew near, 

Full on his throat discharged the forceful spear: 

Beneath the chin the point was seen to glide, 

And glitter'd, extant at the further side. 

As when the mountain-oak, or poplar tall, 

Or pine, fit mast for some great admiral, 

Groans to the oft-heaved axe, with many a wound, 

Then spreads a length of ruin o'er the ground: 

So sunk proud Asius in that dreadful day, 

And stretch'd before his much-loved coursers lay. 



BOOK XIII. 



395 



He grinds the dust distain'd with streaming gore, 
And, fierce in death, lies foaming on the shore. 
Deprived of motion, stiff with stupid fear, 
Stands all aghast his trembling charioteer, 
Nor shuns the foe, nor turns the steeds away, 
But falls transfix'd, an unresisting prey: 
Pierced by Antilochus, he pants beneath 
The stately car, and labours out his breath. 
Thus Asius' steeds (their mighty master gone) 
Remain the prize of Nestor's youthful son. 



Stabb'd at the sight, Deiphobus drew nigh, 
And made, with force, the vengeful weapon fly. 
The Cretan saw; and, stooping, caused to glance 
From his slope shield the disappointed lance. 
Beneath the spacious targe, (a blazing round, 
Thick with bull-hides and brazen orbits bound, 
On his raised arm by two strong braces stay'd,) 
He lay collected in defensive shade. 
O'er his safe head the javelin idly sung, 
And on the tinkling verge more faintly rung. 
Even then the spear the vigorous arm confess'd, 
And pierced, obliquely, king Hypsenor's breast: 
Warm'd in his liver, to the ground it bore 
The chief, his people's guardian now no more ! 



"Not unattended (the proud Trojan cries) 

Nor unrevenged, lamented Asius lies: 

For thee, through hell's black portals stand display'd, 

This mate shall joy thy melancholy shade." 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Heart-piercing anguish, at the haughty boast, 

Touch'd every Greek, but Nestor's son the most. 

Grieved as he was, his pious arms attend, 

And his broad buckler shields his slaughter'd friend: 

Till sad Mecistheus and Alastor bore 

His honour'd body to the tented shore. 

Nor yet from fight Idomeneus withdraws; 
[242] Resolved to perish in his country's cause, 

Or find some foe, whom heaven and he shall doom 

To wail his fate in death's eternal gloom. 

He sees Alcathous in the front aspire: 

Great jEsyetes was the hero's sire; 

His spouse Hippodame, divinely fair, 

Anchises' eldest hope, and darling care: 

Who charm'd her parents' and her husband's heart 

With beauty, sense, and every work of art: 

He once of Ilion's youth the loveliest boy, 

The fairest she of all the fair of Troy. 

By Neptune now the hapless hero dies, 

Who covers with a cloud those beauteous eyes, 

And fetters every limb: yet bent to meet 

His fate he stands; nor shuns the lance of Crete. 

Fix'd as some column, or deep-rooted oak, 

While the winds sleep; his breast received the stroke. 

Before the ponderous stroke his corslet yields, 

Long used to ward the death in fighting fields. 

The riven armour sends a jarring sound; 

His labouring heart heaves with so strong a bound, 

The long lance shakes, and vibrates in the wound; 

Fast flowing from its source, as prone he lay, 

Life's purple tide impetuous gush'd away. 



BOOK XIII. 



397 



Then Women, insulting o'er the slain: 

"Behold, Deiphobus! nor vaunt in vain: 

See! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts attend; 

This, my third victim, to the shades I send. 

Approaching now thy boasted might approve, 

And try the prowess of the seed of Jove. 

From Jove, enamour'd of a mortal dame, 

Great Minos, guardian of his country, came: 

Deucalion, blameless prince, was Minos' heir; 

His first-born I, the third from Jupiter: 

O'er spacious Crete, and her bold sons, I reign, 

And thence my ships transport me through the main: 

Lord of a host, o'er all my host I shine, 

A scourge to thee, thy father, and thy line." 

The Trojan heard; uncertain or to meet, 
Alone, with venturous arms the king of Crete, 
Or seek auxiliar force; at length decreed 
To call some hero to partake the deed, 
Forthwith ^Eneas rises to his thought: 
For him in Troy's remotest lines he sought, 
Where he, incensed at partial Priam, stands, 
And sees superior posts in meaner hands. 
To him, ambitious of so great an aid, 
The bold Deiphobus approach'd, and said: 

"Now, Trojan prince, employ thy pious arms, 
If e'er thy bosom felt fair honour's charms. 

Alcathous dies, thy brother and thy friend; [243] 

Come, and the warrior's loved remains defend. 

Beneath his cares thy early youth was train'd, 

One table fed you, and one roof contain'd. 

This deed to fierce Idomeneus we owe; 

Haste, and revenge it on th' insulting foe." 



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The Iliad of Homer 



iEneas heard, and for a space resign'd 

To tender pity all his manly mind; 

Then rising in his rage, he burns to fight: 

The Greek awaits him with collected might. 

As the fell boar, on some rough mountain's head, 

Arm'd with wild terrors, and to slaughter bred, 

When the loud rustics rise, and shout from far, 

Attends the tumult, and expects the war; 

O'er his bent back the bristly horrors rise; 

Fires stream in lightning from his sanguine eyes, 

His foaming tusks both dogs and men engage; 

But most his hunters rouse his mighty rage: 

So stood Idomeneus, his javelin shook, 

And met the Trojan with a lowering look. 

Antilochus, Deipyrus, were near, 

The youthful offspring of the god of war, 

Merion, and Aphareus, in field renown'd: 

To these the warrior sent his voice around. 

"Fellows in arms! your timely aid unite; 

Lo, great JEneas rushes to the fight: 

Sprung from a god, and more than mortal bold; 

He fresh in youth, and I in arms grown old. 

Else should this hand, this hour decide the strife, 

The great dispute, of glory, or of life." 

He spoke, and all, as with one soul, obey'd; 
Their lifted bucklers cast a dreadful shade 
Around the chief. ^Eneas too demands 
Th' assisting forces of his native bands; 
Paris, Deiphobus, Agenor, join; 
(Co-aids and captains of the Trojan line;) 
In order follow all th' embodied train, 
Like Ida's flocks proceeding o'er the plain; 
Before his fleecy care, erect and bold, 



BOOK XIII. 



399 



Stalks the proud ram, the father of the bold. 

With joy the swain surveys them, as he leads 

To the cool fountains, through the well-known meads: 

So joys JEneas, as his native band 

Moves on in rank, and stretches o'er the land. 

Round dread Alcathous now the battle rose; 
On every side the steely circle grows; 
Now batter'd breast-plates and hack'd helmets ring, 
And o'er their heads unheeded javelins sing. 
Above the rest, two towering chiefs appear, 
There great Idomeneus, ^Eneas here. 

Like gods of war, dispensing fate, they stood, [244] 

And burn'd to drench the ground with mutual blood. 

The Trojan weapon whizz'd along in air; 

The Cretan saw, and shunn'd the brazen spear: 

Sent from an arm so strong, the missive wood 

Stuck deep in earth, and quiver'd where it stood. 

But OEnomas received the Cretan's stroke; 

The forceful spear his hollow corslet broke, 

It ripp'd his belly with a ghastly wound, 

And roll'd the smoking entrails on the ground. 

Stretch'd on the plain, he sobs away his breath, 

And, furious, grasps the bloody dust in death. 

The victor from his breast the weapon tears; 

His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears. 

Though now unfit an active war to wage, 

Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age, 

His listless limbs unable for the course, 

In standing fight he yet maintains his force; 

Till faint with labour, and by foes repell'd, 

His tired slow steps he drags from off the field. 

Deiphobus beheld him as he pass'd, 

And, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast: 



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The javelin err'd, but held its course along, 
And pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young: 
The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground, 
And gnash'd the dust, all bloody with his wound. 



Nor knew the furious father of his fall; 
High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall, 
On golden clouds th' immortal synod sate; 
Detain'd from bloody war by Jove and Fate. 



Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay, 

For slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray, 

Deiphobus to seize his helmet flies, 

And from his temples rends the glittering prize; 

Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near, 

And on his loaded arm discharged his spear: 

He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; 

The hollow helmet rings against the plain. 

Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey, 

From his torn arm the Grecian rent away 

The reeking javelin, and rejoin'd his friends. 

His wounded brother good Polites tends; 

Around his waist his pious arms he threw, 

And from the rage of battle gently drew: 

Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car, 

Rapt from the lessening thunder of the war; 

To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore, 

And sprinkling, as he pass'd, the sands with gore. 



BOOK XIII. 



401 



Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, 

Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound. 

Bold Aphareus by great ^Eneas bled; 

As toward the chief he turn'd his daring head, 

He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress'd 

Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; 

His shield reversed o'er the fallen warrior lies, 

And everlasting slumber seals his eyes. 

Antilochus, as Thoon turn'd him round, 

Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound: 

The hollow vein, that to the neck extends 

Along the chine, his eager javelin rends: 

Supine he falls, and to his social train 

Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain. 

Th exulting victor, leaping where he lay, 

From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away; 

His time observed; for closed by foes around, 

On all sides thick the peals of arms resound. 

His shield emboss'd the ringing storm sustains, 

But he impervious and untouch'd remains. 

(Great Neptune's care preserved from hostile rage 

This youth, the joy of Nestor's glorious age.) 

In arms intrepid, with the first he fought, 

Faced every foe, and every danger sought; 

His winged lance, resistless as the wind, 

Obeys each motion of the master's mind! 

Restless it flies, impatient to be free, 

And meditates the distant enemy. 

The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near, 

And struck his target with the brazen spear 

Fierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow, 

And blunts the javelin of th' eluded foe: 

In the broad buckler half the weapon stood, 

Splinter'd on earth flew half the broken wood. 



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Disarm'd, he mingled in the Trojan crew; 
But Merion's spear o'ertook him as he flew, 
Deep in the belly's rim an entrance found, 
Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound. 
Bending he fell, and doubled to the ground, 
Lay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied, 
While death's strong pangs distend his labouring side, 
His bulk enormous on the field displays; 
His heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays. 
The spear the conqueror from his body drew, 
And death's dim shadows swarm before his view. 
Next brave Deipyrus in dust was laid: 
King Helenus waved high the Thracian blade, 
And smote his temples with an arm so strong, 
The helm fell off, and roll'd amid the throng: 
There for some luckier Greek it rests a prize; 
For dark in death the godlike owner lies ! 
Raging with grief, great Menelaus burns, 
[246] And fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns: 

That shook the ponderous lance, in act to throw; 
And this stood adverse with the bended bow: 
Full on his breast the Trojan arrow fell, 
But harmless bounded from the plated steel. 
As on some ample barn's well harden'd floor, 
(The winds collected at each open door,) 
While the broad fan with force is whirl'd around, 
Light leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground: 
So from the steel that guards Atrides' heart, 
Repell'd to distance flies the bounding dart. 
Atrides, watchful of the unwary foe, 
Pierced with his lance the hand that grasp'd the bow. 
And nailed it to the yew: the wounded hand 
Trail'd the long lance that mark'd with blood the sand: 
But good Agenor gently from the wound 



BOOK XIII. 



403 



The spear solicits, and the bandage bound; 

A sling's soft wool, snatch'd from a soldier's side, 

At once the tent and ligature supplied. 



Behold! Pisander, urged by fate's decree, 
Springs through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee, 
Great Menelaus! to enchance thy fame: 
High-towering in the front, the warrior came. 
First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown; 
The lance far distant by the winds was blown. 
Nor pierced Pisander through Atrides' shield: 
Pisander's spear fell shiver'd on the field. 
Not so discouraged, to the future blind, 
Vain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind; 
Dauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord 
Like lightning brandish'd his far beaming sword. 
His left arm high opposed the shining shield: 
His right beneath, the cover'd pole-axe held; 
(An olive's cloudy grain the handle made, 
Distinct with studs, and brazen was the blade;) 
This on the helm discharged a noble blow; 
The plume dropp'd nodding to the plain below, 
Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel: 
Deep through his front the weighty falchion fell; 
The crashing bones before its force gave way; 
In dust and blood the groaning hero lay: 
Forced from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore, 
The clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore. 
And fierce Atrides spurn'd him as he bled, 
Tore off his arms, and, loud-exulting, said: 



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"Thus, Trojans, thus, at length be taught to fear; 
O race perfidious, who delight in war! 
Already noble deeds ye have perform'd; 
A princess raped transcends a navy storm'd: 
In such bold feats your impious might approve, 
[247] Without th assistance, or the fear of Jove. 

The violated rites, the ravish'd dame; 

Our heroes slaughter'd and our ships on flame, 

Crimes heap'd on crimes, shall bend your glory down, 

And whelm in ruins yon flagitious town. 

O thou, great father! lord of earth and skies, 

Above the thought of man, supremely wise! 

If from thy hand the fates of mortals flow, 

From whence this favour to an impious foe? 

A godless crew, abandon'd and unjust, 

Still breathing rapine, violence, and lust? 

The best of things, beyond their measure, cloy; 

Sleep's balmy blessing, love's endearing joy; 

The feast, the dance; whate'er mankind desire, 

Even the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire. 

But Troy for ever reaps a dire delight 

In thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight. " 

This said, he seized (while yet the carcase heaved) 

The bloody armour, which his train received: 

Then sudden mix'd among the warring crew, 

And the bold son of Pylaemenes slew. 

Harpalion had through Asia travell'd far, 

Following his martial father to the war: 

Through filial love he left his native shore, 

Never, ah, never to behold it more! 

His unsuccessful spear he chanced to fling 

Against the target of the Spartan king; 

Thus of his lance disarm'd, from death he flies, 



BOOK XIII. 



405 



And turns around his apprehensive eyes. 
Him, through the hip transpiercing as he fled, 
The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead. 
Beneath the bone the glancing point descends, 
And, driving down, the swelling bladder rends: 
Sunk in his sad companions' arms he lay, 
And in short pantings sobb'd his soul away; 
(Like some vile worm extended on the ground;) 
While life's red torrent gush'd from out the wound. 

Him on his car the Paphlagonian train 

In slow procession bore from off the plain. 

The pensive father, father now no more! 

Attends the mournful pomp along the shore; 

And unavailing tears profusely shed; 

And, unrevenged, deplored his offspring dead. 

Paris from far the moving sight beheld, 

With pity soften'd and with fury swell'd: 

His honour'd host, a youth of matchless grace, 

And loved of all the Paphlagonian race! 

With his full strength he bent his angry bow, 

And wing'd the feather'd vengeance at the foe. 

A chief there was, the brave Euchenor named, 

For riches much, and more for virtue famed. [248] 

Who held his seat in Corinth's stately town; 

Polydus' son, a seer of old renown. 

Oft had the father told his early doom, 

By arms abroad, or slow disease at home: 

He climb'd his vessel, prodigal of breath, 

And chose the certain glorious path to death. 

Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went; 

The soul came issuing at the narrow vent: 

His limbs, unnerved, drop useless on the ground, 

And everlasting darkness shades him round. 



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Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield, 

(Wrapp'd in the cloud and tumult of the field:) 

Wide on the left the force of Greece commands, 

And conquest hovers o'er th' Achaian bands; 

With such a tide superior virtue sway'd, 

And he that shakes the solid earth gave aid. 

But in the centre Hector fix'd remain'd, 

Where first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gain'd; 

There, on the margin of the hoary deep, 

(Their naval station where the Ajaces keep. 

And where low walls confine the beating tides, 

Whose humble barrier scarce the foe divides; 

Where late in fight both foot and horse engaged, 

And all the thunder of the battle raged,) 

There join'd, the whole Boeotian strength remains, 

The proud Iaonians with their sweeping trains, 

Locrians and Phthians, and th' Epaean force; 

But join'd, repel not Hector's fiery course. 

The flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led; 

Bias and great Menestheus at their head: 

Meges the strong the Epaean bands controll'd, 

And Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold: 

The Phthians, Medon, famed for martial might, 

And brave Podarces, active in the fight. 

This drew from Phylacus his noble line; 

Iphiclus' son: and that (Oileus) thine: 

(Young Ajax' brother, by a stolen embrace; 

He dwelt far distant from his native place, 

By his fierce step-dame from his father's reign 

Expell'd and exiled for her brother slain:) 

These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ, 

Mix'd with Boeotians, on the shores of Troy. 



BOOK XIII. 



407 



Now side by side, with like unwearied care, 

Each Ajax laboured through the field of war: 

So when two lordly bulls, with equal toil, 

Force the bright ploughshare through the fallow soil, 

Join'd to one yoke, the stubborn earth they tear, 

And trace large furrows with the shining share; 

O'er their huge limbs the foam descends in snow, 

And streams of sweat down their sour foreheads flow. [249] 

A train of heroes followed through the field, 

Who bore by turns great Ajax' sevenfold shield; 

Whene'er he breathed, remissive of his might, 

Tired with the incessant slaughters of the fight. 

No following troops his brave associate grace: 

In close engagement an unpractised race, 

The Locrian squadrons nor the javelin wield, 

Nor bear the helm, nor lift the moony shield; 

But skill'd from far the flying shaft to wing, 

Or whirl the sounding pebble from the sling, 

Dexterous with these they aim a certain wound, 

Or fell the distant warrior to the ground. 

Thus in the van the Telamonian train, 

Throng'd in bright arms, a pressing fight maintain: 

Far in the rear the Locrian archers lie, 

Whose stones and arrows intercept the sky, 

The mingled tempest on the foes they pour; 

Troy's scattering orders open to the shower. 



Now had the Greeks eternal fame acquired, 
And the gall'd Ilians to their walls retired; 
But sage Polydamas, discreetly brave, 
Address'd great Hector, and this counsel gave: 



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"Though great in all, thou seem'st averse to lend 
Impartial audience to a faithful friend; 
To gods and men thy matchless worth is known, 
And every art of glorious war thy own; 
But in cool thought and counsel to excel, 
How widely differs this from warring well! 
Content with what the bounteous gods have given, 
Seek not alone to engross the gifts of Heaven. 
To some the powers of bloody war belong, 
To some sweet music and the charm of song; 
To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign'd 
A wise, extensive, all-considering mind; 
Their guardians these, the nations round confess, 
And towns and empires for their safety bless. 
If Heaven have lodged this virtue in my breast, 
Attend, O Hector! what I judge the best, 
See, as thou mov'st, on dangers dangers spread, 
And war's whole fury burns around thy head. 
Behold! distress'd within yon hostile wall, 
How many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall! 
What troops, out-number'd, scarce the war maintain! 
And what brave heroes at the ships lie slain! 
Here cease thy fury: and, the chiefs and kings 
Convoked to council, weigh the sum of things. 
Whether (the gods succeeding our desires) 
To yon tall ships to bear the Trojan fires; 
Or quit the fleet, and pass unhurt away, 
[250] Contented with the conquest of the day. 

I fear, I fear, lest Greece, not yet undone, 
Pay the large debt of last revolving sun; 
Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains 
On yonder decks, and yet o'erlooks the plains!" 



BOOK XIII. 



409 



The counsel pleased; and Hector, with a bound, 
Leap'd from his chariot on the trembling ground; 
Swift as he leap'd his clanging arms resound. 
"To guard this post (he cried) thy art employ, 
And here detain the scatter'd youth of Troy; 
Where yonder heroes faint, I bend my way, 
And hasten back to end the doubtful day." 



This said, the towering chief prepares to go, 
Shakes his white plumes that to the breezes flow, 
And seems a moving mountain topp'd with snow. 
Through all his host, inspiring force, he flies, 
And bids anew the martial thunder rise. 
To Panthus' son, at Hector's high command 
Haste the bold leaders of the Trojan band: 
But round the battlements, and round the plain, 
For many a chief he look'd, but look'd in vain; 
Deiphobus, nor Helenus the seer, 
Nor Asius' son, nor Asius' self appear: 
For these were pierced with many a ghastly wound, 
Some cold in death, some groaning on the ground; 
Some low in dust, (a mournful object) lay; 
High on the wall some breathed their souls away. 



Far on the left, amid the throng he found 
(Cheering the troops, and dealing deaths around) 
The graceful Paris; whom, with fury moved, 
Opprobrious thus, th' impatient chief reproved: 



410 



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"Ill-fated Paris ! slave to womankind, 

As smooth of face as fraudulent of mind! 

Where is Deiphobus, where Asius gone? 

The godlike father, and th' intrepid son? 

The force of Helenus, dispensing fate; 

And great Othryoneus, so fear'd of late? 

Black fate hang's o'er thee from th' avenging gods, 

Imperial Troy from her foundations nods; 

Whelm'd in thy country's ruin shalt thou fall, 

And one devouring vengeance swallow all." 

When Paris thus: "My brother and my friend, 
Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue offend, 
In other battles I deserved thy blame, 
Though then not deedless, nor unknown to fame: 
But since yon rampart by thy arms lay low, 
I scatter'd slaughter from my fatal bow. 
The chiefs you seek on yonder shore lie slain; 
Of all those heroes, two alone remain; 
Deiphobus, and Helenus the seer, 
[251] Each now disabled by a hostile spear. 

Go then, successful, where thy soul inspires: 
This heart and hand shall second all thy fires: 
What with this arm I can, prepare to know, 
Till death for death be paid, and blow for blow. 
But 'tis not ours, with forces not our own 
To combat: strength is of the gods alone." 
These words the hero's angry mind assuage: 
Then fierce they mingle where the thickest rage. 
Around Polydamas, distain'd with blood, 
Cebrion, Phalces, stern Orthaeus stood, 
Palmus, with Polypoetes the divine, 
And two bold brothers of Hippotion's line 
(Who reach'd fair Ilion, from Ascania far, 



BOOK XIII. 



411 



The former day; the next engaged in war). 

As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs, 

That bears Jove's thunder on its dreadful wings, 

Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps; 

Then, gather'd, settles on the hoary deeps; 

The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; 

The waves behind impel the waves before, 

Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore: 

Thus rank on rank, the thick battalions throng, 

Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along. 

Far o'er the plains, in dreadful order bright, 

The brazen arms reflect a beamy light: 

Full in the blazing van great Hector shined, 

Like Mars commission'd to confound mankind. 

Before him flaming his enormous shield, 

Like the broad sun, illumined all the field; 

His nodding helm emits a streamy ray; 

His piercing eyes through all the battle stray, 

And, while beneath his targe he flash'd along, 

Shot terrors round, that wither'd e'en the strong. 

Thus stalk'd he, dreadful; death was in his look: 
Whole nations fear'd; but not an Argive shook. 
The towering Ajax, with an ample stride, 
Advanced the first, and thus the chief defied: 

"Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear; 

'Tis not thy arm, 'tis thundering Jove we fear: 

The skill of war to us not idly given, 

Lo! Greece is humbled, not by Troy, but Heaven. 

Vain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts, 

To force our fleet: the Greeks have hands and hearts. 

Long ere in flames our lofty navy fall, 

Your boasted city, and your god-built wall, 



412 



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Shall sink beneath us, smoking on the ground; 
And spread a long unmeasured ruin round. 
The time shall come, when, chased along the plain, 
Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain; 
[252] Even thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course, 

The wings of falcons for thy flying horse; 
Shalt run, forgetful of a warrior's fame, 
While clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame." 

As thus he spoke, behold, in open view, 

On sounding wings a dexter eagle flew. 

To Jove's glad omen all the Grecians rise, 

And hail, with shouts, his progress through the skies: 

Far-echoing clamours bound from side to side; 

They ceased; and thus the chief of Troy replied: 

"From whence this menace, this insulting strain? 
Enormous boaster! doom'd to vaunt in vain. 
So may the gods on Hector life bestow, 
(Not that short life which mortals lead below, 
But such as those of Jove's high lineage born, 
The blue-eyed maid, or he that gilds the morn,) 
As this decisive day shall end the fame 
Of Greece, and Argos be no more a name. 
And thou, imperious! if thy madness wait 
The lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy fate: 
That giant-corse, extended on the shore, 
Shall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore." 

He said; and like a lion stalk'd along: 
With shouts incessant earth and ocean rung, 
Sent from his following host: the Grecian train 
With answering thunders fill'd the echoing plain; 
A shout that tore heaven's concave, and, above, 
Shook the fix'd splendours of the throne of Jove. 



BOOK XIII. 




[253] 



BOOK XIV. 

ARGUMENT. 231 

JUNO DECEIVES JUPITER BY THE GIRDLE OF VENUS. 

Nestor, sitting at the table with Machaon, is alarmed with the 
increasing clamour of war, and hastens to Agamemnon; on his 
way he meets that prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he 
informs of the extremity of the danger. Agamemnon proposes 
to make their escape by night, which Ulysses withstands; to 
which Diomed adds his advice, that, wounded as they were, they 
should go forth and encourage the army with their presence, 
which advice is pursued. Juno, seeing the partiality of Jupiter to 
the Trojans, forms a design to over-reach him: she sets off her 
charms with the utmost care, and (the more surely to enchant 
him) obtains the magic girdle of Venus. She then applies herself 
to the god of sleep, and, with some difficulty, persuades him 
to seal the eyes of Jupiter: this done, she goes to mount Ida, 
where the god, at first sight, is ravished with her beauty, sinks 
in her embraces, and is laid asleep. Neptune takes advantage of 
his slumber, and succours the Greeks: Hector is struck to the 
ground with a prodigious stone by Ajax, and carried off from the 
battle: several actions succeed, till the Trojans, much distressed, 
are obliged to give way: the lesser Ajax signalizes himself in a 
particular manner. 

231 This book forms a most agreeable interruption to The continuous round of 
battles, which occupy the latter part of the Iliad. It is as well to observe, that 
the sameness of these scenes renders many notes unnecessary. 



416 



The Iliad of Homer 



But not the genial feast, nor flowing bowl, 
Could charm the cares of Nestor's watchful soul; 
His startled ears the increasing cries attend; 
Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend: 

"What new alarm, divine Machaon, say, 
What mix'd events attend this mighty day? 
Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet, 
And now come full, and thicken to the fleet! 
Here with the cordial draught dispel thy care, 
Let Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare, 
Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore; 
While I the adventures of the day explore. " 

He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes' shield, 
(His valiant offspring,) hasten'd to the field; 
(That day the son his father's buckler bore;) 
Then snatch'd a lance, and issued from the door. 
[254] Soon as the prospect open'd to his view, 

His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew; 
Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight, 
The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight. 
As when old ocean's silent surface sleeps, 
The waves just heaving on the purple deeps: 
While yet the expected tempest hangs on high, 
Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky, 
The mass of waters will no wind obey; 
Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away. 
While wavering counsels thus his mind engage, 
Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage, 
To join the host, or to the general haste; 
Debating long, he fixes on the last: 
Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms, 
The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms, 



BOOK XIV. 



417 



The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly; 
Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die. 



Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet, 
By tardy steps ascending from the fleet: 
The king of men, Ulysses the divine, 
And who to Tydeus owes his noble line. 232 
(Their ships at distance from the battle stand, 
In lines advanced along the shelving strand: 
Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain 
At length; beside the margin of the main, 
Rank above rank, the crowded ships they moor: 
Who landed first, lay highest on the shore.) 
Supported on the spears, they took their way, 
Unfit to fight, but anxious for the day. 
Nestor's approach alarm'd each Grecian breast, 
Whom thus the general of the host address'd: 



"O grace and glory of the Achaian name; 

What drives thee, Nestor, from the field of fame? 

Shall then proud Hector see his boast fulfill'd, 

Our fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill'd? 

Such was his threat, ah! now too soon made good, 

On many a Grecian bosom writ in blood. 

Is every heart inflamed with equal rage 

Against your king, nor will one chief engage? 

And have I lived to see with mournful eyes 

In every Greek a new Achilles rise?" 



— Who to Tydeus owes, i.e. Diomed. 



418 



The Iliad of Homer 



Gerenian Nestor then: "So fate has will'd; 
And all-confirming time has fate fulfill'd. 
Not he that thunders from the aerial bower, 
Not Jove himself, upon the past has power. 
The wall, our late inviolable bound, 
And best defence, lies smoking on the ground: 
Even to the ships their conquering arms extend, 
[255] And groans of slaughter'd Greeks to heaven ascend. 

On speedy measures then employ your thought 
In such distress ! if counsel profit aught: 
Arms cannot much: though Mars our souls incite, 
These gaping wounds withhold us from the fight." 



To him the monarch: "That our army bends, 
That Troy triumphant our high fleet ascends, 
And that the rampart, late our surest trust 
And best defence, lies smoking in the dust; 
All this from Jove's afflictive hand we bear, 
Who, far from Argos, wills our ruin here. 
Past are the days when happier Greece was blest, 
And all his favour, all his aid confess'd; 
Now heaven averse, our hands from battle ties, 
And lifts the Trojan glory to the skies. 
Cease we at length to waste our blood in vain, 
And launch what ships lie nearest to the main; 
Leave these at anchor, till the coming night: 
Then, if impetuous Troy forbear the fight, 
Bring all to sea, and hoist each sail for flight. 
Better from evils, well foreseen, to run, 
Than perish in the danger we may shun. " 



BOOK XIV. 



419 



Thus he. The sage Ulysses thus replies, 
While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes: 
"What shameful words (unkingly as thou art) 
Fall from that trembling tongue and timorous heart? 
Oh were thy sway the curse of meaner powers, 
And thou the shame of any host but ours ! 
A host, by Jove endued with martial might, 
And taught to conquer, or to fall in fight: 
Adventurous combats and bold wars to wage, 
Employ'd our youth, and yet employs our age. 
And wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain? 
And have whole streams of blood been spilt in vain? 
In such base sentence if thou couch thy fear, 
Speak it in whispers, lest a Greek should hear. 
Lives there a man so dead to fame, who dares 
To think such meanness, or the thought declares? 
And comes it even from him whose sovereign sway 
The banded legions of all Greece obey? 
Is this a general's voice that calls to flight, 
While war hangs doubtful, while his soldiers fight? 
What more could Troy? What yet their fate denies 
Thou givest the foe: all Greece becomes their prize. 
No more the troops (our hoisted sails in view, 
Themselves abandon' d) shall the fight pursue; 
But thy ships flying, with despair shall see; 
And owe destruction to a prince like thee. " 

"Thy just reproofs (Atrides calm replies) 

Like arrows pierce me, for thy words are wise. 

Unwilling as I am to lose the host, [256] 

I force not Greece to quit this hateful coast; 

Glad I submit, whoe'er, or young, or old, 

Aught, more conducive to our weal, unfold." 



420 



The Iliad of Homer 



Tydides cut him short, and thus began: 

"Such counsel if you seek, behold the man 

Who boldly gives it, and what he shall say, 

Young though he be, disdain not to obey: 

A youth, who from the mighty Tydeus springs, 

May speak to councils and assembled kings. 

Hear then in me the great OEnides' son, 

Whose honoured dust (his race of glory run) 

Lies whelm'd in ruins of the Theban wall; 

Brave in his life, and glorious in his fall. 

With three bold sons was generous Prothous bless'd, 

Who Pleuron's walls and Calydon possess'd; 

Melas and Agrius, but (who far surpass'd 

The rest in courage) OEneus was the last. 

From him, my sire. From Calydon expell'd, 

He pass'd to Argos, and in exile dwell'd; 

The monarch's daughter there (so Jove ordain' d) 

He won, and flourish'd where Adrastus reign'd; 

There, rich in fortune's gifts, his acres till'd, 

Beheld his vines their liquid harvest yield, 

And numerous flocks that whiten'd all the field. 

Such Tydeus was, the foremost once in fame! 

Nor lives in Greece a stranger to his name. 

Then, what for common good my thoughts inspire, 

Attend, and in the son respect the sire. 

Though sore of battle, though with wounds oppress'd, 

Let each go forth, and animate the rest, 

Advance the glory which he cannot share, 

Though not partaker, witness of the war. 

But lest new wounds on wounds o'erpower us quite, 

Beyond the missile javelin's sounding flight, 

Safe let us stand; and, from the tumult far, 

Inspire the ranks, and rule the distant war." 



BOOK XIV. 



421 



He added not: the listening kings obey, 
Slow moving on; Atrides leads the way. 
The god of ocean (to inflame their rage) 
Appears a warrior furrowed o'er with age; 
Press'd in his own, the general's hand he took, 
And thus the venerable hero spoke: 



"Atrides! lo! with what disdainful eye 

Achilles sees his country's forces fly; 

Blind, impious man! whose anger is his guide, 

Who glories in unutterable pride. 

So may he perish, so may Jove disclaim 

The wretch relentless, and o'erwhelm with shame! 

But Heaven forsakes not thee: o'er yonder sands 

Soon shall thou view the scattered Trojan bands [257] 

Fly diverse; while proud kings, and chiefs renown' d, 

Driven heaps on heaps, with clouds involved around 

Of rolling dust, their winged wheels employ 

To hide their ignominious heads in Troy." 



He spoke, then rush'd amid the warrior crew, 
And sent his voice before him as he flew, 
Loud, as the shout encountering armies yield 
When twice ten thousand shake the labouring field; 
Such was the voice, and such the thundering sound 
Of him whose trident rends the solid ground. 
Each Argive bosom beats to meet the fight, 
And grisly war appears a pleasing sight. 



422 



The Iliad of Homer 



Meantime Saturnia from Olympus' brow, 
High-throned in gold, beheld the fields below; 
With joy the glorious conflict she survey'd, 
Where her great brother gave the Grecians aid. 
But placed aloft, on Ida's shady height 
She sees her Jove, and trembles at the sight. 
Jove to deceive, what methods shall she try, 
What arts, to blind his all-beholding eye? 
At length she trusts her power; resolved to prove 
The old, yet still successful, cheat of love; 
Against his wisdom to oppose her charms, 
And lull the lord of thunders in her arms. 

Swift to her bright apartment she repairs, 
Sacred to dress and beauty's pleasing cares: 
With skill divine had Vulcan form'd the bower, 
Safe from access of each intruding power. 
Touch'd with her secret key, the doors unfold: 
Self-closed, behind her shut the valves of gold. 
Here first she bathes; and round her body pours 
Soft oils of fragrance, and ambrosial showers: 
The winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey 
Through heaven, through earth, and all the aerial way: 
Spirit divine! whose exhalation greets 
The sense of gods with more than mortal sweets. 
Thus while she breathed of heaven, with decent pride 
Her artful hands the radiant tresses tied; 
Part on her head in shining ringlets roll'd, 
Part o'er her shoulders waved like melted gold. 
Around her next a heavenly mantle flow'd, 
That rich with Pallas' labour'd colours glow'd: 
Large clasps of gold the foldings gather'd round, 
A golden zone her swelling bosom bound. 
Far-beaming pendants tremble in her ear, 



BOOK XIV. 



423 



Each gem illumined with a triple star. 
Then o'er her head she cast a veil more white 
Than new-fallen snow, and dazzling as the light. 
Last her fair feet celestial sandals grace. 

Thus issuing radiant with majestic pace, [258] 
Forth from the dome the imperial goddess moves, 
And calls the mother of the smiles and loves. 

"How long (to Venus thus apart she cried) 
Shall human strife celestial minds divide? 
Ah yet, will Venus aid Saturnia's joy, 
And set aside the cause of Greece and Troy?" 

"Let heaven's dread empress (Cytheraea said) 
Speak her request, and deem her will obey'd." 

"Then grant me (said the queen) those conquering charms, 
That power, which mortals and immortals warms, 
That love, which melts mankind in fierce desires, 
And burns the sons of heaven with sacred fires ! 

"For lo! I haste to those remote abodes, 

Where the great parents, (sacred source of gods!) 

Ocean and Tethys their old empire keep, 

On the last limits of the land and deep. 

In their kind arms my tender years were past; 

What time old Saturn, from Olympus cast, 

Of upper heaven to Jove resign'd the reign, 

Whelm'd under the huge mass of earth and main. 

For strife, I hear, has made the union cease, 

Which held so long that ancient pair in peace. 

What honour, and what love, shall I obtain, 

If I compose those fatal feuds again; 

Once more their minds in mutual ties engage, 

And, what my youth has owed, repay their age!" 



424 



The Iliad of Homer 



She said. With awe divine, the queen of love 
Obey'd the sister and the wife of Jove; 
And from her fragrant breast the zone embraced, 233 
With various skill and high embroidery graced. 
In this was every art, and every charm, 
To win the wisest, and the coldest warm: 
Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, 
The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, 
Persuasive speech, and the more persuasive sighs, 
Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes. 
This on her hand the Cyprian Goddess laid: 
"Take this, and with it all thy wish;" she said. 
With smiles she took the charm; and smiling press'd 
The powerful cestus to her snowy breast. 



Then Venus to the courts of Jove withdrew; 
Whilst from Olympus pleased Saturnia flew. 
O'er high Pieria thence her course she bore, 
O'er fair Emathia's ever-pleasing shore, 
[259] O'er Hemus' hills with snows eternal crown'd; 

Nor once her flying foot approach'd the ground. 
Then taking wing from Athos' lofty steep, 
She speeds to Lemnos o'er the rolling deep, 
And seeks the cave of Death's half-brother, Sleep. 



Compare Tasso: — 

Teneri sdegni, e placide, e tranquille 
Repulse, e cari vezzi, e liete paci, 
Sorrisi, parolette, e dolci stille 
Di pianto, e sospir tronchi, e molli baci." 

Gier. Lib. xvi. 25 

234 Compare the description of the dwelling of Sleep in Orlando Furioso, bk. 
vi. 



BOOK XIV. 



425 



"Sweet pleasing Sleep! (Saturnia thus began) 

Who spread'st thy empire o'er each god and man; 

If e'er obsequious to thy Juno's will, 

O power of slumbers! hear, and favour still. 

Shed thy soft dews on Jove's immortal eyes, 

While sunk in love's entrancing joys he lies. 

A splendid footstool, and a throne, that shine 

With gold unfading, Somnus, shall be thine; 

The work of Vulcan; to indulge thy ease, 

When wine and feasts thy golden humours please." 



"Imperial dame (the balmy power replies), 

Great Saturn's heir, and empress of the skies! 

O'er other gods I spread my easy chain; 

The sire of all, old Ocean, owns my reign. 

And his hush'd waves lie silent on the main. 

But how, unbidden, shall I dare to steep 

Jove's awful temples in the dew of sleep? 

Long since, too venturous, at thy bold command, 

On those eternal lids I laid my hand; 

What time, deserting Ilion's wasted plain, 

His conquering son, Alcides, plough'd the main. 

When lo ! the deeps arise, the tempests roar, 

And drive the hero to the Coan shore: 

Great Jove, awaking, shook the blest abodes 

With rising wrath, and tumbled gods on gods; 

Me chief he sought, and from the realms on high 

Had hurl'd indignant to the nether sky, 

But gentle Night, to whom I fled for aid, 

(The friend of earth and heaven,) her wings display'd; 

Impower'd the wrath of gods and men to tame, 

Even Jove revered the venerable dame." 



426 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Vain are thy fears (the queen of heaven replies, 
And, speaking, rolls her large majestic eyes); 
Think'st thou that Troy has Jove's high favour won, 
Like great Alcides, his all-conquering son? 
Hear, and obey the mistress of the skies, 
Nor for the deed expect a vulgar prize; 
For know, thy loved-one shall be ever thine, 
The youngest Grace, Pasithae the divine." 235 



"Swear then (he said) by those tremendous floods 
[260] That roar through hell, and bind the invoking gods: 

Let the great parent earth one hand sustain, 
And stretch the other o'er the sacred main: 
Call the black Titans, that with Chronos dwell, 
To hear and witness from the depths of hell; 
That she, my loved-one, shall be ever mine, 
The youngest Grace, Pasithae the divine." 



The queen assents, and from the infernal bowers 
Invokes the sable subtartarean powers, 
And those who rule the inviolable floods, 
Whom mortals name the dread Titanian gods. 



235 



"Twice seven, the charming daughters of the main — 
Around my person wait, and bear my train: 
Succeed my wish, and second my design, 
The fairest, Deiopeia, shall be thine." 



Dryden's Virgil, JEn. i. 107, seq. 



BOOK XIV. 



427 




SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF JUPITER. 



428 



The Iliad of Homer 



Then swift as wind, o'er Lemnos' smoky isle 
They wing their way, and Imbrus' sea-beat soil; 
Through air, unseen, involved in darkness glide, 
And light on Lectos, on the point of Ide: 
(Mother of savages, whose echoing hills 
Are heard resounding with a hundred rills:) 
Fair Ida trembles underneath the god; 
Hush'd are her mountains, and her forests nod. 
There on a fir, whose spiry branches rise 
To join its summit to the neighbouring skies; 
Dark in embowering shade, conceal'd from sight, 
Sat Sleep, in likeness of the bird of night. 
(Chalcis his name by those of heavenly birth, 
But call'd Cymindis by the race of earth.) 

[261] 

To Ida's top successful Juno flies; 

Great Jove surveys her with desiring eyes: 

The god, whose lightning sets the heavens on fire, 

Through all his bosom feels the fierce desire; 

Fierce as when first by stealth he seized her charms, 

Mix'd with her soul, and melted in her arms: 

Fix'd on her eyes he fed his eager look, 

Then press'd her hand, and thus with transport spoke: 



"Why comes my goddess from the ethereal sky, 
And not her steeds and flaming chariot nigh?" 



BOOK XIV. 



429 



Then she — "I haste to those remote abodes 

Where the great parents of the deathless gods, 

The reverend Ocean and gray Tethys, reign, 

On the last limits of the land and main. 

I visit these, to whose indulgent cares 

I owe the nursing of my tender years: 

For strife, I hear, has made that union cease 

Which held so long that ancient pair in peace. 

The steeds, prepared my chariot to convey 

O'er earth and seas, and through the aerial way, 

Wait under Ide: of thy superior power 

To ask consent, I leave the Olympian bower; 

Nor seek, unknown to thee, the sacred cells 

Deep under seas, where hoary Ocean dwells." 

"For that (said Jove) suffice another day! 

But eager love denies the least delay. 

Let softer cares the present hour employ, 

And be these moments sacred all to joy. 

Ne'er did my soul so strong a passion prove, 

Or for an earthly, or a heavenly love: 

Not when I press'd Ixion's matchless dame, 

Whence rose Pirithous like the gods in fame: 

Not when fair Danae felt the shower of gold 

Stream into life, whence Perseus brave and bold. 

Not thus I burn'd for either Theban dame: 

(Bacchus from this, from that Alcides came:) 

Nor Phoenix' daughter, beautiful and young, 

Whence godlike Rhadamanth and Minos sprung. 236 

236 — And Minos. "By Homer, Minos is described as the son of Jupiter, and 
of the daughter of Phoenix, whom all succeeding authors name Europa; and 
he is thus carried back into the remotest period of Cretan antiquity known to 
the poet, apparently as a native hero, Illustrious enough for a divine parentage, 
and too ancient to allow his descent to be traced to any other source. But in a 
genealogy recorded by later writers, he is likewise the adopted son of Asterius, 



430 



The Iliad of Homer 



Not thus I burn'd for fair Latona's face, 
Nor comelier Ceres' more majestic grace. 
Not thus even for thyself I felt desire, 
As now my veins receive the pleasing fire." 



[262] He spoke; the goddess with the charming eyes 

Glows with celestial red, and thus replies: 
"Is this a scene for love? On Ida's height, 
Exposed to mortal and immortal sight! 
Our joys profaned by each familiar eye; 
The sport of heaven, and fable of the sky: 
How shall I e'er review the blest abodes, 
Or mix among the senate of the gods? 
Shall I not think, that, with disorder'd charms, 
All heaven beholds me recent from thy arms? 
With skill divine has Vulcan form'd thy bower, 
Sacred to love and to the genial hour; 
If such thy will, to that recess retire, 
In secret there indulge thy soft desire." 



She ceased; and, smiling with superior love, 
Thus answer'd mild the cloud-compelling Jove: 
"Nor god nor mortal shall our joys behold, 
Shaded with clouds, and circumfused in gold; 
Not even the sun, who darts through heaven his rays, 
And whose broad eye the extended earth surveys." 



as descendant of Dorus, the son of Helen, and is thus connected with a colony 
said to have been led into Creta by Tentamus, or Tectamus, son of Dorus, who 
is related either to have crossed over from Thessaly, or to have embarked at 
Malea after having led his followers by land into Laconia." — Thirlwall, p. 136, 
seq. 



BOOK XIV. 



431 



Gazing he spoke, and, kindling at the view, 
His eager arms around the goddess threw. 
Glad Earth perceives, and from her bosom pours 
Unbidden herbs and voluntary flowers: 
Thick new-born violets a soft carpet spread, 
And clustering lotos swell'd the rising bed, 
And sudden hyacinths the turf bestrow, 237 
And flamy crocus made the mountain glow 
There golden clouds conceal the heavenly pair, 
Steep'd in soft joys and circumfused with air; 
Celestial dews, descending o'er the ground, 
Perfume the mount, and breathe ambrosia round: 
At length, with love and sleep's soft power oppress'd, 
The panting thunderer nods, and sinks to rest. 

Now to the navy borne on silent wings, 
To Neptune's ear soft Sleep his message brings; 
Beside him sudden, unperceived, he stood, 
And thus with gentle words address'd the god: 

"Now, Neptune! now, the important hour employ, 
To check a while the haughty hopes of Troy: 
While Jove yet rests, while yet my vapours shed 
The golden vision round his sacred head; 
For Juno's love, and Somnus' pleasing ties, 
Have closed those awful and eternal eyes." 
Thus having said, the power of slumber flew, 
On human lids to drop the balmy dew. 

Neptune, with zeal increased, renews his care, [263] 

237 Milton has emulated this passage, in describing the couch of our first 
parents: — 

"Underneath the violet, 
Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay, 
'Broider'd the ground." 

—"Paradise Lost," iv. 700. 



432 



The Iliad of Homer 



And towering in the foremost ranks of war, 

Indignant thus — "Oh once of martial fame! 

O Greeks! if yet ye can deserve the name! 

This half-recover'd day shall Troy obtain? 

Shall Hector thunder at your ships again? 

Lo! still he vaunts, and threats the fleet with fires, 

While stern Achilles in his wrath retires. 

One hero's loss too tamely you deplore, 

Be still yourselves, and ye shall need no more. 

Oh yet, if glory any bosom warms, 

Brace on your firmest helms, and stand to arms: 

His strongest spear each valiant Grecian wield, 

Each valiant Grecian seize his broadest shield; 

Let to the weak the lighter arms belong, 

The ponderous targe be wielded by the strong. 

Thus arm'd, not Hector shall our presence stay; 

Myself, ye Greeks! myself will lead the way." 



The troops assent; their martial arms they change: 
The busy chiefs their banded legions range. 
The kings, though wounded, and oppress'd with pain, 
With helpful hands themselves assist the train. 
The strong and cumbrous arms the valiant wield, 
The weaker warrior takes a lighter shield. 
Thus sheath'd in shining brass, in bright array 
The legions march, and Neptune leads the way: 
His brandish'd falchion flames before their eyes, 
Like lightning flashing through the frighted skies. 
Clad in his might, the earth-shaking power appears; 
Pale mortals tremble, and confess their fears. 



BOOK XIV. 



433 




GREEK SHIELD. 



434 



The Iliad of Homer 



Troy's great defender stands alone unawed, 
Arms his proud host, and dares oppose a god: 
And lo ! the god, and wondrous man, appear: 
The sea's stern ruler there, and Hector here. 
The roaring main, at her great master's call, 
Rose in huge ranks, and form'd a watery wall 
Around the ships: seas hanging o'er the shores, 
Both armies join: earth thunders, ocean roars. 
Not half so loud the bellowing deeps resound, 
[264] When stormy winds disclose the dark profound; 

Less loud the winds that from the ^Eolian hall 

Roar through the woods, and make whole forests fall; 

Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour, 

Catch the dry mountain, and its shades devour; 

With such a rage the meeting hosts are driven, 

And such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven. 

The first bold javelin, urged by Hector's force, 

Direct at Ajax' bosom winged its course; 

But there no pass the crossing belts afford, 

(One braced his shield, and one sustain'd his sword.) 

Then back the disappointed Trojan drew, 

And cursed the lance that unavailing flew: 

But 'scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand 

A ponderous stone upheaving from the sand, 

(Where heaps laid loose beneath the warrior's feet, 

Or served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,) 

Toss'd round and round, the missive marble flings; 

On the razed shield the fallen ruin rings, 

Full on his breast and throat with force descends; 

Nor deaden'd there its giddy fury spends, 

But whirling on, with many a fiery round, 

Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground. 

As when the bolt, red-hissing from above, 

Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove, 



BOOK XIV. 



435 



The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies, 

Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise; 

Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand, 

And own the terrors of the almighty hand! 

So lies great Hector prostrate on the shore; 

His slacken'd hand deserts the lance it bore; 

His following shield the fallen chief o'erspread; 

Beneath his helmet dropp'd his fainting head; 

His load of armour, sinking to the ground, 

Clanks on the field, a dead and hollow sound. 

Loud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain; 

Greece sees, in hope, Troy's great defender slain: 

All spring to seize him; storms of arrows fly, 

And thicker javelins intercept the sky. 

In vain an iron tempest hisses round; 

He lies protected, and without a wound. 238 

Polydamas, Agenor the divine, 

The pious warrior of Anchises' line, 

And each bold leader of the Lycian band, 

With covering shields (a friendly circle) stand, [265] 

His mournful followers, with assistant care, 

The groaning hero to his chariot bear; 

His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind, 

Speed to the town, and leave the war behind. 



— He lies protected, 

"Forthwith on all sides to his aid was run 
By angels many and strong, who interpos'd 
Defence, while others bore him on their shields 
Back to his chariot, where it stood retir'd 
From off the files of war; there they him laid, 
Gnashing for anguish, and despite, and shame." 



"Paradise Lost," vi. 335, seq. 



436 



The Iliad of Homer 



When now they touch'd the mead's enamell'd side, 
Where gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide, 
With watery drops the chief they sprinkle round, 
Placed on the margin of the flowery ground. 
Raised on his knees, he now ejects the gore; 
Now faints anew, low-sinking on the shore; 
By fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies, 
And seals again, by fits, his swimming eyes. 



Soon as the Greeks the chief's retreat beheld, 
With double fury each invades the field. 
Oilean Ajax first his javelin sped, 
Pierced by whose point the son of Enops bled; 
(Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neis bore 
Amidst her flocks on Satnio's silver shore;) 
Struck through the belly's rim, the warrior lies 
Supine, and shades eternal veil his eyes. 
An arduous battle rose around the dead; 
By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans bled. 



Fired with revenge, Polydamas drew near, 
And at Prothoenor shook the trembling spear; 
The driving javelin through his shoulder thrust, 
He sinks to earth, and grasps the bloody dust. 
"Lo thus (the victor cries) we rule the field, 
And thus their arms the race of Panthus wield: 
From this unerring hand there flies no dart 
But bathes its point within a Grecian heart. 
Propp'd on that spear to which thou owest thy fall, 
Go, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto's dreary hall." 



BOOK XIV. 



437 



He said, and sorrow touch'd each Argive breast: 
The soul of Ajax burn'd above the rest. 
As by his side the groaning warrior fell, 
At the fierce foe he launch'd his piercing steel; 
The foe, reclining, shunn'd the flying death; 
But fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath: 
Thy lofty birth no succour could impart, 
The wings of death o'ertook thee on the dart; 
Swift to perform heaven's fatal will, it fled 
Full on the juncture of the neck and head, 
And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain: 
The dropping head first tumbled on the plain. 
So just the stroke, that yet the body stood 
Erect, then roll'd along the sands in blood. 

"Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes! 
(The towering Ajax loud-insulting cries:) 
Say, is this chief extended on the plain 

A worthy vengeance for Prothoenor slain? [266] 

Mark well his port! his figure and his face 

Nor speak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race; 

Some lines, methinks, may make his lineage known, 

Antenor's brother, or perhaps his son." 

He spake, and smiled severe, for well he knew 
The bleeding youth: Troy sadden'd at the view. 
But furious Acamas avenged his cause; 
As Promachus his slaughtered brother draws, 
He pierced his heart — "Such fate attends you all, 
Proud Argives ! destined by our arms to fall. 
Not Troy alone, but haughty Greece, shall share 
The toils, the sorrows, and the wounds of war. 
Behold your Promachus deprived of breath, 
A victim owed to my brave brother's death. 



438 



The Iliad of Homer 



Not unappeased he enters Pluto's gate, 
Who leaves a brother to revenge his fate." 

Heart-piercing anguish struck the Grecian host, 

But touch'd the breast of bold Peneleus most; 

At the proud boaster he directs his course; 

The boaster flies, and shuns superior force. 

But young Ilioneus received the spear; 

Ilioneus, his father's only care: 

(Phorbas the rich, of all the Trojan train 

Whom Hermes loved, and taught the arts of gain:) 

Full in his eye the weapon chanced to fall, 

And from the fibres scoop'd the rooted ball, 

Drove through the neck, and hurl'd him to the plain; 

He lifts his miserable arms in vain! 

Swift his broad falchion fierce Peneleus spread, 

And from the spouting shoulders struck his head; 

To earth at once the head and helmet fly; 

The lance, yet sticking through the bleeding eye, 

The victor seized; and, as aloft he shook 

The gory visage, thus insulting spoke: 

"Trojans! your great Ilioneus behold! 
Haste, to his father let the tale be told: 
Let his high roofs resound with frantic woe, 
Such as the house of Promachus must know; 
Let doleful tidings greet his mother's ear, 
Such as to Promachus' sad spouse we bear, 
When we victorious shall to Greece return, 
And the pale matron in our triumphs mourn." 

Dreadful he spoke, then toss'd the head on high; 
The Trojans hear, they tremble, and they fly: 
Aghast they gaze around the fleet and wall, 
And dread the ruin that impends on all. 



BOOK XIV. 



439 



Daughters of Jove ! that on Olympus shine, 

Ye all-beholding, all-recording nine! 

O say, when Neptune made proud Ilion yield, 

What chief, what hero first embrued the field? [267] 

Of all the Grecians what immortal name, 

And whose bless'd trophies, will ye raise to fame? 

Thou first, great Ajax! on the unsanguined plain 

Laid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train. 

Phalces and Mermer, Nestor's son o'erthrew, 

Bold Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew. 

Strong Periphaetes and Prothoon bled, 

By Teucer's arrows mingled with the dead, 

Pierced in the flank by Menelaus' steel, 

His people's pastor, Hyperenor fell; 

Eternal darkness wrapp'd the warrior round, 

And the fierce soul came rushing through the wound. 

But stretch'd in heaps before Oileus' son, 

Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run; 

Ajax the less, of all the Grecian race 

Skill'd in pursuit, and swiftest in the chase. 




BACCHUS. 



[268] 



BOOK XV. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE FIFTH BATTLE AT THE SHIPS ; AND THE ACTS OF 
AJAX. 

Jupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans repulsed from the trenches, 
Hector in a swoon, and Neptune at the head of the Greeks: he is 
highly incensed at the artifice of Juno, who appeases him by her 
submissions; she is then sent to Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to 
the assembly of the gods, attempts, with extraordinary address, to 
incense them against Jupiter; in particular she touches Mars with 
a violent resentment; he is ready to take arms, but is prevented 
by Minerva. Iris and Apollo obey the orders of Jupiter; Iris 
commands Neptune to leave the battle, to which, after much 
reluctance and passion, he consents. Apollo reinspires Hector 
with vigour, brings him back to the battle, marches before him 
with his aegis, and turns the fortune of the fight. He breaks down 
great part of the Grecian wall: the Trojans rush in, and attempt 
to fire the first line of the fleet, but are, as yet, repelled by the 
greater Ajax with a prodigious slaughter. 

Now in swift flight they pass the trench profound, 
And many a chief lay gasping on the ground: 
Then stopp'd and panted, where the chariots lie 
Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye. 
Meanwhile, awaken'd from his dream of love, 
On Ida's summit sat imperial Jove: 
Round the wide fields he cast a careful view, 
There saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue; 



442 



The Iliad of Homer 



These proud in arms, those scatter'd o'er the plain 
And, 'midst the war, the monarch of the main. 
Not far, great Hector on the dust he spies, 
(His sad associates round with weeping eyes,) 
Ejecting blood, and panting yet for breath, 
His senses wandering to the verge of death. 
The god beheld him with a pitying look, 
And thus, incensed, to fraudful Juno spoke: 

"O thou, still adverse to the eternal will, 
For ever studious in promoting ill! 
Thy arts have made the godlike Hector yield, 
And driven his conquering squadrons from the field. 
Canst thou, unhappy in thy wiles, withstand 
[269] Our power immense, and brave the almighty hand? 

Hast thou forgot, when, bound and fix'd on high, 
From the vast concave of the spangled sky, 
I hung thee trembling in a golden chain, 
And all the raging gods opposed in vain? 
Headlong I hurl'd them from the Olympian hall, 
Stunn'd in the whirl, and breathless with the fall. 
For godlike Hercules these deeds were done, 
Nor seem'd the vengeance worthy such a son: 
When, by thy wiles induced, fierce Boreas toss'd 
The shipwreck'd hero on the Coan coast, 
Him through a thousand forms of death I bore, 
And sent to Argos, and his native shore. 
Hear this, remember, and our fury dread, 
Nor pull the unwilling vengeance on thy head; 
Lest arts and blandishments successless prove, 
Thy soft deceits, and well-dissembled love." 

The Thunderer spoke: imperial Juno mourn'd, 
And, trembling, these submissive words return'd: 



BOOK XV. 



"By every oath that powers immortal ties, 

The foodful earth and all-infolding skies; 

By thy black waves, tremendous Styx! that flow 

Through the drear realms of gliding ghosts below 

By the dread honours of thy sacred head, 

And that unbroken vow, our virgin bed! 

Not by my arts the ruler of the main 

Steeps Troy in blood, and ranges round the plain: 

By his own ardour, his own pity sway'd, 

To help his Greeks, he fought and disobey'd: 

Else had thy Juno better counsels given, 

And taught submission to the sire of heaven." 



"Think'st thou with me? fair empress of the skies ! 
(The immortal father with a smile replies;) 
Then soon the haughty sea-god shall obey, 
Nor dare to act but when we point the way. 
If truth inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will 
To yon bright synod on the Olympian hill; 
Our high decree let various Iris know, 
And call the god that bears the silver bow. 
Let her descend, and from the embattled plain 
Command the sea-god to his watery reign: 
While Phoebus hastes great Hector to prepare 
To rise afresh, and once more wake the war: 
His labouring bosom re-inspires with breath, 
And calls his senses from the verge of death. 
Greece chased by Troy, even to Achilles' fleet, 
Shall fall by thousands at the hero's feet. 
He, not untouch'd with pity, to the plain 
Shall send Patroclus, but shall send in vain. 
What youths he slaughters under Ilion's walls ! 
Even my loved son, divine Sarpedon, falls! 



444 



The Iliad of Homer 



Vanquish'd at last by Hector's lance he lies. 

Then, nor till then, shall great Achilles rise: 

And lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies. 

From that great hour the war's whole fortune turns, 

Pallas assists, and lofty Ilion burns. 

Not till that day shall Jove relax his rage, 

Nor one of all the heavenly host engage 

In aid of Greece. The promise of a god 

I gave, and seal'd it with the almighty nod, 

Achilles' glory to the stars to raise; 

Such was our word, and fate the word obeys." 



The trembling queen (the almighty order given) 
Swift from the Idaean summit shot to heaven. 
As some wayfaring man, who wanders o'er 
In thought a length of lands he trod before, 
Sends forth his active mind from place to place, 
Joins hill to dale, and measures space with space: 
So swift flew Juno to the bless'd abodes, 
If thought of man can match the speed of gods. 
There sat the powers in awful synod placed; 
They bow'd, and made obeisance as she pass'd 
Through all the brazen dome: with goblets crown' 

d 239 

They hail her queen; the nectar streams around. 
Fair Themis first presents the golden bowl, 
And anxious asks what cares disturb her soul? 



— The brazen dome. See the note on Bk. viii. Page 142. 



BOOK XV. 



445 



To whom the white-arm'd goddess thus replies: 
"Enough thou know'st the tyrant of the skies, 
Severely bent his purpose to fulfil, 
Unmoved his mind, and unrestrain'd his will. 
Go thou, the feasts of heaven attend thy call; 
Bid the crown'd nectar circle round the hall: 
But Jove shall thunder through the ethereal dome 
Such stern decrees, such threaten'd woes to come, 
As soon shall freeze mankind with dire surprise, 
And damp the eternal banquets of the skies." 



The goddess said, and sullen took her place; 
Black horror sadden'd each celestial face. 
To see the gathering grudge in every breast, 
Smiles on her lips a spleenful joy express'd; 
While on her wrinkled front, and eyebrow bent, 
Sat stedfast care, and lowering discontent. 
Thus she proceeds — "Attend, ye powers above! 
But know, 'tis madness to contest with Jove: 
Supreme he sits; and sees, in pride of sway. 
Your vassal godheads grudgingly obey: 
Fierce in the majesty of power controls; 
Shakes all the thrones of heaven, and bends the poles. 
Submiss, immortals! all he wills, obey: 

And thou, great Mars, begin and show the way. [271] 

Behold Ascalaphus ! behold him die, 

But dare not murmur, dare not vent a sigh; 

Thy own loved boasted offspring lies o'erthrown, 

If that loved boasted offspring be thy own." 



446 



The Iliad of Homer 



Stern Mars, with anguish for his slaughter'd son, 
Smote his rebelling breast, and fierce begun: 
"Thus then, immortals! thus shall Mars obey; 
Forgive me, gods, and yield my vengeance way: 
Descending first to yon forbidden plain, 
The god of battles dares avenge the slain; 
Dares, though the thunder bursting o'er my head 
Should hurl me blazing on those heaps of dead." 

With that he gives command to Fear and Flight 
To join his rapid coursers for the fight: 
Then grim in arms, with hasty vengeance flies; 
Arms that reflect a radiance through the skies. 
And now had Jove, by bold rebellion driven, 
Discharged his wrath on half the host of heaven; 
But Pallas, springing through the bright abode, 
Starts from her azure throne to calm the god. 
Struck for the immortal race with timely fear, 
From frantic Mars she snatch'd the shield and spear; 
Then the huge helmet lifting from his head, 
Thus to the impetuous homicide she said: 

"By what wild passion, furious! art thou toss'd? 
Striv'st thou with Jove? thou art already lost. 
Shall not the Thunderer's dread command restrain, 
And was imperial Juno heard in vain? 
Back to the skies wouldst thou with shame be driven, 
And in thy guilt involve the host of heaven? 
Ilion and Greece no more should Jove engage, 
The skies would yield an ampler scene of rage; 
Guilty and guiltless find an equal fate 
And one vast ruin whelm the Olympian state. 
Cease then thy offspring's death unjust to call; 
Heroes as great have died, and yet shall fall. 



BOOK XV. 



447 



Why should heaven's law with foolish man comply 
Exempted from the race ordain'd to die?" 

This menace fix'd the warrior to his throne; 
Sullen he sat, and curb'd the rising groan. 
Then Juno call'd (Jove's orders to obey) 
The winged Iris, and the god of day. 
"Go wait the Thunderer's will (Saturnia cried) 
On yon tall summit of the fountful Ide: 
There in the father's awful presence stand, 
Receive, and execute his dread command. " 

She said, and sat; the god that gilds the day, 
And various Iris, wing their airy way. 
Swift as the wind, to Ida's hills they came, 

(Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game) [272] 

There sat the eternal; he whose nod controls 

The trembling world, and shakes the steady poles. 

Veil'd in a mist of fragrance him they found, 

With clouds of gold and purple circled round. 

Well-pleased the Thunderer saw their earnest care, 

And prompt obedience to the queen of air; 

Then (while a smile serenes his awful brow) 

Commands the goddess of the showery bow: 

"Iris ! descend, and what we here ordain, 
Report to yon mad tyrant of the main. 
Bid him from fight to his own deeps repair, 
Or breathe from slaughter in the fields of air. 
If he refuse, then let him timely weigh 
Our elder birthright, and superior sway. 
How shall his rashness stand the dire alarms, 
If heaven's omnipotence descend in arms? 
Strives he with me, by whom his power was given, 
And is there equal to the lord of heaven?" 



448 



The Iliad of Homer 



The all-mighty spoke; the goddess wing'd her flight 

To sacred Ilion from the Idaean height. 

Swift as the rattling hail, or fleecy snows, 

Drive through the skies, when Boreas fiercely blows; 

So from the clouds descending Iris falls, 

And to blue Neptune thus the goddess calls: 

"Attend the mandate of the sire above! 

In me behold the messenger of Jove: 

He bids thee from forbidden wars repair 

To thine own deeps, or to the fields of air. 

This if refused, he bids thee timely weigh 

His elder birthright, and superior sway. 

How shall thy rashness stand the dire alarms 

If heaven's omnipotence descend in arms? 

Striv'st thou with him by whom all power is given? 

And art thou equal to the lord of heaven?" 

"What means the haughty sovereign of the skies? 
(The king of ocean thus, incensed, replies;) 
Rule as he will his portion'd realms on high; 
No vassal god, nor of his train, am I. 
Three brother deities from Saturn came, 
And ancient Rhea, earth's immortal dame: 
Assign'd by lot, our triple rule we know; 
Infernal Pluto sways the shades below; 
O'er the wide clouds, and o'er the starry plain, 
Ethereal Jove extends his high domain; 
My court beneath the hoary waves I keep, 
And hush the roarings of the sacred deep; 
Olympus, and this earth, in common lie: 
What claim has here the tyrant of the sky? 
Far in the distant clouds let him control, 
[273] And awe the younger brothers of the pole; 



BOOK XV. 



449 



There to his children his commands be given, 
The trembling, servile, second race of heaven." 



"And must I then (said she), O sire of floods! 

Bear this fierce answer to the king of gods? 

Correct it yet, and change thy rash intent; 

A noble mind disdains not to repent. 

To elder brothers guardian fiends are given, 

To scourge the wretch insulting them and heaven." 



"Great is the profit (thus the god rejoin' d) 
When ministers are blest with prudent mind: 
Warn'd by thy words, to powerful Jove I yield, 
And quit, though angry, the contended field: 
Not but his threats with justice I disclaim, 
The same our honours, and our birth the same. 
If yet, forgetful of his promise given 
To Hermes, Pallas, and the queen of heaven, 
To favour Ilion, that perfidious place, 
He breaks his faith with half the ethereal race; 
Give him to know, unless the Grecian train 
Lay yon proud structures level with the plain, 
Howe'er the offence by other gods be pass'd, 
The wrath of Neptune shall for ever last." 



Thus speaking, furious from the field he strode, 
And plunged into the bosom of the flood. 
The lord of thunders, from his lofty height 
Beheld, and thus bespoke the source of light: 



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"Behold! the god whose liquid arms are hurl'd 
Around the globe, whose earthquakes rock the world, 
Desists at length his rebel-war to wage, 
Seeks his own seas, and trembles at our rage; 
Else had my wrath, heaven's thrones all shaking round, 
Burn'd to the bottom of his seas profound; 
And all the gods that round old Saturn dwell 
Had heard the thunders to the deeps of hell. 
Well was the crime, and well the vengeance spared; 
Even power immense had found such battle hard. 
Go thou, my son! the trembling Greeks alarm, 
Shake my broad aegis on thy active arm, 
Be godlike Hector thy peculiar care, 
Swell his bold heart, and urge his strength to war: 
Let Ilion conquer, till the Achaian train 
Fly to their ships and Hellespont again: 
Then Greece shall breathe from toils." The godhead said; 
His will divine the son of Jove obey'd. 
Not half so swift the sailing falcon flies, 
That drives a turtle through the liquid skies, 
As Phoebus, shooting from the Idaean brow, 
Glides down the mountain to the plain below. 
There Hector seated by the stream he sees, 
[274] His sense returning with the coming breeze; 

Again his pulses beat, his spirits rise; 
Again his loved companions meet his eyes; 
Jove thinking of his pains, they pass'd away, 
To whom the god who gives the golden day: 

"Why sits great Hector from the field so far? 

What grief, what wound, withholds thee from the war?" 

The fainting hero, as the vision bright 

Stood shining o'er him, half unseal'd his sight: 



BOOK XV. 



451 



"What blest immortal, with commanding breath, 
Thus wakens Hector from the sleep of death? 
Has fame not told, how, while my trusty sword 
Bathed Greece in slaughter, and her battle gored, 
The mighty Ajax with a deadly blow 
Had almost sunk me to the shades below? 
Even yet, methinks, the gliding ghosts I spy, 
And hell's black horrors swim before my eye." 

To him Apollo: "Be no more dismay'd; 
See, and be strong ! the Thunderer sends thee aid. 
Behold! thy Phoebus shall his arms employ, 
Phoebus, propitious still to thee and Troy. 
Inspire thy warriors then with manly force, 
And to the ships impel thy rapid horse: 
Even I will make thy fiery coursers way, 
And drive the Grecians headlong to the sea." 

Thus to bold Hector spoke the son of Jove, 
And breathed immortal ardour from above. 
As when the pamper'd steed, with reins unbound, 
Breaks from his stall, and pours along the ground; 
With ample strokes he rushes to the flood, 
To bathe his sides, and cool his fiery blood; 
His head, now freed, he tosses to the skies; 
His mane dishevell'd o'er his shoulders flies: 
He snuffs the females in the well-known plain, 
And springs, exulting, to his fields again: 
Urged by the voice divine, thus Hector flew, 
Full of the god; and all his hosts pursue. 
As when the force of men and dogs combined 
Invade the mountain goat, or branching hind; 
Far from the hunter's rage secure they lie 
Close in the rock, (not fated yet to die) 



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When lo! a lion shoots across the way! 

They fly: at once the chasers and the prey. 

So Greece, that late in conquering troops pursued, 

And mark'd their progress through the ranks in blood, 

Soon as they see the furious chief appear, 

Forget to vanquish, and consent to fear. 



Thoas with grief observed his dreadful course, 
Thoas, the bravest of the iEtolian force; 
Skill'd to direct the javelin's distant flight, 
[275] And bold to combat in the standing fight, 

Not more in councils famed for solid sense, 
Than winning words and heavenly eloquence. 
"Gods! what portent (he cried) these eyes invades? 
Lo! Hector rises from the Stygian shades! 
We saw him, late, by thundering Ajax kill'd: 
What god restores him to the frighted field; 
And not content that half of Greece lie slain, 
Pours new destruction on her sons again? 
He comes not, Jove! without thy powerful will; 
Lo! still he lives, pursues, and conquers still! 
Yet hear my counsel, and his worst withstand: 
The Greeks' main body to the fleet command; 
But let the few whom brisker spirits warm, 
Stand the first onset, and provoke the storm. 
Thus point your arms; and when such foes appear, 
Fierce as he is, let Hector learn to fear." 



The warrior spoke; the listening Greeks obey, 
Thickening their ranks, and form a deep array. 



BOOK XV. 



453 



Each Ajax, Teucer, Merion gave command, 
The valiant leader of the Cretan band; 
And Mars-like Meges: these the chiefs excite, 
Approach the foe, and meet the coming fight. 
Behind, unnumber'd multitudes attend, 
To flank the navy, and the shores defend. 
Full on the front the pressing Trojans bear, 
And Hector first came towering to the war. 
Phoebus himself the rushing battle led; 
A veil of clouds involved his radiant head: 
High held before him, Jove's enormous shield 
Portentous shone, and shaded all the field; 
Vulcan to Jove the immortal gift consign'd, 
To scatter hosts and terrify mankind, 
The Greeks expect the shock, the clamours rise 
From different parts, and mingle in the skies. 
Dire was the hiss of darts, by heroes flung, 
And arrows leaping from the bow-string sung; 
These drink the life of generous warriors slain: 
Those guiltless fall, and thirst for blood in vain. 
As long as Phoebus bore unmoved the shield, 
Sat doubtful conquest hovering o'er the field; 
But when aloft he shakes it in the skies, 
Shouts in their ears, and lightens in their eyes, 
Deep horror seizes every Grecian breast, 
Their force is humbled, and their fear confess'd. 
So flies a herd of oxen, scatter'd wide, 
No swain to guard them, and no day to guide, 
When two fell lions from the mountain come, 
And spread the carnage through the shady gloom. 
Impending Phoebus pours around them fear, 

And Troy and Hector thunder in the rear. [276] 
Heaps fall on heaps: the slaughter Hector leads, 
First great Arcesilas, then Stichius bleeds; 



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One to the bold Boeotians ever dear, 

And one Menestheus' friend and famed compeer. 

Medon and Iasus, ^Eneas sped; 

This sprang from Phelus, and the Athenians led; 

But hapless Medon from Oileus came; 

Him Ajax honour'd with a brother's name, 

Though born of lawless love: from home expell'd, 

A banish'd man, in Phylace he dwell'd, 

Press'd by the vengeance of an angry wife; 

Troy ends at last his labours and his life. 

Mecystes next Polydamas o'erthrew; 

And thee, brave Clonius, great Agenor slew. 

By Paris, Deiochus inglorious dies, 

Pierced through the shoulder as he basely flies. 

Polites' arm laid Echius on the plain; 

Stretch'd on one heap, the victors spoil the slain. 

The Greeks dismay'd, confused, disperse or fall, 

Some seek the trench, some skulk behind the wall. 

While these fly trembling, others pant for breath, 

And o'er the slaughter stalks gigantic death. 

On rush'd bold Hector, gloomy as the night; 

Forbids to plunder, animates the fight, 

Points to the fleet: "For, by the gods! who flies, 240 

Who dares but linger, by this hand he dies; 

No weeping sister his cold eye shall close, 

240 — For, by the gods! who flies. Observe the bold ellipsis of "he cries," and 
the transition from the direct to the oblique construction. So in Milton: — 

"Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, 
Both turn'd, and under open sky ador'd 
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven, 
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe, 
And starry pole. — Thou also mad'st the night, 
Maker omnipotent, and thou the day." 



Milton, "Paradise Lost," Book iv. 



BOOK XV. 



455 



No friendly hand his funeral pyre compose. 

Who stops to plunder at this signal hour, 

The birds shall tear him, and the dogs devour." 

Furious he said; the smarting scourge resounds; 

The coursers fly; the smoking chariot bounds; 

The hosts rush on; loud clamours shake the shore; 

The horses thunder, earth and ocean roar! 

Apollo, planted at the trench's bound, 

Push'd at the bank: down sank the enormous mound: 

Roll'd in the ditch the heapy ruin lay; 

A sudden road! a long and ample way. 

O'er the dread fosse (a late impervious space) 

Now steeds, and men, and cars tumultuous pass. 

The wondering crowds the downward level trod; 

Before them flamed the shield, and march'd the god. 

Then with his hand he shook the mighty wall; [277] 

And lo ! the turrets nod, the bulwarks fall: 

Easy as when ashore an infant stands, 

And draws imagined houses in the sands; 

The sportive wanton, pleased with some new play, 

Sweeps the slight works and fashion'd domes away: 

Thus vanish'd at thy touch, the towers and walls; 

The toil of thousands in a moment falls. 



The Grecians gaze around with wild despair, 
Confused, and weary all the powers with prayer: 
Exhort their men, with praises, threats, commands; 
And urge the gods, with voices, eyes, and hands. 
Experienced Nestor chief obtests the skies, 
And weeps his country with a father's eyes. 



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"O Jove! if ever, on his native shore, 
One Greek enrich'd thy shrine with offer'd gore; 
If e'er, in hope our country to behold, 
We paid the fattest firstlings of the fold; 
If e'er thou sign'st our wishes with thy nod: 
Perform the promise of a gracious god! 
This day preserve our navies from the flame, 
And save the relics of the Grecian name." 

Thus prayed the sage: the eternal gave consent, 
And peals of thunder shook the firmament. 
Presumptuous Troy mistook the accepting sign, 
And catch'd new fury at the voice divine. 
As, when black tempests mix the seas and skies, 
The roaring deeps in watery mountains rise, 
Above the sides of some tall ship ascend, 
Its womb they deluge, and its ribs they rend: 
Thus loudly roaring, and o'erpowering all, 
Mount the thick Trojans up the Grecian wall; 
Legions on legions from each side arise: 
Thick sound the keels; the storm of arrows flies. 
Fierce on the ships above, the cars below, 
These wield the mace, and those the javelin throw. 

While thus the thunder of the battle raged, 
And labouring armies round the works engaged, 
Still in the tent Patroclus sat to tend 
The good Eurypylus, his wounded friend. 
He sprinkles healing balms, to anguish kind, 
And adds discourse, the medicine of the mind. 
But when he saw, ascending up the fleet, 
Victorious Troy; then, starting from his seat, 
With bitter groans his sorrows he express'd, 
He wrings his hands, he beats his manly breast. 



BOOK XV. 



457 



"Though yet thy state require redress (he cries) 
Depart I must: what horrors strike my eyes! 
Charged with Achilles' high command I go, 
A mournful witness of this scene of woe; 

I haste to urge him by his country's care [278] 
To rise in arms, and shine again in war. 
Perhaps some favouring god his soul may bend; 
The voice is powerful of a faithful friend." 

He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind 

Sprung from the tent, and left the war behind. 

The embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain, 

But strive, though numerous, to repulse in vain: 

Nor could the Trojans, through that firm array, 

Force to the fleet and tents the impervious way. 

As when a shipwright, with Palladian art, 

Smooths the rough wood, and levels every part; 

With equal hand he guides his whole design, 

By the just rule, and the directing line: 

The martial leaders, with like skill and care, 

Preserved their line, and equal kept the war. 

Brave deeds of arms through all the ranks were tried, 

And every ship sustained an equal tide. 

At one proud bark, high-towering o'er the fleet, 

Ajax the great, and godlike Hector meet; 

For one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend, 

Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend: 

One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod; 

That fix'd as fate, this acted by a god. 

The son of Clytius in his daring hand, 

The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand; 

But, pierced by Telamon's huge lance, expires: 

Thundering he falls, and drops the extinguish'd fires. 

Great Hector view'd him with a sad survey, 



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The Iliad of Homer 



As stretch'd in dust before the stern he lay. 

"Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race! 

Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space: 

Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies; 

Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!" 



This said, his eager javelin sought the foe: 
But Ajax shunn'd the meditated blow. 
Not vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown; 
It stretch'd in dust unhappy Lycophron: 
An exile long, sustain'd at Ajax' board, 
A faithful servant to a foreign lord; 
In peace, and war, for ever at his side, 
Near his loved master, as he lived, he died. 
From the high poop he tumbles on the sand, 
And lies a lifeless load along the land. 
With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight, 
And thus inflames his brother to the fight: 



"Teucer, behold! extended on the shore 
Our friend, our loved companion! now no more! 
Dear as a parent, with a parent's care 
To fight our wars he left his native air. 
[279] This death deplored, to Hector's rage we owe; 

Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe. 

Where are those darts on which the fates attend? 

And where the bow which Phoebus taught to bend?" 



BOOK XV. 



459 



Impatient Teucer, hastening to his aid, 

Before the chief his ample bow display'd; 

The well-stored quiver on his shoulders hung: 

Then hiss'd his arrow, and the bowstring sung. 

Clytus, Pisenor's son, renown'd in fame, 

(To thee, Polydamas! an honour'd name) 

Drove through the thickest of the embattled plains 

The startling steeds, and shook his eager reins. 

As all on glory ran his ardent mind, 

The pointed death arrests him from behind: 

Through his fair neck the thrilling arrow flies; 

In youth's first bloom reluctantly he dies. 

Hurl'd from the lofty seat, at distance far, 

The headlong coursers spurn his empty car; 

Till sad Polydamas the steeds restrain' d, 

And gave, Astynous, to thy careful hand; 

Then, fired to vengeance, rush'd amidst the foe: 

Rage edged his sword, and strengthen'd every blow. 

Once more bold Teucer, in his country's cause, 
At Hector's breast a chosen arrow draws: 
And had the weapon found the destined way, 
Thy fall, great Trojan! had renown'd that day. 
But Hector was not doom'd to perish then: 
The all-wise disposer of the fates of men 
(Imperial Jove) his present death withstands; 
Nor was such glory due to Teucer's hands. 
At its full stretch as the tough string he drew, 
Struck by an arm unseen, it burst in two; 
Down dropp'd the bow: the shaft with brazen head 
Fell innocent, and on the dust lay dead. 
The astonish'd archer to great Ajax cries; 
"Some god prevents our destined enterprise: 
Some god, propitious to the Trojan foe, 



460 



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Has, from my arm unfailing, struck the bow, 

And broke the nerve my hands had twined with art, 

Strong to impel the flight of many a dart." 

"Since heaven commands it (Ajax made reply) 
Dismiss the bow, and lay thy arrows by: 
Thy arms no less suffice the lance to wield, 
And quit the quiver for the ponderous shield. 
In the first ranks indulge thy thirst of fame, 
Thy brave example shall the rest inflame. 
Fierce as they are, by long successes vain; 
To force our fleet, or even a ship to gain, 
Asks toil, and sweat, and blood: their utmost might 
Shall find its match — No more: 'tis ours to fight." 

[280] Then Teucer laid his faithless bow aside; 

The fourfold buckler o'er his shoulder tied; 
On his brave head a crested helm he placed, 
With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; 
A dart, whose point with brass refulgent shines, 
The warrior wields; and his great brother joins. 

This Hector saw, and thus express'd his joy: 
"Ye troops of Lycia, Dardanus, and Troy! 
Be mindful of yourselves, your ancient fame, 
And spread your glory with the navy's flame. 
Jove is with us; I saw his hand, but now, 
From the proud archer strike his vaunted bow: 
Indulgent Jove ! how plain thy favours shine, 
When happy nations bear the marks divine! 
How easy then, to see the sinking state 
Of realms accursed, deserted, reprobate! 
Such is the fate of Greece, and such is ours: 
Behold, ye warriors, and exert your powers. 
Death is the worst; a fate which all must try; 



BOOK XV. 



461 



And for our country, 'tis a bliss to die. 

The gallant man, though slain in fight he be, 

Yet leaves his nation safe, his children free; 

Entails a debt on all the grateful state; 

His own brave friends shall glory in his fate; 

His wife live honour'd, all his race succeed, 

And late posterity enjoy the deed!" 



This roused the soul in every Trojan breast: 
The godlike Ajax next his Greeks address'd: 



"How long, ye warriors of the Argive race, 

(To generous Argos what a dire disgrace!) 

How long on these cursed confines will ye lie, 

Yet undetermined, or to live or die? 

What hopes remain, what methods to retire, 

If once your vessels catch the Trojan fire? 

Make how the flames approach, how near they fall, 

How Hector calls, and Troy obeys his call! 

Not to the dance that dreadful voice invites, 

It calls to death, and all the rage of fights. 

'Tis now no time for wisdom or debates; 

To your own hands are trusted all your fates; 

And better far in one decisive strife, 

One day should end our labour or our life, 

Than keep this hard-got inch of barren sands, 

Still press'd, and press'd by such inglorious hands." 



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The listening Grecians feel their leader's flame, 
And every kindling bosom pants for fame. 
Then mutual slaughters spread on either side; 
By Hector here the Phocian Schedius died; 
There, pierced by Ajax, sunk Laodamas, 
Chief of the foot, of old Antenor's race. 

Polydamas laid Otus on the sand, [281] 

The fierce commander of the Epeian band. 

His lance bold Meges at the victor threw; 

The victor, stooping, from the death withdrew; 

(That valued life, O Phoebus! was thy care) 

But Croesmus' bosom took the flying spear: 

His corpse fell bleeding on the slippery shore; 

His radiant arms triumphant Meges bore. 

Dolops, the son of Lampus, rushes on, 

Sprung from the race of old Laomedon, 

And famed for prowess in a well-fought field, 

He pierced the centre of his sounding shield: 

But Meges, Phyleus' ample breastplate wore, 

(Well-known in fight on Selle's winding shore; 

For king Euphetes gave the golden mail, 

Compact, and firm with many a jointed scale) 

Which oft, in cities storm'd, and battles won, 

Had saved the father, and now saves the son. 

Full at the Trojan's head he urged his lance, 

Where the high plumes above the helmet dance, 

New ting'd with Tyrian dye: in dust below, 

Shorn from the crest, the purple honours glow. 

Meantime their fight the Spartan king survey'd, 

And stood by Meges' side a sudden aid. 

Through Dolops' shoulder urged his forceful dart, 

Which held its passage through the panting heart, 

And issued at his breast. With thundering sound 

The warrior falls, extended on the ground. 



BOOK XV. 



463 



In rush the conquering Greeks to spoil the slain: 
But Hector's voice excites his kindred train; 
The hero most, from Hicetaon sprung, 
Fierce Melanippus, gallant, brave, and young. 
He (ere to Troy the Grecians cross'd the main) 
Fed his large oxen on Percote's plain; 
But when oppress'd, his country claim'd his care, 
Return'd to Ilion, and excell'd in war; 
For this, in Priam's court, he held his place, 
Beloved no less than Priam's royal race. 
Him Hector singled, as his troops he led, 
And thus inflamed him, pointing to the dead. 

"Lo, Melanippus! lo, where Dolops lies; 
And is it thus our royal kinsman dies? 
O'ermatch'd he falls; to two at once a prey, 
And lo ! they bear the bloody arms away ! 
Come on — a distant war no longer wage, 
But hand to hand thy country's foes engage: 
Till Greece at once, and all her glory end; 
Or Ilion from her towery height descend, 
Heaved from the lowest stone; and bury all 
In one sad sepulchre, one common fall." 

Hector (this said) rush'd forward on the foes: [282] 

With equal ardour Melanippus glows: 

Then Ajax thus — "O Greeks! respect your fame, 

Respect yourselves, and learn an honest shame: 

Let mutual reverence mutual warmth inspire, 

And catch from breast to breast the noble fire, 

On valour's side the odds of combat lie; 

The brave live glorious, or lamented die; 

The wretch that trembles in the field of fame, 

Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame. " 



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His generous sense he not in vain imparts; 
It sunk, and rooted in the Grecian hearts: 
They join, they throng, they thicken at his call, 
And flank the navy with a brazen wall; 
Shields touching shields, in order blaze above, 
And stop the Trojans, though impell'd by Jove. 
The fiery Spartan first, with loud applause. 
Warms the bold son of Nestor in his cause. 
"Is there (he said) in arms a youth like you, 
So strong to fight, so active to pursue? 
Why stand you distant, nor attempt a deed? 
Lift the bold lance, and make some Trojan bleed." 

He said; and backward to the lines retired; 
Forth rush'd the youth with martial fury fired, 
Beyond the foremost ranks; his lance he threw, 
And round the black battalions cast his view. 
The troops of Troy recede with sudden fear, 
While the swift javelin hiss'd along in air. 
Advancing Melanippus met the dart 
With his bold breast, and felt it in his heart: 
Thundering he falls; his falling arms resound, 
And his broad buckler rings against the ground. 
The victor leaps upon his prostrate prize: 
Thus on a roe the welLbreath'd beagle flies, 
And rends his side, fresh-bleeding with the dart 
The distant hunter sent into his heart. 
Observing Hector to the rescue flew; 
Bold as he was, Antilochus withdrew. 
So when a savage, ranging o'er the plain, 
Has torn the shepherd's dog, or shepherd's swain, 
While conscious of the deed, he glares around, 
And hears the gathering multitude resound, 
Timely he flies the yet-untasted food, 



BOOK XV. 



465 



And gains the friendly shelter of the wood: 
So fears the youth; all Troy with shouts pursue, 
While stones and darts in mingled tempest flew; 
But enter'd in the Grecian ranks, he turns 
His manly breast, and with new fury burns. 

Now on the fleet the tides of Trojans drove, 
Fierce to fulfil the stern decrees of Jove: 

The sire of gods, confirming Thetis' prayer, [283] 

The Grecian ardour quench'd in deep despair; 

But lifts to glory Troy's prevailing bands, 

Swells all their hearts, and strengthens all their hands. 

On Ida's top he waits with longing eyes, 

To view the navy blazing to the skies; 

Then, nor till then, the scale of war shall turn, 

The Trojans fly, and conquer'd Ilion burn. 

These fates revolved in his almighty mind, 

He raises Hector to the work design'd, 

Bids him with more than mortal fury glow, 

And drives him, like a lightning, on the foe. 

So Mars, when human crimes for vengeance call, 

Shakes his huge javelin, and whole armies fall. 

Not with more rage a conflagration rolls, 

Wraps the vast mountains, and involves the poles. 

He foams with wrath; beneath his gloomy brow 

Like fiery meteors his red eye-balls glow: 

The radiant helmet on his temple burns, 

Waves when he nods, and lightens as he turns: 

For Jove his splendour round the chief had thrown, 

And cast the blaze of both the hosts on one. 

Unhappy glories ! for his fate was near, 

Due to stern Pallas, and Pelides' spear: 

Yet Jove deferr'd the death he was to pay, 

And gave what fate allow'd, the honours of a day ! 



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Now all on fire for fame, his breast, his eyes 
Burn at each foe, and single every prize; 
Still at the closest ranks, the thickest fight, 
He points his ardour, and exerts his might. 
The Grecian phalanx, moveless as a tower, 
On all sides batter'd, yet resists his power: 
So some tall rock o'erhangs the hoary main, 241 
By winds assail'd, by billows beat in vain, 
Unmoved it hears, above, the tempest blow, 
And sees the watery mountains break below. 
Girt in surrounding flames, he seems to fall 
Like fire from Jove, and bursts upon them all: 
Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends, 
And, swell'd with tempests, on the ship descends; 
White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud 
Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: 
Pale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears; 
And instant death on every wave appears. 
So pale the Greeks the eyes of Hector meet, 
The chief so thunders, and so shakes the fleet. 

[284] 

As when a lion, rushing from his den, 
Amidst the plain of some wide-water'd fen, 
(Where numerous oxen, as at ease they feed, 
At large expatiate o'er the ranker mead) 
Leaps on the herds before the herdsman's eyes; 
The trembling herdsman far to distance flies; 
Some lordly bull (the rest dispersed and fled) 

241 — So some tall rock. 

"But like a rock unmov'd, a rock that braves 
The raging tempest, and the rising waves — 
Propp'd on himself he stands: his solid sides 
Wash off the sea-weeds, and the sounding tides." 

Dryden's Virgil, vii. 809. 



BOOK XV. 



467 



He singles out; arrests, and lays him dead. 

Thus from the rage of Jove-like Hector flew 

All Greece in heaps; but one he seized, and slew: 

Mycenian Periphes, a mighty name, 

In wisdom great, in arms well known to fame; 

The minister of stern Eurystheus' ire 

Against Alcides, Copreus was his sire: 

The son redeem'd the honours of the race, 

A son as generous as the sire was base; 

O'er all his country's youth conspicuous far 

In every virtue, or of peace or war: 

But doom'd to Hector's stronger force to yield! 

Against the margin of his ample shield 

He struck his hasty foot: his heels up-sprung; 

Supine he fell; his brazen helmet rung. 

On the fallen chief the invading Trojan press'd, 

And plunged the pointed javelin in his breast. 

His circling friends, who strove to guard too late 

The unhappy hero, fled, or shared his fate. 



Chased from the foremost line, the Grecian train 
Now man the next, receding toward the main: 
Wedged in one body at the tents they stand, 
Wall'd round with sterns, a gloomy, desperate band. 
Now manly shame forbids the inglorious flight; 
Now fear itself confines them to the fight: 
Man courage breathes in man; but Nestor most 
(The sage preserver of the Grecian host) 
Exhorts, adjures, to guard these utmost shores; 
And by their parents, by themselves implores. 



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"Oh friends! be men: your generous breasts inflame 
With mutual honour, and with mutual shame! 
Think of your hopes, your fortunes; all the care 
Your wives, your infants, and your parents share: 
Think of each living father's reverend head; 
Think of each ancestor with glory dead; 
Absent, by me they speak, by me they sue, 
They ask their safety, and their fame, from you: 
The gods their fates on this one action lay, 
And all are lost, if you desert the day." 

He spoke, and round him breathed heroic fires; 
Minerva seconds what the sage inspires. 
The mist of darkness Jove around them threw 
[285] She clear'd, restoring all the war to view; 

A sudden ray shot beaming o'er the plain, 
And show'd the shores, the navy, and the main: 
Hector they saw, and all who fly, or fight, 
The scene wide-opening to the blaze of light, 
First of the field great Ajax strikes their eyes, 
His port majestic, and his ample size: 
A ponderous mace with studs of iron crown'd, 
Full twenty cubits long, he swings around; 
Nor fights, like others, fix'd to certain stands 
But looks a moving tower above the bands; 
High on the decks with vast gigantic stride, 
The godlike hero stalks from side to side. 
So when a horseman from the watery mead 
(Skill'd in the manage of the bounding steed) 
Drives four fair coursers, practised to obey, 
To some great city through the public way; 
Safe in his art, as side by side they run, 
He shifts his seat, and vaults from one to one; 
And now to this, and now to that he flies; 



BOOK XV. 



469 



Admiring numbers follow with their eyes. 



From ship to ship thus Ajax swiftly flew, 

No less the wonder of the warring crew. 

As furious, Hector thunder'd threats aloud, 

And rush'd enraged before the Trojan crowd; 

Then swift invades the ships, whose beaky prores 

Lay rank'd contiguous on the bending shores; 

So the strong eagle from his airy height, 

Who marks the swans' or cranes' embodied flight, 

Stoops down impetuous, while they light for food, 

And, stooping, darkens with his wings the flood. 

Jove leads him on with his almighty hand, 

And breathes fierce spirits in his following band. 

The warring nations meet, the battle roars, 

Thick beats the combat on the sounding prores. 

Thou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire, 

No force could tame them, and no toil could tire; 

As if new vigour from new fights they won, 

And the long battle was but then begun. 

Greece, yet unconquer'd, kept alive the war, 

Secure of death, confiding in despair: 

Troy in proud hopes already view'd the main 

Bright with the blaze, and red with heroes slain: 

Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair, 

And each contends, as his were all the war. 



"Twas thou, bold Hector! whose resistless hand 
First seized a ship on that contested strand; 



[286] 



470 



The Iliad of Homer 



The same which dead Protesilaus bore, 

The first that touch'd the unhappy Trojan shore: 

For this in arms the warring nations stood, 

And bathed their generous breasts with mutual blood. 

No room to poise the lance or bend the bow; 

But hand to hand, and man to man, they grow: 

Wounded, they wound; and seek each other's hearts 

With falchions, axes, swords, and shorten'd darts. 

The falchions ring, shields rattle, axes sound, 

Swords flash in air, or glitter on the ground; 

With streaming blood the slippery shores are dyed, 

And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide. 

Still raging, Hector with his ample hand 

Grasps the high stern, and gives this loud command: 



AJAX DEFENDING THE GREEK SHIPS. 



Protesilaus was the first Greek who fell, slain by Hector, as he leaped from 
the vessel to the Trojan shore. He was buried on the Chersonese, near the city 
of Plagusa. Hygin Fab. ciii. Tzetz. on Lycophr. 245, 528. There is a most 
elegant tribute to his memory in the Preface to the Heroica of Philostratus. 




BOOK XV. 



471 



"Haste, bring the flames ! that toil of ten long years 
Is finished; and the day desired appears ! 
This happy day with acclamations greet, 
Bright with destruction of yon hostile fleet. 
The coward-counsels of a timorous throng 
Of reverend dotards check'd our glory long: 
Too long Jove lull'd us with lethargic charms, 
But now in peals of thunder calls to arms: 
In this great day he crowns our full desires, 
Wakes all our force, and seconds all our fires." 

He spoke — the warriors at his fierce command 

Pour a new deluge on the Grecian band. 

Even Ajax paused, (so thick the javelins fly,) 

Stepp'd back, and doubted or to live or die. 

Yet, where the oars are placed, he stands to wait 

What chief approaching dares attempt his fate: [287] 

Even to the last his naval charge defends, 

Now shakes his spear, now lifts, and now protends; 

Even yet, the Greeks with piercing shouts inspires, 

Amidst attacks, and deaths, and darts, and fires. 

"O friends! O heroes! names for ever dear, 
Once sons of Mars, and thunderbolts of war! 
Ah! yet be mindful of your old renown, 
Your great forefathers' virtues and your own. 
What aids expect you in this utmost strait? 
What bulwarks rising between you and fate? 
No aids, no bulwarks your retreat attend, 
No friends to help, no city to defend. 
This spot is all you have, to lose or keep; 
There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep. 
'Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands 
Far, far from hence: your fates are in your hands." 



472 



The Iliad of Homer 



Raging he spoke; nor further wastes his breath, 
But turns his javelin to the work of death. 
Whate'er bold Trojan arm'd his daring hands, 
Against the sable ships, with flaming brands, 
So well the chief his naval weapon sped, 
The luckless warrior at his stern lay dead: 
Full twelve, the boldest, in a moment fell, 
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell. 




CASTOR AND POLLUX. 



[288] 



BOOK XVI. 

ARGUMENT 

THE SIXTH BATTLE, THE ACTS AND DEATH OF 
PATROCLUS 

Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh 
book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of 
the Greeks with Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees to it, but 
at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing 
the fleet, without further pursuit of the enemy. The armour, 
horses, soldiers, and officers are described. Achilles offers a 
libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads 
the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus 
in Achilles' armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the 
uttermost consternation; he beats them off from the vessels, 
Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was 
averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are 
described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders 
of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy, where Apollo 
repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector 
kills him, which concludes the book. 

So warr'd both armies on the ensanguined shore, 

While the black vessels smoked with human gore. 

Meantime Patroclus to Achilles flies; 

The streaming tears fall copious from his eyes 

Not faster, trickling to the plains below, 

From the tall rock the sable waters flow. 

Divine Pelides, with compassion moved. 



474 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thus spoke, indulgent, to his best beloved: 



[289] 



"Patroclus, say, what grief thy bosom bears, 
That flows so fast in these unmanly tears? 
No girl, no infant whom the mother keeps 
From her loved breast, with fonder passion weeps; 
Not more the mother's soul, that infant warms, 
Clung to her knees, and reaching at her arms, 
Than thou hast mine! Oh tell me, to what end 
Thy melting sorrows thus pursue thy friend? 



his unequalled prowess. But the mutual regard which united Idomeneus and 
Meriones, Diomedes and Sthenelus, though, as the persons themselves are less 
important, it is kept more in the back-ground, is manifestly viewed by the poet 
in the same light. The idea of a Greek hero seems not to have been thought 
complete, without such a brother in arms by his side." — Thirlwall, Greece, vol. 
i. p. 176, seq. 

243 — His best beloved. The following elegant remarks of Thirlwall (Greece, 
vol. i, p. 176 seq.) well illustrate the character of the friendship subsisting 
between these two heroes — 

"One of the noblest and most amiable sides of the Greek character, is the 
readiness with which it lent itself to construct intimate and durable friendships, 
and this is a feature no less prominent in the earliest than in later times. 
It was indeed connected with the comparatively low estimation in which 
female society was held; but the devotedness and constancy with which these 
attachments were maintained, was not the less admirable and engaging. The 
heroic companions whom we find celebrated partly by Homer and partly in 
traditions which, if not of equal antiquity, were grounded on the same feeling, 
seem to have but one heart and soul, with scarcely a wish or object apart, 
and only to live as they are always ready to die for one another. It is true 
that the relation between them is not always one of perfect equality; but this 
is a circumstance which, while it often adds a peculiar charm to the poetical 



BOOK XVI. 



475 



"Griev'st thou for me, or for, my martial band? 

Or come sad tidings from our native land? 

Our fathers live (our first, most tender care), 

Thy good Menoetius breathes the vital air, 

And hoary Peleus yet extends his days; 

Pleased in their age to hear their children's praise. 

Or may some meaner cause thy pity claim? 

Perhaps yon relics of the Grecian name, 

Doom'd in their ships to sink by fire and sword, 

And pay the forfeit of their haughty lord? 

Whate'er the cause, reveal thy secret care, 

And speak those sorrows which a friend would share." 

A sigh that instant from his bosom broke, 

Another follow'd, and Patroclus spoke: 

"Let Greece at length with pity touch thy breast, 

Thyself a Greek; and, once, of Greeks the best! 

Lo! every chief that might her fate prevent, 

Lies pierced with wounds, and bleeding in his tent: 

Eurypylus, Tydides, Atreus' son, 

And wise Ulysses, at the navy groan, 

More for their country's wounds than for their own. 

Their pain soft arts of pharmacy can ease, 

Thy breast alone no lenitives appease. 

May never rage like thine my soul enslave, 

O great in vain! unprofitably brave! 

Thy country slighted in her last distress, 

What friend, what man, from thee shall hope redress? 

description, detracts little from the dignity of the idea which it presents. Such 

were the friendships of Hercules and Iolaus, of Theseus and Pirithous, of 

Orestes and Pylades; and though These may owe the greater part of their fame 

to the later epic or even dramatic poetry, the moral groundwork undoubtedly 

subsisted in the period to which the traditions are referred. The argument of 

the Iliad mainly turns on the affection of Achilles for Patroclus, whose love 
for the greater hero is only tempered by reverence for his higher birth and 



476 



The Iliad of Homer 



No — men unborn, and ages yet behind, 
Shall curse that fierce, that unforgiving mind. 

"O man unpitying! if of man thy race; 
But sure thou spring'st not from a soft embrace, 
Nor ever amorous hero caused thy birth, 
Nor ever tender goddess brought thee forth: 
Some rugged rock's hard entrails gave thee form, 
And raging seas produced thee in a storm, 
A soul well suiting that tempestuous kind, 
So rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind. 

[290] 

"If some dire oracle thy breast alarm, 

If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm, 

Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, 

If I but lead the Myrmidonian line: 

Clad in thy dreadful arms if I appear, 

Proud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war; 

Without thy person Greece shall win the day, 

And thy mere image chase her foes away. 

Press'd by fresh forces, her o'erlabour'd train 

Shall quit the ships, and Greece respire again." 

Thus, blind to fate! with supplicating breath, 

Thou begg'st his arms, and in his arms thy death. 

Unfortunately good! a boding sigh 

Thy friend return'd; and with it, this reply: 

"Patroclus! thy Achilles knows no fears; 

Nor words from Jove nor oracles he hears; 

Nor aught a mother's caution can suggest; 

The tyrant's pride lies rooted in my breast. 

My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thought engage, 

Those, my sole oracles, inspire my rage: 

I made him tyrant: gave him power to wrong 

Even my: I felt it; and shall feel it long. 



BOOK XVI. 



477 



The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away, 
Due to the toils of many a well-fought day; 
Due to my conquest of her father's reign; 
Due to the votes of all the Grecian train. 
From me he forced her; me, the bold and brave, 
Disgraced, dishonour'd, like the meanest slave. 
But bear we this — the wrongs I grieve are past; 
'Tis time our fury should relent at last: 
I fix'd its date; the day I wish'd appears: 
How Hector to my ships his battle bears, 
The flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears. 
Go then, Patroclus! court fair honour's charms 
In Troy's famed fields, and in Achilles' arms: 
Lead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight, 
Go save the fleets, and conquer in my right. 
See the thin relics of their baffled band 
At the last edge of yon deserted land! 
Behold all Ilion on their ships descends; 
How the cloud blackens, how the storm impends! 
It was not thus, when, at my sight amazed, 
Troy saw and trembled, as this helmet blazed: 
Had not the injurious king our friendship lost, 
Yon ample trench had buried half her host. 
No camps, no bulwarks now the Trojans fear, 
Those are not dreadful, no Achilles there; 
No longer flames the lance of Tydeus' son; 
No more your general calls his heroes on: 

Hector, alone, I hear; his dreadful breath [291] 

Commands your slaughter, or proclaims your death. 

Yet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain: 

Now save the ships, the rising fires restrain, 

And give the Greeks to visit Greece again. 

But heed my words, and mark a friend's command, 

Who trusts his fame and honours in thy hand, 



478 



The Iliad of Homer 



And from thy deeds expects the Achaian host 

Shall render back the beauteous maid he lost: 

Rage uncontroll'd through all the hostile crew, 

But touch not Hector, Hector is my due. 

Though Jove in thunder should command the war, 

Be just, consult my glory, and forbear. 

The fleet once saved, desist from further chase, 

Nor lead to Ilion's walls the Grecian race; 

Some adverse god thy rashness may destroy; 

Some god, like Phoebus, ever kind to Troy. 

Let Greece, redeem'd from this destructive strait, 

Do her own work; and leave the rest to fate. 

O ! would to all the immortal powers above, 

Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove! 

That not one Trojan might be left alive, 

And not a Greek of all the race survive: 

Might only we the vast destruction shun, 

And only we destroy the accursed town!" 

Such conference held the chiefs; while on the strand 

Great Jove with conquest crown'd the Trojan band. 

Ajax no more the sounding storm sustain'd, 

So thick the darts an iron tempest rain'd: 

On his tired arm the weighty buckler hung; 

His hollow helm with falling javelins rung; 

His breath, in quick short pantings, comes and goes; 

And painful sweat from all his members flows. 

Spent and o'erpower'd, he barely breathes at most; 

Yet scarce an army stirs him from his post; 

Dangers on dangers all around him glow, 

And toil to toil, and woe succeeds to woe. 

Say, Muses, throned above the starry frame, 
How first the navy blazed with Trojan flame? 



BOOK XVI. 



479 



Stern Hector waved his sword, and standing near, 
Where furious Ajax plied his ashen spear, 
Full on the lance a stroke so justly sped, 
That the broad falchion lopp'd its brazen head; 
His pointless spear the warrior shakes in vain; 
The brazen head falls sounding on the plain. 
Great Ajax saw, and own'd the hand divine; 
Confessing Jove, and trembling at the sign, 
Warn'd he retreats. Then swift from all sides pour 
The hissing brands; thick streams the fiery shower; 
O'er the high stern the curling volumes rise, 
And sheets of rolling smoke involve the skies. 

[292] 

Divine Achilles view'd the rising flames, 
And smote his thigh, and thus aloud exclaims: 
'Arm, arm, Patroclus! Lo, the blaze aspires! 
The glowing ocean reddens with the fires. 
Arm, ere our vessels catch the spreading flame; 
Arm, ere the Grecians be no more a name; 
I haste to bring the troops." — The hero said; 
The friend with ardour and with joy obey'd. 

He cased his limbs in brass; and first around 
His manly legs, with silver buckles bound 
The clasping greaves; then to his breast applies 
The flaming cuirass of a thousand dyes; 
Emblazed with studs of gold his falchion shone 
In the rich belt, as in a starry zone: 
Achilles' shield his ample shoulders spread, 
Achilles' helmet nodded o'er his head: 
Adorn'd in all his terrible array, 
He flash'd around intolerable day. 
Alone untouch'd, Pelides' javelin stands, 
Not to be poised but by Pelides' hands: 



480 



The Iliad of Homer 



From Pelion's shady brow the plant entire 
Old Chiron rent, and shaped it for his sire; 
Whose son's great arm alone the weapon wields, 
The death of heroes, and the dread of fields. 




Buckles. 



The brave Automedon (an honour'd name, 
The second to his lord in love and fame, 
In peace his friend, and partner of the war) 
The winged coursers harness'd to the car; 
Xanthus and Balius, of immortal breed, 
Sprung from the wind, and like the wind in speed. 
Whom the wing'd harpy, swift Podarge, bore, 
By Zephyr pregnant on the breezy shore: 
Swift Pedasus was added to their side, 
(Once great Aetion's, now Achilles' pride) 
Who, like in strength, in swiftness, and in grace, 
A mortal courser match'd the immortal race. 



BOOK XVI. 



481 



Achilles speeds from tent to tent, and warms 

His hardy Myrmidons to blood and arms. 

All breathing death, around the chief they stand, 

A grim, terrific, formidable band: 

Grim as voracious wolves, that seek the springs 244 

When scalding thirst their burning bowels wrings; 

When some tall stag, fresh-slaughtered in the wood, 

Has drench'd their wide insatiate throats with blood, 

To the black fount they rush, a hideous throng, 

With paunch distended, and with lolling tongue, 

Fire fills their eye, their black jaws belch the gore, 

And gorged with slaughter still they thirst for more. 

Like furious, rush'd the Myrmidonian crew, 

Such their dread strength, and such their deathful view. 

High in the midst the great Achilles stands, 
Directs their order, and the war commands. 
He, loved of Jove, had launch'd for Ilion's shores 
Full fifty vessels, mann'd with fifty oars: 
Five chosen leaders the fierce bands obey, 
Himself supreme in valour, as in sway. 

First march'd Menestheus, of celestial birth, 

Derived from thee, whose waters wash the earth, 

Divine Sperchius! Jove-descended flood! 

A mortal mother mixing with a god. 

Such was Menestheus, but miscall'd by fame 

The son of Borus, that espoused the dame. 



"As hungry wolves with raging appetite, 

Scour through the fields, ne'er fear the stormy night — 

Their whelps at home expect the promised food, 

And long to temper their dry chaps in blood — 

So rush'd we forth at once." 

— Dryden's Virgil, ii. 479. 



482 



The Iliad of Homer 



Eudorus next; whom Polymele the gay, 
Famed in the graceful dance, produced to-day. 
Her, sly Cellenius loved: on her would gaze, 
As with swift step she form'd the running maze: 
To her high chamber from Diana's quire, 
The god pursued her, urged, and crown'd his fire. 
The son confess'd his father's heavenly race, 
And heir'd his mother's swiftness in the chase. 
Strong Echecleus, bless'd in all those charms 
That pleased a god, succeeded to her arms; 
Not conscious of those loves, long hid from fame, 
With gifts of price he sought and won the dame; 
Her secret offspring to her sire she bare; 
Her sire caress'd him with a parent's care. 

Pisander follow'd; matchless in his art 
To wing the spear, or aim the distant dart; 
No hand so sure of all the Emathian line, 
Or if a surer, great Patroclus ! thine. 

The fourth by Phoenix' grave command was graced, 
Laerces' valiant offspring led the last. 

Soon as Achilles with superior care 
[294] Had call'd the chiefs, and order'd all the war, 

This stern remembrance to his troops he gave: 
"Ye far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave! 
Think with what threats you dared the Trojan throng, 
Think what reproach these ears endured so long; 
'Stern son of Peleus, (thus ye used to say, 
While restless, raging, in your ships you lay) 
Oh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield; 
Whose rage defrauds us of so famed a field: 
If that dire fury must for ever burn, 
What make we here? Return, ye chiefs, return!' 



BOOK XVI. 



483 



Such were your words — Now, warriors! grieve no more, 
Lo there the Trojans; bathe your swords in gore! 
This day shall give you all your soul demands, 
Glut all your hearts, and weary all your hands!" 




DIANA. 



Thus while he roused the fire in every breast, 
Close and more close the listening cohorts press'd; 
Ranks wedged in ranks; of arms a steely ring 
Still grows, and spreads, and thickens round the king. 
As when a circling wall the builder forms, 
Of strength defensive against wind and storms, 
Compacted stones the thickening work compose, 
And round him wide the rising structure grows: 
So helm to helm, and crest to crest they throng, 
Shield urged on shield, and man drove man along; 
Thick, undistinguish'd plumes, together join'd, 
Float in one sea, and wave before the wind. 

Far o'er the rest in glittering pomp appear, 
There bold Automedon, Patroclus here; 
Brothers in arms, with equal fury fired; 
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired. 



484 



The Iliad of Homer 



But mindful of the gods, Achilles went 
To the rich coffer in his shady tent; 
There lay on heaps his various garments roll'd, 
And costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold, 
(The presents of the silver-footed dame) 
From thence he took a bowl, of antique frame, 
Which never man had stained with ruddy wine, 
[295] Nor raised in offerings to the power divine, 

But Peleus' son; and Peleus' son to none 
Had raised in offerings, but to Jove alone. 
This tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame, 
He purged; and wash'd it in the running stream. 
Then cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space 
His eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place 
Of sacrifice, the purple draught he pour'd 
Forth in the midst; and thus the god implored: 

"O thou supreme ! high-throned all height above ! 
O great Pelasgic, Dodonaean Jove! 
Who 'midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill, 
Presid'st on bleak Dodona's vocal hill: 
(Whose groves the Selli, race austere! surround, 
Their feet unwash'd, their slumbers on the ground; 
Who hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees; 
And catch the fates, low-whispered in the breeze;) 
Hear, as of old! Thou gav'st, at Thetis' prayer, 
Glory to me, and to the Greeks despair. 
Lo, to the dangers of the fighting field 
The best, the dearest of my friends, I yield, 
Though still determined, to my ships confined; 
Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind. 
Oh! be his guard thy providential care, 
Confirm his heart, and string his arm to war: 
Press'd by his single force let Hector see 



BOOK XVI. 



485 



His fame in arms not owing all to me. 
But when the fleets are saved from foes and fire, 
Let him with conquest and renown retire; 
Preserve his arms, preserve his social train, 
And safe return him to these eyes again!" 

Great Jove consents to half the chiefs request, 
But heaven's eternal doom denies the rest; 
To free the fleet was granted to his prayer; 
His safe return, the winds dispersed in air. 
Back to his tent the stern Achilles flies, 
And waits the combat with impatient eyes. 

Meanwhile the troops beneath Patroclus' care, 
Invade the Trojans, and commence the war. 
As wasps, provoked by children in their play, 
Pour from their mansions by the broad highway, 
In swarms the guiltless traveller engage, 
Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage: 
All rise in arms, and, with a general cry, 
Assert their waxen domes, and buzzing progeny. 
Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms, 
So loud their clamours, and so keen their arms: 
Their rising rage Patroclus' breath inspires, 
Who thus inflames them with heroic fires: 

"O warriors, partners of Achilles' praise! 

Be mindful of your deeds in ancient days; [296] 
Your godlike master let your acts proclaim, 
And add new glories to his mighty name. 
Think your Achilles sees you fight: be brave, 
And humble the proud monarch whom you save." 



486 



The Iliad of Homer 



Joyful they heard, and kindling as he spoke, 
Flew to the fleet, involved in fire and smoke. 
From shore to shore the doubling shouts resound, 
The hollow ships return a deeper sound. 
The war stood still, and all around them gazed, 
When great Achilles' shining armour blazed: 
Troy saw, and thought the dread Achilles nigh, 
At once they see, they tremble, and they fly. 

Then first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew, 
Where the war raged, and where the tumult grew. 
Close to the stern of that famed ship which bore 
Unbless'd Protesilaus to Ilion's shore, 
The great Paeonian, bold Pyrechmes stood; 
(Who led his bands from Axius' winding flood;) 
His shoulder 4}lade receives the fatal wound; 
The groaning warrior pants upon the ground. 
His troops, that see their country's glory slain, 
Fly diverse, scatter'd o'er the distant plain. 
Patroclus' arm forbids the spreading fires, 
And from the half4jurn'd ship proud Troy retires; 
Clear'd from the smoke the joyful navy lies; 
In heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies; 
Triumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends, 
And loud acclaim the starry region rends. 
So when thick clouds enwrap the mountain's head, 
O'er heaven's expanse like one black ceiling spread; 
Sudden the Thunderer, with a flashing ray, 
Bursts through the darkness, and lets down the day: 
The hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise, 
And streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes; 
The smiling scene wide opens to the sight, 
And all the unmeasured ether flames with light. 



BOOK XVI. 



487 



But Troy repulsed, and scatter'd o'er the plains, 
Forced from the navy, yet the fight maintains. 
Now every Greek some hostile hero slew, 
But still the foremost, bold Patroclus flew: 
As Areilycus had turn'd him round, 
Sharp in his thigh he felt the piercing wound; 
The brazen-pointed spear, with vigour thrown, 
The thigh transfix'd, and broke the brittle bone: 
Headlong he fell. Next, Thoas was thy chance; 
Thy breast, unarm'd, received the Spartan lance. 
Phylides' dart (as Amphidus drew nigh) 
His blow prevented, and transpierced his thigh, 
Tore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away; 
In darkness, and in death, the warrior lay. 

[297] 

In equal arms two sons of Nestor stand, 
And two bold brothers of the Lycian band: 
By great Antilochus, Atymnius dies, 
Pierced in the flank, lamented youth! he lies, 
Kind Maris, bleeding in his brother's wound, 
Defends the breathless carcase on the ground; 
Furious he flies, his murderer to engage: 
But godlike Thrasimed prevents his rage, 
Between his arm and shoulder aims a blow; 
His arm falls spouting on the dust below: 
He sinks, with endless darkness cover'd o'er: 
And vents his soul, effused with gushing gore. 

Slain by two brothers, thus two brothers bleed, 
Sarpedon's friends, Amisodarus' seed; 
Amisodarus, who, by Furies led, 
The bane of men, abhorr'd Chimaera bred; 
Skill'd in the dart in vain, his sons expire, 
And pay the forfeit of their guilty sire. 



488 



The Iliad of Homer 



Stopp'd in the tumult Cleobulus lies, 
Beneath Oileus' arm, a living prize; 
A living prize not long the Trojan stood; 
The thirsty falchion drank his reeking blood: 
Plunged in his throat the smoking weapon lies; 
Black death, and fate unpitying, seal his eyes. 

Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame, 

Lycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came; 

In vain their javelins at each other flew, 

Now, met in arms, their eager swords they drew. 

On the plumed crest of his Boeotian foe 

The daring Lycon aim'd a noble blow; 

The sword broke short; but his, Peneleus sped 

Full on the juncture of the neck and head: 

The head, divided by a stroke so just, 

Hung by the skin; the body sunk to dust. 

O'ertaken Neamas by Merion bleeds, 

Pierced through the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; 

Back from the car he tumbles to the ground: 

His swimming eyes eternal shades surround. 

Next Erymas was doom'd his fate to feel, 
His open'd mouth received the Cretan steel: 
Beneath the brain the point a passage tore, 
Crash'd the thin bones, and drown'd the teeth in gore: 
His mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour a flood; 
He sobs his soul out in the gush of blood. 

As when the flocks neglected by the swain, 
Or kids, or lambs, lie scatter'd o'er the plain, 
A troop of wolves the unguarded charge survey, 
And rend the trembling, unresisting prey: 
Thus on the foe the Greeks impetuous came; 
Troy fled, unmindful of her former fame. 



BOOK XVI. 



489 



But still at Hector godlike Ajax aim'd, 
Still, pointed at his breast, his javelin flamed. 
The Trojan chief, experienced in the field, 
O'er his broad shoulders spread the massy shield, 
Observed the storm of darts the Grecians pour, 
And on his buckler caught the ringing shower: 
He sees for Greece the scale of conquest rise, 
Yet stops, and turns, and saves his loved allies. 

As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms, 

And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms, 

Dark o'er the fields the ascending vapour flies, 

And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies: 

So from the ships, along the dusky plain, 

Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train. 

Even Hector fled; through heads of disarray 

The fiery coursers forced their lord away: 

While far behind his Trojans fall confused; 

Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised: 

Chariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes 

Shock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes. 

In vain they labour up the steepy mound; 

Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground. 

Fierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; 

Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies; 

Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight; 

Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch'd from sight. 

The affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down, 

Scour o'er the fields, and stretch to reach the town. 

Loud o'er the rout was heard the victor's cry, 

Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die, 

Where horse and arms, and chariots he o'erthrown, 

And bleeding heroes under axles groan. 



490 



The Iliad of Homer 



No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew: 
From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew. 
High-bounding o'er the fosse, the whirling car 
Smokes through the ranks, o'ertakes the flying war, 
And thunders after Hector; Hector flies, 
Patroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies. 
Not with less noise, with less impetuous force, 
The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course, 
Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours, 
And earth is loaden with incessant showers; 
(When guilty mortals break the eternal laws, 
Or judges, bribed, betray the righteous cause;) 
From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise, 
And opens all the flood-gates of the skies: 
The impetuous torrents from their hills obey, 
Whole fields are drown'd, and mountains swept away; 
Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main; 
And trembling man sees all his labours vain! 

[299] 

And now the chief (the foremost troops repell'd) 
Back to the ships his destined progress held, 
Bore down half Troy in his resistless way, 
And forced the routed ranks to stand the day. 
Between the space where silver Simois flows, 
Where lay the fleets, and where the rampires rose, 
All grim in dust and blood Patroclus stands, 
And turns the slaughter on the conquering bands. 
First Pronous died beneath his fiery dart, 
Which pierced below the shield his valiant heart. 
Thestor was next, who saw the chief appear, 
And fell the victim of his coward fear; 
Shrunk up he sat, with wild and haggard eye, 
Nor stood to combat, nor had force to fly; 
Patroclus mark'd him as he shunn'd the war, 



BOOK XVI. 



491 



And with unmanly tremblings shook the car, 

And dropp'd the flowing reins. Him 'twixt the jaws, 

The javelin sticks, and from the chariot draws. 

As on a rock that overhangs the main, 

An angler, studious of the line and cane, 

Some mighty fish draws panting to the shore: 

Not with less ease the barbed javelin bore 

The gaping dastard; as the spear was shook, 

He fell, and life his heartless breast forsook. 



Next on Eryalus he flies; a stone, 

Large as a rock, was by his fury thrown: 

Full on his crown the ponderous fragment flew, 

And burst the helm, and cleft the head in two: 

Prone to the ground the breathless warrior fell, 

And death involved him with the shades of hell. 

Then low in dust Epaltes, Echius, lie; 

Ipheas, Evippus, Polymelus, die; 

Amphoterus and Erymas succeed; 

And last Tlepolemus and Pyres bleed. 

Where'er he moves, the growing slaughters spread 

In heaps on heaps a monument of dead. 



When now Sarpedon his brave friends beheld 
Grovelling in dust, and gasping on the field, 
With this reproach his flying host he warms: 
"Oh stain to honour! oh disgrace to arms! 
Forsake, inglorious, the contended plain; 
This hand unaided shall the war sustain: 
The task be mine this hero's strength to try, 
Who mows whole troops, and makes an army fly." 



492 



The Iliad of Homer 



He spake: and, speaking, leaps from off the car: 
Patroclus lights, and sternly waits the war. 
As when two vultures on the mountain's height 
Stoop with resounding pinions to the fight; 
They cuff, they tear, they raise a screaming cry; 
[300] The desert echoes, and the rocks reply: 

The warriors thus opposed in arms, engage 
With equal clamours, and with equal rage. 

Jove view'd the combat: whose event foreseen, 
He thus bespoke his sister and his queen: 
"The hour draws on; the destinies ordain, 245 
My godlike son shall press the Phrygian plain: 
Already on the verge of death he stands, 
His life is owed to fierce Patroclus' hands, 
What passions in a parent's breast debate ! 
Say, shall I snatch him from impending fate, 

245 — The destinies ordain. — "In the mythology, also, of the Iliad, purely Pagan 
as it is, we discover one important truth unconsciously involved, which was 
almost entirely lost from view amidst the nearly equal scepticism and credulity 
of subsequent ages. Zeus or Jupiter is popularly to be taken as omnipotent. 
No distinct empire is assigned to fate or fortune; the will of the father of 
gods and men is absolute and uncontrollable. This seems to be the true 
character of the Homeric deity, and it is very necessary that the student of 
Greek literature should bear it constantly in mind. A strong instance in the 
Iliad itself to illustrate this position, is the passage where Jupiter laments to 
Juno the approaching death of Sarpedon. 'Alas me!' says he 'since it is fated 
(moira) that Sarpedon, dearest to me of men, should be slain by Patroclus, the 
son of Menoetius ! Indeed, my heart is divided within me while I ruminate 
it in my mind, whether having snatched him up from out of the lamentable 
battle, I should not at once place him alive in the fertile land of his own Lycia, 
or whether I should now destroy him by the hands of the son of Menoetius!' 
To which Juno answers — 'Dost thou mean to rescue from death a mortal man, 
long since destined by fate (palai pepromenon)? You may do it — but we, the 
rest of the gods, do not sanction it.' Here it is clear from both speakers, that 
although Sarpedon is said to be fated to die, Jupiter might still, if he pleased, 
save him, and place him entirely out of the reach of any such event, and 
further, in the alternative, that Jupiter himself would destroy him by the hands 



BOOK XVI. 



493 



And send him safe to Lycia, distant far 
From all the dangers and the toils of war; 
Or to his doom my bravest offspring yield, 
And fatten, with celestial blood, the field?" 



Then thus the goddess with the radiant eyes: 

"What words are these, O sovereign of the skies ! 

Short is the date prescribed to mortal man; 

Shall Jove for one extend the narrow span, 

Whose bounds were fix'd before his race began? 

How many sons of gods, foredoom'd to death, 

Before proud Ilion must resign their breath! 

Were thine exempt, debate would rise above, 

And murmuring powers condemn their partial Jove. 

Give the bold chief a glorious fate in fight; 

And when the ascending soul has wing'd her flight, 

Let Sleep and Death convey, by thy command, 

The breathless body to his native land. 

His friends and people, to his future praise, 

A marble tomb and pyramid shall raise, 

And lasting honours to his ashes give; 

His fame ('tis all the dead can have) shall live. " 



She said: the cloud-compeller, overcome, 

Assents to fate, and ratifies the doom. 

Then touch'd with grief, the weeping heavens distill'd 

A shower of blood o'er all the fatal field: [301] 



of another." — Coleridge, p. 156. seq. 



494 



The Iliad of Homer 



The god, his eyes averting from the plain, 

Laments his son, predestined to be slain, 

Far from the Lycian shores, his happy native reign. 

Now met in arms, the combatants appear; 

Each heaved the shield, and poised the lifted spear; 

From strong Patroclus' hand the javelin fled, 

And pass'd the groin of valiant Thrasymed; 

The nerves unbraced no more his bulk sustain, 

He falls, and falling bites the bloody plain. 

Two sounding darts the Lycian leader threw: 

The first aloof with erring fury flew, 

The next transpierced Achilles' mortal steed, 

The generous Pedasus of Theban breed: 

Fix'd in the shoulder's joint, he reel'd around, 

Roll'd in the bloody dust, and paw'd the slippery ground. 

His sudden fall the entangled harness broke; 

Each axle crackled, and the chariot shook: 

When bold Automedon, to disengage 

The starting coursers, and restrain their rage, 

Divides the traces with his sword, and freed 

The encumbered chariot from the dying steed: 

The rest move on, obedient to the rein: 

The car rolls slowly o'er the dusty plain. 

The towering chiefs to fiercer fight advance: 
And first Sarpedon whirl'd his weighty lance, 
Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course, 
And spent in empty air its dying force. 
Not so Patroclus' never-erring dart; 
Aim'd at his breast it pierced a mortal part, 
Where the strong fibres bind the solid heart. 
Then as the mountain oak, or poplar tall, 
Or pine (fit mast for some great admiral) 
Nods to the axe, till with a groaning sound 



BOOK XVI. 



495 



It sinks, and spreads its honours on the ground, 

Thus fell the king; and laid on earth supine, 

Before his chariot stretch'd his form divine: 

He grasp'd the dust distain'd with streaming gore, 

And, pale in death, lay groaning on the shore. 

So lies a bull beneath the lion's paws, 

While the grim savage grinds with foamy jaws 

The trembling limbs, and sucks the smoking blood; 

Deep groans, and hollow roars, rebellow through the wood. 

Then to the leader of the Lycian band 

The dying chief address'd his last command; 

"Glaucus, be bold; thy task be first to dare 

The glorious dangers of destructive war, 

To lead my troops, to combat at their head, 

Incite the living, and supply the dead. 

Tell them, I charged them with my latest breath 

Not unrevenged to bear Sarpedon's death. [302] 

What grief, what shame, must Glaucus undergo, 

If these spoil'd arms adorn a Grecian foe! 

Then as a friend, and as a warrior fight; 

Defend my body, conquer in my right: 

That, taught by great examples, all may try 

Like thee to vanquish, or like me to die." 

He ceased; the Fates suppress'd his labouring breath, 

And his eyes darken'd with the shades of death. 

The insulting victor with disdain bestrode 

The prostrate prince, and on his bosom trod; 

Then drew the weapon from his panting heart, 

The reeking fibres clinging to the dart; 

From the wide wound gush'd out a stream of blood, 

And the soul issued in the purple flood. 

His flying steeds the Myrmidons detain, 

Unguided now, their mighty master slain. 



496 



The Iliad of Homer 



All-impotent of aid, transfix'd with grief, 
Unhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief: 
His painful arm, yet useless with the smart 
Inflicted late by Teucer's deadly dart, 
Supported on his better hand he stay'd: 
To Phoebus then ('twas all he could) he pray'd: 

"All-seeing monarch! whether Lycia's coast, 
Or sacred Ilion, thy bright presence boast, 
Powerful alike to ease the wretch's smart; 

hear me! god of every healing art! 

Lo ! stiff with clotted blood, and pierced with pain, 
That thrills my arm, and shoots through every vein, 

1 stand unable to sustain the spear, 

And sigh, at distance from the glorious war. 
Low in the dust is great Sarpedon laid, 
Nor Jove vouchsafed his hapless offspring aid; 
But thou, O god of health! thy succour lend, 
To guard the relics of my slaughter'd friend: 
For thou, though distant, canst restore my might, 
To head my Lycians, and support the fight." 

Apollo heard; and, suppliant as he stood, 
His heavenly hand restrain'd the flux of blood; 
He drew the dolours from the wounded part, 
And breathed a spirit in his rising heart. 
Renew'd by art divine, the hero stands, 
And owns the assistance of immortal hands. 
First to the fight his native troops he warms, 
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive arms; 
With ample strides he stalks from place to place; 
Now fires Agenor, now Polydamas: 
JEneas next, and Hector he accosts; 
Inflaming thus the rage of all their hosts. 



BOOK XVI. 



497 



"What thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ? 

Oh too forgetful of the friends of Troy ! [303] 

Those generous friends, who, from their country far, 

Breathe their brave souls out in another's war. 

See! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies, 

In action valiant, and in council wise, 

Who guarded right, and kept his people free; 

To all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee! 

Stretch'd by Patroclus' arm on yonder plains, 

O save from hostile rage his loved remains ! 

Ah let not Greece his conquer'd trophies boast, 

Nor on his corse revenge her heroes lost!" 

He spoke: each leader in his grief partook: 
Troy, at the loss, through all her legions shook. 
Transfix'd with deep regret, they view o'erthrown 
At once his country's pillar, and their own; 
A chief, who led to Troy's beleaguer'd wall 
A host of heroes, and outshined them all. 
Fired, they rush on; first Hector seeks the foes, 
And with superior vengeance greatly glows. 

But o'er the dead the fierce Patroclus stands, 
And rousing Ajax, roused the listening bands: 

"Heroes, be men; be what you were before; 

Or weigh the great occasion, and be more. 

The chief who taught our lofty walls to yield, 

Lies pale in death, extended on the field. 

To guard his body Troy in numbers flies; 

Tis half the glory to maintain our prize. 

Haste, strip his arms, the slaughter round him spread, 

And send the living Lycians to the dead. " 



498 



The Iliad of Homer 



The heroes kindle at his fierce command; 
The martial squadrons close on either hand: 
Here Troy and Lycia charge with loud alarms, 
Thessalia there, and Greece, oppose their arms. 
With horrid shouts they circle round the slain; 
The clash of armour rings o'er all the plain. 
Great Jove, to swell the horrors of the fight, 
O'er the fierce armies pours pernicious night, 
And round his son confounds the warring hosts, 
His fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts. 

Now Greece gives way, and great Epigeus falls; 

Agacleus' son, from Budium's lofty walls; 

Who chased for murder thence a suppliant came 

To Peleus, and the silver-footed dame; 

Now sent to Troy, Achilles' arms to aid, 

He pays due vengeance to his kinsman's shade. 

Soon as his luckless hand had touch'd the dead, 

A rock's large fragment thunder'd on his head; 

Hurl'd by Hectorean force it cleft in twain 

His shatter'd helm, and stretch'd him o'er the slain. 

Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus came, 
[304] And, like an eagle darting at his game, 

Sprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band. 

What grief thy heart, what fury urged thy hand, 

O generous Greek! when with full vigour thrown, 

At Sthenelaus flew the weighty stone, 

Which sunk him to the dead: when Troy, too near 

That arm, drew back; and Hector learn'd to fear. 

Far as an able hand a lance can throw, 

Or at the lists, or at the fighting foe; 

So far the Trojans from their lines retired; 

Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired. 



BOOK XVI. 



499 



Then Bathyclaeus fell beneath his rage, 
The only hope of Chalcon's trembling age; 
Wide o'er the land was stretch'd his large domain, 
With stately seats, and riches blest in vain: 
Him, bold with youth, and eager to pursue 
The flying Lycians, Glaucus met and slew; 
Pierced through the bosom with a sudden wound, 
He fell, and falling made the fields resound. 
The Achaians sorrow for their heroes slain; 
With conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain, 
And crowd to spoil the dead: the Greeks oppose; 
An iron circle round the carcase grows. 



Then brave Laogonus resign'd his breath, 
Despatch'd by Merion to the shades of death: 
On Ida's holy hill he made abode, 
The priest of Jove, and honour'd like his god. 
Between the jaw and ear the javelin went; 
The soul, exhaling, issued at the vent. 
His spear Aeneas at the victor threw, 
Who stooping forward from the death withdrew; 
The lance hiss'd harmless o'er his covering shield, 
And trembling struck, and rooted in the field; 
There yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain, 
Sent by the great Aeneas' arm in vain. 
"Swift as thou art (the raging hero cries) 
And skill'd in dancing to dispute the prize, 
My spear, the destined passage had it found, 
Had fix'd thy active vigour to the ground." 



500 



The Iliad of Homer 



"O valiant leader of the Dardan host! 
(Insulted Merion thus retorts the boast) 
Strong as you are, 'tis mortal force you trust, 
An arm as strong may stretch thee in the dust. 
And if to this my lance thy fate be given, 
Vain are thy vaunts; success is still from heaven: 
This, instant, sends thee down to Pluto's coast; 
Mine is the glory, his thy parting ghost." 



"O friend (Menoetius' son this answer gave) 
With words to combat, ill befits the brave; 
Not empty boasts the sons of Troy repel, 
[305] Your swords must plunge them to the shades of hell. 

To speak, beseems the council; but to dare 
In glorious action, is the task of war." 



This said, Patroclus to the battle flies; 
Great Merion follows, and new shouts arise: 
Shields, helmets rattle, as the warriors close; 
And thick and heavy sounds the storm of blows. 
As through the shrilling vale, or mountain ground, 
The labours of the woodman's axe resound; 
Blows following blows are heard re-echoing wide, 
While crackling forests fall on every side: 
Thus echoed all the fields with loud alarms, 
So fell the warriors, and so rung their arms. 



BOOK XVI. 



Now great Sarpedon on the sandy shore, 

His heavenly form defaced with dust and gore, 

And stuck with darts by warring heroes shed, 

Lies undistinguish'd from the vulgar dead. 

His long-disputed corse the chiefs enclose, 

On every side the busy combat grows; 

Thick as beneath some shepherd's thatch'd abode 

(The pails high foaming with a milky flood) 

The buzzing flies, a persevering train, 

Incessant swarm, and chased return again. 



Jove view'd the combat with a stern survey, 

And eyes that flash'd intolerable day. 

Fix'd on the field his sight, his breast debates 

The vengeance due, and meditates the fates: 

Whether to urge their prompt effect, and call 

The force of Hector to Patroclus' fall, 

This instant see his short-lived trophies won, 

And stretch him breathless on his slaughter'd son; 

Or yet, with many a soul's untimely flight, 

Augment the fame and horror of the fight. 

To crown Achilles' valiant friend with praise 

At length he dooms; and, that his last of days 

Shall set in glory, bids him drive the foe; 

Nor unattended see the shades below. 

Then Hector's mind he fills with dire dismay; 

He mounts his car, and calls his hosts away; 

Sunk with Troy's heavy fates, he sees decline 

The scales of Jove, and pants with awe divine. 



502 



The Iliad of Homer 



Then, nor before, the hardy Lycians fled, 
And left their monarch with the common dead: 
Around, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall 
Of carnage rises, as the heroes fall. 
(So Jove decreed!) At length the Greeks obtain 
The prize contested, and despoil the slain. 
The radiant arms are by Patroclus borne; 
Patroclus' ships the glorious spoils adorn. 

Then thus to Phoebus, in the realms above, 
[306] Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove: 

"Descend, my Phoebus ! on the Phrygian plain, 
And from the fight convey Sarpedon slain; 
Then bathe his body in the crystal flood, 
With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with blood; 
O'er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed, 
And with celestial robes adorn the dead. 
Those rites discharged, his sacred corse bequeath 
To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death. 
They to his friends the immortal charge shall bear; 
His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear: 
What honour mortals after death receive, 
Those unavailing honours we may give!" 



Apollo bows, and from mount Ida's height, 
Swift to the field precipitates his flight; 
Thence from the war the breathless hero bore, 
Veil'd in a cloud, to silver Simois' shore; 
There bathed his honourable wounds, and dress'd 
His manly members in the immortal vest; 
And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews 
Restores his freshness, and his form renews. 
Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race, 



BOOK XVI. 



503 




SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF 
SARPEDON TO LYCIA. 



Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace, 
Received Sarpedon, at the god's command, 
And in a moment reach'd the Lycian land; 
The corse amidst his weeping friends they laid, 
Where endless honours wait the sacred shade. 

Meanwhile Patroclus pours along the plains, 

With foaming coursers, and with loosen'd reins. 

Fierce on the Trojan and the Lycian crew, [307] 

Ah blind to fate! thy headlong fury flew 

Against what fate and powerful Jove ordain, 

Vain was thy friend's command, thy courage vain. 

For he, the god, whose counsels uncontroll'd 

Dismay the mighty, and confound the bold; 

The god who gives, resumes, and orders all, 

He urged thee on, and urged thee on to fall. 



504 



The Iliad of Homer 



Who first, brave hero! by that arm was slain, 
Who last beneath thy vengeance press'd the plain; 
When heaven itself thy fatal fury led, 
And call'd to fill the number of the dead? 
Adrestus first; Autonous then succeeds; 
Echeclus follows; next young Megas bleeds, 
Epistor, Melanippus, bite the ground; 
The slaughter, Elasus and Mulius crown'd: 
Then sunk Pylartes to eternal night; 
The rest, dispersing, trust their fates to flight. 

Now Troy had stoop'd beneath his matchless power, 
But flaming Phoebus kept the sacred tower 
Thrice at the battlements Patroclus strook; 246 
His blazing aegis thrice Apollo shook; 
He tried the fourth; when, bursting from the cloud, 
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud. 

"Patroclus! cease; this heaven-defended wall 
Defies thy lance; not fated yet to fall; 
Thy friend, thy greater far, it shall withstand, 
Troy shall not stoop even to Achilles' hand." 



~ — Thrice at the battlements. "The art military of the Homeric age is upon 
a level with the state of navigation just described, personal prowess decided 
every thing; the night attack and the ambuscade, although much esteemed, 
were never upon a large scale. The chiefs fight in advance, and enact almost 
as much as the knights of romance. The siege of Troy was as little like a 
modern siege as a captain in the guards is like Achilles. There is no mention 
of a ditch or any other line or work round the town, and the wall itself was 
accessible without a ladder. It was probably a vast mound of earth with a 
declivity outwards. Patroclus thrice mounts it in armour. The Trojans are 
in no respects blockaded, and receive assistance from their allies to the very 
end." — Coleridge, p. 212. 



BOOK XVI. 



505 



So spoke the god who darts celestial fires; 
The Greek obeys him, and with awe retires. 
While Hector, checking at the Scaean gates 
His panting coursers, in his breast debates, 
Or in the field his forces to employ, 
Or draw the troops within the walls of Troy. 
Thus while he thought, beside him Phoebus stood, 
In Asius' shape, who reigned by Sangar's flood; 
(Thy brother, Hecuba! from Dymas sprung, 
A valiant warrior, haughty, bold, and young;) 
Thus he accosts him. "What a shameful sight! 
God! is it Hector that forbears the fight? 
Were thine my vigour this successful spear 
Should soon convince thee of so false a fear. 

Turn thee, ah turn thee to the field of fame, [308] 

And in Patroclus' blood efface thy shame. 

Perhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed, 

And heaven ordains him by thy lance to bleed." 

So spoke the inspiring god; then took his flight, 

And plunged amidst the tumult of the fight. 

He bids Cebrion drive the rapid car; 

The lash resounds, the coursers rush to war. 

The god the Grecians' sinking souls depress'd, 

And pour'd swift spirits through each Trojan breast. 

Patroclus lights, impatient for the fight; 

A spear his left, a stone employs his right: 

With all his nerves he drives it at the foe. 

Pointed above, and rough and gross below: 

The falling ruin crush'd Cebrion's head, 

The lawless offspring of king Priam's bed; 

His front, brows, eyes, one undistinguish'd wound: 

The bursting balls drop sightless to the ground. 

The charioteer, while yet he held the rein, 



506 



The Iliad of Homer 



Struck from the car, falls headlong on the plain. 
To the dark shades the soul unwilling glides, 
While the proud victor thus his fall derides. 

"Good heaven! what active feats yon artist shows! 
What skilful divers are our Phrygian foes ! 
Mark with what ease they sink into the sand! 
Pity that all their practice is by land!" 

Then rushing sudden on his prostrate prize, 
To spoil the carcase fierce Patroclus flies: 
Swift as a lion, terrible and bold, 
That sweeps the field, depopulates the fold; 
Pierced through the dauntless heart, then tumbles slain, 
And from his fatal courage finds his bane. 
At once bold Hector leaping from his car, 
Defends the body, and provokes the war. 
Thus for some slaughter'd hind, with equal rage, 
Two lordly rulers of the wood engage; 
Stung with fierce hunger, each the prey invades, 
And echoing roars rebellow through the shades. 
Stern Hector fastens on the warrior's head, 
And by the foot Patroclus drags the dead: 
While all around, confusion, rage, and fright, 
Mix the contending hosts in mortal fight. 
So pent by hills, the wild winds roar aloud 
In the deep bosom of some gloomy wood; 
Leaves, arms, and trees, aloft in air are blown, 
The broad oaks crackle, and the Sylvans groan; 
This way and that, the rattling thicket bends, 
And the whole forest in one crash descends. 
Not with less noise, with less tumultuous rage, 
In dreadful shock the mingled hosts engage. 
[309] Darts shower'd on darts, now round the carcase ring; 



BOOK XVI. 



507 



Now flights of arrows bounding from the string: 
Stones follow stones; some clatter on the fields, 
Some hard, and heavy, shake the sounding shields 
But where the rising whirlwind clouds the plains, 
Sunk in soft dust the mighty chief remains, 
And, stretch'd in death, forgets the guiding reins! 

Now flaming from the zenith, Sol had driven 
His fervid orb through half the vault of heaven; 
While on each host with equal tempests fell 
The showering darts, and numbers sank to hell. 
But when his evening wheels o'erhung the main, 
Glad conquest rested on the Grecian train. 
Then from amidst the tumult and alarms, 
They draw the conquer'd corse and radiant arms. 
Then rash Patroclus with new fury glows, 
And breathing slaughter, pours amid the foes. 
Thrice on the press like Mars himself he flew, 
And thrice three heroes at each onset slew. 
There ends thy glory! there the Fates untwine 
The last, black remnant of so bright a line: 
Apollo dreadful stops thy middle way; 
Death calls, and heaven allows no longer day! 

For lo ! the god in dusky clouds enshrined, 
Approaching dealt a staggering blow behind. 
The weighty shock his neck and shoulders feel; 
His eyes flash sparkles, his stunn'd senses reel 
In giddy darkness; far to distance flung, 
His bounding helmet on the champaign rung. 
Achilles' plume is stain'd with dust and gore; 
That plume which never stoop'd to earth before; 
Long used, untouch'd, in fighting fields to shine, 
And shade the temples of the mad divine. 



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Jove dooms it now on Hector's helm to nod; 
Not long — for fate pursues him, and the god. 

His spear in shivers falls; his ample shield 
Drops from his arm: his baldric straws the field: 
The corslet his astonish'd breast forsakes: 
Loose is each joint; each nerve with horror shakes; 
Stupid he stares, and all-assistless stands: 
Such is the force of more than mortal hands! 

A Dardan youth there was, well known to fame, 
From Panthus sprung, Euphorbus was his name; 
Famed for the manage of the foaming horse, 
Skill'd in the dart, and matchless in the course: 
Full twenty knights he tumbled from the car, 
While yet he learn'd his rudiments of war. 
His venturous spear first drew the hero's gore; 
He struck, he wounded, but he durst no more. 
Nor, though disarm'd, Patroclus' fury stood: 
[310] But swift withdrew the long-protended wood. 

And turn'd him short, and herded in the crowd. 

Thus, by an arm divine, and mortal spear, 

Wounded, at once, Patroclus yields to fear, 

Retires for succour to his social train, 

And flies the fate, which heaven decreed, in vain. 

Stern Hector, as the bleeding chief he views, 

Breaks through the ranks, and his retreat pursues: 

The lance arrests him with a mortal wound; 

He falls, earth thunders, and his arms resound. 

With him all Greece was sunk; that moment all 

Her yet-surviving heroes seem'd to fall. 

So, scorch'd with heat, along the desert score, 

The roaming lion meets a bristly boar, 

Fast by the spring; they both dispute the flood, 



BOOK XVI. 



509 



With flaming eyes, and jaws besmear'd with blood; 

At length the sovereign savage wins the strife; 

And the torn boar resigns his thirst and life. 

Patroclus thus, so many chiefs o'erthrown, 

So many lives effused, expires his own. 

As dying now at Hector's feet he lies, 

He sternly views him, and triumphant cries: 



"Lie there, Patroclus! and with thee, the joy 
Thy pride once promised, of subverting Troy; 
The fancied scenes of Ilion wrapt in flames, 
And thy soft pleasures served with captive dames. 
Unthinking man! I fought those towers to free, 
And guard that beauteous race from lords like thee: 
But thou a prey to vultures shalt be made; 
Thy own Achilles cannot lend thee aid; 
Though much at parting that great chief might say, 
And much enjoin thee, this important day. 



'Return not, my brave friend (perhaps he said), 

Without the bloody arms of Hector dead.' 

He spoke, Patroclus march'd, and thus he sped. " 



Supine, and wildly gazing on the skies, 
With faint, expiring breath, the chief replies: 



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"Vain boaster! cease, and know the powers divine! 

Jove's and Apollo's is this deed, not thine; 

To heaven is owed whate'er your own you call, 

And heaven itself disarm'd me ere my fall. 

Had twenty mortals, each thy match in might, 

Opposed me fairly, they had sunk in fight: 

By fate and Phoebus was I first o'erthrown, 

Euphorbus next; the third mean part thy own. 

But thou, imperious! hear my latest breath; 

The gods inspire it, and it sounds thy death: 

Insulting man, thou shalt be soon as I; 

Black fate o'erhangs thee, and thy hour draws nigh; 

Even now on life's last verge I see thee stand, 

I see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand. " 

He faints: the soul unwilling wings her way, 
(The beauteous body left a load of clay) 
Flits to the lone, uncomfortable coast; 
A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost! 

Then Hector pausing, as his eyes he fed 
On the pale carcase, thus address'd the dead: 

"From whence this boding speech, the stern decree 
Of death denounced, or why denounced to me? 
Why not as well Achilles' fate be given 
To Hector's lance? Who knows the will of heaven?" 

Pensive he said; then pressing as he lay 
His breathless bosom, tore the lance away; 
And upwards cast the corse: the reeking spear 
He shakes, and charges the bold charioteer. 
But swift Automedon with loosen'd reins 
Rapt in the chariot o'er the distant plains, 
Far from his rage the immortal coursers drove; 
The immortal coursers were the gift of Jove. 



BOOK XVI. 511 



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^SCULAPIUS. 



[312] 



BOOK XVII. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF 
PATROCLUS.— THE ACTS OF MENELAUS. 

Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body 
from the enemy: Euphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. Hector 
advancing, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and 
drives him off. This, Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight, who 
thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and 
renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: 
Aeneas sustains the Trojans. Aeneas and Hector Attempt the 
chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The 
horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus: Jupiter covers 
his body with a thick darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on 
that occasion. Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the 
news of Patroclus' death: then returns to the fight, where, though 
attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the 
Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships. 

The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The 
scene lies in the fields before Troy. 

On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread, 
Lies pierced with wounds among the vulgar dead. 
Great Menelaus, touch'd with generous woe, 
Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe. 
Thus round her new-fallen young the heifer moves, 
Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves; 
And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare) 



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Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother's care, 
Opposed to each that near the carcase came, 
His broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame. 

The son of Panthus, skill'd the dart to send, 
Eyes the dead hero, and insults the friend. 
"This hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low; 
Warrior! desist, nor tempt an equal blow: 
To me the spoils my prowess won, resign: 
Depart with life, and leave the glory mine" 

The Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch burn'd 
[313] With generous anguish, and in scorn return'd: 

"Laugh'st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne, 
When mortals boast of prowess not their own? 
Not thus the lion glories in his might, 
Nor panther braves his spotted foe in fight, 
Nor thus the boar (those terrors of the plain;) 
Man only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain. 
But far the vainest of the boastful kind, 
These sons of Panthus vent their haughty mind. 
Yet 'twas but late, beneath my conquering steel 
This boaster's brother, Hyperenor, fell; 
Against our arm which rashly he defied, 
Vain was his vigour, and as vain his pride. 
These eyes beheld him on the dust expire, 
No more to cheer his spouse, or glad his sire. 
Presumptuous youth! like his shall be thy doom, 
Go, wait thy brother to the Stygian gloom; 
Or, while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; 
Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late." 



BOOK XVII. 



515 



Unmoved, Euphorbus thus: "That action known, 

Come, for my brother's blood repay thy own. 

His weeping father claims thy destined head, 

And spouse, a widow in her bridal bed. 

On these thy conquer'd spoils I shall bestow, 

To soothe a consort's and a parent's woe. 

No longer then defer the glorious strife, 

Let heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life." 

Swift as the word the missile lance he flings; 
The well-aim'd weapon on the buckler rings, 
But blunted by the brass, innoxious falls. 
On Jove the father great Atrides calls, 
Nor flies the javelin from his arm in vain, 
It pierced his throat, and bent him to the plain; 
Wide through the neck appears the grisly wound, 
Prone sinks the warrior, and his arms resound. 
The shining circlets of his golden hair, 
Which even the Graces might be proud to wear, 
Instarr'd with gems and gold, bestrow the shore, 
With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore. 

As the young olive, in some sylvan scene, 
Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green, 
Lifts the gay head, in snowy flowerets fair, 
And plays and dances to the gentle air; 
When lo ! a whirlwind from high heaven invades 
The tender plant, and withers all its shades; 
It lies uprooted from its genial bed, 
A lovely ruin now defaced and dead: 
Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay, 
While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away. 
Proud of his deed, and glorious in the prize, 

Affrighted Troy the towering victor flies: [314] 



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Flies, as before some mountain lion's ire 
The village curs and trembling swains retire, 
When o'er the slaughter'd bull they hear him roar, 
And see his jaws distil with smoking gore: 
All pale with fear, at distance scatter'd round, 
They shout incessant, and the vales resound. 

Meanwhile Apollo view'd with envious eyes, 
And urged great Hector to dispute the prize; 
(In Mentes' shape, beneath whose martial care 
The rough Ciconians learn'd the trade of war;) 247 
"Forbear (he cried) with fruitless speed to chase 
Achilles' coursers, of ethereal race; 
They stoop not, these, to mortal man's command, 
Or stoop to none but great Achilles' hand. 
Too long amused with a pursuit so vain, 
Turn, and behold the brave Euphorbus slain; 
By Sparta slain! for ever now suppress'd 
The fire which burn'd in that undaunted breast!" 

Thus having spoke, Apollo wing'd his flight, 

And mix'd with mortals in the toils of fight: 

His words infix'd unutterable care 

Deep in great Hector's soul: through all the war 

He darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view'd 

The breathless hero in his blood imbued, 

(Forth welling from the wound, as prone he lay) 

And in the victor's hands the shining prey. 

Sheath'd in bright arms, through cleaving ranks he flies, 

And sends his voice in thunder to the skies: 

Fierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent, 

It flew, and fired the nations as it went. 

Atrides from the voice the storm divined, 



— Ciconians. — A people of Thrace, near the Hebrus. 



BOOK XVII. 



517 



And thus explored his own unconquer'd mind: 

"Then shall I quit Patroclus on the plain, 

Slain in my cause, and for my honour slain! 

Desert the arms, the relics, of my friend? 

Or singly, Hector and his troops attend? 

Sure where such partial favour heaven bestow'd, 

To brave the hero were to brave the god: 

Forgive me, Greece, if once I quit the field; 

'Tis not to Hector, but to heaven I yield. 

Yet, nor the god, nor heaven, should give me fear, 

Did but the voice of Ajax reach my ear: 

Still would we turn, still battle on the plains, 

And give Achilles all that yet remains 

Of his and our Patroclus — " This, no more 

The time allow'd: Troy thicken'd on the shore. 

A sable scene! The terrors Hector led. 

Slow he recedes, and sighing quits the dead. 



So from the fold the unwilling lion parts, [315] 

Forced by loud clamours, and a storm of darts; 

He flies indeed, but threatens as he flies, 

With heart indignant and retorted eyes. 

Now enter'd in the Spartan ranks, he turn'd 

His manly breast, and with new fury burn'd; 

O'er all the black battalions sent his view, 

And through the cloud the godlike Ajax knew; 

Where labouring on the left the warrior stood, 

All grim in arms, and cover'd o'er with blood; 

There breathing courage, where the god of day 

Had sunk each heart with terror and dismay. 



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To him the king: "Oh Ajax, oh my friend! 
Haste, and Patroclus' loved remains defend: 
The body to Achilles to restore 
Demands our care; alas, we can no more! 
For naked now, despoiled of arms, he lies; 
And Hector glories in the dazzling prize. " 
He said, and touch'd his heart. The raging pair 
Pierced the thick battle, and provoke the war. 
Already had stern Hector seized his head, 
And doom'd to Trojan gods the unhappy dead; 
But soon as Ajax rear'd his tower-like shield, 
Sprung to his car, and measured back the field, 
His train to Troy the radiant armour bear, 
To stand a trophy of his fame in war. 



Meanwhile great Ajax (his broad shield display'd) 

Guards the dead hero with the dreadful shade; 

And now before, and now behind he stood: 

Thus in the centre of some gloomy wood, 

With many a step, the lioness surrounds 

Her tawny young, beset by men and hounds; 

Elate her heart, and rousing all her powers, 

Dark o'er the fiery balls each hanging eyebrow lours. 

Fast by his side the generous Spartan glows 

With great revenge, and feeds his inward woes. 



But Glaucus, leader of the Lycian aids, 

On Hector frowning, thus his flight upbraids: 



BOOK XVII. 



519 



"Where now in Hector shall we Hector find? 

A manly form, without a manly mind. 

Is this, O chief! a hero's boasted fame? 

How vain, without the merit, is the name! 

Since battle is renounced, thy thoughts employ 

What other methods may preserve thy Troy: 

Tis time to try if Ilion's state can stand 

By thee alone, nor ask a foreign hand: 

Mean, empty boast! but shall the Lycians stake 

Their lives for you? those Lycians you forsake? 

What from thy thankless arms can we expect? 

Thy friend Sarpedon proves thy base neglect; 

Say, shall our slaughter'd bodies guard your walls, [316] 

While unreveng'd the great Sarpedon falls? 

Even where he died for Troy, you left him there, 

A feast for dogs, and all the fowls of air. 

On my command if any Lycian wait, 

Hence let him march, and give up Troy to fate. 

Did such a spirit as the gods impart 

Impel one Trojan hand or Trojan heart, 

(Such as should burn in every soul that draws 

The sword for glory, and his country's cause) 

Even yet our mutual arms we might employ, 

And drag yon carcase to the walls of Troy. 

Oh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain 

Sarpedon's arms and honour'd corse again! 

Greece with Achilles' friend should be repaid, 

And thus due honours purchased to his shade. 

But words are vain — Let Ajax once appear, 

And Hector trembles and recedes with fear; 

Thou dar'st not meet the terrors of his eye; 

And lo! already thou prepar'st to fly." 



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The Trojan chief with fix'd resentment eyed 
The Lycian leader, and sedate replied: 



"Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector's ear 

From such a warrior such a speech should hear? 

I deem'd thee once the wisest of thy kind, 

But ill this insult suits a prudent mind. 

I shun great Ajax? I desert my train? 

'Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain; 

I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds, 

And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds. 

But Jove's high will is ever uncontroll'd, 

The strong he withers, and confounds the bold; 

Now crowns with fame the mighty man, and now 

Strikes the fresh garland from the victor's brow! 

Come, through yon squadrons let us hew the way, 

And thou be witness, if I fear to-day; 

If yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread, 

Or yet their hero dare defend the dead." 



Then turning to the martial hosts, he cries: 
"Ye Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, and allies! 
Be men, my friends, in action as in name, 
And yet be mindful of your ancient fame. 
Hector in proud Achilles' arms shall shine, 
Torn from his friend, by right of conquest mine." 



BOOK XVII. 

He strode along the field, as thus he said: 

(The sable plumage nodded o'er his head:) 

Swift through the spacious plain he sent a look; 

One instant saw, one instant overtook 

The distant band, that on the sandy shore 

The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore. 

There his own mail unbraced the field bestrow'd; 

His train to Troy convey'd the massy load. 

Now blazing in the immortal arms he stands; 

The work and present of celestial hands; 

By aged Peleus to Achilles given, 

As first to Peleus by the court of heaven: 

His father's arms not long Achilles wears, 

Forbid by fate to reach his father's years. 

Him, proud in triumph, glittering from afar, 

The god whose thunder rends the troubled air 

Beheld with pity; as apart he sat, 

And, conscious, look'd through all the scene of fate. 

He shook the sacred honours of his head; 

Olympus trembled, and the godhead said; 

"Ah, wretched man! unmindful of thy end! 

A moment's glory; and what fates attend! 

In heavenly panoply divinely bright 

Thou stand'st, and armies tremble at thy sight, 

As at Achilles' self! beneath thy dart 

Lies slain the great Achilles' dearer part. 

Thou from the mighty dead those arms hast torn, 

Which once the greatest of mankind had worn. 

Yet live! I give thee one illustrious day, 

A blaze of glory ere thou fad'st away. 

For ah! no more Andromache shall come 

With joyful tears to welcome Hector home; 

No more officious, with endearing charms, 



522 



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From thy tired limbs unbrace Pelides' arms!" 

Then with his sable brow he gave the nod 
That seals his word; the sanction of the god. 
The stubborn arms (by Jove's command disposed) 
Conform'd spontaneous, and around him closed: 
Fill'd with the god, enlarged his members grew, 
Through all his veins a sudden vigour flew, 
The blood in brisker tides began to roll, 
And Mars himself came rushing on his soul. 
Exhorting loud through all the field he strode, 
And look'd, and moved, Achilles, or a god. 
Now Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon, he inspires, 
Now Phorcys, Chromius, and Hippothous fires; 
The great Thersilochus like fury found, 
Asteropaeus kindled at the sound, 
And Ennomus, in augury renown'd. 

"Hear, all ye hosts, and hear, unnumber'd bands 
Of neighbouring nations, or of distant lands ! 
'Twas not for state we summon'd you so far, 
To boast our numbers, and the pomp of war: 
Ye came to fight; a valiant foe to chase, 
To save our present, and our future race. 
Tor this, our wealth, our products, you enjoy, 
[318] And glean the relics of exhausted Troy. 

Now then, to conquer or to die prepare; 
To die or conquer are the terms of war. 
Whatever hand shall win Patroclus slain, 
Whoe'er shall drag him to the Trojan train, 
With Hector's self shall equal honours claim; 
With Hector part the spoil, and share the fame. " 



BOOK XVII. 



523 



Fired by his words, the troops dismiss their fears, 
They join, they thicken, they protend their spears; 
Full on the Greeks they drive in firm array, 
And each from Ajax hopes the glorious prey: 
Vain hope! what numbers shall the field o'erspread, 
What victims perish round the mighty dead! 



Great Ajax mark'd the growing storm from far, 
And thus bespoke his brother of the war: 
"Our fatal day, alas! is come, my friend; 
And all our wars and glories at an end! 
'Tis not this corse alone we guard in vain, 
Condemn'd to vultures on the Trojan plain; 
We too must yield: the same sad fate must fall 
On thee, on me, perhaps, my friend, on all. 
See what a tempest direful Hector spreads, 
And lo! it bursts, it thunders on our heads! 
Call on our Greeks, if any hear the call, 
The bravest Greeks: this hour demands them all." 



The warrior raised his voice, and wide around 

The field re-echoed the distressful sound. 

"O chiefs! O princes, to whose hand is given 

The rule of men; whose glory is from heaven! 

Whom with due honours both Atrides grace: 

Ye guides and guardians of our Argive race! 

All, whom this well-known voice shall reach from far, 

All, whom I see not through this cloud of war; 

Come all! let generous rage your arms employ, 

And save Patroclus from the dogs of Troy." 



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Oilean Ajax first the voice obey'd, 
Swift was his pace, and ready was his aid: 
Next him Idomeneus, more slow with age, 
And Merion, burning with a hero's rage. 
The long-succeeding numbers who can name? 
But all were Greeks, and eager all for fame. 
Fierce to the charge great Hector led the throng; 
Whole Troy embodied rush'd with shouts along. 
Thus, when a mountain billow foams and raves, 
Where some swoln river disembogues his waves, 
Full in the mouth is stopp'd the rushing tide, 
The boiling ocean works from side to side, 
The river trembles to his utmost shore, 
And distant rocks rebellow to the roar. 

Nor less resolved, the firm Achaian band 
[319] With brazen shields in horrid circle stand. 

Jove, pouring darkness o'er the mingled fight, 
Conceals the warriors' shining helms in night: 
To him, the chief for whom the hosts contend 
Had lived not hateful, for he lived a friend: 
Dead he protects him with superior care. 
Nor dooms his carcase to the birds of air. 



The first attack the Grecians scarce sustain, 
Repulsed, they yield; the Trojans seize the slain. 
Then fierce they rally, to revenge led on 
By the swift rage of Ajax Telamon. 
(Ajax to Peleus' son the second name, 
In graceful stature next, and next in fame) 
With headlong force the foremost ranks he tore; 
So through the thicket bursts the mountain boar, 
And rudely scatters, for a distance round, 



BOOK XVII. 



525 




FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS. 



The frighted hunter and the baying hound. 

The son of Lethus, brave Pelasgus' heir, 

Hippothous, dragg'd the carcase through the war; 

The sinewy ankles bored, the feet he bound 

With thongs inserted through the double wound: 

Inevitable fate o'ertakes the deed; 

Doom'd by great Ajax' vengeful lance to bleed: 

It cleft the helmet's brazen cheeks in twain; 

The shatter'd crest and horse-hair strow the plain: 

With nerves relax'd he tumbles to the ground: 

The brain comes gushing through the ghastly wound: 

He drops Patroclus' foot, and o'er him spread, 

Now lies a sad companion of the dead: 

Far from Larissa lies, his native air, 

And ill requites his parents' tender care. 

Lamented youth! in life's first bloom he fell, [320] 
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell. 

Once more at Ajax Hector's javelin flies; 
The Grecian marking, as it cut the skies, 
Shunn'd the descending death; which hissing on, 
Stretch'd in the dust the great Iphytus' son, 



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Schedius the brave, of all the Phocian kind 

The boldest warrior and the noblest mind: 

In little Panope, for strength renown'd, 

He held his seat, and ruled the realms around. 

Plunged in his throat, the weapon drank his blood, 

And deep transpiercing through the shoulder stood; 

In clanging arms the hero fell and all 

The fields resounded with his weighty fall. 



Phorcys, as slain Hippothous he defends, 

The Telamonian lance his belly rends; 

The hollow armour burst before the stroke, 

And through the wound the rushing entrails broke: 

In strong convulsions panting on the sands 

He lies, and grasps the dust with dying hands. 



Struck at the sight, recede the Trojan train: 
The shouting Argives strip the heroes slain. 
And now had Troy, by Greece compell'd to yield, 
Fled to her ramparts, and resign'd the field; 
Greece, in her native fortitude elate, 
With Jove averse, had turn'd the scale of fate: 
But Phoebus urged ^Eneas to the fight; 
He seem'd like aged Periphas to sight: 
(A herald in Anchises' love grown old, 
Revered for prudence, and with prudence bold.) 



BOOK XVII. 



527 



Thus he — "What methods yet, O chief! remain, 
To save your Troy, though heaven its fall ordain? 
There have been heroes, who, by virtuous care, 
By valour, numbers, and by arts of war, 
Have forced the powers to spare a sinking state, 
And gain'd at length the glorious odds of fate: 
But you, when fortune smiles, when Jove declares 
His partial favour, and assists your wars, 
Your shameful efforts 'gainst yourselves employ, 
And force the unwilling god to ruin Troy." 

JEneas through the form assumed descries 
The power conceal'd, and thus to Hector cries: 
"Oh lasting shame! to our own fears a prey, 
We seek our ramparts, and desert the day. 
A god, nor is he less, my bosom warms, 
And tells me, Jove asserts the Trojan arms." 

He spoke, and foremost to the combat flew: 

The bold example all his hosts pursue. 

Then, first, Leocritus beneath him bled, 

In vain beloved by valiant Lycomede; 

Who view'd his fall, and, grieving at the chance, 

Swift to revenge it sent his angry lance; [32 1] 

The whirling lance, with vigorous force address'd, 

Descends, and pants in Apisaon's breast; 

From rich Paeonia's vales the warrior came, 

Next thee, Asteropeus ! in place and fame. 

Asteropeus with grief beheld the slain, 

And rush'd to combat, but he rush'd in vain: 

Indissolubly firm, around the dead, 

Rank within rank, on buckler buckler spread, 

And hemm'd with bristled spears, the Grecians stood, 

A brazen bulwark, and an iron wood. 



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Great Ajax eyes them with incessant care, 
And in an orb contracts the crowded war, 
Close in their ranks commands to fight or fall, 
And stands the centre and the soul of all: 
Fix'd on the spot they war, and wounded, wound 
A sanguine torrent steeps the reeking ground: 
On heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans bled, 
And, thickening round them, rise the hills of dead. 

Greece, in close order, and collected might, 
Yet suffers least, and sways the wavering fight; 
Fierce as conflicting fires the combat burns, 
And now it rises, now it sinks by turns. 
In one thick darkness all the fight was lost; 
The sun, the moon, and all the ethereal host 
Seem'd as extinct: day ravish'd from their eyes, 
And all heaven's splendours blotted from the skies. 
Such o'er Patroclus' body hung the night, 
The rest in sunshine fought, and open light; 
Unclouded there, the aerial azure spread, 
No vapour rested on the mountain's head, 
The golden sun pour'd forth a stronger ray, 
And all the broad expansion flamed with day. 
Dispersed around the plain, by fits they fight, 
And here and there their scatter'd arrows light: 
But death and darkness o'er the carcase spread, 
There burn'd the war, and there the mighty bled. 

Meanwhile the sons of Nestor, in the rear, 
(Their fellows routed,) toss the distant spear, 
And skirmish wide: so Nestor gave command, 
When from the ships he sent the Pylian band. 
The youthful brothers thus for fame contend, 
Nor knew the fortune of Achilles' friend; 



BOOK XVII. 



529 



In thought they view'd him still, with martial joy, 
Glorious in arms, and dealing death to Troy. 

But round the corse the heroes pant for breath, 

And thick and heavy grows the work of death: 

O'erlabour'd now, with dust, and sweat, and gore, 

Their knees, their legs, their feet, are covered o'er; 

Drops follow drops, the clouds on clouds arise, 

And carnage clogs their hands, and darkness fills their eyes. [322] 

As when a slaughter'd bull's yet reeking hide, 

Strain'd with full force, and tugg'd from side to side, 

The brawny curriers stretch; and labour o'er 

The extended surface, drunk with fat and gore: 

So tugging round the corse both armies stood; 

The mangled body bathed in sweat and blood; 

While Greeks and Ilians equal strength employ, 

Now to the ships to force it, now to Troy. 

Not Pallas' self, her breast when fury warms, 

Nor he whose anger sets the world in arms, 

Could blame this scene; such rage, such horror reign'd; 

Such, Jove to honour the great dead ordain'd. 

Achilles in his ships at distance lay, 

Nor knew the fatal fortune of the day; 

He, yet unconscious of Patroclus' fall, 

In dust extended under Ilion's wall, 

Expects him glorious from the conquered plain, 

And for his wish'd return prepares in vain; 

Though well he knew, to make proud Ilion bend 

Was more than heaven had destined to his friend. 

Perhaps to him: this Thetis had reveal'd; 

The rest, in pity to her son, conceal'd. 



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Still raged the conflict round the hero dead, 
And heaps on heaps by mutual wounds they bled. 
"Cursed be the man (even private Greeks would say) 
Who dares desert this well-disputed day ! 
First may the cleaving earth before our eyes 
Gape wide, and drink our blood for sacrifice; 
First perish all, ere haughty Troy shall boast 
We lost Patroclus, and our glory lost!" 

Thus they: while with one voice the Trojans said, 
"Grant this day, Jove! or heap us on the dead!" 

Then clash their sounding arms; the clangours rise, 
And shake the brazen concave of the skies. 

Meantime, at distance from the scene of blood, 
The pensive steeds of great Achilles stood: 
Their godlike master slain before their eyes, 
[323] They wept, and shared in human miseries. 248 

248 —They wept. 

"Fast by the manger stands the inactive steed, 
And, sunk in sorrow, hangs his languid head; 
He stands, and careless of his golden grain, 
Weeps his associates and his master slain." 

Merrick's Tryphiodorus, v. 18-24. 

"Nothing is heard upon the mountains now, 
But pensive herds that for their master low, 
Straggling and comfortless about they rove, 
Unmindful of their pasture and their love." 

Moschus, id. 3, parodied, ibid, 

"To close the pomp, jEthon, the steed of state, 

Is led, the funeral of his lord to wait. 

Stripp'd of his trappings, with a sullen pace 

He walks, and the big tears run rolling down his face." 

Dryden's Virgil, bk. ii 



BOOK XVII. 



In vain Automedon now shakes the rein, 

Now plies the lash, and soothes and threats in vain; 

Nor to the fight nor Hellespont they go, 

Restive they stood, and obstinate in woe: 

Still as a tombstone, never to be moved, 

On some good man or woman unreproved 

Lays its eternal weight; or fix'd, as stands 

A marble courser by the sculptor's hands, 

Placed on the hero's grave. Along their face 

The big round drops coursed down with silent pace, 

Conglobing on the dust. Their manes, that late 

Circled their arched necks, and waved in state, 

Trail'd on the dust beneath the yoke were spread, 

And prone to earth was hung their languid head: 

Nor Jove disdain'd to cast a pitying look, 

While thus relenting to the steeds he spoke: 

"Unhappy coursers of immortal strain, 
Exempt from age, and deathless, now in vain; 
Did we your race on mortal man bestow, 
Only, alas! to share in mortal woe? 
For ah! what is there of inferior birth, 
That breathes or creeps upon the dust of earth; 
What wretched creature of what wretched kind, 
Than man more weak, calamitous, and blind? 
A miserable race! but cease to mourn: 
For not by you shall Priam's son be borne 
High on the splendid car: one glorious prize 
He rashly boasts: the rest our will denies. 
Ourself will swiftness to your nerves impart, 
Ourself with rising spirits swell your heart. 
Automedon your rapid flight shall bear 
Safe to the navy through the storm of war. 
For yet 'tis given to Troy to ravage o'er 



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The field, and spread her slaughters to the shore; 
The sun shall see her conquer, till his fall 
With sacred darkness shades the face of all." 

He said; and breathing in the immortal horse 
Excessive spirit, urged them to the course; 
From their high manes they shake the dust, and bear 
The kindling chariot through the parted war: 
So flies a vulture through the clamorous train 
Of geese, that scream, and scatter round the plain. 
From danger now with swiftest speed they flew, 
And now to conquest with like speed pursue; 
Sole in the seat the charioteer remains, 
Now plies the javelin, now directs the reins: 
Him brave Alcimedon beheld distress'd, 
Approach'd the chariot, and the chief address'd: 

"What god provokes thee rashly thus to dare, 
[324] Alone, unaided, in the thickest war? 

Alas ! thy friend is slain, and Hector wields 
Achilles' arms triumphant in the fields." 

"In happy time (the charioteer replies) 

The bold Alcimedon now greets my eyes; 

No Greek like him the heavenly steeds restrains, 

Or holds their fury in suspended reins: 

Patroclus, while he lived, their rage could tame, 

But now Patroclus is an empty name! 

To thee I yield the seat, to thee resign 

The ruling charge: the task of fight be mine." 

He said. Alcimedon, with active heat, 
Snatches the reins, and vaults into the seat. 
His friend descends. The chief of Troy descried, 
And call'd ^Eneas fighting near his side. 



BOOK XVII. 



533 



"Lo, to my sight, beyond our hope restored, 

Achilles' car, deserted of its lord! 

The glorious steeds our ready arms invite, 

Scarce their weak drivers guide them through the fight. 

Can such opponents stand when we assail? 

Unite thy force, my friend, and we prevail." 

The son of Venus to the counsel yields; 

Then o'er their backs they spread their solid shields: 

With brass refulgent the broad surface shined, 

And thick bull-hides the spacious concave lined. 

Them Chromius follows, Aretus succeeds; 

Each hopes the conquest of the lofty steeds: 

In vain, brave youths, with glorious hopes ye burn, 

In vain advance ! not fated to return. 

Unmov'd, Automedon attends the fight, 
Implores the Eternal, and collects his might. 
Then turning to his friend, with dauntless mind: 
"Oh keep the foaming coursers close behind! 
Full on my shoulders let their nostrils blow, 
For hard the fight, determined is the foe; 
'Tis Hector comes: and when he seeks the prize, 
War knows no mean; he wins it or he dies." 

Then through the field he sends his voice aloud, 
And calls the Ajaces from the warring crowd, 
With great Atrides. "Hither turn, (he said,) 
Turn where distress demands immediate aid; 
The dead, encircled by his friends, forego, 
And save the living from a fiercer foe. 
Unhelp'd we stand, unequal to engage 
The force of Hector, and ^Eneas' rage: 
Yet mighty as they are, my force to prove 
Is only mine: the event belongs to Jove." 



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He spoke, and high the sounding javelin flung, 
Which pass'd the shield of Aretus the young: 
It pierced his belt, emboss'd with curious art, 
[325] Then in the lower belly struck the dart. 

As when a ponderous axe, descending full, 
Cleaves the broad forehead of some brawny bull: 249 
Struck 'twixt the horns, he springs with many a bound, 
Then tumbling rolls enormous on the ground: 
Thus fell the youth; the air his soul received, 
And the spear trembled as his entrails heaved. 

Now at Automedon the Trojan foe 

Discharged his lance; the meditated blow, 

Stooping, he shunn'd; the javelin idly fled, 

And hiss'd innoxious o'er the hero's head; 

Deep rooted in the ground, the forceful spear 

In long vibrations spent its fury there. 

With clashing falchions now the chiefs had closed, 

But each brave Ajax heard, and interposed; 

Nor longer Hector with his Trojans stood, 

But left their slain companion in his blood: 

His arms Automedon divests, and cries, 

"Accept, Patroclus, this mean sacrifice: 

Thus have I soothed my griefs, and thus have paid, 

Poor as it is, some offering to thy shade." 



— Some brawny bull. 

"Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring 
Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow 
Hath struck him, but unable to proceed 
Plunges on either side." 



— Carey's Dante: Hell, c. xii. 



BOOK XVII. 



535 



So looks the lion o'er a mangled boar, 
All grim with rage, and horrible with gore; 
High on the chariot at one bound he sprung, 
And o'er his seat the bloody trophies hung. 



And now Minerva from the realms of air 

Descends impetuous, and renews the war; 

For, pleased at length the Grecian arms to aid, 

The lord of thunders sent the blue-eyed maid. 

As when high Jove denouncing future woe, 

O'er the dark clouds extends his purple bow, 

(In sign of tempests from the troubled air, 

Or from the rage of man, destructive war,) 

The drooping cattle dread the impending skies, 

And from his half-till'd field the labourer flies: 

In such a form the goddess round her drew 

A livid cloud, and to the battle flew. 

Assuming Phoenix' shape on earth she falls, 

And in his well-known voice to Sparta calls: 

"And lies Achilles' friend, beloved by all, 

A prey to dogs beneath the Trojan wall? 

What shame 'o Greece for future times to tell, 

To thee the greatest in whose cause he fell!" 

"O chief, O father! (Atreus' son replies) 

O full of days! by long experience wise! 

What more desires my soul, than here unmoved 

To guard the body of the man I loved? [326] 

Ah, would Minerva send me strength to rear 

This wearied arm, and ward the storm of war! 

But Hector, like the rage of fire, we dread, 

And Jove's own glories blaze around his head!" 



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Pleased to be first of all the powers address'd, 
She breathes new vigour in her hero's breast, 
And fills with keen revenge, with fell despite, 
Desire of blood, and rage, and lust of fight. 
So burns the vengeful hornet (soul all o'er), 
Repulsed in vain, and thirsty still of gore; 
(Bold son of air and heat) on angry wings 
Untamed, untired, he turns, attacks, and stings. 
Fired with like ardour fierce Atrides flew, 
And sent his soul with every lance he threw. 

There stood a Trojan, not unknown to fame, 

Aetion's son, and Podes was his name: 

With riches honour'd, and with courage bless'd, 

By Hector loved, his comrade, and his guest; 

Through his broad belt the spear a passage found, 

And, ponderous as he falls, his arms resound. 

Sudden at Hector's side Apollo stood, 

Like Phaenops, Asius' son, appear'd the god; 

(Asius the great, who held his wealthy reign 

In fair Abydos, by the rolling main.) 

"Oh prince! (he cried) Oh foremost once in fame! 

What Grecian now shall tremble at thy name? 

Dost thou at length to Menelaus yield, 

A chief once thought no terror of the field? 

Yet singly, now, the long-disputed prize 

He bears victorious, while our army flies: 

By the same arm illustrious Podes bled; 

The friend of Hector, unrevenged, is dead!" 

This heard, o'er Hector spreads a cloud of woe, 

Rage lifts his lance, and drives him on the foe. 



BOOK XVII. 



But now the Eternal shook his sable shield, 
That shaded Ide and all the subject field 
Beneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud 
Involved the mount; the thunder roar'd aloud; 
The affrighted hills from their foundations nod, 
And blaze beneath the lightnings of the god: 
At one regard of his all-seeing eye 
The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors fly. 

Then trembled Greece: the flight Peneleus led; 

For as the brave Boeotian turn'd his head 

To face the foe, Polydamas drew near, 

And razed his shoulder with a shorten'd spear: 

By Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain, 

Pierced through the wrist; and raging with the pain 

Grasps his once formidable lance in vain. 

As Hector follow'd, Idomen address'd 
The flaming javelin to his manly breast; 
The brittle point before his corslet yields; 
Exulting Troy with clamour fills the fields: 
High on his chariots the Cretan stood, 
The son of Priam whirl'd the massive wood. 
But erring from its aim, the impetuous spear 
Struck to the dust the squire and charioteer 
Of martial Merion: Coeranus his name, 
Who left fair Lyctus for the fields of fame. 
On foot bold Merion fought; and now laid low, 
Had graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe, 
But the brave squire the ready coursers brought, 
And with his life his master's safety bought. 
Between his cheek and ear the weapon went, 
The teeth it shatter'd, and the tongue it rent. 
Prone from the seat he tumbles to the plain; 



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His dying hand forgets the falling rein: 
This Merion reaches, bending from the car, 
And urges to desert the hopeless war: 
Idomeneus consents; the lash applies; 
And the swift chariot to the navy flies. 

Not Ajax less the will of heaven descried, 
And conquest shifting to the Trojan side, 
Turn'd by the hand of Jove. Then thus begun, 
To Atreus's seed, the godlike Telamon: 

'Alas ! who sees not Jove's almighty hand 
Transfers the glory to the Trojan band? 
Whether the weak or strong discharge the dart, 
He guides each arrow to a Grecian heart: 
Not so our spears; incessant though they rain, 
He suffers every lance to fall in vain. 
Deserted of the god, yet let us try 
What human strength and prudence can supply; 
If yet this honour'd corse, in triumph borne, 
May glad the fleets that hope not our return, 
Who tremble yet, scarce rescued from their fates, 
And still hear Hector thundering at their gates. 
Some hero too must be despatch'd to bear 
The mournful message to Pelides' ear; 
For sure he knows not, distant on the shore, 
His friend, his loved Patroclus, is no more. 
But such a chief I spy not through the host: 
The men, the steeds, the armies, all are lost 
In general darkness — Lord of earth and air! 
Oh king! Oh father! hear my humble prayer: 
Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore; 
Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more: 
If Greece must perish, we thy will obey, 
But let us perish in the face of day!" 



BOOK XVII. 



539 



With tears the hero spoke, and at his prayer [328] 

The god relenting clear'd the clouded air; 

Forth burst the sun with all-enlightening ray; 

The blaze of armour flash'd against the day. 

"Now, now, Atrides! cast around thy sight; 

If yet Antilochus survives the fight, 

Let him to great Achilles' ear convey 

The fatal news" — Atrides hastes away. 



So turns the lion from the nightly fold, 
Though high in courage, and with hunger bold, 
Long gall'd by herdsmen, and long vex'd by hounds, 
Stiff with fatigue, and fretted sore with wounds; 
The darts fly round him from a hundred hands, 
And the red terrors of the blazing brands: 
Till late, reluctant, at the dawn of day 
Sour he departs, and quits the untasted prey, 
So moved Atrides from his dangerous place 
With weary limbs, but with unwilling pace; 
The foe, he fear'd, might yet Patroclus gain, 
And much admonish'd, much adjured his train: 



"O guard these relics to your charge consign'd, 
And bear the merits of the dead in mind; 
How skill'd he was in each obliging art; 
The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart: 
He was, alas! but fate decreed his end, 
In death a hero, as in life a friend!" 



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The Iliad of Homer 



So parts the chief; from rank to rank he flew, 
And round on all sides sent his piercing view. 
As the bold bird, endued with sharpest eye 
Of all that wings the mid aerial sky, 
The sacred eagle, from his walks above 
Looks down, and sees the distant thicket move; 
Then stoops, and sousing on the quivering hare, 
Snatches his life amid the clouds of air. 
Not with less quickness, his exerted sight 
Pass'd this and that way, through the ranks of fight: 
Till on the left the chief he sought, he found, 
Cheering his men, and spreading deaths around: 

To him the king: "Beloved of Jove! draw near, 

For sadder tidings never touch'd thy ear; 

Thy eyes have witness'd what a fatal turn! 

How Ilion triumphs, and the Achaians mourn. 

This is not all: Patroclus, on the shore 

Now pale and dead, shall succour Greece no more. 

Fly to the fleet, this instant fly, and tell 

The sad Achilles, how his loved-one fell: 

He too may haste the naked corse to gain: 

The arms are Hector's, who despoil'd the slain." 

The youthful warrior heard with silent woe, 
From his fair eyes the tears began to flow: 
[329] Big with the mighty grief, he strove to say 

What sorrow dictates, but no word found way. 
To brave Laodocus his arms he flung, 
Who, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along; 
Then ran the mournful message to impart, 
With tearful eyes, and with dejected heart. 



BOOK XVII. 



Swift fled the youth: nor Menelaus stands 
(Though sore distress'd) to aid the Pylian bands; 
But bids bold Thrasymede those troops sustain; 
Himself returns to his Patroclus slain. 
"Gone is Antilochus (the hero said); 
But hope not, warriors, for Achilles' aid: 
Though fierce his rage, unbounded be his woe, 
Unarm'd, he fights not with the Trojan foe. 
'Tis in our hands alone our hopes remain, 
'Tis our own vigour must the dead regain, 
And save ourselves, while with impetuous hate 
Troy pours along, and this way rolls our fate." 

'"Tis well (said Ajax), be it then thy care, 

With Merion's aid, the weighty corse to rear; 

Myself, and my bold brother will sustain 

The shock of Hector and his charging train: 

Nor fear we armies, fighting side by side; 

What Troy can dare, we have already tried, 

Have tried it, and have stood. " The hero said. 

High from the ground the warriors heave the dead. 

A general clamour rises at the sight: 

Loud shout the Trojans, and renew the fight. 

Not fiercer rush along the gloomy wood, 

With rage insatiate, and with thirst of blood, 

Voracious hounds, that many a length before 

Their furious hunters, drive the wounded boar; 

But if the savage turns his glaring eye, 

They howl aloof, and round the forest fly. 

Thus on retreating Greece the Trojans pour, 

Wave their thick falchions, and their javelins shower: 

But Ajax turning, to their fears they yield, 

All pale they tremble and forsake the field. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



While thus aloft the hero's corse they bear, 
Behind them rages all the storm of war: 
Confusion, tumult, horror, o'er the throng 
Of men, steeds, chariots, urged the rout along: 
Less fierce the winds with rising flames conspire 
To whelm some city under waves of fire; 
Now sink in gloomy clouds the proud abodes, 
Now crack the blazing temples of the gods; 
The rumbling torrent through the ruin rolls, 
And sheets of smoke mount heavy to the poles. 
The heroes sweat beneath their honour'd load: 
As when two mules, along the rugged road, 
[330] From the steep mountain with exerted strength 

Drag some vast beam, or mast's unwieldy length; 
Inly they groan, big drops of sweat distil, 
The enormous timber lumbering down the hill: 
So these — Behind, the bulk of Ajax stands, 
And breaks the torrent of the rushing bands. 
Thus when a river swell'd with sudden rains 
Spreads his broad waters o'er the level plains, 
Some interposing hill the stream divides. 
And breaks its force, and turns the winding tides. 
Still close they follow, close the rear engage; 
Aeneas storms, and Hector foams with rage: 
While Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains, 
Wedged in one body, like a flight of cranes, 
That shriek incessant, while the falcon, hung 
High on poised pinions, threats their callow young. 
So from the Trojan chiefs the Grecians fly, 
Such the wild terror, and the mingled cry: 
Within, without the trench, and all the way, 
Strow'd in bright heaps, their arms and armour lay; 
Such horror Jove impress'd! yet still proceeds 
The work of death, and still the battle bleeds. 



BOOK XVII. 



543 




VULCAN FROM AN ANTIQUE GEM. 



[331] 



BOOK XVIII. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE GRIEF OF ACHILLES, AND NEW ARMOUR MADE 
HIM BY VULCAN. 

The news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by 
Antilochus. Thetis, hearing his lamentations, comes with all her 
sea- nymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and 
son on this occasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command 
of Juno, and orders him to show himself at the head of the 
intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortunes of the day, 
and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The 
Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas disagree in 
their opinions: but the advice of the former prevails, to remain 
encamped in the field. The grief of Achilles over the body of 
Patroclus. 

Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan to obtain new arms for 
her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan: and, 
lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles. 

The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night 
ensuing, take up this book: the scene is at Achilles' tent on the 
sea-shore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan. 

Thus like the rage of fire the combat burns, 250 
And now it rises, now it sinks by turns. 
Meanwhile, where Hellespont's broad waters flow, 



This is connected with the earlier part of last book, the regular narrative 
being interrupted by the message of Antilochus and the lamentations of 
Achilles. 



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Stood Nestor's son, the messenger of woe: 
There sat Achilles, shaded by his sails, 
On hoisted yards extended to the gales; 
Pensive he sat; for all that fate design'd 
Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind. 
Thus to his soul he said: "Ah! what constrains 
The Greeks, late victors, now to quit the plains? 
Is this the day, which heaven so long ago 
Ordain'd, to sink me with the weight of woe? 
(So Thetis warn'd;) when by a Trojan hand 
The bravest of the Myrmidonian band 
Should lose the light! Fulfilled is that decree; 
Fallen is the warrior, and Patroclus he! 
In vain I charged him soon to quit the plain, 
And warn'd to shun Hectorean force in vain!" 

[332] 

Thus while he thinks, Antilochus appears, 
And tells the melancholy tale with tears. 
"Sad tidings, son of Peleus! thou must hear; 
And wretched I, the unwilling messenger! 
Dead is Patroclus! For his corse they fight; 
His naked corse: his arms are Hector's right." 

A sudden horror shot through all the chief, 

And wrapp'd his senses in the cloud of grief; 

Cast on the ground, with furious hands he spread 

The scorching ashes o'er his graceful head; 

His purple garments, and his golden hairs, 

Those he deforms with dust, and these he tears; 

On the hard soil his groaning breast he threw, 

And roll'd and grovell'd, as to earth he grew. 

The virgin captives, with disorder'd charms, 

(Won by his own, or by Patroclus' arms,) 

Rush'd from their tents with cries; and gathering round, 



BOOK XVIII. 



547 



Beat their white breasts, and fainted on the ground: 
While Nestor's son sustains a manlier part, 
And mourns the warrior with a warrior's heart; 
Hangs on his arms, amidst his frantic woe, 
And oft prevents the meditated blow. 

Far in the deep abysses of the main, 251 

With hoary Nereus, and the watery train, 

The mother-goddess from her crystal throne 

Heard his loud cries, and answer'd groan for groan. 

The circling Nereids with their mistress weep, 

And all the sea-green sisters of the deep. 

Thalia, Glauce (every watery name), 

Nesaea mild, and silver Spio came: 

Cymothoe and Cymodoce were nigh, 

And the blue languish of soft Alia's eye. 

Their locks Actaea and Limnoria rear, 

Then Proto, Doris, Panope appear, 

Thoa, Pherusa, Doto, Melita; 

Agave gentle, and Amphithoe gay: 

Next Callianira, Callianassa show 

Their sister looks; Dexamene the slow, 

And swift Dynamene, now cut the tides: 

Iaera now the verdant wave divides: 

Nemertes with Apseudes lifts the head, 

Bright Galatea quits her pearly bed; 

These Orythia, Clymene, attend, 

Maera, Amphinome, the train extend; 

And black Janira, and Janassa fair, 

And Amatheia with her amber hair. 

All these, and all that deep in ocean held 

Their sacred seats, the glimmering grotto fill'd; [333] 



— Far in the deep. So Oceanus hears the lamentations of Prometheus, in 
the play of ^Eschylus, and comes from the depths of the sea to comfort him. 



548 



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Each beat her ivory breast with silent woe, 
Till Thetis' sorrows thus began to flow: 

"Hear me, and judge, ye sisters of the main! 

How just a cause has Thetis to complain! 

How wretched, were I mortal, were my fate ! 

How more than wretched in the immortal state! 

Sprung from my bed a godlike hero came, 

The bravest far that ever bore the name; 

Like some fair olive, by my careful hand 

He grew, he flourish'd and adorn'd the land 

To Troy I sent him: but the fates ordain 

He never, never must return again. 

So short a space the light of heaven to view, 

So short, alas! and fill'd with anguish too! 

Hear how his sorrows echo through the shore! 

I cannot ease them, but I must deplore; 

I go at least to bear a tender part, 

And mourn my loved-one with a mother's heart." 

She said, and left the caverns of the main, 
All bathed in tears; the melancholy train 
Attend her way. Wide-opening part the tides, 
While the long pomp the silver wave divides. 
Approaching now, they touch'd the Trojan land; 
Then, two by two, ascended up the strand. 
The immortal mother, standing close beside 
Her mournful offspring, to his sighs replied; 
Along the coast their mingled clamours ran, 
And thus the silver-footed dame began: 

"Why mourns my son? thy late preferr'd request 
The god has granted, and the Greeks distress'd: 
Why mourns my son? thy anguish let me share, 
Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care." 



BOOK XVIII. 



549 



He, deeply groaning — "To this cureless grief, 
Not even the Thunderer's favour brings relief. 
Patroclus — Ah! — say, goddess, can I boast 
A pleasure now? revenge itself is lost; 
Patroclus, loved of all my martial train, 
Beyond mankind, beyond myself is slain! 
Lost are those arms the gods themselves bestow'd 
On Peleus; Hector bears the glorious load. 
Cursed be that day, when all the powers above 
Thy charms submitted to a mortal love: 

hadst thou still, a sister of the main, 
Pursued the pleasures of the watery reign: 
And happier Peleus, less ambitious, led 
A mortal beauty to his equal bed! 

Ere the sad fruit of thy unhappy womb 

Had caused such sorrows past, and woes to come. 

For soon, alas ! that wretched offspring slain, 

New woes, new sorrows, shall create again. [334] 

'Tis not in fate the alternate now to give; 

Patroclus dead, Achilles hates to live. 

Let me revenge it on proud Hector's heart, 

Let his last spirit smoke upon my dart; 

On these conditions will I breathe: till then, 

1 blush to walk among the race of men. " 

A flood of tears, at this, the goddess shed: 

"Ah then, I see thee dying, see thee dead! 

When Hector falls, thou diest." — "Let Hector die, 

And let me fall ! (Achilles made reply) 

Far lies Patroclus from his native plain! 

He fell, and falling, wish'd my aid in vain. 

Ah then, since from this miserable day 

I cast all hope of my return away; 

Since, unrevenged, a hundred ghosts demand 



550 



The Iliad of Homer 



The fate of Hector from Achilles' hand; 

Since here, for brutal courage far renown'd, 

I live an idle burden to the ground, 

(Others in council famed for nobler skill, 

More useful to preserve, than I to kill,) 

Let me — But oh! ye gracious powers above! 

Wrath and revenge from men and gods remove: 

Far, far too dear to every mortal breast, 

Sweet to the soul, as honey to the taste: 

Gathering like vapours of a noxious kind 

From fiery blood, and darkening all the mind. 

Me Agamemnon urged to deadly hate; 

'Tis past — I quell it; I resign to fate. 

Yes — I will meet the murderer of my friend; 

Or (if the gods ordain it) meet my end. 

The stroke of fate the strongest cannot shun: 

The great Alcides, Jove's unequall'd son, 

To Juno's hate, at length resign'd his breath, 

And sunk the victim of all-conquering death. 

So shall Achilles fall! stretch'd pale and dead, 

No more the Grecian hope, or Trojan dread! 

Let me, this instant, rush into the fields, 

And reap what glory life's short harvest yields. 

Shall I not force some widow'd dame to tear 

With frantic hands her long dishevell'd hair? 

Shall I not force her breast to heave with sighs, 

And the soft tears to trickle from her eyes? 

Yes, I shall give the fair those mournful charms — 

In vain you hold me — Hence! my arms! my arms! — 

Soon shall the sanguine torrent spread so wide, 

That all shall know Achilles swells the tide." 

"My son (coerulean Thetis made reply, 
To fate submitting with a secret sigh,) 



BOOK XVIII. 



The host to succour, and thy friends to save, 
Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave. 
But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains? 
Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains. 
Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high, 
But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. 
Yet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay; 
Assured, I meet thee at the dawn of day, 
Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load), 
Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god. " 

Then turning to the daughters of the main, 
The goddess thus dismiss'd her azure train: 

"Ye sister Nereids! to your deeps descend; 
Haste, and our father's sacred seat attend; 
I go to find the architect divine, 
Where vast Olympus' starry summits shine: 
So tell our hoary sire" — This charge she gave: 
The sea-green sisters plunge beneath the wave: 
Thetis once more ascends the bless'd abodes, 
And treads the brazen threshold of the gods. 

And now the Greeks from furious Hector's force, 
Urge to broad Hellespont their headlong course; 
Nor yet their chiefs Patroclus' body bore 
Safe through the tempest to the tented shore. 
The horse, the foot, with equal fury join'd, 
Pour'd on the rear, and thunder'd close behind: 
And like a flame through fields of ripen'd corn, 
The rage of Hector o'er the ranks was borne. 
Thrice the slain hero by the foot he drew; 
Thrice to the skies the Trojan clamours flew: 
As oft the Ajaces his assault sustain; 



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THETIS ORDERING THE NEREIDS TO DESCEND INTO 

THE SEA. 



But check'd, he turns; repuls'd, attacks again. 
With fiercer shouts his lingering troops he fires, 
Nor yields a step, nor from his post retires: 
So watchful shepherds strive to force, in vain, 
The hungry lion from a carcase slain. 
Even yet Patroclus had he borne away, 
And all the glories of the extended day, 
Had not high Juno from the realms of air, 
Secret, despatch'd her trusty messenger. 
The various goddess of the showery bow, 
Shot in a whirlwind to the shore below; 
To great Achilles at his ships she came, 
And thus began the many-colour'd dame: 

"Rise, son of Peleus! rise, divinely brave! 
Assist the combat, and Patroclus save: 
For him the slaughter to the fleet they spread, 
And fall by mutual wounds around the dead. 



BOOK XVIII. 



To drag him back to Troy the foe contends: 
Nor with his death the rage of Hector ends: 
A prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie, 
And marks the place to fix his head on high. 
Rise, and prevent (if yet you think of fame) 
Thy friend's disgrace, thy own eternal shame!" 

"Who sends thee, goddess, from the ethereal skies?" 
Achilles thus. And Iris thus replies: 

"I come, Pelides! from the queen of Jove, 
The immortal empress of the realms above; 
Unknown to him who sits remote on high, 
Unknown to all the synod of the sky." 
"Thou comest in vain (he cries, with fury warm'd); 
Arms I have none, and can I fight unarm'd? 
Unwilling as I am, of force I stay, 
Till Thetis bring me at the dawn of day 
Vulcanian arms: what other can I wield, 
Except the mighty Telamonian shield? 
That, in my friend's defence, has Ajax spread, 
While his strong lance around him heaps the dead: 
The gallant chief defends Menoetius' son, 
And does what his Achilles should have done. " 

"Thy want of arms (said Iris) well we know; 
But though unarm'd, yet clad in terrors, go! 
Let but Achilles o'er yon trench appear, 
Proud Troy shall tremble, and consent to fear; 
Greece from one glance of that tremendous eye 
Shall take new courage, and disdain to fly. " 



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She spoke, and pass'd in air. The hero rose: 
Her aegis Pallas o'er his shoulder throws; 
Around his brows a golden cloud she spread; 
A stream of glory flamed above his head. 
[337] As when from some beleaguer'd town arise 

The smokes, high curling to the shaded skies; 
(Seen from some island, o'er the main afar, 
When men distress'd hang out the sign of war;) 
Soon as the sun in ocean hides his rays, 
Thick on the hills the flaming beacons blaze; 
With long-projected beams the seas are bright, 
And heaven's high arch reflects the ruddy light: 
So from Achilles' head the splendours rise, 
Reflecting blaze on blaze against the skies. 
Forth march'd the chief, and distant from the crowd, 
High on the rampart raised his voice aloud; 
With her own shout Minerva swells the sound; 
Troy starts astonish'd, and the shores rebound. 
As the loud trumpet's brazen mouth from far 
With shrilling clangour sounds the alarm of war, 
Struck from the walls, the echoes float on high, 
And the round bulwarks and thick towers reply; 
So high his brazen voice the hero rear'd: 
Hosts dropp'd their arms, and trembled as they heard: 
And back the chariots roll, and coursers bound, 
And steeds and men lie mingled on the ground. 
Aghast they see the living lightnings play, 
And turn their eyeballs from the flashing ray. 
Thrice from the trench his dreadful voice he raised, 
And thrice they fled, confounded and amazed. 
Twelve in the tumult wedged, untimely rush'd 
On their own spears, by their own chariots crush'd: 
While, shielded from the darts, the Greeks obtain 
The long-contended carcase of the slain. 



BOOK XVIII. 



555 



A lofty bier the breathless warrior bears: 

Around, his sad companions melt in tears. 

But chief Achilles, bending down his head, 

Pours unavailing sorrows o'er the dead, 

Whom late triumphant, with his steeds and car, 

He sent refulgent to the field of war; 

(Unhappy change!) now senseless, pale, he found, 

Stretch'd forth, and gash'd with many a gaping wound. 

Meantime, unwearied with his heavenly way, 
In ocean's waves the unwilling light of day 
Quench'd his red orb, at Juno's high command, 
And from their labours eased the Achaian band. 
The frighted Trojans (panting from the war, 
Their steeds unharness'd from the weary car) 
A sudden council call'd: each chief appear'd 
In haste, and standing; for to sit they fear'd. 
'Twas now no season for prolong'd debate; 
They saw Achilles, and in him their fate. 
Silent they stood: Polydamas at last, 
Skill'd to discern the future by the past, 

The son of Panthus, thus express'd his fears [338] 
(The friend of Hector, and of equal years; 
The self-same night to both a being gave, 
One wise in council, one in action brave): 



"In free debate, my friends, your sentence speak; 

For me, I move, before the morning break, 

To raise our camp: too dangerous here our post, 

Far from Troy walls, and on a naked coast. 

I deem'd not Greece so dreadful, while engaged 

In mutual feuds her king and hero raged; 

Then, while we hoped our armies might prevail 



556 



The Iliad of Homer 




JUNO COMMANDING THE SUN TO SET. 



We boldly camp'd beside a thousand sail. 

I dread Pelides now: his rage of mind 

Not long continues to the shores confined, 

Nor to the fields, where long in equal fray 

Contending nations won and lost the day; 

For Troy, for Troy, shall henceforth be the strife, 

And the hard contest not for fame, but life. 

Haste then to Ilion, while the favouring night 

Detains these terrors, keeps that arm from fight. 

If but the morrow's sun behold us here, 

That arm, those terrors, we shall feel, not fear; 

And hearts that now disdain, shall leap with joy, 

If heaven permit them then to enter Troy. 

Let not my fatal prophecy be true, 

Nor what I tremble but to think, ensue. 

Whatever be our fate, yet let us try 

What force of thought and reason can supply; 

Let us on counsel for our guard depend; 



BOOK XVIII. 



557 



The town her gates and bulwarks shall defend. [339] 

When morning dawns, our well-appointed powers, 

Array'd in arms, shall line the lofty towers. 

Let the fierce hero, then, when fury calls, 

Vent his mad vengeance on our rocky walls, 

Or fetch a thousand circles round the plain, 

Till his spent coursers seek the fleet again: 

So may his rage be tired, and labour'd down! 

And dogs shall tear him ere he sack the town." 

"Return! (said Hector, fired with stern disdain) 
What! coop whole armies in our walls again? 
Was't not enough, ye valiant warriors, say, 
Nine years imprison'd in those towers ye lay? 
Wide o'er the world was Ilion famed of old 
For brass exhaustless, and for mines of gold: 
But while inglorious in her walls we stay'd, 
Sunk were her treasures, and her stores decay'd; 
The Phrygians now her scatter'd spoils enjoy, 
And proud Maeonia wastes the fruits of Troy. 
Great Jove at length my arms to conquest calls, 
And shuts the Grecians in their wooden walls, 
Darest thou dispirit whom the gods incite? 
Flies any Trojan? I shall stop his flight. 
To better counsel then attention lend; 
Take due refreshment, and the watch attend. 
If there be one whose riches cost him care, 
Forth let him bring them for the troops to share; 
'Tis better generously bestow'd on those, 
Than left the plunder of our country's foes. 
Soon as the morn the purple orient warms, 
Fierce on yon navy will we pour our arms. 
If great Achilles rise in all his might, 
His be the danger: I shall stand the fight. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Honour, ye gods! or let me gain or give; 
And live he glorious, whosoe'er shall live! 
Mars is our common lord, alike to all; 
And oft the victor triumphs, but to fall." 

The shouting host in loud applauses join'd; 
So Pallas robb'd the many of their mind; 
To their own sense condemn'd, and left to choose 
The worst advice, the better to refuse. 

While the long night extends her sable reign, 
Around Patroclus mourn'd the Grecian train. 
Stern in superior grief Pelides stood; 
Those slaughtering arms, so used to bathe in blood, 
Now clasp his clay-cold limbs: then gushing start 
The tears, and sighs burst from his swelling heart. 
The lion thus, with dreadful anguish stung, 
Roars through the desert, and demands his young; 
When the grim savage, to his rifled den 
[340] Too late returning, snuffs the track of men, 

And o'er the vales and o'er the forest bounds; 
His clamorous grief the bellowing wood resounds. 
So grieves Achilles; and, impetuous, vents 
To all his Myrmidons his loud laments. 

"In what vain promise, gods ! did I engage, 
When to console Menoetius' feeble age, 
I vowed his much-loved offspring to restore, 
Charged with rich spoils, to fair Opuntia's shore? 252 
But mighty Jove cuts short, with just disdain, 
The long, long views of poor designing man! 
One fate the warrior and the friend shall strike, 
And Troy's black sands must drink our blood alike: 



Opuntia, a city of Locris. 



BOOK XVIII. 



559 



Me too a wretched mother shall deplore, 
An aged father never see me more! 
Yet, my Patroclus! yet a space I stay, 
Then swift pursue thee on the darksome way. 
Ere thy dear relics in the grave are laid, 
Shall Hector's head be offer'd to thy shade; 
That, with his arms, shall hang before thy shrine; 
And twelve, the noblest of the Trojan line, 
Sacred to vengeance, by this hand expire; 
Their lives effused around thy flaming pyre. 
Thus let me lie till then! thus, closely press'd, 
Bathe thy cold face, and sob upon thy breast! 
While Trojan captives here thy mourners stay, 
Weep all the night and murmur all the day: 
Spoils of my arms, and thine; when, wasting wide, 
Our swords kept time, and conquer'd side by side." 



He spoke, and bade the sad attendants round 

Cleanse the pale corse, and wash each honour'd wound. 

A massy caldron of stupendous frame 

They brought, and placed it o'er the rising flame: 

Then heap'd the lighted wood; the flame divides 

Beneath the vase, and climbs around the sides: 

In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream; 

The boiling water bubbles to the brim. 

The body then they bathe with pious toil, 

Embalm the wounds, anoint the limbs with oil, 

High on a bed of state extended laid, 

And decent cover'd with a linen shade; 

Last o'er the dead the milk-white veil they threw; 

That done, their sorrows and their sighs renew. 



560 



The Iliad of Homer 



Meanwhile to Juno, in the realms above, 
(His wife and sister,) spoke almighty Jove. 
"At last thy will prevails: great Peleus' son 
Rises in arms: such grace thy Greeks have won. 
Say (for I know not), is their race divine, 
And thou the mother of that martial line?" 

[341] "What words are these? (the imperial dame replies, 

While anger flash'd from her majestic eyes) 
Succour like this a mortal arm might lend, 
And such success mere human wit attend: 
And shall not I, the second power above, 
Heaven's queen, and consort of the thundering Jove, 
Say, shall not I one nation's fate command, 
Not wreak my vengeance on one guilty land?" 



So they. Meanwhile the silver-footed dame 
Reach'd the Vulcanian dome, eternal frame! 
High-eminent amid the works divine, 
Where heaven's far-beaming brazen mansions shine. 
There the lame architect the goddess found, 
Obscure in smoke, his forges flaming round, 
While bathed in sweat from fire to fire he flew; 
And puffing loud, the roaring billows blew. 
That day no common task his labour claim'd: 
Full twenty tripods for his hall he framed, 
That placed on living wheels of massy gold, 
(Wondrous to tell,) instinct with spirit roll'd 
From place to place, around the bless'd abodes 
Self-moved, obedient to the beck of gods: 
For their fair handles now, o'erwrought with flowers, 
In moulds prepared, the glowing ore he pours. 
Just as responsive to his thought the frame 




TRIPOD. 



562 



The Iliad of Homer 



Stood prompt to move, the azure goddess came: 
Chads, his spouse, a grace divinely fair, 
(With purple fillets round her braided hair,) 
Observed her entering; her soft hand she press'd, 
And, smiling, thus the watery queen address'd: 



"What, goddess! this unusual favour draws? 
[342] All hail, and welcome! whatsoe'er the cause; 

Till now a stranger, in a happy hour 
Approach, and taste the dainties of the bower." 




THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT 
VULCAN. 



BOOK XVIII. 



563 



High on a throne, with stars of silver graced, 
And various artifice, the queen she placed; 
A footstool at her feet: then calling, said, 
"Vulcan, draw near, 'tis Thetis asks your aid." 
"Thetis (replied the god) our powers may claim, 
An ever-dear, an ever-honour'd name! 
When my proud mother hurl'd me from the sky, 
(My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,) 
She, and Eurynome, my griefs redress'd, 
And soft received me on their silver breast. 
Even then these arts employ'd my infant thought: 
Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought. 
Nine years kept secret in the dark abode, 
Secure I lay, conceal'd from man and god: 
Deep in a cavern'd rock my days were led; 
The rushing ocean murmur'd o'er my head. 
Now, since her presence glads our mansion, say, 
For such desert what service can I pay? 
Vouchsafe, O Thetis ! at our board to share 
The genial rites, and hospitable fare; 
While I the labours of the forge forego, 
And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow." 

Then from his anvil the lame artist rose; 

Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes, 

And stills the bellows, and (in order laid) 

Locks in their chests his instruments of trade. 

Then with a sponge the sooty workman dress'd [343] 

His brawny arms embrown'd, and hairy breast. 

With his huge sceptre graced, and red attire, 

Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire: 

The monarch's steps two female forms uphold, 

That moved and breathed in animated gold; 

To whom was voice, and sense, and science given 



564 



The Iliad of Homer 



Of works divine (such wonders are in heaven!) 
On these supported, with unequal gait, 
He reach'd the throne where pensive Thetis sate; 
There placed beside her on the shining frame, 
He thus address'd the silver-footed dame: 



"Thee, welcome, goddess ! what occasion calls 
(So long a stranger) to these honour'd walls? 
'Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay, 
And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey." 




VULCAN AND CHARTS RECEIVING THETIS. 



BOOK XVIII. 



565 



To whom the mournful mother thus replies: 

(The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes:) 

"O Vulcan! say, was ever breast divine 

So pierced with sorrows, so o'erwhelm'd as mine? 

Of all the goddesses, did Jove prepare 

For Thetis only such a weight of care? 

I, only I, of all the watery race 

By force subjected to a man's embrace, 

Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays 

The mighty fine imposed on length of days. 

Sprung from my bed, a godlike hero came, 

The bravest sure that ever bore the name; 

Like some fair plant beneath my careful hand 

He grew, he flourish'd, and he graced the land: [344] 

To Troy I sent him! but his native shore 

Never, ah never, shall receive him more; 

(Even while he lives, he wastes with secret woe;) 

Nor I, a goddess, can retard the blow! 

Robb'd of the prize the Grecian suffrage gave, 

The king of nations forced his royal slave: 

For this he grieved; and, till the Greeks oppress'd 

Required his arm, he sorrow'd unredress'd. 

Large gifts they promise, and their elders send; 

In vain — he arms not, but permits his friend 

His arms, his steeds, his forces to employ: 

He marches, combats, almost conquers Troy: 

Then slain by Phoebus (Hector had the name) 

At once resigns his armour, life, and fame. 

But thou, in pity, by my prayer be won: 

Grace with immortal arms this short-lived son, 

And to the field in martial pomp restore, 

To shine with glory, till he shines no more!" 



566 



The Iliad of Homer 



To her the artist-god: "Thy griefs resign, 
Secure, what Vulcan can, is ever thine. 
O could I hide him from the Fates, as well, 
Or with these hands the cruel stroke repel, 
As I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze 
Of wondering ages, and the world's amaze!" 

Thus having said, the father of the fires 

To the black labours of his forge retires. 

Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn'd 

Their iron mouths; and where the furnace burn'd, 

Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires, 

And twenty forges catch at once the fires; 

Just as the god directs, now loud, now low, 

They raise a tempest, or they gently blow; 

In hissing flames huge silver bars are roll'd, 

And stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold; 

Before, deep fix'd, the eternal anvils stand; 

The ponderous hammer loads his better hand, 

His left with tongs turns the vex'd metal round, 

And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound. 

Then first he form'd the immense and solid shield; 
Rich various artifice emblazed the field; 
[345] Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound; 253 

253 Quintus Calaber, lib. v., has attempted to rival Homer in his description of 
the shield of the same hero. A few extracts from Mr. Dyce's version (Select 
Translations, p. 104, seq.) may here be introduced. 

"In the wide circle of the shield were seen 
Refulgent images of various forms, 
The work of Vulcan; who had there described 
The heaven, the ether, and the earth and sea, 
The winds, the clouds, the moon, the sun, apart 
In different stations; and you there might view 
The stars that gem the still-revolving heaven, 



BOOK XVIII. 



A silver chain suspends the massy round; 
Five ample plates the broad expanse compose, 
And godlike labours on the surface rose. 
There shone the image of the master-mind: 
There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design'd 
The unwearied sun, the moon completely round; 
The starry lights that heaven's high convex crown 
The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team; 
And great Orion's more refulgent beam; 
To which, around the axle of the sky, 
The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye, 
Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain, 
Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main. 



Two cities radiant on the shield appear, 
The image one of peace, and one of war. 
Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, 
And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; 
Along the street the new-made brides are led, 
With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed: 
The youthful dancers in a circle bound 
To the soft flute, and cithern's silver sound: 
Through the fair streets the matrons in a row 
Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show. 



And, under them, the vast expanse of air, 

In which, with outstretch'd wings, the long-beak'd bird 

Winnow'd the gale, as if instinct with life. 

Around the shield the waves of ocean flow'd, 

The realms of Tethys, which unnumber'd streams, 

In azure mazes rolling o'er the earth, 

Seem'd to augment." 



568 



The Iliad of Homer 



There in the forum swarm a numerous train; 

The subject of debate, a townsman slain: 

One pleads the fine discharged, which one denied, 

And bade the public and the laws decide: 

The witness is produced on either hand: 

For this, or that, the partial people stand: 

The appointed heralds still the noisy bands, 

And form a ring, with sceptres in their hands: 

On seats of stone, within the sacred place, 254 

The reverend elders nodded o'er the case; 

Alternate, each the attesting sceptre took, 

And rising solemn, each his sentence spoke 

Two golden talents lay amidst, in sight, 

The prize of him who best adjudged the right. 

Another part (a prospect differing far) 255 

254 — On seats of stone. "Several of the old northern Sagas represent the old 
men assembled for the purpose of judging as sitting on great stones, in a circle 
called the Urtheilsring or gerichtsring" — Grote, ii. p. 100, note. On the 
independence of the judicial office in The heroic times, see Thirlwall's Greece, 
vol. i. p. 166. 

255 — Another part, &c. 

"And here 
Were horrid wars depicted; grimly pale 
Were heroes lying with their slaughter'd steeds 
Upon the ground incarnadin'd with blood. 
Stern stalked Bellona, smear'd with reeking gore, 
Through charging ranks; beside her Rout was seen, 
And Terror, Discord to the fatal strife 
Inciting men, and Furies breathing flames: 
Nor absent were the Fates, and the tall shape 
Of ghastly Death, round whom did Battles throng, 
Their limbs distilling plenteous blood and sweat; 
And Gorgons, whose long locks were twisting snakes. 
That shot their forky tongues incessant forth. 
Such were the horrors of dire war." 



— Dyce's Calaber. 



BOOK XVIII. 



569 



Glow'd with refulgent arms, and horrid war. [346] 

Two mighty hosts a leaguer'd town embrace, 

And one would pillage, one would burn the place. 

Meantime the townsmen, arm'd with silent care, 

A secret ambush on the foe prepare: 

Their wives, their children, and the watchful band 

Of trembling parents, on the turrets stand. 

They march; by Pallas and by Mars made bold: 

Gold were the gods, their radiant garments gold, 

And gold their armour: these the squadron led, 

August, divine, superior by the head! 

A place for ambush fit they found, and stood, 

Cover'd with shields, beside a silver flood. 

Two spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem 

If sheep or oxen seek the winding stream. 

Soon the white flocks proceeded o'er the plains, 

And steers slow-moving, and two shepherd swains; 

Behind them piping on their reeds they go, 

Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. 

In arms the glittering squadron rising round 

Rush sudden; hills of slaughter heap the ground; 

Whole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains, 

And, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains ! 

The bellowing oxen the besiegers hear; 

They rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war, 

They fight, they fall, beside the silver flood; 

The waving silver seem'd to blush with blood. 

There Tumult, there Contention stood confess'd; 

One rear'd a dagger at a captive's breast; 

One held a living foe, that freshly bled 

With new-made wounds; another dragg'd a dead; 

Now here, now there, the carcases they tore: 

Fate stalk'd amidst them, grim with human gore. 

And the whole war came out, and met the eye; 



570 



The Iliad of Homer 



And each bold figure seem'd to live or die. 

[347] A field deep furrow'd next the god design'd, 256 

The third time labour'd by the sweating hind; 
The shining shares full many ploughmen guide, 
And turn their crooked yokes on every side. 
Still as at either end they wheel around, 
The master meets them with his goblet crown'd; 
The hearty draught rewards, renews their toil, 
Then back the turning ploughshares cleave the soil: 
Behind, the rising earth in ridges roll'd; 
And sable look'd, though form'd of molten gold. 

Another field rose high with waving grain; 
With bended sickles stand the reaper train: 
Here stretched in ranks the levell'd swarths are found, 
Sheaves heap'd on sheaves here thicken up the ground. 
With sweeping stroke the mowers strow the lands; 
The gatherers follow, and collect in bands; 
And last the children, in whose arms are borne 
(Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of corn. 
The rustic monarch of the field descries, 

256 — Afield deep furrowed. 

"Here was a corn field; reapers in a row, 
Each with a sharp-tooth'd sickle in his hand, 
Work'd busily, and, as the harvest fell, 
Others were ready still to bind the sheaves: 
Yoked to a wain that bore the corn away 
The steers were moving; sturdy bullocks here 
The plough were drawing, and the furrow'd glebe 
Was black behind them, while with goading wand 
The active youths impell'd them. Here a feast 
Was graved: to the shrill pipe and ringing lyre 
A band of blooming virgins led the dance. 
As if endued with life." 

— Dyce's Calaber. 



BOOK XVIII. 



With silent glee, the heaps around him rise. 
A ready banquet on the turf is laid, 
Beneath an ample oak's expanded shade. 
The victim ox the sturdy youth prepare; 
The reaper's due repast, the woman's care. 

Next, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines, 

Bent with the ponderous harvest of its vines; 

A deeper dye the dangling clusters show, 

And curl'd on silver props, in order glow: 

A darker metal mix'd intrench'd the place; 

And pales of glittering tin the inclosure grace. 

To this, one pathway gently winding leads, 

Where march a train with baskets on their heads, 

(Fair maids and blooming youths,) that smiling bear 

The purple product of the autumnal year. 

To these a youth awakes the warbling strings, 

Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings; 

In measured dance behind him move the train, 

Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain. 

Here herds of oxen march, erect and bold, 
Rear high their horns, and seem to low in gold, 
And speed to meadows on whose sounding shores 
A rapid torrent through the rushes roars: 
Four golden herdsmen as their guardians stand, 
And nine sour dogs complete the rustic band. 
Two lions rushing from the wood appear'd; 
And seized a bull, the master of the herd: 
He roar'd: in vain the dogs, the men withstood; 
They tore his flesh, and drank his sable blood. 
The dogs (oft cheer'd in vain) desert the prey, 
Dread the grim terrors, and at distance bay. 



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Next this, the eye the art of Vulcan leads 
Deep through fair forests, and a length of meads, 
And stalls, and folds, and scatter'd cots between; 
And fleecy flocks, that whiten all the scene. 



A figured dance succeeds; such once was seen 

In lofty Gnossus for the Cretan queen, 

Form'd by Daedalean art; a comely band 

Of youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand. 

The maids in soft simars of linen dress'd; 

The youths all graceful in the glossy vest: 

Of those the locks with flowery wreath inroll'd; 

Of these the sides adorn'd with swords of gold, 

That glittering gay, from silver belts depend. 

Now all at once they rise, at once descend, 

With well-taught feet: now shape in oblique ways, 

Confusedly regular, the moving maze: 

Now forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring, 

And undistinguish'd blend the flying ring: 

So whirls a wheel, in giddy circle toss'd, 

And, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost. 

The gazing multitudes admire around: 

Two active tumblers in the centre bound; 

Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend: 

And general songs the sprightly revel end. 



Thus the broad shield complete the artist crown'd 
With his last hand, and pour'd the ocean round: 
In living silver seem'd the waves to roll, 
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole. 



BOOK XVIII. 



573 



This done, whate'er a warrior's use requires 
He forged; the cuirass that outshone the fires, 
The greaves of ductile tin, the helm impress'd 
With various sculpture, and the golden crest. 
At Thetis' feet the finished labour lay: 
She, as a falcon cuts the aerial way, 
Swift from Olympus' snowy summit flies, 
And bears the blazing present through the skies. 



Coleridge (Greek Classic Poets, p. 182, seq.) has diligently compared 
this with the description of the shield of Hercules by Hesiod. He remarks 
that, "with two or three exceptions, the imagery differs in little more than the 
names and arrangements; and the difference of arrangement in the Shield of 
Hercules is altogether for the worse. The natural consecution of the Homeric 
images needs no exposition: it constitutes in itself one of the beauties of 
the work. The Hesiodic images are huddled together without connection or 
congruity: Mars and Pallas are awkwardly introduced among the Centaurs 
and Lapithae; — but the gap is wide indeed between them and Apollo with 
the Muses, waking the echoes of Olympus to celestial harmonies; whence 
however, we are hurried back to Perseus, the Gorgons, and other images of 
war, over an arm of the sea, in which the sporting dolphins, the fugitive fishes, 
and the fisherman on the shore with his casting net, are minutely represented. 
As to the Hesiodic images themselves, the leading remark is, that they catch at 
beauty by ornament, and at sublimity by exaggeration; and upon the untenable 
supposition of the genuineness of this poem, there is this curious peculiarity, 
that, in the description of scenes of rustic peace, the superiority of Homer is 
decisive — while in those of war and tumult it may be thought, perhaps, that the 
Hesiodic poet has more than once the advantage." 



[349] 



BOOK XIX. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE RECONCILIATION OF ACHILLES AND 
AGAMEMNON. 

Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She 
preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands 
him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. 
Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, 
presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great 
difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have 
refreshed themselves by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are 
conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where Briseis laments over the 
body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and 
gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends 
to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight: 
his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, 
and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them 
is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his 
fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with 
fury to the combat. 

The thirteenth day. The scene is on the sea-shore. 

Soon as Aurora heaved her Orient head 
Above the waves, that blush'd with early red, 
(With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, 
And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light,) 
The immortal arms the goddess-mother bears 
Swift to her son: her son she finds in tears 



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Stretch'd o'er Patroclus' corse; while all the rest 
Their sovereign's sorrows in their own express'd. 
A ray divine her heavenly presence shed, 
And thus, his hand soft touching, Thetis said: 

"Suppress, my son, this rage of grief, and know 
It was not man, but heaven, that gave the blow; 
Behold what arms by Vulcan are bestow'd, 
Arms worthy thee, or fit to grace a god." 

Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; 
Clang the strong arms, and ring the shores around; 
Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, 
And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes. 
Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, 
[350] And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; 

From his fierce eyeballs living flames expire, 
And flash incessant like a stream of fire: 
He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind 
On all the immortal artist had design'd. 

"Goddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that shine 

With matchless art, confess the hand divine. 

Now to the bloody battle let me bend: 

But ah! the relics of my slaughter'd friend! 

In those wide wounds through which his spirit fled, 

Shall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?" 

"That unavailing care be laid aside, 

(The azure goddess to her son replied,) 

Whole years untouch'd, uninjured shall remain, 

Fresh as in life, the carcase of the slain. 

But go, Achilles, as affairs require, 

Before the Grecian peers renounce thine ire: 

Then uncontroll'd in boundless war engage, 

And heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!" 



BOOK XIX. 



577 




Then in the nostrils of the slain she pour'd 
Nectareous drops, and rich ambrosia shower'd 
O'er all the corse. The flies forbid their prey, 
Untouch'd it rests, and sacred from decay. 
Achilles to the strand obedient went: 
The shores resounded with the voice he sent. 
The heroes heard, and all the naval train 
That tend the ships, or guide them o'er the main, 
Alarm'd, transported, at the well-known sound, 
Frequent and full, the great assembly crown'd; 
Studious to see the terror of the plain, 

Long lost to battle, shine in arms again. [351] 

Tydides and Ulysses first appear, 

Lame with their wounds, and leaning on the spear; 

These on the sacred seats of council placed, 

The king of men, Atrides, came the last: 

He too sore wounded by Agenor's son. 

Achilles (rising in the midst) begun: 



578 



The Iliad of Homer 



"O monarch! better far had been the fate 

Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian state, 

If (ere the day when by mad passion sway'd, 

Rash we contended for the black-eyed maid) 

Preventing Dian had despatch'd her dart, 

And shot the shining mischief to the heart! 

Then many a hero had not press'd the shore, 

Nor Troy's glad fields been fatten'd with our gore. 

Long, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail, 

And sad posterity repeat the tale. 

But this, no more the subject of debate, 

Is past, forgotten, and resign'd to fate. 

Why should, alas, a mortal man, as I, 

Burn with a fury that can never die? 

Here then my anger ends: let war succeed, 

And even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed. 

Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight 

Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night! 

I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows, 

Shall 'scape with transport, and with joy repose." 

He said: his finish'd wrath with loud acclaim 
The Greeks accept, and shout Pelides' name. 
When thus, not rising from his lofty throne, 
In state unmoved, the king of men begun: 

"Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear! 
And grant your monarch an impartial ear: 
Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend, 
And let your rash, injurious clamours end: 
Unruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause, 
Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause. 
Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate: 
Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate, 



BOOK XIX. 



579 



With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day 
When from Achilles' arms I forced the prey. 
What then could I against the will of heaven? 
Not by myself, but vengeful Ate driven; 
She, Jove's dread daughter, fated to infest 
The race of mortals, enter'd in my breast. 
Not on the ground that haughty fury treads, 
But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads 
Of mighty men; inflicting as she goes 
Long-festering wounds, inextricable woes! 
Of old, she stalk'd amid the bright abodes; 

And Jove himself, the sire of men and gods, [352] 

The world's great ruler, felt her venom'd dart; 

Deceived by Juno's wiles, and female art: 

For when Alcmena's nine long months were run, 

And Jove expected his immortal son, 

To gods and goddesses the unruly joy 

He show'd, and vaunted of his matchless boy: 

'From us, (he said) this day an infant springs, 

Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.' 

Saturnia askd an oath, to vouch the truth, 

And fix dominion on the favour'd youth. 

The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud, 

Pronounced those solemn words that bind a god. 

The joyful goddess, from Olympus' height, 

Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight: 

Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus's wife; 

She push'd her lingering infant into life: 

Her charms Alcmena's coming labours stay, 

And stop the babe, just issuing to the day. 

Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind; 

A youth (said she) of Jove's immortal kind 

Is this day born: from Sthenelus he springs, 

And claims thy promise to be king of kings.' 



580 



The Iliad of Homer 



Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged; 
Stung to the soul, he sorrow'd, and he raged. 
From his ambrosial head, where perch'd she sate, 
He snatch'd the fury-goddess of debate, 
The dread, the irrevocable oath he swore, 
The immortal seats should ne'er behold her more; 
And whirl'd her headlong down, for ever driven 
From bright Olympus and the starry heaven: 
Thence on the nether world the fury fell; 
Ordain'd with man's contentious race to dwell. 
Full oft the god his son's hard toils bemoan'd, 
Cursed the dire fury, and in secret groan'd. 258 
Even thus, like Jove himself, was I misled, 
While raging Hector heap'd our camps with dead. 
What can the errors of my rage atone? 
My martial troops, my treasures are thy own: 
This instant from the navy shall be sent 
Whate'er Ulysses promised at thy tent: 
But thou! appeased, propitious to our prayer, 
Resume thy arms, and shine again in war." 



[353] " O king of nations ! whose superior sway 

(Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey! 
To keep or send the presents, be thy care; 
To us, 'tis equal: all we ask is war. 



258 " jjjjg i e g enc [ [ s one G f the most pregnant and characteristic in the Grecian 
Mythology; it explains, according to the religious ideas familiar to the old epic 
poets, both the distinguishing attributes and the endless toil and endurances 
of Heracles, the most renowned subjugator of all the semi-divine personages 
worshipped by the Hellenes, — a being of irresistible force, and especially 
beloved by Zeus, yet condemned constantly to labour for others and to obey the 
commands of a worthless and cowardly persecutor. His recompense is reserved 
to the close of his career, when his afflicting trials are brought to a close: he is 
then admitted to the godhead, and receives in marriage Hebe." — Grote, vol. i. 
p. 128. 



BOOK XIX. 

While yet we talk, or but an instant shun 
The fight, our glorious work remains undone. 
Let every Greek, who sees my spear confound 
The Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round, 
With emulation, what I act survey, 
And learn from thence the business of the day. 

The son of Peleus thus; and thus replies 

The great in councils, Ithacus the wise: 

"Though, godlike, thou art by no toils oppress'd, 

At least our armies claim repast and rest: 

Long and laborious must the combat be, 

When by the gods inspired, and led by thee. 

Strength is derived from spirits and from blood, 

And those augment by generous wine and food: 

What boastful son of war, without that stay, 

Can last a hero through a single day? 

Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, 

Mere unsupported man must yield at length; 

Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, 

The drooping body will desert the mind: 

But built anew with strength-conferring fare, 

With limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war. 

Dismiss the people, then, and give command. 

With strong repast to hearten every band; 

But let the presents to Achilles made, 

In full assembly of all Greece be laid. 

The king of men shall rise in public sight, 

And solemn swear (observant of the rite) 

That, spotless, as she came, the maid removes, 

Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves. 

That done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made, 

And the full price of injured honour paid. 

Stretch not henceforth, O prince. ! thy sovereign mig 



582 



The Iliad of Homer 



Beyond the bounds of reason and of right; 

'Tis the chief praise that e'er to kings belong'd, 

To right with justice whom with power they wrong'd." 

To him the monarch: "Just is thy decree, 
Thy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee. 
Each due atonement gladly I prepare; 
And heaven regard me as I justly swear! 
Here then awhile let Greece assembled stay, 
Nor great Achilles grudge this short delay. 
Till from the fleet our presents be convey'd, 
And Jove attesting, the firm compact made. 
A train of noble youths the charge shall bear; 
These to select, Ulysses, be thy care: 
[354] In order rank'd let all our gifts appear, 

And the fair train of captives close the rear: 
Talthybius shall the victim boar convey, 
Sacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day." 

"For this (the stern ^Eacides replies) 

Some less important season may suffice, 

When the stern fury of the war is o'er, 

And wrath, extinguish'd, burns my breast no more. 

By Hector slain, their faces to the sky, 

All grim with gaping wounds, our heroes lie: 

Those call to war! and might my voice incite, 

Now, now, this instant, shall commence the fight: 

Then, when the day's complete, let generous bowls, 

And copious banquets, glad your weary souls. 

Let not my palate know the taste of food, 

Till my insatiate rage be cloy'd with blood: 

Pale lies my friend, with wounds disfigured o'er, 

And his cold feet are pointed to the door. 

Revenge is all my soul! no meaner care, 



BOOK XIX. 



583 



Interest, or thought, has room to harbour there; 
Destruction be my feast, and mortal wounds, 
And scenes of blood, and agonizing sounds." 

"O first of Greeks, (Ulysses thus rejoin'd,) 

The best and bravest of the warrior kind! 

Thy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine, 

But old experience and calm wisdom mine. 

Then hear my counsel, and to reason yield, 

The bravest soon are satiate of the field; 

Though vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain, 

The bloody harvest brings but little gain: 

The scale of conquest ever wavering lies, 

Great Jove but turns it, and the victor dies ! 

The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, 

And endless were the grief, to weep for all. 

Eternal sorrows what avails to shed? 

Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead: 

Enough, when death demands the brave, to pay 

The tribute of a melancholy day. 

One chief with patience to the grave resign'd, 

Our care devolves on others left behind. 

Let generous food supplies of strength produce, 

Let rising spirits flow from sprightly juice, 

Let their warm heads with scenes of battle glow, 

And pour new furies on the feebler foe. 

Yet a short interval, and none shall dare 

Expect a second summons to the war; 

Who waits for that, the dire effects shall find, 

If trembling in the ships he lags behind. 

Embodied, to the battle let us bend, 

And all at once on haughty Troy descend. " 



584 



The Iliad of Homer 



And now the delegates Ulysses sent, [355] 

To bear the presents from the royal tent: 

The sons of Nestor, Phyleus' valiant heir, 

Thias and Merion, thunderbolts of war, 

With Lycomedes of Creiontian strain, 

And Melanippus, form'd the chosen train. 

Swift as the word was given, the youths obey'd: 

Twice ten bright vases in the midst they laid; 

A row of six fair tripods then succeeds; 

And twice the number of high-bounding steeds: 

Seven captives next a lovely line compose; 

The eighth Briseis, like the blooming rose, 

Closed the bright band: great Ithacus, before, 

First of the train, the golden talents bore: 

The rest in public view the chiefs dispose, 

A splendid scene! then Agamemnon rose: 

The boar Talthybius held: the Grecian lord 

Drew the broad cutlass sheath'd beside his sword: 

The stubborn bristles from the victim's brow 

He crops, and offering meditates his vow. 

His hands uplifted to the attesting skies, 

On heaven's broad marble roof were fixed his eyes. 

The solemn words a deep attention draw, 

And Greece around sat thrill'd with sacred awe. 

"Witness thou first! thou greatest power above, 
All-good, all-wise, and all-surveying Jove! 
And mother-earth, and heaven's revolving light, 
And ye, fell furies of the realms of night, 
Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare 
For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear! 
The black-eyed maid inviolate removes, 
Pure and unconscious of my manly loves. 
If this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed, 



BOOK XIX. 



585 



And levell'd thunder strike my guilty head!" 

With that, his weapon deep inflicts the wound; 
The bleeding savage tumbles to the ground; 
The sacred herald rolls the victim slain 
(A feast for fish) into the foaming main. 

Then thus Achilles: "Hear, ye Greeks! and know 
Whate'er we feel, 'tis Jove inflicts the woe; 
Not else Atrides could our rage inflame, 
Nor from my arms, unwilling, force the dame. 
'Twas Jove's high will alone, o'erruling all, 
That doom'd our strife, and doom'd the Greeks to fall. 
Go then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite; 
Achilles waits ye, and expects the fight." 

The speedy council at his word adjourn'd: 

To their black vessels all the Greeks return'd. 

Achilles sought his tent. His train before 

March'd onward, bending with the gifts they bore. 

Those in the tents the squires industrious spread: [356] 

The foaming coursers to the stalls they led; 

To their new seats the female captives move 

Briseis, radiant as the queen of love, 

Slow as she pass'd, beheld with sad survey 

Where, gash'd with cruel wounds, Patroclus lay. 

Prone on the body fell the heavenly fair, 

Beat her sad breast, and tore her golden hair; 

All beautiful in grief, her humid eyes 

Shining with tears she lifts, and thus she cries: 



586 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Ah, youth for ever dear, for ever kind, 
Once tender friend of my distracted mind! 
I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay; 
Now find thee cold, inanimated clay ! 
What woes my wretched race of life attend! 
Sorrows on sorrows, never doom'd to end! 
The first loved consort of my virgin bed 
Before these eyes in fatal battle bled: 
My three brave brothers in one mournful day 
All trod the dark, irremeable way: 
Thy friendly hand uprear'd me from the plain, 
And dried my sorrows for a husband slain; 
Achilles' care you promised I should prove, 
The first, the dearest partner of his love; 
That rites divine should ratify the band, 
And make me empress in his native land. 
Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow, 
For thee, that ever felt another's woe!" 

Her sister captives echoed groan for groan, 
Nor mourn'd Patroclus' fortunes, but their own. 
The leaders press'd the chief on every side; 
Unmoved he heard them, and with sighs denied. 

"If yet Achilles have a friend, whose care 
Is bent to please him, this request forbear; 
Till yonder sun descend, ah, let me pay 
To grief and anguish one abstemious day." 

He spoke, and from the warriors turn'd his face: 
Yet still the brother-kings of Atreus' race, 
Nestor, Idomeneus, Ulysses sage, 
And Phoenix, strive to calm his grief and rage: 
His rage they calm not, nor his grief control; 
He groans, he raves, he sorrows from his soul. 



BOOK XIX. 



587 



"Thou too, Patroclus! (thus his heart he vents) 
Once spread the inviting banquet in our tents: 
Thy sweet society, thy winning care, 
Once stay'd Achilles, rushing to the war. 
But now, alas! to death's cold arms resign'd, 
What banquet but revenge can glad my mind? 
What greater sorrow could afflict my breast, 
What more if hoary Peleus were deceased? 

Who now, perhaps, in Phthia dreads to hear [357] 

His son's sad fate, and drops a tender tear. 

What more, should Neoptolemus the brave, 

My only offspring, sink into the grave? 

If yet that offspring lives; (I distant far, 

Of all neglectful, wage a hateful war.) 

I could not this, this cruel stroke attend; 

Fate claim'd Achilles, but might spare his friend. 

I hoped Patroclus might survive, to rear 

My tender orphan with a parent's care, 

From Scyros' isle conduct him o'er the main, 

And glad his eyes with his paternal reign, 

The lofty palace, and the large domain. 

For Peleus breathes no more the vital air; 

Or drags a wretched life of age and care, 

But till the news of my sad fate invades 

His hastening soul, and sinks him to the shades." 



Sighing he said: his grief the heroes join'd, 
Each stole a tear for what he left behind. 
Their mingled grief the sire of heaven survey'd, 
And thus with pity to his blue-eyed maid: 



588 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Is then Achilles now no more thy care, 
And dost thou thus desert the great in war? 
Lo, where yon sails their canvas wings extend, 
All comfortless he sits, and wails his friend: 
Ere thirst and want his forces have oppress'd, 
Haste and infuse ambrosia in his breast." 



He spoke; and sudden, at the word of Jove, 
Shot the descending goddess from above. 
So swift through ether the shrill harpy springs, 
The wide air floating to her ample wings, 
To great Achilles she her flight address'd, 
And pour'd divine ambrosia in his breast, 259 
With nectar sweet, (refection of the gods!) 
Then, swift ascending, sought the bright abodes. 



Now issued from the ships the warrior-train, 

And like a deluge pour'd upon the plain. 

As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow, 

And scatter o'er the fields the driving snow; 

From dusky clouds the fleecy winter flies, 

Whose dazzling lustre whitens all the skies: 

So helms succeeding helms, so shields from shields, 

Catch the quick beams, and brighten all the fields; 

Broad glittering breastplates, spears with pointed rays, 

Mix in one stream, reflecting blaze on blaze; 

Thick beats the centre as the coursers bound; 

With splendour flame the skies, and laugh the fields around, 



BOOK XIX. 



589 



Full in the midst, high-towering o'er the rest, 

His limbs in arms divine Achilles dress'd; 

Arms which the father of the fire bestow'd, 

Forged on the eternal anvils of the god. 

Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire, 

His glowing eyeballs roll with living fire; 

He grinds his teeth, and furious with delay 

O'erlooks the embattled host, and hopes the bloody day. 



The silver cuishes first his thighs infold; 

Then o'er his breast was braced the hollow gold; 

The brazen sword a various baldric tied, 

That, starr'd with gems, hung glittering at his side; 

And, like the moon, the broad refulgent shield 

Blazed with long rays, and gleam'd athwart the field. 



So to night- wandering sailors, pale with fears, 
Wide o'er the watery waste, a light appears, 
Which on the far-seen mountain blazing high, 
Streams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky: 
With mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again; 
Loud howls the storm, and drives them o'er the main. 



— Ambrosia. 

"The blue-eyed maid, 
In ev'ry breast new vigour to infuse. 
Brings nectar temper'd with ambrosial dews." 

Merrick's Tryphiodorus, vi. 249. 



590 



The Iliad of Homer 



Next, his high head the helmet graced; behind 

The s weepy crest hung floating in the wind: 

Like the red star, that from his flaming hair 

Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war; 

So stream'd the golden honours from his head, 

Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed. 

The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes; 

His arms he poises, and his motions tries; 

Buoy'd by some inward force, he seems to swim, 

And feels a pinion lifting every limb. 

And now he shakes his great paternal spear, 
Ponderous and huge, which not a Greek could rear, 
From Pelion's cloudy top an ash entire 
Old Chiron fell'd, and shaped it for his sire; 
A spear which stern Achilles only wields, 
The death of heroes, and the dread of fields. 

Automedon and Alcimus prepare 
The immortal coursers, and the radiant car; 
(The silver traces sweeping at their side;) 
Their fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied; 
The ivory-studded reins, return'd behind, 
Waved o'er their backs, and to the chariot join'd. 
The charioteer then whirl'd the lash around, 
And swift ascended at one active bound. 
All bright in heavenly arms, above his squire 
Achilles mounts, and sets the field on fire; 
Not brighter Phoebus in the ethereal way 
Flames from his chariot, and restores the day. 
High o'er the host, all terrible he stands, 
And thunders to his steeds these dread commands: 



BOOK XIX. 



"Xanthus and Balius! of Podarges' strain, 

(Unless ye boast that heavenly race in vain,) 

Be swift, be mindful of the load ye bear, 

And learn to make your master more your care: 

Through falling squadrons bear my slaughtering sword, 

Nor, as ye left Patroclus, leave your lord." 

The generous Xanthus, as the words he said, 
Seem'd sensible of woe, and droop'd his head: 
Trembling he stood before the golden wain, 
And bow'd to dust the honours of his mane. 
When, strange to tell ! (so Juno will'd) he broke 
Eternal silence, and portentous spoke. 
'Achilles ! yes ! this day at least we bear 
Thy rage in safety through the files of war: 
But come it will, the fatal time must come, 
Not ours the fault, but God decrees thy doom. 
Not through our crime, or slowness in the course, 
Fell thy Patroclus, but by heavenly force; 
The bright far-shooting god who gilds the day 
(Confess'd we saw him) tore his arms way. 
No — could our swiftness o'er the winds prevail, 
Or beat the pinions of the western gale, 
All were in vain — the Fates thy death demand, 
Due to a mortal and immortal hand." 

Then ceased for ever, by the Furies tied, 
His fateful voice. The intrepid chief replied 
With unabated rage — "So let it be! 
Portents and prodigies are lost on me. 
I know my fate: to die, to see no more 
My much-loved parents, and my native shore — 
Enough — when heaven ordains, I sink in night: 
Now perish Troy!" He said, and rush'd to fight. 



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HERCULES. 



[360] 



BOOK XX. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE BATTLE OF THE GODS, AND THE ACTS OF 
ACHILLES. 

Jupiter, upon Achilles' return to the battle, calls a council of 
the gods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors 
of the combat described, when the deities are engaged. Apollo 
encourages ^Eneas to meet Achilles. After a long conversation, 
these two heroes encounter; but ^Eneas is preserved by the 
assistance of Neptune. Achilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, 
and is upon the point of killing Hector, but Apollo conveys 
him away in a cloud. Achilles pursues the Trojans with a great 
slaughter. 

The same day continues. The scene is in the field before Troy. 

Thus round Pelides breathing war and blood 
Greece, sheathed in arms, beside her vessels stood; 
While near impending from a neighbouring height, 
Troy's black battalions wait the shock of fight. 
Then Jove to Themis gives command, to call 
The gods to council in the starry hall: 
Swift o'er Olympus' hundred hills she flies, 
And summons all the senate of the skies. 
These shining on, in long procession come 
To Jove's eternal adamantine dome. 
Not one was absent, not a rural power 
That haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bower; 
Each fair-hair'd dryad of the shady wood, 



594 



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Each azure sister of the silver flood; 
All but old Ocean, hoary sire! who keeps 
His ancient seat beneath the sacred deeps. 
On marble thrones, with lucid columns crown'd, 
(The work of Vulcan,) sat the powers around. 
Even he whose trident sways the watery reign 
Heard the loud summons, and forsook the main, 
Assumed his throne amid the bright abodes, 
And question'd thus the sire of men and gods: 



"What moves the god who heaven and earth commands, 
[361] And grasps the thunder in his awful hands, 

Thus to convene the whole ethereal state? 
Is Greece and Troy the subject in debate? 
Already met, the louring hosts appear, 
And death stands ardent on the edge of war." 



"Tis true (the cloud-compelling power replies) 
This day we call the council of the skies 
In care of human race; even Jove's own eye 
Sees with regret unhappy mortals die. 
Far on Olympus' top in secret state 
Ourself will sit, and see the hand of fate 
Work out our will. Celestial powers ! descend, 
And as your minds direct, your succour lend 
To either host. Troy soon must lie o'erthrown, 
If uncontroll'd Achilles fights alone: 
Their troops but lately durst not meet his eyes; 
What can they now, if in his rage he rise? 
Assist them, gods ! or Ilion's sacred wall 
May fall this day, though fate forbids the fall." 



BOOK XX. 



595 



He said, and fired their heavenly breasts with rage. 
On adverse parts the warring gods engage: 
Heaven's awful queen; and he whose azure round 
Girds the vast globe; the maid in arms renown'd; 
Hermes, of profitable arts the sire; 
And Vulcan, the black sovereign of the fire: 
These to the fleet repair with instant flight; 
The vessels tremble as the gods alight. 
In aid of Troy, Latona, Phoebus came, 
Mars fiery-helm'd, the laughter-loving dame, 
Xanthus, whose streams in golden currents flow, 
And the chaste huntress of the silver bow. 
Ere yet the gods their various aid employ, 
Each Argive bosom swell'd with manly joy, 
While great Achilles (terror of the plain), 
Long lost to battle, shone in arms again. 
Dreadful he stood in front of all his host; 
Pale Troy beheld, and seem'd already lost; 
Her bravest heroes pant with inward fear, 
And trembling see another god of war. 

But when the powers descending swell'd the fight, 
Then tumult rose: fierce rage and pale affright 
Varied each face: then Discord sounds alarms, 
Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. 
Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls, 
And now she thunders from the Grecian walls. 
Mars hovering o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds 
In gloomy tempests, and a night of clouds: 
Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours 
With voice divine, from Ilion's topmost towers: 
Now shouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill; 
The mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still. 



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[362] 

Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls, 
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles. 
Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground; 
The forests wave, the mountains nod around; 
Through all their summits tremble Ida's woods, 
And from their sources boil her hundred floods. 
Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain, 
And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main. 
Deep in the dismal regions of the dead, 260 
The infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head, 
Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay 
His dark dominions open to the day, 
And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, 
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful even to gods. 261 

Such war the immortals wage; such horrors rend 
The world's vast concave, when the gods contend 
First silver- shafted Phoebus took the plain 
Against blue Neptune, monarch of the main. 
The god of arms his giant bulk display'd, 
Opposed to Pallas, war's triumphant maid. 
Against Latona march'd the son of May. 
The quiver'd Dian, sister of the day, 

260 "Hell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering. He stretcheth 
out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing. He 
bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds; and the cloud is not rent under them." 
Job xxvi. 6-8. 

261 

"Swift from his throne the infernal monarch ran, 
All pale and trembling, lest the race of man, 
Slain by Jove's wrath, and led by Hermes' rod, 
Should fill (a countless throng!) his dark abode." 

Merrick's Tryphiodorus, vi. 769, sqq. 



BOOK XX. 



597 




THE GODS DESCENDING TO BATTLE. 



(Her golden arrows sounding at her side,) [363] 

Saturnia, majesty of heaven, defied. 

With fiery Vulcan last in battle stands 

The sacred flood that rolls on golden sands; 

Xanthus his name with those of heavenly birth, 

But called Scamander by the sons of earth. 

While thus the gods in various league engage, 

Achilles glow'd with more than mortal rage: 

Hector he sought; in search of Hector turn'd 

His eyes around, for Hector only burn'd; 

And burst like lightning through the ranks, and vow'd 

To glut the god of battles with his blood. 

jEneas was the first who dared to stay; 
Apollo wedged him in the warrior's way, 
But swell'd his bosom with undaunted might, 
Half-forced and half-persuaded to the fight. 
Like young Lycaon, of the royal line, 
In voice and aspect, seem'd the power divine; 
And bade the chief reflect, how late with scorn 
In distant threats he braved the goddess-born. 



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Then thus the hero of Anchises' strain: 

"To meet Pelides you persuade in vain: 

Already have I met, nor void of fear 

Observed the fury of his flying spear; 

From Ida's woods he chased us to the field, 

Our force he scattered, and our herds he kill'd; 

Lyrnessus, Pedasus in ashes lay; 

But (Jove assisting) I survived the day: 

Else had I sunk oppress'd in fatal fight 

By fierce Achilles and Minerva's might. 

Where'er he moved, the goddess shone before, 

And bathed his brazen lance in hostile gore. 

What mortal man Achilles can sustain? 

The immortals guard him through the dreadful plain, 

And suffer not his dart to fall in vain. 

Were God my aid, this arm should check his power, 

Though strong in battle as a brazen tower. " 



To whom the son of Jove: "That god implore, 
And be what great Achilles was before. 
From heavenly Venus thou deriv'st thy strain, 
And he but from a sister of the main; 
An aged sea-god father of his line; 
But Jove himself the sacred source of thine. 
Then lift thy weapon for a noble blow, 
Nor fear the vaunting of a mortal foe." 

This said, and spirit breathed into his breast, 
Through the thick troops the embolden'd hero press'd: 
His venturous act the white-arm'd queen survey'd, 
And thus, assembling all the powers, she said: 



BOOK XX. 



599 



"Behold an action, gods! that claims your care, 
Lo great ^Eneas rushing to the war! 
Against Pelides he directs his course, 
Phoebus impels, and Phoebus gives him force. 
Restrain his bold career; at least, to attend 
Our favour'd hero, let some power descend. 
To guard his life, and add to his renown, 
We, the great armament of heaven, came down. 
Hereafter let him fall, as Fates design, 
That spun so short his life's illustrious line: 262 
But lest some adverse god now cross his way, 
Give him to know what powers assist this day: 
For how shall mortal stand the dire alarms, 
When heaven's refulgent host appear in arms?" 2 



Thus she; and thus the god whose force can make 
The solid globe's eternal basis shake: 
"Against the might of man, so feeble known, 
Why should celestial powers exert their own? 
Suffice from yonder mount to view the scene, 
And leave to war the fates of mortal men. 
But if the armipotent, or god of light, 
Obstruct Achilles, or commence the fight. 
Thence on the gods of Troy we swift descend: 
Full soon, I doubt not, shall the conflict end; 
And these, in ruin and confusion hurl'd, 
Yield to our conquering arms the lower world. " 



These words seem to imply the old belief, that the Fates might be delayed, 
but never wholly set aside. 

263 It was anciently believed that it was dangerous, if not fatal, to behold a 
deity. See Exod. xxxiii. 20; Judg. xiii. 22. 



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Thus having said, the tyrant of the sea, 
Coerulean Neptune, rose, and led the way. 
Advanced upon the field there stood a mound 
Of earth congested, wall'd, and trench'd around; 
In elder times to guard Alcides made, 
(The work of Trojans, with Minerva's aid,) 
What time a vengeful monster of the main 
Swept the wide shore, and drove him to the plain. 

Here Neptune and the gods of Greece repair, 
With clouds encompass'd, and a veil of air: 
The adverse powers, around Apollo laid, 
Crown the fair hills that silver Simois shade. 
In circle close each heavenly party sat, 
Intent to form the future scheme of fate; 
But mix not yet in fight, though Jove on high 
Gives the loud signal, and the heavens reply. 

Meanwhile the rushing armies hide the ground; 
The trampled centre yields a hollow sound: 
Steeds cased in mail, and chiefs in armour bright, 
The gleaming champaign glows with brazen light. 
Amid both hosts (a dreadful space) appear, 
[365] There great Achilles; bold iEneas, here. 

With towering strides Aeneas first advanced; 
The nodding plumage on his helmet danced: 
Spread o'er his breast the fencing shield he bore, 
And, so he moved, his javelin flamed before. 
Not so Pelides; furious to engage, 
He rush'd impetuous. Such the lion's rage, 
Who viewing first his foes with scornful eyes, 
Though all in arms the peopled city rise, 
Stalks careless on, with unregarding pride; 
Till at the length, by some brave youth defied, 



BOOK XX. 



To his bold spear the savage turns alone, 
He murmurs fury with a hollow groan; 
He grins, he foams, he rolls his eyes around 
Lash'd by his tail his heaving sides resound; 
He calls up all his rage; he grinds his teeth, 
Resolved on vengeance, or resolved on death. 
So fierce Achilles on ^Eneas flies; 
So stands ^Eneas, and his force defies. 
Ere yet the stern encounter join'd, begun 
The seed of Thetis thus to Venus' son: 

"Why comes iEneas through the ranks so far? 
Seeks he to meet Achilles' arm in war, 
In hope the realms of Priam to enjoy, 
And prove his merits to the throne of Troy? 
Grant that beneath thy lance Achilles dies, 
The partial monarch may refuse the prize; 
Sons he has many; those thy pride may quell: 
And 'tis his fault to love those sons too well, 
Or, in reward of thy victorious hand, 
Has Troy proposed some spacious tract of land 
An ample forest, or a fair domain, 
Of hills for vines, and arable for grain? 
Even this, perhaps, will hardly prove thy lot. 
But can Achilles be so soon forgot? 
Once (as I think) you saw this brandish'd spear 
And then the great ^Eneas seem'd to fear: 
With hearty haste from Ida's mount he fled, 
Nor, till he reach'd Lyrnessus, turn'd his head. 
Her lofty walls not long our progress stay'd; 
Those, Pallas, Jove, and we, in ruins laid: 
In Grecian chains her captive race were cast; 
'Tis true, the great Aeneas fled too fast. 
Defrauded of my conquest once before, 



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The Iliad of Homer 



What then I lost, the gods this day restore. 
Go; while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; 
Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late." 

To this Anchises' son: "Such words employ 
To one that fears thee, some unwarlike boy; 
Such we disdain; the best may be defied 
[366] With mean reproaches, and unmanly pride; 

Unworthy the high race from which we came 
Proclaim'd so loudly by the voice of fame: 
Each from illustrious fathers draws his line; 
Each goddess-born; half human, half divine. 
Thetis' this day, or Venus' offspring dies, 
And tears shall trickle from celestial eyes: 
For when two heroes, thus derived, contend, 
'Tis not in words the glorious strife can end. 
If yet thou further seek to learn my birth 
(A tale resounded through the spacious earth) 
Hear how the glorious origin we prove 
From ancient Dardanus, the first from Jove: 
Dardania's walls he raised; for Ilion, then, 
(The city since of many-languaged men,) 
Was not. The natives were content to till 
The shady foot of Ida's fountful hill. 264 
From Dardanus great Erichthonius springs, 
The richest, once, of Asia's wealthy kings; 
Three thousand mares his spacious pastures bred, 
Three thousand foals beside their mothers fed. 
Boreas, enamour'd of the sprightly train, 
Conceal'd his godhead in a flowing mane, 



"Ere Ilium and the Trojan tow'rs arose, 

In humble vales they built their soft abodes." 



Dryden's Virgil, iii. 150. 



BOOK XX. 



603 



With voice dissembled to his loves he neigh'd, 

And coursed the dappled beauties o'er the mead: 

Hence sprung twelve others of unrivall'd kind, 

Swift as their mother mares, and father wind. 

These lightly skimming, when they swept the plain, 

Nor plied the grass, nor bent the tender grain; 

And when along the level seas they flew, 265 

Scarce on the surface curl'd the briny dew. 

Such Erichthonius was: from him there came 

The sacred Tros, of whom the Trojan name. 

Three sons renown'd adorn'd his nuptial bed, 

Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed: 

The matchless Ganymed, divinely fair, 

Whom heaven, enamour'd, snatch'd to upper air, 

To bear the cup of Jove (ethereal guest, 

The grace and glory of the ambrosial feast). 

The two remaining sons the line divide: 

First rose Laomedon from Ilus' side; 

From him Tithonus, now in cares grown old, 

And Priam, bless'd with Hector, brave and bold; 

Clytius and Lampus, ever-honour'd pair; [367] 

And Hicetaon, thunderbolt of war. 

From great Assaracus sprang Capys, he 

Begat Anchises, and Anchises me. 

Such is our race: 'tis fortune gives us birth, 

But Jove alone endues the soul with worth: 

He, source of power and might! with boundless sway, 

All human courage gives, or takes away. 

' — Along the level seas. Compare Virgil's description of Camilla, who 

"Outstripp'd the winds in speed upon the plain, 
Flew o'er the field, nor hurt the bearded grain: 
She swept the seas, and, as she skimm'd along, 
Her flying feet unbathed on billows hung." 

Dryden, vii. 1100. 



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Long in the field of words we may contend, 
Reproach is infinite, and knows no end, 
Arm'd or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong; 
So voluble a weapon is the tongue; 
Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail, 
For every man has equal strength to rail: 
Women alone, when in the streets they jar, 
Perhaps excel us in this wordy war; 
Like us they stand, encompass'd with the crowd, 
And vent their anger impotent and loud. 
Cease then — Our business in the field of fight 
Is not to question, but to prove our might. 
To all those insults thou hast offer'd here, 
Receive this answer: 'tis my flying spear." 

He spoke. With all his force the javelin flung, 

Fix'd deep, and loudly in the buckler rung. 

Far on his outstretch'd arm, Pelides held 

(To meet the thundering lance) his dreadful shield, 

That trembled as it stuck; nor void of fear 

Saw, ere it fell, the immeasurable spear. 

His fears were vain; impenetrable charms 

Secured the temper of the ethereal arms. 

Through two strong plates the point its passage held, 

But stopp'd, and rested, by the third repell'd. 

Five plates of various metal, various mould, 

Composed the shield; of brass each outward fold, 

Of tin each inward, and the middle gold: 

There stuck the lance. Then rising ere he threw, 

The forceful spear of great Achilles flew, 

And pierced the Dardan shield's extremest bound, 

Where the shrill brass return'd a sharper sound: 

Through the thin verge the Pelean weapon glides, 

And the slight covering of expanded hides. 



BOOK XX. 



605 



iEneas his contracted body bends, 
And o'er him high the riven targe extends, 
Sees, through its parting plates, the upper air, 
And at his back perceives the quivering spear: 
A fate so near him, chills his soul with fright; 
And swims before his eyes the many-colour'd light. 
Achilles, rushing in with dreadful cries, 
Draws his broad blade, and at JEneas flies: 
iEneas rousing as the foe came on, 

With force collected, heaves a mighty stone: [368] 

A mass enormous ! which in modern days 

No two of earth's degenerate sons could raise. 

But ocean's god, whose earthquakes rock the ground. 

Saw the distress, and moved the powers around: 

"Lo! on the brink of fate ^Eneas stands, 
An instant victim to Achilles' hands; 
By Phoebus urged; but Phoebus has bestow'd 
His aid in vain: the man o'erpowers the god. 
And can ye see this righteous chief atone 
With guiltless blood for vices not his own? 
To all the gods his constant vows were paid; 
Sure, though he wars for Troy, he claims our aid. 
Fate wills not this; nor thus can Jove resign 
The future father of the Dardan line: 266 
The first great ancestor obtain'd his grace, 
And still his love descends on all the race: 
For Priam now, and Priam's faithless kind, 
At length are odious to the all-seeing mind; 

266 — y^ fMre father, "jfsneas and Antenor stand distinguished from the 
other Trojans by a dissatisfaction with Priam, and a sympathy with the Greeks, 
which is by Sophocles and others construed as treacherous collusion, — a 
suspicion indirectly glanced at, though emphatically repelled, in the ^Eneas of 
Virgil."— Grote, i. p. 427. 



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On great ^Eneas shall devolve the reign, 

And sons succeeding sons the lasting line sustain. " 

The great earth-shaker thus: to whom replies 

The imperial goddess with the radiant eyes: 

"Good as he is, to immolate or spare 

The Dardan prince, O Neptune! be thy care; 

Pallas and I, by all that gods can bind, 

Have sworn destruction to the Trojan kind; 

Not even an instant to protract their fate, 

Or save one member of the sinking state; 

Till her last flame be quench'd with her last gore, 

And even her crumbling ruins are no more." 

The king of ocean to the fight descends, 
Through all the whistling darts his course he bends, 
Swift interposed between the warrior flies, 
And casts thick darkness o'er Achilles' eyes. 267 
From great Eneas' shield the spear he drew, 
And at his master's feet the weapon threw. 
That done, with force divine he snatch'd on high 
The Dardan prince, and bore him through the sky, 
Smooth-gliding without step, above the heads 
[369] Of warring heroes, and of bounding steeds: 

267 Neptune thus recounts his services to tineas: 

"When your tineas fought, but fought with odds 
Of force unequal, and unequal gods: 
I spread a cloud before the victor's sight, 
Sustain'd the vanquish'd, and secured his flight — 
Even then secured him, when I sought with joy 
The vow'd destruction of ungrateful Troy." 

Dryden's Virgil, v. 1058. 



BOOK XX. 



607 



Till at the battle's utmost verge they light, 
Where the slow Caucans close the rear of fight. 
The godhead there (his heavenly form confess'd) 
With words like these the panting chief address'd: 

"What power, O prince! with force inferior far, 
Urged thee to meet Achilles' arm in war? 
Henceforth beware, nor antedate thy doom, 
Defrauding fate of all thy fame to come. 
But when the day decreed (for come it must) 
Shall lay this dreadful hero in the dust, 
Let then the furies of that arm be known, 
Secure no Grecian force transcends thy own." 

With that, he left him wondering as he lay, 

Then from Achilles chased the mist away: 

Sudden, returning with a stream of light, 

The scene of war came rushing on his sight. 

Then thus, amazed; "What wonders strike my mind! 

My spear, that parted on the wings of wind, 

Laid here before me! and the Dardan lord, 

That fell this instant, vanish'd from my sword! 

I thought alone with mortals to contend, 

But powers celestial sure this foe defend. 

Great as he is, our arms he scarce will try, 

Content for once, with all his gods, to fly. 

Now then let others bleed." This said, aloud 

He vents his fury and inflames the crowd: 

"O Greeks! (he cries, and every rank alarms) 

Join battle, man to man, and arms to arms ! 

'Tis not in me, though favour'd by the sky, 

To mow whole troops, and make whole armies fly: 

No god can singly such a host engage, 

Not Mars himself, nor great Minerva's rage. 



608 



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But whatsoe'er Achilles can inspire, 
Whate'er of active force, or acting fire; 
Whate'er this heart can prompt, or hand obey; 
All, all Achilles, Greeks! is yours to-day. 
Through yon wide host this arm shall scatter fear, 
And thin the squadrons with my single spear." 



He said: nor less elate with martial joy, 
The godlike Hector warm'd the troops of Troy: 
"Trojans, to war! Think, Hector leads you on; 
Nor dread the vaunts of Peleus' haughty son. 
Deeds must decide our fate. E'en these with words 
Insult the brave, who tremble at their swords: 
The weakest atheist-wretch all heaven defies, 
But shrinks and shudders when the thunder flies. 
Nor from yon boaster shall your chief retire, 
Not though his heart were steel, his hands were fire; 
That fire, that steel, your Hector should withstand, 
And brave that vengeful heart, that dreadful hand." 

[370] 

Thus (breathing rage through all) the hero said; 
A wood of lances rises round his head, 
Clamours on clamours tempest all the air, 
They join, they throng, they thicken to the war. 
But Phoebus warns him from high heaven to shun 
The single fight with Thetis' godlike son; 
More safe to combat in the mingled band, 
Nor tempt too near the terrors of his hand. 
He hears, obedient to the god of light, 
And, plunged within the ranks, awaits the fight. 



BOOK XX. 



609 



Then fierce Achilles, shouting to the skies, 

On Troy's whole force with boundless fury flies. 

First falls Iphytion, at his army's head; 

Brave was the chief, and brave the host he led; 

From great Otrynteus he derived his blood, 

His mother was a Nais, of the flood; 

Beneath the shades of Tmolus, crown'd with snow, 

From Hyde's walls he ruled the lands below. 

Fierce as he springs, the sword his head divides: 

The parted visage falls on equal sides: 

With loud-resounding arms he strikes the plain; 

While thus Achilles glories o'er the slain: 

"Lie there, Otryntides! the Trojan earth 
Receives thee dead, though Gygae boast thy birth; 
Those beauteous fields where Hyllus' waves are roll'd, 
And plenteous Hermus swells with tides of gold, 
Are thine no more." — The insulting hero said, 
And left him sleeping in eternal shade. 
The rolling wheels of Greece the body tore, 
And dash'd their axles with no vulgar gore. 

Demoleon next, Antenor's offspring, laid 
Breathless in dust, the price of rashness paid. 
The impatient steel with full-descending sway 
Forced through his brazen helm its furious way, 
Resistless drove the batter'd skull before, 
And dash'd and mingled all the brains with gore. 
This sees Hippodamas, and seized with fright, 
Deserts his chariot for a swifter flight: 
The lance arrests him: an ignoble wound 
The panting Trojan rivets to the ground. 
He groans away his soul: not louder roars, 
At Neptune's shrine on Helice's high shores, 



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The victim bull; the rocks re-bellow round, 
And ocean listens to the grateful sound. 
Then fell on Polydore his vengeful rage, 268 
The youngest hope of Priam's stooping age: 
[371] (Whose feet for swiftness in the race surpass'd:) 

Of all his sons, the dearest, and the last. 
To the forbidden field he takes his flight, 
In the first folly of a youthful knight, 
To vaunt his swiftness wheels around the plain, 
But vaunts not long, with all his swiftness slain: 
Struck where the crossing belts unite behind, 
And golden rings the double back-plate join'd 
Forth through the navel burst the thrilling steel; 
And on his knees with piercing shrieks he fell; 
The rushing entrails pour'd upon the ground 
His hands collect; and darkness wraps him round. 
When Hector view'd, all ghastly in his gore, 
Thus sadly slain the unhappy Polydore, 
A cloud of sorrow overcast his sight, 
His soul no longer brook'd the distant fight: 
Full in Achilles' dreadful front he came, 
And shook his javelin like a waving flame. 
The son of Peleus sees, with joy possess'd, 
His heart high-bounding in his rising breast. 
"And, lo! the man on whom black fates attend; 
The man, that slew Achilles, is his friend! 
No more shall Hector's and Pelides' spear 
Turn from each other in the walks of war." — 
Then with revengeful eyes he scann'd him o'er: 
"Come, and receive thy fate!" He spake no more. 



' — On Polydore. Euripides, Virgil, and others, relate that Polydore was sent 
into Thrace, to the house of Polymestor, for protection, being the youngest of 
Priam's sons, and that he was treacherously murdered by his host for the sake 
of the treasure sent with him. 



BOOK XX. 



611 



Hector, undaunted, thus: "Such words employ 
To one that dreads thee, some unwarlike boy: 
Such we could give, defying and defied, 
Mean intercourse of obloquy and pride! 
I know thy force to mine superior far; 
But heaven alone confers success in war: 
Mean as I am, the gods may guide my dart, 
And give it entrance in a braver heart." 



Then parts the lance: but Pallas' heavenly breath 
Far from Achilles wafts the winged death: 
The bidden dart again to Hector flies, 
And at the feet of its great master lies. 
Achilles closes with his hated foe, 
His heart and eyes with flaming fury glow: 
But present to his aid, Apollo shrouds 
The favour'd hero in a veil of clouds. 
Thrice struck Pelides with indignant heart, 
Thrice in impassive air he plunged the dart; 
The spear a fourth time buried in the cloud. 
He foams with fury, and exclaims aloud: 



"Wretch! thou hast 'scaped again; once more thy flight 
Has saved thee, and the partial god of light. 
But long thou shalt not thy just fate withstand, 
If any power assist Achilles' hand. 

Fly then inglorious ! but thy flight this day [372] 
Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay." 



612 



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With that, he gluts his rage on numbers slain: 
Then Dryops tumbled to the ensanguined plain, 
Pierced through the neck: he left him panting there, 
And stopp'd Demuchus, great Philetor's heir. 
Gigantic chief! deep gash'd the enormous blade, 
And for the soul an ample passage made. 
Laoganus and Dardanus expire, 
The valiant sons of an unhappy sire; 
Both in one instant from the chariot hurl'd, 
Sunk in one instant to the nether world: 
This difference only their sad fates afford 
That one the spear destroy'd, and one the sword. 

Nor less unpitied, young Alastor bleeds; 
In vain his youth, in vain his beauty pleads; 
In vain he begs thee, with a suppliant's moan, 
To spare a form, an age so like thy own! 
Unhappy boy ! no prayer, no moving art, 
E'er bent that fierce, inexorable heart! 
While yet he trembled at his knees, and cried, 
The ruthless falchion oped his tender side; 
The panting liver pours a flood of gore 
That drowns his bosom till he pants no more. 

Through Mulius' head then drove the impetuous spear: 

The warrior falls, transfix'd from ear to ear. 

Thy life, Echeclus ! next the sword bereaves, 

Deep though the front the ponderous falchion cleaves; 

Warm'd in the brain the smoking weapon lies, 

The purple death comes floating o'er his eyes. 

Then brave Deucalion died: the dart was flung 

Where the knit nerves the pliant elbow strung; 

He dropp'd his arm, an unassisting weight, 

And stood all impotent, expecting fate: 



BOOK XX. 



613 



Full on his neck the falling falchion sped, 

From his broad shoulders hew'd his crested head: 

Forth from the bone the spinal marrow flies, 

And, sunk in dust, the corpse extended lies. 

Rhigmas, whose race from fruitful Thracia came, 

(The son of Pierus, an illustrious name,) 

Succeeds to fate: the spear his belly rends; 

Prone from his car the thundering chief descends. 

The squire, who saw expiring on the ground 

His prostrate master, rein'd the steeds around; 

His back, scarce turn'd, the Pelian javelin gored, 

And stretch'd the servant o'er his dying lord. 

As when a flame the winding valley fills, 

And runs on crackling shrubs between the hills; 

Then o'er the stubble up the mountain flies, 

Fires the high woods, and blazes to the skies, 

This way and that, the spreading torrent roars: [373] 

So sweeps the hero through the wasted shores; 

Around him wide, immense destruction pours 

And earth is deluged with the sanguine showers 

As with autumnal harvests cover'd o'er, 

And thick bestrewn, lies Ceres' sacred floor; 

When round and round, with never-wearied pain, 

The trampling steers beat out the unnumber'd grain: 

So the fierce coursers, as the chariot rolls, 

Tread down whole ranks, and crush out heroes' souls, 

Dash'd from their hoofs while o'er the dead they fly, 

Black, bloody drops the smoking chariot dye: 

The spiky wheels through heaps of carnage tore; 

And thick the groaning axles dropp'd with gore. 

High o'er the scene of death Achilles stood, 

All grim with dust, all horrible in blood: 

Yet still insatiate, still with rage on flame; 

Such is the lust of never-dying fame! 



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CENTAUR. 



[374] 



BOOK XXL 

ARGUMENT. 

THE BATTLE IN THE RIVER SCAMANDER. 269 
The Trojans fly before Achilles, some towards the town, 
others to the river Scamander: he falls upon the latter with great 
slaughter: takes twelve captives alive, to sacrifice to the shade of 
Patroclus; and kills Lycaon and Asteropeus. Scamander attacks 
him with all his waves: Neptune and Pallas assist the hero: Simois 
joins Scamander: at length Vulcan, by the instigation of Juno, 
almost dries up the river. This Combat ended, the other gods 
engage each other. Meanwhile Achilles continues the slaughter, 
drives the rest into Troy: Agenor only makes a stand, and is 
conveyed away in a cloud by Apollo; who (to delude Achilles) 
takes upon him Agenor's shape, and while he pursues him in that 
disguise, gives the Trojans an opportunity of retiring into their 
city. 

269 "Perhaps the boldest excursion of Homer into this region of poetical fancy 
is the collision into which, in the twenty-first of the Iliad, he has brought the 
river god Scamander, first with Achilles, and afterwards with Vulcan, when 
summoned by Juno to the hero's aid. The overwhelming fury of the stream 
finds the natural interpretation in the character of the mountain torrents of 
Greece and Asia Minor. Their wide, shingly beds are in summer comparatively 
dry, so as to be easily forded by the foot passenger. But a thunder- shower in 
the mountains, unobserved perhaps by the traveller on the plain, may suddenly 
immerse him in the flood of a mighty river. The rescue of Achilles by the 
fiery arms of Vulcan scarcely admits of the same ready explanation from 
physical causes. Yet the subsiding of the flood at the critical moment when 
the hero's destruction appeared imminent, might, by a slight extension of the 
figurative parallel, be ascribed to a god symbolic of the influences opposed to 
all atmospheric moisture." — Mure, vol. i. p. 480, sq. 



616 



The Iliad of Homer 



The same day continues. The scene is on the banks and in the 
stream of Scamander. 

And now to Xanthus' gliding stream they drove, 
Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove. 
The river here divides the flying train, 
Part to the town fly diverse o'er the plain, 
Where late their troops triumphant bore the fight, 
Now chased, and trembling in ignoble flight: 
(These with a gathered mist Saturnia shrouds, 
And rolls behind the rout a heap of clouds:) 
Part plunge into the stream: old Xanthus roars, 
The flashing billows beat the whiten'd shores: 
With cries promiscuous all the banks resound, 
[375] And here, and there, in eddies whirling round, 

The flouncing steeds and shrieking warriors drown'd. 

As the scorch'd locusts from their fields retire, 

While fast behind them runs the blaze of fire; 

Driven from the land before the smoky cloud, 

The clustering legions rush into the flood: 

So, plunged in Xanthus by Achilles' force, 

Roars the resounding surge with men and horse. 

His bloody lance the hero casts aside, 

(Which spreading tamarisks on the margin hide,) 

Then, like a god, the rapid billows braves, 

Arm'd with his sword, high brandish'd o'er the waves: 

Now down he plunges, now he whirls it round, 

Deep groan'd the waters with the dying sound; 

Repeated wounds the reddening river dyed, 

And the warm purple circled on the tide. 

Swift through the foamy flood the Trojans fly, 

And close in rocks or winding caverns lie: 

So the huge dolphin tempesting the main, 

In shoals before him fly the scaly train, 

Confusedly heap'd they seek their inmost caves, 



BOOK XXI. 



617 



Or pant and heave beneath the floating waves. 
Now, tired with slaughter, from the Trojan band 
Twelve chosen youths he drags alive to land; 
With their rich belts their captive arms restrains 
(Late their proud ornaments, but now their chains). 
These his attendants to the ships convey'd, 
Sad victims destined to Patroclus' shade; 

Then, as once more he plunged amid the flood, 

The young Lycaon in his passage stood; 

The son of Priam; whom the hero's hand 

But late made captive in his father's land 

(As from a sycamore, his sounding steel 

Lopp'd the green arms to spoke a chariot wheel) 

To Lemnos' isle he sold the royal slave, 

Where Jason's son the price demanded gave; 

But kind Eetion, touching on the shore, 

The ransom'd prince to fair Arisbe bore. 

Ten days were past, since in his father's reign 

He felt the sweets of liberty again; 

The next, that god whom men in vain withstand 

Gives the same youth to the same conquering hand 

Now never to return! and doom'd to go 

A sadder journey to the shades below. 

His well-known face when great Achilles eyed, 

(The helm and visor he had cast aside 

With wild affright, and dropp'd upon the field 

His useless lance and unavailing shield,) 

As trembling, panting, from the stream he fled, 

And knock'd his faltering knees, the hero said. 

"Ye mighty gods ! what wonders strike my view ! [376] 

Is it in vain our conquering arms subdue? 

Sure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill'd 

Rise from the shades, and brave me on the field; 



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As now the captive, whom so late I bound 
And sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground! 
Not him the sea's unmeasured deeps detain, 
That bar such numbers from their native plain; 
Lo! he returns. Try, then, my flying spear! 
Try, if the grave can hold the wanderer; 
If earth, at length this active prince can seize, 
Earth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules." 

Thus while he spoke, the Trojan pale with fears 

Approach'd, and sought his knees with suppliant tears 

Loth as he was to yield his youthful breath, 

And his soul shivering at the approach of death. 

Achilles raised the spear, prepared to wound; 

He kiss'd his feet, extended on the ground: 

And while, above, the spear suspended stood, 

Longing to dip its thirsty point in blood, 

One hand embraced them close, one stopp'd the dart, 

While thus these melting words attempt his heart: 

"Thy well-known captive, great Achilles! see, 

Once more Lycaon trembles at thy knee. 

Some pity to a suppliant's name afford, 

Who shared the gifts of Ceres at thy board; 

Whom late thy conquering arm to Lemnos bore, 

Far from his father, friends, and native shore; 

A hundred oxen were his price that day, 

Now sums immense thy mercy shall repay. 

Scarce respited from woes I yet appear, 

And scarce twelve morning suns have seen me here; 

Lo! Jove again submits me to thy hands, 

Again, her victim cruel Fate demands ! 

I sprang from Priam, and Laothoe fair, 

(Old Altes' daughter, and Lelegia's heir; 



BOOK XXI. 



619 



Who held in Pedasus his famed abode, 

And ruled the fields where silver Satnio flow'd,) 

Two sons (alas! unhappy sons) she bore; 

For ah! one spear shall drink each brother's gore, 

And I succeed to slaughter'd Polydore. 

How from that arm of terror shall I fly? 

Some demon urges! 'tis my doom to die! 

If ever yet soft pity touch'd thy mind, 

Ah! think not me too much of Hector's kind! 

Not the same mother gave thy suppliant breath, 

With his, who wrought thy loved Patroclus' death." 

These words, attended with a shower of tears, 
The youth address'd to unrelenting ears: 
"Talk not of life, or ransom (he replies): 

Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies: [377] 

In vain a single Trojan sues for grace; 

But least, the sons of Priam's hateful race. 

Die then, my friend! what boots it to deplore? 

The great, the good Patroclus is no more! 

He, far thy better, was foredoom'd to die, 

And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? 

Seest thou not me, whom nature's gifts adorn, 

Sprung from a hero, from a goddess born? 

The day shall come (which nothing can avert) 

When by the spear, the arrow, or the dart, 

By night, or day, by force, or by design, 

Impending death and certain fate are mine! 

Die then," — He said; and as the word he spoke, 

The fainting stripling sank before the stroke: 

His hand forgot its grasp, and left the spear, 

While all his trembling frame confess'd his fear: 

Sudden, Achilles his broad sword display'd, 

And buried in his neck the reeking blade. 



620 



The Iliad of Homer 



Prone fell the youth; and panting on the land, 
The gushing purple dyed the thirsty sand. 
The victor to the stream the carcase gave, 
And thus insults him, floating on the wave: 

"Lie there, Lycaon! let the fish surround 
Thy bloated corpse, and suck thy gory wound: 
There no sad mother shall thy funerals weep, 
But swift Scamander roll thee to the deep, 
Whose every wave some watery monster brings, 
To feast unpunish'd on the fat of kings. 
So perish Troy, and all the Trojan line! 
Such ruin theirs, and such compassion mine. 
What boots ye now Scamander's worshipp'd stream, 
His earthly honours, and immortal name? 
In vain your immolated bulls are slain, 
Your living coursers glut his gulfs in vain! 
Thus he rewards you, with this bitter fate; 
Thus, till the Grecian vengeance is complete: 
Thus is atoned Patroclus' honour'd shade, 
And the short absence of Achilles paid." 

These boastful words provoked the raging god; 
With fury swells the violated flood. 
What means divine may yet the power employ 
To check Achilles, and to rescue Troy? 
Meanwhile the hero springs in arms, to dare 
The great Asteropeus to mortal war; 
The son of Pelagon, whose lofty line 
Flows from the source of Axius, stream divine! 
(Fair Peribaea's love the god had crown'd, 
With all his refluent waters circled round:) 
On him Achilles rush'd; he fearless stood, 
[378] And shook two spears, advancing from the flood; 



BOOK XXI. 



The flood impell'd him, on Pelides' head 

To avenge his waters choked with heaps of dead. 

Near as they drew, Achilles thus began: 

"What art thou, boldest of the race of man? 
Who, or from whence? Unhappy is the sire 
Whose son encounters our resistless ire." 

"O son of Peleus ! what avails to trace 
(Replied the warrior) our illustrious race? 
From rich Paeonia's valleys I command, 
Arm'd with protended spears, my native band; 
Now shines the tenth bright morning since I came 
In aid of Ilion to the fields of fame: 
Axius, who swells with all the neighbouring rills, 
And wide around the floated region fills, 
Begot my sire, whose spear much glory won: 
Now lift thy arm, and try that hero's son!" 

Threatening he said: the hostile chiefs advance; 

At once Asteropeus discharged each lance, 

(For both his dexterous hands the lance could wield,) 

One struck, but pierced not, the Vulcanian shield; 

One razed Achilles' hand; the spouting blood 

Spun forth; in earth the fasten'd weapon stood. 

Like lightning next the Pelean javelin flies: 

Its erring fury hiss'd along the skies; 

Deep in the swelling bank was driven the spear, 

Even to the middle earth; and quiver'd there. 

Then from his side the sword Pelides drew, 

And on his foe with double fury flew. 

The foe thrice tugg'd, and shook the rooted wood; 

Repulsive of his might the weapon stood: 

The fourth, he tries to break the spear in vain; 

Bent as he stands, he tumbles to the plain; 



622 



The Iliad of Homer 



His belly open'd with a ghastly wound, 
The reeking entrails pour upon the ground. 
Beneath the hero's feet he panting lies, 
And his eye darkens, and his spirit flies; 
While the proud victor thus triumphing said, 
His radiant armour tearing from the dead: 

"So ends thy glory! Such the fate they prove, 
Who strive presumptuous with the sons of Jove! 
Sprung from a river, didst thou boast thy line? 
But great Saturnius is the source of mine. 
How durst thou vaunt thy watery progeny? 
Of Peleus, iEacus, and Jove, am I. 
The race of these superior far to those, 
As he that thunders to the stream that flows. 
What rivers can, Scamander might have shown; 
But Jove he dreads, nor wars against his son. 
Even Achelous might contend in vain, 
[379] And all the roaring billows of the main. 

The eternal ocean, from whose fountains flow 
The seas, the rivers, and the springs below, 
The thundering voice of Jove abhors to hear, 
And in his deep abysses shakes with fear. " 

He said: then from the bank his javelin tore, 

And left the breathless warrior in his gore. 

The floating tides the bloody carcase lave, 

And beat against it, wave succeeding wave; 

Till, roll'd between the banks, it lies the food 

Of curling eels, and fishes of the flood. 

All scatter'd round the stream (their mightiest slain) 

The amazed Paeonians scour along the plain; 

He vents his fury on the flying crew, 

Thrasius, Astyplus, and Mnesus slew; 



BOOK XXI. 



623 



Mydon, Thersilochus, with ^Enius, fell; 
And numbers more his lance had plunged to hell, 
But from the bottom of his gulfs profound 
Scamander spoke; the shores return'd the sound. 

"O first of mortals! (for the gods are thine) 

In valour matchless, and in force divine! 

If Jove have given thee every Trojan head, 

'Tis not on me thy rage should heap the dead. 

See! my choked streams no more their course can keep, 

Nor roll their wonted tribute to the deep. 

Turn then, impetuous! from our injured flood; 

Content, thy slaughters could amaze a god. " 

In human form, confess'd before his eyes, 
The river thus; and thus the chief replies: 
"O sacred stream! thy word we shall obey; 
But not till Troy the destined vengeance pay, 
Not till within her towers the perjured train 
Shall pant, and tremble at our arms again; 
Not till proud Hector, guardian of her wall, 
Or stain this lance, or see Achilles fall. " 

He said; and drove with fury on the foe. 
Then to the godhead of the silver bow 
The yellow flood began: "O son of Jove! 
Was not the mandate of the sire above 
Full and express, that Phoebus should employ 
His sacred arrows in defence of Troy, 
And make her conquer, till Hyperion's fall 
In awful darkness hide the face of all?" 



624 



The Iliad of Homer 



He spoke in vain — The chief without dismay 

Ploughs through the boiling surge his desperate way. 

Then rising in his rage above the shores, 

From all his deep the bellowing river roars, 

Huge heaps of slain disgorges on the coast, 

And round the banks the ghastly dead are toss'd. 

While all before, the billows ranged on high, 

(A watery bulwark,) screen the bands who fly. 

Now bursting on his head with thundering sound, 

The falling deluge whelms the hero round: 

His loaded shield bends to the rushing tide; 

His feet, upborne, scarce the strong flood divide, 

Sliddering, and staggering. On the border stood 

A spreading elm, that overhung the flood; 

He seized a bending bough, his steps to stay; 

The plant uprooted to his weight gave way. 270 

Heaving the bank, and undermining all; 

Loud flash the waters to the rushing fall 

Of the thick foliage. The large trunk display'd 

Bridged the rough flood across: the hero stay'd 

On this his weight, and raised upon his hand, 

Leap'd from the channel, and regain'd the land. 

Then blacken'd the wild waves: the murmur rose: 

The god pursues, a huger billow throws, 

And bursts the bank, ambitious to destroy 

The man whose fury is the fate of Troy. 

He like the warlike eagle speeds his pace 

(Swiftest and strongest of the aerial race); 

Far as a spear can fly, Achilles springs; 

At every bound his clanging armour rings: 

Now here, now there, he turns on every side, 



Wood has observed, that "the circumstance of a falling tree, which is 
described as reaching from one of its banks to the other, affords a very just 
idea of the breadth of the Scamander." 



BOOK XXI. 



625 



And winds his course before the following tide; 

The waves flow after, wheresoe'er he wheels, 

And gather fast, and murmur at his heels. 

So when a peasant to his garden brings 

Soft rills of water from the bubbling springs, 

And calls the floods from high, to bless his bowers, 

And feed with pregnant streams the plants and flowers: 

Soon as he clears whate'er their passage stay'd, 

And marks the future current with his spade, 

Swift o'er the rolling pebbles, down the hills, 

Louder and louder purl the falling rills; 

Before him scattering, they prevent his pains, 

And shine in mazy wanderings o'er the plains. 



Still flies Achilles, but before his eyes 
Still swift Scamander rolls where'er he flies: 
Not all his speed escapes the rapid floods; 
The first of men, but not a match for gods. 
Oft as he turn'd the torrent to oppose, 
And bravely try if all the powers were foes; 
So oft the surge, in watery mountains spread, 
Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head. 
Yet dauntless still the adverse flood he braves, 
And still indignant bounds above the waves. 

Tired by the tides, his knees relax with toil; [381] 
Wash'd from beneath him slides the slimy soil; 
When thus (his eyes on heaven's expansion thrown) 
Forth bursts the hero with an angry groan: 



626 



The Iliad of Homer 



"Is there no god Achilles to befriend, 

No power to avert his miserable end? 

Prevent, O Jove! this ignominious date, 271 

And make my future life the sport of fate. 

Of all heaven's oracles believed in vain, 

But most of Thetis must her son complain; 

By Phoebus' darts she prophesied my fall, 

In glorious arms before the Trojan wall. 

Oh! had I died in fields of battle warm, 

Stretch'd like a hero, by a hero's arm! 

Might Hector's spear this dauntless bosom rend, 

And my swift soul o'ertake my slaughter'd friend. 

Ah no! Achilles meets a shameful fate, 

Oh how unworthy of the brave and great! 

Like some vile swain, whom on a rainy day, 

Crossing a ford, the torrent sweeps away, 

An unregarded carcase to the sea. " 

Neptune and Pallas haste to his relief, 

And thus in human form address'd the chief: 

The power of ocean first: "Forbear thy fear, 

O son of Peleus! Lo, thy gods appear! 

Behold! from Jove descending to thy aid, 

Propitious Neptune, and the blue-eyed maid. 

Stay, and the furious flood shall cease to rave 

'Tis not thy fate to glut his angry wave. 

But thou, the counsel heaven suggests, attend! 

Nor breathe from combat, nor thy sword suspend, 

Till Troy receive her flying sons, till all 

Her routed squadrons pant behind their wall: 

Hector alone shall stand his fatal chance, 

And Hector's blood shall smoke upon thy lance. 



— Ignominious. Drowning, as compared with a death in the field of battle, 
was considered utterly disgraceful. 



BOOK XXI. 



627 



Thine is the glory doom'd." Thus spake the gods: 
Then swift ascended to the bright abodes. 

Stung with new ardour, thus by heaven impell'd, 
He springs impetuous, and invades the field: 
O'er all the expanded plain the waters spread; 
Heaved on the bounding billows danced the dead, 
Floating 'midst scatter'd arms; while casques of gold 
And turn'd-up bucklers glitter'd as they roll'd. 
High o'er the surging tide, by leaps and bounds, 
He wades, and mounts; the parted wave resounds. 
Not a whole river stops the hero's course, 
While Pallas fills him with immortal force. 
With equal rage, indignant Xanthus roars, 
And lifts his billows, and o'erwhelms his shores. 

[382] 

Then thus to Simois! "Haste, my brother flood; 
And check this mortal that controls a god; 
Our bravest heroes else shall quit the fight, 
And Ilion tumble from her towery height. 
Call then thy subject streams, and bid them roar, 
From all thy fountains swell thy watery store, 
With broken rocks, and with a load of dead, 
Charge the black surge, and pour it on his head. 
Mark how resistless through the floods he goes, 
And boldly bids the warring gods be foes ! 
But nor that force, nor form divine to sight, 
Shall aught avail him, if our rage unite: 
Whelm'd under our dark gulfs those arms shall lie, 
That blaze so dreadful in each Trojan eye; 
And deep beneath a sandy mountain hurl'd, 
Immersed remain this terror of the world. 
Such ponderous ruin shall confound the place, 
No Greeks shall e'er his perish'd relics grace, 



628 



The Iliad of Homer 



No hand his bones shall gather, or inhume; 
These his cold rites, and this his watery tomb." 




ACHILLES CONTENDING WITH THE RIVERS. 



He said; and on the chief descends amain, 
Increased with gore, and swelling with the slain. 
Then, murmuring from his beds, he boils, he raves, 
And a foam whitens on the purple waves: 
At every step, before Achilles stood 
The crimson surge, and deluged him with blood. 
Fear touch'd the queen of heaven: she saw dismay'd, 
She call'd aloud, and summon'd Vulcan's aid. 



BOOK XXI. 



629 



"Rise to the war! the insulting flood requires 
Thy wasteful arm! assemble all thy fires! 
While to their aid, by our command enjoin'd, 
Rush the swift eastern and the western wind: 
These from old ocean at my word shall blow, 
Pour the red torrent on the watery foe, 
Corses and arms to one bright ruin turn, 
And hissing rivers to their bottoms burn. 
Go, mighty in thy rage! display thy power, 
Drink the whole flood, the crackling trees devour. 
Scorch all the banks! and (till our voice reclaim) 
Exert the unwearied furies of the flame!" 

The power ignipotent her word obeys: 
Wide o'er the plain he pours the boundless blaze; 
At once consumes the dead, and dries the soil 
And the shrunk waters in their channel boil. 
As when autumnal Boreas sweeps the sky, 
And instant blows the water'd gardens dry: 
So look'd the field, so whiten'd was the ground, 
While Vulcan breathed the fiery blast around. 
Swift on the sedgy reeds the ruin preys; 
Along the margin winds the running blaze: 
The trees in flaming rows to ashes turn, 
The flowering lotos and the tamarisk burn, 
Broad elm, and cypress rising in a spire; 
The watery willows hiss before the fire. 
Now glow the waves, the fishes pant for breath, 
The eels lie twisting in the pangs of death: 
Now flounce aloft, now dive the scaly fry, 
Or, gasping, turn their bellies to the sky. 
At length the river rear'd his languid head, 
And thus, short-panting, to the god he said: 



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The Iliad of Homer 



"Oh Vulcan! oh! what power resists thy might? 
I faint, I sink, unequal to the fight — 
I yield — Let Ilion fall; if fate decree — 
Ah — bend no more thy fiery arms on me!" 

He ceased; wide conflagration blazing round; 
The bubbling waters yield a hissing sound. 
As when the flames beneath a cauldron rise, 272 
To melt the fat of some rich sacrifice, 
Amid the fierce embrace of circling fires 
The waters foam, the heavy smoke aspires: 
So boils the imprison'd flood, forbid to flow, 
And choked with vapours feels his bottom glow. 
[384] To Juno then, imperial queen of air, 

The burning river sends his earnest prayer: 

"Ah why, Saturnia; must thy son engage 

Me, only me, with all his wasteful rage? 

On other gods his dreadful arm employ, 

For mightier gods assert the cause of Troy. 

Submissive I desist, if thou command; 

But ah! withdraw this all-destroying hand. 

Hear then my solemn oath, to yield to fate 

Unaided Ilion, and her destined state, 

Till Greece shall gird her with destructive flame, 

And in one ruin sink the Trojan name." 



- — Beneath a caldron. 

"So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries, 
The bubbling waters from the bottom rise. 
Above the brims they force their fiery way; 
Black vapours climb aloft, and cloud the day." 

Dryden's Virgil, vii. 644. 



BOOK XXI. 



His warm entreaty touch'd Saturnia's ear: 
She bade the ignipotent his rage forbear, 
Recall the flame, nor in a mortal cause 
Infest a god: the obedient flame withdraws: 
Again the branching streams begin to spread, 
And soft remurmur in their wonted bed. 



While these by Juno's will the strife resign, 
The warring gods in fierce contention join: 
Rekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms: 
With horrid clangour shock the ethereal arms: 
Heaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound; 
And wide beneath them groans the rending ground. 
Jove, as his sport, the dreadful scene descries, 
And views contending gods with careless eyes. 
The power of battles lifts his brazen spear, 
And first assaults the radiant queen of war: 



"What moved thy madness, thus to disunite 
Ethereal minds, and mix all heaven in fight? 
What wonder this, when in thy frantic mood 
Thou drovest a mortal to insult a god? 
Thy impious hand Tydides' javelin bore, 
And madly bathed it in celestial gore. " 



He spoke, and smote the long-resounding shield, 
Which bears Jove's thunder on its dreadful field: 
The adamantine aegis of her sire, 
That turns the glancing bolt and forked fire. 



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Then heaved the goddess in her mighty hand 
A stone, the limit of the neighbouring land, 
There fix'd from eldest times; black, craggy, vast; 
This at the heavenly homicide she cast. 
Thundering he falls, a mass of monstrous size: 
And seven broad acres covers as he lies. 
The stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound: 
Loud o'er the fields his ringing arms resound: 
The scornful dame her conquest views with smiles, 
And, glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles: 

"Hast thou not yet, insatiate fury! known 
How far Minerva's force transcends thy own? 
[385] Juno, whom thou rebellious darest withstand, 

Corrects thy folly thus by Pallas' hand; 
Thus meets thy broken faith with just disgrace, 
And partial aid to Troy's perfidious race. " 

The goddess spoke, and turn'd her eyes away, 
That, beaming round, diffused celestial day. 
Jove's Cyprian daughter, stooping on the land, 
Lent to the wounded god her tender hand: 
Slowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain, 
And, propp'd on her fair arm, forsakes the plain. 
This the bright empress of the heavens survey'd, 
And, scoffing, thus to war's victorious maid: 

"Lo! what an aid on Mars's side is seen! 
The smiles' and loves' unconquerable queen! 
Mark with what insolence, in open view, 
She moves: let Pallas, if she dares, pursue." 



BOOK XXI. 



633 



Minerva smiling heard, the pair o'ertook, 

And slightly on her breast the wanton strook: 

She, unresisting, fell (her spirits fled); 

On earth together lay the lovers spread. 

"And like these heroes be the fate of all 

(Minerva cries) who guard the Trojan wall! 

To Grecian gods such let the Phrygian be, 

So dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me; 

Then from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved." 

Thus she, and Juno with a smile approved. 



Meantime, to mix in more than mortal fight, 

The god of ocean dares the god of light. 

"What sloth has seized us, when the fields around 

Ring with conflicting powers, and heaven returns the sound: 

Shall, ignominious, we with shame retire, 

No deed perform'd, to our Olympian sire? 

Come, prove thy arm! for first the war to wage, 

Suits not my greatness, or superior age: 

Rash as thou art to prop the Trojan throne, 

(Forgetful of my wrongs, and of thy own,) 

And guard the race of proud Laomedon! 

Hast thou forgot, how, at the monarch's prayer, 

We shared the lengthen'd labours of a year? 

Troy walls I raised (for such were Jove's commands), 

And yon proud bulwarks grew beneath my hands: 

Thy task it was to feed the bellowing droves 

Along fair Ida's vales and pendant groves. 

But when the circling seasons in their train 

Brought back the grateful day that crown'd our pain, 

With menace stern the fraudful king defied 

Our latent godhead, and the prize denied: 

Mad as he was, he threaten'd servile bands, 



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[386] And doom'd us exiles far in barbarous lands. 

Incensed, we heavenward fled with swiftest wing, 
And destined vengeance on the perjured king. 
Dost thou, for this, afford proud Ilion grace, 
And not, like us, infest the faithless race; 
Like us, their present, future sons destroy, 
And from its deep foundations heave their Troy?" 

Apollo thus: "To combat for mankind 
111 suits the wisdom of celestial mind; 
For what is man? Calamitous by birth, 
They owe their life and nourishment to earth; 
Like yearly leaves, that now, with beauty crown'd, 
Smile on the sun; now, wither on the ground. 
To their own hands commit the frantic scene, 
Nor mix immortals in a cause so mean." 

Then turns his face, far-beaming heavenly fires, 
And from the senior power submiss retires: 
Him thus retreating, Artemis upbraids, 
The quiver'd huntress of the sylvan shades: 

"And is it thus the youthful Phoebus flies, 

And yields to ocean's hoary sire the prize? 

How vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show 

Of pointed arrows and the silver bow! 

Now boast no more in yon celestial bower, 

Thy force can match the great earth-shaking power." 



"This tale of the temporary servitude of particular gods, by order of Jove, as 
a punishment for misbehaviour, recurs not unfrequently among the incidents 
of the Mythical world." — Grote, vol. i. p. 156. 



BOOK XXI. 



635 



Silent he heard the queen of woods upbraid: 

Not so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid: 

But furious thus: "What insolence has driven 

Thy pride to face the majesty of heaven? 

What though by Jove the female plague design'd, 

Fierce to the feeble race of womankind, 

The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart; 

Thy sex's tyrant, with a tiger's heart? 

What though tremendous in the woodland chase 

Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race? 

How dares thy rashness on the powers divine 

Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine? 

Learn hence, no more unequal war to wage — " 

She said, and seized her wrists with eager rage; 

These in her left hand lock'd, her right untied 

The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride. 

About her temples flies the busy bow; 

Now here, now there, she winds her from the blow; 

The scattering arrows, rattling from the case, 

Drop round, and idly mark the dusty place. 

Swift from the field the baffled huntress flies, 

And scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes: 

So, when the falcon wings her way above, 

To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove; 

(Not fated yet to die;) there safe retreats, 

Yet still her heart against the marble beats. 

To her Latona hastes with tender care; [387] 

Whom Hermes viewing, thus declines the war: 

"How shall I face the dame, who gives delight 

To him whose thunders blacken heaven with night? 

Go, matchless goddess! triumph in the skies, 

And boast my conquest, while I yield the prize." 



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He spoke; and pass'd: Latona, stooping low, 
Collects the scatter'd shafts and fallen bow, 
That, glittering on the dust, lay here and there 
Dishonour'd relics of Diana's war: 
Then swift pursued her to her blest abode, 
Where, all confused, she sought the sovereign god; 
Weeping, she grasp'd his knees: the ambrosial vest 
Shook with her sighs, and panted on her breast. 

The sire superior smiled, and bade her show 
What heavenly hand had caused his daughter's woe? 
Abash'd, she names his own imperial spouse; 
And the pale crescent fades upon her brows. 

Thus they above: while, swiftly gliding down, 
Apollo enters Ilion's sacred town; 
The guardian-god now trembled for her wall, 
And fear'd the Greeks, though fate forbade her fall. 
Back to Olympus, from the war's alarms, 
Return the shining bands of gods in arms; 
Some proud in triumph, some with rage on fire; 
And take their thrones around the ethereal sire. 

Through blood, through death, Achilles still proceeds, 

O'er slaughter'd heroes, and o'er rolling steeds. 

As when avenging flames with fury driven 

On guilty towns exert the wrath of heaven; 

The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly; 

And the red vapours purple all the sky: 

So raged Achilles: death and dire dismay, 

And toils, and terrors, fill'd the dreadful day. 



BOOK XXI. 



637 



High on a turret hoary Priam stands, 

And marks the waste of his destructive hands; 

Views, from his arm, the Trojans' scatter'd flight, 

And the near hero rising on his sight! 

No stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace, 

And settled sorrow on his aged face, 

Fast as he could, he sighing quits the walls; 

And thus descending, on the guards he calls: 

"You to whose care our city-gates belong, 

Set wide your portals to the flying throng: 

For lo! he comes, with unresisted sway; 

He comes, and desolation marks his way ! 

But when within the walls our troops take breath, 

Lock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death." 

Thus charged the reverend monarch: wide were flung 

The opening folds; the sounding hinges rung. 

Phoebus rush'd forth, the flying bands to meet; [388] 

Struck slaughter back, and cover'd the retreat, 

On heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate, 

And gladsome see their last escape from fate. 

Thither, all parch'd with thirst, a heartless train, 

Hoary with dust, they beat the hollow plain: 

And gasping, panting, fainting, labour on 

With heavier strides, that lengthen toward the town. 

Enraged Achilles follows with his spear; 

Wild with revenge, insatiable of war. 

Then had the Greeks eternal praise acquired, 
And Troy inglorious to her walls retired; 
But he, the god who darts ethereal flame, 
Shot down to save her, and redeem her fame: 
To young Agenor force divine he gave; 
(Antenor's offspring, haughty, bold, and brave;) 



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In aid of him, beside the beech he sate, 
And wrapt in clouds, restrain'd the hand of fate. 
When now the generous youth Achilles spies. 
Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise. 
(So, ere a storm, the waters heave and roll.) 
He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul; 



"What, shall I fly this terror of the plain! 
Like others fly, and be like others slain? 
Vain hope! to shun him by the self-same road 
Yon line of slaughter'd Trojans lately trod. 
No: with the common heap I scorn to fall — 
What if they pass'd me to the Trojan wall, 
While I decline to yonder path, that leads 
To Ida's forests and surrounding shades? 
So may I reach, conceal'd, the cooling flood, 
From my tired body wash the dirt and blood, 
As soon as night her dusky veil extends, 
Return in safety to my Trojan friends. 
What if? — But wherefore all this vain debate? 
Stand I to doubt, within the reach of fate? 
Even now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall, 
The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall: 
Such is his swiftness, 'tis in vain to fly, 
And such his valour, that who stands must die. 
Howe'er 'tis better, fighting for the state, 
Here, and in public view, to meet my fate. 
Yet sure he too is mortal; he may feel 
(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel. 
One only soul informs that dreadful frame: 
And Jove's sole favour gives him all his fame." 



BOOK XXI. 



639 



He said, and stood, collected, in his might; 
And all his beating bosom claim'd the fight. 
So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts, 
Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts: 

Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds [389] 

Of shouting hunters, and of clamorous hounds; 

Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives the pain; 

And the barb'd javelin stings his breast in vain: 

On their whole war, untamed, the savage flies; 

And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies. 

Not less resolved, Antenor's valiant heir 

Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war, 

Disdainful of retreat: high held before, 

His shield (a broad circumference) he bore; 

Then graceful as he stood, in act to throw 

The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe: 

"How proud Achilles glories in his fame! 
And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name 
Beneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain; 
A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain. 
Parents and children our just arms employ, 
And strong and many are the sons of Troy. 
Great as thou art, even thou may'st stain with gore 
These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore." 

He said: with matchless force the javelin flung 
Smote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung 
Beneath the pointed steel; but safe from harms 
He stands impassive in the ethereal arms. 
Then fiercely rushing on the daring foe, 
His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow: 
But, jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds 
The god-like Trojan in a veil of clouds. 



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Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view, 

Dismiss'd with fame, the favoured youth withdrew. 

Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape, 

Assumes Agenor's habit, voice and shape, 

Flies from the furious chief in this disguise; 

The furious chief still follows where he flies. 

Now o'er the fields they stretch with lengthen'd strides, 

Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides: 

The god, now distant scarce a stride before, 

Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore; 

While all the flying troops their speed employ, 

And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy: 

No stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell, 

Who 'scaped by flight, or who by battle fell. 

'Twas tumult all, and violence of flight; 

And sudden joy confused, and mix'd affright. 

Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate: 

And nations breathe, deliver'd from their fate. 



[390] 



BOOK XXII. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 

The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to 
oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to 
persuade his son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, 
but in vain. Hector consults within himself what measures to 
take; but at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and 
he flies. Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. 
The gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva 
descends to the aid of Achilles. She deludes Hector in the shape 
of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles drags 
the dead body at his chariot in the sight of Priam and Hecuba. 
Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries reach the ears 
of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner 
part of the palace: she mounts up to the walls, and beholds her 
dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief 
and lamentation. 

The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the 
walls, and on the battlements of Troy. 

Thus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear, 
The herded Ilians rush like driven deer: 
There safe they wipe the briny drops away, 
And drown in bowls the labours of the day. 
Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields 
Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields, 
March, bending on, the Greeks' embodied powers, 



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Far stretching in the shade of Trojan towers. 
Great Hector singly stay'd: chain'd down by fate 
There fix'd he stood before the Scaean gate; 
Still his bold arms determined to employ, 
The guardian still of long-defended Troy. 



Apollo now to tired Achilles turns: 
(The power confess'd in all his glory burns:) 
'And what (he cries) has Peleus' son in view, 
With mortal speed a godhead to pursue? 
For not to thee to know the gods is given, 
Unskill'd to trace the latent marks of heaven. 
What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain? 
[391] Vain thy past labour, and thy present vain: 

Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow'd, 
While here thy frantic rage attacks a god." 



The chief incensed — "Too partial god of day! 
To check my conquests in the middle way: 
How few in Ilion else had refuge found! 
What gasping numbers now had bit the ground! 
Thou robb'st me of a glory justly mine, 
Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine: 
Mean fame, alas ! for one of heavenly strain, 
To cheat a mortal who repines in vain." 



BOOK XXII. 



643 



Then to the city, terrible and strong, 

With high and haughty steps he tower'd along, 

So the proud courser, victor of the prize, 

To the near goal with double ardour flies. 

Him, as he blazing shot across the field, 

The careful eyes of Priam first beheld. 

Not half so dreadful rises to the sight, 274 

Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night, 

Orion's dog (the year when autumn weighs), 

And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays; 

Terrific glory ! for his burning breath 

Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death. 

So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage: 

He strikes his reverend head, now white with age; 

He lifts his wither'd arms; obtests the skies; 

He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries: 

The son, resolved Achilles' force to dare, 

Full at the Scaean gates expects the war; 

While the sad father on the rampart stands, 

And thus adjures him with extended hands: 

"Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone; 
Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son! 
Methinks already I behold thee slain, 
And stretch'd beneath that fury of the plain. 
Implacable Achilles ! might'st thou be 

' — Not half so dreadful. 

"On the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd, 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war." 

—Paradise Lost," xi. 708. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



To all the gods no dearer than to me! 
Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore. 
And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore. 
How many valiant sons I late enjoy'd, 
Valiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy 'd: 
Or, worse than slaughtered, sold in distant isles 
To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils. 
Two, while I speak, my eyes in vain explore, 
[392] Two from one mother sprung, my Polydore, 

And loved Lycaon; now perhaps no more! 
Oh! if in yonder hostile camp they live, 
What heaps of gold, what treasures would I give ! 
(Their grandsire's wealth, by right of birth their own, 
Consign'd his daughter with Lelegia's throne:) 
But if (which Heaven forbid) already lost, 
All pale they wander on the Stygian coast; 
What sorrows then must their sad mother know, 
What anguish I? unutterable woe ! 
Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me, 
Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee. 
Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall; 
And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all! 
Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave 
Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save. 
Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs; 
While yet thy father feels the woes he bears, 
Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage 
(All trembling on the verge of helpless age) 
Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain! 
The bitter dregs of fortune's cup to drain: 
To fill with scenes of death his closing eyes, 
And number all his days by miseries ! 
My heroes slain, my bridal bed o'erturn'd, 
My daughters ravish'd, and my city burn'd, 



BOOK XXII. 



645 



My bleeding infants dash'd against the floor; 

These I have yet to see, perhaps yet more! 

Perhaps even I, reserved by angry fate, 

The last sad relic of my ruin'd state, 

(Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!) must fall, 

And stain the pavement of my regal hall; 

Where famish'd dogs, late guardians of my door, 

Shall lick their mangled master's spatter'd gore. 

Yet for my sons I thank ye, gods! 'tis well; 

Well have they perish'd, for in fight they fell. 

Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best, 

Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast. 

But when the fates, in fulness of their rage, 

Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age, 

In dust the reverend lineaments deform, 

And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm: 

This, this is misery! the last, the worse, 

That man can feel! man, fated to be cursed!" 

He said, and acting what no words could say, 
Rent from his head the silver locks away. 
With him the mournful mother bears a part; 
Yet all her sorrows turn not Hector's heart. 
The zone unbraced, her bosom she display'd; 
And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said: 

"Have mercy on me, O my son! revere 

The words of age; attend a parent's prayer! 

If ever thee in these fond arms I press'd, 

Or still'd thy infant clamours at this breast; 

Ah do not thus our helpless years forego, 

But, by our walls secured, repel the foe. 

Against his rage if singly thou proceed, 

Should'st thou, (but Heaven avert it!) should'st thou bleed, 



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Nor must thy corse lie honour'd on the bier, 
Nor spouse, nor mother, grace thee with a tear! 
Far from our pious rites those dear remains 
Must feast the vultures on the naked plains." 

So they, while down their cheeks the torrents roll; 
But fix'd remains the purpose of his soul; 
Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance 
Expects the hero's terrible advance. 
So, roll'd up in his den, the swelling snake 
Beholds the traveller approach the brake; 
When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins 
Have gather'd half the poisons of the plains; 
He burns, he stiffens with collected ire, 
And his red eyeballs glare with living fire. 
Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined, 
He stood, and question'd thus his mighty mind: 275 

"Where lies my way? to enter in the wall? 
Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recall: 
Shall proud Polydamas before the gate 
Proclaim, his counsels are obey'd too late, 
Which timely follow'd but the former night, 
What numbers had been saved by Hector's flight? 
That wise advice rejected with disdain, 
I feel my folly in my people slain. 
Methinks my suffering country's voice I hear, 
But most her worthless sons insult my ear, 
On my rash courage charge the chance of war, 
And blame those virtues which they cannot share. 
No — if I e'er return, return I must 
Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust: 
Or if I perish, let her see me fall 



"And thus his own undaunted mind explores." — "Paradise Lost," vi. 1 13. 



BOOK XXII. 



647 



In field at least, and fighting for her wall. 

And yet suppose these measures I forego, 

Approach unarm'd, and parley with the foe, 

The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down. 

And treat on terms of peace to save the town: 

The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain'd 

(Cause of the war, and grievance of the land) 

With honourable justice to restore: 

And add half Ilion's yet remaining store, 

Which Troy shall, sworn, produce; that injured Greece 

May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace. [394] 

But why this thought? Unarm'd if I should go, 

What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe, 

But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow? 

We greet not here, as man conversing man, 

Met at an oak, or journeying o'er a plain; 

No season now for calm familiar talk, 

Like youths and maidens in an evening walk: 

War is our business, but to whom is given 

To die, or triumph, that, determine Heaven!" 

Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh; 

His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; 

The Pelian javelin, in his better hand, 

Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land; 

And on his breast the beamy splendour shone, 

Like Jove's own lightning, or the rising sun. 

As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise, 

Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. 

He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: 

Achilles follows like the winged wind. 

Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies 

(The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), 

Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, 



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Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, 

With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, 

And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: 

No less fore-right the rapid chase they held, 

One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd: 

Now circling round the walls their course maintain, 

Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; 

Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, 

(A wider compass,) smoke along the road. 

Next by Scamander's double source they bound, 

Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; 

This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, 

With exhalations steaming to the skies; 

That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows, 

Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: 

Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, 

Whose polish'd bed receives the falling rills; 

Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece) 

Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace. 276 

By these they pass'd, one chasing, one in flight: 

(The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might:) 

Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, 

No vulgar victim must reward the day: 

(Such as in races crown the speedy strife:) 

The prize contended was great Hector's life. 

As when some hero's funerals are decreed 

In grateful honour of the mighty dead; 

Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame 

(Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) 

The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, 

And with them turns the raised spectator's soul: 



The example of Nausicaa, in the Odyssey, proves that the duties of the 
laundry were not thought derogatory, even from the dignity of a princess, in 
the heroic times. 



BOOK XXII. 



649 



Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly. 
The gazing gods lean forward from the sky; 
To whom, while eager on the chase they look, 
The sire of mortals and immortals spoke: 



"Unworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven, 
Behold, inglorious round yon city driven! 
My heart partakes the generous Hector's pain; 
Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain, 
Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy, 
From Ida's summits, and the towers of Troy: 
Now see him flying; to his fears resign'd, 
And fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind. 
Consult, ye powers ! ('tis worthy your debate) 
Whether to snatch him from impending fate, 
Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain, 
(Good as he is) the lot imposed on man. " 



Then Pallas thus: "Shall he whose vengeance forms 
The forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms, 
Shall he prolong one Trojan's forfeit breath? 
A man, a mortal, pre-ordain'd to death! 
And will no murmurs fill the courts above? 
No gods indignant blame their partial Jove?" 



"Go then (return'd the sire) without delay, 
Exert thy will: I give the Fates their way. 
Swift at the mandate pleased Tritonia flies, 
And stoops impetuous from the cleaving skies. 



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As through the forest, o'er the vale and lawn, 
The well-breath'd beagle drives the flying fawn, 
In vain he tries the covert of the brakes, 
Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes; 
Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews, 
The certain hound his various maze pursues. 
Thus step by step, where'er the Trojan wheel'd, 
There swift Achilles compass'd round the field. 
Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends, 
And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends, 
(Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below, 
From the high turrets might oppress the foe,) 
So oft Achilles turns him to the plain: 
He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain. 
As men in slumbers seem with speedy pace, 
One to pursue, and one to lead the chase, 
Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake, 
[396] Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake: 

No less the labouring heroes pant and strain: 
While that but flies, and this pursues in vain. 



What god, O muse, assisted Hector's force 
With fate itself so long to hold the course? 
Phoebus it was; who, in his latest hour, 
Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power: 
And great Achilles, lest some Greek's advance 
Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance, 
Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way, 
And leave untouch'd the honours of the day. 



BOOK XXII. 



Jove lifts the golden balances, that show 
The fates of mortal men, and things below: 
Here each contending hero's lot he tries, 
And weighs, with equal hand, their destinies. 
Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate; 
Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weig 

Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva flies 
To stern Pelides, and triumphing, cries: 
"O loved of Jove! this day our labours cease, 
And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece. 
Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far, 
Drunk with renown, insatiable of war, 
Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight, 
Shall more avail him, nor his god of light. 
See, where in vain he supplicates above, 
Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove; 
Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on, 
And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun. " 

Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind 
Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined 
While like Deiphobus the martial dame 
(Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same), 
In show an aid, by hapless Hector's side 
Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice belied: 

"Too long, O Hector! have I borne the sight 
Of this distress, and sorrow'd in thy flight: 
It fits us now a noble stand to make, 
And here, as brothers, equal fates partake." 



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The Iliad of Homer 



Then he: "O prince! allied in blood and fame, 
Dearer than all that own a brother's name; 
Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore, 

Long tried, long loved: much loved, but honoured more! 
Since you, of all our numerous race alone 
Defend my life, regardless of your own." 

Again the goddess: "Much my father's prayer, 
And much my mother's, press'd me to forbear: 
My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay, 
But stronger love impell'd, and I obey. 
Come then, the glorious conflict let us try, 
[397] Let the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly; 

Or let us stretch Achilles on the field, 
Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield." 

Fraudful she said; then swiftly march'd before: 
The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more. 
Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke: 
His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke: 

"Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view'd 
Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued. 
But now some god within me bids me try 
Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die. 
Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, 
And for a moment's space suspend the day; 
Let Heaven's high powers be call'd to arbitrate 
The just conditions of this stern debate, 
(Eternal witnesses of all below, 
And faithful guardians of the treasured vow!) 
To them I swear; if, victor in the strife, 
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life, 
No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue; 
Stripp'd of its arms alone (the conqueror's due) 



BOOK XXII. 



The rest to Greece uninjured I'll restore: 
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more." 



"Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies, 
While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes), 
Detested as thou art, and ought to be, 
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee: 
Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine, 
Such leagues as men and furious lions join, 
To such I call the gods ! one constant state 
Of lasting rancour and eternal hate: 
No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife, 
Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life. 
Rouse then thy forces this important hour, 
Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power. 
No further subterfuge, no further chance; 
'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance. 
Each Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath, 
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death. " 



He spoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foe; 

But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow: 

He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear 

Sang innocent, and spent its force in air. 

Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, 

Then drew, and gave to great Achilles' hand, 

Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy, 

Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy. 



654 



The Iliad of Homer 



"The life you boasted to that javelin given, 

Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven, 

To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, 

Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. [398] 

Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, 

And with false terrors sink another's mind. 

But know, whatever fate I am to try, 

By no dishonest wound shall Hector die. 

I shall not fall a fugitive at least, 

My soul shall bravely issue from my breast. 

But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart 

End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart." 

The weapon flew, its course unerring held, 
Unerring, but the heavenly shield repell'd 
The mortal dart; resulting with a bound 
From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground. 
Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain, 
Nor other lance, nor other hope remain; 
He calls Deiphobus, demands a spear — 
In vain, for no Deiphobus was there. 
All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh; 
"Tis so — Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! 
I deem'd Deiphobus had heard my call, 
But he secure lies guarded in the wall. 
A god deceived me; Pallas, 'twas thy deed, 
Death and black fate approach! 'tis I must bleed. 
No refuge now, no succour from above, 
Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove, 
Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate! 
'Tis true I perish, yet I perish great: 
Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire, 
Let future ages hear it, and admire ! " 



BOOK XXII. 



655 



Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew, 
And, all collected, on Achilles flew. 
So Jove's bold bird, high balanced in the air, 
Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare. 
Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares: 
Before his breast the flaming shield he bears, 
Refulgent orb ! above his fourfold cone 
The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun. 
Nodding at every step: (Vulcanian frame!) 
And as he moved, his figure seem'd on flame. 
As radiant Hesper shines with keener light, 277 
Far-beaming o'er the silver host of night, 
When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: 
So shone the point of great Achilles' spear. 
In his right hand he waves the weapon round, 
Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound; 
But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore 
Securely cased the warrior's body o'er. 

One space at length he spies, to let in fate, [399] 

Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate 

Gave entrance: through that penetrable part 

Furious he drove the well-directed dart: 

Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power 

Of speech, unhappy ! from thy dying hour. 

Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, 

While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries: 

"At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, 

Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: 

Then, prince! you should have fear'd, what now you feel; 

' — Hesper shines with keener light. 

"Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 
If better thou belong not to the dawn." 

"Paradise Lost," v. 166. 



656 



The Iliad of Homer 



Achilles absent was Achilles still: 
Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, 
Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. 
Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn'd, 
For ever honour'd, and for ever mourn'd: 
While cast to all the rage of hostile power, 
Thee birds shall mangle, and the gods devour. " 



Then Hector, fainting at the approach of death: 
"By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath! 
By all the sacred prevalence of prayer; 
Ah, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear! 
The common rites of sepulture bestow, 
To soothe a father's and a mother's woe: 
Let their large gifts procure an urn at least, 
And Hector's ashes in his country rest." 



"No, wretch accursed! relentless he replies; 
(Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes;) 
Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare, 
Nor all the sacred prevalence of prayer. 
Could I myself the bloody banquet join! 
No — to the dogs that carcase I resign. 
Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store, 
And giving thousands, offer thousands more; 
Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame, 
Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame: 
Their Hector on the pile they should not see, 
Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee. " 



BOOK XXII. 



657 



Then thus the chief his dying accents drew: 
"Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew: 
The Furies that relentless breast have steel'd, 
And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield. 
Yet think, a day will come, when fate's decree 
And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee; 
Phoebus and Paris shall avenge my fate, 
And stretch thee here before the Scaean gate." 278 

[400] 

He ceased. The Fates suppress'd his labouring breath, 

And his eyes stiffen'd at the hand of death; 

To the dark realm the spirit wings its way, 

(The manly body left a load of clay,) 

And plaintive glides along the dreary coast, 

A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost! 

Achilles, musing as he roll'd his eyes 

O'er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies: 

"Die thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain, 

I follow thee" — He said, and stripp'd the slain. 

Then forcing backward from the gaping wound 

The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground. 

The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes 

His manly beauty and superior size; 

While some, ignobler, the great dead deface 

With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace: 



Such was his fate. After chasing the Trojans into the town, he was slain 
by an arrow from the quiver of Paris, directed under the unerring auspices of 
Apollo. The greatest efforts were made by the Trojans to possess themselves 
of the body, which was however rescued and borne off to the Grecian camp by 
the valour of Ajax and Ulysses. Thetis stole away the body, just as the Greeks 
were about to burn it with funeral honours, and conveyed it away to a renewed 
life of immortality in the isle of Leuke in the Euxine. 



658 



The Iliad of Homer 



"How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late 
Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate!" 

High o'er the slain the great Achilles stands, 
Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands; 
And thus aloud, while all the host attends: 
"Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends! 
Since now at length the powerful will of heaven 
The dire destroyer to our arm has given, 
Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers! 
See, if already their deserted towers 
Are left unmann'd; or if they yet retain 
The souls of heroes, their great Hector slain. 
But what is Troy, or glory what to me? 
Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee, 
Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal'd his eyes; 
Unwept, unhonour'd, uninterr'd he lies ! 
Can his dear image from my soul depart, 
Long as the vital spirit moves my heart? 
If in the melancholy shades below, 
The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow, 
Yet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay'd, 
Burn on through death, and animate my shade. 
Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring 
The corpse of Hector, and your paeans sing. 
Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore, 
"Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more." 

Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred; 
(Unworthy of himself, and of the dead;) 
The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound 
With thongs inserted through the double wound; 
These fix'd up high behind the rolling wain, 
His graceful head was trail'd along the plain. 



BOOK XXII. 



659 



Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, 

And bore aloft his arms, distilling blood. [401] 

He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies; 

The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. 

Now lost is all that formidable air; 

The face divine, and long-descending hair, 

Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand; 

Deform'd, dishonour'd, in his native land, 

Given to the rage of an insulting throng, 

And, in his parents' sight, now dragg'd along! 

The mother first beheld with sad survey; 

She rent her tresses, venerable grey, 

And cast, far off, the regal veils away. 

With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans, 

While the sad father answers groans with groans 

Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, 

And the whole city wears one face of woe: 

No less than if the rage of hostile fires. 

From her foundations curling to her spires, 

O'er the proud citadel at length should rise, 

And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies. 

The wretched monarch of the falling state, 

Distracted, presses to the Dardan gate. 

Scarce the whole people stop his desperate course, 

While strong affliction gives the feeble force: 

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, 

In all the raging impotence of woe. 

At length he roll'd in dust, and thus begun, 

Imploring all, and naming one by one: 

"Ah! let me, let me go where sorrow calls; 

I, only I, will issue from your walls 

(Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none), 

And bow before the murderer of my son. 



660 



The Iliad of Homer 



My grief perhaps his pity may engage; 
Perhaps at least he may respect my age. 
He has a father too; a man like me; 
One, not exempt from age and misery 
(Vigorous no more, as when his young embrace 
Begot this pest of me, and all my race). 
How many valiant sons, in early bloom, 
Has that cursed hand send headlong to the tomb ! 
Thee, Hector! last: thy loss (divinely brave) 
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave. 
O had thy gentle spirit pass'd in peace, 
The son expiring in the sire's embrace, 
While both thy parents wept the fatal hour, 
And, bending o'er thee, mix'd the tender shower! 
Some comfort that had been, some sad relief, 
To melt in full satiety of grief!" 



Thus wail'd the father, grovelling on the ground, 
And all the eyes of Ilion stream'd around. 



[402] Amidst her matrons Hecuba appears: 

(A mourning princess, and a train in tears;) 
"Ah why has Heaven prolong'd this hated breath, 
Patient of horrors, to behold thy death? 
O Hector! late thy parents' pride and joy, 
The boast of nations! the defence of Troy! 
To whom her safety and her fame she owed; 
Her chief, her hero, and almost her god! 
O fatal change! become in one sad day 
A senseless corse! inanimated clay!" 



BOOK XXII. 



But not as yet the fatal news had spread 
To fair Andromache, of Hector dead; 
As yet no messenger had told his fate, 
Not e'en his stay without the Scaean gate. 
Far in the close recesses of the dome, 
Pensive she plied the melancholy loom; 
A growing work employ'd her secret hours, 
Confusedly gay with intermingled flowers. 
Her fair-haired handmaids heat the brazen urn, 
The bath preparing for her lord's return 
In vain; alas! her lord returns no more; 
Unbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore! 
Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear, 
And all her members shake with sudden fear: 
Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls, 
And thus, astonish'd, to her maids she calls: 



"Ah follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise 
Invades my ear? 'Tis sure my mother's voice. 
My faltering knees their trembling frame desert, 
A pulse unusual flutters at my heart; 
Some strange disaster, some reverse of fate 
(Ye gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state. 
Far be the omen which my thoughts suggest! 
But much I fear my Hector's dauntless breast 
Confronts Achilles; chased along the plain, 
Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain! 
Safe in the crowd he ever scorn'd to wait, 
And sought for glory in the jaws of fate: 
Perhaps that noble heat has cost his breath, 
Now quench'd for ever in the arms of death." 



662 



The Iliad of Homer 




THE BATH. 



BOOK XXII. 



663 



She spoke: and furious, with distracted pace, 
Fears in her heart, and anguish in her face, 
Flies through the dome (the maids her steps pursue), 
And mounts the walls, and sends around her view. 
Too soon her eyes the killing object found, 
The godlike Hector dragg'd along the ground. 
A sudden darkness shades her swimming eyes: 
She faints, she falls; her breath, her colour flies. 
Her hair's fair ornaments, the braids that bound, 
The net that held them, and the wreath that crown'd, 
The veil and diadem flew far away 
(The gift of Venus on her bridal day). 
Around a train of weeping sisters stands, 
To raise her sinking with assistant hands. 
Scarce from the verge of death recall'd, again 
She faints, or but recovers to complain. 




ANDROMACHE FAINTING ON THE WALL. 



664 



The Iliad of Homer 



"O wretched husband of a wretched wife! 
Born with one fate, to one unhappy life! 
For sure one star its baneful beam display'd 
On Priam's roof, and Hippoplacia's shade. 
From different parents, different climes we came. 
At different periods, yet our fate the same ! 
Why was my birth to great Aetion owed, 
[404] And why was all that tender care bestow'd? 

Would I had never been! — O thou, the ghost 

Of my dead husband! miserably lost! 

Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone! 

And I abandon'd, desolate, alone ! 

An only child, once comfort of my pains, 

Sad product now of hapless love, remains! 

No more to smile upon his sire; no friend 

To help him now! no father to defend! 

For should he 'scape the sword, the common doom, 

What wrongs attend him, and what griefs to come! 

Even from his own paternal roof expell'd, 

Some stranger ploughs his patrimonial field. 

The day, that to the shades the father sends, 

Robs the sad orphan of his father's friends: 

He, wretched outcast of mankind! appears 

For ever sad, for ever bathed in tears; 

Amongst the happy, unregarded, he 

Hangs on the robe, or trembles at the knee, 

While those his father's former bounty fed 

Nor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread: 

The kindest but his present wants allay, 

To leave him wretched the succeeding day. 

Frugal compassion! Heedless, they who boast 

Both parents still, nor feel what he has lost, 

Shall cry, 'Begone! thy father feasts not here:' 

The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear. 



BOOK XXII. 



665 



Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears, 
To my sad soul Astyanax appears ! 
Forced by repeated insults to return, 
And to his widow'd mother vainly mourn: 
He, who, with tender delicacy bred, 
With princes sported, and on dainties fed, 
And when still evening gave him up to rest, 
Sunk soft in down upon the nurse's breast, 
Must — ah what must he not? Whom Ilion calls 
Astyanax, from her well-guarded walls, 279 
Is now that name no more, unhappy boy ! 
Since now no more thy father guards his Troy. 
But thou, my Hector, liest exposed in air, 
Far from thy parents' and thy consort's care; 
Whose hand in vain, directed by her love, 
The martial scarf and robe of triumph wove. 
Now to devouring flames be these a prey, 
Useless to thee, from this accursed day! 
Yet let the sacrifice at least be paid, 
An honour to the living, not the dead!" 

So spake the mournful dame: her matrons hear, 
Sigh back her sighs, and answer tear with tear. 



' — Astyanax, i.e. the city-king or guardian. It is amusing that Plato, who 
often finds fault with Homer without reason, should have copied this twaddling 
etymology into his Cratylus. 



[405] 



BOOK XXIII. 



ARGUMENT. 

FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOUR OF PATROCLUS. 280 
Achilles and the Myrmidons do honours to the body of 
Patroclus. After the funeral feast he retires to the sea-shore, 
where, falling asleep, the ghost of his friend appears to him, and 
demands the rites of burial; the next morning the soldiers are sent 
with mules and waggons to fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral 
procession, and the offering their hair to the dead. Achilles 
sacrifices several animals, and lastly twelve Trojan captives, at 
the pile; then sets fire to it. He pays libations to the Winds, 
which (at the instance of Iris) rise, and raise the flames. When 
the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in 
an urn of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles institutes the funeral 
games: the chariot-race, the fight of the caestus, the wrestling, 
the foot-race, the single combat, the discus, the shooting with 
arrows, the darting the javelin: the various descriptions of which, 
and the various success of the several antagonists, make the 
greatest part of the book. 

In this book ends the thirtieth day. The night following, the 
ghost of Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one-and-thirtieth day 
is employed in felling the timber for the pile: the two-and-thirtieth 
in burning it; and the three- and-thirtieth in the games. The scene 
is generally on the sea-shore. 



This book has been closely imitated by Virgil in his fifth book, but it is 
almost useless to attempt a selection of passages for comparison. 



668 



The Iliad of Homer 



Thus humbled in the dust, the pensive train 
Through the sad city mourn'd her hero slain. 
The body soil'd with dust, and black with gore, 
Lies on broad Hellespont's resounding shore. 
The Grecians seek their ships, and clear the strand, 
All, but the martial Myrmidonian band: 
These yet assembled great Achilles holds, 
And the stern purpose of his mind unfolds: 



"Not yet, my brave companions of the war, 
Release your smoking coursers from the car; 
But, with his chariot each in order led, 
Perform due honours to Patroclus dead. 
Ere yet from rest or food we seek relief, 
Some rites remain, to glut our rage of grief." 

[406] 

The troops obey'd; and thrice in order led 281 
(Achilles first) their coursers round the dead; 
And thrice their sorrows and laments renew; 
Tears bathe their arms, and tears the sands bedew. 
For such a warrior Thetis aids their woe, 
Melts their strong hearts, and bids their eyes to flow. 
But chief, Pelides: thick-succeeding sighs 
Burst from his heart, and torrents from his eyes: 
His slaughtering hands, yet red with blood, he laid 
On his dead friend's cold breast, and thus he said: 



— Thrice in order led. This was a frequent rite at funerals. The Romans had 
the same custom, which they called decursio. Plutarch states that Alexander, 
in after times, renewed these same honours to the memory of Achilles himself. 



BOOK XXIII. 



669 



"All hail, Patroclus ! let thy honour'd ghost 
Hear, and rejoice on Pluto's dreary coast; 
Behold! Achilles' promise is complete; 
The bloody Hector stretch'd before thy feet. 
Lo! to the dogs his carcase I resign; 
And twelve sad victims, of the Trojan line, 
Sacred to vengeance, instant shall expire; 
Their lives effused around thy funeral pyre." 



Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view) 

Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw, 

Prone on the dust. The Myrmidons around 

Unbraced their armour, and the steeds unbound. 

All to Achilles' sable ship repair, 

Frequent and full, the genial feast to share. 

Now from the well-fed swine black smokes aspire, 

The bristly victims hissing o'er the fire: 

The huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries 

Expires the goat; the sheep in silence dies. 

Around the hero's prostrate body flow'd, 

In one promiscuous stream, the reeking blood. 

And now a band of Argive monarchs brings 

The glorious victor to the king of kings. 

From his dead friend the pensive warrior went, 

With steps unwilling, to the regal tent. 

The attending heralds, as by office bound, 

With kindled flames the tripod-vase surround: 

To cleanse his conquering hands from hostile gore, 

They urged in vain; the chief refused, and swore: 28 - 



— And swore. Literally, and called Orcus, the god of oaths, to witness. See 
Buttmann, Lexilog, p. 436. 



670 



The Iliad of Homer 



"No drop shall touch me, by almighty Jove! 
The first and greatest of the gods above! 
Till on the pyre I place thee; till I rear 
The grassy mound, and clip thy sacred hair. 
Some ease at least those pious rites may give, 
And soothe my sorrows, while I bear to live. 
Howe'er, reluctant as I am, I stay 
[407] And share your feast; but with the dawn of day, 

(O king of men!) it claims thy royal care, 
That Greece the warrior's funeral pile prepare, 
And bid the forests fall: (such rites are paid 
To heroes slumbering in eternal shade:) 
Then, when his earthly part shall mount in fire, 
Let the leagued squadrons to their posts retire." 

He spoke: they hear him, and the word obey; 
The rage of hunger and of thirst allay, 
Then ease in sleep the labours of the day. 
But great Pelides, stretch'd along the shore, 
Where, dash'd on rocks, the broken billows roar, 
Lies inly groaning; while on either hand 
The martial Myrmidons confusedly stand. 
Along the grass his languid members fall, 
Tired with his chase around the Trojan wall; 
Hush'd by the murmurs of the rolling deep, 
At length he sinks in the soft arms of sleep. 
When lo ! the shade, before his closing eyes, 
Of sad Patroclus rose, or seem'd to rise: 
In the same robe he living wore, he came: 
In stature, voice, and pleasing look, the same. 
The form familiar hover'd o'er his head, 
"And sleeps Achilles? (thus the phantom said:) 
Sleeps my Achilles, his Patroclus dead? 
Living, I seem'd his dearest, tenderest care, 



BOOK XXIII. 



671 



But now forgot, I wander in the air. 

Let my pale corse the rites of burial know, 

And give me entrance in the realms below: 

Till then the spirit finds no resting-place, 

But here and there the unbodied spectres chase 

The vagrant dead around the dark abode, 

Forbid to cross the irremeable flood. 

Now give thy hand; for to the farther shore 

When once we pass, the soul returns no more: 

When once the last funereal flames ascend, 

No more shall meet Achilles and his friend; 

No more our thoughts to those we loved make known; 

Or quit the dearest, to converse alone. 

Me fate has sever'd from the sons of earth, 

The fate fore-doom'd that waited from my birth: 

Thee too it waits; before the Trojan wall 

Even great and godlike thou art doom'd to fall. 

Hear then; and as in fate and love we join, 

Ah suffer that my bones may rest with thine! 

Together have we lived; together bred, 

One house received us, and one table fed; 

That golden urn, thy goddess-mother gave, 

May mix our ashes in one common grave." 

'And is it thou? (he answers) To my sight 283 [408] 



"O, long expected by thy friends! from whence 

Art thou so late return'd for our defence? 

Do we behold thee, wearied as we are 

With length of labours, and with, toils of war? 

After so many funerals of thy own, 

Art thou restored to thy declining town? 

But say, what wounds are these? what new disgrace 

Deforms the manly features of thy face?" 

Dryden, xi. 369. 



672 



The Iliad of Homer 



Once more return'st thou from the realms of night? 
O more than brother! Think each office paid, 
Whate'er can rest a discontented shade; 
But grant one last embrace, unhappy boy! 
Afford at least that melancholy joy." 



He said, and with his longing arms essay'd 

In vain to grasp the visionary shade! 

Like a thin smoke he sees the spirit fly, 284 

And hears a feeble, lamentable cry. 

Confused he wakes; amazement breaks the bands 

Of golden sleep, and starting from the sands, 

Pensive he muses with uplifted hands: 



"Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains 
Part of himself; the immortal mind remains: 
The form subsists without the body's aid, 
Aerial semblance, and an empty shade! 
This night my friend, so late in battle lost, 
Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost: 
Even now familiar, as in life, he came; 
Alas! how different! yet how like the same!" 



— Like a thin smoke. Virgil, Georg. iv. 72. 

"In vain I reach my feeble hands to join 
In sweet embraces — ah! no longer thine! 
She said, and from his eyes the fleeting fair 
Retired, like subtle smoke dissolved in air." 



Dryden. 



BOOK XXIII. 



673 



Thus while he spoke, each eye grew big with tears: 

And now the rosy-finger'd morn appears, 

Shows every mournful face with tears o'erspread, 

And glares on the pale visage of the dead. 

But Agamemnon, as the rites demand, 

With mules and waggons sends a chosen band 

To load the timber, and the pile to rear; 

A charge consign'd to Merion's faithful care. 

With proper instruments they take the road, 

Axes to cut, and ropes to sling the load. 

First march the heavy mules, securely slow, 

O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go: 285 

Jumping, high o'er the shrubs of the rough ground, 

Rattle the clattering cars, and the shock'd axles bound 

But when arrived at Ida's spreading woods, 286 [409] 

(Fair Ida, water'd with descending floods,) 

Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes; 

On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks 

Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown; 

5 So Milton:— 

"So eagerly the fiend 
O'er bog, o'er steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, 
With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way, 
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies." 

"Paradise Lost," ii. 948. 

"An ancient forest, for the work design'd 

(The shady covert of the savage kind). 

The Trojans found: the sounding axe is placed: 

Firs, pines, and pitch-trees, and the tow'ring pride 

Of forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke, 

And piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak. 

High trunks of trees, fell'd from the steepy crown 

Of the bare mountains, roll with ruin down." 

Dryden's Virgil, vi. 261. 



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Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. 

The wood the Grecians cleave, prepared to burn; 

And the slow mules the same rough road return 

The sturdy woodmen equal burdens bore 

(Such charge was given them) to the sandy shore; 

There on the spot which great Achilles show'd, 

They eased their shoulders, and disposed the load; 

Circling around the place, where times to come 

Shall view Patroclus' and Achilles' tomb. 

The hero bids his martial troops appear 

High on their cars in all the pomp of war; 

Each in refulgent arms his limbs attires, 

All mount their chariots, combatants and squires. 

The chariots first proceed, a shining train; 

Then clouds of foot that smoke along the plain; 

Next these the melancholy band appear; 

Amidst, lay dead Patroclus on the bier; 

O'er all the corse their scattered locks they throw; 

Achilles next, oppress'd with mighty woe, 

Supporting with his hands the hero's head, 

Bends o'er the extended body of the dead. 

Patroclus decent on the appointed ground 

They place, and heap the sylvan pile around. 

But great Achilles stands apart in prayer, 

And from his head divides the yellow hair; 

Those curling locks which from his youth he vow'd, 

And sacred grew, to Sperchius' honour'd flood: 

Then sighing, to the deep his locks he cast, 

And roll'd his eyes around the watery waste: 

"Sperchius! whose waves in mazy errors lost 
Delightful roll along my native coast! 
To whom we vainly vow'd, at our return, 



— He vowed. This was a very ancient custom. 



BOOK XXIII. 



675 



These locks to fall, and hecatombs to burn: 
Full fifty rams to bleed in sacrifice, 
Where to the day thy silver fountains rise, 
And where in shade of consecrated bowers 
Thy altars stand, perfumed with native flowers! 
So vow'd my father, but he vow'd in vain; 

No more Achilles sees his native plain; [410] 
In that vain hope these hairs no longer grow, 
Patroclus bears them to the shades below." 

Thus o'er Patroclus while the hero pray'd, 
On his cold hand the sacred lock he laid. 
Once more afresh the Grecian sorrows flow: 
And now the sun had set upon their woe; 
But to the king of men thus spoke the chief: 
"Enough, Atrides! give the troops relief: 
Permit the mourning legions to retire, 
And let the chiefs alone attend the pyre; 
The pious care be ours, the dead to burn — " 
He said: the people to their ships return: 
While those deputed to inter the slain 
Heap with a rising pyramid the plain. 288 
A hundred foot in length, a hundred wide, 
The growing structure spreads on every side; 
High on the top the manly corse they lay, 
And well-fed sheep and sable oxen slay: 
Achilles covered with their fat the dead, 
And the piled victims round the body spread; 
Then jars of honey, and of fragrant oil, 
Suspends around, low-bending o'er the pile. 
Four sprightly coursers, with a deadly groan 
Pour forth their lives, and on the pyre are thrown. 



The height of the tomb or pile was a great proof of the dignity of the 
deceased, and the honour in which he was held. 



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Of nine large dogs, domestic at his board, 
Fall two, selected to attend their lord, 
Then last of all, and horrible to tell, 
Sad sacrifice! twelve Trojan captives fell. 289 
On these the rage of fire victorious preys, 
Involves and joins them in one common blaze. 
Smear'd with the bloody rites, he stands on high, 
And calls the spirit with a dreadful cry: 290 



"All hail, Patroclus ! let thy vengeful ghost 
Hear, and exult, on Pluto's dreary coast. 
Behold Achilles' promise fully paid, 
Twelve Trojan heroes offer'd to thy shade; 
But heavier fates on Hector's corse attend, 
Saved from the flames, for hungry dogs to rend." 



So spake he, threatening: but the gods made vain 
His threat, and guard inviolate the slain: 
Celestial Venus hover'd o'er his head, 
And roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance! shed: 
She watch'd him all the night and all the day, 
[4ii] And drove the bloodhounds from their destined prey. 

Nor sacred Phoebus less employ'd his care; 
He pour'd around a veil of gather'd air, 
And kept the nerves undried, the flesh entire, 
Against the solar beam and Sirian fire. 




Nor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies, 
Smokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise; 
But, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer, 
Invoked the gods whose spirit moves the air, 
And victims promised, and libations cast, 
To gentle Zephyr and the Boreal blast: 
He call'd the aerial powers, along the skies 
To breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise. 
The winged Iris heard the hero's call, 
And instant hasten'd to their airy hall, 
Where in old Zephyr's open courts on high, 
Sat all the blustering brethren of the sky. 

289 On the prevalence of this cruel custom amongst the northern nations, see 
Mallet, p. 213. 

290 — And calls the spirit. Such was the custom anciently, even at the Roman 
funerals. 

"Hail, O ye holy manes! hail again, 
Paternal ashes, now revived in vain." 

Dryden's Virgil, v. 106. 



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The Iliad of Homer 



She shone amidst them, on her painted bow; 
The rocky pavement glitter'd with the show. 
All from the banquet rise, and each invites 
The various goddess to partake the rites. 
"Not so (the dame replied), I haste to go 
To sacred Ocean, and the floods below: 
Even now our solemn hecatombs attend, 
And heaven is feasting on the world's green end 
With righteous Ethiops (uncorrupted train!) 
Far on the extremest limits of the main. 
But Peleus' son entreats, with sacrifice, 
The western spirit, and the north, to rise ! 
Let on Patroclus' pile your blast be driven, 
And bear the blazing honours high to heaven. " 

[412] 

Swift as the word she vanish'd from their view; 
Swift as the word the winds tumultuous flew; 
Forth burst the stormy band with thundering roar, 
And heaps on heaps the clouds are toss'd before. 
To the wide main then stooping from the skies, 
The heaving deeps in watery mountains rise: 
Troy feels the blast along her shaking walls, 
Till on the pile the gather'd tempest falls. 
The structure crackles in the roaring fires, 
And all the night the plenteous flame aspires. 
All night Achilles hails Patroclus' soul, 
With large libations from the golden bowl. 
As a poor father, helpless and undone, 
Mourns o'er the ashes of an only son, 
Takes a sad pleasure the last bones to burn, 
And pours in tears, ere yet they close the urn: 
So stay'd Achilles, circling round the shore, 
So watch'd the flames, till now they flame no more. 
'Twas when, emerging through the shades of night. 



BOOK XXIII. 



679 



The morning planet told the approach of light; 
And, fast behind, Aurora's warmer ray 
O'er the broad ocean pour'd the golden day: 
Then sank the blaze, the pile no longer burn'd, 
And to their caves the whistling winds return'd: 
Across the Thracian seas their course they bore; 
The ruffled seas beneath their passage roar. 



Then parting from the pile he ceased to weep, 
And sank to quiet in the embrace of sleep, 
Exhausted with his grief: meanwhile the crowd 
Of thronging Grecians round Achilles stood; 
The tumult waked him: from his eyes he shook 
Unwilling slumber, and the chiefs bespoke: 



"Ye kings and princes of the Achaian name ! 
First let us quench the yet remaining flame 
With sable wine; then, as the rites direct, 
The hero's bones with careful view select: 
(Apart, and easy to be known they lie 
Amidst the heap, and obvious to the eye: 
The rest around the margin will be seen 
Promiscuous, steeds and immolated men:) 
These wrapp'd in double cauls of fat, prepare; 
And in the golden vase dispose with care; 
There let them rest with decent honour laid, 
Till I shall follow to the infernal shade. 
Meantime erect the tomb with pious hands, 
A common structure on the humble sands: 
Hereafter Greece some nobler work may raise, 
And late posterity record our praise!" 



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The Greeks obey; where yet the embers glow, 

Wide o'er the pile the sable wine they throw, [413] 

And deep subsides the ashy heap below. 

Next the white bones his sad companions place, 

With tears collected, in the golden vase. 

The sacred relics to the tent they bore; 

The urn a veil of linen covered o'er. 

That done, they bid the sepulchre aspire, 

And cast the deep foundations round the pyre; 

High in the midst they heap the swelling bed 

Of rising earth, memorial of the dead. 



The swarming populace the chief detains, 

And leads amidst a wide extent of plains; 

There placed them round: then from the ships proceeds 

A train of oxen, mules, and stately steeds, 

Vases and tripods (for the funeral games), 

Resplendent brass, and more resplendent dames. 

First stood the prizes to reward the force 

Of rapid racers in the dusty course: 

A woman for the first, in beauty's bloom, 

Skill'd in the needle, and the labouring loom; 

And a large vase, where two bright handles rise, 

Of twenty measures its capacious size. 

The second victor claims a mare unbroke, 

Big with a mule, unknowing of the yoke: 

The third, a charger yet untouch'd by flame; 

Four ample measures held the shining frame: 

Two golden talents for the fourth were placed: 

An ample double bowl contents the last. 

These in fair order ranged upon the plain, 

The hero, rising, thus address'd the train: 



BOOK XXIII. 



"Behold the prizes, valiant Greeks! decreed 
To the brave rulers of the racing steed; 
Prizes which none beside ourself could gain, 
Should our immortal coursers take the plain; 
(A race unrivall'd, which from ocean's god 
Peleus received, and on his son bestow'd.) 
But this no time our vigour to display; 
Nor suit, with them, the games of this sad day: 
Lost is Patroclus now, that wont to deck 
Their flowing manes, and sleek their glossy neck. 
Sad, as they shared in human grief, they stand, 
And trail those graceful honours on the sand! 
Let others for the noble task prepare, 
Who trust the courser and the flying car." 

Fired at his word the rival racers rise; 
But far the first Eumelus hopes the prize, 
Famed though Pieria for the fleetest breed, 
And skill'd to manage the high-bounding steed. 
With equal ardour bold Tydides swell'd, 
The steeds of Tros beneath his yoke compell'd 
(Which late obey'd the Dardan chiefs command, 
When scarce a god redeem'd him from his hand). 
Then Menelaus his Podargus brings, 
And the famed courser of the king of kings: 
Whom rich Echepolus (more rich than brave), 
To 'scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave, 
OEthe her name) at home to end his days; 
Base wealth preferring to eternal praise. 
Next him Antilochus demands the course 
With beating heart, and cheers his Pylian horse. 
Experienced Nestor gives his son the reins, 
Directs his judgment, and his heat restrains; 
Nor idly warns the hoary sire, nor hears 



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The prudent son with unattending ears. 

"My son! though youthful ardour fire thy breast, 

The gods have loved thee, and with arts have bless'd; 

Neptune and Jove on thee conferr'd the skill 

Swift round the goal to turn the flying wheel. 

To guide thy conduct little precept needs; 

But slow, and past their vigour, are my steeds. 

Fear not thy rivals, though for swiftness known; 

Compare those rivals' judgment and thy own: 

It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize, 

And to be swift is less than to be wise. 

'Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes 

The dexterous woodman shapes the stubborn oaks; 

By art the pilot, through the boiling deep 

And howling tempest, steers the fearless ship; 

And 'tis the artist wins the glorious course; 

Not those who trust in chariots and in horse. 

In vain, unskilful to the goal they strive, 

And short, or wide, the ungovern'd courser drive: 

While with sure skill, though with inferior steeds, 

The knowing racer to his end proceeds; 

Fix'd on the goal his eye foreruns the course, 

His hand unerring steers the steady horse, 

And now contracts, or now extends the rein, 

Observing still the foremost on the plain. 

Mark then the goal, 'tis easy to be found; 

Yon aged trunk, a cubit from the ground; 

Of some once stately oak the last remains, 

Or hardy fir, unperish'd with the rains: 

Inclosed with stones, conspicuous from afar; 

And round, a circle for the wheeling car. 

(Some tomb perhaps of old, the dead to grace; 

Or then, as now, the limit of a race.) 



BOOK XXIII. 



683 



Bear close to this, and warily proceed, 

A little bending to the left-hand steed; 

But urge the right, and give him all the reins; 

While thy strict hand his fellow's head restrains, 

And turns him short; till, doubling as they roll, [415] 

The wheel's round naves appear to brush the goal. 

Yet (not to break the car, or lame the horse) 

Clear of the stony heap direct the course; 

Lest through incaution failing, thou mayst be 

A joy to others, a reproach to me. 

So shalt thou pass the goal, secure of mind, 

And leave unskilful swiftness far behind: 

Though thy fierce rival drove the matchless steed 

Which bore Adrastus, of celestial breed; 

Or the famed race, through all the regions known, 

That whirl'd the car of proud Laomedon." 

Thus (nought unsaid) the much-advising sage 

Concludes; then sat, stiff with unwieldy age. 

Next bold Meriones was seen to rise, 

The last, but not least ardent for the prize. 

They mount their seats; the lots their place dispose 

(Roll'd in his helmet, these Achilles throws). 

Young Nestor leads the race: Eumelus then; 

And next the brother of the king of men: 

Thy lot, Meriones, the fourth was cast; 

And, far the bravest, Diomed, was last. 

They stand in order, an impatient train: 

Pelides points the barrier on the plain, 

And sends before old Phoenix to the place, 

To mark the racers, and to judge the race. 

At once the coursers from the barrier bound; 

The lifted scourges all at once resound; 

Their heart, their eyes, their voice, they send before; 



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The Iliad of Homer 



And up the champaign thunder from the shore: 
Thick, where they drive, the dusty clouds arise, 
And the lost courser in the whirlwind flies; 
Loose on their shoulders the long manes reclined, 
Float in their speed, and dance upon the wind: 
The smoking chariots, rapid as they bound, 
Now seem to touch the sky, and now the ground. 
While hot for fame, and conquest all their care, 
(Each o'er his flying courser hung in air,) 
Erect with ardour, poised upon the rein, 
They pant, they stretch, they shout along the plain. 
Now (the last compass fetch'd around the goal) 
At the near prize each gathers all his soul, 
Each burns with double hope, with double pain, 
Tears up the shore, and thunders toward the main. 
First flew Eumelus on Pheretian steeds; 
With those of Tros bold Diomed succeeds: 
Close on Eumelus' back they puff the wind, 
And seem just mounting on his car behind; 
Full on his neck he feels the sultry breeze, 
And, hovering o'er, their stretching shadows sees. 
[416] Then had he lost, or left a doubtful prize; 

But angry Phoebus to Tydides flies, 
Strikes from his hand the scourge, and renders vain 
His matchless horses' labour on the plain. 
Rage fills his eye with anguish, to survey 
Snatch'd from his hope the glories of the day. 
The fraud celestial Pallas sees with pain, 
Springs to her knight, and gives the scourge again, 
And fills his steeds with vigour. At a stroke 
She breaks his rival's chariot from the yoke: 
No more their way the startled horses held; 
The car reversed came rattling on the field; 
Shot headlong from his seat, beside the wheel, 



BOOK XXIII. 



685 



Prone on the dust the unhappy master fell; 
His batter'd face and elbows strike the ground; 
Nose, mouth, and front, one undistinguish'd wound: 
Grief stops his voice, a torrent drowns his eyes: 
Before him far the glad Tydides flies; 
Minerva's spirit drives his matchless pace, 
And crowns him victor of the labour'd race. 

The next, though distant, Menelaus succeeds; 
While thus young Nestor animates his steeds: 
"Now, now, my generous pair, exert your force; 
Not that we hope to match Tydides' horse, 
Since great Minerva wings their rapid way, 
And gives their lord the honours of the day; 
But reach Atrides! shall his mare outgo 
Your swiftness? vanquish'd by a female foe? 
Through your neglect, if lagging on the plain 
The last ignoble gift be all we gain, 
No more shall Nestor's hand your food supply, 
The old man's fury rises, and ye die. 
Haste then: yon narrow road, before our sight, 
Presents the occasion, could we use it right." 

Thus he. The coursers at their master's threat 
With quicker steps the sounding champaign beat. 
And now Antilochus with nice survey 
Observes the compass of the hollow way. 
'Twas where, by force of wintry torrents torn, 
Fast by the road a precipice was worn: 
Here, where but one could pass, to shun the throng 
The Spartan hero's chariot smoked along. 
Close up the venturous youth resolves to keep, 
Still edging near, and bears him toward the steep. 
Atrides, trembling, casts his eye below, 



686 



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And wonders at the rashness of his foe. 
"Hold, stay your steeds — What madness thus to ride 
This narrow way! take larger field (he cried), 
Or both must fall." — Atrides cried in vain; 
He flies more fast, and throws up all the rein. 
[417] Far as an able arm the disk can send, 

When youthful rivals their full force extend, 

So far, Antilochus ! thy chariot flew 

Before the king: he, cautious, backward drew 

His horse compell'd; foreboding in his fears 

The rattling ruin of the clashing cars, 

The floundering coursers rolling on the plain, 

And conquest lost through frantic haste to gain. 

But thus upbraids his rival as he flies: 

"Go, furious youth! ungenerous and unwise! 

Go, but expect not I'll the prize resign; 

Add perjury to fraud, and make it thine — " 

Then to his steeds with all his force he cries, 

"Be swift, be vigorous, and regain the prize! 

Your rivals, destitute of youthful force, 

With fainting knees shall labour in the course, 

And yield the glory yours." — The steeds obey; 

Already at their heels they wing their way, 

And seem already to retrieve the day. 

Meantime the Grecians in a ring beheld 

The coursers bounding o'er the dusty field. 

The first who mark'd them was the Cretan king; 

High on a rising ground, above the ring, 

The monarch sat: from whence with sure survey 

He well observed the chief who led the way, 

And heard from far his animating cries, 

And saw the foremost steed with sharpen'd eyes; 

On whose broad front a blaze of shining white, 



BOOK XXIII. 



687 



Like the full moon, stood obvious to the sight. 
He saw; and rising, to the Greeks begun: 
"Are yonder horse discern'd by me alone? 
Or can ye, all, another chief survey, 
And other steeds than lately led the way? 
Those, though the swiftest, by some god withheld, 
Lie sure disabled in the middle field: 
For, since the goal they doubled, round the plain 
I search to find them, but I search in vain. 
Perchance the reins forsook the driver's hand, 
And, turn'd too short, he tumbled on the strand, 
Shot from the chariot; while his coursers stray 
With frantic fury from the destined way. 
Rise then some other, and inform my sight, 
For these dim eyes, perhaps, discern not right; 
Yet sure he seems, to judge by shape and air, 
The great ^Etolian chief, renown'd in war. " 

"Old man! (Oileus rashly thus replies) 

Thy tongue too hastily confers the prize; 

Of those who view the course, nor sharpest eyed, 

Nor youngest, yet the readiest to decide. 

Eumelus' steeds, high bounding in the chase, 

Still, as at first, unrivaii'd lead the race: [418] 
I well discern him, as he shakes the rein, 
And hear his shouts victorious o'er the plain." 

Thus he. Idomeneus, incensed, rejoin'd: 

"Barbarous of words! and arrogant of mind! 

Contentious prince, of all the Greeks beside 

The last in merit, as the first in pride ! 

To vile reproach what answer can we make? 

A goblet or a tripod let us stake, 

And be the king the judge. The most unwise 

Will learn their rashness, when they pay the price." 



688 



The Iliad of Homer 



He said: and Ajax, by mad passion borne, 
Stern had replied; fierce scorn enhancing scorn 
To fell extremes. But Thetis' godlike son 
Awful amidst them rose, and thus begun: 

"Forbear, ye chiefs! reproachful to contend; 
Much would ye blame, should others thus offend: 
And lo! the approaching steeds your contest end." 
No sooner had he spoke, but thundering near, 
Drives, through a stream of dust, the charioteer. 
High o'er his head the circling lash he wields: 
His bounding horses scarcely touch the fields: 
His car amidst the dusty whirlwind roll'd, 
Bright with the mingled blaze of tin and gold, 
Refulgent through the cloud: no eye could find 
The track his flying wheels had left behind: 
And the fierce coursers urged their rapid pace 
So swift, it seem'd a flight, and not a race. 
Now victor at the goal Tydides stands, 
Quits his bright car, and springs upon the sands; 
From the hot steeds the sweaty torrents stream; 
The well-plied whip is hung athwart the beam: 
With joy brave Sthenelus receives the prize, 
The tripod-vase, and dame with radiant eyes: 
These to the ships his train triumphant leads, 
The chief himself unyokes the panting steeds. 

Young Nestor follows (who by art, not force, 
O'erpass'd Atrides) second in the course. 
Behind, Atrides urged the race, more near 
Than to the courser in his swift career 
The following car, just touching with his heel 
And brushing with his tail the whirling wheel: 
Such, and so narrow now the space between 



BOOK XXIII. 



689 



The rivals, late so distant on the green; 

So soon swift JEthe her lost ground regain'd, 

One length, one moment, had the race obtain'd. 

Merion pursued, at greater distance still, 
With tardier coursers, and inferior skill. 
Last came, Admetus! thy unhappy son; 
Slow dragged the steeds his batter'd chariot on: 
Achilles saw, and pitying thus begun: 

[419] 

"Behold! the man whose matchless art surpass'd 
The sons of Greece! the ablest, yet the last! 
Fortune denies, but justice bids us pay 
(Since great Tydides bears the first away) 
To him the second honours of the day." 

The Greeks consent with loud-applauding cries, 

And then Eumelus had received the prize, 

But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame, 

The award opposes, and asserts his claim. 

"Think not (he cries) I tamely will resign, 

O Peleus' son! the mare so justly mine. 

What if the gods, the skilful to confound, 

Have thrown the horse and horseman to the ground? 

Perhaps he sought not heaven by sacrifice, 

And vows omitted forfeited the prize. 

If yet (distinction to thy friend to show, 

And please a soul desirous to bestow) 

Some gift must grace Eumelus, view thy store 

Of beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore; 

An ample present let him thence receive, 

And Greece shall praise thy generous thirst to give. 

But this my prize I never shall forego; 

This, who but touches, warriors! is my foe." 



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Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend; 
Pleased with the well-turn'd flattery of a friend, 
Achilles smiled: "The gift proposed (he cried), 
Antilochus! we shall ourself provide. 
With plates of brass the corslet cover'd o'er, 
(The same renown'd Asteropaeus wore,) 
Whose glittering margins raised with silver shine, 
(No vulgar gift,) Eumelus! shall be thine." 

He said: Automedon at his command 
The corslet brought, and gave it to his hand. 
Distinguish'd by his friend, his bosom glows 
With generous joy: then Menelaus rose; 
The herald placed the sceptre in his hands, 
And still'd the clamour of the shouting bands. 
Not without cause incensed at Nestor's son, 
And inly grieving, thus the king begun: 

"The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain'd, 
An act so rash, Antilochus ! has stain'd. 
Robb'd of my glory and my just reward, 
To you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared: 
So not a leader shall our conduct blame, 
Or judge me envious of a rival's fame. 
But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain? 
What needs appealing in a fact so plain? 
What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise, 
And vindicate by oath th' ill-gotten prize? 
[420] Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand, 

The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; 
And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent 
Was but to conquer, not to circumvent. 
Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround 
The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!" 



BOOK XXIII. 



The prudent chief with calm attention heard; 
Then mildly thus: "Excuse, if youth have err'd 
Superior as thou art, forgive the offence, 
Nor I thy equal, or in years, or sense. 
Thou know'st the errors of unripen'd age, 
Weak are its counsels, headlong is its rage. 
The prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign; 
The mare, or aught thou ask'st, be freely thine 
Ere I become (from thy dear friendship torn) 
Hateful to thee, and to the gods forsworn." 

So spoke Antilochus; and at the word 
The mare contested to the king restored. 
Joy swells his soul: as when the vernal grain 
Lifts the green ear above the springing plain, 
The fields their vegetable life renew, 
And laugh and glitter with the morning dew; 
Such joy the Spartan's shining face o'erspread, 
And lifted his gay heart, while thus he said: 

"Still may our souls, O generous youth! agree 
'Tis now Atrides' turn to yield to thee. 
Rash heat perhaps a moment might control, 
Not break, the settled temper of thy soul. 
Not but (my friend) 'tis still the wiser way 
To waive contention with superior sway; 
For ah! how few, who should like thee offend, 
Like thee, have talents to regain the friend! 
To plead indulgence, and thy fault atone, 
Suffice thy father's merit and thy own: 
Generous alike, for me, the sire and son 
Have greatly suffer'd, and have greatly done. 
I yield; that all may know, my soul can bend, 
Nor is my pride preferr'd before my friend." 



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He said; and pleased his passion to command, 
Resign'd the courser to Noemon's hand, 
Friend of the youthful chief: himself content, 
The shining charger to his vessel sent. 
The golden talents Merion next obtain'd; 
The fifth reward, the double bowl, remain'd. 
Achilles this to reverend Nestor bears. 
And thus the purpose of his gift declares: 
"Accept thou this, O sacred sire! (he said) 
In dear memorial of Patroclus dead; 
Dead and for ever lost Patroclus lies, 
For ever snatch'd from our desiring eyes! 
[421] Take thou this token of a grateful heart, 

Though 'tis not thine to hurl the distant dart, 
The quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield, 
Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field: 
Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown, 
But left the glory of the past thy own." 

He said, and placed the goblet at his side; 
With joy the venerable king replied: 

"Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved 

A senior honour'd, and a friend beloved! 

Too true it is, deserted of my strength, 

These wither'd arms and limbs have fail'd at length. 

Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore, 

Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore! 

Victorious then in every solemn game, 

Ordain'd to Amarynces' mighty name; 

The brave Epeians gave my glory way, 

iEtolians, Pylians, all resign'd the day. 

I quell'd Clytomedes in fights of hand, 

And backward hurl'd Ancaeus on the sand, 



BOOK XXIII. 



Surpass'd Iphyclus in the swift career, 
Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear. 
The sons of Actor won the prize of horse, 
But won by numbers, not by art or force: 
For the famed twins, impatient to survey 
Prize after prize by Nestor borne away, 
Sprung to their car; and with united pains 
One lash'd the coursers, while one ruled the reins 
Such once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds 
A younger race, that emulate our deeds: 
I yield, alas ! (to age who must not yield?) 
Though once the foremost hero of the field. 
Go thou, my son! by generous friendship led, 
With martial honours decorate the dead: 
While pleased I take the gift thy hands present, 
(Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent,) 
Rejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see 
Not one but honours sacred age and me: 
Those due distinctions thou so well canst pay, 
May the just gods return another day!" 

Proud of the gift, thus spake the full of days: 
Achilles heard him, prouder of the praise. 

The prizes next are order'd to the field, 

For the bold champions who the caestus wield. 

A stately mule, as yet by toils unbroke, 

Of six years' age, unconscious of the yoke, 

Is to the circus led, and firmly bound; 

Next stands a goblet, massy, large, and round. 

Achilles rising, thus: "Let Greece excite 

Two heroes equal to this hardy fight; 

Who dare the foe with lifted arms provoke, 



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And rush beneath the long-descending stroke. 
On whom Apollo shall the palm bestow, 
And whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know, 
This mule his dauntless labours shall repay, 
The vanquish'd bear the massy bowl away." 

This dreadful combat great Epeus chose; 291 
High o'er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, 
And seized the beast, and thus began to say: 
"Stand forth some man, to bear the bowl away! 
(Price of his ruin: for who dares deny 
This mule my right; the undoubted victor I) 
Others, 'tis own'd, in fields of battle shine, 
But the first honours of this fight are mine; 
For who excels in all? Then let my foe 
Draw near, but first his certain fortune know; 
Secure this hand shall his whole frame confound, 

291 Virgil, by making the boaster vanquished, has drawn a better moral from 
this episode than Homer. The following lines deserve comparison: — 

"The haughty Dares in the lists appears: 
Walking he strides, his head erected bears: 
His nervous arms the weighty gauntlet wield, 
And loud applauses echo through the field. 

* * * * 

Such Dares was, and such he strode along, 

And drew the wonder of the gazing throng 

His brawny breast and ample chest he shows; 

His lifted arms around his head he throws, 

And deals in whistling air his empty blows. 

His match is sought, but, through the trembling band, 

No one dares answer to the proud demand. 

Presuming of his force, with sparkling eyes, 

Already he devours the promised prize. 

* * * * 

If none my matchless valour dares oppose, 
How long shall Dares wait his dastard foes?" 

Dryden's Virgil, v. 486, seq. 



BOOK XXIII. 



695 



Mash all his bones, and all his body pound: 
So let his friends be nigh, a needful train, 
To heave the batter'd carcase off the plain." 

The giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze 
The host beheld him, silent with amaze! 
'Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire 
To meet his might, and emulate thy sire, 
The great Mecistheus; who in days of yore 
In Theban games the noblest trophy bore, 
(The games ordain'd dead OEdipus to grace,) 
And singly vanquish the Cadmean race. 
Him great Tydides urges to contend, 
Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend; 
Officious with the cincture girds him round; 
And to his wrist the gloves of death are bound. 
Amid the circle now each champion stands, 
And poises high in air his iron hands; 

With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close, [423] 

Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows, 

And painful sweat from all their members flows. 

At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow 

Full on the cheek of his unwary foe; 

Beneath that ponderous arm's resistless sway 

Down dropp'd he, nerveless, and extended lay. 

As a large fish, when winds and waters roar, 

By some huge billow dash'd against the shore, 

Lies panting; not less batter'd with his wound, 

The bleeding hero pants upon the ground. 

To rear his fallen foe, the victor lends, 

Scornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends; 

Whose arms support him, reeling through the throng, 

And dragging his disabled legs along; 

Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o'er; 



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His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore; 
Wrapp'd round in mists he lies, and lost to thought; 
His friends receive the bowl, too dearly bought. 

The third bold game Achilles next demands, 

And calls the wrestlers to the level sands: 

A massy tripod for the victor lies, 

Of twice six oxen its reputed price; 

And next, the loser's spirits to restore, 

A female captive, valued but at four. 

Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife prop 

When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose. 

Amid the ring each nervous rival stands, 

Embracing rigid with implicit hands. 

Close lock'd above, their heads and arms are mix'd: 

Below, their planted feet at distance fix'd; 

Like two strong rafters which the builder forms, 

Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms, 

Their tops connected, but at wider space 

Fix'd on the centre stands their solid base. 

Now to the grasp each manly body bends; 

The humid sweat from every pore descends; 

Their bones resound with blows: sides, shoulders, thighs 

Swell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise. 

Nor could Ulysses, for his art renown'd, 

O'erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground; 

Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow 

The watchful caution of his artful foe. 



"The gauntlet-fight thus ended, from the shore 
His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore: 
His mouth and nostrils pour'd a purple flood, 
And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood." 

Dryden's Virgil, v. 623. 



BOOK XXIII. 



697 



While the long strife even tired the lookers on, 
Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon: 
"Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me: 
Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree." 

[424] 

He said; and, straining, heaved him off the ground 

With matchless strength; that time Ulysses found 

The strength to evade, and where the nerves combine 

His ankle struck: the giant fell supine; 

Ulysses, following, on his bosom lies; 

Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies. 

Ajax to lift Ulysses next essays; 

He barely stirr'd him, but he could not raise: 

His knee lock'd fast, the foe's attempt denied; 

And grappling close, they tumbled side by side. 

Defiled with honourable dust they roll, 

Still breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul: 

Again they rage, again to combat rise; 

When great Achilles thus divides the prize: 



"Your noble vigour, O my friends, restrain; 
Nor weary out your generous strength in vain. 
Ye both have won: let others who excel, 
Now prove that prowess you have proved so well." 



The hero's words the willing chiefs obey, 
From their tired bodies wipe the dust away, 
And, clothed anew, the following games survey. 



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And now succeed the gifts ordain'd to grace 
The youths contending in the rapid race: 
A silver urn that full six measures held, 
By none in weight or workmanship excell'd: 
Sidonian artists taught the frame to shine, 
Elaborate, with artifice divine; 
Whence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport, 
And gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port: 
From him descended, good Eunaeus heir'd 
The glorious gift; and, for Lycaon spared, 
To brave Patroclus gave the rich reward: 
Now, the same hero's funeral rites to grace, 
It stands the prize of swiftness in the race. 
A well-fed ox was for the second placed; 
And half a talent must content the last. 
Achilles rising then bespoke the train: 
"Who hope the palm of swiftness to obtain, 
Stand forth, and bear these prizes from the plain." 

The hero said, and starting from his place, 
Oilean Ajax rises to the race; 
Ulysses next; and he whose speed surpass'd 
His youthful equals, Nestor's son, the last. 
Ranged in a line the ready racers stand; 
Pelides points the barrier with his hand; 
All start at once; Oileus led the race; 
The next Ulysses, measuring pace with pace; 
Behind him, diligently close, he sped, 
As closely following as the running thread 
[425] The spindle follows, and displays the charms 

Of the fair spinster's breast and moving arms: 
Graceful in motion thus, his foe he plies, 
And treads each footstep ere the dust can rise; 
His glowing breath upon his shoulders plays: 



BOOK XXIII. 



699 



The admiring Greeks loud acclamations raise: 
To him they give their wishes, hearts, and eyes, 
And send their souls before him as he flies. 
Now three times turn'd in prospect of the goal, 
The panting chief to Pallas lifts his soul: 
"Assist, O goddess!" thus in thought he pray'd! 
And present at his thought descends the maid. 
Buoy'd by her heavenly force, he seems to swim, 
And feels a pinion lifting every limb. 
All fierce, and ready now the prize to gain, 
Unhappy Ajax stumbles on the plain 
(O'erturn'd by Pallas), where the slippery shore 
Was clogg'd with slimy dung and mingled gore. 
(The self-same place beside Patroclus' pyre, 
Where late the slaughter'd victims fed the fire.) 
Besmear'd with filth, and blotted o'er with clay, 
Obscene to sight, the rueful racer lay; 
The well-fed bull (the second prize) he shared, 
And left the urn Ulysses' rich reward. 
Then, grasping by the horn the mighty beast, 
The baffled hero thus the Greeks address'd: 



"Accursed fate! the conquest I forego; 
A mortal I, a goddess was my foe; 
She urged her favourite on the rapid way, 
And Pallas, not Ulysses, won the day." 

Thus sourly wail'd he, sputtering dirt and gore; 
A burst of laughter echoed through the shore. 
Antilochus, more humorous than the rest, 
Takes the last prize, and takes it with a jest: 



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"Why with our wiser elders should we strive? 
The gods still love them, and they always thrive. 
Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize: 
He to Ulysses, still more aged and wise; 
(A green old age unconscious of decays, 
That proves the hero born in better days!) 
Behold his vigour in this active race! 
Achilles only boasts a swifter pace: 
For who can match Achilles? He who can, 
Must yet be more than hero, more than man." 

The effect succeeds the speech. Pelides cries, 

"Thy artful praise deserves a better prize. 

Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll'd; 

Receive a talent of the purest gold." 

The youth departs content. The host admire 

The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire. 

[426] Next these a buckler, spear, and helm, he brings; 

Cast on the plain, the brazen burden rings: 
Arms which of late divine Sarpedon wore, 
And great Patroclus in short triumph bore. 
"Stand forth the bravest of our host! (he cries) 
Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize, 
Now grace the lists before our army's sight, 
And sheathed in steel, provoke his foe to fight. 
Who first the jointed armour shall explore, 
And stain his rival's mail with issuing gore, 
The sword Asteropaeus possess'd of old, 
(A Thracian blade, distinct with studs of gold,) 
Shall pay the stroke, and grace the striker's side: 
These arms in common let the chiefs divide: 
For each brave champion, when the combat ends, 
A sumptuous banquet at our tents attends." 



BOOK XXIII. 



Fierce at the word uprose great Tydeus' son, 

And the huge bulk of Ajax Telamon. 

Clad in refulgent steel, on either hand, 

The dreadful chiefs amid the circle stand; 

Louring they meet, tremendous to the sight; 

Each Argive bosom beats with fierce delight. 

Opposed in arms not long they idly stood, 

But thrice they closed, and thrice the charge renew'd. 

A furious pass the spear of Ajax made 

Through the broad shield, but at the corslet stay'd. 

Not thus the foe: his javelin aim'd above 

The buckler's margin, at the neck he drove. 

But Greece, now trembling for her hero's life, 

Bade share the honours, and surcease the strife. 

Yet still the victor's due Tydides gains, 

With him the sword and studded belt remains. 

Then hurl'd the hero, thundering on the ground, 

A mass of iron (an enormous round), 

Whose weight and size the circling Greeks admire, 

Rude from the furnace, and but shaped by fire. 

This mighty quoit Aetion wont to rear, 

And from his whirling arm dismiss in air; 

The giant by Achilles slain, he stow'd 

Among his spoils this memorable load. 

For this, he bids those nervous artists vie, 

That teach the disk to sound along the sky. 

"Let him, whose might can hurl this bowl, arise; 

Who farthest hurls it, take it as his prize; 

If he be one enrich'd with large domain 

Of downs for flocks, and arable for grain, 

Small stock of iron needs that man provide; 

His hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied 

From hence; nor ask the neighbouring city's aid 



702 The Iliad of Homer 

For ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade." 



[427] Stern Polypoetes stepp'd before the throng, 

And great Leonteus, more than mortal strong; 

Whose force with rival forces to oppose, 

Uprose great Ajax; up Epeus rose. 

Each stood in order: first Epeus threw; 

High o'er the wondering crowds the whirling circle flew. 

Leonteus next a little space surpass'd; 

And third, the strength of godlike Ajax cast. 

O'er both their marks it flew; till fiercely flung 

From Polypoetes' arm the discus sung: 

Far as a swain his whirling sheephook throws, 

That distant falls among the grazing cows, 

So past them all the rapid circle flies: 

His friends, while loud applauses shake the skies, 

With force conjoin'd heave off the weighty prize. 



Those, who in skilful archery contend, 
He next invites the twanging bow to bend; 
And twice ten axes casts amidst the round, 
Ten double-edged, and ten that singly wound 
The mast, which late a first-rate galley bore, 
The hero fixes in the sandy shore; 
To the tall top a milk-white dove they tie, 
The trembling mark at which their arrows fly. 



BOOK XXIII. 



703 



"Whose weapon strikes yon fluttering bird, shall bear 

These two-edged axes, terrible in war; 

The single, he whose shaft divides the cord." 

He said: experienced Merion took the word; 

And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw 

Their lots inscribed, and forth the latter flew. 

Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies; 

But flies unbless'd! No grateful sacrifice, 

No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow 

To Phoebus, patron of the shaft and bow. 

For this, thy well-aim'd arrow turn'd aside, 

Err'd from the dove, yet cut the cord that tied: 

Adown the mainmast fell the parted string, 

And the free bird to heaven displays her wing: 

Sea, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound, 

And Merion eager meditates the wound: 

He takes the bow, directs the shaft above, 

And following with his eye the soaring dove, 

Implores the god to speed it through the skies, 

With vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrific 

The dove, in airy circles as she wheels, 

Amid the clouds the piercing arrow feels; 

Quite through and through the point its passage found, 

And at his feet fell bloody to the ground. 

The wounded bird, ere yet she breathed her last, 

With flagging wings alighted on the mast, 

A moment hung, and spread her pinions there, 

Then sudden dropp'd, and left her life in air. [428] 

From the pleased crowd new peals of thunder rise, 

And to the ships brave Merion bears the prize. 

To close the funeral games, Achilles last 
A massy spear amid the circle placed, 
And ample charger of unsullied frame, 



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With flowers high-wrought, not blacken'd yet by flame. 

For these he bids the heroes prove their art, 

Whose dexterous skill directs the flying dart. 

Here too great Merion hopes the noble prize; 

Nor here disdain'd the king of men to rise. 

With joy Pelides saw the honour paid, 

Rose to the monarch, and respectful said: 

"Thee first in virtue, as in power supreme, 
O king of nations ! all thy Greeks proclaim; 
In every martial game thy worth attest, 
And know thee both their greatest and their best. 
Take then the prize, but let brave Merion bear 
This beamy javelin in thy brother's war." 

Pleased from the hero's lips his praise to hear, 
The king to Merion gives the brazen spear: 
But, set apart for sacred use, commands 
The glittering charger to Talthybius' hands. 



BOOK XXIII. 



705 




CERES. 



[429] 



BOOK XXIV. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE REDEMPTION OF THE BODY OF HECTOR. 

The gods deliberate about the redemption of Hector's body. 
Jupiter sends Thetis to Achilles, to dispose him for the restoring 
it, and Iris to Priam, to encourage him to go in person and treat 
for it. The old king, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his 
queen, makes ready for the journey, to which he is encouraged 
by an omen from Jupiter. He sets forth in his chariot, with a 
waggon loaded with presents, under the charge of Idaeus the 
herald. Mercury descends in the shape of a young man, and 
conducts him to the pavilion of Achilles. Their conversation on 
the way. Priam finds Achilles at his table, casts himself at his 
feet, and begs for the body of his son: Achilles, moved with 
compassion, grants his request, detains him one night in his tent, 
and the next morning sends him home with the body: the Trojans 
run out to meet him. The lamentations of Andromache, Hecuba, 
and Helen, with the solemnities of the funeral. 

The time of twelve days is employed in this book, while the 
body of Hector lies in the tent of Achilles; and as many more are 
spent in the truce allowed for his interment. The scene is partly 
in Achilles' camp, and partly in Troy. 

Now from the finish'd games the Grecian band 
Seek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand, 
All stretch'd at ease the genial banquet share, 
And pleasing slumbers quiet all their care. 
Not so Achilles: he, to grief resign'd, 



708